He could close his eyes and still see the light of the flames burning inside his eyelids. The house would be standing yet if it weren’t for his bullheadedness. He’d come in here so proud that he’d show these people a thing or two. A firm hand was all they needed. Just be tough and they’d straighten up.
Instead he’d caused an innocent man to get his house destroyed and nearly got him killed. Joel dropped his head to his desk. What could he have done differently? Wasn’t the law to be respected? Wasn’t he hired to stop the Bald Knobbers, not to give them permission to play army? He’d followed his orders, but how could he face everyone tomorrow? How could he recover the ground he’d gained?
He huffed a bitter laugh. Ground gained? Before this, they’d just as soon feed him a bowl of poison ivy as greens. They cared even less now.
A knock sounded on the door. Joel lifted his head. Couldn’t they wait until morning to scorn him? Why couldn’t they let him be for at least one night? The hinges creaked, but he didn’t move, too worn down to even care if he was in danger.
Then Betsy peeked around the corner. Never one to get all womanly about his emotions, Joel would’ve had a hard time pinpointing exactly what he was feeling at the sight of her pert face—embarrassment that he’d let her down, aggravation that he couldn’t wallow alone, warmth that she cared enough to come.
Without saying a word, she entered and then gently pressed the palm of her hand flat against the door and eased it closed. Removing her shawl, she hung it on the hall tree. The only light was what streamed through the window, but it was enough to see the concern in her eyes.
“You’re covered in soot,” she said.
He didn’t know where to begin. An apology? An excuse? A promise to do better? No words seemed to matter compared to the gravity of what had occurred.
From somewhere she produced a rag and began dusting off his hat. Specks of ash floated in the moonlight, light and airy, unlike the destruction that had produced them.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “It’s late, and we’re alone.” Going by his rules, he should send her away immediately. The standards he’d sworn by before he arrived had no room for a lady friend, especially one who would come to check on him long after everyone else had turned in for the night. But even when he went with his convictions, he seemed to always disappoint. Somehow doing what he thought was right never worked out.
“What are you going to do tomorrow?” Now she was dusting off his coat, little caring that it was throwing ash onto her shawl hanging next to it.
“Tomorrow? I really can’t see past tonight.”
“That’s because it’s dark. Tomorrow there’ll be light. Don’t you worry.”
And what would the light bring? The smoldering scene at the Hopkins homestead?
“You know,” Betsy said, “this sort of thing has been going on for generations. You didn’t cause it.”
“But I’m supposed to prevent it, and I failed.” He shook his head. “Not that anyone here expected me to succeed.”
“Maybe I did.”
He looked up. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
She caught his gaze for just a moment before turning away. “Sorry is what you’re feeling for yourself. We need you. You’ve got to get past this.”
“Do you think everyone else will be as forgiving?” he asked.
“Of course not. Clive is going to wear you out with scorn. Every Bald Knobber in Hart County is telling his wife how pigheaded you are, and every child is listening at the knothole, laughing at your stupidity.”
Joel groaned. “You have a way with words.”
“What I’m saying is that you thought this would be easy. It’s not. You know that now. You’re at the bottom, and only God can lift you up from here. That means He’s getting ready to do something.”
Just what Sanders had said. They couldn’t both be wrong. When he’d been shamed in Garber, he’d thought that was the end of his career, but then this job in Missouri came open. If this door closed, could he trust that God had yet another journey ahead of him? He was so tired. What if he didn’t have another fresh start in him? Could he weather another excuse and a sad letter back home explaining to his folks that he’d failed again?
Betsy took his canteen off his desk and pulled her own handkerchief out of her pocket. Water gurgled as she poured it into the handkerchief. A spark of interest was all he could muster. The rest of him was too burdened to care. She hooked a chair with her foot and pulled it directly in front of him, so close that when she sat their knees bumped.
The handkerchief cooled a wide swath on his brow. His eyes focused. Leaning forward, Betsy passed it again across his forehead, easing the tension and the burning guilt of failure. Joel suddenly became aware of her proximity. Her lithe, active body swayed gently even as she folded and refolded the rag to find a clean spot.