God Is The Strength Of My Heart
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After dealing with what had happened in the past weeks, I felt as though I was ready to face anything that came my way. And so it was not a surprise when I went back into town and found out about another murder. It wasn’t until after I’d finished reading the newspaper report and saw how many people were involved in this case that I realized there was one thing missing.
“I don’t see where you’re going to find anyone for this,” I said. “This is too big of an investigation.”
The sheriff looked up from his desk and gave me a smile. “We’ve got everything we need right here in town.” He pointed at a stack of newspapers on the corner of his desk. They were all connected by a ribbon.
He picked up a newspaper and handed it over. It was dated June 27th—the day before we arrived in town.
“These are all the stories we received last week regarding the murder of John Dunlap. You’ll notice most of them have been filed under ‘Police Report’ or ‘Suspects.’ But we didn’t get any of those until now because they hadn’t been delivered yet. Now let’s take a look at the dates on each of these articles.”
When he flipped through the pages, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Every single article mentioned the name of someone who had either been killed or committed suicide or disappeared. There were no names listed anywhere else. No mention of how or why these deaths occurred. Nothing! Just vague references to something bad happening around town.
And then there was a pattern to these killings: the victims were always related to the men accused of killing them. In some cases, the accused were even friends or family members of the victims. Most of the men arrested seemed like good citizens and none appeared to be guilty of any crime. However, there was one exception.
It took us less than an hour to read through all the articles. By the time we stopped, both of us had our suspicions confirmed. We knew exactly whom we were looking for.
“So how do we go about finding him?” I asked.
“That’s simple enough. We start with everyone named in the reports and follow the trail wherever it leads. If we can’t find him, we try again.”
“You think we’ll actually find him? That seems impossible.”
Sheriff Hill nodded. “There isn’t much evidence against him, but we’ll keep trying until we catch him red-handed or dead. Or if nothing else works, we’ll bring him in death.”
For the first time since we started searching for the killer, I smiled. This was a new beginning. A fresh start. With God’s help, maybe we could solve this case. Maybe we could make a difference in people’s lives.
With renewed confidence, I left the sheriff’s office and headed toward the telegraph office. When I walked inside, I saw two women talking to the operator. One of the women was wearing a blue dress while the other wore black. As soon as she caught sight of me, her eyes lit up and she hurried toward me. She looked familiar but I couldn’t place her.
As she approached, I recognized her immediately.
“Mrs. Shippen!”
She stepped closer and hugged me tightly. I put my arms around her waist and returned the hug. “How wonderful to finally meet you,” Mrs. Shippen said. “Everyone has been telling me such nice things about you.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “But please call me Emma.”
Her gaze shifted down to the badge hanging around my neck. She gasped. “What happened to your hair?”
“Well…” I glanced at the badge. “Someone cut off my braids.”
A second woman came rushing out of the back room and joined us. She was shorter and rounder than Mrs. Shippen. Her hair was short and curly. Unlike the others, she didn’t wear a dress or hat. Instead, she had on trousers and a shirt.
“Oh, dear!” Mrs. Shippen exclaimed. “Why did you cut off your beautiful braids?”
“I’m not sure. I just woke up and they were gone.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get them back.” She turned to me. “Would you mind coming outside with us?”
Before I could answer, the other woman spoke. “Please tell me that you haven’t cut off your hair. How horrible would that be?”
“Not horrible at all,” I answered. “It’s just a wig.”
They stared at me.
“It’s true,” I added. “I lost my hair during childbirth.”
“But… how long ago was that?” Mrs. Shippen asked. “Your hair should never grow back.”
“It grows slowly, but yes, it will eventually grow back.”
“Who is that man standing behind you?” The taller woman asked.
I glanced past her shoulder to see Mr. Shippen standing at the door. “My husband. My father-in-law-to-be.”
Mrs. Shippen squealed and clapped her hands together. Then she gave me another hug. After several seconds, she let go.
