Authors: Sharon Sala
The next day, she began to plan for her wedding. Word began to spread of the coming nuptials and the citizens of Lizard Flats began plans of their own for the preacher’s arrival. Letty was trying hard to curb her jealousy, but it wasn’t easy. Every time she turned around, someone was talking about that blamed wedding. It wasn’t as if she begrudged Sophie Hollis the permanent company of one of her more frequent clients because there was always someone else to take their place. But she couldn’t help but remember that handsome gambler who’d treated her special. Every night since he’d disappeared, she’d cursed herself for the way she’d behaved and then cursed herself for thinking he had meant anything by it. She wasn’t the kind of woman who had a chance at happy-ever-after and that was that. Still, each night as she sang at the bar, she couldn’t help but look toward the back of the room, wishing Gentleman Jim Dupree was sitting there.
***
A few days later, she got up earlier than usual. It was her habit to sleep until after the noon meal, but she’d ordered some things special from Matt Goslin and he’d sent word by Will that they’d come in. She washed her face and brushed out her hair without bothering to curl it back up on her head. Instead, she secured at the back of her neck with a ribbon, then took her only decent dress from the armoire and put it on. After fastening her shoes, she stuffed some money into her purse and started down the stairs.
There were two men in the saloon. One was Eulis, who was trying to sober up with his morning whiskey, the other was Will the Bartender, who was polishing glasses behind the bar.
“Where are you off to?” Will asked.
“The General Store.”
“Want me to fry you up a steak for when you get back?” Will asked.
She hesitated. Will was certainly going out of his way to make sure she stayed happy.
“Sure. That would be nice. I won’t be long.”
She walked out onto the sidewalk, and then had to sidestep a pair of young boys who came running past.
“Look where you’re going!” a man yelled at the boys, then realized it was Letty and turned his back to her, as if it no longer mattered that she’d almost been knocked down.
The slight was nothing she hadn’t suffered before, but it still made her angry.
Yeah, you pretend you don’t know me now, but just wait until you come knockin’ on my door again. I might be too busy for your miserable dollar.
She stepped off the sidewalk, ignoring the dust swirling about the hem of her dress and she headed for the store on the other side of the street. Several wagons were parked nearby and she frowned, wishing she’d paid closer attention to how busy it was. She wasn’t in the mood for shocked expressions and cold stares from the homesteaders’ wives who considered her less than the dust beneath their feet.
She slipped inside without calling attention to herself and began to circle the room, fingering the new shipment of cloth and eyeing the colorful tins and boxes along the shelves as Matt filled orders for customers at the counter.
Just when she thought she was going to escape detection, she heard a muffled gasp and then a snort of disapproval. She looked up and found herself face to face with the one and only Sophie Hollis.
Willing to ignore the fact that they were touching the same bolt of cloth, Letty dropped the fabric she’d been eyeing and turned away, but not before she heard Sophie’s indignant hiss.
“How dare you?” Sophie muttered.
Letty turned. “How dare I what?”
Surprised by the harlot’s cavalier attitude, Sophie’s face reddened. She dropped the other corner of the fabric as if it had become disgusting, but found herself locked into Letty Murphy’s stare.
“I do not converse with your sort,” Sophie muttered.
It hurt, but Letty would have died before she’d acknowledge the slight. She shrugged.
“If you don’t want an answer, then don’t ask the question,” Letty said.
She gave Sophie a slow once-over then lifted her chin and strode directly up to the counter and spoke to Matt.
“Did my order come in?”
Matt eyed the red flush on her cheeks, then the woman in the back of the room, and figured the best way to avoid a fire was to remove the tinder before the match was struck.
“Shore did, Letty. I got it all packed up for you here under the counter. It’ll be two dollars and thirty-seven cents.”
Letty counted out her money, laid it on the counter and started to pick up her package when she felt a presence behind her. Before she could turn around, a man had reached over her shoulder, lifted the package from the counter and cupped her elbow.
“Miss Murphy, I hope you will allow me to carry this for you?”
Even before she turned around, she recognized the voice and her heart began to pound. It was Gentleman Jim. He’d come back!
