Faithful Unto Death

Sheriff Judas

boxes and placed them into a safe closet. He pulled on his light summer coat, snatched his hat from the rack, and went out into the still-warm autumn evening. Would it be chicken tonight? Or pot roast? Sheriff Judas benzonia, december 1894 sheriff chandler knocked at the back door. Then, without awaiting an answer, he stepped into the kitchen and removed his hat. Lottie, sitting at the kitchen table shelling dried lima beans, stared at him silently. “Is Leroy at home?” His voice was formal, distant, the polite voice one uses with acquaintances and not at all the avuncular boom with which he normally greeted children about the town. Should she offer him tea? There was so little left in the tin, and she was saving it for something special. He was their ‹rst caller since he had come to take Papa away. She tightened her jaw.This was no call! He was just doing his job. Like Judas, he’d been paid to take her innocent father away forever, and now he was here with more bad news, she could see it in his red face. “I don’t know where Roy is. Shall I give him a message when I see him?” she asked coolly. He blinked at her; was this poised yet hostile young woman only fourteen? A long moment passed, and then Ralph stepped into the kitchen behind him. “Can we help you, Sheriff?” “I’m looking for your brother . . .” Ralph’s heart sank. He looked at Lottie, then back at the sheriff.“He’s not been home since yesterday. When you see him, would you ask him to come home? We could use another pair of hands for the potatoes.” “I’m sorry, Ralph. Roy’s been accused of theft. If I ‹nd him . . .” He corrected himself: “When I ‹nd him, I’ll have to lock him up.” Will, Josie behind him, had come to the doorway. Silently, they added their stares to those of Ralph and Lottie. Embarrassedly, Sheriff Chandler replaced his hat and backed toward the door. “I’m sorry, youngsters, it’s just my job, and Roy ought to’ve known better. At a time like this—look here! Can’t you just sell what’s left and go to your relatives? I know your uncle could afford to take you in.” 195 “This is our home,” said Ralph. “I’m sorry if Roy did something wrong. Losing our parents . . .” He spoke distantly, as though discussing the affairs of an acquaintance across town.“Losing our parents was hard on Roy.That’s no excuse for stealing, but it also doesn’t mean the rest of us must leave our home.” The sheriff climbed back into his buggy and ‹shed out his handkerchief . Despite the crisp December day, sweat had collected inside his collar and on his face. Roy had taken the galoshes, bold as brass, but he was the one feeling guilty! “roy, how could you!” “Oh, Lottie, don’t you be all holier-than-thou. My old boots leaked all spring, but mother was too tired to think about anything and we all were too busy. I can’t go through another winter with wet feet, and we can’t afford new! And you can just stop looking at me like that, Miss! You’re not too big I can’t take you down a peg!” “What Lottie means, Roy, is we need you at home to help out. Having you in jail is surely no help to the rest of us.” “You didn’t object when I brought home ten dollars last week, did you? Well, did you? Where do you think that came from?” Lottie was dumfounded. “You said you did some odd jobs!” She said again, “Roy, how could you!” “How could I? Why shouldn’t I?” Roy barked a short, bitter laugh. Lottie didn’t like the sound; it was like the sound a barn cat made, just before it hurked up the remains of a half-digested mouse, all bones and scraps of fur. “I needed a new pair of boots and there they sat, right in the vestibule. After everything we’ve lost, why shouldn’t I help myself to something I needed?” Ralph stared at Roy. He had thought, when the judge pronounced sentence, that nothing else in life could shock him. He shook his head, incredulous. “You were Mother’s favorite. Her pride and joy.” “Well, and she’s dead now, isn...