The taller woman also reached out to touch me. But before she could, Mrs. Shippen grabbed her hand.
“This is Miss Emma Deveraux. Emma, this is Maryanne Shippen. She owns this telegraph office and has become very close friends with us over the last few months. And this is her sister-in-law, Kate Shippen. They are my best friends in this entire world. I hope someday they feel the same way about you.”
We exchanged smiles. I still wasn’t quite used to being called “Miss.”
Mr. Shippen shook my hand and introduced himself. He was quiet and polite. His voice sounded older than his wife’s. There was something sad about his eyes. It made me want to give him a reassuring smile.
“Did you know my mother?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “Is she still alive?”
“Yes. In fact, she’s expecting twins next month.”
He looked surprised. “Congratulations! I wish I could have known her.”
After Mrs. Shippen talked to the operator, I went into the back room to look for her daughter. I found her sitting alone near one of the windows. I sat across from her.
“Hello, Katie,” I said. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Fine now that I’ve met someone like you.”
“You mean a detective? Someone who helps people find murderers?”
Katie shrugged. “I guess so. That’s what detectives do, isn’t it?”
“That’s exactly what detectives do.” I paused. “And I’d really love to help you.”
Katie laughed nervously. “Me too.”
***
Maryanne and Mrs. Shippen stopped by our house after supper. Both women seemed happy. They wanted to show me their new home. We climbed onto their buggy and rode toward the edge of town.
When we arrived at the Shippen property, I saw that the house was three stories tall. A wide porch surrounded the front entrance. Large trees dotted the landscape. The yard was immaculate. Flowers grew along the walkway leading up to the porch.
“Come inside,” Mrs. Shippen said as she held open the front door. “Let me take your coat.”
Once inside, I stood frozen while I took in the grandeur. “Wow,” I whispered. “Where are we going to put two more children?”
“Oh, don’t worry. We won’t be having any more kids.”
“Why not?” I asked. “I thought you liked babies.”
“How can you say such things? You’re the only baby we need.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “I think we should move upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“There are plenty of rooms on each floor.”
“Then why don’t you stay here tonight?” Maryanne asked.
“If you insist, then I will.”
“Good.”
As we walked down a long hallway, I noticed there were paintings hanging on the walls. Each one had an old-fashioned painting frame around it. Most of them showed scenes of family members or landscapes. One large portrait depicted a man in full regalia.
“What kind of person does that?” I wondered aloud.
“His name is Lord Pembroke. He’s a distant relative of ours. We haven’t seen much of him since he moved to England years ago.”
“Does he own this house?” I asked.
“Sort of,” Maryanne replied. “Our great-grandfather left this place to him when he died. But he never came back.”
“Why did he leave it to him if he didn’t visit?”
“Because Lord Pembroke helped our grandfather save this land from the railroad.”
“Lord Pembroke!” I exclaimed. “Now I remember reading about him in history class.”
“Of course, you would. He saved thousands of families from losing everything.”
“So he’s sort of a hero?”
“Absolutely.”
At the end of the hall was a large staircase with a small landing. Three bedrooms lined either side of the corridor. Two doors opened off the landing. At the far end of the hallway was another door. When Maryanne tried opening it, the knob wouldn’t turn. “It’s locked.”
Mrs. Shippen stepped closer to the wall where the door was located. She pressed her palm against it and gave it a hard push. After several tries, she succeeded in unlocking it. “Sorry about that. Mr. Shippen must have forgotten to lock it before coming out. Let me get the key.”
A moment later she returned holding the key. “Here you go.”
I handed the key over to Maryanne and followed her downstairs. Once we reached the bottom, Maryanne turned to face me. “Do you mind taking care of the children while we unpack some things?”
“Not at all.”
We spent most of the evening unpacking boxes. By the time we finished, my muscles ached. I decided to retire early.
Maryanne offered to share her room with me, but I refused. I knew I’d be better off sleeping alone. I made myself comfortable on the sofa.
