Authors: Jane Prescott
My heart thumping loudly, I turned and shouted down the street, “Charles Gang!” Passersby on the sidewalk froze in their tracks. As one, everyone turned and fled to their homes.
The uncles were trapped in their positions. I saw Josiah touch the tip of his long mustache, a nervous tic of his I’d learned he was prone to in times of stress.
“Wait here.” I told him, grimly. I went to my counter, reached under with both hands and walked back outside. I placed a rifle in his hands. He was as shocked as I was when Elias had stuck a gun in my hands.
“I don’t know how to use this!” He protested.
“Well, that makes you only a little worse off than I.” I suggested. Looking up, I yelled to Cyril, “Climb up into the second floor with Wilbur. You’ll be better off than in the open.
The men didn’t know how to react to a woman giving orders, but I thought it might be good for them; Cyril was technically my employee tomorrow, after all. I stood beside the doorway and held my pistol in both hands, feet spread slightly to give me balance as six men on horseback rode in.
“Look at this!” One of the men laughed, looking down at me from under his broad-brimmed flat hat. “You must think yourself a real sharpshooter, missy!”
“It’s Minnie.” I coolly replied and pointed to sign over my store. I was trembling mightily within, but determined he wouldn’t see it. “And you’re not welcome in my store or in my town.”
“Oh, is that so?” The man scoffed. “We’ll just see about that. You can’t shoot us all, can you? Stand as-”
I had been taught how to take careful aim, how to fire a gun. At that moment, I realized that if I didn’t act, they would take my home, my virtue, likely my life. I fired without a second thought. The man toppled to the ground. I rocked back from the force of the shot, but didn’t lose my footing.
There were, as I said, far fewer of them than before. With his fall, there were but five. Uncle Josiah drew up the gun he’d been given and, though uncertain in how to conduct himself, took aim. I stopped him with a shout.
“Wait!” The other men were going for their weapons, but I yelled for them as well. “Enough, enough! Stop, please!” Just in case, I was prepared to shoot another.
They seemed to sense my reluctance to fire again and paused. We were covering two of them; they all stayed still, though I could see they were ready to act. I needed to cool their nerves.
“Go now and you needn’t be wiped out. I have men up there,” I said, pointing above. “and there are shooters positioned throughout the town. Go while you can.”
They hesitated, so I repeated, “Go on. Get going.”
A man spit, looking furious, but spoke to the others. “All right. We’ll go. But this ain’t over.”
I shook inside, certain that was so. Even so, they turned and began to ride out of town. They hadn’t gone a hundred feet when a blast of gunfire erupted from a nearby hillside. The tried to defend themselves, but soon they had all fallen.
Jody, Elias, and the rest of the posse came running down the hill. A few of the men were wounded and were quickly cuffed by the deputies. But Elias ignored them and ran straight for me.
“That’s the last of them. Praise God you were unharmed.” He said, throwing his arms around me. I let the weapons slip from my grip, glad to no longer feel its deadly weight in my hand.
---
“You sure you have all of that?” Abigail Monroe asked as Cyril nodded sagely from behind the counter.
“Not a problem at all, Mrs. Monroe. No trouble at all. Minnie, can you lend me a hand?”
I agreed readily enough, getting up from the corner where I’d been refilling the sugar. I preferred to handle much of the inventory, as it helped me keep a mental count of what we had and would need. Such efforts in the early history of the store are what has made Wilson’s what it is today, one of the finest dry good services in Northern California. Or so I imagine.
But on that particular day, I was mostly still settling into the routine of managing my own store and being Mrs. Minnie Pierce. Elias wasn’t kept particularly busy as a deputy, but there were still enough disputes in the town to warrant his full and gainful employment. I must say it has suited him well.
“Will this be charged to your account, Abby?” I asked.
“No, I think we’ll settle up now. I do appreciate it, Minnie, and if you’d like me to return later I can do so. I realize it’s a rather large order. We’re entertaining, you see.”
