We arrived at her wagon; it was where Oldham had made her leave it. “Do you think it would be better if we laid him in the back of the wagon?” she asked me.
I looked at Oldham. He was still alive. I didn’t know how, but he was. Tied to the saddle was the only thing that kept him from falling off the horse, however. He was unconscious, breathing hard, and very pale.
I replied to Missy’s question. “Yes, that would be better. How far are we from Silver Creek?”
“Only a couple of miles.”
I nodded and, with a bit of a struggle, got Oldham off his horse and stretched out in the back of the wagon. I checked his wound. It was seeping a little blood, but wasn’t too bad.
“Is he going to be all right?” Missy asked me. I looked at her. She was standing next to me, leaning over the edge of the wagon, an anxious expression on her face. You’d think this man was her husband or close relative, the concern she was showing for him.
“I don’t know, Missy,” I said to her. “I’m surprised he’s still alive, but he must have a very strong constitution. All we can do is get him to a doctor as soon as possible and see what happens.”
“I’ll be praying for him, too,” she said. “Let’s hurry.”
I was still amazed at how she was acting over a man who had almost beaten her to death. She was in pain, I could tell, and I really wondered if she was telling me the truth about her relationship with him. But she seemed so sincere. So innocent. So…
perfect…
He thinks I’m silly, I know he does…
She drove the wagon while I led the horses. We made it to town about a half hour later. “Come on,” she said, “we’ll go straight to the doctor’s office.”
People along the street were stopping and staring. Somebody yelled, “Missy! What happened!”
“I’ll tell you later,” she responded and drove on, not slowing down.
“Go get the law,” I shouted at the person who had yelled at Missy. He nodded.
She rounded a corner and I saw a sign not far ahead that read, “J. T. Morgan, M.D.” Missy pulled up with a rush, yanked the horses to a stop, and jumped out of the wagon. I saw her wince when she did, but that didn’t slow her down.
“Please hurry,” she said to me, as she removed the tailgate of the wagon.
“You go tell the doctor we’re here,” I said to her. “I’ll bring him in.”
She started towards the door, then stopped. “Mr. Monroe.”
I looked at her.
She smiled, as best she could with swollen lips and jaw. “Thank you.”
I smiled back softly and nodded. “The doctor,” I replied, motioning towards the door.
She nodded and ran inside.
Oldham was heavy, but I was able to pick him up and carry him inside. There were people around now. “What happened? Who is he? Who are you? What happened to Missy?” Those were four questions I heard.
“Yes, yes, no, no,” I replied. “Now please stand aside.” A man opened the doctor’s door and I carried Oldham inside.
There was a small, bright waiting room with chairs around the wall. Missy and a middle-aged, dark-headed man in a black coat were standing in front of an open door at the back of the room.
“In here,” the man said, motioning towards the room. He was, I presumed, Dr. J. T. Morgan.
I was right about that. I carried Oldham into that room and laid him on a long table. His breathing was hard and sonorous. Dr. Morgan immediately began removing the makeshift bandage on the injured man’s stomach, and said “hmmm” when he saw the wound. There was a nurse getting some medical materials ready for the doctor’s use.
“Got in the way of a bullet, I see.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “After Miss Jacobs’ face got in the way of his fist.”
Morgan looked at me, then at Missy. “I need to doctor your face, Missy.”
She was in angst. “Please, Dr. Morgan. I’m all right. Take care of Mr. Oldham first.”
Morgan gazed at her a moment, then turned his attention back to the man on his table. “Well, he is in a bit worse shape, but I still want to look at you before you leave.”
“Ok.” Then she said, “Is he going to be all right?”
“Missy, I’ll do the best I can for him. How long ago did this happen?”
“About two to three hours,” I replied.
“It’s amazing he’s alive.”
“I thought so, too.”
“Hurry, Dr. Morgan.” That from Missy.
He smiled. “All right, Missy. You and—“ He looked at me.
“Monroe.”
“You and Mr. Monroe wait out in the waiting room. I’ll let you know something as soon as I can.”
Missy didn’t seem to want to leave, but I took her hand and led her out, closing the door behind us. I was still nonplussed. “Missy, why are you so concerned with that beast?”
“He’s not a beast, Thomas,” she said. “He’s just…misguided. I don’t want him to die. Maybe…he can be helped somehow.”
My eyes met hers. I’d never met a woman like this. Pure…angel…
He thinks I’m crazy…his eyes are so…kind…there’s something good in him…there’s a LOT of good in him…I wish he’d tell me who he is…”I just…don’t want him to die, is all,” Missy managed to say.
“Are you telling me the truth about him?” he asked her. “He said something about the two of you being married…”
Missy’s eyes got huge. “Oh, no, we’re not, I promise. It’s just as I said. He stopped me on the road. The wagon…” Then, Missy’s face broke into agony. “The widow Walters. I was going to go see her.” She looked at Thomas. “Please believe me. I’ve never seen Mr. Sert before today.”
He smiled softly at her. “I believe you,” he said. “I doubt you could tell a lie if you tried.”
Missy was touched and lowered her head. “Thank you.” She spotted a mirror against a wall and went over and looked at herself. “Oh, no,” she said, turning away immediately. She put her head in her hands and started weeping. He’ll never like me now…never…
I went over to her and took her by the shoulders. “Missy,” I said softly.
“Go away,” she said. “I look…horrible…”
“Missy,” I said again.
She tried to look up at me but couldn’t. “It’s just…horrible…” she repeated.
“You don’t look horrible, Missy,” I replied. “You’re beautiful and always will be. Your face will clear up soon. The doctor will give you some medicine.”
She did look at me this time, then tears gushed out of her eyes and she threw her arms around me, sobbing uncontrollably. I held her and stroked her hair. I didn’t know who I was but I somehow knew that consoling crying women was not something I had a lot of experience at doing.
He’s so sweet…says the nicest things…
The door opened and the town marshal came in. He was a small, slender man, barely taller that Missy. “I’m acting Marshall Al Dugan. Somebody told me there was a wounded man in here.”
I let Missy go and she turned away, still crying. I nodded. “He’s in the operating room. Bullet in his gut.”
“Who are you?”
“Thomas Monroe. I assume you know Missy.”
“Everybody knows Missy.” He studied her. “Is she ok?” He hadn’t seen her face.
“She’ll be all right.”
He looked back at me, his eyes suspicious. “Are you the one who shot the man in the operating room?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
I was a bit brutal about it. I grabbed Missy and swung her around, showing the marshal her face. “This is why.”
He grimaced, and his face got hard. Missy turned away and started crying again. Dugan said to me, “Why didn’t you kill the….?”
“She wouldn’t let me.”
“Yeah. She’s like that. Tell me about what happened.”
I told him the basic facts as I knew them. Missy was sitting in one of the chairs now, her head down. When I finished, the marshal asked her, “Is that pretty accurate, Miss Jacobs?”
She nodded. “He…he’s just…he doesn’t understand…that’s all…” She lowered her head some more.
Dugan smiled softly and looked at me. “She’s not human,” he said. “She’s an angel from heaven.”
I had my eyes on Missy. “I’m beginning to believe that.”
Dugan then said, “Sert Oldham is pretty well known in these parts. He was released from prison not long ago. Bank robbery 15 years ago. There are at least a dozen killings that he’s suspected of, but nothing was ever proven against him. So the judge couldn’t get a rope around his neck, and only gave him 15 years.” He paused. “Incidentally, the judge who sentenced him, his house burned down a few days ago with him and a couple of servants in it. I hear arson can’t be proven but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Oldham did it.”
Missy’s head jerked up. “Oh, he wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, yes, he would, Miss Jacobs. That man is pure evil, and don’t you forget it. I know you try to think the best of everybody, but there are just some people in the world that are wicked beyond redemption.”
Missy dropped her head again. “I don’t believe that,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I just don’t…”
Dugan said, talking mainly to me, but certainly loud enough for Missy to hear, “There was a trading post not too far from the prison that burned down, too, on the day that Oldham was released.” He shook his head. “No proof that he did it, but everybody knows that he did.”
Missy didn’t look up. “That’s not fair. If you don’t have any proof.”
“What he did to you is proof enough for me, Miss Jacobs.”
She didn’t answer.
I said to Dugan, “You’re just the acting marshal?”
“Yeah. I was deputy to Dan Foster, the town marshal, but he was killed a couple of months ago when his horse threw him. We wired his brother down south to come take his place. Said he would, and we’re waiting for him. I’m just holding down the fort till he arrives.”
Something was nagging at me. I knew the name Dan Foster, but I didn’t know where. When I got a chance, I wanted to talk to Dr. Morgan about this amnesia. I kept getting flashes, but only pieces. No full puzzle yet.
Dugan was still talking. “What brings you this way, Monroe?”
I sort of shrugged. “Just passing through. Kinda…drifting, I suppose, looking for work.”
“What do you do?”
I gave him a big grin. “Gun for hire?”
Dugan snorted. “Well, push on if you are. We don’t need any gunslingers around here.” He looked at me closely. “You must be pretty good if you outdrew Oldham.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t outdraw him. I got the drop on him when he was working on Miss Jacobs. I already had my gun out before he drew.” I wasn’t going to tell him about Tiny Flynn.
“Still, you weren’t scared of him. Ever done any law work?”
Firecrackers exploded in my head. Flashes—lots of them…I’d been involved with the law. Somehow. Either on the right or wrong side of it, I didn’t know. I had to squeeze my eyes closed and rub my forehead because the pain was pretty bad. My head was still throbbing all the time, but I didn’t really notice it unless I thought about it. And I was thinking about it right now. The worst of it passed and I opened my eyes. Dugan was looking at me strangely.
“You ok?” he asked me.
“Yeah. Just a pretty bad headache. I’m going to see if the doc can give me something for it.” I looked over at Missy, remembering Dugan’s question and wanting to avoid it. “Miss Jacobs, can I get you anything? I’ll run down to the restaurant, buy you a lemonade, something to eat. Or we can go together, if you’d like….”
Missy kept her head down, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. She didn’t want him to see her face. He’s kind…very thoughtful…She thought about it. She was a little hungry and a lot thirsty. ”I don’t…want to go to a restaurant. But I would like to have something to drink and eat.” She glanced up, and tried to smile, but it hurt. She lowered her head again. “A lemonade and ham sandwich would be nice. I’ve got some money in my purse, but it’s in the wagon...” He won’t let me pay, I know he won’t…
“Well, I’ve got some money in my pocket and that’s closer. You stay here and I’ll be right back.” I looked at Dugan. “Where’s the closest restaurant where I can get something? I’m hungry, too.”
“Down the street, next block,” he pointed. “I’ve got to get back to the office, but let me know if Oldham survives. I want him in a cell as soon as I can get him there.”
Missy reacted to that. “What for? He didn’t do anything wrong.”
