Bertie’s smile tightened a bit but didn’t fade. “Of course. It’s just that we haven’t seen you in so long, and—”
“Leave the boy be, Bert.” Henry hung Mal’s coat on a wall hook, then slid onto the yellow sofa cushion next to her sister. “There’ll be time enough to get caught up on the pleasantries later. Malachi’s obviously chomping at the bit to figure out what’s going on here. Always was a worrier, that one.” Henry arched a brow at him, her lips twitching ever so slightly at one corner, as if unwilling to admit to her teasing. He’d missed the challenge of ferreting out her subtle humor. “Emma,” Henry said, “tell him about the church.”
With nowhere else to look, Mal turned his gaze on Emma, and for the first time noticed the shadows beneath her lovely green eyes and the strain evident in the tiny lines around her mouth. As much as Emma believed in community and women helping women, she was still the leader here, the one people looked to for answers, for solutions to their problems. A heavy burden for one so young.
“I had called a meeting a few days ago to discuss the threatening note Tori and I found nailed to the church door.”
Mal’s brow furrowed. “Note? Porter didn’t say anything about a note.”
Emma tilted her head. “You’ve met Mr. Porter?”
Mal nodded as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his palms along the length of his thighs. “Met him in Seymour after I got in today.” No need to add to their worries by mentioning the altercation with Fischer. “I was looking for directions to Harper’s Station. He overheard me asking a shopkeeper about the best route to take, then cornered me outside to ask what business I had here. Wanted to make sure I intended you ladies no harm.”
“Always did like that brawny fellow.”
“Henry!” Aunt Bertie gasped.
“What?” Henry shrugged. “The man’s built like a grizzly. It’s not like you haven’t noticed.”
Alberta Chandler blushed. “Good heavens. Benjamin Porter’s been nothing but a perfect gentleman, going out of his way to help our Miss Adams with her supplies and shipping our goods at modest prices. He should be spoken of with respect.”
“Oh, I respect him plenty. Told me himself he believed women had a right to decide their own futures. Should even be allowed to vote. He might be a muscle-bound giant, but his mama raised that boy right.”
Mal could just picture Aunt Henry marching up to Porter on the street and demanding his views on women’s suffrage before agreeing to his hire. Probably had him quaking in those extra-large boots of his. The fact that he’d won her over spoke well of his character.
“Well, once he learned who I was,” Mal continued, “he offered to fill me in on what little he knew. Told me about the shooting and about Emma encouraging the women with children to leave town. At least temporarily.” Mal leaned forward again, bracing his elbows across his knees. “Didn’t say anything about a note, though.”
“There were three of them, actually. The first was found nailed to a tree along the path to the river. The second on a fence post on the far side of Betty’s farm. The third was on the church door. Each one a little closer to the heart of town. And each one a little more threatening.”
Mal clenched his jaw. She recounted the details with remarkable straightforwardness, but she couldn’t quite mask the fear in her eyes. This guy had rattled her. And he was intensifying the terror tactics.
He looked from Emma to the aunts and back again. “Did anyone get a look at him when he shot up the church?”
“I did.” Emma pulled her arms in toward her stomach and folded her hands tightly together. “He hid his features behind a bandana, though, so I’m not sure what good it will do.”
“You might be surprised.” Mal twisted in his chair to face her more directly. “Tell me what you remember.”
She glanced down at her lap. “He had a loud voice. A booming voice. And he wore a buckskin coat. There was fringe on the sleeves, I think.” She closed her eyes and squeezed them tight as if trying to picture the man in her mind. “His hat was dark brown and his horse was a chestnut, with a black tail.”
“That’s good, Emma.” And it was. She’d recalled a fair amount of detail when most people would be too overcome with shock to notice. “Was he tall? Short?”
She opened her eyes. “I don’t know. I just had a couple glimpses of him. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right. It’s not that important. Was he alone?”
She tapped her fingers softly against the arm of her chair. “As far as I could tell.”
“Have you had any further contact since the day of the shooting?” Mal’s mind spun with plans. They’d need to set up a watch. Train the women how to protect themselves. None of them should walk out alone. They’d need to pair off, the larger the groups the better.
“No. It’s been quiet since—”
“Fire!” A high-pitched scream from outside broke off Emma’s answer. “Somebody help! The church is on fire!”
9