He’d kept her letters. Dared she hope they were precious to him, preserved so that he might savor them on days he was feeling lonely? That’s what she did with his letters, after all. Pulled them out of the old hatbox she kept on the top shelf of her wardrobe and read them late at night by the light of her bedside lamp. Remembered the boy he’d been. Imagined the man he’d become. Imagined him walking back into her life one day.
And now he was here. Here to rescue her, to be her champion, just as he’d always been.
No, not her champion. The colony’s champion. He was here for Harper’s Station, not for her. Dwelling on old girlish feelings and dreams would serve no purpose. She had a job to do. A colony to protect.
A heart to protect, too, a small voice whispered inside her head. Remember, he’ll be leaving.
Just then, Mal turned. Determined to handle this as any other business deal, Emma pasted on her best banker’s smile and waved toward one of the two vacant chairs sitting in front of her desk. “Have a seat. I’d thought I’d make some notes as we sift through what we learned this morning.”
Mal shook his head. “No thanks. I think better when I’m moving.”
“All right.” Emma circled around to her own chair, sat down, and retrieved a few sheets of paper from the top desk drawer. Pen in hand, she dipped the nib into her inkwell and wrote the word Turpentine at the top left of the page. “So let’s start with the turpentine. Betty identified the canister as belonging to the farm, which means she, Katie, and Helen all had access to it.”
Mal paced toward the window. “But the women who work the garden stopped by a few days ago to collect a couple barrows full of compost for fertilizing. It would have been a simple matter for one of them to sneak into the barn, grab the turpentine, and hide it under the compost.”
“But that’s made with chicken droppings.” Emma wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t imagine concealing something in manure. One would have to actually touch the stuff.
Malachi chuckled. “You’re such a girl, Em. Don’t you see? That’s what makes it the perfect hiding place. Guaranteed to repel inquisitive ladies.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Emma twisted back around in her chair and inked her pen again. “All right. I’ll add Flora and Esther.”
“Any on the list so far you think we can rule out?” Mal asked as he paced along the inner wall. He paused to peruse the needlework sampler hanging near her desk, though she doubted he actually read the verse Bertie had stitched. His attention seemed too internal, too contemplative.
Emma glanced at her list of names and tried to be as objective as possible. Even though she’d lectured Malachi on assuming innocence, she knew she couldn’t blindly trust her emotions. She had to examine every possibility, no matter how unpalatable. “The only person I feel completely confident about removing is Betty. She’s been with me nearly as long as Tori, and she seemed completely straightforward when we asked her about the turpentine. I would think a guilty person would try to avert suspicion by pointing the finger elsewhere or fabricating excuses. She did none of that.
“Besides, I can’t imagine some outlaw manipulating her. She’s as tough as they come. She doesn’t have children or other family the man could use as leverage against her. That was the reason she joined us in the first place. She had no one left to care for after her husband died, no purpose. Taking in lost young women, teaching them to find their inner strength, and showing them they have value has become her mission. I can’t imagine her jeopardizing that.”
“Yeah, she didn’t really strike me as the furtive type.” Malachi rubbed a hand over his jaw. His still-whiskered jaw. He’d taken his turn with the bathing tub last night—they all had after getting covered in soot and mud while fighting the fire—but he’d foregone shaving this morning, too intent on examining the area around the church before the sun had fully risen.
What would he look like without the stubble? Less outlaw and more gentleman? Somehow she doubted it. Malachi had always possessed an edge, a touch of wildness that came from surviving on his own for so long. A shave and fancy clothes wouldn’t tame him. Nothing would. Not completely.
Emma cleared her throat and ordered her thoughts back to her list. “Katie seemed genuinely upset by the prospect of our attacker nosing around the farm. I don’t think it likely that she’s involved, either, but I can’t be certain.”