In fact, as he recalled the incident now, young Jerry had almost said something to him. When questioned, Jerry said that he hadn’t seen anything, but that was only after a stern glance from his mother.
Kyle had seen the look Louise Dobbs gave her son then, but because her little girl had been killed, he had not wanted to bother her with questions, hoping that he would get the information he needed from one of the other passengers. Unfortunately, that had not worked out for him, and now it appeared as if Mrs. Dobbs would be his only source.
Sighing, Kyle stood up. “Boomer?” he called to his deputy.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m going to ride out to the Dobbs ranch.”
“You’re going to question Mrs. Dobbs, are you?”
“Yes,” Kyle said. “But I swear, I’d rather be horsewhipped than bother that poor woman right now.”
“I don’t blame you. Would you like for me to come with you?”
“No, I appreciate the offer, but there’s no need for that. You just hold down the fort while I’m gone,” Kyle said as he reached for his hat.
“Yes, sir, I’ll do that,” Boomer said. “Benjamin, why is it, do you suppose, that nobody wants to tell us anything about this Jensen fella? Do you think he has them all buffaloed?”
“I don’t know, Boomer. I’ve been wondering about that myself,” Kyle said. “Maybe I can find out something from Mrs. Dobbs.”
The Dobbs ranch was about five miles south of Sentinel, and when Marshal Kyle rode up to the house, he saw that there were at least half-a-dozen wagons and buckboards parked out in the yard, the teams still in harness and standing quietly. At first, he was surprised that there were so many people here. Then suddenly, he realized that he must have arrived around the time of the funeral. These were all friends, neighbors, and relatives, come to pay their respects to the Dobbses over the loss of their little girl. For a moment, he wished he hadn’t come to impose on them, and he was considering turning around when Jeremiah Dobbs stepped out onto the porch to greet him.
“Marshal Kyle,” he said. “How nice of you to come to Suzie’s funeral. My wife and I never expected anything like this. You honor us. Please, get down and come in.”
Dobbs thought this was a sympathy visit, and Kyle saw no reason, at this point, to disabuse him of that idea. He swung down from his horse, then wrapped the reins around a hitching post.
“How are you doing, Jeremiah?” Kyle asked in as solicitous a voice as he could muster.
“I’m doing as well as can be expected, I suppose,” Jeremiah said, “having lost my little girl. It’s Louise I’m worried about. She’s takin’ this real hard, she keeps blamin’ herself.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Kyle said. “Why would she blame herself?”
“That’s what I keep tellin’ her,” Jeremiah said. “But she says if she just hadn’t gone to see her sister when she did, or, if she had taken better care of Suzie while they were on the train, maybe Suzie would still be with us.”
“None of that has anything to do with the wreck, or with Suzie getting killed,” Kyle said. “I know she’s upset, but as soon as she realizes that there was nothing she could have done to prevent it, I expect she’ll come around.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Kyle followed Jeremiah into the house. There were at least two dozen people gathered in the parlor, sitting, standing, talking in low, soothing tones. There were a few people down at the end of the large room who appeared to be looking down at something, and as Kyle studied them more closely he realized, with a start, that they were staring at the body of the little girl.
“Would you like to see her?” Jeremiah asked. “Mr. Albriton fixed her up just real nice. She looks just like she’s sleeping.”
“I—” Kyle began, and then he stopped. He was about to tell Jeremiah that he would just as soon not look at the little girl, but he knew that the viewing of his daughter’s remains was very important to Jeremiah.
“Yes, I would be very honored to look at her,” Kyle said.
Jeremiah led Kyle through the room toward the open coffin. Nearly everyone in the room recognized him, and they spoke to him as he passed by. In some cases, Kyle gave single syllable answers; in others, he just nodded.
The coffin was child-sized. The lid was open and Suzie could be seen lying in the coffin, her head slightly elevated by a white pillow. She was wearing a pink dress with white lace, and her hands, crossed in front of her, grasped a single yellow rose. Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders in ringlets of curls. The pallor of death had been pushed back by the artful application of paint and powder.
“Doesn’t she look just like a little angel?” one of the women standing over the coffin asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kyle said. “She does indeed.”
“Folks, if you’ll all find a place to sit, we’ll commence the funeral now,” a man in black said. Kyle recognized him as the Reverend E. D. Owen, pastor of the Sentinel Holiness Church.
For a moment, Kyle just stood there, but Jeremiah called to him and offered him a chair. Clearing his throat, Kyle took the seat and looked around the room at the others. The men, women, and children who had come to Suzie’s funeral were all dressed in their Sunday best. Kyle, who was wearing his normal work clothes of denim trousers and a white, collarless shirt, felt a little embarrassed by his dress, though neither Jeremiah nor anyone else, by word or deed, added to his discomfort.
Reverend Owen stood in front of Suzie’s coffin, waiting until everyone was settled before he began to speak.
“My brothers and sisters,” he began. “We are gathered here to pay our final respects, and to commit to the Lord’s keeping the soul of this wonderful child, Suzie Dobbs.
“It is a sad thing when we lose a loved one, and that sadness is particularly bitter when the loved one is a child. Such a loss might cause many to question their faith, to be angry with God for allowing such a terrible thing to happen.
“But I say to you, my brothers and sisters, do not be angry, nor saddened by the loss of this child, for remember, Suzie, like all of us, belongs to God. He loaned her to us for just a little while, before taking her back into His glory. Our time in this life is measured, the years known but to God. But our time in the hereafter is without measure, for we will all meet again in the eternal glory that awaits us all.
“Into God’s gracious mercy and protection we commit this child. The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace, both now and evermore. Amen.”
Suzie was buried in a family plot out behind the house, alongside the graves of Jeremiah’s mother and father and that of a stillborn infant. Afterward, all returned to the house, where a meal was served from dishes prepared by the friends, neighbors, and relatives.
Louise Dobbs was sitting on the far side of the room. Jerry was on the floor beside his mother, and Louise’s left hand was resting on Jerry’s shoulder. In her right hand was a tightly gripped, wadded handkerchief, the handkerchief wet with her tears. Occasionally, someone would stop by the chair to say a word or two to her; then they would go on, leaving her to herself.
Kyle hated to use this time to question her, but he had ridden this far and he was here, so he might as well get it done. He drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and then walked over to see her.
“Mrs. Dobbs,” Kyle said when he stepped up to the chair. “May I offer you my most sincere sympathy?”
“Thank you,” Louise said.
“I—uh, wonder if I could ask you a few questions?”
“What about?”
“About the train wreck,” Kyle said.
“I don’t know anything about it,” Louise answered. “One minute, we were riding along normally, and the next moment, the car was bumping all over the place. Then it went off the track and turned over. I don’t remember much after that.”