The Rough Rider (39 page)

“How are you, son? Are you all right? Where have you been these past few days?” his father said, voicing his concerns.

Aaron looked at Gail, then smiled. “I’ve been out in the woods—getting converted,” he said. He laughed aloud as both his parents stared at him. “Well, you’ve been praying
for that for years. Can’t you believe God’s finally answered your prayers?”

Then there was a time of weeping and laughing, and Gail was smothered by Belle and Davis when Aaron told them how much God had used her to bring him to faith. Finally Belle wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and said in a tremulous voice, “Thank God! I’ll never give up on a prayer as long as I live!”

Davis’s eyes were also damp, but he pulled himself together. “Come along—you’ve got to tell Lewis all about this!”

Belle and Lola were smiling, and Mark turned to them, a strange excitement in his eyes. “Come along, Aaron. Lewis will be glad to see you.”

“I wanted to get word to him, but there didn’t seem to be any way to work it,” Aaron said. “How is he?”

“I’ll let him give you his own report.” Davis opened the door and walked into the bedroom, calling out, “Well, here’s the prodigal at last—”

Aaron entered with Gail beside him, and they saw Deborah standing beside Lewis, who was lying in a bed. He was wearing a pair of dark blue pajamas, and his face lit up as he cried, “Aaron—where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”

“Sorry about that,” Aaron mumbled. He moved to shake Lewis’s hand, then looked at the young woman who was watching him. “How’s the patient, Deborah?” he asked.

Deborah’s serene countenance bore more than one evidence of excitement. She looked down at Lewis and said quietly, “I’ll let him tell you that, Aaron.”

Something in her tone surprised Aaron. He exchanged a puzzled glance with Gail, who’d gone to stand beside Deborah, then swung his gaze back to his brother. “What’s going on, Lewis?”

Lewis reached up and took Deborah’s hand, which caused her to show some embarrassment. “This is the stubbornest woman in the whole world,” he said roughly. “She’s been in here for days making me work!”

“Making you work?” Aaron asked in a puzzled tone. “What kind of work?”

“Why, she came in one morning and I never saw such a mean look on a woman’s face!” Lewis exclaimed. “She ripped the covers off me and she said, ‘All right—let’s get to work! Move those legs!’ ” Lewis laughed at the look of astonishment on Aaron’s face and went on, never releasing Deborah’s hand. “She drove me worse than that sergeant we had in the Rough Riders, I promise you! I got so sick of her that more than once I just about cried and told her to leave me alone.”

“I think he would have whipped her if he could,” Belle added. “But she never gave him a minute’s rest.” Her eyes were fond as she looked at Deborah, adding, “She never gave up on him—and she never stopped quoting scriptures about how God is able to do anything.”

Aaron stared at Lewis, and suddenly a glimmer of hope came to him like a fresh breeze. “What’s happened, Lewis?” he demanded.

“Look at this!” Lewis stared down at his legs, and Aaron followed his gaze. He saw the right foot suddenly move spasmodically—and then it came up from the bed! Lewis gasped with the effort, but cried out, “Now the other one!” The left foot moved, and then Lewis drew his legs up, his face contorted with the effort. He looked at Aaron and whispered, “I can
feel
them, Aaron! I can actually
feel
my legs and feet!”

Tears sprang to Aaron’s eyes, and he was not ashamed. He leaned forward and the two brothers embraced. Gail was weeping openly, and she turned to Deborah, who reached out and held her as she too wept with joy.

Jeb was watching with startled eyes, and when Aaron finally straightened up and turned to him, he saw the tears and thought,
He said it was all right to cry!

What followed was a wild time, with Lewis and Deborah telling the story of Lewis’s slow recovery, both of them insisting it was a miracle from God. Then Aaron had to recount
the story of how he’d gotten saved—and Aaron kept his hand on Jeb’s shoulder the whole time he was talking.

Finally, when Gail and Aaron had a moment alone, she said, “Well, Aaron, we needed a pair of miracles. We’ve got the first one.”

Aaron nodded, his eyes bright with hope. “Yes—and now we’ll trust God for the second one!”

****

Simon Carwell was not a man who believed in miracles all that much. He was a man with a calculating look, one who had a driving energy to accomplish what he set out to do. He’d come to the Winslow home early in the morning the day after Aaron and Gail had arrived to meet his newest and youngest client. Mark had called the two of them into the library, and they hurriedly located Jeb, who was helping out in the stables. “Come along, Jeb,” Aaron said. “It’s time to meet your lawyer.”

