“Jabbering on,” Wade said merrily. Suddenly his face set and he grew stern. “Today, as you may or may not know, is a very special occasion. August is to be wed. And yet yesterday, in the midst of our preparations, we were met with what can only be considered nefarious allegations, leveled at August by your son. You can imagine how distressing this was to my boy. Isn’t that right?”
Wade grabbed the shoulder of his son, who remained as stone-faced as his father. Prentiss tracked the boy’s gaze to Caleb, who had joined his father on the porch and was looking right back at him, eyes still caked with sleep.
“I would not deign to repeat the perverse accusations,” Wade said. “But I thought it wise we come see you in person, just so August might stress how innocent he is of these charges.”
August broke in, speaking as if reading off the page, in one tone, a rapid stream of words.
“I fear Caleb has experienced severe trauma from the war, and that his condition has caused him to invent a fiction about our time together that did not take place.”
“Oh quit it,” Caleb said. “Just quit. My God. You were never good, but I thought you were honest, or at least tried at it. I mean, your lying about being injured in the war was one thing, but this is beyond the pale. Had I known you were just a sicker version of your father, and equally heartless—”
“Do not speak on what happened at war—”
But Wade was quick to step on his son’s words.
“Suffice to say Caleb’s impairments are currently on display,” he muttered.
It was at this point Isabelle appeared in her nightgown, hair still wrapped in a bun.
“You know better than to speak ill of a son in front of his mother, Wade Webler. You’ll not do it here.”
“Isabelle! Good morning to you.” Wade raised his hat. “Not to worry. I will say no more. The sheriff can take it from here.”
Hackstedde came out of a deep slouch and straightened upon his horse. He appeared to have had no sleep, his eyes sunken in their sockets, the bags under them so swollen it was as if his face had folded in on itself.
“Right,” he said. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to these rumors your son’s hatched, George. I interviewed Ted here, says he had at least a dozen men in his fields and not a one saw anything out of the ordinary in those woods or heard a peep.”
“He said it better than I could,” Morton allowed.
Hackstedde carried on. “August denies the charges and has a fine alibi. Him and his father were working at the office when this all took place. So, that’s all there is to say. The case is closed.”
George’s chest was rising and falling so quickly Prentiss feared the old man’s heart might give out. Yet they all intuited that it must be the plan, as before, to remain silent and let the result play out. And so George did his part.
“Very well,” he said.
“If you wish,” Wade said, “for the sake of goodwill and for the loss y’all have incurred, I have a few horses I am willing to donate to your enterprise. I know you only have that ass, and I loathe to see you struggle on that thing every time you come through town, looking like a sad Mexican weaving his way through a canyon trail.”
Morton and Gail snickered, both of them putting a hand to their mouths as though they were twins privy to the other’s movements.
“I am very happy with Ridley,” George seethed. “If I wanted a horse, or three, I would get them myself. But your kindness is very much appreciated.”
“So be it,” Wade said. “We’ll be on our way. I have to pick up my mother. I tried to send her a driver, but oh no, I must fetch her myself.”
This man was an individual, Prentiss now saw, entirely different from himself. It wasn’t his cunning, or the evil coursing through him, but his confidence—the surfeit of knowledge in his broad smile, which indicated that although his son had been accused of a cold-blooded murder, everything in the world was aligned to ease his livelihood, no matter who, or what, got in the way.
“Might I also offer my apologies,” Wade said, “for not extending an invitation to the wedding? What can I say? We decided in the end to make it an intimate affair.” He turned from a deal well done and began to return to his carriage with his son.
“A man died,” Caleb said, his voice squeaking with emotion, as it was prone to do. “Setting aside who did it, or how little I think of that person for the rest of time, does the fact itself mean nothing to you? That a life was lost?”