Though
he hadn’t seen her all day, Becka was watching for him at the periphery of the crowd gathered around her friend’s
mare as Lazy Susan was prepared for her diminutive rider’s presence. Clearly she’d expected to be able to meet
him here without drawing suspicion from her husband and her two new best friends from Boston.
“ I’m worried about what Ted’s gotten himself into, Paul. “
She whispered tautly when none of the faces were watching them any longer.
“
Now, Becka, you know I’ve never been one to tell another man how to live his life. So I hesitate at your asking
me for him, but I give you my word by all that I hold dear, that if I may make a difference, or I am asked for help, I will
do everything in my power to assist him, if you because you love him so much, and I honor that, Missy. “
Her smile was a reward that caught his heart off guard, and she reached up impulsively and kissed him on the cheek,
hard enough to start a small throb of his injured flesh, but as she raced away, as lithe as a young girl chasing after a rainbow,
a peace settled inside him that hadn’t been there before.
“
You always were an old softie, Paul Lee. “ Louise Walker’s voice
warned, with a rare mellowness, as she walked up beside him, using her dainty lace parasol to enclose them into a private
world between two old friends.
Paul scuffed the toe of his boot before he could look up, but the smile on his face only deepened and when she leaned
against him, smelling of talc and dampness at the end of a dry, hot day, he slipped his arm around her stout waist, not caring
who might be watching them at the periphery of the race action under the elms.
“
I guess I’m just blessed that I have old friends like the Judge and Miss Daisy, and you, Louise, who’ve
known me since I was in knee high pants and still care what happens to me now that I’m old and gray. “
“ I always cared, Paul. “ She said, in a frightened intensity, but
he just pulled her a little closer to him without answering her instinctive request for control; it still wasn’t his
to give though he could see nothing ahead of them but days of summer, winter and fall lived side by side while they fell gracefully
to the ground for the last time, two leaves from the same branch, landing near to one another waiting for the winter snows.
“ I’ve always depended on that, Louise. “ He
said at last and she seemed content with whatever she read into his reply. There wasn’t any way he could tell her she
had to share the part of his heart he hadn’t given to a younger woman, as difficult in culture, background, and personality
as black could possibly be from white, darkness from light, and yet, having her near at this moment, in the city where he
was born and raised, answered a need in him he hadn’t understood until this moment and because she was content to rest
her stern pride in order to simply be beside him, he saw no reason for it to end any time soon.
-
“ I
wish you’d make up my mind for me, Marshall. “ Andy Small teased as
he walked up to the line where Paul was waiting a turn beside Willard Orville at signing the release papers to be certain
his old bay stallion wasn’t forced to run in the third heat, despite coming in fourth. It seemed obvious to everyone,
including Paul that he was making a public show of speaking with the man his father-in-law was attempting to push aside. It
wasn’t in his nature to be brave, as it was in his wife’s. Who’d grown up having to seize what she needed
from her father’s limited expectations of her gender. Clearly this was something important for him to do, so Paul hunched
his shoulders a little and leaned both hands on his cane, prepared to hear out whatever the sandy haired man felt was important
to say.
The words were said with a broad smile and the shorter man reached out and touched the frayed fringe of the buckskin
along the forearms, more as a means of connecting himself to the patient man than in mockery and several people ‘drifted’
over to show their silent support for Pamela’s quit spoken husband.
“ In what way, Andrew? “ Paul McWhorter said at
last, seeing the long pause as his invitation to join the conversation.
“ First you’re dressed to the penultimate representation of an eastern gentleman, and
now I see you dressed in the primitive garb of a frontiersman. Is there some significance to that? “
The old man’s breath caught in his throat. Had he misjudged the man? Then he took a split second to look at his
eyes. When a man draws a gun to kill another man, there is a moment’s hesitation, unless he’s a killer. Was that
same stutter of uncertainty present?
“
Maybe getting blood all over his good clothes from being punched in the nose by a man who ought to know better had
something to do with it, son. “ Willard Orville suggested softly, having less patience than
the tolerant man towering over him.
Andy Small nodded.
“ I figured as much, and I figured someone from the family owed you an apology. “
He held out his hand forthrightly as he saw his father-in-law pale. “ I hope you’ll accept mine?
“
“ I’d be proud to shake you hand any day, Mr. Small. “
Paul agreed, and the shorter man blushed slightly as he was pulled into a bear hug, but his grip tightened and his
smile broadened, as sheer relief flooded his face.
“
It’s your turn, Marshall. “ A quavering voice called to him thinly in the shocked silence
and as Paul straightened the weigh back on his aching hips, he found himself closed in by cheerful, gapping people, all intent
on accompanying him the short distance to the table where Eduardo Messinger had stood moments before. As he straightened,
he looked for Andrew Small but the man was being pummeled by the forefinger of Mr. Smith and Paul ached too badly to attempt
to rescue him unless asked by a glance from the sandy haired man. When it didn’t arrive, he leaned against his old friend
gratefully and watched as the colored paper horses were moved into the starting position on the chalkboard. Two stallions,
two geldings, and three mares, over a shorter course that none of the jockey’s had ridden as yet. It was almost over
and he would be profoundly grateful to slip into bed and escape this throbbing headache from his swollen nose and cheek.