Dugan appeared to be getting a little aggravated with her. “Oh, ok. I didn’t realize he beat you because you wanted him to.” He looked at me. “There are some strange women in the world, aren’t there.”
I was looking at Missy. Her head was down. She said softly, “No, I didn’t want him to. But I don’t want him to go to jail.” She looked back at the marshal. “You can’t lock him up if I don’t press charges.”
Now, I was getting aggravated. I went over to her, crouched down and looked at her. He dropped her head and turned away. “Please…” she started.
“Missy,” I said, firmly, “you’re going to press charges. That’s all there is to it. We are not going to let that man get away with what he did to you. Do you understand?”
Why does he care so much? Please don’t look at me…I’m…horrible…tears started rolling down Missy’s cheeks again. All she could do was nod her head….
I stood up and turned to Dugan, a little exasperation showing on my face. “I’ll make sure she presses charges.”
He put his hat back on. “Ok. Hopefully that scum won’t survive the operating table.”
I saw Missy glance up and start to say something. But she remained quiet. I shook my head. All heart…that’s the only way to explain her concern for a man like Sert Oldham…
The marshal and I left, he back to his office and I to the restaurant. I thought about Missy, what she had been through and the kind of woman she obviously was. I knew I’d never met anybody like her. I didn’t know who I was, but I did know she was unique in my life….
Acting Marshal Al Dugan was thoughtful as he walked back to his office. I don’t think he’s an outlaw…he didn’t seem afraid…I’m going to check the wanted posters anyway, just in case…He shook his head. I sure wish Foster would hurry up and get here. I don’t mind being a deputy, but I don’t want the marshal’s job…
I bought sandwiches and lemonade for Missy and me and we ate, mostly in silence. I could tell she was having trouble chewing, but I couldn’t help her with that.
“Does it hurt a lot?” I asked her.
“I’m all right,” she replied. I could tell she didn’t want me to look at her, but I couldn’t help it, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life…and somehow, I knew that. I just knew it.
I wish he’d quit looking at me…I know he thinks I’m ugly…I look like a freak in a side show…oh, why did this have to happen?…well, I never would have met him otherwise…but if he has to see me like this, he won’t….she felt tears coming to her eyes again and tried to think of something else…I hope widow Walters is ok…I’ll go see her tomorrow….
“How’s your stomach?” he asked her.
Oh, please stop acting like you care…”It’s sore, but it’s ok.”
“You better have the doctor check that, too, just in case.”
Missy just nodded and tried to eat her sandwich…
I stopped trying to make conversation. I wasn’t very good at it and she didn’t seem like she wanted to talk. Well, I guess it’s hard for her…when she finished eating, I took her plate and set it aside.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, but she didn’t look up. I could see a tear trickling down her face. She must really be in pain…
The operation on Sert Oldham took almost two hours. A couple of people came in during that time, wanting the doctor, but I explained that he was in surgery and they left. Missy sat in the corner the whole time and never raised her head. At least that I saw…
Well, she did look up occasionally, but never when Thomas noticed her doing so. I wonder who he is…Missy closed her eyes and shook her head…he’s just passing through, he said, so he’ll leave when this is all over…probably tomorrow…he’s going to make me press charges against Mr. Sert…I guess I should…well, he’s going to make me so I won’t have any choice…Missy thought on that a moment…I DO have a choice, I don’t have to do what he tells me to do…She glanced up at him…
But I will…
The doctor came out. Missy stood up and I turned to him. Dr. Morgan had on a white smock which was splotched with blood. He was obviously tired.
“I don’t know how he’s still alive,” he said. “He has the constitution of ten horses, I guess. I got the bullet out.” He looked at me. “You did a good job, burying it inside him, but I got it, sewed him up.”
“Is he going to live?” Missy asked.
The doctor hesitated. “Probably, but I can’t say for sure. If there is some infection inside, it will probably spread and kill him.” He shrugged. “I cleaned him up as best as I could, but there might be something I couldn’t find or see.”
“Can I talk to him?” Missy asked.
“Missy, I’ve got him so doped up that he hasn’t the foggiest idea where he is, who he is, or what he’s doing.”
“But can’t I just see him?”
The doctor shrugged. “That can’t do any harm, I suppose. But he won’t know you.”
Missy went into the patients’ room, which was adjacent to the operating room.
Morgan looked at me. “You want to go in, too?”
“In a moment. Were you telling the truth about Oldham? The whole truth. I mean…Missy…”
He nodded. “I understand. And yes, it was the whole truth, in my best medical judgment. He’ll live.”
I made a face. “Long enough to hang, I hope.” Then, “Marshal Dugan wants him in a jail cell as soon as possible. When can he be moved?”
The doctor thought about it. “Let’s wait till the morning. I don’t want to jar him at all, right now. But, frankly, I’d feel better with him behind bars, too, and I can treat him just as well in there as I can in here. Not as clean, of course, but as long as I keep him bandaged…” He shrugged.
“I’ll pass that on to the deputy…”
Missy went into the patients’ room. There were only four beds and Oldham was in the nearest one against the wall. She went over and stood beside his bed. He was lying on his back, of course, his eyes closed, and breathing hard. His face was very pale. He looked like death warmed over. Or cooled over.
“Mr. Sert?” Missy said softly. “Are you awake?”
For a moment, Missy didn’t think he heard her, and that he was probably asleep. But then his eyes flickered and he opened them. He was obviously very groggy. His eyes shifted and he saw her. He was almost able to grin at her; Missy saw the faintest smile on his lips.
“Little Missy,” he said, croaking just above a whisper. “Are…you…ok?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Sert. The doctor says you are going to be all right, too. You just need to rest.”
Sert managed to nod his head. He closed his eyes. “G…good….you and me… we’ll…we’ll go to…Californy…”
Missy dropped her head. “I can’t do that, Mr. Sert. You know I can’t do that…”
“We’ll…go…” he whispered, obviously dropping off to sleep. “We’ll……go….”
And Missy knew he was asleep now.
She sighed and turned…and started a little because Monroe was standing behind her. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
She looked into his eyes for a moment. They were…hard? Missy didn’t like what she saw. She dropped her head again.
“Do you want to go to California with him?” he asked her.
“No, Thomas, of course not. I just…” Missy was in angst. “I just don’t think he’s as bad as you think he is.” She looked up at him again. “I mean, are you perfect?”
He shook his head. “No. But I’ve never stooped so low as to almost beat a woman to death.”
At least I don’t think I have…I HOPE I haven’t…who AM I? Frustration welled up inside me again. My head started hurting. I willed myself to be calm….
Missy lowered her head again. “Maybe he was right. Maybe I deserved it. How do you know that I didn’t?” she asked softly, but with a bit of defiance in her voice.
She heard him sigh, and he sounded a little disgusted. “Well, I know one thing he didn’t do.”
She glanced up at him again. “What?”
Monroe spoke, rather harshly. “He didn’t beat any sense into you.” And he turned and walked out of the room.
Missy watched him go. Then she looked at Oldham again. He didn’t mean to, I know he didn’t…he just lost control…Thomas, don’t you understand? Please understand… please…
I didn’t want to speak harshly to her, she’s such an…angel. But to be that blind… surely she’s got ONE reasonable bone in her body…why can’t she see what that man is? I shook my head. Or does she see something I don’t? I guess that’s possible.
But I shook my head again. I knew…somehow I knew…what kind of man Sert Oldham was. And that he’d never change. How do I know that?
Is that what I was, too, before I lost my memory? A cold sweat broke out all over me…
Marshal Al Dugan was thoughtful as he set aside the warning posters. No Thomas Monroe, or even anybody fitting his description…He made a face and sighed. Well, I guess he’s just what he says he is…a drifting bum who got the drop on Sert Oldham and shot him…everybody can get lucky…
But some how Marshal Al Dugan didn’t think it was luck that gave Thomas Monroe victory over Sert Oldham…
The doctor prepared to examine Missy. I told him to make sure he checked her stomach. “She won’t tell you she’s hurting there.”
“No, she won’t. Did he hit her there, too?”
“Yeah.”
Dr. Morgan’s face got angry. “You know something, Mr. Monroe? I got into this business to save lives, to help people. I can honestly say that I never wanted a person to die, though I’ve lost several over the years. But if Sert Oldham dies, I’m not going to have one ounce of regret.”
“Except for her sake. For some reason, she wants him to live.”
He smiled ruefully. “That’s Missy. I’ve never known anybody with that big of a heart.”
“Yeah. She said on the way here that, if she had let him have her, then maybe he wouldn’t have gotten shot.”
Morgan grunted a chuckle—of disbelief. “Yeah. I can see her saying that. And I’ll bet you one more thing, Mr. Monroe.”
“What’s that?”
“If she had known there was an option between her getting raped and him getting shot—“
“Yeah,” I said, interrupting him. Inhuman…that’s the only word to describe her...
Missy passed her physical. The doctor didn’t detect anything wrong with her stomach. “You’re probably bruised inside, but I don’t think there’s any bleeding.” He put some medicine on her face and told her to apply it five or six times a day. “It will keep down the swelling. The discoloration will subside in a few days.” By this time, Missy even had a black half moon under her left eye. “Also, take one of these pills each night before you go to bed. It will help you sleep.”
Missy glanced at the mirror again on the way out of the office, grimaced and turned away.
We stopped outside at her wagon. It was almost dark now. She didn’t look up at me, but she said, “Thomas, thank you for all you’ve done. I really…don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“I’m just glad I came by. Here. I’ll ride home with you, help you put up your wagon and horses.”
She started to say something—object, probably—but she simply nodded and got into the seat. I could tell she was very, very tired.
“I live with my grandma,” she said. “It’s not far.” Nothing in Silver Creek was.
She drove the wagon, I took the horses. Once I finished helping her, I’d take the horses to the local livery stable, get a hotel room, and grab a bite to eat. I didn’t know what I would do after that, but then, I didn’t even know my own name, so I couldn’t ask too much of myself.
Silver Creek was a quaint little town. We turned onto side street, which gently sloped upwards. Most of the houses were small, but had rather large yards, and there were a lot of full grown trees, and several barking dogs. We passed two streets then turned left at the next one, Gold Dust Lane, which I thought a peculiar name for a town called Silver Creek. Third house on the right…around back…
Missy was concerned about what might happen once she arrived home. I wasn’t going to be gone this long; I hope Grandma isn’t worried about me…and I hope she’s not….off…on one of her moods…I want Thomas to come in…I think things might be better if he did….
She couldn’t have been more wrong about that.
On the way to grandma’s house, I had asked Missy how she was feeling.
“Sore,” she responded. “Dr. Morgan said I’ll be ok…things will…clear up…” She glanced at me as we pulled up to the small barn where the horses and wagon were kept. “Will you…come in for a while? I’d like for you to meet my grandmother.”
