Blood Duel (17 page)

“You can’t blame me. A woman has her reputation to think of. If our trysts were to become common knowledge, I would lose my job. The stigma would follow me wherever I went.”

“I am a stigma now?” Jeeter was not sure what that meant, but it did not sound flattering.

“You can’t help it,” Ernestine said. “Your past has caught up with you.”

“Oh,” was all Jeeter could think of to say.

“Please understand. A woman in my position must stay above reproach. The slightest suggestion of impropriety and my life is in shambles. I do not want that. I do not want that at all.”

“I wouldn’t want that for you, either,” Jeeter admitted. Invisible hands had hold of his chest and were squeezing, and the cozy schoolhouse with its comfortable glow had become cold and sterile.

“You can see what I am leading up to, can’t you?” Ernestine asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeeter said, devastated. He had to get out of there before he made a spectacle of himself.

“Haven’t you something you would like to say?”

Jeeter had never suspected she could be so heartless. To cast him aside, and then want him to speak. She might as well bury a knife in him and be done with it. “Not especially, ma’am, no.”

“Nothing at all?”

“What is there to talk about?” Jeeter asked. “You have made up your mind. I don’t agree but I respect you too much to argue.”

Ernestine’s right hand rose to her throat. “This is not what I expected. This is not what I expected at all.”

“You and me both, ma’am.” Jeeter was fit to burst. “I reckon I’ll be going. Don’t fret none. I won’t grace your doorstep ever again.”

“Oh, Mr. Frost.”

Forcing his legs to work, Jeeter touched his hat brim. “I apologize for any inconvenience I caused you.”

“Inconvenience?” Ernestine repeated, and uttered a strange little laugh. “I would not have traded places with any woman in the world.”

Jeeter was only half listening. He moved past her, saying to himself, “I ain’t never been in love before.” A hand caught his sleeve, bringing him to a stop, and he was acutely conscious of the warmth she gave off as she stepped up close to him.

“What did you just stay?”

“I would rather not repeat it, Ernestine. It hurts too much.”

“No. Please. I am not sure I heard you correctly. What did you say?”

Jeeter could not look her in the eyes. His own were misting and he had to restrain himself from tearing them out of their sockets. “I said I ain’t never been in love before. That’s not good grammar, but since you are tossing me out I reckon grammar don’t mean much to me anymore.”

“Oh God,” Ernestine said.

“If there is one he is laughing himself silly at my expense for thinking a beautiful lady like you could care for me.”

“Oh, Jeeter.”

“That’s all right, ma’am. I made a fool of myself. I accept the blame. Just let me go now so I can suffer in peace.”

“You truly love me?”

Jeeter halfheartedly sought to tug his arm loose, but
she would not let go. “It is cruel to rub it in like that. Laugh when I am gone.”

Suddenly Ernestine’s arms were around him and she was pressing a wet cheek to his. “Oh, you magnificent, wonderful fool, you.”

“Was that a compliment or an insult? It sort of sounded like both.” Jeeter was more confused than he could ever recall being. “And why are you crying, Ernestine? I am doing what you want. Let me reach the door and you will be shed of me.”

“But I do not want to be shed of you,” Ernestine said huskily. “I love you.”

Jeeter needed a pinch more than ever. Either that, or a kick to the head. “I don’t savvy any of this. A minute ago you were kicking me out. Now you are in love with me? I know females are supposed to be fickle, but you take it too far.”

“Oh, Jeeter, Jeeter, Jeeter,” Ernestine said, and pressing her face to his neck, she began to cry.

“Dear God. Not tears, too.” When she did not respond, Jeeter stood and let her weep herself dry. He had heard somewhere that was the best thing to do. She was a good while stopping, though.

Then Ernestine drew back, sniffled, and said, “Excuse me.” She went to her desk, opened the top drawer, and took out a handkerchief. Turning her back to him, she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. “Sorry,” she said when she eventually turned around.

“Do I go or do I stay?” Jeeter asked.

“You stay if you want to and—”

“I want to more than anything,” Jeeter interrupted.

“You did not let me finish,” Ernestine said, but not unkindly. “You can stay if you want to and if you were telling the truth about being in love with me.”

“Do you want the plain of it, Ernestine?”