Eduardo’s voice carried toward them angrily, a short distance away from the start and finish line being re-measured
and remarked for the final race of the day. Like the others Paul and Willard Orville looked up in amazement at the shocking
departure from the universally urbane and unruffled appearance the stocky man maintained in public. He was almost backed against
the edge of the hotel’s side entrance by a wildly gesturing man Paul recognized with a sinking heart, John Russell,
Daria ’s stepson. The man’s voice was shrill with indignation and fear, and that bode no one any good. The behind
the scene’s storm he’d felt brewing all day was finally coming to a head, but he was too tired, inside and out,
to take any pride in that, or to wish any participation in the first time in his grown life. It was as though he’d walked
unto this street a middle aged man this morning, joking with Ricardo about Gent not taking his loss too badly, and aged thirty
years with a wicked right cross from the well-dressed man now bent almost double to keep from soiling the back of his trousers
on the mossy edge of the watering trough at the side of the building, intended for dray animals too bulky and utilitarian
to be seen drinking from the public reservoir in front of the two story building.
“
I didn’t have to say it, sir! “ The Tobacconist’s voice said
loudly, with the intent to be heard as he saw how much attention they were drawing. “ It was understood
between gentleman. How was I to know the horse would come up lame? I had no idea, nor did I expect you too!
If you are the proper gentleman you claim you are, we will conduct the remainder of this conversation indoors, where I don’t
need to fear I’ll be pummeled within an inch of my life! “
He was allowed to straighten and take a step forward after Damien Whistler appeared from the late afternoon shadows
encasing the narrow alley and pulled his taunt friend’s away from its intended victim.
“
Sheriff Howard’s out on the course, making certain its marked fairly, Marshall? “ Mayor
Cox asked, with a sad wring of his hands. His honorary appointment ads town mayor didn’t included stepping between two
savage dogs about to tear each other’s throat out! He’d leave that to the experts!
Paul
stood slowly, wishing he could just hand his cane to his seated friend but if the enraged Bostonian swung at him, he’d
need it to protect his face. Once in a day was once too much! Seeing him approach, Eduardo Messinger made good his escape,
slamming the hotel’s front door behind him in unseemly haste.
“
He wants his money now, Paul! He can’t do that, can he? “
“
His money for what? “
The slender man’s face suddenly purpled but he seemed to deflate, like a balloon whose string was just loosened
from the valve stem, and the hood came over his eyes and form even before his coldly intoned words reflected the internal
changes.
“ The man is a crook and a cheat! I’m sorry we ever thought that befriend Becka would
be something we could enjoy as a causal and cordial… “
“
Watch your tongue, boy! It dug you in this deep a hole, Watch that it don’t dig you a grave! “
“ Are you threatening me? “
“
You had no call to bring Becka’s name into this, unless you can prove she consented with a man twice her age
to cheat you. When I suspect, you simply got dealt the hand you intended for your ‘mark’ to receive, the truth
be told! “
He braced, readied for the clinched fist the younger man’s eyes promised but Damien Whistler’s arm reached
in first, pulling his friend off balance as he held firm and then pulled back.
“
Now ain’t the time, John! “ He hissed angrily. “
People are watching! “
“ You’re going to get yours, Paul McWhorter! “
“ Many a man has hung who said those same words, and I’m still here, son.
“
His words reflected the weight of sadness
and pain in soul, body, and mind, as the full intent behind the trio’s ‘friendly’ and ‘impulsive’
visit ‘to an old friend’ became clear. Before making the announcement of a first time ever Public Racing system
in his home town, Eduardo’s connections with the seamier side of commerce must have sent out tendrils, perhaps ‘selling’
illicit territories to be certain a sudden wave of crime and usury didn’t close the promised wealth as quickly as it
started due to public outrage. If you put a wild frog in boiling water, it’ll instinctively attempt to jump out to save
its life, but put that same frog in cold water and increase the water’s heat to boiling in small increments, he’ll
lose the ability to flee and be cooked. Worse, he was too old to be the one to speak out and defeat the wicked scam, that
would fall on the shoulders of the next generation, the way it had on his, he thought sadly, feeling every year of his age
like a lead weigh hung about his swollen knees as he walked into the shadows and sat down on the servant’s staircase.
He wanted to put his face in his hands and weep at the fatuity of his life, but he feared being seen by one of the young boys
who’d come to idolize him by the mistaken belief that what they read about him was true, so all he could do was to hold
his forehead in his hands and stare at the blood dripping down on his boots; little caring at that moment if he lived or died.
