Under the Desert Sky (32 page)

“There's nobody here by that name.”

“Wet!” Will shouted as he came barreling through the house.

“Come back here, you little brat!” a woman called as she chased after him.

“Myrtle, you were supposed to keep that kid out of sight!” Chauncey Evans said.

Will darted around Evans's legs and Christian picked him up.

“Wet, you've come to get me! I knew you would!” Will wrapped his arms around him. “I want to go to my house.”

“Then that's where we'll go,” Christian said.

“I don't think so,” Evans said. “I was entrusted to care for this child, and I'm afraid I can't let him go with strangers.”

“It's obvious we're not strangers to Will. Let's go home.” Christian turned and started down the steps of the porch.

“Mister, I don't know who you are, but I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

Christian heard the distinct double clicking sound of a hammer pulled back on a revolver. He turned around to see Evans pointing a gun at him.

“Put that kid down now or I'll shoot you where you stand,” Evans said with an angry growl.

In a lightning-quick move, July wrapped his big hand around Evans's gun hand, squeezing down so hard that the man cried out in pain. When July eased his grip, Evans dropped the pistol.

“You son of a bitch! You broke my fingers!” he shouted, grabbing his wounded hand with his other. “Just you wait, you'll pay for this.”

Christian set Will down, then picked up the revolver, which was now lying on the sidewalk. Opening the cylinder, he removed all the shells and dropped them in his pocket before he handed the empty pistol back to Evans.

“Good day, Mr. Evans,” Christian said.

“Take me home, Wet. Please take me home.” Will reached up to grab Christian's hand, and the three of them walked back to the buggy with Evans screaming invectives at their backs.

•  •  •

“Will!” Phoebe shouted happily, running out to the buggy when Christian returned. She had her arms open and was laughing, Will stood up in the buggy, then fell into them.

“I'm so happy to have you back home!” Phoebe smothered him with kisses.

“I didn't like that man, Mama.”

“I don't blame you, honey, I don't like him either.”

“That man was going to shoot Wet, but July made him drop his gun.”

“What? Christian, is that right? Did Chauncey actually try to shoot you?”

“Let's just say that he attempted to prevent us from taking Will, but July found a way to dissuade him.”

“Oh! I never dreamed he'd take it to that extreme.”

“No harm was done,” Christian said, “except Mr. Evans may not be using his hand for a few days.”

“Oh!” Despite herself, Phoebe laughed. “Then he got just what he deserves. I only wish it'd been Frank. But it's over now and Will is home.”

“And do you know what I think he needs? Cookies and milk,” Christian said.

“Then he shall have them,” Gwen said. “We made the kind you like best.”

“Are they oatmeal?”

“Yes, with currents,” Ina Claire said as she and Will ran toward the house.

•  •  •

As they sat around the table, Will recounted how Frank had come to Prinsen House to get him. “I told Uncle Frank that you wouldn't like it if you came to get me and I wasn't there. Hannah tried to stop him, but he pushed her down.” Will motioned to show how Frank had done it.

“When Mr. Frank brought Will to the Evanses, all that boy could say was ‘I want to go home,' ” Crecy said. “When I found out who he belonged to, I told Miss Myrtle I'd bring him back to you, but Mr. Chauncey told me to mind my own business. I knew that wasn't right. That's why I came here, even if I had to walk.”

“And I can't tell you how much I appreciate that, Crecy.”

Crecy flashed a broad smile. “I remember when we both worked for Miss Juliet, how when she fussed at me you'd take up for me. We were friends then.”

Phoebe walked over to embrace her. “What do you mean
then
? We're still friends.”

“Crecy, you said you didn't want to go back to the Evanses,” Gwen said. “Do you want a job?”

“Yes, ma'am, I expect I need to work.”

“How would you like to work out here in the country? Just the other day, Katie said we needed a full-time cook over at the ostrich farm, and it seems to me like you would be a good candidate for the job.”

“That's a wonderful idea,” Phoebe said. “I can vouch for her cooking—except I seem to recall she has a little trouble with rarebit.”

“You would remember that.”

Both women laughed together.

At that moment there was a loud knock, and Phoebe went to the door. Three armed men were standing on the porch, and each was wearing a badge.

“Mrs. Sloan, we're looking for a big black man who we think works for you. Do you know if he's here?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“May we look around?”

“I . . .”

“We don't need your permission: we have a warrant to search the premises.”

“There's no need for that.” July stepped up behind Phoebe.

“Man oh man, this is a big one, all right, Enoch,” one of the other deputies said. “I'd say he fits the description, wouldn't you?”

“Were you at the home of Chauncey Evans today?” the deputy asked.

“We both were.” Christian joined Phoebe and July. “Can you tell me what this is about?”

“It's about assault and battery, and about kidnapping.”

“Nobody kidnapped anybody,” Phoebe said, “unless it was Frank Sloan, who took Will without my permission. He's the one who took him to the Evanses', and I sent these two gentlemen to get Will back.”

“Ma'am, we have a warrant to arrest this man,” the deputy said. “It's not our duty to decide whether he's guilty or not. But it is our duty to bring him back to Sheriff Sturgeon.”

“How dare you accuse July of kidnapping? I told you, I asked him to go get my son.”

“It's all right. I'll go with them.” July looked at the three deputies. “But I'll not let you tie me to a whipping post.”

“A whipping post? What are you talking about? I don't even know what that is,” the deputy said. “All we're going to do is take you to jail. What happens to you after that will be up to the judge.”

“Don't worry, July, we'll get a lawyer,” Phoebe said. “We'll get this all straightened out.”

