“Yes. The brothers. They’ve been helpful providing me with maps and plotting boundaries.”
Clay said, “Mr. Shepard was looking at Double H land this afternoon, but I told him that Ol’ Harrison Hardy isn’t going to fool with the railroad.”
Lily raised a single eyebrow and regarded her son with a seriously set mien. “Maybe. Maybe not. That’s business between Mr. Hardy and Mr. Shepard.”
As a reprimand, Roen thought it was a mild one, but nevertheless Clay ducked his head and nodded.
Lily served another square of cornbread to Roen. “How long will you be staying in Frost Falls, Mr. Shepard?”
For all that the question was politely posed and made withan offering of sweet cornbread, Roen had the sense that if his answer was more than a few more days, it would be too long. Unless she was anticipating that he would be a frequent dinner guest, Roen couldn’t imagine why it mattered. “It’s never clear this early,” he said, hedging. “It’s hard to project a timeline at this juncture, and Northeast Rail has hired me on to see this through.”
“But roughly,” said Lily.
“I’ll know better inside of six weeks.”
“Oh.”
Roen could see nothing in the placid composition of her delicate features to indicate that she was aggrieved; yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was. Her children, on the other hand, appeared to be delighted.
Hannah said, “So you’ll hardly be a visitor to Frost Falls. More like regular folk.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Oh, it is. Especially since you’re staying in Sheriff Ben’s house, or what used to be his house, and not taking a room at the Butterworth.”
Lily frowned at her daughter. “And just how do you know so much about it?”
Hannah shrugged. “It’s like you say. Everyone here knows everything.”
Lily felt her cheeks warm. It was her own voice she heard in Hannah’s ironic tones. Her daughter was a perfect mimic. “Yes, well, you don’t have to repeat everything you hear.”
“No, ma’am.”
Roen said, “Northeast Rail is renting the sheriff’s house for the duration of my stay. I spend a lot of time in hotels and railroad cars, so this is a welcome change.”
Clay said, “Sheriff Ben likes having someone living in the house. He told me. I work for him sometimes. Me and my friend Frankie Fuller. Odd jobs mostly. I’m real good at a lot of things. So is Frankie.” He tilted his head to the side as he regarded his guest. “You ever have a need for an odd jobber?”
“Clay.” Lily said his name quietly, without inflection, but he nevertheless sat back in his chair as though pushed. “This is supper, and Mr. Shepard is your guest. You can talkbusiness after over cigars and port when the rest of us retire to the front room.”
Her response was so unexpected that Clay’s jaw went slack. Hannah stared at her mother. Lizzie and Ham looked at each other with identical frowns. For his part, Roen threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter.
Lily took this all in, nodded faintly, satisfied, and smiled in a way that suggested she had swallowed a secret.
Chapter Three
Roen Shepard wasn’t sure why Lily’sMona Lisasmile came to him off and on that evening and again the following morning as he took his seat in church. Because of Ham’s chatter and Hannah’s shushing, Roen was aware when the Salts took their usual place in the last pew. He didn’t turn to acknowledge them, presuming that Lily would not appreciate the attention. She struck him as an isolated individual and one who was not unhappy about it. Her children, on the other hand, were creatures of the never-met-a-stranger variety, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they took after their father in that regard. Except to tell him that Jeremiah Salt had operated a forge and perished in a fire, Amanda Springer had nothing else to say about the man, and Roen hadn’t minded in the least back then. Now, upon meeting the family, he found that he was curious.
No one spoke of Jeremiah Salt at supper. They either thought Roen already knew the story or didn’t think the absence of a father and husband was important enough to mention. As with so many things he contemplated from time to time, the matter of Jeremiah Salt was likely to remain as persistently annoying as a pebble in his shoe. He wished to hell he knew why.
His interest in a dead man didn’t make sense to him. He generally concentrated on the living. He’d learned early on that his job was made easier when the locals understood what he was doing and how the railroad figured to improve their lives and their livelihood. There were always skeptics and folks who resisted change, but he was a good listener and made it a practice to look for compromise. Clay’s information, offhandedly offered, about Harrison Hardy and the Double Hland was something worth knowing early, and Clay Salt, at twelve years old, was likely a superior source of intelligence to Amanda Springer. He genuinely meant to be helpful. Certainly he lacked the older woman’s guile.
Maybe, Roen thought, that’s why he wanted to know what sort of man Clay’s father was. In his experience, it never hurt to know how far the apple fell from the tree.
When the service was over, he turned toward the back of the church. As expected, Lily and her children were among the first to leave, pausing only long enough to pass pleasantries with the minister. Roen didn’t realize he was staring after them until Ben Madison nudged his elbow and spoke so softly that only he could hear.
“Careful Lily doesn’t take notice of your interest.”
Surprised, Roen gave a small start. “What?” He blinked, collected himself, and turned his head to the sheriff. “Oh. I was hoping Clay would look back this way. He asked me if I had need of an odd jobber.”