He didn’t know how long he’d slept in that position but when a woman’s scream jolted him into sudden
wakefulness, the blood spattered on his boots was dried and he had to force his joints to move, they had become so wooden
in his long repose.
“ It’s Mr. Messinger! Someone’s beat him half to death! “
The middle aged serving woman screamed running to the front of the building and waving her arms to try and attract
attention.
“ You got blood all over you legs and boots! “
She said in accusation as Paul clung to the side of the building, attempting to gather his wits.
“
I just saw Paul McWhorter run out the back of the building! Marshall help me catch him! “
Paul Ryan said, his ink stained fingers smudging the new buckskin, then his jaw dropped and he looked over his shoulder
in amazement. How could the same man be in two places at one time? “ But I saw…
“
“ You saw someone wearing his coat, come on! He’s getting away! “
Andy Small shouted, leading five other men behind him in a quick sprint toward the disappearing figure.
But all they returned with was the discarded jacket and questions in their eyes as they handed it to Storm Howards.
“ He was hit on the head and never saw his attacker, but Doc Bluhm said nothing vital was
severed. He also said there’s no way the Marshall here could have done it, if we hadn’t seen him. He cain’t
raise his hands over his head with that kind of brute force. ” He warned several doubters as they looked in Paul’s
direction dubiously.
“ He could have used his cane! “ Someone growled.
“ Mr. Messinger’s been bad mouthing him all day! Even a saint has his limits and none of the
McWhorter boys were ever known for being saints! “
“
It took a younger man’s strength, Everett. But Mr. Messinger’s being a real sport about it. We’re
so close to the end of the day’s activities, he’s asked us to go on. I need two deputies. “
When no one offered, he amended that he’d need their help after the race, and he quickly got
three volunteers. Paul was simply they took the ringing loudness of their voices away from where he was seated because even
with the two pain pills Joe Bluhm had given him, he couldn’t seem to shake the dull ache at the top of his head or the
high pitched whistle at the top of his range of hearing.
Miss Daisy sat down beside him, pushing the hair back
from his brow and using a lean cloth dipped in water to help clean the spots from his face. He wanted to push her hand away
but the maternal look of concern and kindness overwhelmed what was left of his defenses and with the Judge standing near by,
watching proprietarily, it simply made him feel less alone.
“ Shall
we go to the starting line? They’re waiting for us, Paul. Lean on my shoulder if you need. They’ve
decided to apologize to you for debasing your name and a lifetime of devoted service to the Law by allowing you to shoot the
blanks in the starter’s gun. My, my, ain’t that nice! “ He said bitterly
but the white haired man simply pushed himself to his feet,, wishing he didn’t have to lean so much of his weight on
the cane, but his body ached against every command of his will.
“
Let’s go and get it over with. The sooner somebody ‘wins’, the sooner we can pack up and go back
home! “
Willard and his wife exchanged shocked looks behind his back. It was the first time they’d ever heard him speak
in that tone of voice, but they followed after him, keeping their thoughts to himself as they clasp hands and helped one another
down the stairs to the hotel, walking toward the eager assembly as if to their own execution and not merely the unofficial
start of a local horse race.
-
There
was a pointed delay while an outsized chair was found in the hotel dining room and brought out for the bandage swathed man
to sit on the main platform while Mayor Dicky Cox held up his hand to demand silence from the excited crowd of spectators.
A pencil stuck in the hair overhanging his ear, and a lined note pad resting on the palm of his hand, Archie Ryan’s
pointed elbow nudged Paul’s side unexpectedly and he jerked his head in the smiling politician’s direction.
“ Watch this! As smooth as butter and he don’t even choke on the lies, but watch the
other gent’s faces! “ He said, obviously pleased with himself, picturing
the copies of tomorrow’s paper that were already typeset, only waiting the actual name of the wining horse and family.
Paul distanced himself in small increments, as if excited to hear the news about to be released by the pontificating, self-styled
‘statesman’.
“ This time next year, we’ll be attending the opening ceremonies for our own James River
Racetrack and Betting Salon for Gentleman, of all incomes. “ He said proudly, waiting for the expected
twitter of laughter to pass through the crowd. “ We’ll have shade and refreshments for the
ladies, protection from the weather, protection for the horses and riders with modern standards of cleanness, weights and
measures for the horses, and licensed watchers posted at various places along the course with stopwatches and vouchers to
prove this is indeed a gentleman’s race. “ Luckily he paused
because that got a bigger response than anything he’d said until now and he could feel the mood of the crowd turn restless
at this disappointing delay in the start of the day’s race which had been heavily wagered. “
However! “ Mayor Cox demanded theatrically as people at the edges of the crowd
started to peel away in boredom. “ To protect the good name of our Community and to keep this as
a friendly competition as in year’s past, we regret to inform you that the only horses which will be allowed to race
in any of the day’s three heats are those owned by local families, since none of us expected such a massive influx of
strangers wishing to race horses of whom we known nothing about. “
Whatever else he was going to say was lost to the noise of the crowd and John Russell and Damien Whistler looked at
one another, as white as their celluloid collars.
