Buckeye Dreams (49 page)

“Where is he? He’s got to be here somewhere.”

Peter looked up. Harvey Pryce strode up to the scene, a police officer on his heels. He spotted Peter and immediately made his way over. “There he is. Arrest him!”

Peter jumped to his feet. “What?”

“Now Mr. Pryce, let’s just wait a minute,” the officer said. “We don’t even know if this was an accident or what.”

“It’s no accident,” Harvey said. “This guy has a grudge against me because I got his boss’s job. He took a swing at me earlier tonight, gave me a sore jaw. Now he’s burned down my house out of spite.”

“That’s not what happened!” Peter yelled.

The students that had formed the bucket brigade wandered over to watch.

“I have a witness,” Harvey declared. “My friend Frank Morris saw the whole thing.”

“I—” Peter began. The policeman took hold of his arm. “Wait, I didn’t do anything.”

“I’ve heard enough to know that this needs to go before the court.” The officer slapped handcuffs on him. “You’re going down to the city prison for the time being.”

Peter soon found himself confined to a small cell with several other men. Since it was the middle of the night, most of them were asleep or, judging from the smell, passed out from too much liquor. One or two woke up when he was let in, but he quietly made his way to the back of the cell and ignored their insults and veiled threats. A low stone ledge ran beneath the window, and he climbed up on it. He couldn’t even contemplate the idea of sitting on the floor.

He moved into the corner and, leaning back, drew his knees up. Scrunching his eyes shut, he tried to wake himself up from the nightmare he found himself in. But the stench of the cell and the smoke that hung heavily to his clothes and beard told him he was wide awake. Not to mention the cold breeze that blew in from the window. Bars were the only thing that covered the square slit near the top of the cell. When he rested his head against the wall, he could see a bare sliver of the night sky. He stared at it, not quite sure what to think or even what to pray.

After about a quarter of an hour, he closed his eyes.
I’m sorry I let Harvey provoke me, Lord. I shouldn’t have said anything
. He wondered what the judge would say. According to the jailer who had led him to the cell, he’d go to court sometime tomorrow. How was he going to get out of this? The only person who knew that Harvey was lying was Mike, and he had no way of getting ahold of him. And what if they decided he started the fire?
But I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything to start that fire
. He wondered if Harvey had started it on purpose. He couldn’t imagine why. He hadn’t even liked the place. Was he worried that he would still try to arrest him for having him beaten? Peter shook his head. Whatever the reason, it certainly didn’t matter now.

A commotion drew his attention to the cell door, where a man was forced inside. He fell on top of a rough-looking fellow who’d been leaning against the bars, sleeping. He cursed and kicked him off. The man tumbled to the ground, and Peter jumped up to help him.

“Hey, are you all right?” he whispered. He squinted at the man’s face in the dim light. “Uncle Billy?”

“Petey!” the man exclaimed. A couple of men cursed and shushed them, and Peter immediately hauled his friend to his spot at the back of the cell.

“Hey now, Lieutenant,” Uncle Billy said. “You watch yourself there. I’m your superior officer, remember?”

Peter smiled inwardly. How could he have forgotten Billy’s … eccentricities? He stood up straight and gave him a quick salute. “Sorry, sir. What are you doing here?”

“Them Rebs got me.” He shook his head. “They tried to take the general away from me.”

“Is he all right, sir?”

Uncle Billy grinned as he reached his hand into the pocket of his threadbare Union jacket. When he pulled it out, there in his hand was a small brown field mouse. “Them Rebs won’t get General Grant that easy.”

Peter nodded and smiled. Uncle Billy had kept him company many times during his tramping days. Or rather, Peter had kept Uncle Billy company. He’d first met him in Circleville, a little town south of Columbus, and he wasn’t popular with the other transients. His ramblings about the War between the States and his unshakable belief that he was General William T. Sherman made them uncomfortable. Then there was the mouse he carried around in his pocket, which he insisted was General Ulysses S. Grant. Peter had felt sorry for him and befriended him. The war still rested heavily on his mind, but all in all, he was a kindhearted soul. The only time he became violent was when anyone tried to go after his mouse. “I’m glad their latest attempt to capture General Grant was unsuccessful,” he said, patting Billy on the back.

The man raised the mouse up to his face. “He’s worried about the next campaign. See how he’s pacing?” He looked at Peter. “You know anything that’d soothe the general?”

Peter smiled. “Yes, sir.” He knew just the thing. God had placed it on his heart to memorize over a month ago. He helped Uncle Billy up on the ledge and hopped up next to him.

“ ‘ The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,’” he quoted softly. “’He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul… .’”

T
hank you for letting me eat with you and Anne today, Dr. Kirby,” Emma said.

Uncle Daniel smiled at her from behind his office desk as she and Anne laid cloths out on it and unpacked their lunch baskets. “We’re glad to have you join us, Miss Long. Although, I have to wonder who is taking care of the library right now. I thought you two took turns keeping an eye on things during lunch.”

“Normally we do,” Anne replied with a smile. “But there are so few people who come into the library at this hour, we decided we could probably get away with leaving a note on the door explaining where we are.”

“I hope no one comes looking for us,” Emma said, laying out her ham sandwich. “Or we’ll be in for a short lunch.”

“Oh, it can’t be that someone will need both of us. I’ll go if someone comes.” Anne handed her uncle a boiled egg, along with a small paper packet of salt.

“Thank you, Anne.” Emma brought a couple of chairs forward for them to sit in. “I’m going to miss you come January.”

