Ballad Beauty (17 page)

Jenny said, “You seem to know all the whores between here and Texas.”

He looked at her sharply. He didn’t even recognize her voice. It was so cold, so remote. He knew in that moment how deeply he’d hurt her.

“We’re looking for an outlaw by the name of Sam McShan, Mo,” he said formally. “We have reason to believe he is in Prairie Dell.”

Mo shook her head. “He was here, honey, but Sam’s dead. He died nigh on a week ago.”

CHAPTER 19

Jenny gasped. “No,” she moaned and fell to her knees. A wail came from the pit of her soul, echoing throughout Prairie Dell. She collapsed into a heap. All the years gone by. All the miles she’d come—only to have the ultimate disappointment. Through her flood of tears she experienced heartache, regret, sorrow, longing. She sobbed as if her very heart would break. She wished it would. She didn’t want to live anymore.

First, Noah’s betrayal. Now this. It was more than she could bear. She cried until no more tears came. Then all that was left was a vast emptiness, a hollow void in which she was certain was hell.

The whore had dropped to the ground next to her and put an arm about her, she realized, rocking her to and fro. Jenny looked up at Noah.

“I’m sorry,” he told her and walked over to the horses.

Mo pulled her to her feet and steadied her. “I’m Moira McShanahan, dear. You must be Jenny. I’ve been expecting you. My, you’ve certainly got the McShanahan height.” She glanced down at the ground. “The big feet, too.” A hearty laugh passed her full lips.

When she remained speechless, Mo said, “I’m your aunt, Jenny.”

She looked at the woman in disbelief. She also was tall, which was a McShanahan trait, but there the resemblance ended. Moira was stout, with long, faded red hair that fell to her waist. A black patch covered one eye, giving her the look of a pirate. Her face was rough and leathery, as if she’d spent many years out in the sun.

The large woman propelled her through the doorway and closed it behind them. Her cabin was dilapidated but neat. Jenny saw a cot, two chairs and a table, and newspapers stacked in piles that reached the ceiling.

“I have a fondness for reading,” her aunt shared, if in fact this was her aunt. “I collect them from anyone passing through. Even turned a few tricks for some of ‘em.”

Jenny walked toward the stacks and glanced up. She turned to look at the woman behind her.

“Oh, you have the look of yer dear ma, that’s fer sure.”

She heard the lilt in the older woman’s voice. “You’re Irish.”

“Aye, and proud of it, gel. County Cork, me and yer pa. Yer ma was from County Kerry. We were practically neighbors and didn’t know it.” She took a seat and motioned Jenny to do the same. “Call me Mo, dear. Everyone does. Moira is too fancy a name fer the likes o’ me.”

Jenny seated herself and gazed on Mo in wonder. “You really
are
my aunt.”

“And proud o’ that, too, dear. Sammy sent me letters all the time ‘bout you. He was proud o’ you to the bone, all yer fancy schooling and ladylike ways.”

Her chin went up. “Then why didn’t he ever send for me?”

Mo sighed. “It’s a long story. O’ course, we got all the time in the world for me to tell it.” She settled back in her chair. “I think I’ll start from the beginning. I don’t know how much you actually know. What do you recall about your pa?”

Jenny shook her head. “Not much, really. I remember his big, booming voice and the sandy hair that always fell across his eyes. He was forever pushing it back off his face.”

“Well, he lost a lot of it. Mostly after yer ma died.”

She tried to recollect the sketch of Sam on the wanted poster, but already it was fuzzy in her mind. She would have to look at it when she was alone. The poster had remained stuffed inside her reticule since they’d left Fort Griffin.

She turned to Mo. She wondered why Sam never told her she had an aunt. Probably because she would have clamored to come and live with Mo instead of being stuck at The Thompson School all those years. Mo didn’t look much like Sam, but the Irish in her voice seemed familiar and comforting.

“I remember that he laughed a lot. He would come home and sweep Mama off her feet and twirl her around like she was a rag doll. Then he’d pick me up and do the same.” Her lips trembled at the sweet memory.

“We didn’t stay in one place for very long. We constantly moved around. As time passed, Mama got sicker. Papa would be gone more and more.” She looked Mo in the eye. “There was never enough money for food or medicine. He made a game of everything, but I realize now how bad things must have been.”

Mo patted her hand. “Go on, love.”