“ We’re ruined! We agreed to pay for that damn brown horse whether he ran or not! I
was going to use the money Our Gal Sally won! But now we can’t race her! Do you have any more money
that you haven’t told me about? “
“
No, you fool! I spent it on buying the mare in the first place! “ Russell
hissed between his teeth, his clinched hands reaching to throttle the neck of the terrified mans standing beside him. It had
all seemed so easy! The stallions and geldings would wear themselves out in the first two heats of the day, although their
jockeys would have a better idea what to expect on the course than the mares, who would be allowed to run as equals in the
final heat. Bringing in a horse bred and trained on a race track had seemed so easy a dupe that they’d been more concerned
about needling Messinger’s stallion in just the right place to only temporarily cripple the chestnut to make him sell
them the horse than they had been about the prize money which would then pay for the real prize-the racing
stallion who’s stud fees alone would assure their capitol venture’s success and their own reputations when they
returned to Boston. Now they had no hopes of making any money and no way to pay for the horse since event he entry fees had
been non-refundable from the onset. All they had was the money in their wallets that they’d promised out in wagers and
the change in their pockets!
Damien began to pluck at his lower lip and sob softly under his breath. Suicide by as least painful a bullet seemed
his only option, but he feared meeting his wife’s wrathful spirit on the other side, which suddenly became a reality
to him, intensifying his agony.
Pamela Small swung him around with a hand on his arm so intense that he looked up expecting to see Paul McWhorter and
then his chin inched down in increments until he saw the face of a petite but fiercely angry woman. Becka Quade’s diminutive
friend, that fiend’s youngest daughter! Before he could think of the appropriately hateful remark, she let go of him
and turned to his companion, dismissing him as thoroughly as Russell and his wife had from the onset.
“
The only horses that can run are owned by locals! My father sold my horse out from under me this afternoon to keep
me under his thumb, and Mister, I don’t like it any better than you like the way he swindled you! He and the Mayor had
this cooked up from the start! I can’t prove it, but I know my father! “
John
Russell’s face reddened into a mask of humiliation and fury and she had to close her fist and punch him on the chest
twice before he would deign to look back down at her.
“ Sell your mare for the twenty dollar double eagle I hold in my hand, I know who she is,
I saw her race in New York. After the race, win or lose, I’ll sell her back to you for return of the same coin, I give
you my word, and I ain’t my father! But if I win, I keep the one fourth of the total prize money given to male jockeys,
no pretense, no excuses or so help me, by all that’s holy you’ll find out that I am my father’s daughter!
“
“ It’s a deal. John, shake on it. “ Patricia
Russell said in a tight voice. None of them had heard her quiet approach. She’d meant for them to leave the grounds
before anyone realized they’d welched on the deal and she was already figuring out how to explain it away as yokels
trying to get something at the expense of their betters when she saw the grim determination on the woman’s face and
understood the hunger she saw there. John Russell raised an eyebrow in askance, but sensing something in his wife’s
steely rejection of his silent interrogative, he gave placed his gloved hand over the clinched fingers of the grim faced young
woman under the lace parasol. Holding unto the ‘lucky charm’ for the entire forty minutes it
took to document the new ownership of the brown mare ‘ My Gal Sal’, for the jockeys to be suited up in their tight
fitting racing clothes and the gun to fire at the start of the race.
-
Paul found his heart beating with an unexpected skip of anticipation as the winning stallion lined up the three mares
in the middle of the newly graded street. Small children were held back against their mother’s knees, or anxious older
siblings as all eyes were on the parade effect made by the small animals and the prancing roan beast who seemed
as fresh as he had been at the start of the first heat early this morning. It suddenly seemed an uneven race, a tangible representation
of man’s brute power over feminine desires and he was almost sorry he’d been the given the ‘honor’
of firing the first shot. As much as he had been taught to respect and care for woman as the more vulnerable gender, her they
were, being ridden by male jockeys, to attempt to do that which was against nature. Only one horse was mounted by a woman,
but she had her hair severely tied back in a long blonde ponytail, all signs of her gender masked by the fierceness of her
face an pose attempting to calm the skittish mare she was riding for the first time. He raised his arm, held his breath and
fired the shot straight into the air, half expecting to see a lifeless form trampled under the feet of ‘progress’
and ‘change’ in an increasingly mechanized world that held no place for him. But all that remained was dust and
emptiness, quickly filled by the spectators who’d been standing with their backs pressed against the wall until the
living tide was released and purged.
Before they’d even made the first turn, a body was thrust off its mount and a red brown mare turned off the course
by the weight of its rider holding unto the reins as he fell. A gasp went out from ale and female voices alike, but a few
seconds later, the mare disappeared going in the wrong direction, no doubt headed for her home barn, and the disgruntled jockey
forced himself to his feet and kept his back to the crowd as he dusted himself off, cursing softly under his breath.
