Blood Duel Page 13

  Club Caine was gingerly sliding into his shirt, with Adolphina’s help. The bandage she had applied bulged white against Club’s skin. “Still wearing that sour face, I see?”

  “You would wear one too if you were in my boots,” Seamus said. “You don’t realize what you have done.”

  “I have defended my honor and I feel wonderful,” Club declared.

  “An innocent woman died, or doesn’t she count?”

  “Since when do you care so much about worn-out hags? She was not much to look at, you must admit.”

  “Club, I have always liked you,” Seamus said. “But that was cruel.” The devil of it was, though, Seamus knew the man was right. He never much cared what happened to others, and he did not much care about the whore. What he did care about, what bothered him most, was the fact that his tidy, orderly life had been disrupted, with the very real possibility of a lot worse to come.

  “Suit yourself, Yank,” Club said. “Me, I am riding back to Dodge to find Harriet so we can celebrate.”

  “The sheriff will want to talk to you. You might be called before a grand jury.”

  “Whatever is required. No charges will be filed. Not under the circumstances.” Club rose and turned to Chester and Adolphina. “I believe I owe you some money.”

  “Blood money,” Seamus remarked.

  “Coffin Varnish officially thanks you,” Chester said as he accepted. Adolphina immediately took it from him.

  “Who is going to pay for Sally’s burial?” Winifred asked. “I wouldn’t mind, her being my friend and all, but I wasn’t the one who shot her.”

  “Already taken care of, my friend,” Chester said, and winked. “I went through the pockets of the deceased. He had more than enough.”

  Seamus could not stop himself. “You people sicken me.” He walked out and forked leather and rode off without a backward glance. If he never saw Coffin Varnish again, it would be too soon, but he doubted he would be so lucky.

  He was in no hurry to reach Dodge City. Hinkle would be furious, and he couldn’t blame him. A whirlwind had been unleashed, a tornado that could sweep all of them up in a vortex of unending violence. No, he told himself, not unending. There had to be a way to put a stop to it, to nip the stupidity in the bud. The county commissioners could weigh in. The governor should be notified. Before another month went by, a political deluge would rain on Coffin Varnish, rain on the heads of that butterball of a mayor and his bull of a wife.

  Seamus couldn’t wait.

  It was everything Lafferty hoped it would be.

  The shooting was the talk of the town. The Times did indeed sell out, and the owner decided to print a second edition. The staff was astounded when that sold out as well. They debated a third and decided not to.

  Lafferty’s boss was immensely pleased. “Keep this up and you will be the next Edison Farnsworth.”

  That was fine, but Lafferty had higher aspirations. He was thinking of London, or maybe Paris.

  The world was Lafferty’s journalistic oyster, provided Coffin Varnish went on inviting would-be killers to buck each other out in gore. The way Lafferty saw it, his career and Coffin Varnish’s notoriety were inextricably linked. With that in mind, he did not slant the story as he had told Glickman he would; he did not heap scorn and ridicule on Coffin Varnish. Instead, he discreetly implied that maybe, just maybe, Coffin Varnish was doing Ford County, and Kansas, a favor by offering itself as a killing ground. Lafferty wrote in his concluding paragraph:

  After all, the more badmen and shootists who flock to Coffin Varnish, the fewer shootings Dodge and other cities and towns must contend with. Brave Coffin Varnish is doing the rest of us a favor by drawing to herself all those who make our streets unsafe. Instead of condemning her, might it not be better to praise her civic leaders for having the courage to do what no one else ever has? Instead of demanding they cease and desist, might it not be wiser to let them continue in their admittedly bizarre but nonetheless beneficial practice? Wise or folly, my fellow citizens, which is it?

  Lafferty thought that last a nice touch.

  His newfound fame was a tonic he could not get enough of. Strangers bought him drinks and plied him with questions. He had been there. He had seen the aftermath with his own eyes. He basked in his fledgling fame, intoxicated by the attention paid to him, by the praise.

  Lafferty did not mind that another celebrity was created. Club Caine was treated with respect bordering on awe. When Club entered the Long Branch, a hush fell. Whispers broke out. Fingers pointed. Lafferty went over and offered to buy Club a drink. Within moments they were surrounded by men anxious to bask in the glow of greatness.

  Lafferty ate it up.