“The night Mama died she coughed and coughed. She couldn’t stop coughing. Her fever went sky high. I tried to soak a cloth in water and keep it on her forehead, but she kept thrashing and throwing it off. She mumbled a lot. I couldn’t understand much of what she said.”

She hurt at the memory she had suppressed for so long. “When she died, I didn’t want to let go of her hand. I thought if I kept holding on, she would be all right.” A sob escaped her lips. Mo handed her a handkerchief, and she wiped at her eyes.

“When Papa came home, it was very late. After midnight. He had a merriness in his step that had been missing for a long time, but when he saw Mama . . .” Her voice faded away. She cleared it and continued. “When he saw Mama, he broke down and cried like a baby.”

“And then he put you in that school?”

She nodded. “He had a fine dress made for Mama, much nicer than anything she’d ever worn. I remember how smooth the casket was as I ran my hand along the wood. Then he took me to The Thompson School. It was located outside Boston. He left me there. I never saw him again.”

She blew her nose. It seemed she’d cried more tears in the last few weeks than she had in ten years. Her body felt depleted and tired. She decided then to shed no more tears for Sam. Or Noah.

“I think I’ll put on some coffee for us, sweetie.” Mo busied herself for a few minutes while Jenny composed herself.

“Let me tell you about yer pa.” Mo brought her chair close to Jenny’s and wrapped her large-boned hands around Jenny’s smaller ones.

“We came from County Cork. I think I already told you that. We left Ireland after the potato blight of ‘45. I don’t know how Da scraped enough together for passage to America, but he did. We got here in ‘46. Sammy was fifteen. I was a bit younger by less than two years.”

Mo paused and looked off into the distance as if she saw them at that age. “Our parents were weak. Too weak from the blight and the starvation. They’d allus given us whatever they had. They were too puny to make it. They died on the voyage over, and we buried them at sea.” Mo wiped away her own tears on her sleeve. “Funny, it happened so long ago, and yet I can still see them like it was yesterday.”

“Did you love them very much?”

“O’ course I did. Love was about all we had in Ireland. Wasn’t much of anythin’ else. Still, Sammy and I had each other. He was allus one given to gettin’ into scrapes. I hadn’t a brain in my head and followed his lead.

“We traveled far and wide, that we did. He hated the cities. He missed the open fields of Ireland. That’s why we headed out west first chance we got. Gamblin’, wheelin’ and dealin’, thievin’—whatever it took to get by—we did it. And we were good, too, if’n I say so myself. We became quite a duo back in those days. A right good team we were.”

Mo paused and looked at her. “I was pretty back then, Jenny dear. Not as pretty as you, but I had gorgeous red hair and smooth skin and the bluest eyes you done seen this side of the ocean. It helped us in many a situation, that it did.”

Jenny stared in fascination at Mo. It was hard to imagine her aunt ever being pretty. Her weathered face was lined with wrinkles, and her hair was dull and lifeless. She did have a kind smile.

“Well, I’m rough as they come now. McShanahan women were allus tall and feisty.”

“I hate being taller than most men.”

“As long as you don’t let yourself go, you’ll be fine, love. Yer young and pretty and thin as a rail. Just don’t go eating yerself into something like me.”

Jenny wanted to protest that she wasn’t pretty. Her feet were too big, her breasts too small, and her smile too wide. She didn’t have to worry about the last one, at least. Smiling figured to be absolutely last on the list of things she planned to do.

“Go on, Mo,” she encouraged.

Her aunt sat back in her chair. “We weren’t doing too badly, I suppose. We made enough to eat well and dress nicely. The people we scammed were usually those who wouldn’t miss a little extra anyway, or at least that’s how Sammy justified it to me. I even turned a few tricks on the side.”

Mo paused, shaking a finger in warning. “And don’t go judgin’ me for it, missy. I provided a needed service to a few lonely men. For the most part, they treated me right nice, too. Except one.”

“Is that how you lost your eye?”

“Hmmph.” Mo adjusted her patch slightly. “I didn’t lose anything. It was taken from me. I don’t want to sully yer ears with the details, but let’s just put it down to a minor disagreement that turned into a major brawl.” She grinned triumphantly. “He looked the worse for wear than I did when it finished, I’ll tell you that and wouldn’t be braggin’ if I did.”

Jenny was amazed. In the matter of two weeks she’d learned her father was a notorious outlaw and her aunt a scheming, one-eyed prostitute. What would The Thompson School think of her now? She stifled a giggle and nodded for her aunt to continue.