“I would like that very much.”

“I have never been in love before, so maybe I don’t rightly know exactly how a body should feel when he is. But if love is wanting someone more than you have ever wanted anything, if love is hurting inside when you are away from them, if love is wishing you could spend every minute of the day with them instead of only a few hours at night, if love is being confused all the time and not quite knowing why you are confused, then, by God, I am in love.”

“My sweet Jeeter.”

“If you don’t feel the same, tell me now and I will go,” Jeeter said. “I would never inflict myself on you, not in a million years. You are the nicest, kindest, prettiest gal in all creation, and the last thing I ever want to do, the very last thing, is to hurt you.”

Ernestine came down the aisle and embraced him. “We have been at cross-purposes.”

“If you say so. All I know is that I about passed out when I thought you did not want to see me anymore.”

“We can’t have that,” Ernestine said quietly, and giggled. “You are a fine man, Jeeter Frost.”

“That is the first time anyone has ever said anything like that to me,” Jeeter informed her.

“Get used to it,” Ernestine said. “I will compliment you often, for you have many fine qualities, whether you admit them or not.”

“A lot of folks would disagree.”

“I am not them.” Ernestine raised her head and
looked him in the eyes. “I am the one person in this world who loves you with all her heart and will stand by you forever if you will stand by her.”

“Does this mean what I think it do?”

“What you think it does,” Ernestine corrected him. “Yes, I guess so. I have just asked you to marry me.”

Jeeter had not meant that. He had not meant that at all. He was just getting this love business worked out in his head and now she sprang marriage on him. He was so stunned, he could not think of any words to say.

“Cat have your tongue?”

“More like a grizzly,” Jeeter said. “We need to back up.”

“We do?”

“You just asked me to marry you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not right. I may not never been married, but I know the man is supposed to do the asking.”

“Who says? There is no law dictating that the man must always broach the subject. A woman is entitled, if she desires. And you, dear man, have a knack for tying your tongue in knots.”

“You noticed?” Jeeter sheepishly smiled. “All right. Let’s say I let it pass so long as you never tell anyone it was you who asked me and not me who asked you. Do you have any notion what you are letting yourself in for?”

“I believe I do, yes, but you may clarify it for me.”

“You saw the penny dreadful. Everyone considers me a killer. Not fit for polite company. If you marry me, they will think you ain’t fit for polite company, neither.”

“Either,” Ernestine corrected. “And what have I told you about using ain’t?”

“Sorry. My mouth keeps forgetting what my head has learned.”

Ernestine clasped his hands in hers. “Jeeter, I do not care what others think. That is bold, yes, but love is bold. The fault is theirs. Judge not, the Good Book says, yet they have judged you, and wrongly, at that.”

Jeeter encompassed the schoolhouse with a sweep of his chin. “But what about your job? Some folks are bound to raise a fuss and say it’s not right, you teaching children when you have taken up with the likes of me.”

Ernestine hesitated. “I have an idea, Jeeter. I do not know if you will like it, but here goes.” She took a deep breath. “What do you say to getting married before the hour is up? To finding the justice of the peace and saying our vows? Then in the morning we will head wherever you want, somewhere new, somewhere we can both start over fresh.”

“Do you have a place in mind?”

“I have been thinking California would be nice,” Ernestine said. “It is far enough from your usual haunts that you can change your name and no one will ever know you. And they are in need of teachers.”

“California?” Jeeter had been thinking maybe Topeka.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, no, not at all,” Jeeter said. “California is a far piece, but if that is how far we have to go to live our lives in peace and quiet, then California it is.”

“In that case, let us find the justice of the peace.”

A flash of fear spiked through Jeeter, and he froze.

“What is it?” Ernestine asked.

“Are you sure about this? I don’t want to ruin your life.”

Ernestine laughed and drew him to her. “Silly man. I am as certain as I have ever been about anything. Now kiss me, and then we will begin our marvelous future together.”

“Together,” Jeeter Frost breathed in awe.

The collection of shacks and soddies had no name. Not officially. Everyone called it Crooked Creek because it was on the north bank of Crooked Creek. Who first gave it a name no one knew, although Crooked Creek Sam, as he was called, who owned the saloon, liked to claim credit. No one argued with him because Sam Hoyt could become downright mean when his dander was up.

