A Texas Christmas Reunion Page 18

  “Oh, it’s not only your hair. Just look at your dress and that dirty apron. If you want to attract a man, you will have to do better.”

  “I have attracted a man.” Juliette stepped from behind the desk, her rising temper making her too riled to stand in one spot. “I married him, as you will recall.”

  While you have married no one, she wanted to shout. But aside from it being a cruel thing to say, it would wake the babies. They had never heard her shout and it might frighten them. When she thought about it, she doubted if anyone had ever heard her shout.

  In the moment she thought she ought to, but refrained.

  “Yes, Steven was a good man,” Nannie admitted. Juliette’s temper cooled a bit. “But he is not the reason I’m bringing all this up.”

  “May I assume Trea Culverson has something to do with this attack on my appearance? Do you know what I think, Nannie? I think you are envious.”

  “Envious!” Nannie’s face flushed bright red. “Why would I be? Really, Juliette. I only want to point out that you are not at all right for Trea. I would not want you to be hurt by pursuing him. Don’t you remember when we were young girls? How you were the only one he had no interest in?”

  A thousand replies sprang to her tongue but it was Mrs. Cromby, standing on the landing, who voiced them. Mrs. Cromby did not bother to refrain from shouting.

  “You, Nannie Breene, are a contentious troublemaker! If you ever have a hope of capturing any man, it’s you who need to change. Go away and quit pestering Juliette. She is far lovelier than you can ever hope to be.”

  “Well! That is the most insulting and untrue thing I have ever heard.” Nannie backed toward the door, moisture glittering in her bright blue eyes. “I’m a successful businesswoman. I don’t need to capture a man. He needs to capture me!”

  With that, she spun about and dashed through a fall of cold water dripping from the roof.

  “Oh, mercy me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on her.” Mrs. Cromby wrung her hands at her waist. “She is who she is, we all know it. It’s just that she riled me with those awful things she said to you! I just could not keep hold of my tongue.”

  “She was nasty.” And Juliette ought to be more offended by it. And might have been, if not for the fact that she was about to be married to the very man Nannie thought she was not good enough for. “But you are right about her being who she is. Ever since we were young she’s been trying to feel important to someone.”

  “Just don’t you go believing what she said. I can think of a dozen men in town who would be interested in you and those beautiful babies. Probably not in having Warren in their home, though. He’s turned cantankerous of late.”

  “He can’t help that. He’s gotten confused about things.”

  What Juliette did not confide in the woman was that she did not need the interest of a dozen men. The one she was about to marry was a blessing she had only dreamed of. And he wanted to love her children, as well as having no qualms about helping her care for her father-in-law.

  * * *

  Trea remained in the classroom until after dark, making sure everything was ready for Christmas Eve. The place looked festive, with the garlands the children had made decorating the windows and walls and the risers in place for them to stand on when they sang.

  The students had not been in attendance today because of the holiday but they would come by tomorrow for a brief rehearsal before the performance. It would be a fun time for them, since Juliette had promised to bring cookies and hot chocolate.

  Day off or not, one child still came to school. Charlie had knocked on the door late in the afternoon.

  Poor kid needed some reassurance about singing his solo. Apparently his mother had been criticizing his voice. Telling him he had no business putting on airs like he was “somebody.”

  “It’s late,” Trea said, clearing up the remains of the dinner they had shared. “Better get on home before your mother worries.”

  “She never does. Can’t think she’ll start tonight.”

  “She might. You can’t know for sure what someone is feeling. Wait until the pageant. She’s going to be proud of you, for sure.”

  Trea didn’t think that was true, but he did think no one could know what someone else was feeling.

  His own father had him confused. He was still as surly as an old bear, but every once in a while of late a softer expression crossed his face. What, if anything, did that mean?

  “She says she’s not coming,” Charlie called over his shoulder as he walked away, the full moon lighting a path for him through the trees.

  “Lots of other folks are coming,” Trea called back. “Every one of them will be proud of you.”

  When he could no longer see the boy, he locked the door and began the walk home.

  His thoughts went where they always did—to Juliette.

  She’d probably be busy with last-minute details, which he intended to lend a hand with. Partly because keeping his hands active with chores would keep them off her, maybe.

  Christmas Eve suddenly seemed a very long way away, not the forty-eight hours it actually was.

  Trea reached inside his vest pocket, checking to make sure the wedding band he had purchased earlier today was safe where he’d put it.

  It was. He had verified its presence no less than fifteen times already.

  The gold band felt warm from being next to his heart. He ran his finger over the engraving on the outside. He thought the circle etched with fir boughs would suit his bride. He couldn’t quite believe the goldsmith had been able to engrave the design so quickly. It was what was on the inside of the band, though, that meant the most. He had asked the jeweler to write Forever My Heart.

  It was appropriate, because Juliette had been there ever since he could remember.

  He was nearly to the hotel, going at a half run against the falling temperature and eager to be home before the sidewalk turned icy, when he heard a shout.

  He looked toward the sound, saw a man waving his arms and pointing.

  That’s when he smelled smoke.