“Of course. Whatever you may need.” I smiled to my friend. But I was about to get an even bigger surprise, as two figures stepped through the shop door. My husband Elias blocked my view of the other.
“Dear, I was asked where to find you and thought I’d bring her myself. May I present Miss Ida Johnson of San Francisco?”
My travelling companion stepped forward looking quite lovely and happy. She was beaming and, from the small bump on her belly, had news to bring as well.
“Ida! My, a baby on the way! I’m amazed you should travel at all!”
“Well, I recalled you had invited me to stay with you and wanted to see you before things were too far along. A store? What a wonder!” She marveled looking about.
Elias turned to go, but I bade him return in an hour, if he were able. After I’d enjoyed a friendly chat with Ida and then completed my work with Cyril, he returned as promised. We took a lunch, as was becoming our habit, by the river. Peace was settling into and returning to Chase, as the last vestiges of the wild mining town were fading away and the modern era entering. There were even rumors that the railway might find its way up to us soon, bringing in a boom.
“When we first met, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” He told me as we ate sandwiches. I poured him and I milk and I dipped my toes into the river water. “I was like a schoolboy, afraid I’d chase you away with the wrong words.”
“I thought you handsome, but I had my doubts, dear.” I admitted.
“And now?”
“Still handsome. Still happy. Still mine. Well, not just mine.” I told him, kissing him on the cheek. “Well- seeing Ida has strengthened my resove to tell you today.”
“Tell me what?” He asked, suddenly very curious. I took his hand and placed it on my stomach.
“Still ours.”
THE END
Another dusty, early afternoon rolled its lazy way down Main Street, forcing locals to cover up their mouths with handkerchiefs to avoid coughing and wheezing. A brace of cowpokes from the outskirts of Wide Bend rode through town, whooping and hollering in their joy at having a day off. After they’d hitched up in front of The Irish Rose Tavern, it was the end of the excitement. The citizens didn’t even bother to shake their heads in disapproval; that sort of thing was far from unusual in New Mexico territory. Instead, they continued their leisurely stroll with no reasonable expectation for anything much interesting happening the rest of the week.
Of course, there was always the possibility the Tulsa, Amarillo, and Flagstaff would actually stop for once and unload an interesting passenger or two. As it happened that day, one young woman
was
stepping off the train, much to her dawning shock and horror. While she was certainly beautiful, her fears were hardly worthy of comment. How many would-be brides had taken the train west only to turn right back around and buy a ticket back east? Too many to count.
Station manager Ronald Beaufort had seen it all before, enough times that he knew how to be appropriately sympathetic and helpful while profiting from other’s misfortune. He scratched his balding temple and expertly shot brown grit into his spittoon as she stood, open-mouthed and wondering, alone on the wooden platform. Certainly a pretty young thing, he thought, admiring her poised, slight figure. Neatly tucked beneath a broad-brimmed blue hat, her red hair suggested she might be Irish. She wore a white, light-green-striped travelling dress, likely purchased in whichever Ohio, Illinois, or New York small town dress shop she’d last done her shopping. The porters had dropped a trunk beside her along with several pieces of luggage, none of which she’d be able to haul to Mother Nelson’s Room and Board for Ladies on her own. He waited a moment for her to take in the primitive, arid town before he left his windowed office to greet her.
“Waiting for someone, Miss?” He asked, knowing full well she was.
She had been wringing her gloved hands nervously and immediately stopped when addressed. “I’m afraid there may have been a mistake.” Her voice was low and embarrassed, with none of the shrill righteous anger or contempt he’d become used to dealing with. While that worked to put her somewhat in Beaufort’s good graces, it was her accent that brightened his spirits.
“My goodness! Are you from Massachusetts, by any chance?”
She smiled and nodded gratefully, recognizing the familiar New England tones in his speech patterns as well. “A little town by the name of Sycamore Springs, yes. I came to answer a letter from my fiancé, Mr. Benjamin Sullivan.”