When they entered the high-ceilinged room lined with books, Jeb looked nervously at the short man almost concealed behind a cloud of smoke that rose from a cigar he was smoking. “This is Mr. Carwell, Jeb,” Mark said quickly. Mark introduced the three to the lawyer, who rose and nodded with a jerky motion.

“Sit down, Jeb,” he said in a deep voice that seemed to rise from his chest. “I want to hear about the robbery.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Jeb’s face was pale as he told his story. He didn’t spare himself, but confessed that he’d known that Tug Devaney was a tough one.

“Did you know there was going to be a robbery?” Carwell inquired. He had a pair of intense brown eyes—deep-set and bright—that seemed to stare straight through the young boy.

“I . . . heard one of the guys say they were going to make a haul.”

“But did he say they were going to rob the warehouse?”

“No, sir—but I guess I knew—”

“Don’t say that!” Carwell spoke sharply, his eyes unblinking. “You were never
told
by anyone that there was going to be a robbery. Is that true?”

“Yes, sir.”

Carwell went over the story three times, probing and asking questions. Finally he leaned back and puffed on his cigar. “I guess that’s all I need from you right now, young man.” He studied Jeb carefully, then said, “You and I are going into town. When we get there we’ll go to the police and you’ll be questioned.”

“Will I have to . . . go to jail?” asked Jeb nervously.

“I expect not. Do you know what ‘bail’ is?” asked the short man as he took another puff of his cigar.

“No, sir.”

“Bail is money that somebody puts up to be sure you don’t run away.”

“I don’t have any money,” said Jeb, worry creasing his brow.

“I’ll take care of that, Jeb,” Mark Winslow broke in. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can Gail go with me?” Jeb asked.

Carwell shook his head. “I think it would be better if just you and I go in—and Mr. Winslow.” Carwell saw the anxiety on the face of Gail Summers and said gently, “I’ll take care of the boy. It may take a while, but I’m sure he’ll be released on bail. There’s nothing you can do at the station.”

“You’ll bring him to us as soon as possible?” It was Aaron who spoke up, and both Gail and Jeb warmed at his use of the word
us.
Gail felt his hand on her arm, and when Carwell agreed, she thought,
What would I do if it weren’t for Aaron?

“I want a word with you, Mr. Winslow,” Carwell said, and when the room had cleared, he said at once, “I think you ought to know something, Mark. Didn’t want to bring it up in front of the boy.”

Mark was good at interpreting faces, and saw that Carwell was troubled. “What’s wrong, Simon?”

Carwell stared at his cigar for a moment, then put his eyes
on Winslow. “The case against the boy is weak—but I’m more worried about who the judge is.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, it’ll be Judge Cross handling the case—Albert Cross.”

“I never heard of him,” said Mark, waiting for Carwell to state his concerns.

“He handles mostly juvenile cases—and they call him ‘The Hanging Judge.’ ”

“I see.” Mark studied the lawyer for moment, his mind working. “Is he a bad judge, Simon?”

“I don’t say that,” Carwell said slowly. “He’s got a hard job. Lots of tough ones come out of the city, some of them killers at the age of sixteen or even younger. He’s seen some go free to rob and kill who should have been locked up. That’s made Cross a little harder than most.” Carwell puffed nervously on his cigar, sending clouds of purple smoke spiraling into the air. He gave Mark Winslow a hard look, adding, “I’d feel a lot better if it were any other judge than this one, Mark.”

“Let’s have it all, Simon.”

“Well, Jeb’s been positively identified at the scene of the crime. Devaney’s been caught, and two others. They’ve all confessed—made a deal with the D.A. To Judge Cross, it will be plain that Jeb was there—and he’ll have only the boy’s word that he didn’t know there was going to be a robbery. I think he’ll sentence him to reform school. About all we can shoot for is a short sentence.”

Winslow thought hard, then shook his head. “I don’t like it, Simon. I want you to fight for the boy.”

“I can’t guarantee anything—”

“Do your best.” Mark’s face was set, then he looked at Carwell solemnly and said, “We’ll do all that men can do—and then we’ll trust God to do what He can do.”

Carwell lifted one heavy eyebrow, studying the face of the man before him. “I expect He’ll have to do most of it, Mark,” he said finally as he turned to stub out his cigar.