I looked at her and started to make an excuse, but then I stopped. I replied, “Do you think I could help explain what happened?”
She nodded. “It might help, yes.”
“Then of course I will.”
Missy turned away like she was going to start crying, but all she did was start unhitching the horses.
She was about to cry, but she held it in. He’s so nice… Then she said, “Thomas, I need to explain something to you…about my grandmother.”
He was helping her with the horses. “Ok.”
“She’s…not well,” Missy said, hesitantly.
“Oh. Well, I hope it’s not serious.”
Missy stopped and looked at him. “She’s mentally…unstable. She always has been, to an extent. She could be very thoughtful one moment, and then change, for no reason and be very, very mean. She’s gotten worse over the last few years and that’s one reason I moved to Silver Creek—to help take care of her. The doctor says she’s grown senile, too. He says that sometimes, she doesn’t even know what she’s doing, or where she is. She’s called me by my mother’s name several times. She’s just…” Missy sighed. “She’s unbalanced. I don’t know how she’ll be when we go inside. I just don’t know. She could be in her right mind, or she could be…totally different.”
I looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded. “I’m sorry to hear about that, Missy, but I’m glad you told me.”
She tried to smile. “Just be ready for anything.”
“She’s getting worse?”
“Yes.” She appeared in some angst. “Thomas, if Grandma is in one of her…senile moods…then please just go along with her, ok? She’s liable to say anything. Don’t argue with her, regardless of how ridiculous she sounds.”
I nodded. “All right. I hope she’s ok, though.”
“I do, too.”
We finished with the horses and went around to the front door. Missy had noticed there was a wagon parked in front; she thought she recognized it as a friend of Judy’s. Missy was glad. She didn’t like leaving her grandmother alone, and rarely did so. She tried to make arrangements to have someone there all the time, but sometimes her grandmother balked.
There was a single step up to the porch, which extended, to the left, almost to the edge of the house. The porch had a rail and a swing. Missy looked quickly at Thomas, and smiled, then turned away. She opened the front door and the two of them went inside. It was immediate horror for the young lady.
I walked in behind her. It wasn’t a large house. The front door opened into a living room that had a couch, a couple of chairs, tables, and a bookshelf. I could see an open doorway at the back that appeared to lead to the kitchen/dining area and a hallway at the back of the room that led off to the left—no doubt to the bedrooms. The place was clean and tidy.
There were two women sitting on the couch, and they appeared to be somewhat uneasy. They were both middle-aged, perhaps early 50s. An older, thin woman, with her graying hair pulled back in a bun, was standing in the middle of the room, with her hands on her hips. She had a very severe expression on her face. Her eyes were dilated and she appeared a little bit…disturbed. Grandma Judy…and not in her right mind…I hope…If this was the way she looked in her right mind, I didn’t want to see her when she was off her rocker.
I glanced at Missy and she was in obvious distress.
“All right, young lady, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Grandma, I need to explain—“
Judy looked at me. “Thank you for bringing her home, Marshal. Where did you find her? I hope not in some back alley, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
My head almost exploded again when she called me “Marshal.” Lightenings, thunderings, clouds…flashes…faces…cold sweat…which side of the law am I on? My head throbbed, but with an effort of the will, I controlled it. “No, Miss Boatner, she wasn’t in a back alley. And I’m not--” Missy touched my arm. I glanced at her and she almost inconspicuously shook her head.
“Hmph,” Judy responded, and shifted her gaze back to her granddaughter. “Still, having to be escorted home by the town marshal is a disgraceful, reprehensible thing, Missy Jacobs. I’m ashamed of you, and you should be ashamed of yourself. After all the teaching I’ve tried to give you over the years.”
I felt sorry for Missy. She must be in agony…
She was. Oh, Grandma, please, not in front of him…”Yes, Grandma, I’m sorry. It was a bad day.” She tried to distract Judy by asking about her about the two other ladies who were in the room. “Did you have a nice day with Ida and Joan?”
“Don’t you change the subject, young lady! You aren’t going to get off that easy.” Judy came and stood right in front of Missy, shook her finger in the face of her granddaughter, and gave the poor girl a chewing out like I had never heard in my life. That woman had a tongue sharper than any whip or two-edged sword on this earth. She whittled Missy down until the girl wasn’t more than two inches tall. I felt so sorry for her. She must have been horribly embarrassed.
And indeed she was. Oh, Grandma, please not now, not with him here… Oh, he’ll just think I’m a child, being treated by my grandmother like this…it’s so awful…why did she have to be like this tonight?….But Missy…was Missy. She stood there and took it. Grandma doesn’t even know what she’s doing…She couldn’t look at Thomas… He’ll never pay any attention to me now…he’s laughing, I know he is…he’ll think of me as just a little baby, a spoiled brat, who gets scolded when she’s been naughty…oh, how can I face him?…how can I look at him?…his eyes…they’ll be laughing at me, taunting me, I know they will…oh, Grandma, why today?…of all days…why today?….
Judy tongue lashed Missy for a good five minutes, how awful her granddaughter was for “catting” about with boys, how could she do this to her grandmother who had been so worried about her all day long, she ought to be ashamed of herself, etc. etc. Judy never even appeared to notice the bruises and puffiness on Missy’s face. The final humiliation came when Judy gave Missy two hard swats on the rump, and said, “Now, you get into that kitchen and bring us some coffee and cake and then go to your room and stay there. And be glad that we’ve got company or I’d give you a hiding like you’ve never had before.”
The tongue lashing had been worse than any paddling Missy had ever received from her grandmother. Missy walked into the kitchen. Head down, her only thought was he’s laughing at me…laughing at me…I know he is…oh, this is the worst day…and night…of my life…
With Missy in the kitchen, Judy looked at me. Her eyes just didn’t seem to focus. “Marshal, thank you for your help. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble. I’m glad we have good men like you protecting us and watching out for our children.”
“I was glad to be of service, ma’am,” I said. I wanted to be mad, but I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. My head was throbbing anyway…Marshal…Marshal… Marshal…is that what I am?…The more I thought about it, the more my head spun, so I…quit thinking about it. Or tried to.
Fortunately, Judy turned the conversation towards Ida and Joan. A few minutes later, Missy came in. She didn’t look at me and, not surprisingly, didn’t look very happy. She was carry a tray with a coffee pot, some cups, and four plates with a slice of pound cake on each. She set the cake plates in front of me, Judy, Ida, and Joan, and poured four cups of coffee. I tried to catch her eyes, but she’d never look at me…
I can’t look at him, I just can’t…I wish he’d just leave…
“Don’t you want a piece, dear?” Judy sweetly asked her granddaughter. I glanced at the grandmother. From one extreme to another…
"No, Grandma, thank you. I’m not hungry.” Missy went back into the kitchen.
I ate my piece of cake and drank my coffee as quickly as propriety would allow. Then I stood up. “I thank you very much for your hospitality, Miss Boatman, but I really need to…get back to work.”
She stood up. “I understand, Marshal. Thank you for all you’ve done.” Then, “Missy! Come say good-bye to the marshal.”
Missy had been washing dishes and piddling in the kitchen—anything to avoid being in the living room. When her grandmother called for her, she thought, Oh, please no… But she sighed, and went into the living room…
“Thank you…Marshal,” she said to me. But never looked at me.
I didn’t really know what to say. I suspect she was probably very embarrassed about what had happened that evening and that was one of the reasons I wanted to leave.
“Good bye, Missy,” I said. Then, “Ida, Joan, it was nice to meet you both.”
One of the ladies—Ida—said, “Uh…Marshal…may I talk to you a minute?”
I nodded. “Sure.” I knew what she wanted.
Ida smiled at Judy. “I’ll be right back, dear.”
Judy nodded and started talking to Joan.
I glanced one more time at Missy. Her head was down and she was looking in another direction.
Please just…leave…just leave…please…
I looked at Judy. “Thank you, again, Miss Boatner.” I nodded my head and left the house. Ida joined me. “What happened to Missy? I know you aren’t the marshal. Can you explain…?”
I nodded, told her who I was, and what had happened that day. She gasped, and said, “The poor, poor girl. And now this.”
I asked her, “Is Miss Boatner like this often? Missy warned me that she might be…not quite normal.”
Ida sighed. “Yes. Judy is getting like this more and more. Missy is doing a wonderful job taking care of her, but it’s hard for her. I live right across the street and Joan lives about three blocks away. We’ve been good friends of Judy’s for a long time, so we try to help out all we can. Please don’t hold anything against her, Mr. Monroe. She really doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“I know. Missy told me to just go along with her. And if she hadn’t, I would have intervened. I felt so sorry for her. And her grandmother, too. It must be hard on both of them.”
“Thank you for understanding. Hopefully, she will be better tomorrow.”
We said good-night, and she went back into the house. It took me a moment to get my bearings. My horse is behind the house…I’m still a little hungry…get a hotel room, find a diner…I took a deep breath. What a day…
I walked around to the back of the house, my mind in a whirl. I now knew two things for sure. One, I knew that I still didn’t know who I was. Or what I was. Marshal? Or running from one? Another thought struck me; it wasn’t a pleasant one, and I frowned. If I’m a marshal, how come I don’t have a badge?
And the second thing I knew was that I was in love with Missy Jacobs. But then, I imagine about 99% of the male population Silver Creek is, and the 1% that isn’t, is under six feet of dirt in Boot Hill…
Missy lay awake in bed that night, staring at the ceiling for a long time. She hurt all over. Her face was still very sore from the pounding it had received from Sert Oldham. Her stomach pained her from the punch he had slammed into her there. Her spirit was in deep distress over the condition of her grandmother and the events of the day.
But she felt none of that…because of the ache in her heart…
Chapter Nine—Hang ‘Em High
I wasn’t necessarily a church-going man—and least I didn’t think I was—but I went the next morning. I told myself I wanted to go in order to see the doctor and maybe make an appointment with him to talk about my amnesia. And that was true. What I didn’t tell myself was that I went because I wanted to see Missy. But that was the main reason.
I arrived a few minutes early and took a seat near the middle of the auditorium—there were about 15 rows of pews on each side of a center aisle. All the back benches were filled. You’ve got to get here early to get a good back row seat…A few people greeted me, which was nice, but I wasn’t in much of a talking mood. Surreptitiously, I looked around, but I didn’t see Missy. Until right before the service started. Then she and her grandmother came in—the latter preening like a peacock—and they walked up to the front of the auditorium and sat on the third row, across the aisle from me. I tried not to stare at her, or even look at her; a lot of people were staring at her because her face remained puffy and bruised, indeed, worse than the day before, if possible. She kept her head down and I could tell she was pretty uncomfortable. She never looked up and she never looked at me….