He wrinkled his nose involuntarily at the name, motioning towards the cool shade beneath the station’s overhanging roof and the nearby entrance to the station. She followed cautiously, as Beaufort snapped his fingers at the men idling on a bench nearby. “Help this lady with her things; into the station with them at once. Quickly you! Can’t be too careful ma’am, thieves all over here.” He placed emphasis on the word “thieves,” to let that threat sink in.
Beaufort stepped into the station with the woman he’d taken under his wings, her possessions brought in behind her. She thanked the men profusely, so much so that Beaufort was shocked when Morris, the head of his baggage-handling gang, initially refused a tip when she offered it. “Weren’t nothing ma’am.” Morris gushed. Even so, she pressed a coin into each man’s hand. The station manager wondered if Morris’ reluctance had more to do with her kindly disposition than her pretty face. To be fair, she was a fresh breath of air compared to the many horsey-faced girls who’d passed through the station master’s routine of fleecing them.
“I hail from a little Massachusetts fishing village myself. By chance you’ve heard of Gloucester, miss?” He offered. He was still going to take all the cash he could from her- all his connections in the town would, of course- but perhaps at a discount.
“My, certainly! My father was born there. I have many fond memories of the town.” She responded quietly. Well damn, he thought. A deep discount, then.
He sighed. He genuinely didn’t enjoy this part. “I’m sorry to say Mr. Sullivan is likely to be rather late. I wouldn’t be so quick to declare him your fiancé, either.”
Her already wide open eyes became huge O’s of alarm. “Whatever do you mean, sir?”
“Ronald Beaufort, ma’am, at your service,” he noted by way of introduction. “You’ll excuse me for saying so, but Mr. Sullivan is well-reputed in this territory as something of an… well, an outlaw. He is wanted by the law, and there’s a steep price on his head. The bandits make their home in rough camps and it is, I fear, no place for a lady of your refinement. Now, if you still care to meet with him, I can make the arrangements…”
“No, certainly not.” She mumbled. The woman appeared crushed, so he hurried on with his practiced narrative.
“Next train won’t pass through until Wednesday. If you’d like to buy a return ticket now, I can assist you. In the meantime, there is a ladies’ boarding house I recommend-”
The woman shook her head and offered him a sad, thin smile. “I won’t be going back, Mr. Beaufort. Wide Bend is my intended stop, and I will remain her for the time being. And do forgive me, my name is Annabelle McIver. Annie to my friends. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
For once in his life, Ronald Beaufort was speechless.
--
For her part, Annie was a little shaken, but hardly cross. How could she tell this stranger the real reason she’d left home? There was no turning back now. As her Aunt Margaret was fond of saying, she’d set her hand to the plough and there was no looking back.
The polite fellow New Englander began to stammer, but Annie was already looking past him to a pair of men who’d just entered the station. They each wore a somber look on their face and as she looked on them, it registered with her that she was hearing shouting out in the streets. The dark-haired fellow trailing behind barely made an impression with her, but the blonde gentleman, with his short, brown, flat-topped cowboy hat caused her to catch her breath. He was at once handsome and, to her mind’s imagination, brutal-looking.
“Y’all need to get down!” The handsome stranger demanded, and pulled out a six-shooter. His companion did the same. “The Sullivan gang is riding through town, and I wouldn’t want to see any harm come to you!”
“Quick miss- if you know what’s good for you!” Beaufort shouted. He’d already dove under a table. Unaccustomed to such antics, she reluctantly lowered herself and ducked under the heavy wooden table as well.
The two men took up positions along the window and began to fire at passing horse riders. The gunshots rang out and she heard men on the street hollering and raising a massive ruckus. Before long, things had died down and the men were helping her back to feet.
“Awful sorry, miss.” The blonde man declared, once she’d regained her composure. “I’d hate to have seen something awful happen to you your first day in Wide Bend.”
“I’ll be right as rain, never mind, sir.” She assured him. Her voice quivered as she tried to sound certain of herself, but she raised her chin and smiled regardless. “My, that was some excitement though. Did you say... I’m sorry, did you say that was the
Sullivan
gang?”
