Chapter Thirty-Five

Y Knot? What was Francis thinking? Most teachers went through a two-year course at a normal school to receive a teaching certificate. They were proficient in their usage of the English language, could do their sums as well, and had a firm knowledge of the history of the Americas and Europe. What did she have to offer? Other than being the brightest student in the school, the oldest female, and an avid reader, devouring most books in a few days. Teaching here in Priest’s Crossing was one thing, because everyone had known her for years. And not much money was provided for a salary, a pittance compared to most places. But going to a new town where she’d be expected to prove herself was quite another. Francis didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Well,” he said, searching her face. “Don’t you have confidence in yourself? Would the children in Y Knot be any different than the children here in Priest’s Crossing? I don’t understand.”

“Of course, you don’t.” That was all she had.

“Try me,” he responded.

He was working to understand her. A tolerant look in his eyes warmed her through. They’d only known each other three days. How on earth could he have a grasp on any of his feelings? They’d never had a disagreement of any merit. She knew nothing about his family, and he knew very little about hers. What kind of a man was Francis, anyway? His having feelings for her was something he must have made up in his head.

Could that be true? I do feel something for him. Why, I was thinking of him a few minutes ago, before he walked through the door. I’m not being honest with him, or even myself. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, but now I’m not so sure. “I haven’t had a formal education, Francis. Y Knot is so much larger than Priest’s Crossing. I’m sure the school council will want to advertise in larger cities. Interview applicants who have a teaching credential. That’s something I don’t have.”

The small smile pulling one side of his lips fell away. “That may be, but at least you should try. Be one of those applicants. Maybe your experience will outweigh their schooling. Maybe your living in the region will be a benefit. Did you have any experience helping the teacher before the year you took over?”

Excitement rippled through her. She hadn’t thought about those tasks. “Yes, I do. For the past three years, I’ve assisted Blanche with all aspects of the day. Even helping some of the children who were older than me.” Living here in Priest’s Crossing and farming the apple orchard was so settled in her mind, she’d never considered she could do something else. Did Francis know what he was talking about? “And I was in total charge of the first and second graders. Only two students, mind you, but I was the one who taught them their letters and how to read. Simple math too.” A small spurt of pride warmed her face. She’d done more than she realized. Perhaps Francis was right.

Francis glanced at the open door.

Did he have other obligations? “I’ll consider your words. About Y Knot,” she said.

Pride shone from his eyes. “That’s all I ask.”

She glanced at the chalkboard. She should finish here and get back home. Those apples wouldn’t jump off the branches themselves. If she left them too long, the birds would pick the trees clean and the ants as well. When the harvesting rolled around, time really was of the essence. “Thank you for stopping by, but I really should get back to work.”

“Actually, I have a question for you. One I’d like you to keep secret, for the time being.”

Suspicion filtered through her. Was this the real reason for his visit? Something about Luke McCutcheon, she was sure. He’d certainly taken a roundabout way of buttering her up for the information he wanted. Angry at herself for falling for his duplicity, she once again crossed her arms across her chest. “This concerns Blanche, doesn’t it? If your answer’s yes, I’m not guaranteeing anything.”

“In all honesty, I’m not sure who this concerns. Might be about her and maybe not. That’s what I’d like to figure out.” He gave her a long look. “But keeping quiet about what I show you could be a matter of life or death. After the trial, you can talk all you want.”

How could she refuse such an earnest look? “Yes, I’ll keep whatever we speak about between us. Go ahead, you can trust me.”

Nodding, he reached into his pocket and then held out his hand. “Have you ever seen this before?”

She stared. Neil Huntsman’s money clip rested in Francis’s palm. The intensity of the way he watched her told her this matter was of great importance, that his friend’s life depended on her answer.

“Ashley? Is this familiar?”

She didn’t want to incriminate anyone. Especially Neil Huntsman. She loved Tilly, and Tilly set the stars by her husband. And she was expecting. How could she point an accusing finger his way?

“Ashley?”

Still… if Neil was involved, keeping back the truth was a crime. Luke McCutcheon shouldn’t shoulder the blame. Had Neil been carrying on with Blanche and then killed Benson in his own cabin? That was difficult to believe. Neil and Tilly made such a beautiful couple. What would happen to Tilly, and the sweet, innocent babe, if Neil was taken away? Some other reason had to be why Francis was asking. Had she jumped to a crazy wrong conclusion?

“Your silence tells me everything. You know something.”

She looked into his face. She couldn’t tell a lie. “Yes. I believe Neil Huntsman is the proper owner.”

“Neil?” The name gushed out of Francis on a breath. He cut his gaze away to stare at the ceiling. Seemed he didn’t want to believe the fact either. “You sure?”

“Yes. I was in the store one day when he came in. Tilly was working. She mentioned she needed money for something she wanted to buy. He took that out of his pocket and peeled a dollar bill from the stack. I remember thinking he carried around a lot of money for a banker. You know, they’re always telling people to deposit their cash in the bank.”

He put the clip in her hand. “Could his have been something like this but different? We must be absolutely sure.”

Agitation gripped her as the cold metal weighted her palm. “Mixing up this design would be difficult. I’ve never seen one to match. The gun is so intricate. What does this mean, Francis? Do you think Neil killed Benson? That’s the only reason you’d ask.”

He arched a brow. “The fewer people who know, the better.”

“You trusted me enough to ask. Now I’m asking you…”

“The clip was wedged between the cushions at the Van Gleek cabin. To your knowledge, were Tilly and Blanche friends? Would there be any reason that she and Neil may have gone out to the cabin on a visit? If yes, then Neil may have lost the money clip then.”

“No, none at all. The two women hate each other. Blanche knows about Tilly’s past. She’s one of the only people in town that still holds her saloon girl days against her, and because of that treatment, Tilly detests Blanche. They aren’t in a room together for long. One or the other always ends up leaving.”

Francis frowned. “I was hoping for a different answer.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s guilty,” she insisted, still refusing to believe Neil and Blanche could have been involved in some way. “Maybe he went out to the cabin to talk with Benson. Maybe the two men had business. Maybe Benson was having money issues and had asked for a loan?”

“That’s possible, I guess.” Francis rubbed his hand over his chin. “Other than a loan, I can’t imagine what a banker and a freighter have to talk about. This case just keeps getting stranger by the day.”

He looked deep into her eyes causing a warm flutter in her tummy.

“I best be going,” he said low, holding her gaze. “Thanks again for your help.” He put the money clip back into his pocket and picked up his hat on his way out.

She watched him descend the steps and disappear out of sight. Concern for his safety pushed at her lungs. If McCutcheon wasn’t guilty, the real killer may be tracking Francis’s every move. As he came ever closer to the truth, would he, or she, act again? The possibility was frightening. Was Francis watching out for her safety, when in all reality, she should be watching out for his?