“So you’ve heard from Miss Fuller?” Uncle Daniel asked.

“Yes, Clara says she’ll be back at the start of winter term.”

“Then that means you’ll have to find a new position, Anne.” Her uncle smiled at her. “Have you started looking yet?”

Anne nodded. “Yes, I’ve written a few letters.” She took a bite of her sandwich so she wouldn’t have to elaborate. She’d sent several letters, all to districts out West. A small school district outside Topeka, Kansas, had recently replied, offering her a job. Their letter requested her to start at her earliest convenience. All she needed to do was make the arrangements, but that would take another trip into Columbus. She laid her sandwich down—the thought had made it suddenly taste like shoe leather. But it had to be done. She glanced at her uncle, trying to remember when he’d said his next faculty meeting would take place. Hopefully it would be soon.

“I heard you found a new stable man,” Emma said between bites of her sandwich.

“Yes,” Uncle Daniel answered, his glance sliding toward Anne. “A very well-trained individual, but it’s only temporary, I’m afraid.”

Anne looked down, concentrating on peeling her hardboiled egg. She’d been so glad to take charge of Scioto again. It had been hard not talking to anyone about her troubles over the past month, but opening up to him hadn’t been the same as it had been at home. Instead of feeling better, she felt worse. She couldn’t understand it. She felt God nudging her to talk to Him.
Why, Father? What more is there to say?

Someone knocked on the door, and Emma groaned.

“I’ll see who it is,” Anne said. Instead of the student she’d anticipated seeing, Mike Dixon stood before her. Uncle Daniel caught sight of him and rose from his seat.

“Hello, Mike.” Her uncle joined her at the door. “We were so sorry to hear you’d been let go.”

“Yes, we’ll miss you, Mike,” Anne said, and Emma, leaning back to catch a glimpse of the janitor, echoed the sentiment.

Mike nodded. “Thank you. Dr. Kirby, I was wondering if I might speak to you in private.”

Anne looked at her uncle. “Do you want Emma and me to leave for a moment?”

“No, of course not. We’ll just step out into the hall.” He smiled and shut the door behind him.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Emma wondered aloud.

“Maybe he wants to use my uncle as a reference.” Anne sat back down.

“That can’t be; I’ve heard he has a job.” She wiped her hands on a cloth napkin and folded up the paper from her sandwich. “Did you hear the bells from the fire engine last night?”

“Yes! They went right past our house,” she replied. The janitor’s house burning down last night had been the talk of the students all morning.

“A few of the fellows from George Smart’s boardinghouse ran out to help.”

Anne’s eyebrows rose. “How do you know?”

“George stopped by the library this morning just to tell me.” She blushed.

“I’m glad for you. He seems like a nice young man. Although I’m surprised he didn’t go, too.”

“He would have, but he was away visiting family.” She cocked her head at Anne. “Patrick Howard is a pretty nice fellow, too.”

Anne frowned. “I know.”

“I still don’t understand why you chased him away.” Emma looked at her reprovingly. “You couldn’t ask for a better man.”

Anne was saved from replying by the sudden reappearance of her uncle. “I’m afraid there’s an emergency that needs my attention.” He shrugged into his suit jacket and handed Anne a key. “Lock up my office and place a sign on my door. I’ll have to cancel my afternoon classes.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked. The look of concern on his face alarmed her. “It’s not Scioto, is it?”

“No, my dear, he’s fine. I’ll explain later. Hopefully I’ll be home by dinner.”

Throughout the long night, Peter silently repeated Psalm 23 to himself. He spent the morning keeping Uncle Billy out of trouble with their cell mates. Not long after lunch, they were all ushered to a closed police wagon to be taken to the courthouse. The psalm had kept Peter’s heart at ease until he asked the police officer who rode with them about the judge they were soon to face.

“The mayor is the police and judge,” he said gruffly.

“What’s he like?”

“He won’t go easy on you if he thinks you’re guilty. Now be quiet.”

Uncle Billy glared at the officer. “You watch yourself! That’s my lieutenant you’re talking to.”

“And who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m General William Tecumseh Sherman.” The officer and the other prisoners laughed. “Don’t believe me? General Grant will confirm it.” The old man reached into his pocket, but Peter quickly stopped him.

“The general needs his rest, sir.”

Uncle Billy didn’t look pleased but left the mouse in his pocket, much to Peter’s relief.

His heart pounded as they were marched into the courtroom. Mayor Walcutt was a gruff-looking man with a long goatee, a mustache, and a stern eye. But as he worked through the cases brought before him, Peter saw that he was a fair-minded man, only fining or imprisoning those who truly deserved it. The man right before him had beaten his wife in a drunken stupor. The woman came before the judge to plead on her husband’s behalf, but Mayor Walcutt wasn’t swayed. His eyes turned to black coals as he stared down at the man, saying, “I only wish it were within my power to sentence you to the same beating you gave this woman who came to intercede for you.”

Peter’s case was called, and as he walked up to stand before the mayor, he glanced out over the gallery. Harvey Pryce was there, along with Frank Morris, but Mike Dixon’s and Professor Kirby’s presence surprised Peter. He felt both relieved and mortified. Mike would certainly tell the judge the truth, but Peter wanted to hide in shame from Dr. Kirby. What must the professor think of him?

“Mr. Peter Ward?”

Peter looked up at the judge’s stern face. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve been accused of assault and burning down a log house belonging to The Ohio State University.” The mayor’s eyebrows drew together. “How do you plead?”