“ It’ll be twenty minutes, Marshall. Could you help me where Mr. Messinger was attacked?
All I see is scuffles, but maybe you’ll see something? “ Storm Howards
asked sheepishly.
“ That only happens in English mysteries and dime novels. “
“ I know that, and they probably suspect it. But its what they expect us to do. “ The
Sheriff agreed, obviously relieved when Paul nodded and began to cut across the flow of people to follow him back into the
hotel.
There were two broken chairs but everything else had been swept clean by the hotel staff, which leaned on their brooms
and watched them, gap mouth with anticipation and awe. When Paul felt they’d put on a good enough show, even with Storm
getting down on his hands and knees to collect the change that had tumbled out of the man’s vest pocket when he’d
fallen to the floor under the weight of the first blow, he shook his head profoundly and whispered in the Sheriff’s
ear to keep the change as ‘evidence’.
His gaze returning time and again to the visibly impressed staff, he did as he was instructed and glanced up the street
then at the chalkboard to see where the paper horses had been moved, representing the actual racers who were out of sight
on the other side of town.
“ I got time to do the paperwork. That’s for the help Marshall. “
“ Don’t mention it. “ Paul agreed. And for
a moment, it was Luke Cole who was standing beside him, making a slow, timeless remark about having to do the paperwork, when
he was almost illiterate and the Judge had to ‘review’ it orally to make notes because his handwriting was indecipherable
and it suddenly occurred to the old man how much he had missed even while he was living the life that now seemed as far away
as the hidden racers plunging across the inlet at breakneck speed.
“ Was anything
of it not a waste? “ He asked under his breath, but the sheer act of standing
so long made his head swim and he held unto the edge to the roof support with his free hand as he slowly levered himself to
the hard pack dirt road, one step at a time.
“ Who would have been there to raise my little girl when I was killed? “
he had Rolf Fosse’s memory ask him from the back of his mind, but seeing her beside her young husband at the first bend
into the town the horses would take toward the finish line, as intent and wild as any street urchin, he found himself resisting
even that small comfort.
“ She would have come here at nine and been better acclimatize to the men she found in her
new life, and not fallen for the first slick sidewinder who wanted her name more than she needed his! “
He growled, trying to push away the memory four times younger than he was now. “ I didn’t
do here any favor letting her get hooked up with that Weak-kneed Nelly! “
“
Stop! Stop! Thief! “
Words tumbled down into the empty street as people only now began to drift back toward their places in expectation
of the horse’s imminent return. When the fleeing figure raced across his shadow, knife in hand, Paul reached out his
cane and stuck it between the fleeing youth’s feet, causing him to scream in pain and fall to the dirt, spilling out
the currency and coins of the entry monies clutched in the sack he’d been carrying under his arm.
For
one terrible moment Paul thought he was looking at Manolito’s face, but it was a stranger, close to the same age, the
face poxed and marked with worked in dirt, a distinct odor of fear and unwashed flesh rising up in a sickening aura around
the twisting and groaning form.
Storm Howards raced up; then carefully holstered his gun so it wouldn’t discharge accidentally. His face a mask
of surprised and awe.
“ We keep owing you a greater and greater depth, Marshall McWhorter. “
“ I ain’t been a Marshall in almost five years! “
Paul snapped. But the dark haired man only grinned as he reached for his handcuffs since the younger man had out sprinted
him once already.
“ Don’t tell him that. It might wound his pride more than he wounded his leg. “
For some reason Paul had to smile and he simply shrugged off the weight that was trying to place itself on his shoulders.
“ Life is what it is. “
Storm nodded,
thinking the white haired man was speaking to him, impressed by the apparent pronouncement. As Paul McWhorter walked away,
two young street urchins raced up to help gather the money and greenbacks attempting to slide between the weed stalks under
the bank building and he was kept too busy trying to count how much went into each hand of the original total to give much
further thought to the passing of the baton from one generation to his. But Paul knew. One had ended, another life had yet
to come into view, and he for one, wasn’t going to blur the line with useless regrets any longer.
-
Even with Eduardo Messinger’s prize stallion Pemmican
withdrawn from the race with his swollen foreleg and the announced intention to sell him to outside owners, Patricia Russell
was probably the only person who wasn’t surprised when the small brown mare and her diminutive rider emerged at the
last turn. Her saddle was gone and her rider was checked marked with mud and dirt like a harlequin but as she leaned forward,
almost on top of the straining mare’s neck, a loud whoop sounded that caused the first contender to appear to startle
violently and throw his rider. As she crossed the finish line, the pounding thunder of the massed pack now becoming an echo
to the roar of the cheering crowd, Patricia looked at her slacked jawed husband and co-conspirator, Damien Whistler.
“ Never underestimate the power of a driven woman’s determination, my dears. “
And smiling, she lead the way graciously to the informal winner’s circle.
When she had shaken hands until her palm was swelled and her fingers were sore, Pamela sought out her father, who was
still seated, looking as though he was about to have a stroke of apoplexy.
