"The Killing of Luther Dunn"
Sharon Balts
When Jacob Kearney returned to Wisconsin with his niece, his brother followed--and brought trouble with him. A stagecoach is robbed. Luther Dunn disappears. Sigrid Dunn's new neighbor seems to know too much about the case... and about swaying her stubborn heart.

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book excerpt

“You haf decided to buy da Peterson place,” the banker stated with the thick Scandinavian accent that was becoming more familiar to Jake each day. “You probably know by moving dare, you vill be a neighbor to Sigrid Dunn?” Jake was suddenly embarrassed. He hoped the man did not detect it. “Mrs. Luther Dunn?” he questioned. “I…do know where she lives.” “I heard you ver talking to her after church Sunday last. Did she remember you?” Jake floundered. “Remember me from where?” The banker laughed at him. “You are da Jacob Kearney who lived south of Dallas vid your grandparents after your father died, are you not? You vent to school vid my brothers und sisters und me for a summer term, back ven Miss Oleson vas teaching. Da school vas half full of Thorsbakken children at da time. Do you remember it?” Jake thought back to his early school years when he felt so different from the other children, for they had to be taught the English language. While Jake was fluent in English and could read well, he struggled with other studies as a result of moving often and having little formal education. “I remember having to sit up in front of the classroom where the teacher could keep an eye on me. I didn’t like it, ‘cause I was surrounded by five little girls.” “My sister Sigrid vas von of dem,” the banker commented as he carefully tamped tobacco into a pipe. “Your sister… That’s the Sigrid who’s going to be my neighbor?” “You must remember her, Mr. Kearney! I gave you a sound beating da day I vent behind da building und caught you kissing her!” A wide grin broke across Jake’s face. “She was kissing me! And I got a broken nose so bloody the teacher nearly fainted. You were a lot bigger than me back then.” “I vas many years older,” the banker said laughingly. “I am Peter. I vas da oldest of children in school at da time. Und I considered it my duty to protect my little sister.” Jake studied the plump girth of the man who was now shorter than himself. “I scarcely remember the beatin’ I took,” he quipped. “And bein’ I was only about nine years old, I don’t think I even liked girls at the time. But I have to admit, I thought more than once about that sassy little girl as I got older.” It was the banker’s turn to assess his client, who was nearly six feet tall and sported bulky muscle on a sturdy frame. “I vood certainly not be giving you a beating dese days, Mr. Kearney,” the man said soberly. “If I had it in mind to beat anyvon, it vood be dat cussed, greedy husband of Sigrid’s.” Peter studied his pipe for a time and then continued thoughtfully, “Sigrid is just another of his possessions. He seems more concerned vid his horses dan he is vid her und da girls. But Sigrid is tough und stubborn. She vill go tru life like a martyr before she vill svallow her pride und get rid of him. It is just as vell, I tink, da man’s business keeps him avay from home most of da time.” The banker lit his pipe, sending puffs of smoke wafting toward the room’s high ceiling. “She vas sixteen or seventeen ven dey married,” he explained. “Da folks ver happy, for Luther vas from a vealty family. Ven dey first came to Dallas, tings seemed to go vell vid dem, but now, everting has become business for him.” “How does drivin’ a stagecoach keep a man so busy?” “He seldom drives a rig. He owns dem. Coaches und freight vagons. Dey vork in all da towns round here. He has many teams und drivers to ten to.” Jake studied the banker in silence for a time as he considered what the man was telling him. He had come to Barron to withdraw enough money from his newly opened account to buy the Peterson place, but this unexpected talk of Sigrid had his mind reeling and his heart beating wildly. He had liked kissing her when they were school kids together and knew he’d do it again if he had the chance. “I reckon I don’t like Luther Dunn any more than you do,” Jake confided to the portly man who sat across the desk from him. “And I’d like to tell you something about him.”