Oh, there he is…what’s he doing here? I’m glad he came to church but…oh, why couldn’t he have been sick or something? He’s going to leave town, I know he is, I wish he’d just go ahead and go…he’s laughing at me, I know he is, I just know it…Missy sat down a little too hard on the unpadded pew and winced; it jarred her stomach which was sorer than the night before. Why did Mr. Sert have to stop in that clearing? Why didn’t he just keep us going to California? Then none of this would have happened…She didn’t mean that, and she knew it, but physically, and emotionally, she felt awful…
Missy was sitting where I could see her without auspiciously turning my head to look at her. She kept her head down the whole service. She was wearing a lovely dark blue dress that accented her golden brown hair wonderfully. I hope I get to see her when she’s well. She must be the loveliest creature on earth…well, inside I KNOW she is, but outside…I know she’s that, too…
The preacher preached on lust and the sins of the flesh…Oh, shut up…
Missy indeed rarely looked up during the worship period and couldn’t sing very well because her mouth and jaw were exceedingly sore. But she heard the sermon; she always paid attention to the sermon and always believed that the preacher was preaching right to her. So “lust” and the “sins of the flesh” were pretty relevant in her life at the moment because of what had happened the day before. She had to work it out in her own mind. If Mr. Sert had…I mean, if he and I…he would have forced me…it wouldn’t have been my fault…I could have stopped him, though…how?…Dear God, it wasn’t my fault, I was trying to do good by going to the widow Walters’ home and help her…Missy wasn’t the guilt-ridden type. She’d try to take a sermon and apply it, but she didn’t beat herself over the head with it. But today was different. I really wasn’t lusting yesterday, God, I really wasn’t…Sert was awful…and if he and I had…had…You know…it wouldn’t have been voluntary on my part…You can’t hold that against me, can you, God?….She knew He wouldn’t, but yet, there were still guilt feelings inside her, much stronger than she had felt in a long time. Because too often the “Sert” became “Thomas”…
While I was trying to ignore the preacher, I was also trying to figure out what I was going to do after the service was over. Am I going to go talk to her? After she didn’t look at me last night and then again this morning, I felt queasy about it. Maybe she doesn’t WANT to talk to me…I sighed and figured that was probably it. I guess I’ll just leave town this afternoon…go…where?…I remembered my amnesia, which I thought was nice…at least I can remember SOMETHING…where was I going?…I tried to dig through my brain again, but my head started hurting so I stopped. I was getting new visions every day and I really thought my previous life would all come back to me soon. But it hadn’t yet. And that was still bothering me.
By the time the last song was sung, I had firmly decided that I didn’t know what I intended to do about Missy—whether to talk to her or not. The question was actually resolved for me; about two-thirds of the congregation came over to her and Judy and started talking, no doubt wanting to know what had happened to Missy. I looked at her a couple of times, but never caught her eye. A little disgusted—with myself—I headed for the back door. I saw the doctor and went over to him….
Missy glanced at Thomas twice after the worship service ended. He wasn’t looking at her either time. He doesn’t care about me…why should he? He just helped me yesterday, like any decent person would have, then found out last night that my grandmother thinks I’m a spoiled brat…why should he think anything other than that?…
Missy wanted to cry, but fortunately, all the church members were contesting for her attention so she was distracted by that….
“Doctor, are you going to be in your office this afternoon, by any chance? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
Morgan said, “Well, I’m usually not, but actually I was headed in that direction right now. I wanted to check on my patient. He was in a lot of pain last night so I gave him a pretty strong sleeping draught. I want to see how he’s doing. Would you like to meet me over there right now?”
“Sure, that sounds good to me. Thank you.”
Before he and I separated, Marshal Dugan came up. “Dr. Morgan, I’d like to get Sert Oldham in a jail cell as soon as possible. Do you think he’s up to the move this afternoon, if we handle him real delicately?”
Morgan considered. “I don’t want him on a horse or in the back of a wagon. If you can carry him slowly and carefully on a stretcher, then it’s possible. I’m going to go check on him right now. You can come with me if you wish.”
He nodded then looked at me. “If Oldham can be moved, will you help?”
“Yes, I’ll be glad to help you.” One outlaw transporting another?….
As I mounted Horse, I took one more sweeping glance around the church grounds to see if I could spot Missy. She was just exiting the building. Some handsome young man was walking beside her, talking to her, and he appeared to be sweet-talking her. Now I was really aggravated with myself. Well, of course she’s got a boyfriend. I imagine every single man in town is trying to court her. Monroe—or whatever your name is—your brain really is fried…She looked at me, and our eyes met. I looked at the man she was walking with, then back at her. Then I turned Horse and headed to the doctor’s office.
Tillman Slaughter—the young man escorting Missy from the church building—was a nice man, and he adored her. She liked him, too, but her life, with work, charity, and her grandmother’s condition, had been way too complicated to give deep, serious reflection to a relationship with a man. Thomas’s reaction, when their eyes met, was like a dagger through her heart. He thinks Tillman and I…Thomas, we’re not…we’re not!…He didn’t smile or even acknowledge her. He just turned and rode away. He hates me, I know he does…
Missy’s mind was almost as mixed up as her grandmother’s. And Thomas’s, too, for that matter…
The number of crazy people in this story keeps adding up.
Oldham was awake, but very groggy. The doctor examined him and pronounced him fit to travel, “but only to the jail house and that very slowly and very cautiously. I don’t want any of these sutures to break loose.”
“We’ll be careful, doc,” Dugan assured him. “We’ll do it after lunch.” He said to me, “You want to go get a bite to eat?”
“Thanks, but I need to talk to the doctor for a few minutes.” Then I said to Morgan. “I mean, you don’t mind talking now, do you? It’s lunchtime.”
“No, that’s ok. I told my wife I wanted to check the patient so she’s going to bring lunch over here. Perhaps you can share it with us.”
I smiled. “Thanks. A home cooked meal would be nice, for a change.”
“I gather you aren’t married.”
I started to answer, then stopped. Now, that’s an interesting question. What if I AM married? I had seen a vision of a young woman a few times, but I had no idea who she was. My wife? I responded, “No, I’m not.”
“I’ll be back in about an hour,” Dugan said, and Morgan nodded.
After Dugan left, I said to the doctor, “At least I don’t think I’m married.”
He looked at me strangely. “What do you mean by that?”
“Doc, I’ve got amnesia. I can’t remember who I am.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Your name isn’t Thomas Monroe?”
I shook my head. “No, unless it was just a lucky guess. I call myself that because I don’t know what else to call me.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, sitting down.
So I gave him the story as far as I knew it. I still didn't know what had happened to cause my amnesia; I continued to assume that I had gone to sleep and hit my head on the ground when I fell off my horse. He nodded.
“Well, whatever the cause, you must have been hit in just the right place—or wrong place. It happens.”
“How long will it last?”
He shrugged. “Could clear up any time. Might last the rest of your life. Or you may get part of your memory back, but not all of it. There’s no way of knowing. It depends on whether your brain is just bruised, damaged, or if, perhaps, part of the brain was destroyed beyond repair. You say you’re still having headaches?”
“Yes. Not all the time. Fewer and fewer. But when I try to think too hard, my head hurts.”
“Mr….Monroe, I really can’t give you an absolute answer. It sounds like you’re getting better, but the mind is something we have very, very little knowledge of. I wish you the best, but there’s really nothing I can do for you except give you some pain medication for the headaches. I’m sorry.”
That was discouraging, but I had to accept it and just hope that some day soon my memory came back. “Well, thanks for your time, doc. Please don’t tell anyone about my problem. Just let them think I’m Thomas Monroe.” I pulled a face. “I guess I will be unless I finally remember who I really am.”
“What are you going to do?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Roam? Wander? Try to build a new life, I guess.”
“You don’t have any idea what you were before your amnesia?” he asked me.
I thought about it a moment. “No. But I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
I looked at him. “I’m awfully good with a gun…”
Acting Marshal Dugan brought a couple of young men with him to help carry Sert Oldham to a jail cell. Oldham was getting a little more cognizant of what was going on. “Where you takin’ me?” he murmured.
“To where you belong,” Dugan told him. “Jail.”
“What fer?”
“Assault with the intent to rape. You’ll be lucky not to get a rope around your neck, but plan on spending the rest of your life behind bars, Oldham.”
Oldham sighed and closed his eyes. We lifted him carefully onto a stretcher with four poles, and the four of us carried him across to the jail house. We laid him on a bed. “Bring me somethin’ to eat,” the outlaw said.
“Soon,” Dugan replied, locking the cell door. Then he muttered, “I don’t care if he starves to death…”
There was a very short hallway between the cells—there were three of them and we put Oldham in the middle—and the outer office. When we got back to the office, Missy was there.
She glanced at me quickly, then talked to the marshal. “Is he ok?”
“He’ll live, Miss Jacobs. The judge usually comes through every other Tuesday to see if we have any cases to try. He was here last week, so it will be another nine days before he comes. You’ll need to testify.” Missy grimaced.
Dugan looked at me. “I’d appreciate it if you stay around and testify, too. Just to back up Miss Jacobs’ story.”
That wasn’t exactly my plan—to hang around Silver Creek another 10 days. Before I spoke, Missy said, “I don’t want to press charges. He won’t do it again, I know he won’t.”
Dugan sighed. “Miss Jacobs, I can’t make you press charges. But you would be doing this territory a huge favor if you help put Sert Oldham back in jail. He’s just no good. He’s killed a number of people—and don’t say he won’t do it again. Whether he will or not, he needs to pay for the crimes he’s committed.”
“He spent 15 years in prison already.”
“But not for assault with intent to rape. That’s a very, very serious crime, Miss Jacobs. Please press charges.”
She looked at me. Even with the bruises and puffiness, she was a beautiful woman. To me. I nodded. “He’s right, Missy. I’ll stay and testify, too, if that will help.”
Missy lowered her head, but nodded. “Ok.”
Dugan went to his desk and got out a couple of papers. Apparently he had asked Missy beforehand to come by. “You’ll need to sign these, Miss Jacobs. I’ll file one and make sure the judge gets the other.”
Missy signed the two sheets, then said, “Can I see Mr. Sert?”
“He’s pretty groggy.”
“Just for a minute.”
Dugan made a face and shrugged. “Ok.” He grabbed the keys and led Missy down the hallway. “You’ve got a visitor, Oldham,” I heard him say as he was turning the key. “Five minutes, Miss Jacobs, no more.”
I didn’t hear her response. Dugan came back into the office. “What does she see in that creep?” he asked me.
“She wants to help him, Marshal. She doesn’t believe anyone is beyond redemption. I guess. That’s all I can figure out.”
“Yeah, well, she’s got her hands full with that snake…”
I rubbed my chin, not in a very good mood. Nine more days in this town…what am I going to do about…her? Maybe I’ll leave and come back…I closed my eyes, my head hurting again…I don’t need this right now—her…I need to find out who I am…WHAT I am…where I was going…is somebody expecting me?…that girl I’ve seen in my flashbacks…IS she my wife? My fiancée’? Somebody who’s waiting for me? I had no answers.
