“Emma Johnson, as I live and breathe,” the young man declared, sounding more than a little bit sarcastic.
“Connor, I need you to do me a favor.” Edward Vogel’s grip remained firm.
“Anything at all, Officer. I’m always happy to help the law.”
“Yeah, I can imagine you are. Emma, where are your folks?”
“At the picnic. They were visiting with the Aldrich and Taylor families by the bandstand.”
“Connor, go tell the Johnsons that I need to speak with them right away.”
“Sure thing!”
He sounded more than a little eager to get Emma in trouble, and she threw him a glare that she hoped gave him a pang of conscience. After all, he would have been first to sample the wares had she gotten away with her thievery.
“Oh, and don’t make it a public ordeal. Understand? Just tell them in private and ask them to come see me at the jail.”
“I understand.”
Connor’s tone was rather deflated, but Emma had no doubt he’d enjoy his duties. Connor and her brother, James, were seventeen and loved nothing more than seeing her in trouble. And if not her, then someone else. Just as long as it wasn’t one of them.
“Get to it, then, Connor.” Mr. Vogel turned, pulling Emma along with him into the jailhouse.
Emma couldn’t help but gawk around the place. She’d never been in the jail before, although she had heard terrible tales from her brother and his friends about it. James had never been taken to jail. In fact, as far as Emma knew, no one in her family had ever been in trouble with the law.
Leave it to me to be the first.
She regretted the honor, if it could be called that. Consequences were usually far less pleasurable than the hoped-for rewards when nefarious deeds were done.
“I want you to sit in that chair and not move. Do you understand me?” Mr. Vogel said, pointing to a round-backed, wooden chair. “I don’t want to have to put you in a cell.”
Emma swallowed the dry lump in her throat and nodded. Now that her folks had been sent for, there was no getting out of whatever punishment was headed her way.
She plopped into the chair in a most unladylike fashion and stared at Mr. Vogel as he took a seat behind a small wooden desk opposite her.
“Why’d you want to go and ruin such a great day by doing something like stealing liquor?”
Emma shrugged. “I get talked into a lot of things, and it didn’t seem like it would be all that hard. Mr. Gibbons was busy with his customers, and I’m not so big as to be noticed.”
“Big enough, apparently.”
Emma gave a sad nod. “It would seem so. I really don’t set out to be bad.”
“Oh, Emma, you aren’t bad. You just make bad choices sometimes.”
She heard sympathy and kindness in his tone and knew she could use it to her advantage. She continued to nod. “I do. It’s true. I try to be good. I really do.”
He chuckled. “I was a boy once. I remember very well how hard it was to behave. I was probably twice as rowdy as you. I will say, however, I’ve never had to take a young lady into custody. I expect this kind of behavior from the boys, but honestly, it comes as a surprise to hear that a girl like you was stealing whiskey.”
Emma lowered her head in a dejected manner. Putting her hand up to cover her face, she poked a finger into her eye to create tears. It had been most effective a few months earlier when the cook caught her stealing cookies. She felt her eyes water sufficiently and glanced up with a sniff. “I’m just as sorry as I can be.”
Mr. Vogel smiled. “Well, don’t get too riled up. Your folks seem like decent people, and once they realize that you were encouraged to do it, I’m sure they’ll understand.”
Emma dabbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “They are good people. It’s not their fault that I do bad things.”
That was probably the first time she’d really spoken the truth that day. Her folks didn’t deserve the blame for her actions. Emma had always been a wild card. She was born the day after the War between the States started. Her father had once joked that she started her own kind of war as well.
But how could the fault be assigned to her? If she had been out of control since coming into the world, wasn’t that more or less the fault of someone else? She couldn’t help it if she was easily bored and fixed on the idea of having a good time. She liked to take a dare and thrilled at the excitement that followed. It was just how she was created. How was that her fault?
