The Railwalkers

Chapter 2-2

“Brothers and sisters,” came his voice, “today I welcome you into the House of the Lord with sincere sadness as we recover from the horrible tragedy of last night. Our dear Mr. Charles Munts, who has been with Redrock for decades, has been taken from us.” Violet tensed at the name, and gripped the front ruffles of her dress. “Many of us remember him for his kindness, and his gentle nature. For never was there a man more faithful, or more devoted to a godly life.”

“I wonder…You really a virgin under all them skirts, Violet?”

“Today, we are brought together in remembrance of a man whose life touched all of us. And whose warm smile and generous spirit we shall not soon forget.”

“Maybe I should teach you a lesson like I taught your dear Mary.”

“And as we commemorate his spirit to Heaven, let us remember that we are but sheep—”

“A lady should know her place.”

“—and the Lord is our shepherd. And under His watch—”

“Pestilent w***e!”

“—we shall all be led into the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Violet stood upright, trembling in anger. Heads turned, a few whispering in surprise. Mrs. Donovan stared at her daughter, aghast. In a sharp, hushed voice, she spoke. “Sit down.” Violet pretended not to hear. Instead, she turned, and marched herself out of the church without a word.

Heading back home, Violet shed her Sunday dress in favor of her riding gear: a worn-out shirt, trousers with buttons down the front, and a pair of old boots. She rode for as long as Maple would allow. It was colder today, the early spring still finding its way to warmer weather. Violet didn’t care. Her blood pumped hot as she worked off her frustrations. The gentle, soothing sermon of the preacher still lingered. It remained juxtaposed to the images of Mr. Munts crawling over her, yanking at her dress. When Maple grew tired, Violet slipped from her saddle and walked the horse down to a small creek at the edge of their land. As Maple drank, Violet stared off into the trees on the other side of the stream. There was a path beyond the wooden fence of the Donovan property. Violet sometimes explored it when she was younger, but never got very far. Her mother often chastised her for going at all. It was dangerous for a girl to go off on her own. She was warned of all sorts of things: bears, Indians, bandits, all of which posed a threat to a solitary young lady.

Bandits.

Violet thought of the murderous woman. Now that she looked back, there was something familiar about the stranger. At the time, Violet had no chance to ponder it, but now she wondered. Had she seen her somewhere before? It could very well be that she’d seen her face on a wanted poster in Sheriff Anderson’s office. Somehow, Violet didn’t think that was it. Specifically, her voice had struck a chord with Violet, and looped in her memory endlessly.

“Hello, Violet. Charlie said I could find you out here.” A new voice caught her attention. Turning, she expected her angry mother, but was surprised to see Mary Humphrey standing before her. She looked better than the day before; she’d combed her hair and wore something fitting for a Sunday morning. Still, there were dark circles beneath her blue eyes, and her pale face was long and grim. “Is it true?” she asked.

Violet turned to her, at first surprised by Mary’s arrival, and then puzzled by what she said next. “True?” she repeated. “Is what true?”

“Did you kill him?”

A cold hand gripped Violet’s heart, and she stared, shocked, at the question. “Did I…?” Her voice trailed off. “What? No! No, of course I didn’t! Where’d you hear that?!”

Oddly enough, a fleeting look of disappointment crossed Mary’s face. “Rumor is he attacked you. So you killed him.” Mary tilted her head. “That ain’t what happened?”

“God—!” Violet put a hand to her heart. It was beating rapidly. “Who’d go and start a rumor like that? I told Sheriff Anderson all about the China woman. They’ll find her soon enough.”

Mary shook her head. “They can’t find hide nor hair of who you described,” she said. “Can’t even find horse tracks. Eustace says he saw you go off with Mr. Munts, and the next thing anybody knew, he was dead.”

“I didn’t kill him!” Violet insisted. She snorted with irritation. “Eustace Carpenter was drunk last night anyhow. I’m surprised he even remembered what happened.”

“So he was right?” Mary clarified. “You went off with Mr. Munts?”

Violet’s words caught in her throat. “Well yeah I—but I didn’t—!”

“Violet, you can tell me.” Mary was serious, her brows knit firmly. “I need to know. Did you kill Mr. Munts?”

Slowly, Violet’s frustration settled. “Mary?” she asked. “Did Mr. Munts…Did he r**e you?”

Mary twitched, but stood still. “If I tell the truth, will you?” Violet nodded. “Yes,” she finally said. “He did.” The answer hung in the air, undisturbed for a time. Mary continued to speak. “He tried to take you too, didn’t he? Heard you was in bad shape when you left, screamin’ about some China woman…Violet, if that’s what you told Sheriff Anderson so you won’t get caught, I won’t tell nobody, honest.”

Violet shook her head. “No,” she said. “I swear what I said was true. I was with Mr. Munts. Yes, he tried to assault me. Before he could, that woman killed him dead. Mary…”

Mary shied away, pain clear in her white face. “I see.”

“Mary, why didn’t you tell me this yesterday when I came to ya? I coulda gone to the sheriff, and we woulda had Munts behind bars faster’n you could blink.”

“I couldn’t,” said Mary. “Mama, she…When she knew, she was beside herself with shame.”

“Shame?” Violet was flabbergasted. “Shame in what? You didn’t do nothin’!”