Maryanne joined me half an hour later. As soon as she closed the door behind her, I heard her murmur, “Thank God you’re here.”
“Don’t thank me yet. There could still be trouble.”
“Yes, I know. But now I feel safe knowing you’re here.”
“Sleep well, Maryanne,” I told her. Then I added quietly, “I’ll keep watch for a few hours until you fall asleep.”
After Maryanne fell asleep, I got up and went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. It wasn’t long before Maryanne appeared. She sat next to me at the table. Her eyes were puffy and red. They reminded me of a pair of rosebuds. “Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “The children were so excited to see us arrive. It took them forever to settle down.”
“You handled it very well. How many times did they cry?”
“Three or four times.”
“That’s good.”
“They also cried when their father first saw them.”
“Did you tell him you brought the children home because of the fire?”
“No,” she answered. “He wanted to know who would take responsibility for them. Who knows how long it might take for the law to find out what happened.”
“Well, if we do come under suspicion, I’m sure I can clear your name.”
“And mine too,” Maryanne said softly.
When we finally arrived in Denver, I felt like I was entering a new world. The city looked different than I remembered. Some buildings had been rebuilt; others had disappeared altogether. In fact, the entire city seemed larger.
Maryanne and I stopped by the station to pick up our baggage. From there, we drove north to Golden. Traffic grew thicker as we neared the city. All kinds of vehicles were on the road: horses and buggies, carriages, trucks, wagons, buses, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, and pedestrians. A steady stream of people crossed the street.
Many wore suits or dresses, which marked them as respectable citizens. Others wore casual clothing. Men wore hats and carried briefcases. Women wore skirts and blouses and held parasols.
By the time we parked at the hotel, the sky was growing dark. I thought about leaving Maryanne in the lobby, but I decided to accompany her upstairs. Once inside the room, I pulled out my suitcase and put away the contents.
Then I took a bath. The warm water felt wonderful after sitting on the train. I shaved and changed clothes. I planned to ask Maryanne to join me in bed, but instead, I found her standing near the window looking outside. “What are you doing?”
“Just admiring the view.”
A beautiful sunset spread across the western horizon. Above us lay a vast sea of darkness. Stars glittered overhead. The sight reminded me of the night I met Maryanne in San Francisco. This was the same sky I gazed upon then.
I never imagined I’d ever set foot in this part of America. Now that I was here, I couldn’t help thinking about the future. What kind of life would we live? Where would we go from here?
While Maryanne stood mesmerized by the scenery, I walked over and kissed her. We stayed like that for quite some time, lost in each other.
***
The following morning, Maryanne woke me up. “Good morning.”
I stretched. “It’s not morning anymore.”
“How long have you slept?”
“About six hours.”
“Your mother will be here soon,” Maryanne informed me. “Would you mind getting dressed?”
“Of course not.” I threw back the covers, swung my feet onto the floor, and headed for the bathroom.
As soon as I entered the bedroom, Maryanne grabbed my arm. “Wait! Don’t leave me alone with your family.”
“Why?” I asked. “Aren’t you used to dealing with them?”
“Maybe, but today is going to be different. Your brothers are already talking about me.”
“Then why don’t you stay with me while your mother comes up?”
“I don’t want to intrude. You’re all grown-up women now.”
“But you’re just a little boy yourself. Why won’t you let me protect you?”
“Because you need to learn to fend for yourself,” Maryanne said.
“Do you think I should hide somewhere and wait for someone else to bring you food?”
“Exactly!”
We both laughed. I knew Maryanne meant well, but I didn’t intend to let her spoil any surprises. When Maryanne left the room, I opened my suitcase and pulled out one of the outfits I bought in San Francisco. As I slipped into my pants, I tried to decide what color shirt I should wear. I chose blue—the same shade as the one I wore the day I first met Maryanne.