“I’ll see you around, Marshal,” I said, and left the office.
Missy was a little surprised to see Thomas at the marshal’s office. Their eyes met only briefly and the conversation recorded above ensued. Missy’s heart thumped a little harder when Thomas said he’d stay and testify. He’ll be here at least nine more days…will he come see me?…no…
She went in to see Sert. He was awake, but barely. He recognized her, though, and smiled.
“Hello, little Missy. Come to…take me to…Californy?”
She smiled wanly. “No, Mr. Sert. How are you feeling?”
“Feel like…I been shot…in the gut.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“Thanks.”
They went quiet for a few moments and Missy thought Sert was asleep. But he asked unexpectedly, “Little Missy, who’s that…feller…who shot me?”
“His name is Thomas Monroe. I don’t know very much about him. He just happened to come by.”
Oldham simply nodded. He’s got to die…Then he went to sleep.
When Missy returned to the office, she saw that Thomas was gone. I think I’ll go home and take a nap…I don’t feel good…
She hurt all over. Outside and in…
I didn’t know what to do with myself while I was in Silver Creek. I spent the rest of Sunday and most of Monday wandering the streets—which didn’t take too long since there was only one main road through town and a few side streets for residences. I noticed the town had two school houses, which I thought was odd. I didn’t know which one Missy taught at, so I stopped and watched one of them for a few minutes, then, disgusted with myself, turned around and headed back in the other direction. I was still having flashes and visions in my head, but the one that dominated most of all was of Missy walking out of the church house with that tall, handsome young man…
Missy did take a nap Sunday afternoon, and felt much better when she awoke. She examined herself in the mirror and noticed that the swelling in her face had gone down considerably. Her grandmother had been in her “right mind” all that day—and remembered absolutely nothing about the evening before—and was appalled to hear Missy’s story about what had happened.
“I think you’d better have someone go with you from now on when you visit out of town,” Judy told her. “This country is still crawling with vicious, immoral criminals. Perhaps that nice Tillman Slaughter will go with you. He’s such a handsome young man, don’t you think so? And he seems so fond of you.”
“Yes, Grandma,” was all Missy replied.
I don’t want Tillman to go with me…he’s very nice, but he couldn’t scare away a rabbit…
She didn’t see Thomas the rest of Sunday or Monday, or Tuesday—until that evening…
After wandering around Monday, I wasted most of Tuesday, too, but about dark that day I stopped by the marshal’s office. I liked Dugan and thought I’d see if he wanted to get something to eat. In retrospect, it wasn’t a terribly bright thing to do; he might start asking questions I couldn’t answer. But I was going a little stir crazy and wanted some company.
It was a good thing that I did.
He was sitting at his desk when I went in. “Monroe,” he nodded in greeting.
“You et yet?” I ask him. “I was headed down to the greasy spoon to see what poison was cooking.”
“No, I haven’t, and yeah, I’ll go with you. Give me a few minutes. Prisoner’s got a visitor. Can’t leave until she does.”
I didn’t have to ask who the “she” was…
Missy had baked a cake for Sert and brought it to him. Dugan wouldn’t let him have the whole thing, so she sliced off a piece and the outlaw was devouring it.
“Mm-mm, you shore can cook, little Missy,” Sert said. “When we get to Californy, I’m a-gonna have to work real hard to stay slim, eatin’ all your good cookin’.”
Missy half smiled. She’d given up correcting him on the “Californy” thing. “Are you feeling better?” she asked. He was sitting up now, still pale and moving slow, but his head was clear.
“Gettin’ better,” he replied, “but I ain’t gonna be bustin’ no broncs for awhile. Doc came by and changed my bandage today; said ever’thing looked good.”
“I’m glad,” Missy said. “I hope you’ll recover completely.”
“I intend to,” he said with a smile—his charming one. It didn’t work on Missy, but then, she was hoping somebody else would smile at her. She hadn’t seen Thomas since Sunday. Sert continued. “Got a long trip ahead of us, you know.”
Missy sighed and dropped her head. “Mr. Sert, the judge will be here next week and you’re going to be put on trial.”
Sert hesitated a moment. “You’re goin’ to testify against me.” It was a statement, not a question.
It was Missy’s turn to hesitate. “I…I don’t know yet. The marshal wants me to.”
Sert leaned over and handed her the empty cake plate. He said, “You just do what’s in yore heart, little Missy.”
Missy grimaced at that…then heard something that greatly disturbed her.
It disturbed Oldham even more…
It has been noted in this story, more than once, that everybody loved Missy, the “queen of the angels.” And, as a result, when the news spread through town of what had happened on Saturday, nobody loved Sert Oldham. Especially the men who were drinking that Tuesday evening at the Lucky Seven Saloon.
Man One: “Jake, did you see what that sidewinder Oldham did to our Missy?”
Man Two (Jake): “Yeah. The man’s a brute. Ought to be strung up.”
Man Three: “Judge is comin’ through next week. He’ll put ‘im away fer life, that’s fer sure.”
Man Four: “I think Jake’s right. He orta be hung. Nobody ought t’ be allowed to do that t’ inny woman, ‘spcially Missy.”
Man Five: “Oh, I don’t know. Kinda wished he’d taken my wife instead. She’d be better lookin’ now if he had.” A few laughs.
Man Six: “She’da whupped him, Taylor, and she’d be the one in the hoosegow now.” A few more laughs.
The merriment continued. And the drinking…
Man Four: “Still think Oldham ought to be strung up. Did you see Missy’s face? And she’s the purtiest thing on earth. How could anybody do that?”
Man One: “Yeah. He ain’t fit to live.”
The room got awfully quiet as the same thought, simultaneously, went through about a dozen drink-sloshed brains.
Man Seven: “I gotta rope.”
Man Two (Jake): “Judge’ll just put ‘im in prison. He deserves worse’n that.”
Man One repeated: “Ain’t fit to live.”
Man Seven repeated: “I gotta rope.”
Man Six: “There’s a hangin’ tree just outside’a town.”
Man Two (Jake): “I say we save the taxpayers some money. Why should they have to feed that guy for the rest o’ his life?”
General response: “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Let’s string him up. He ain’t no good. Doin’ what he did to Missy, I been boilin’ over that ever since I heerd about it an’ saw her…” Rumble, rumble, rumble…
The drunken mob was working its way into doing what drunken mobs do. “Seth, get yore rope…”
“Got it hangin’ on my horse outside.”
"Let’s go………”
So Seth got his rope, Jake led the rabble, and two blocks later, by the time they reached the marshal’s office, there were almost 25 men….
Dugan was forewarned, however. A teenaged boy ran ahead of the mob and burst into jail house.
“Marshal, Jake Estes has got some men worked up and they’re headed this way. Going to lynch Sert Oldham.”
Dugan frowned. “Thanks, Ty.” The marshal looked at me. “I need a deputy.”
Now that was a hoot. I had convinced myself by now that I was an outlaw. No lawman can shoot like I do…besides, what would a lawman be doing roaming around? Only outlaws do that….So here I was, on the run probably, and the marshal of Silver Creek was wanting to deputize me.
“I thought you had a couple,” I said to him.
“Part-timers. Only till the new marshal arrives. I don’t even know where they are.” He snorted. “Maybe with the mob.” We could hear them coming now.
I made a face. “You don’t need to deputize me. Just toss me a rifle.”
He unlocked the gun cabinet, grabbed a Winchester, checked it for load, and pitched it to me. I caught it and double-checked it. I nodded. “All right. Let’s go see what we can do to save the hide of somebody who doesn’t deserve it.”
“Don’t you go joining the mob, too, Monroe,” Dugan said with a wry smile.
I was tempted. I loved Missy Jacobs. But then, so did everybody else. So I stayed with Dugan.
We stepped outside the door just about the time the wolf pack arrived. The “mob murmur” could be heard, and a few “lynch him” type comments rose above the noise. When they saw Dugan and me standing on the porch in front of the door, they halted.
The leader, Jake, said, “Stand aside, Marshal. We’re gonna give that no-good, son-of-a-whore what he deserves.”
“He’ll get what he deserves, Jake. A day in court and a trip to prison. You boys break this up and get on home.”
That didn’t convince anybody of anything, except that maybe Dugan was scared. I glanced at him. He was, and it was noticeable. Well, I was scared, too, but I tried not to show it.
“He deserves a hangin’ rope, Dugan, and you know it. You seen Missy. Nobody who does that to a woman, ‘specially one like Missy, is fit to walk on this here earth.”
It was hard to argue with that logic.
Jake continued, “And we’re gonna see that justice is done. So git outta the way.”
Dugan tried again, but his voice was strained. “Jake, you men, this is a matter for the court. You know you can’t be taking the law into your own hands. I know Sert Oldham is a low-down skunk, but we have to follow the law—“
The mob was starting to murmur again and was drowning out the marshal. “Hang the ….” “He ain’t fit to live…” “Git ‘im, we’ll show him what women-beaters get…” And, with murder on their inebriated minds, the mob surged forward, Jake in the lead.
A rifle went off. The mob went quiet and stopped.
Jake looked at me—I had fired the rifle—an ugly expression on his face. “Who are you?”
I didn’t know, so I just said, “I’m the man who’s going to keep you from lynching Sert Oldham.”
“And just how do you propose to do that?”
“Well, the next step you take, I’m going to blow your big toe off. The next step, I’ll blow your leg off.” Then I paused, narrowed my eyes, and looked at him, very hard. “And the third step you take, I’ll blow your head off.”
Jake was taken aback somewhat. “You wouldn’t…”
I smiled at him, but it wasn’t my friendly, I’m-glad-to-get-to-know-you smile. “Take three steps and see if I wouldn’t.”
Another man, just to Jake’s left, started forward. I shifted the rifle in his direction. “You’ve got toes, legs, and a head, too, friend. At least, for the moment.”
He halted.
Jake said, “You can’t stop all of us, mister.”
“You’ll never find out if I can or not, buddy, because you’ll be on your way to hell.” Then I pointed behind Jake and to his right, without looking directly at what I was pointing at. “And if that fellow who is drawing his gun right now even thinks about leveling and shooting it, he’s going to get an early funeral.”
A lot of heads turned, and the man who indeed was pulling his gun gulped and let it drop back into his holster.
My boldness had sobered up the mob considerably. And scared them a little. Jake tried again. “That man deserves to die, stranger.”
“And maybe you do, too. Tell you what. You decide whether Oldham deserves to live and I’ll decide whether you do.”
The atmosphere was more than tense. Dugan was out of his league and he knew it, so he wisely kept his mouth shut. I wasn’t quite sure what this bunch was going to do, and then someone in the back shouted, “C’mon, Jake, let’s get ‘im.”