“Well, I decided to stay here in Prairie Dell, where it all happened. I knew no one would mess with me, seein’ as to how things turned out. For the most part, I have a good life here. I’ve made friends. I have my privacy. And I have all the time in the world to read.”

Mo leaned back in her chair. “Poor Sammy, though, was another kettle o’ fish.”

Jenny sat up expectantly. As interesting as Mo’s life was, she wanted to hear more about Sam.

“Sammy decided he was goin’ to go straight. I guess what happened to me left him pretty shook up. He went back east to find a job and become a decent man. He met Suzannah there. Yer da was twenty-four and yer ma only sixteen. She wound up expectin’ you. Sammy had lost his heart to her and wouldn’t leave her, so they married, despite the disapproval of her parents.

“He tried his best to go the respectable route, but all those efforts never panned out. He couldn’t hold a job, and he didn’t feel he was good enough for either of you. He wanted to give his gels the world, and all he succeeded in doin’ was drivin’ poor Suzannah to an early grave.”

A wave of sadness washed over Jenny. How hard it must have been for Sam to keep failing the two people he loved. She wished he were here so she could tell him that she loved him, no matter what he was.

“The night she died, Sammy done pulled off a robbery of a house he told me he’d passed a dozen times. He hadn’t committed one act of wrong since he’d married Suzannah, but he was desperate to help her. He netted a nice stash of jewels.”

Mo pointed a finger at her. “That’s how yer ma could have a nice funeral and he could put you at that fancy boardin’ school. But he had to hightail it outta there so he wouldn’t get caught by the law.

“He came visitin’ me right afterward. Said he’d missed the wide-open spaces of the West. He admitted he’d also missed his life of wanderlust and crime. Livin’ by his wits. Flyin’ by the seat o’ his pants. He fell in with Pete Webber not too long after that. Pete’d just lost his partner, and Sammy always worked better with someone. They were together, off and on, for years, till Pete got hisself killed a few months back.”

Mo stood and shuffled around the tiny room. “They were a great team, honey. Famous Sam McShan and Pistol Pete Webber. Sammy gave away most of the loot he stole. I think it made him feel better about himself.”

Mo crossed her arms. “He allus wanted to send for you, but he didn’t want you exposed to his way of life. He knew how happy you were at that nice school. He didn’t have much to offer you in the way of stability. And if’n he did ever try and settle down, he wanted a nice place for the two of you, the best for you, since he never could get it for yer mama. He always did want to do right by you, Jenny.”

“Oh, Mo.” She stood and fell into her aunt’s arms. “I was miserable at school. I told him how nice it was and how I liked it because that’s what I thought he wanted to hear. More than anything, I wanted to be with him. I never thought he wanted me, though.”

Mo squeezed her tightly. “Sure he did, hon, but he didn’t know how to go about it.” Mo pulled away and held her hands out. “But look at you, how fine you’ve turned out. Sammy’d be mighty proud of you. Mighty proud.”

Her aunt went to a corner and knelt beside a battered, wooden chest. She opened it and pulled out a box. She brought the box to the table.

“Sammy left a few things for you. He wanted to meet you in Texas, but he learned he was dyin’ o’ the cancer and the law was closin’ in on him. He came here to Prairie Dell, where he’d always felt safe.”

She brushed Jenny’s cheek with her rough, callused hand. “He wanted to spend his last days here. With you. He just couldn’t hold on, though.”

She reached for the box. Carefully, she opened the lid and pulled out the few items, one at a time. She found a silver locket with fine filigree, so delicate and intricate. Inside was a lock of hair. She held it up to Mo.

“That’s yer ma’s necklace and a lock o’ yer baby hair.”

She nodded and looked down, too choked up to respond. Next, she pulled out a picture of her family she’d never seen before. She couldn’t have been more than three years old. Sam was lean and handsome, her mother breathtakingly beautiful. Until seeing this, she had only remembered the thin, sallow, sickly woman. This reminded her of who her mother really had been.

“She’s stunning,” she whispered.

“You favor her quite a bit.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t look anything like this.” She touched her fingertips to her mother’s face, as if she could feel her in the flesh. Her eyes met Mo’s. “But I thank you for the kind compliment all the same.”

She put down the framed photograph and quickly reached into the box again. This time she brought out a battered copy of Poe. She opened the slim volume and fanned through the pages.
To Helen. Romance. Lenore.
The names jumped out at her. The book of poems was well-worn.