****

Gail held to Jeb all the way out to the carriage, and when she kissed him, she whispered, “I love you—and so does Aaron.”

Jeb nodded, his lips drawn tightly together. He looked up at Aaron, who suddenly bent and hugged him. “I’ll be right with you, Jeb,” he whispered.

Carwell got into the carriage, and Jeb kept his eyes on Aaron and Gail until they were on their way. He looked at the lawyer, who was deep in thought, and fear rose in Jeb. Then he remembered the time by the campfire when Aaron had held him. The words came to him,
I’ll be the first one you see on visiting day—the first one you’ll see when you come out the gate.

Jeb swallowed hard and clenched his fists tightly together as the carriage made its way toward the station. And as he sat in the train later, he was still hearing the sound of Aaron’s voice. . . .

****

Lewis caught at Deborah’s hand, held it fast, then said, “I have to talk to you.”

The house was quiet, for it was late. Everyone had already gone to bed, but Lewis had insisted that Deborah stay with him. She had formed the habit of reading to him, and he had insisted that she read from
Bleak House,
one of Dickens’ novels. He had claimed that he was too excited to sleep, and she had, in fact, been pleased to spend some more time with him.

But as she closed the book, saying, “I must go—it’s late,” he had seized her hand and pulled her back. Now her eyes opened wide as he put his arm around her and pulled down. Overbalanced, she toppled forward, but he caught her and pulled her onto his lap. “What . . . what in the world—!”

“I want to talk to you,” Lewis said. He held on, smelling the lilac scent she used, and grinned as she struggled to stand
up. “Don’t try to get away. It would be a scandal. Wouldn’t Mr. Hearst love to have a story like that? It would make front-page news—’War Hero Kisses Nurse in His Bedroom!’ ”

Deborah tried to move, but he held her fast. She turned to him indignantly and said, “I’m surprised at you, Lewis. I thought you were a gentleman!”

“You were wrong,” he shrugged. “Whatever made you think that?”

“Why—you’ve never tried to—force yourself on me,” Deborah faltered. “Please, Lewis—let me go!”

“I will—after about forty or fifty years.”

Deborah was struggling hard to pull away—but his words caught at her. She turned to face him, and there was a tension in her. “Why would you say a thing like that?”

Lewis loosened his grip, reached up, and touched her soft hair. “You have lovely hair, Deborah,” he said quietly. “I’ve always been partial to it.” He saw that her lips were half-parted in astonishment, and he pulled her head forward. Her lips were soft, yet he felt the tension that flowed from her. There was a surrender in her—but not a complete one. When he lifted his head, he said simply, “I love you, Deborah. I want to marry you and live with you the rest of my life.”

Deborah seemed to freeze, to turn to stone. The shock of his words rolled over her, and she said, “You don’t know—what I’ve been, Lewis.”

“Before we met? Doesn’t count!”

“Yes, it
does!
Let me up.” He released her, and she turned her back on him, struggling to find words to put to her turbulent thoughts. Finally she straightened and turned to him. “I loved a man once, or thought I did. . . .”

Lewis listened as Deborah spoke, and when she was finished, he reached out and took her hand, saying gently, “I love you, Deborah. I haven’t led a perfect life—but we have to take each other where we are. We must walk in God’s love and His forgiveness. I’ve always admired your courage—and now the past is over. The one question is—do you love me?”

Deborah felt a surge of joy, of full release. “Yes! I love you!” At her words, Lewis seized her and pulled her back on his lap, kissing her thoroughly. Finally they began to laugh. “I’m pretty unromantic—but you just wait! I’ll carry you over the threshold!” Holding her tight, he whispered, “I’ll always love you!”

Deborah could not keep the tears back as she held him tightly. To her it was like coming home, and she knew that she was at last secure—secure in the arms of a man who would not leave her, but would remain at her side for the rest of her life. Lifting her face, she studied his features, then smiled, “We’ll always have each other, Lewis. Nothing matters but that!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

An Odd Sort of Trial!

Aaron looked at the new suit that Jeb was wearing for the trial and nodded. “You look fine, Jeb. Clothes make the man.”

The three of them were sitting in a small side room reserved for those to be tried, just outside the courtroom. They’d come early and were anxiously waiting for the hearing to begin. Gail was sitting close to Jeb and tried to smile. “You look real nice—almost grown up.”