  Pivoting suddenly, he nearly lost his balance.

  The sky to the east pulsed bright orange. A twisting, leaping finger of flame scratched the black sky.

  The schoolhouse was on fire!

  He ran, shouting for help, heard another cry of alarm and then another.

  Slipping on the gathering ice, he went down hard, scrambled up and pushed on.

  At a distance of fifty yards he felt thrumming heat, smelled wood burning—knew the school was lost.

  Flames ate up the back of the building. He raced for the front, yanked the rope attached to the bell tower.

  Raising the alarm would not help a damn thing, but he jerked and pulled until his shoulders ached. Men would show up with buckets and shovels, but it would be too late.

  A block away he saw them running, shouting, waving their tools.

  He squinted through smoke that rolled in a sinister gray cloud across the road.

  There was the banker, along with Levi Silver, Leif Ericman and a dozen others.

  Was that his father charging ahead of a group of his patrons, some of them half weaving and going down on the ice?

  Heat seared Trea’s face and clothes. He had to back away.

  His father’s voice rang out above the others, urging them to run faster.

  And then he heard another sound. He listened hard over the roar of flames and the crash of lumber.

  There it was again! A scream, coming from the rear of the schoolhouse.

  On the run, he followed the screech. Rounding the corner as flames jumped out, singeing the elbow of his coat.

  He saw a woman, the hem of her skirt ablaze. Leaping, he caught her about the waist, went down on top of her and rolled with her in the snow.

  Another shout ca
me from the edge of the woods.

  “Mam!” Charlie’s voice screeched over the chaos. “Mam!”

  “Mrs. Gumm!” Trea gasped, coughing. Her eyes focused on his face, looking angry more than injured, praise the Good Lord.

  “Oh, Mam!” Charlie skidded on his knees, caught his mother’s arm, batted at her burned skirt. “You weren’t supposed to be here!”

  Charlie looked away from her long enough to glance briefly at Trea.

  Had he been kicked in the gut by mule, he’d not have felt half as stunned.

  The boy’s eyes filled with tears, his mouth turned down, trembled. The remorse he saw on that young face nearly laid him flat.

  “I don’t think she’s hurt. Just her skirt burned and a bit of hair singed.”

  He heard shouts near the front of the building.

  “Get out of here, son. Take your mother and get home.”

  “But I—”

  “Now! Before anyone sees you.”

  Charlie’s mother leaped up, shooting her child a hateful look.

  When the boy bounded to his feet and reached for her she wrenched away. A sneer cut her mouth in a ugly, jagged line.

  She fled for the woods, Charlie a few yards behind.

  Charlie? Charlie had burned the school! Everything pointed to his guilt. He’d been there moments before the fire began, was still there in the woods while it was burning. And he’d told his mother she was not supposed to be there.

  It all added up, but damned if it made any sense.

  Trea wanted nothing more than to sit down in the snow, cover his face and weep away the grief squeezing his heart.

  Then a hand clamped down on his shoulder. “It’s a hell of a thing, son.”

  “Pa! What are you doing here? It’s too cold for you to be out.”

  “Like I said.” His father shook his head. “It’s a hell of a thing.”

  “Damned shame is what,” declared Felix, who had been the second man to come around the corner. “Wouldn’t know it now, but I always liked school as a kid.”

  “Damned shame,” repeated his father, a red glow glittering off the sweat that dotted his forehead.

  “Take him home, won’t you, Felix? There’s nothing to be done here.”

  “There’s one thing,” said a voice a several feet to his left. With all that was going on, intense grief over the loss of the school and the reason for it, Trea hadn’t noticed Sheriff Hank’s approach.

  The man had a gloating—almost triumphant—look on his face. He dangled a kerosene can from his finger. It had to be empty, judging by the way it swung so easily. Hell if it didn’t keep time with the heavy thump of Trea’s heart.

  Charlie, no—it seemed impossible. And yet—

  “Trea Culverson, you are under arrest for arson.”

  Sheriff Hank handed the can to a man standing behind him. “You see how close this can was to him, Stanley?”

  “Yep, and no one else around? I’ll testify to it.”

  Hank Underwood drew a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket. He locked them about Trea’s wrists.

  A series of creaks came from the support frame on the bell tower. The wood suddenly snapped. The bell fell, clanging twice before it hit the earth.

  * * *

  Father Lindor had been unusually tired that evening, so Juliette prepared him for bed early. He’d fallen asleep right away, which was a blessing since no one else had.

  “Lena,” she crooned. “Go to sleep, my sweet girl. Mommy would like to have some time alone with your new daddy when he gets here.”

  She could not help but wonder what Steven, looking down from heaven, would think about Juliette calling another man her baby’s father. But Trea was the only one Lena would ever know. The only one Joe would know, too.

  “I’ll tell you about him one day when you are older, you and Joe both. And I think, knowing who he was, your first papa will not mind one little bit.”

  Juliette began to hum in the hopes that Lena would grow sleepy. But no, her big blue eyes stared up, apparently happy to be awake and not having to share her mother’s attention with anyone.

