Cowgirl Under The Mistletoe. Louise M. Gouge
Adam at the hotel. Yet he didn’t want to cast doubt on the boy. It was probably best for him to speak to Adam himself to see if he could discern any guilt in his demeanor. For now, he would do some of his own investigating to find out whether Mark Twain’s assertions about finger marks were true. Further, the next time he was in Mrs. Winsted’s store, he’d advise her and Homer not to disturb that sort of evidence if the robbers struck again. Other than that, he would search for other clues about the thefts.
He finished the first roast beef sandwich and eyed the second one. “Miss Pam,” he murmured to himself, “your cooking is just too delicious. This should be my supper, but I can’t resist eating it now.” His appetite always increased in colder weather.
As he ate, he considered what had been stolen. No jewelry was missing, although the glass display held several valuable gold rings, watches, bracelets, watch fobs and assorted brooches and tie pins. If the thief needed money, he could sell such items in another town and word would probably never come back to Esperanza. The only missing merchandise appeared to be survival necessities. Micah couldn’t imagine the Starlings needing woolen blankets because the church had supplied them with quilts. Further, Mrs. Starling was an excellent seamstress and could make more if they needed them. As for the guns, no one in Esperanza would take such weapons because all of their neighbors would recognize them as stolen. When the time was right, Micah would tell Grace about his thoughts.
His dinner finished, Micah went to work organizing the bedroom he’d used as an office for the past seven years. Yesterday he’d purchased a single bed, bedding and a chest of drawers to accommodate Joel. His large oak desk took up too much space, so to give Joel some privacy, he’d need to move it to the small room behind the church sanctuary. After school let out, he’d find Adam and ask him to help arrange the furniture. He’d also use the opportunity to try to detect any signs of guilt in the boy.
Although Micah had appreciated Grace’s advice about hosting the Suttons, he decided to ask Mrs. Foster, as well. He walked the two blocks to the elderly lady’s boardinghouse, where he found her in the kitchen, as usual. She motioned for him to take a seat at the table, where she placed a piece of lemon cake before him.
After enjoying a few delicious bites, he explained his situation and asked her advice.
“Why, it sounds fine to me.” She poured Micah a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Just be sure Mr. Sutton is always in the house with you and his sister, and propriety will be satisfied.”
“That should be easy enough.” Micah spent more time away from the parsonage than in it. “Now, what do you advise for furnishing her room?”
Mrs. Foster thought for a moment. “I have a spare bedroom suite in storage left by a tenant who moved back East. You may have that.”
Micah sat back and grinned. Once again the Lord had provided before he asked. “That would be wonderful. Thank you, dear lady. You’ve solved two problems for me.”
He would need help to move the furniture. Since Adam would be in school until almost four o’clock, Micah returned home to review his sermon notes for Sunday. Satisfied with what he’d written, he retrieved his most recent manuscript from the top drawer of his desk.
He liked this story even better than the one he’d already sold, but he needed to work on his main character a bit more. He jotted down a few notes about his conversation with Grace regarding the thefts because the incident perfectly suited his fictional female sheriff. Following Charles Dickens’s custom of naming characters after their personality traits, he’d tentatively called his heroine Willa Ketchum, but today the name sounded a little silly. He tapped the end of his pen against his cheek and stared out the window beside him.
“Charity.” He said the name aloud, but it didn’t sound right. “Mercy? Grace?” He laughed. “That would give me away for certain.” The new name would have to wait.
He sat back and stared at the half-filled page. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine the next scene for his story. In his mind’s eye, he saw Grace wearing that determined look on her fair face as she insisted Adam was the thief. Micah had intended for his heroine always to be clever at solving crimes, always successful at catching outlaws.
“Well, Miss Ketchum, maybe it’s time you made a mistake.”
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