He scratched his unshaven chin. “’Fraid so. They’ve been terrorizing these parts for near on six months, since Sheriff Dodd got himself killed out by Tuck William’s ranch. Terrible sad news. Excuse me, but need to see to the handiwork. Ma’am.” He added, tipping his cap.
She followed him outside, as did Beaufort. Lying on the ground were three men, one of them groaning and clutching his knee. The blonde man ignored him and flipped one of the face-down corpses over. “That’d be Gus Harris. Never liked him much anyway. Who do we have over there, Jim?”
His friend flipped over the body of the second cowpoke and gave a low whistle. “Hey Garrett. You’re going to want to come take a look at this.”
The blonde gunman strolled over and noticed Annie looking on in fascination. “Not a happy sight for the eyes of a proper gentlewoman such as yourself, if you’ll excuse my saying so, miss.”
She shook her head. “My mother was a field nurse during the war, sir. She has taught me much of medicines and the horror of injury and I have, in my own modest way, undertaken to help the fishermen of my community when such occasions have called for them. I stand ready to render aid as needed.”
“Not much help you can render unto this fella.” Jim said, still bending down by the second gang member. “Looky-here, Garret, Ben Sullivan made his maker. Looks like you finally shot him down!”
A great cheer rose up from onlookers, and as the word spread, the joy picked up across the frontier community. Men through their hats in the air and did impromptu jigs in the street. Garrett simply scratched his chin and looked down at the dead man.
Annie was unsure what to think. She’d been a mail-order bride to a notoriously vicious killer. What was she to do under such circumstances? He was certainly an ugly man to look at, and an evil one as well, but his letters had been filled with sweetness and romance. When reading those letters, she’d been certain that no matter the trials of living in the wilds of New Mexico, they’d make it work.
Still, she couldn’t go back given the shame her father had brought to their family. If this was to be her home, she’d have to make things work somehow.
She was just about to say as much to Mr. Beaufort, to find the boarding house he’d had in mind when a short, stout old man in a stovepipe hat and long black walking stick strolled over to her. Wearing checked pants and a bright red vest over his rotund belly, the man reached out and aggressively pumped her hand. “Mayor McGrath, ma’am, how do you do, how do you do? Would I be right to presume you are one Annabelle Lee McIver, late of Sycamore Springs, Massachusetts?” He was shouting to make himself heard over the celebratory din, but she was under the impression he was a man used to projecting his voice. She didn’t try to compete with the noise, choosing instead to shake her head in affirmation.
“Splendid! Well, this is perhaps not the most wonderful of circumstances for you to find yourself on this fine day, but I am pleased to make your acquaintance and to rescue you,” he quickly rounded on Beaufort, who was narrowing his eyes, “from the scheming clutches of this most odious creature! A man whose sole purpose is to purloin your final penny from your purse and bring you to ruin!”
“Now see here, McGrath…” Beaufort tried to protest, but the little man poked his chest with his cane.
“Sheriff may be dead, but as long as I’m mayor, you’ll stop preying on these young women. You hear?”
Beaufort mumbled under his breath, and Annie thought she heard him say, “Ain’t the mayor anyways.” But the stationmaster retreated to his little building, apparently acknowledging defeat.
The undertaker arrived with his assistants and started to load his wagon with the two bodies. Another man whom Annie decided must be the doctor, set a black bag down beside the fallen youngster and started examining his knee. Garret and Jim stepped alongside the Mayor and Annie and tipped their caps.
“Going to check the entry into Wide Bend, make sure they’re not doubling back. See you for supper?” Garrett queried the Mayor McGrath.
“Capital idea! See you at the house.”
The two men climbed onto saddled horses and rode down the street as the crowd started to disperse.
“So- is he the new sheriff? The gentleman they’re calling Garret?” Annie asked. The Mayor nodded and started to stroll down the plank sidewalk. She followed along.
“I suppose he may as well be. It’s certainly taken him off the ranch much more than he’d like, but someone has to keep that gang in check.”
“Has to? Aren’t the gone? Their leader is dead, so I presumed they were no more.”