  “All right, then—”

  A clang cut the night, harsh and jolting. Someone was ringing the school bell, urgently sounding an alarm.

  Juliette hurried from her parlor to her dining room where she had a good view of the street.

  People were running, shouting—some in their nightclothes, some carrying buckets, shovels and lanterns.

  A wicked orange glow brightened the sky at the east end of town.

  She hugged Lena tighter and sat down hard on a chair. The fire might be in the woods behind the school, but it was unlikely, not with snow and ice on the ground and in the branches.

  Which could only mean—the school was on fire.

  Trea was at the school!

  As suddenly as it had begun, the school bell quit clanging. The silence was more alarming than the sudden ringing had been.

  An agony of moments ticked by with the only noise being Warren’s uniform snoring.

  At last she thought she saw people returning, their vague shapes fading in and out of focus in the darkness.

  She strained her eyes to see. Yes, a crowd, looking agitated, was coming down the middle of the road.

  Sheriff Hank led the way. Steps behind him was Trea, head bent and hands cuffed.

  The group rounded the corner, coming past her window, their churning voices excited, aroused.

  Only the man under arrest appeared calm. He walked past without glancing up. With moonlight upon him, she saw that his clothes were wet, that he was shivering.

  It took only moments to race upstairs, gather some of Trea’s clothing and bundle up the babies.

  She did not like leaving Warren alone, but she could hardly wake him out of a deep sleep to drag him out into the cold. No—he was better off here.

  Besides, it would stress him to see Trea locked up. The men had formed a bond, living together as they did. There were moments lately when Warren confused Trea with his sons.

  The last thing he needed was to see Trea in jail.

  With three blankets draped over the buggy, she pushed it up the street. The moon cast their shadow in a long, distorted figure, which seemed as bizarre as everything else that was happening.

  By now, only a few people remained outside. As frigid as it was, they had no doubt taken to their firesides to discuss the night’s dire event.

  How many believed the schoolteacher would set the school on fire? After how dedicated he’d been to the children’s education, how many would?

  Coming to the foot of the stairs of the sheriff’s office, Juliette picked up the babies. With one in each arm she carried them up the steps.

  Only two people were inside the office, the sheriff and Nannie.

  Sheriff Hank sat at his desk, feet propped upon it while he grinned. Nannie, seated across from him, leaned forward, frowning but apparently intent on everything that hissed from the lawman’s tongue.

  Juliette did not know what evidence the sheriff had to make the arrest, but she did know it was false.

  “Sheriff,” she said. Hank Underwood looked up, clearly startled to see a woman holding two babies standing in his doorway. “If you would not mind bringing in my buggy?”

  He hesitated. She readily interpreted the frown on his face to mean the chore was beneath his dignity as an enforcer of the law. He did look rather proud in the moment.

  “I’d be ever so grateful. I’m sure you would not want the babies to take chill from it being frozen through.”

  “Why, not at all.” All of a sudden his expression transformed. Evidently he liked the image of being a hero to her and the babies. Especially with a fledgling reporter, pencil in hand, watching him. “It’s no trouble at all.”

  “What
are you doing here?” Nannie asked once the sheriff had stepped outside.

  “I don’t imagine anyone thought of providing Trea with dry clothes?”

  No one, she would bet, had bothered to light the stove in the cell area, either.

  “No, I don’t believe so.” Nannie glanced toward the closed door to the cells. She jotted something down on the notepad she held on her lap. “I’d have thought of it—honestly, I would have—if I weren’t so taken up with writing the story for the paper.”

  The sheriff came back inside and set the buggy near the stove.

  “Here.” Juliette handed Lena to Nannie and Joe to Hank Underwood.

  “Oh, no, I can’t. I’ve never...” Nannie’s expression looked stricken, as if Juliette had placed dynamite in her arms instead of a smiling child.

  The sheriff looked down at Joe with a half-tender expression. How odd.

  That just went to show that everyone, except maybe Nannie, had a soft spot for babies.

  “I can hardly take her back there with me,” Juliette explained.

  “No one goes back there.” The sheriff’s soft expression vanished.

  “Well, I do.” Juliette snatched up the package she had stuffed into the buggy. “As I understand it, you have not provided dry clothes for the...” She could not get the word prisoner past her lips. “For the accused.”

  “Well, I—things were—go ahead, then. Don’t be long and be sure and leave the door open.”

  Drat it! She had hoped for a few minutes alone with Trea.

  Opening the door to the cell area, she found that it was, indeed, cold back there, and none too clean. Trea sat on a stained cot, shivering, his shoulders hunched.

  Luckily the cell was in a spot that could not be seen from the open door.

  She rushed forward, curled her fingers around bars that felt more like icicles than iron. Seeing her, he stood, crossed the small space and wrapped his hands around her fingers.

  “Charlie,” he whispered. “I think it might have—”

  A shadow fell across the hallway. Nannie, hovering just outside the door with Lena in her arms.

  Trea dropped his hands, backed away from the bars.

  “I’ve brought you some dry clothing, Mr. Culverson,” Juliette declared loudly enough to be heard in the other room.