matters to me.”
Other than his initial protestation of guilt, not one word about his innocence. Not one word about the heinous crime he’d been accused of. In fact, he stood there calmly as though he’d been expecting this to happen all along.
What kind of man was Mitch Taylor? Had she been wrong in her instincts about him?
As she watched the deputy put handcuffs on him and lead him down the street, Polly couldn’t imagine that she’d been wrong. But why was he so meekly accepting this injustice?
Or was it as the deputy had suggested, and Mitch had just snapped?
Mitch stopped, then turned to look at her. “Go. I’m counting on you.”
The deputy and his men led Mitch away, and while Polly wanted to run after them, she did the only thing she could do—she ran back to the parsonage and back to the Taylor children.
When she arrived at the house, Uncle Frank was waiting for her on the porch.
“Where’s Mitch?”
Polly started spilling the details of Mitch’s arrest, hoping that somewhere in her words, something would come out that made sense. Before she got very far in her story, Will Lawson, Mary’s husband and a deputy in Leadville, arrived at the house. Both men were silent until Polly finished, but from the expressions on their faces, she knew the situation wasn’t good.
Finally, Will spoke. “I’ve heard of the case. Grisly murder. Everyone figured the husband did it. He got tired of being cuckolded and finally did something about it. The biggest surprise in the whole thing is why he didn’t do it when their youngest daughter was born. You don’t get much more proof of infidelity than that.”
Little Isabella’s face popped into Polly’s head. “He wouldn’t have killed her over that. He loves Isabella. He loves all of his children.”
Will shrugged. “His children, maybe. But I don’t know a man alive who would put up with that kind of behavior from his wife.”
“So you’re proclaiming him guilty without having all the facts? What kind of lawman are you?”
A grin spread across Will’s face. “The kind who knows better than to mess with Polly MacDonald. You’re right, though. I don’t have all the facts. But since he’s now closely tied to the family, I aim to find them.”
Polly’s shoulders relaxed. Despite her lack of trust in most men, she had to admit that one of the few men she trusted explicitly was Will Lawson. He’d proven his honor time and again, and his thirst for justice was unequaled. If anyone could help Mitch, Will could.
Her conscience nagged her as she remembered Mitch’s instruction not to have anyone help him. But she’d seen his pride in accepting help with the children and knew that getting Will on the case was the right thing to do.
Until Will looked at her with such intensity, she thought it would melt her on the spot. No wonder criminals feared him.
“But if he’s guilty, Polly, I will see him brought to justice.”
She wouldn’t consider that possibility. Mitch had to be innocent. She couldn’t be wrong about a man and his criminal involvement twice. Mitch seemed too...
Memories of how Tom had fooled her rattled in her brain. He’d seemed incapable of a crime as well, and look where that had gotten her.
“What will happen to the children if he is?” Polly couldn’t help the question that escaped her.
Will shrugged. “Either family will take them, or they’ll go to an orphanage. But don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re not stuck with them.”
A blur of dark braids flew at her.
“We will not go to an orphanage!” Clara’s fists pummeled Polly in the stomach. “I trusted you! You are not sending us away!”
Polly wrapped her arms around the little girl. “No, I’m not sending you away. I promise. Even if it means staying with you for the rest of my life, you will not be sent away.”
As Clara sobbed, Polly could only pray that she wouldn’t have to make good on the promise. Yes, these children had already burrowed into her heart. But there was still a part of Polly that desperately yearned to be free. Had she just trapped herself?
“It’s time for bed,” Polly called as she picked up a discarded sock from the floor. Mitch had been gone for over a week, but his brother, Andrew, said he’d heard from him and that everything was fine.
Fine. How could anything be fine when a man was in jail? Even Will had little to report on the case, a fact which only made the wait even more maddening.
Four scowling faces looked up from the game of marbles they’d been playing. Isabella, sweet Isabella, toddled over to her.
Louisa glared at her. “We aren’t finished with our game.”
“I believe I warned you when you began the game that you would not have enough time to complete it. If you like, you can leave everything out and finish in the morning.”
“That’s not fair!” Rory swiped his arm across the elaborate setup, ruining any hope that the children could continue in the morning.
Polly sighed. The longer Mitch was gone, the angrier the children became. Andrew’s explanation for their father’s absence wasn’t sitting well with any of the children because after so many days, “your father will be home soon” sounds an awful lot like a lie.
“It’s a shame you ruined such a lovely game.” Polly ruffled the boy’s head, and he shied away. “Off to bed now, and in the morning, you can help with the others’ chores, since you spoiled their fun.”
Clara smirked and flounced out of her seat. “I don’t mind going to bed. Because in the morning, we’ll wake up, and Papa will be home.”
“He will?” Thomas looked up with such innocent brown eyes that Polly wanted nothing more than to agree with Clara. “Papa’s never left us before. What if Papa never comes back, like Mummy?”
“Papa is nothing like her,” Louisa said, picking up the marbles. “He’ll be back, you’ll see.”
“Hey! Those are mine!” Rory snatched at Louisa’s hand.
“I won them, fair and square.”
“I was going to win them back if she hadn’t told us to go to bed.”
“Well, you didn’t, and now that you’ve ruined the game, they’re mine,” Louisa said triumphantly, holding up a marble with deep blue flecks. “And this one sure is a beauty. I’ve been admiring it ever since Uncle Andrew gave it to you.”
“Not all of those marbles are yours, Louisa.” Clara pointed at some of the marbles in her pile. “You’re just taking advantage of Rory’s foul temper to gain more for yourself.”
“You’re just a sore loser.”
As the four children’s squabbling grew louder, Isabella began to wail. As she often did when the others fought. Polly pressed her fingers to her temple and rubbed gently before speaking.
“Give me the marbles.”
Immediately, the voices went from accusing each other to what a horrid nanny Polly was. She smiled and held out her hand.
“All of them. We’ll sort out what belongs to who in the morning. Now go get ready for bed, and I’ll be in to hear your prayers in a moment.”
Thomas was the first to comply. He hadn’t yet found the will toward the level of defiance the older children had. After depositing his marbles in Polly’s outstretched hand, he made his way to the bedroom he shared with the other children.
The