And I really thought Jake was about to do it, when a voice from behind me spoke. “Please don’t. Please go home.”
Missy.
Every eye was on her. She came and stood between me and Dugan. She spoke softly, but earnestly. “Mr. Sert’s not a bad man. He’s just…misguided. You can’t just…kill him like this. He’s a man, just like you men, and he deserves a chance.”
Missy, of course, put the mob back on its heels. Jake tried to reason with her some, but I knew the thing was over. “Miss Jacobs, look what he did to you. And he’s done the same thing to others. He’s a killer. And he’ll kill again. Men like that don’t deserve to live. We just want to see justice done, after the way he treated you.”
Missy was quiet for a moment, and then I saw a tear roll down her cheek. Surprisingly, she nodded. “Ok. I understand.” And then the words came out of her mouth—and they were a dagger into the heart of every man there. “Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.”
Dead still silence. Except for what could be heard from down the street.
Nobody moved for several moments. Then slowly, just like when Jesus spoke those words, one by one, the crowd began to disperse. Jake was the last one standing. He looked at me. He looked at Dugan. He looked at Missy.
And he turned and walked slowly away.
After a few moments, Missy—without a word or a glance in my direction—walked away, too.
I watched her, my heart aching. Then I turned to Dugan. His eyes were following her, too. Then he looked at me. “There are some that say she’s really an angel. I believe it more and more every time I see her.”
I looked back at her retreating form. And I’m probably a devil…
Dugan was still looking at me. “I’d like to know something.”
“What?” I was still watching Missy.
“Who are you? I was about to mess my britches and you stood there like you were on a block of ice. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t think even Dan Foster could have done that, and he was, by far, the best I’ve ever known.”
I looked at him, and handed him the rifle. I gave him a wry grin. “Maybe I’m Sert Oldham’s brother.”
And it was my turn to walk away. Thinking, well, you know, maybe I AM Sert Oldham’s brother…I don’t know that I’m NOT…
I arrived a few minutes early and took a seat near the middle of the auditorium—there were about 15 rows of pews on each side of a center aisle. All the back benches were filled. You’ve got to get here early to get a good back row seat…A few people greeted me, which was nice, but I wasn’t in much of a talking mood. Surreptitiously, I looked around, but I didn’t see Missy. Until right before the service started. Then she and her grandmother came in—the latter preening like a peacock—and they walked up to the front of the auditorium and sat on the third row, across the aisle from me. I tried not to stare at her, or even look at her; a lot of people were staring at her because her face remained puffy and bruised, indeed, worse than the day before, if possible. She kept her head down and I could tell she was pretty uncomfortable. She never looked up and she never looked at me….
Oh, there he is…what’s he doing here? I’m glad he came to church but…oh, why couldn’t he have been sick or something? He’s going to leave town, I know he is, I wish he’d just go ahead and go…he’s laughing at me, I know he is, I just know it…Missy sat down a little too hard on the unpadded pew and winced; it jarred her stomach which was sorer than the night before. Why did Mr. Sert have to stop in that clearing? Why didn’t he just keep us going to California? Then none of this would have happened…She didn’t mean that, and she knew it, but physically, and emotionally, she felt awful…
Missy was sitting where I could see her without auspiciously turning my head to look at her. She kept her head down the whole service. She was wearing a lovely dark blue dress that accented her golden brown hair wonderfully. I hope I get to see her when she’s well. She must be the loveliest creature on earth…well, inside I KNOW she is, but outside…I know she’s that, too…
The preacher preached on lust and the sins of the flesh…Oh, shut up…
Missy indeed rarely looked up during the worship period and couldn’t sing very well because her mouth and jaw were exceedingly sore. But she heard the sermon; she always paid attention to the sermon and always believed that the preacher was preaching right to her. So “lust” and the “sins of the flesh” were pretty relevant in her life at the moment because of what had happened the day before. She had to work it out in her own mind. If Mr. Sert had…I mean, if he and I…he would have forced me…it wouldn’t have been my fault…I could have stopped him, though…how?…Dear God, it wasn’t my fault, I was trying to do good by going to the widow Walters’ home and help her…Missy wasn’t the guilt-ridden type. She’d try to take a sermon and apply it, but she didn’t beat herself over the head with it. But today was different. I really wasn’t lusting yesterday, God, I really wasn’t…Sert was awful…and if he and I had…had…You know…it wouldn’t have been voluntary on my part…You can’t hold that against me, can you, God?….She knew He wouldn’t, but yet, there were still guilt feelings inside her, much stronger than she had felt in a long time. Because too often the “Sert” became “Thomas”…
While I was trying to ignore the preacher, I was also trying to figure out what I was going to do after the service was over. Am I going to go talk to her? After she didn’t look at me last night and then again this morning, I felt queasy about it. Maybe she doesn’t WANT to talk to me…I sighed and figured that was probably it. I guess I’ll just leave town this afternoon…go…where?…I remembered my amnesia, which I thought was nice…at least I can remember SOMETHING…where was I going?…I tried to dig through my brain again, but my head started hurting so I stopped. I was getting new visions every day and I really thought my previous life would all come back to me soon. But it hadn’t yet. And that was still bothering me.
By the time the last song was sung, I had firmly decided that I didn’t know what I intended to do about Missy—whether to talk to her or not. The question was actually resolved for me; about two-thirds of the congregation came over to her and Judy and started talking, no doubt wanting to know what had happened to Missy. I looked at her a couple of times, but never caught her eye. A little disgusted—with myself—I headed for the back door. I saw the doctor and went over to him….
Missy glanced at Thomas twice after the worship service ended. He wasn’t looking at her either time. He doesn’t care about me…why should he? He just helped me yesterday, like any decent person would have, then found out last night that my grandmother thinks I’m a spoiled brat…why should he think anything other than that?…
Missy wanted to cry, but fortunately, all the church members were contesting for her attention so she was distracted by that….
“Doctor, are you going to be in your office this afternoon, by any chance? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
Morgan said, “Well, I’m usually not, but actually I was headed in that direction right now. I wanted to check on my patient. He was in a lot of pain last night so I gave him a pretty strong sleeping draught. I want to see how he’s doing. Would you like to meet me over there right now?”
“Sure, that sounds good to me. Thank you.”
Before he and I separated, Marshal Dugan came up. “Dr. Morgan, I’d like to get Sert Oldham in a jail cell as soon as possible. Do you think he’s up to the move this afternoon, if we handle him real delicately?”
Morgan considered. “I don’t want him on a horse or in the back of a wagon. If you can carry him slowly and carefully on a stretcher, then it’s possible. I’m going to go check on him right now. You can come with me if you wish.”
He nodded then looked at me. “If Oldham can be moved, will you help?”
“Yes, I’ll be glad to help you.” One outlaw transporting another?….
As I mounted Horse, I took one more sweeping glance around the church grounds to see if I could spot Missy. She was just exiting the building. Some handsome young man was walking beside her, talking to her, and he appeared to be sweet-talking her. Now I was really aggravated with myself. Well, of course she’s got a boyfriend. I imagine every single man in town is trying to court her. Monroe—or whatever your name is—your brain really is fried…She looked at me, and our eyes met. I looked at the man she was walking with, then back at her. Then I turned Horse and headed to the doctor’s office.
Tillman Slaughter—the young man escorting Missy from the church building—was a nice man, and he adored her. She liked him, too, but her life, with work, charity, and her grandmother’s condition, had been way too complicated to give deep, serious reflection to a relationship with a man. Thomas’s reaction, when their eyes met, was like a dagger through her heart. He thinks Tillman and I…Thomas, we’re not…we’re not!…He didn’t smile or even acknowledge her. He just turned and rode away. He hates me, I know he does…
Missy’s mind was almost as mixed up as her grandmother’s. And Thomas’s, too, for that matter…
The number of crazy people in this story keeps adding up.
Oldham was awake, but very groggy. The doctor examined him and pronounced him fit to travel, “but only to the jail house and that very slowly and very cautiously. I don’t want any of these sutures to break loose.”
“We’ll be careful, doc,” Dugan assured him. “We’ll do it after lunch.” He said to me, “You want to go get a bite to eat?”
“Thanks, but I need to talk to the doctor for a few minutes.” Then I said to Morgan. “I mean, you don’t mind talking now, do you? It’s lunchtime.”
“No, that’s ok. I told my wife I wanted to check the patient so she’s going to bring lunch over here. Perhaps you can share it with us.”
I smiled. “Thanks. A home cooked meal would be nice, for a change.”
“I gather you aren’t married.”
I started to answer, then stopped. Now, that’s an interesting question. What if I AM married? I had seen a vision of a young woman a few times, but I had no idea who she was. My wife? I responded, “No, I’m not.”
“I’ll be back in about an hour,” Dugan said, and Morgan nodded.
After Dugan left, I said to the doctor, “At least I don’t think I’m married.”
He looked at me strangely. “What do you mean by that?”
“Doc, I’ve got amnesia. I can’t remember who I am.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Your name isn’t Thomas Monroe?”
I shook my head. “No, unless it was just a lucky guess. I call myself that because I don’t know what else to call me.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, sitting down.
So I gave him the story as far as I knew it. I still didn't know what had happened to cause my amnesia; I continued to assume that I had gone to sleep and hit my head on the ground when I fell off my horse. He nodded.
“Well, whatever the cause, you must have been hit in just the right place—or wrong place. It happens.”
“How long will it last?”
He shrugged. “Could clear up any time. Might last the rest of your life. Or you may get part of your memory back, but not all of it. There’s no way of knowing. It depends on whether your brain is just bruised, damaged, or if, perhaps, part of the brain was destroyed beyond repair. You say you’re still having headaches?”
“Yes. Not all the time. Fewer and fewer. But when I try to think too hard, my head hurts.”
“Mr….Monroe, I really can’t give you an absolute answer. It sounds like you’re getting better, but the mind is something we have very, very little knowledge of. I wish you the best, but there’s really nothing I can do for you except give you some pain medication for the headaches. I’m sorry.”
That was discouraging, but I had to accept it and just hope that some day soon my memory came back. “Well, thanks for your time, doc. Please don’t tell anyone about my problem. Just let them think I’m Thomas Monroe.” I pulled a face. “I guess I will be unless I finally remember who I really am.”
“What are you going to do?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Roam? Wander? Try to build a new life, I guess.”
“You don’t have any idea what you were before your amnesia?” he asked me.
I thought about it a moment. “No. But I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
I looked at him. “I’m awfully good with a gun…”
Acting Marshal Dugan brought a couple of young men with him to help carry Sert Oldham to a jail cell. Oldham was getting a little more cognizant of what was going on. “Where you takin’ me?” he murmured.
“To where you belong,” Dugan told him. “Jail.”