Sam’s customers knew that if they caused trouble in his place, he was liable to whip a revolver from under the bar and cut loose at the offenders without a by-your-leave. So everyone behaved.

Still, Sam did not like it when, along about ten that night, the four Haslett brothers came into his place and moved to the far end of the bar. They were always quarrelsome, and were constantly spitting tobacco. It wasn’t the spitting he minded; it was the fact that they never used the spittoon.

Sam liked it even less when fifteen minutes later four more men entered and came to the near end of the bar. The short hairs at the nape of his neck prickled. Trouble was brewing, and he might be caught in the middle.

The newcomers were the Larn brothers. They, like the Hasletts, were from the South. They, like the Hasletts, were cantankerous. But the worst of it was, the Larns and the Hasletts hated one another.

Sam decided to show them he would not abide any foolishness by taking his old Colt Dragoon from under the bar and setting it down on the counter loud enough to draw their attention. “I will not abide any shenanigans.”

Abe Haslett, who resembled a beanpole with limbs and a large Adam’s apple, stared at the Dragoon, then said, “No need for threats. We are not here to spill blood. You have my word.”

“And mine,” declared Stern Larn, the oldest of the Larn brood. “We came to palaver about the big shoot.”

“The what?” Sam asked.

Happy Larn, the second oldest, chuckled and said, “We want to end the feud once and for all.”

Crooked Creek Sam was a Northerner. He was the first to admit he found Southerners and Southern ways peculiar. For instance, the Larns were all named after emotions. There was Stern Larn, then Happy Larn, then Cordial, and finally the youngest, Verve Larn. Who in their right mind gave their kids names like that? South Carolinians, apparently.

“That’s right,” Abe said. “Back to home the Hasletts and the Larns have been feudin’ for nigh on a hundred years. Now we aim to settle it.”

Sam regarded the Haslett faction. In addition to Abe, there was Jefferson, Quince, and Josephus. Josephus, not Joseph. All four were string beans. All four had Adam’s apples a turkey buzzard would envy. All
four wore shabby homespun and stank to high heaven. And all four could drink everyone else in Kansas under the table. “Explain something to me, if you don’t mind. Why come here to settle your feud? Why not settle it back home?”

Abe Haslett answered, “We left Spiny Ridge pretty near two months ago. Heard about all the money to be made out West. Never figured on meetin’ up with no Larns.”

“We never reckoned on meetin’ up with any Hasletts when we took it into our heads to see some of the country,” Stern Larn said.

“God works in mysterious ways,” Happy Larn said, and laughed.

Crooked Creek Sam had first heard of the brothers when they swapped lead in Dodge City. The marshal had arrested them. Since no one was hurt, and it was their first offense, the judge fined them and let them go. By some quirk of fate, they had drifted to Crooked Creek and taken to frequenting his saloon. Now this. “How do you aim to end the feud?”

“Coffin Varnish,” Abe Haslett said.

“I gave you a bottle but you have barely touched it,” Crooked Creek Sam noted.

“No, not coffin varnish the drink,” Abe said. “Coffin Varnish the town.”

Understanding dawned, and Sam said, “That notice in the
Dodge City Times
?”

All the Larns and all the Hasletts nodded.

“We read about those other fellers,” Verve Larn said. He had the habit of never being still. He was always twitching, shifting, scratching, rubbing his nose. “That Caine and the one who got his brains blowed
out.” He stopped. “Well, Stern read it to us, since he’s the only one of us can read.”

“We figure if they can blow out their brains, we can blow out ours,” Stern Larn said.

Sam needed a drink. After he had poured and his throat was on fire, he coughed and said, “You realize all of you could end up dead?”

The eight looked at him as if he were a few bales short of a wagonload.

“That’s what feudin’ is all about,” Abe Haslett said.

“It’s another word for killin’,” Stern Larn said.

“You can’t talk it out?”

Stern and Abe both started to talk at once; then Abe stopped and gestured at Stern. “After you.”

“Our clans have been feudin’ since Hector was a pup. With all the blood that’s been spilled, talkin’ it out would be an insult to those who have gone to their reward.”