THE CONDEMNED
Book 1 – Rowen
*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content.
Missing
The next
morning, Rowen was awakened by the smell of something frying and…
He sat up
in his small bed. “Coffee? Is that coffee?”
He’d slept
in his new albeit worn and a bit ragged around the waist pants. After pulling
the equally worn donated but clean shirt, he made his way to the dining room
this time to join the two other guests indulging in their morning repast.
“Good
morning, Mr. Taylor!” Mrs. Mayflower brightly chirped at him as he walked in.
“Have a seat anywhere you like. Would you care for some coffee?”
“Yes,
ma’am. Please. And good morning to you, as well!”
The woman
disappeared into the kitchen and promptly returned with a battered pot that had
definitely seen better days, but apparently it still made a damn good cup of
coffee. As she poured him some into a cup, she motioned with her head toward
the table.
“Help
yourself. We don’t take requests here. You eat what’s served, but you can eat
as much as you want. Got that?”
“I do.
Thank you.”
He was
aware that the couple seated a few feet away were dressed in what he took as a
finer style, not ordinary everyday wear. Keeping to himself, he was about to
get up to serve himself when the woman reached over, picked up the platter, and
handed it to him.
“Here. No
need for you to get up.”
He thanked
her, helped himself to a serving of eggs and ham, and set the platter to the
side.
“Are you
just passing through?” the man inquired, attempting to make conversation.
“Actually,
I’m planning on making a home here,” he replied. It took effort to take his
time and not to gulp down the food. After the stew he’d had last night, it was
as if his stomach had reawakened from a long sleep and was joyfully begging for
every morsel he could feed it. But he also knew that if he obliged it, he’d pay
for it later with either a major stomachache or the loss of what he’d eaten
altogether. The food in this time period was vastly different from what he was
accustomed to eating in both taste and texture. He was also aware that the
sanitary conditions were also looser or, in some cases, nonexistent, meaning he
could inadvertently consume something that could make him sick. He reminded
himself that these people had been eating slightly tainted or undercooked food
all their lives. Their bodies had built up a tolerance. He, however, hadn’t.
But that
didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy what was served to him. When was the last time
I had home-baked bread? Or real eggs, not powdered ones? Oh, my God. And
churned butter! And jam made from real fruit! He snickered. I’ll be
amazed if I don’t gain thirty pounds in the next few days.
“Found
something amusing, Mr. Taylor?”
He glanced
up to find Mrs. Mayflower standing by his chair, her hand holding the coffeepot
hovering nearby. Her expression was unreadable. Rowen was quick to reassure
her.
“I can’t
remember the last time I had food this good, ma’am.” He chuckled again. “And to
think, not too long ago, I was wondering when I’d ever eat again, much less
have a decent roof over my head.”
The woman
smiled and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “Word around town is you’re a
hard worker. Keep it up, son. Hard work can sometimes be a blessing.” She
refilled his cup then went around the table to serve the other guests.
When he
finished and was getting up from the table, the female guest obviously eyed his
attire. “Will we be seeing you at service this morning, Mr. Taylor?”
Service?
To cover up
for his confusion, he played the work card. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I need to get to
work.”
Her male
companion stared at him with unconcealed disapproval. “What type of business
makes you work on a Sunday? Tell me now so I can be sure to avoid doing
business with them!”
Rowen bowed
his head for a moment to give him a chance to hide his smile. When he looked
back up at the couple, he replied in his best serious tone. “Animals need to be
fed, sir. I can’t allow those creatures to go hungry or thirsty just because
it’s Sunday, can I?” Even though he didn’t mention the livery stable by name,
he figured the man would guess what business he was implying.
Without
waiting for the guy to answer, he smiled at the couple, bid them a good day,
and left. At first, he intended on heading back to his room but, on second
thought, decided to head for the stables instead.
He’d barely
taken a half dozen steps across the dirt street when he heard someone call out
his name. Whirling around, he saw Obediah Goodall trotting toward him. Before
he could greet the man, whom he hadn’t seen since he and his son rescued him
and brought him here to Calllistown, Goodall bellowed at him.
“Sheriff
Melfry is rounding up a search team. Do you got a gun, son?”
“No, but
Mr. Zwick lets me use his when there’s a need.”
The big man
threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Hamp’s over at the sheriff’s office now. We
need every hand we can spare. Are you with us?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good! I’ll
see you there,” Goodall promised and moved on. Confused and curious, Rowen set
off for the sheriff’s office.
Three other
men were inside with Melfry and Deputy Slone, one of them being Zwick, who
threw him a smile when he caught sight of him. Rowen went to stand beside him.
“What’s
going on?”
“Doc never
made it home last night,” the man informed him.
Rowen
continued to stare at the man. “That’s why the sheriff is rounding up a posse?”
He couldn’t help the tone of his voice. But when Zwick’s expression hardened,
he tried to explain himself. “I don’t understand. Are you saying she’s never
stayed overnight someplace before?”
“Oh, she’s
done that, but she always lets us know ahead of time,” the stables owner
explained.
“But what
if she’s not planning to stay overnight but does so anyway?”
Zwick let
out a loud sigh. “One thing you need to know about Doc. She’s smart. She plans
ahead. If she thinks for one second that she’ll have to stay somewhere
overnight, she lets someone know. Usually Obediah or Faith.”
“Why them?”
“Cuz that’s
where she lives. When Abe moved out, Obediah wanted to rent out his boy’s room,
but he was cautious about letting a strange man into their home. When Miss
Postill showed up and needed a place to stay, things couldn’t’ve worked out
better.”
Rowen shook
his head, still confused. “But something could have happened. I mean, the woman
she went to go tend to might have had a problem or complications, and Miss
Postill had to spend the night with her. Or it could have been something else.”
Deputy
Slone walked up to join them. “You’re right. It could have been something else.
But we’ve been given another tidbit of information that concerns us, Mr.
Taylor.”
“What’s
that?”
“Those men
we encountered yesterday? The ones we had move on out of town?”
A dark
cloud of worry permeated his brow as Rowen stared at the officer. “You mean
Ossie Chapman and his gang?”
He got a
curt nod. “Yep. They never made it into Chamberlain last night.”
The cloud
began to blow a cold wind through him. “Are you thinking those guys might have
something to do with Doc missing?”
The big man
snorted. “We don’t dismiss any possibility until we can prove
otherwise.”
“How do you know those men didn’t
get to Chamberlain?”
“Mossie
said so,” Zwick stated.
“Who’s
Mossie?”
“He’s
Holden Deerling’s son,” the deputy explained. “Deerling’s the telegraph
operator over in Chamberlain. Every day, the boy goes to each outlying town to
drop off and collect messages and letters to take back to his father.”
“Let me
guess. The jailhouse here is the pickup and dropoff point,” Rowen surmised. He
scoured his brain to remember someone arriving with a package or bag who might
fit the description.
“Nope. The
mercantile. I go there every morning to pick up the latest wanted posters and
the like since we’re the first stop on his route. I was there when Mossie
showed up. So, out of curiosity I asked him how the marshal reacted when
Chapman showed up.” Slone shook his head. “He said the guy never got there. He
didn’t even run into them on the road.”
Rowen
mutely nodded. It made sense. “Why don’t you guys have your own telegraph
station here?”
“Because
there ain’t enough people who know how to use one or read those messages,” the
deputy stated.
“You guys ready?” Sheriff Melfry demanded, interrupting them. “We’re wasting valuable time. Let’s get over to the livery and saddle up.”
TO BE CONTINUED