I came downstairs just as Maryanne’s mother knocked on the door. She came right in. Maryanne introduced us. Mrs. Beal looked at me curiously. After a few moments of silence, Maryanne spoke.
“Mother, this is Mr. James. He’s the man I told you about last month.”
Her mother studied me carefully. It wasn’t until I smiled that she finally responded. “Yes, he seems nice enough.”
Mrs. Beal went straight to the dining table and sat down. “You must be hungry,” she remarked. “Let’s eat before we get started.”
Maryanne followed her mother to the kitchen. While they worked together preparing breakfast, I brought my luggage into the living room. Soon the three of us sat around the table eating omelets, toast, bacon, fruit salad, and coffee. The meal was delicious, and it helped ease my nervousness.
Once we finished eating, Maryanne’s mother led us upstairs to the second floor. Her husband and two younger sons occupied the third floor. Maryanne gave me a quick tour of the house. On the second floor, Maryanne pointed out her brother’s room, then hers.
Both had an adjoining door to their parents’ rooms. I also saw her older sister’s room, which was next to the staircase. Finally, Maryanne showed me where the boys shared a room. Each twin bed had its own sideboard, desk, and wardrobe. All four beds were neatly made, ready for sleepers.
Next, Maryanne showed me a large room where her father kept his books, maps, and papers. His office was separated from the rest of the house by a tall bookcase. A short hallway connected the study to the parlor. Next, we visited the basement.
Here Maryanne explained how the building functioned: there was a coal furnace to heat the house during cold weather; hot water ran through pipes; electricity-powered light bulbs, fans, and other electrical devices; and gas heated the kitchen stove. In the backyard, Maryanne pointed out the small barn, chicken coop, garden patch, and flowerbeds.
After our tour, Maryanne took me down to the cellar. “This is where your clothes will be stored,” she explained. “Now come upstairs and meet everyone.”
“Where’s Father?”
“He’s working on a map in the study. Would you like to see him? Then we can talk to him afterward.”
“Sounds good.”
On the way up the stairs, I passed her father’s office. An open doorway revealed a dusty, wooden floor, bookshelves, and a desk. I peered inside, wondering if I would find my gun or revolver hidden beneath the desk.
But I never found them. Instead, I discovered a pile of newspapers and magazines scattered across the top. There were no books or documents. Only old newspaper clippings and yellowing photographs covered every inch of space.
One photo showed a group of men dressed in black suits, white shirts, and bow ties standing in front of a church. Another showed a crowd of people gathered outside of a courthouse. And yet another depicted a train car filled with men wearing army uniforms.
These were the only items in the office worth looking at. They seemed to have been left behind because of some unfinished business.
When I reached the second floor, Maryanne led me to a room that reminded me of the library in the Chicago Museum. Shelves lined the walls, and shelves were stacked against the opposite wall. This was her father’s reading room.
The only item I recognized was a copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. I picked it up and flipped through the pages. Just as I suspected, there wasn’t much interest here. So far, I hadn’t seen anything useful in the Beals’ home.
Maryanne asked me to sit while she talked to her father. He appeared to be busy writing something down, so Maryanne decided to call him later. We agreed to visit again after lunch. With Maryanne leading the way, we walked back down the stairs to the first floor.
As soon as we stepped out of the house, I spotted the Beal family horse-drawn buggy. Maryanne mounted the driver’s seat. Her father jumped aboard. Before he could start the engine, Maryanne called him over to say goodbye. He smiled warmly and shook hands with me.
Maryanne said goodbye to her siblings, and the whole family waved goodbye. Maryanne drove off while her father and brothers waited for us in the street. As I watched them drive away, I thought about the time when I’d lived in Chicago.
Back then, I’d always looked forward to riding in the carriage with my sisters, but now I felt sad. For some reason, I missed the times when I was little and played with my sisters. I remembered the days when my sisters and I spent hours playing dolls, jumping rope, skipping stones, climbing trees, running races, and hiding in the woods. Now all those memories seemed lost—gone forever.
The End