She turned with a smile, aware that all eyes were on her. “Why, yes, thank you Mr. Dupree. I would appreciate your help.”
Dupree was wearing a white linen suit and a broad-brimmed Panama hat especially for her, and had come into the store just in time to hear the interchange between Letty and the other woman. While there wasn’t anything he could do to change what had happened, he could give her a graceful exit. He tipped his hat to the gawking women, and then smiled down at Letty as he led her from the store.
Letty’s heart was still pounding and she was starting to feel faint. Maybe she should have eaten that steak before she did her shopping instead of waiting until later. Curious, she glanced up at the gambler and felt her heart skip a beat.
“I figured we’d seen the last of you.”
His smile slipped. “I hadn’t planned on returning.”
“Then why did you?” Letty asked.
“Because of you,” he said softly.
They crossed the dusty street in silence. It wasn’t until they’d gained the shade of front of the White Dove Saloon that Letty found the nerve to speak.
“What did you mean by that?”
Dupree handed her the package. “You, dear lady, have haunted my dreams. Will you have dinner with me? The hotel fixes a fairly decent meal.”
“Now?”
He nodded.
“Why? Why me?”
He shook his head and then smiled. “If I knew the answer to that, I might have kept riding,” he said. “So will you?”
“If you’ll give me a few minutes to fix myself up, then yes. I can’t go out with my hair like this.”
He fingered the thick brown strands resting on her shoulders then shook his head.
“Please… leave it. I like it like this.”
Will came outside, eyed the couple and frowned. “Your steak is done, Letty. Ain’t you comin’ in to eat it?”
Letty thrust her package into his arms.
“Give it to Eulis,” she said. “And put this in my room. I’m having dinner with Mr. Dupree.”
“Now Letty… you can’t just go and—”
Her eyes went hard. The smile on her lips thinned to nothing.
“I don’t work for you until the sun goes down.”
Having said her piece, she lifted her chin, thrust her hand beneath the gambler’s elbow and followed him down the street.
Unaware of the building turmoil in Lizard Flats, Randall Howe was suffering some doubts of his own. Between the heat, the coal dust, and the squalling child in the seat across the aisle, he thought he might lose his mind. And that was only within the first three hours after boarding this train. It was the second leg of his journey into the territories and he was already regretting his decision. Maybe he should have stayed and married Priscilla after all. It wasn’t the worst fate he could imagine. As soon as he was allowed, he retired to the sleeper car and crawled into his bunk, morose, and full of self-pity. Foregoing his noon meal, he continued to mope, and sometime during the heat of the day, fell asleep.
He woke just as the sun was beginning to set. His stomach growled as he rolled onto his back and he wondered if it was too late to get something to eat. Just as he was considering the wisdom of heading for the dining car, the train suddenly ground to a halt. Were it not for his quick reflexes, he would have fallen out of his bunk and into the aisle.
Muttering to himself about the carelessness of the engineer, he looked out the window, expecting to see some sort of town or at the least a depot. Instead, he saw nothing but a vast, rolling prairie. With a disgusted shrug, he thought again of the dining car and was about to get up when he heard a woman’s high-pitched scream. He paused, peering nervously out the window, and again, saw nothing. Carefully, he parted the curtains of his bunk and looked out into the aisle, but all he could see were the curtained compartments of the other bunks.
“I say,” he called out. “What’s going on?”
Someone muttered a curse from a bed close by, but it was the only answer he received. Weary to his bones and missing his clean, soft bed in the Boston rectory, he closed his eyes, contemplating the sins that had brought him to this fate.
It occurred to him then to just get off the train. It would be a long trek back to the next town, but it would be worth it. With a little luck, he could be in Boston tomorrow. He thought of his clothes, stashed somewhere in the baggage car and the blisters he would get on his feet. Then he thought of the Bishop’s anger and Priscilla Greenspan’s outrage—and not the least of it all, her father’s indignation, and rolled back into the bunk and closed his eyes; the food forgotten.
A few minutes passed, and Randall began to doze. On the verge of a snore, a gunshot suddenly sounded at close range, followed by another.