“
You cheated me! “
“ You sold my horse!
“ Pamela demanded in exasperation and wounded injury.
Eduardo Messinger’s mouth fell open in shock.
“ I had to keep you out of the race! It’s a father’s duty to protect his
child! If you had entered, you would have tried to win, no matter what I told you! “
“ And you already had the winner chosen! Well, the shoe is on the other foot, and yes, I would
have, that’s true. But the man you sold my mare too behind my back is impressed with the way I’ve trained her
to race that he’s asked me to come work for him as lead trainer. “
“
But, but…you’re a woman! “
“
So you’ve made me see every day of my life, as if that made me less than any man you could hire. But not any
more, Papa! Next month, my family and I are moving to Kentucky. I’m going to be the lead
trainer there, and I’m going to race fair and clean, and win, because we’ll race the best animal we can raise
and take the best care of the animals we race. It’s a dream I never fully dared to dream until you made me prove to
myself that it’s possible, Father! “
“
You’re the only child I have left to me! It’s your duty to be there, to protect and care for me in my old
age, just the way I took care of you when you were young! “
“
You drove Mama out of your house and out of your arms and hired Nannies to raise us until I was the only one left who’d
endure you! If I were to give tit for tat, I’d have to hire a nurse to meet your basic needs, no
matter the cost to your heart. But I won’t. But until that day, it’s a wife’s duty to go with her husband
and family and do the best she can for them, Papa. That’s what you always taught me, now, I understand!
“
“ But if you leave me, I’ll be all alone! “
Pamela
straightened to her fullest height and looked over his shoulder at the twenty or so people waiting to be allowed to race over
and be seen with him, to rub shoulders with the great man and be know as one of Eduardo Messinger’s ‘friends’.
“ Oh Papa, “ she said sadly. “ Even with all these people around
you, how could you be more alone than you are at this moment, whether I stayed or not? “ And
she turned slowly to walk toward the lean, white haired giant standing beside her grinning husband and children, at peace
with the world in a way she’d never known before in her life.
“
You’ll watch over him for me, won’t you, Marshall? “ She asked,
with tears suddenly in her eyes. “ Promise me you won’t forget ? “
“
Not while I’m breathing, Missy. “ He promised earnestly as he watched
Becka and Ted Quade approach to congratulate their diminutive friend on her extraordinary ride and win. Something
small and firm laid its hand over his heart and he felt Speckled Bird standing beside him, saying goodbye with her eyes, and
asking his permission to be set free even as he was setting his foster daughter free to move on to a life that would extend
far beyond the years left to him, and it was as real as the voices around him, the smell of the dust, and the sticky sweet
odor left behind by one of the racing horses before their rider slipped off their back, no longer demanding blind obedience
to the whip of circumstance.
“ Coming Paul? “ Louise Walker’s voice called
tentative, high pitched with weariness and concern.
“ Be right there. “ He called, but he lingered
on the edge of the empty street as the pennants picked up in a new breeze off the James River, bringing the threat of an Atlantic
squall inland. In his mind’s eyes he was seeing the image in the tint-type portrait captured by a
photographer whose name he didn’t even know. One of the Noble Savages in their fading splendor so future generations
would know the Red Man once lived, fought, hunted, birthed and died here in a life without fences or plows or the need for
land deeds and taxes paid to a centralized government as nameless as the twelve people forced to kneel and stand together
within the range of the camera’s lens. Of the young man standing behind the woman he loved, his hand resting lightly
against her shoulder in a gesture of natural possession so circumvented by the Moirés of Advanced Culture, the intent
stare from one heart to another, one culture to another, and the feeling that somehow his time had passed him by as much as
theirs had. From his youth spent in the horrors of battlefield death and carnage to attempting to stamp the world with his
own peculiar brand of Justice and right and wrong, to this, seeing a new world rise up on his horizon that he wouldn’t
be allowed to share or build except in the woman and man he’d helped to mold as children. Did it have any meaning? Was
it worth it? Would he do it over? He asked himself these poignant questions, but found no answer. Only the increased pain
in his hip and a sudden memory of Speckled Bird one night as she sat in a hand hewn rocker, in an unfinished cabin in the
middle of the wilderness, dressed in an ankle length calico dress, looking as beautiful as any woman could hope to look.
“ Don’t stop loving me - because we’re far apart - leading the lives we must….
“ Her eyes pleaded with him across the time she stood upright from kneeling in front of her
seated father Red Hair and lifted her little girl into her arms.
