The Truth at Last
“Well, I really don’t know how to thank you,” Hope began, turning around and taking in the entire cabin again without letting go of Judah’s arm.
“You don’t need to thank me, Hope. If I can get it done before the end of October, you’ll be able to move in before it gets too cold. Then you won’t have to walk in the inclement weather. I’m sorry it wasn’t finished before the rain hit. I really have been doin’ my best to get it done.”
“Don’t apologize.” Hope insisted, turning to face him. “You’ve done amazing work. And... did you pay for all of this?”
Judah looked uncomfortable and released her arm, though he didn’t travel too far. “Let’s just say I contributed.”
“Judah—”
“It was the least I could do.”
His stare was heavy, and Hope took a deep breath, not sure what that meant but figuring he wouldn’t elaborate no matter how hard she probed. She exhaled slowly, and then took a step backward. “Well, I do appreciate it, all of it, more than you can ever know.”
“You are very welcome, Miss Tucker. What you’ve done for these kids, for this community... anyone who can’t appreciate that deserves to be run out of town.”
Realizing she was standing in the cramped quarters of the washroom, Hope decided she needed some fresh air. Carefully, she stepped back through the hallway. Judah followed, and she could sense his hands behind her, ready to catch her should she misstep. She managed to wind her way through the unfinished timbers so that she was behind the house and that’s when she realized there was a smaller structure here. “What’s this?”
“Oh, I figured you’d wanna get a trap at some point. You’d need a place to keep it. And the pony.”
Her head was shaking back and forth as she took it in. “I can’t believe.... Well, but I guess I should. You really have thought of everything.” Hope glanced down and noticed she’d fit on the edge of the floor between two of the support beams, so she sank down and took a seat, taking it all in.
Judah looked hesitant to join her and leaned into the timber where his hand had been resting. “You probably oughtta head back home before they realize you’re gone.”
“Home. Interesting word,” Hope muttered, her hand automatically feeling for the pocket where she’d slipped the letter from her daddy.
“I know what you mean.” Reluctantly, he stepped off of the structure, and then sat down a few beams over from her.
“Why do you stay?” she asked, hoping her question wasn’t too personal. “Just because of the children?”
“Mostly,” he replied, staring at the ground, his fingers interlaced as he leaned on his knees. “That and I ain’t got nowhere to go.”
She turned and looked at him, noticing how the moonlight played across his serene blue eyes. “Can’t go back to Kansas?”
“I could,” he said quickly, sitting up. “They didn’t run me outta town or nothin’. Just ain’t nothin’ there for me ‘cept a buncha bad memories.”
She caught his eyes and immediately began to shake her head. Having come this far, she decided she had nothing to lose. If kissing him in the woods hadn’t already revealed her true feelings, what more could she possibly do? “I just don’t understand it. At all. I look at you, and I see this fine, intelligent man who would do anything for his family, for his community. Educated and refined. And they look at you and they see—something else. How is that even possible?”
“Hope...”
“Truly, Judah, I don’t get it. I have been wracking my brain for months, trying to determine how anyone could possibly think you’re capable of the heinous acts Brady and the others say you committed. I don’t think you could ever even harm a fly.”
He scoffed then, and she tipped her head to the side, waiting. “I would never harm a fly,” he said in that quiet, teasing lilt. “Whenever I encounter any winged creatures, I do my best to capture them and take them out to the forest where I let them go. Often with a cube of sugar for their trouble.”
Hope covered her mouth to dull her laughter but couldn’t hide it all together. She dropped her eyes and stared at a scuff mark on her boots barely visible in the moonlight. “All right. Maybe a fly. But certainly never anyone you cared about.” She looked back at him then, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring off into the distance. Hope took a deep breath and finally said it. “I don’t believe there’s any way in this world you killed your wives.”
The words hung between them for so long, Hope expected to see them take form and tumble to the ground, landing with a thud on the packed earth. He swallowed hard enough for her to hear it, see his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and she held her breath, waiting for him to tell her she was right, that it never happened, that the town was full of fools and vigilantes.
“You’re wrong, Hope.”
Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, and Hope felt all the blood rush out of her face. It didn’t seem remotely possible, and she prayed he’d tell her more because the person she was looking at was not a murderer. Despite his words, she just couldn’t accept it.
He shifted so he was looking back at the structure that would be a small barn in a few days with a little more work, and Hope realized he wasn’t going to say more on his own. But she hadn’t come out in the middle of the night to leave on that note. “What do you mean?”
Judah sighed heavily, like he was extinguishing a fire with his breath. “I mean, I didn’t kill Sylvia. That was... a terrible accident. But... my first wife, Isabella, yeah.” He took his hat off, ran his hand through his caramel hair, and placed it back on his head before he turned and looked her in the eyes. “I killed her.”
The words floated on the surface of Hope’s mind for several moments, unable to sink in. She just couldn’t accept them, not in and of themselves anyway. He looked as if he was done speaking, refocusing out on the horizon somewhere.
She shifted her position, the revolver knocking against her thigh as she did so. Hope couldn’t imagine ever pointing a gun at someone she loved and pulling the trigger. She couldn’t imagine Judah killing someone he loved either; even with that admission, she realized there was something she was missing. There had to be.
“Why?”
The question came out so quietly that when he didn’t react, she thought for a moment he hadn’t heard her. She was considering asking again, even though the logical part of her brain that didn’t play into the hand of emotion was warning her to let it go. She continued to stare at his profile, willing him to answer her, letting the question form and reform on her tongue without emission several times before he finally began to speak.
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