His eyes popped open. A woman screamed again, but this time close by.
“This is a stick up! Don’t nobody move!” a man suddenly yelled.
Holdup? Dear Lord! Money! His money. They would take it all.
With shaking hands, he ripped his wallet from his coat, removing all but a few dollars, and then frantically stuffed the money between the wall and his bunk. Desperate to finish the deed before he was discovered, he shoved his wallet back in his pocket and reached for his bible, praying as he’d never prayed before.
He could hear them now, laughing and yelling as they tore through the sleeping compartments, taking jewelry and money from the terrified passengers. A woman began to cry, begging for them not to take her wedding ring. Randall leaned against the wall of the compartment, taking comfort in the knowledge that most of his money had been secured.
They were closer to him now—just across the aisle—then the compartment above him. He held his breath. Suddenly the curtains of his sleeping compartment were ripped open. Randall found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.
“Hand over yore stuff!”
Randall’s hands were trembling as he began to fumble in the pocket of his coat.
“Well, well, what we got here?” the outlaw drawled, as he grabbed up Randall’s bible and began waving it over his head. “Lookee here, boys. We got ourselves a preacher man.”
Randall’s first impression of the outlaw was of filth—from the brown crust on his knuckles to the stains on the outlaw’s clothes. His second impression was the stench. His nostrils flared. Had the man
ever
bathed?
The outlaw stared at Randall over the top of his mask and then tossed the bible aside and held out the bag.
“Gimmee your valuables,” he growled. “And be quick about it.”
“Take it and be gone,” Randall said, as he dropped his wallet and pocket watch into the bag. Then he took out his handkerchief and covered his nose, trying hard not to gag from the outlaw’s breath.
The outlaw wagged his gun under Randall’s nose. “What’s ’a matter mister? Ain’t you never smelled a real man a’fore?”
Fear disappeared as a wave of disdain reconstructed Randall’s expression. “Oh, is that what you are?”
The man spit in Randall’s face.
They were gone as abruptly as they’d arrived. Outside, the outlaws mounted up and rode off into the setting sun as Randall threw up in the aisle. While it was some consolation that he’d saved the bulk of his money, at that moment, he would have traded it all for a bath.
The next day, they finally rolled into Feeney. It was to be the first place on his missionary journey where he would preach the word of God. His anticipation of the upcoming event had helped him get past the trauma of yesterday’s robbery. Here was where his new life was destined to begin.
He stepped off the train with his head held high, the bible in one hand and his bag in the other. He walked with purpose across the platform and into the street. Seconds later, the distinct odor of manure drifted up his nostrils. He looked down and groaned. He was standing in shit—horse to be exact.
“Reverend Howe?”
Randall forced a smile and looked up, finding himself eye to eye with, quite possibly, the tallest, homeliest woman he’d ever seen. She was wearing a pair of men’s pants, as well as a man’s shirt and jacket. Her brown, shoulder-length hair was pulled away from her face, and tied at the back of her neck, elongating her features even more. The wide-brimmed hat she wore low on her forehead shaded her eyes, as well as most of her face—and still she squinted; more from habit than any nearby glare. By his best guess, she was in her late thirties. Put off by her appearance, as well as her manly attire, it was all he could do not to stare.
“Yes, I’m Reverend Howe.”
“Welcome to Feeney.”
She extended her hand to him as one man would have to another. There was something commanding about her presence. He took it without hesitation.
“Name’s Mehitable Doone. I own the biggest spread in these parts. You’ll be stayin’ at my house until you’re ready to leave.”
Randall beamed. At last a semblance of normalcy had returned to his life. He tipped his hat.
“I appreciate your kindness… and that of your husband,” he said.
“Ain’t got one,” Mehitable announced, and yanked his bag from his hand. “Follow me. I’ll show you the church on the way out of town.”
Stunned that he’d allowed a woman to carry his bag, he began to run along behind, trying to catch up and rectify his social faux pas.
“Uh, I say, Mrs… uh, Miss…”
“Hellsfire, preacher. Just call me Hetty, ever’one does.”