“Put your hands behind your back,” a deputy said.

“Do you have to handcuff him?” Phoebe asked.

“Ma'am, you can see what a big man he is.” The deputy shook his head. “If he was to try anything, why, all three of us couldn't bring him down. We'd have to shoot him.”

“No!” Will yelled. “No, no, no. July is my friend. Don't take him away.” Will wrapped his arms around July's legs.

July bent down to Will. “I won't be gone for long, but while I'm gone, I'm leaving you in charge of Wapi. Make sure he has water and he gets alfalfa. Can you do that for me?”

Will nodded.

July stood and then put his hands behind his back. One of the deputies slipped on the handcuffs.

Christian patted his friend on his back as the three deputies led him out to an enclosed and barred wagon.

Christian had a sinking feeling as he watched the wagon roll away. His thoughts went back to their arrival in New York, where July was treated as second-class. He was a foreigner and a black man. Phoebe had said, “We'll get this all straightened out.” Christian hoped she was right.

“J
uly? His name is July?” Clifford Frazier asked. Frazier was the ex–attorney general of the Arizona Territory, and he'd represented Yhomas when he established his ostrich farm.

“July is the only name I've ever heard him called,” Yhomas Prinsen said.

“He's got to have a last name. Can you come up with something?”

Christian smiled. “He does have another name. When we were coming through Ellis Island, he registered as Julius Van Koopmans.”

“Van Koopmans,” Yhomas chuckled. “Of course, that makes sense.”

Frazier looked at Yhomas with a questioning expression. “Is there something significant about the name Van Koopmans that I should be aware of?”

“Just that she's a wonderful lady and a friend to us both,” Yhomas said.

“A friend to all three of us,” Christian said. “July worked for her for close to twenty years.”

“All right.” Frazier wrote the name on a piece of paper. “As of now, I am officially the counselor of record for Mr. Julius Van Koopmans.”

•  •  •

Christian, Phoebe, and Will, the Bucknells and the Prinsens, were all in the courtroom, sitting on the left side of the gallery. Chauncey Evans and his wife, along with both sets of Sloans, were there as well, and they sat on the right side. July was before the bar, sitting at the defense table with Clifford Frazier.

Judge Johnstone looked at the charge sheet that was before him. “Is counsel for the defense present?”

Frazier stood. “I am, Your Honor.”

“Prosecution?”

The district attorney stood. “T. W. Flannigan, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Frazier, I've been informed that your client has waived trial by jury and wishes his case to be heard by the bench.”

“That is correct, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Van Koopmans, are you aware that in forfeiting a trial by jury you are agreeing to abide by my decision?”

“Yes, sir, Your Honor.”

“I object!” Frank shouted. “I think a case this important should be heard by a jury.”

Judge Johnstone hammered his gavel loudly on the sound block and pointed to Frank. “Mr. Sloan. You have no standing in this case. You are forbidden, sir, from speaking at all, except from the witness stand, and then only in response to questions from counsel. One more outburst from you, and I'll have you removed from this courtroom until such time as your presence is required as a witness. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” a chastened Frank replied.

“Mr. Prosecutor, make your case.”

Flannigan stood. “Your Honor, this case consists of two charges against the accused—one for assault and battery, and one for kidnapping. I ask that the charges be severed as to verdicts.”

“Do you have any objection, Mr. Frazier?” Judge Johnstone asked.

“No objection, Your Honor.”

“Very well, you may proceed, Mr. Flannigan.”

“Prosecution calls Frank Sloan to the witness stand.”

Frank glared at Phoebe as he went to the witness stand and was sworn in.

“Mr. Sloan, did you remove Will Sloan, a boy of four years and your nephew by blood, from the Prinsen House?”

“I did.”

“Why did you take him?”

“I found him to be totally unsupervised, running loose on an ostrich farm. And because my own brother was killed by an ostrich, I was naturally worried about him. My late brother's wife has, by her scandalous behavior, shown herself to be an unfit mother, and I was preparing to sue for guardianship of Will on that alone. . . . But when I found Will to be abandoned by his mother, I felt that, for my nephew's safety, I had no choice but to move him.”

“Where did you take him?”

“I took him to the home of Chauncey Evans, my father-in-law, and a gentleman of impeccable reputation.”

“Thank you. I have no further questions.”

“Mr. Frazier?”

Frazier stood, but he didn't approach Frank. “Mr. Sloan, where was Will when you took him?”

“I've already answered that question. He was at the Prinsen farm.”

“Was he outside, among the ostriches?”

“Well, no.”

“Isn't it true that he was in the house, being looked after by Hannah Bucknell?”

“She's nothing but a child herself.”

“She is fourteen years old, and it's standard and acceptable procedure for young ladies, even younger than fourteen, to look after children. In addition, it was broad daylight and they were in the house. Do you know why he was there?”

“Yes. There was a fire at Phoebe's farm.”

“Thank you. No further questions. But, Your Honor, I reserve the right to recall this witness.”

The next witness called was Chauncey Evans, who, under questioning and at the prosecutor's urging, showed his bandaged hand to the judge.

“How many fingers were broken?”

“Three,” Evans said angrily. “That black son of a bitch grabbed my hand and squeezed so hard I thought I was going to pass out from the pain.”

The judge rapped his gavel on the sound block again. “Watch your language, sir.”

“I'm sorry, Your Honor.”

“Did you turn Will over to them?”

“No, why should I? I'd never seen either one of them before. I know that Will was my son-in-law's blood nephew, and he left him with me for safekeeping. I felt obligated to do just what he asked me to do.”