“What fer?”
“Assault with the intent to rape. You’ll be lucky not to get a rope around your neck, but plan on spending the rest of your life behind bars, Oldham.”
Oldham sighed and closed his eyes. We lifted him carefully onto a stretcher with four poles, and the four of us carried him across to the jail house. We laid him on a bed. “Bring me somethin’ to eat,” the outlaw said.
“Soon,” Dugan replied, locking the cell door. Then he muttered, “I don’t care if he starves to death…”
There was a very short hallway between the cells—there were three of them and we put Oldham in the middle—and the outer office. When we got back to the office, Missy was there.
She glanced at me quickly, then talked to the marshal. “Is he ok?”
“He’ll live, Miss Jacobs. The judge usually comes through every other Tuesday to see if we have any cases to try. He was here last week, so it will be another nine days before he comes. You’ll need to testify.” Missy grimaced.
Dugan looked at me. “I’d appreciate it if you stay around and testify, too. Just to back up Miss Jacobs’ story.”
That wasn’t exactly my plan—to hang around Silver Creek another 10 days. Before I spoke, Missy said, “I don’t want to press charges. He won’t do it again, I know he won’t.”
Dugan sighed. “Miss Jacobs, I can’t make you press charges. But you would be doing this territory a huge favor if you help put Sert Oldham back in jail. He’s just no good. He’s killed a number of people—and don’t say he won’t do it again. Whether he will or not, he needs to pay for the crimes he’s committed.”
“He spent 15 years in prison already.”
“But not for assault with intent to rape. That’s a very, very serious crime, Miss Jacobs. Please press charges.”
She looked at me. Even with the bruises and puffiness, she was a beautiful woman. To me. I nodded. “He’s right, Missy. I’ll stay and testify, too, if that will help.”
Missy lowered her head, but nodded. “Ok.”
Dugan went to his desk and got out a couple of papers. Apparently he had asked Missy beforehand to come by. “You’ll need to sign these, Miss Jacobs. I’ll file one and make sure the judge gets the other.”
Missy signed the two sheets, then said, “Can I see Mr. Sert?”
“He’s pretty groggy.”
“Just for a minute.”
Dugan made a face and shrugged. “Ok.” He grabbed the keys and led Missy down the hallway. “You’ve got a visitor, Oldham,” I heard him say as he was turning the key. “Five minutes, Miss Jacobs, no more.”
I didn’t hear her response. Dugan came back into the office. “What does she see in that creep?” he asked me.
“She wants to help him, Marshal. She doesn’t believe anyone is beyond redemption. I guess. That’s all I can figure out.”
“Yeah, well, she’s got her hands full with that snake…”
I rubbed my chin, not in a very good mood. Nine more days in this town…what am I going to do about…her? Maybe I’ll leave and come back…I closed my eyes, my head hurting again…I don’t need this right now—her…I need to find out who I am…WHAT I am…where I was going…is somebody expecting me?…that girl I’ve seen in my flashbacks…IS she my wife? My fiancée’? Somebody who’s waiting for me? I had no answers.
“I’ll see you around, Marshal,” I said, and left the office.
Missy was a little surprised to see Thomas at the marshal’s office. Their eyes met only briefly and the conversation recorded above ensued. Missy’s heart thumped a little harder when Thomas said he’d stay and testify. He’ll be here at least nine more days…will he come see me?…no…
She went in to see Sert. He was awake, but barely. He recognized her, though, and smiled.
“Hello, little Missy. Come to…take me to…Californy?”
She smiled wanly. “No, Mr. Sert. How are you feeling?”
“Feel like…I been shot…in the gut.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“Thanks.”
They went quiet for a few moments and Missy thought Sert was asleep. But he asked unexpectedly, “Little Missy, who’s that…feller…who shot me?”
“His name is Thomas Monroe. I don’t know very much about him. He just happened to come by.”
Oldham simply nodded. He’s got to die…Then he went to sleep.
When Missy returned to the office, she saw that Thomas was gone. I think I’ll go home and take a nap…I don’t feel good…
She hurt all over. Outside and in…
I didn’t know what to do with myself while I was in Silver Creek. I spent the rest of Sunday and most of Monday wandering the streets—which didn’t take too long since there was only one main road through town and a few side streets for residences. I noticed the town had two school houses, which I thought was odd. I didn’t know which one Missy taught at, so I stopped and watched one of them for a few minutes, then, disgusted with myself, turned around and headed back in the other direction. I was still having flashes and visions in my head, but the one that dominated most of all was of Missy walking out of the church house with that tall, handsome young man…
Missy did take a nap Sunday afternoon, and felt much better when she awoke. She examined herself in the mirror and noticed that the swelling in her face had gone down considerably. Her grandmother had been in her “right mind” all that day—and remembered absolutely nothing about the evening before—and was appalled to hear Missy’s story about what had happened.
“I think you’d better have someone go with you from now on when you visit out of town,” Judy told her. “This country is still crawling with vicious, immoral criminals. Perhaps that nice Tillman Slaughter will go with you. He’s such a handsome young man, don’t you think so? And he seems so fond of you.”
“Yes, Grandma,” was all Missy replied.
I don’t want Tillman to go with me…he’s very nice, but he couldn’t scare away a rabbit…
She didn’t see Thomas the rest of Sunday or Monday, or Tuesday—until that evening…
After wandering around Monday, I wasted most of Tuesday, too, but about dark that day I stopped by the marshal’s office. I liked Dugan and thought I’d see if he wanted to get something to eat. In retrospect, it wasn’t a terribly bright thing to do; he might start asking questions I couldn’t answer. But I was going a little stir crazy and wanted some company.
It was a good thing that I did.
He was sitting at his desk when I went in. “Monroe,” he nodded in greeting.
“You et yet?” I ask him. “I was headed down to the greasy spoon to see what poison was cooking.”
“No, I haven’t, and yeah, I’ll go with you. Give me a few minutes. Prisoner’s got a visitor. Can’t leave until she does.”
I didn’t have to ask who the “she” was…
Missy had baked a cake for Sert and brought it to him. Dugan wouldn’t let him have the whole thing, so she sliced off a piece and the outlaw was devouring it.
“Mm-mm, you shore can cook, little Missy,” Sert said. “When we get to Californy, I’m a-gonna have to work real hard to stay slim, eatin’ all your good cookin’.”
Missy half smiled. She’d given up correcting him on the “Californy” thing. “Are you feeling better?” she asked. He was sitting up now, still pale and moving slow, but his head was clear.
“Gettin’ better,” he replied, “but I ain’t gonna be bustin’ no broncs for awhile. Doc came by and changed my bandage today; said ever’thing looked good.”
“I’m glad,” Missy said. “I hope you’ll recover completely.”
“I intend to,” he said with a smile—his charming one. It didn’t work on Missy, but then, she was hoping somebody else would smile at her. She hadn’t seen Thomas since Sunday. Sert continued. “Got a long trip ahead of us, you know.”
Missy sighed and dropped her head. “Mr. Sert, the judge will be here next week and you’re going to be put on trial.”
Sert hesitated a moment. “You’re goin’ to testify against me.” It was a statement, not a question.
It was Missy’s turn to hesitate. “I…I don’t know yet. The marshal wants me to.”
Sert leaned over and handed her the empty cake plate. He said, “You just do what’s in yore heart, little Missy.”
Missy grimaced at that…then heard something that greatly disturbed her.
It disturbed Oldham even more…
It has been noted in this story, more than once, that everybody loved Missy, the “queen of the angels.” And, as a result, when the news spread through town of what had happened on Saturday, nobody loved Sert Oldham. Especially the men who were drinking that Tuesday evening at the Lucky Seven Saloon.
Man One: “Jake, did you see what that sidewinder Oldham did to our Missy?”
Man Two (Jake): “Yeah. The man’s a brute. Ought to be strung up.”
Man Three: “Judge is comin’ through next week. He’ll put ‘im away fer life, that’s fer sure.”
Man Four: “I think Jake’s right. He orta be hung. Nobody ought t’ be allowed to do that t’ inny woman, ‘spcially Missy.”
Man Five: “Oh, I don’t know. Kinda wished he’d taken my wife instead. She’d be better lookin’ now if he had.” A few laughs.
Man Six: “She’da whupped him, Taylor, and she’d be the one in the hoosegow now.” A few more laughs.
The merriment continued. And the drinking…
Man Four: “Still think Oldham ought to be strung up. Did you see Missy’s face? And she’s the purtiest thing on earth. How could anybody do that?”
Man One: “Yeah. He ain’t fit to live.”
The room got awfully quiet as the same thought, simultaneously, went through about a dozen drink-sloshed brains.
Man Seven: “I gotta rope.”
Man Two (Jake): “Judge’ll just put ‘im in prison. He deserves worse’n that.”
Man One repeated: “Ain’t fit to live.”
Man Seven repeated: “I gotta rope.”
Man Six: “There’s a hangin’ tree just outside’a town.”
Man Two (Jake): “I say we save the taxpayers some money. Why should they have to feed that guy for the rest o’ his life?”
General response: “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Let’s string him up. He ain’t no good. Doin’ what he did to Missy, I been boilin’ over that ever since I heerd about it an’ saw her…” Rumble, rumble, rumble…
The drunken mob was working its way into doing what drunken mobs do. “Seth, get yore rope…”
“Got it hangin’ on my horse outside.”
"Let’s go………”
So Seth got his rope, Jake led the rabble, and two blocks later, by the time they reached the marshal’s office, there were almost 25 men….
Dugan was forewarned, however. A teenaged boy ran ahead of the mob and burst into jail house.
“Marshal, Jake Estes has got some men worked up and they’re headed this way. Going to lynch Sert Oldham.”
Dugan frowned. “Thanks, Ty.” The marshal looked at me. “I need a deputy.”
Now that was a hoot. I had convinced myself by now that I was an outlaw. No lawman can shoot like I do…besides, what would a lawman be doing roaming around? Only outlaws do that….So here I was, on the run probably, and the marshal of Silver Creek was wanting to deputize me.
“I thought you had a couple,” I said to him.
“Part-timers. Only till the new marshal arrives. I don’t even know where they are.” He snorted. “Maybe with the mob.” We could hear them coming now.
I made a face. “You don’t need to deputize me. Just toss me a rifle.”
He unlocked the gun cabinet, grabbed a Winchester, checked it for load, and pitched it to me. I caught it and double-checked it. I nodded. “All right. Let’s go see what we can do to save the hide of somebody who doesn’t deserve it.”
“Don’t you go joining the mob, too, Monroe,” Dugan said with a wry smile.
I was tempted. I loved Missy Jacobs. But then, so did everybody else. So I stayed with Dugan.
We stepped outside the door just about the time the wolf pack arrived. The “mob murmur” could be heard, and a few “lynch him” type comments rose above the noise. When they saw Dugan and me standing on the porch in front of the door, they halted.