  The only sour note came later that night as Lafferty was strolling down Front Street.

  “I hope you are proud of yourself.” Seamus Glickman stepped out of the shadows, a folded newspaper in his hand. He threw it in the dirt at Lafferty’s feet. “Take that to the outhouse. It is all it is good for.”

  “You sound mad,” Lafferty said.

  “You have no idea what you have done.”

  “I am making the most of it, I admit,” Lafferty said. “But your worries are unfounded. The situation is temporary. Someone will put a stop to it before too long. Sheriff Hinkle, if no one else.”

  “You better hope someone does,” Seamus said. “Or I will drag you to Coffin Varnish, pay their fee, and see if you can shoot as well as you write.”

  “Your joke is in poor taste,” Lafferty said.

  Seamus bent toward him and poked him in the chest. “Who said I was joking?” he grimly growled. Then, pivoting on a boot heel, he stalked off.

  Chapter 17

  Jeeter Frost was happy. He could not remember the last time he was happy. Truly, really, feel-it-in-his-heart happy. He kept wanting to pinch himself to see if he was awake.

  Amazing, the difference a woman made, Jeeter mused. He breathed deep of the dry earthy smell of the prairie. In the gathering twilight he and the gruella were moving shadows. He rose in the stirrups but could not see the schoolhouse. Soon, he told himself. Be patient.

  But it was hard to be patient when Jeeter spent every minute away from Ernestine thinking about her, missing her, wishing he was with her. He had never felt this way about anyone except maybe his mother when he was small, and that had not been the same.

  There was a word for how Jeeter felt. A word he never expected to apply to him. A word others experienced but never him. Until now.

  Jeeter was in love. There. He admitted it. But admitting it did not make him feel any more comfortable about it. He was happy, yes, but he was uneasy as well. Because when you cared for someone, when you wanted them as much as he wanted Ernestine, you put yourself at risk. The risk it might not last. The risk that you might lose them.

  Never in his life had Jeeter been so scared of anything as he was of losing Ernestine. Part of his fear stemmed from his astonishment that a fine lady like her cared for a worthless husk like him. Another part stemmed from the fact that she had not made her own feelings plain. All the hours they had been together, all the intimate moments they shared, and not once had she come right out and revealed her feelings. He took it for granted she liked him as much as he liked her, but what if he was wrong? he asked himself. What if it was one-sided?

  Jeeter decided enough was enough. Tonight he would ask her. Tonight he would find out the truth. It made him nervous. It could be he would spoil everything. It could be she was not ready to commit herself.

  “God, why is life so mixed up sometimes?” Jeeter asked the gruella. He spied a white shape in the distance, and a swarm of butterflies took wing in his stomach.

  The lamp was in the window, her signal it was safe.

  Jeeter came to the back of the schoolhouse and reined up. He let the reins dangle, not the least worried about the gruella wandering off. It never did. That horse was the one constant in his life, the only thing besides himself that he had depended on all these years.
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br />   At Jeeter’s light knock Ernestine opened the door. Where previous nights she had drawn him into her arms and warmly kissed him, tonight she stepped to one side and said formally, “Welcome, Mr. Frost. Come in and have a seat, won’t you?”

  The swarm multiplied into a legion. Jeeter’s legs felt rubbery as he moved past her, his spurs jingling. “Is something the matter, ma’am?”

  “What could be the matter?” Ernestine rejoined. “I just want to talk.”

  Jeeter went all the way to her desk, faced her, and leaned against it with his arms across his chest. He should say something but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.

  Her hands clasped in front of her, Ernestine came slowly down the aisle. “I have been doing some thinking,” she said softly. “Some serious thinking about you and me.”

  Oh no, Jeeter thought.

  “I feel I have been remiss in a certain respect,” Ernestine said. “I have let things get out of hand.”

  Jeeter found his voice although it did not sound like him. “In what way?”

  Ernestine stopped, her head bowed. “I have let you take liberties. Liberties no one has ever taken with me.”

  “Do you regret those liberties?” Jeeter asked, his voice much calmer than he felt. His happiness, his future, rested on her answer.

  “I do.”

  The room spun, and Jeeter reached behind him to brace himself. His throat had become so dry he had to swallow several times before he could say, “I am right sorry to hear that, Ernestine.”

  “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 wh
at 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.”