“
Not while I’m breathing. “ He promised; then he hastened his step
ever so lightly to take the gloved hand of the white haired woman as Louise Walker bent in her pride and dared to express
her vulnerability toward the boy she remembered him to be sixty years ago. This was the life they were living now, and it
was good. It had to be. It was all that was left to them. Although the person or persons unknown weren’t found as the
year of our Lord 1872 drew near its conclusion, Paul would have bet his money on Eduardo Messinger being the killer, having
a compulsive need to see everything done ‘right’, meaning his way, but the simple fact that a poisonous snake
not indigenous to this portion of the James River inlet suggested an act of desperation, totally out of style with the portly
and wondrous self-pleased man as his ‘foresight’ was already netting him so much money they had to ship it away
in well guarded Wells Fargo boxes to store at larger banks. His money was now evenly divided between Damien Whistler’s
appealingly boyish cowardice and John Russell’s cold-blooded ability to seize control of a situation and bend it to
his and Patricia’s will. As December neared, he laid it to rest with two ceramic ornaments meant for a garden in Memphis,
a small green bull frog and a rather outside dark gray tan toad, which sat near each other on his fireplace hearth beside
Tico’s sleeping blanket, to symbolize how much he and Tooantah had in common, despite the outward differences in size,
age, and culture. As December emptied itself of days he gave up attempting to decipher it from the small snippets of information
that drifted from the large houses on Main Street and contented himself with knowing it was one of those things settled in
a higher court than he was privileged to witness. He’d paid for a digging crew so they bury the stallion and man in
the same grave, the stallion’s legs tucked up against his belly, Frog laying on his left side in a fetal position, with
his head rested near the stallion’s throat latch, his flint and steel, best bow and arrows within easy reach. He’d
thought of burying his Bowie knife with him, in case the Indians proved right, but he feared someone would mark the spot and
just dig it up, so he contented himself with watching the moon as shadows slipped past it, the newly awakened Frog and Titan,
his beloved companion racing confidently even between the furthest stars, and he saw that it was good. It was enough. It had
to be; it was all he had left.
-
As they gathered around the large conifer to decorate it on Christmas Eve night Paul McWhorter had to admit it was a good
year to have been alive, for all of the ups and down from January 2ndwhen he and his war Becka Quade argued furiously
over the arrest of Mormon leader Brigham Yong for polygamy for having a hundred and three wives, and not speaking to each
other for three days thereafter, to the 10th of May when her excitement as a Suffragist knew no bounds when Victoria
Woodhull became the first woman nominated to be the President of the United States, although she was too young by a year and
her name never appeared on the November ballot against Ulysses S. Grant, or their sharp divergence once again on ‘legality
vs. morality’ when he foolishly took a stand against her obstinate opinion that Susan B. Anthony shouldn’t be
required to have to pay her lawfully accessed fine of $100 because she had to endure the humiliation of a court trial after
she broke the law by voting in the November 5thprimary. Or his fear in her frequently voiced descent over the ‘perfidy’
of the U.S. Army and Captain Jack of the Modocs in Southern Oregon when they were forced off their lands and placed on the
restricted reservation of their chief rivals and fought back against the Service at a staggering financial cost as well
as ruination of an entire Indian Culture for which both he and Ted Huntington Quade feared she’d take it in her mind
to pack their nine month old son and move them to the Reservation to attempt to ‘help the people’; since
this required him to side with Ted Quade, which was something he was loathe to do. Peace hadn’t really returned to the
drafty old house until Thanksgiving, and the rush of the Yuletide season to bring them their first Christmas together as a
family, and a measure of peace to her heart, though a part of her still clearly yearned to return to California and Nevada,
despite the recent earthquake in Lone Pine, and a part of him whished he could keep her the girl who wanted to do all these
wonderful but impossible tasks….for he realized, his time on earth, like the year around them was drawing to an end,
even when the Lava Bed Wars were still an active struggle, promising to link one turbulent year to yet another. In retrospect,
he could see that Ted’s promise to help finance a business for her, when she was ready to take on added responsibilities
when their new son was draining her of energy sufficiently now, even with help, was a wiser and kinder choice then he would
have liked to grant to the self-centered young man, but one thing was certain. Tonight they would share in the ancient tradition
of trimming the Christmas tree, placing the tiny candles and wicks where their brief flame tomorrow wouldn’t cause a
fire, and that he was seeing how truly blessed and happy she was in her new life, and was there any sweeter gift in life to
receive than that?
His housekeeper, Abby Briggs made mention of how flushed
she was and suggested that she rest at home rather than join them for the ride to the Church in town for Midnight Services,
that she thought she had a fever, but always strong willed, Becka had turned down her advice and gone with them through the
snowy cold of the season. By New Year’s Day they knew this part of the Coast was gripped in a terrible wave of Influenza
and many of the very young and very old, like little Jimmy Brown’s one- hundred-year old grandfather Peter Brown died.
Nine-month-old Jacob Peter developed the sniffles and Ted Quade was as miserable with the flu as he was in stark terror for
his young wife’s survival but Rebecka pulled through despite the loss of their unguessed second child, giving Paul McWhorter
fresh hope to battle yet another successful campaign against the War Lord of Death. But when Ted proudly announced that their
turn of fortunes from dismal with the loss of the financial security his friends John Russell and Damien Whistler had seemed
to offer before the Great Fire of November 9th to full expectancy with the news that his older brother Frank had
purchased a ruined millionaire’s home in Upper New York State and wished him to run it as an upscale resort for the
powerful and rich for five of every twelve months of every year, giving him full deed to the property and three-quarters of
its income in exchange for yielding the family home here in Virginia, nothing would do but the house was quickly closed up
and he and his small family bundled to the train depot.