“Didn’t I?” Mary turned away, gripping her arms. She looked beyond the field and towards the town of Redrock. Her eyes were contemplative and steady. “I trusted him. When he asked me to stay later and later, I didn’t think nothin’ of it. He grabbed me, and I didn’t fight. I let ‘em…I let ‘em…” Her voice fell. “I’m soiled, Violet. Broken. Boys want good, Christian girls for wives. They want pure girls. Girls that’d make good mothers. Grandmothers. Not…” She stopped. Violet, without a word, approached Mary. She took Mary into her arms from behind, holding her dearly to her breast. Mary was still, and neither pulled away or pushed back.

“I didn’t kill him,” Violet repeated. “But there was somethin’ that woman said to me. She said: ‘men like that don’t deserve to live.’ I think she knew. She knew what kinda man Munts was; what he’d done.”

A tiny laugh escaped Mary’s throat. It was short and poisonous. “Well, if you see her again, be sure to give her my thanks.” She finally stepped out of Violet’s arms and turned to her with a frown. “If that’s the truth, you’d best get to Sheriff Anderson and talk to him.”

“Why? We already talked.”

“I saw him after church. He told his deputies to stop lookin’ for your China woman.”

“What for?”

“Because it ain’t just Eustace Carpenter who thinks you’re guilty, Violet.”

* * * *

Off beyond the little town of Redrock, thunderheads rolled slowly inland, rumbling gently in the distance. The air threatened rain by nightfall. As animals were escorted to shelter and townsfolk bolted their windows, Violet headed straight for Sheriff Anderson’s office. She walked at a brisk pace, having not even taken the time to change from her riding gear. Outside Sheriff Anderson’s small office stood the mortician, Mr. Beauregard Ives, who was currently nailing a poster to the wall. Mr. Ives was thin and skeletal, with hair whiter than the specters said to haunt his mortuary. No one knew how old he was, nor when he started his business. Violet had always been wary of him, as his presence was odd and off-putting. Today, she spared no such nonsense a thought and walked right up to Mr. Ives with purpose.

“Is Sheriff Anderson in?” she asked.

Mr. Ives turned his sunken eyes towards Violet. “Yes,” he said.

“May I speak with him?”

“No,” said Mr. Ives. “He’s busy at the moment, Ms. Donovan. Come back another time.”

“It’s urgent.”

“I’m sure it can wait. Sheriff Anderson is busy. Come back later tonight.” A distant rumble of thunder caught his attention. “Or perhaps tomorrow. When the weather is not so foul.”

“Mr. Ives, you don’t understand! I can’t wait that long! If I could only—”

“I will tell Sheriff Anderson that you wish to speak with him at once. But that is all I can do for you.” He turned back to his poster, hammering in the top right nail. Only then did Violet notice the picture on the poster.

Violet’s mystery woman, drawn in ink, stared back at her. She was slightly different than the woman Violet had described—her face was somehow harsher than in reality—but her penetrating eyes remained the same. Above her portrait was the word “WANTED.” Realizing she would get nowhere on her current path, Violet went around the building, unnoticed by Mr. Ives. Making sure she wasn’t seen, Violet rolled a barrel towards the back window of Sheriff Anderson’s office and climbed on top. Now level with the window sill, she crouched enough not to be noticed, but remained high enough to hear everything through the barred window. First, she heard Sheriff Anderson.

“And there’s nowhere else you can think to look?”

“No sir.” Violet recognized the voice of Deputy Marsh. “We checked all around the general store, the streets, the edge of town, everywhere. No one saw a stranger ride in or out of town. Unless Mr. Munts was killed by a ghost, I’d go so far as to say this woman don’t exist.”

There was a lull in the conversation. “This sure is a tough spot, Fred. I saw the state of the Donovan girl’s dress. No doubt she was attacked last night.”

“But you don’t really think—? Violet was always such a sweet girl.”

“I won’t argue. But even the kindest animals fight back when they’re scared. And Violet was very, very scared.”

“I just can’t believe any of this. Mr. Munts…Why, we ain’t never had a problem with him, never once. How do we even know the story of the Humphrey girl is true?”

“We don’t. Mary won’t talk to me either way. Can’t imagine why. At this point, all we have to go on is what Violet tells us herself. Which is starting to look less and less like the truth.” Violet’s heart pounded. She wondered if they could hear it inside. Holding her fear at bay, she listened intently. Neither man seemed to want to say what was on their minds. Eventually, Marsh spoke up.

“What’s gonna happen to her? She’s a good girl. You don’t think…?”

“I s’pose she could claim that she was defending herself. But Mr. Munts kept a clean slate. Selling the story that he attacked her might be hard to do. And even if she does, even if Ms. Humphrey comes forward, the fact remains that she still killed a man. I’ve been Sheriff of this town for twenty-five years. Not too many judges take kindly to murderesses. Unless she gets herself a damn fine lawyer, she’ll be convicted.

“And then…well…she’ll most likely be strung up for it. Probably right here in town.”

Violet didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. She couldn’t.

She couldn’t hear.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t think.

Convicted.

Strung up.

Hung.

What Mary said was true: everyone believed that she had been the one to kill Mr. Munts, and they didn’t even take a day to reach their conclusions. As she climbed off the barrel, she barely had the energy to stand upright, and nearly knocked it over in the process. She tried to focus on her hands, but her vision was blurry. Violet walked as if in a fog. She hadn’t even noticed that it began to rain. Mud splattered her boots and trousers, and her shirt grew thick with water. She barely registered the weight. Her mind was looping Sheriff Anderson’s words endlessly. Convicted. Strung up. Right here in town. The night before, Violet had been terrified of so many things. Now? Violet felt numb, as though the world had simply shut off.