Page 2 of The Formation of Us

“For your mother then?”

“No, sir.”

Duke rubbed his aching shoulder, damning the nagging pain that had made his life miserable for the past month.

The boy’s Adam’s apple dipped on a nervous swallow. “Are you taking me to jail?”

Jail wouldn’t teach him anything of value. “I’m taking you home so I can talk to your father.”

“I don’t have a father.”

No surprise there, Duke thought, but checked his unfair judgment. “We’ll talk to your mother then.”

“My mother’s dead.” The boy’s voice was so heavy with grief that Duke’s chest tightened in sympathy.

“How are you getting along without parents?”

“I’ve got Faith.”

“You’ll need more than faith and those light fingers to get by, son. Where are you sleeping?”

The boy turned away. “At home.”

Duke gripped the boy’s shoulder and spun him back around to face him. “I’m sorry about your parents and whatever troubles you’re having, but when I ask you a question I expect a straight answer.”

“I gave you one, sir.” The boy pointed toward Water Street. “I live at the old Colburn place with my older sister Faith and our aunts. We moved in three weeks ago.”

Duke had heard that somebody bought the mill, but he hadn’t stopped to officially welcome the owners to town yet. “Is your sister planning to reopen the grist mill?” he asked, believing it impossible for a woman to do so.

“No, sir.” The boy squinted as a bright flood of June sunshine washed across the plank and brick buildings on Main Street. “She’s a healer. So are my aunts.”

“Healers?”

“Yes, sir. They grow herbs and mix tonics and salves that help people.”

The warning twinge that tightened Duke’s gut was as unwelcome as Archer’s earlier probing. He did not need another problem right now, not with the election coming up, not while his wretched shoulder was making his life hell.

The boy pulled the hair brush from beneath his shirt and handed it over. “I’d like to return this. I don’t want my sister to know what I did.”

His earnest plea moved Duke, but being soft on the boy wouldn’t serve the young man. “You should have considered that before you walked out of the store without paying for it. Come on,” he said, nudging him down Main Street. “Let’s see if your sister can heal your bent for stealing.”

“Sir, my sister is . . . she’ll . . . I’d rather go to jail than tell her what I did.”

That was the point in taking the boy home with the stolen item. Shame would be more effective than fear to keep him from repeating the act.

“What’s your name?” Duke asked, keeping his hand on the boy’s shoulder and guiding him down Water Street.

“Adam Dearborn.” The boy’s body jerked as if he’d been stuck with a needle. “I mean, it’s Adam . . . urn . . . dang it all.” He hung his head.

“Something wrong, Adam?”

“No, sir.”

“All right, let’s meet this sister of yours and figure out what to do about your crime.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“You took something from a store without paying for it. That’s theft, and theft is a crime punishable by law.”