“
You’re shivering. “ He said in concern, but Becka only smiled up at him. Her new paleness and slenderness
seemed to add another layer of complexity and femininity to her, though no one would ever mistake her for a beauty.
“ It’s excitement, Papa. “ She promised, drawing him nearer with her smile as the train
whistle impatiently demanded they board or it would leave without them. “ I’ll always love you, Pa. There’ll
always be a place for you in my heart! “ She promised, but then her young husband, dressed in an expensive
new coat he’d ordered from the Sears catalogue on the basis of his brother’s promise, whisked her, Baby Jacob,
and Lottie Albright unto the coach, his face actually filled with relief as he sat behind his wife’s face, pressed hard
against the window pane, and felt the chugging pull of the locomotive’s engine as the train lurched forward then slowly
began to accelerate, carrying him to the life he was sure would succeed since both he and his older brother Frank would be
here in Virginia while he was miles and miles away in another state, another world. The world he felt entitled too by the
privilege of birth, though he’d married a girl with a strong accent and sturdy frame to give him children when his brothers
had been unable to sire any, Alfred having to marry his wife Donna Ashley because she already had a living son, not because
she was in the family way, as he tried to imply while their father was still alive. As the white haired man watched the
caboose of the heavily laden locomotive disappear from sight he drew in a ragged breath and tried to straighten his shoulders,
so he wouldn’t need to lean on his cane so hard. What would become of him with Becka gone out of his life?
A week later he found himself bored to tears with playing Pinochle with the older men at Eduardo Messinger’s recently
constructed Men’s Club in town and he simply decided not to go. Keeping up appearances had been for young son-in-law’s
sake, not his, and he prepared himself for the graceful descent into old age that living alone brought when his housekeeper
came to the doorway of the study, looking at the scattered newspapers around his feet with evident disgust.
“ Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get newsprint out of carpets as old as these, Paul Lee? “
She scolded proprietarily.
“ No, but it you’ll begin the
tune, I’ll hum along for a few bars. “
The downward
pull of her mouth became more intense.
“ Serves you right
that a lady caller is waiting to speak with you in the foyer! You go out to meet her while I try to tidy this mess in the
short time you’ve given me, sir! “ She had to help to pull him from the comfortable sway of the high
backed Morris chair. And by the time he returned with the lady reporter Willa Jane Pierce, the room was as spotless as it
was when he entered it this morning.
As accustomed as he was to breathless
young writers who wanted to make a name for themselves by further distorting the myths and legends that had grown up around
him and other real life figures from 'the Wild West' in the years before they were a twinkle in their daddy's eyes, he found
himself yielding to this young woman's vigor and excitement in life, making plans to complete the journey he only dreamed
about in boyhood, actually making the difficult trek north to the headwaters of the James River and floating downstream over
the next several weeks at the pace of the mighty and majesty river as it changed its face and changed its ways as often as
his own life had done. It proved to be far more challenging and exciting than anything he had anticipated, especially being
thrown off in the rapids when he couldn't swim and needing to be rescued by a 'mere' female who proved to be an excellent
swimmer, navigating the broiling waters until the river turned plaid again, saving both their lives and opening his spirit
in ways he could never have imagined so late in life. Though he loved his quiet life with Louise Walker at his side, a part
of him trembled ion the brink as Willa Jane spoke glowingly of the new national treasure of the first ever National Park,
Yellowstone; so near the Lake and the Bannock reservation that he could have been there in two days hard travel, but in the
end, he left go of it, feeling the same lurch at her tentative wave good bye at the train station as Birdie and Manolito must
have felt four years ago when they were the ones to remain and he to leave on adventures he could never have foreseen and
wondered now that he had survived!
He waited three days before he got up the courage
to actually read the manuscript she left for him, in plain brown paper tied up with string, which she promised him faithfully
was the only copy. On the first page of the neatly typed manuscript was a hand written note in a now dear and familiar handwriting.
“ You once told me, ‘No dream was ever wasted unless it went unlived’.
Don’t ever give up yours, my dear, dear Paul! “ And it was signed, “with deep affection”, I remain,
as ever, your friend and devoted colleague, Willa Jane Pierce.
The old man closed his
eyes and laid his palm against the weight of the manuscript no one else would ever read.
“
Not while I’m breathing, My Friend. “ He promised fervently, “ Not while I’m
breathing! “ Then with trembling fingers he put on the wire frame glasses she’d ‘loaned’
him and he lifted the first page to the light and began to read, wondering just which Paul Lee McWhorter he
would meet on these pages?
-
-
The End