The leader, Jake, said, “Stand aside, Marshal. We’re gonna give that no-good, son-of-a-whore what he deserves.”
“He’ll get what he deserves, Jake. A day in court and a trip to prison. You boys break this up and get on home.”
That didn’t convince anybody of anything, except that maybe Dugan was scared. I glanced at him. He was, and it was noticeable. Well, I was scared, too, but I tried not to show it.
“He deserves a hangin’ rope, Dugan, and you know it. You seen Missy. Nobody who does that to a woman, ‘specially one like Missy, is fit to walk on this here earth.”
It was hard to argue with that logic.
Jake continued, “And we’re gonna see that justice is done. So git outta the way.”
Dugan tried again, but his voice was strained. “Jake, you men, this is a matter for the court. You know you can’t be taking the law into your own hands. I know Sert Oldham is a low-down skunk, but we have to follow the law—“
The mob was starting to murmur again and was drowning out the marshal. “Hang the ….” “He ain’t fit to live…” “Git ‘im, we’ll show him what women-beaters get…” And, with murder on their inebriated minds, the mob surged forward, Jake in the lead.
A rifle went off. The mob went quiet and stopped.
Jake looked at me—I had fired the rifle—an ugly expression on his face. “Who are you?”
I didn’t know, so I just said, “I’m the man who’s going to keep you from lynching Sert Oldham.”
“And just how do you propose to do that?”
“Well, the next step you take, I’m going to blow your big toe off. The next step, I’ll blow your leg off.” Then I paused, narrowed my eyes, and looked at him, very hard. “And the third step you take, I’ll blow your head off.”
Jake was taken aback somewhat. “You wouldn’t…”
I smiled at him, but it wasn’t my friendly, I’m-glad-to-get-to-know-you smile. “Take three steps and see if I wouldn’t.”
Another man, just to Jake’s left, started forward. I shifted the rifle in his direction. “You’ve got toes, legs, and a head, too, friend. At least, for the moment.”
He halted.
Jake said, “You can’t stop all of us, mister.”
“You’ll never find out if I can or not, buddy, because you’ll be on your way to hell.” Then I pointed behind Jake and to his right, without looking directly at what I was pointing at. “And if that fellow who is drawing his gun right now even thinks about leveling and shooting it, he’s going to get an early funeral.”
A lot of heads turned, and the man who indeed was pulling his gun gulped and let it drop back into his holster.
My boldness had sobered up the mob considerably. And scared them a little. Jake tried again. “That man deserves to die, stranger.”
“And maybe you do, too. Tell you what. You decide whether Oldham deserves to live and I’ll decide whether you do.”
The atmosphere was more than tense. Dugan was out of his league and he knew it, so he wisely kept his mouth shut. I wasn’t quite sure what this bunch was going to do, and then someone in the back shouted, “C’mon, Jake, let’s get ‘im.”
And I really thought Jake was about to do it, when a voice from behind me spoke. “Please don’t. Please go home.”
Missy.
Every eye was on her. She came and stood between me and Dugan. She spoke softly, but earnestly. “Mr. Sert’s not a bad man. He’s just…misguided. You can’t just…kill him like this. He’s a man, just like you men, and he deserves a chance.”
Missy, of course, put the mob back on its heels. Jake tried to reason with her some, but I knew the thing was over. “Miss Jacobs, look what he did to you. And he’s done the same thing to others. He’s a killer. And he’ll kill again. Men like that don’t deserve to live. We just want to see justice done, after the way he treated you.”
Missy was quiet for a moment, and then I saw a tear roll down her cheek. Surprisingly, she nodded. “Ok. I understand.” And then the words came out of her mouth—and they were a dagger into the heart of every man there. “Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.”
Dead still silence. Except for what could be heard from down the street.
Nobody moved for several moments. Then slowly, just like when Jesus spoke those words, one by one, the crowd began to disperse. Jake was the last one standing. He looked at me. He looked at Dugan. He looked at Missy.
And he turned and walked slowly away.
After a few moments, Missy—without a word or a glance in my direction—walked away, too.
I watched her, my heart aching. Then I turned to Dugan. His eyes were following her, too. Then he looked at me. “There are some that say she’s really an angel. I believe it more and more every time I see her.”
I looked back at her retreating form. And I’m probably a devil…
Dugan was still looking at me. “I’d like to know something.”
“What?” I was still watching Missy.
“Who are you? I was about to mess my britches and you stood there like you were on a block of ice. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t think even Dan Foster could have done that, and he was, by far, the best I’ve ever known.”
I looked at him, and handed him the rifle. I gave him a wry grin. “Maybe I’m Sert Oldham’s brother.”
And it was my turn to walk away. Thinking, well, you know, maybe I AM Sert Oldham’s brother…I don’t know that I’m NOT…
Chapter Ten—Dancing With The Rabbits
I wasn’t totally sure what to do for the next few days. I didn’t really want to hang around Silver Creek for a week, waiting for Sert Oldham’s trial. It kept bugging me that I was supposed to be somewhere—or that I might have supposed to have been somewhere—and if somebody was waiting for me…a wife? children? brother? mother and father?…then they were probably getting concerned about what had happened to me. I was getting more and more frustrated, but the more frustrated I got, the less clear I could think. And that meant I remembered nothing. I tried to will myself to relax, but it wasn’t easy.
I ended up doing basically two things for the next week—riding around the area and working some at the local stock pens. It was a beautiful region with lovely mountains and spring fed valleys…I’d sure like to own a piece of this…but I didn’t have enough money to make a down payment on a tree, much less a piece of land. But it was relaxing; well, as relaxing as I could be relaxed considering the fact that it was impossible for me to relax. Not when I thought I was supposed to be somewhere else, and read the paragraph above for details about that.
There were a few late roundups going on in the area, so the stock pens were full of cattle about to be shipped to market. There were some repairs that needed to be made on certain of the pens, so I helped with that and found out that I wasn’t too bad with a hammer and a saw. I talked cattle with a couple of the local ranchers and, somehow, knowledge of that subject came free and easy to me. Am I a cattleman? Then what in the world am I doing up here? Did I come up here to buy cattle? The more questions I asked myself…the fewer answers I got. Frustration…read the first paragraph of this chapter again…
There was one other thing that frustrated me very much. Except for the lynching attempt Tuesday evening, I didn’t see Missy. I guess that was my fault, I knew where she lived and could have gone over to her house. But I was convinced that handsome fellow at church was her boyfriend, and I wasn’t the kind to monkey with another monkey’s monkey. It would be my luck that I’d go over to Missy’s house and Handsome Fellow At Church would be there. That would be very awkward for her and I wasn’t going to do that. Or even worse, I’d arrive just about the time her grandmother decided to play another long tune on Missy’s ear and I sure didn’t want to be there for that. I’ll play my own tunes, thank you very much.
So, besides Tuesday, I didn’t see Missy. Well, except one more time. Which is why I didn’t see her twice…
Missy went back to work on Monday. School was from 9 to 3 and she loved being there with the children. It helped her forget—from 9 to 3—about Sert Oldham and Thomas Monroe. Once school was out, she walked home and, each night, Tuesday through Friday, she fixed Sert Oldham something to eat and took it to the jailhouse. More on that in a moment. Monday was the exception and she let school out a little early that afternoon so she could take the widow Walters some soup and medicine.
She had made that intention known Sunday afternoon to her grandmother, so Sunday night at church, Judy, unbeknownst to Missy, made arrangements with Tillman Slaughter to ride with her granddaughter out to the widow’s house. Tillman was more than happy to do so. He owned a local grocer and was able to take off occasionally for necessities—such as being with Missy Jacobs. When he arrived at the house around 3:30 Monday afternoon, Missy was surprised to see him.
“Tillman. I didn’t know you were coming over.” She wasn’t unhappy to see him, but she would have preferred someone else. “I’m just getting ready to leave and go to the widow Walters’ house.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m going with you. Your grandmother didn’t tell you?”
About that time, Judy walked into the room and heard Tillman’s question. “Oh, Missy, I did forget. I asked Mr. Slaughter to ride with you. I’m just afraid for you, given what happened Saturday.”
Missy didn’t like her grandmother interfering like that, but what was done was done. She smiled and tried to make the best of it. “Well, that’s nice. I hope it’s not too much trouble, Tillman.” I hope we don’t get attacked by a savage, killer rabbit…
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, believe me. I’m glad to do it.” He smiled. “You know that I enjoy being with you, Missy.”
She smiled again. “Well, thank you. I’m about finished with the soup. Give me just a moment…”
Missy had to admit that Tillman Slaughter was a nice man, and by far, the most handsome man in Silver Creek. Tall, slender, with dark hair and dazzling light blue eyes, every single woman in town—and most of the married ones—wanted to have his attention. Rumor had it that a lot of the ladies had been successful in gaining that attention, and not all of them unmarried. But gossip was common—and fun—in a small town. A lot of the town’s biddy matchmakers already had Tillman and Missy married, and wondered what the holdup was. Actually, they had been to dinner only twice, and that was all. They talked when she went to the grocer’s, and he usually found a way to visit with her at church, and especially at the occasional church potluck. Town picnics weren’t uncommon in the summer months, and he’d be there if she was. And he usually got at least two dances with her at the monthly shindig. Judy thought he was perfect for Missy in every way. Missy was a little more…cautious. Men just weren’t that important to her at the moment. At least most of them…
Missy was still sore from the weekend’s activities, but she was rapidly getting better. There was no swelling at all in her face now and the bruises were getting lighter in color as well. She still hated to look at herself in the mirror, though. She hadn’t seen Thomas, and was attempting to put him out of her mind. He’ll leave as soon as the trial is over…in fact, he may already have left. I don’t know anything about him, except his name and that he’s hiding something…he’s probably an outlaw…She was trying to talk herself into not liking him, but not with a lot of success.
Anyway, on the way home from widow Walters’ place, Tillman asked Missy if he could take her to the monthly dance, which was to be held the next Saturday night. Due to the weather, it would probably be the last monthly dance of the year. It was the first time Tillman had ever asked to take her. It wasn’t really a big deal. He’d come pick her up, get the first dance with her and probably a couple more, then escort her home. And, if he got lucky, he might get to hold her hand. If he got real lucky, he’d get a kiss or two out of it. And if he got real, real lucky, she might make out with him for awhile. And if he got super duper lucky……Well, it’s probably superfluous to say, but I’ll say it anyway. Very few men had gotten lucky with Missy. Very, very few men had gotten real lucky with her. Nobody had even come close to getting real, real lucky with her, and forget about super duper. Tillman had actually cracked into the lucky category one night, but that’s all, and since I’m getting confused and disappointed with all this rotten luck these guys had had with Missy, I’ll move on.
Back to Tillman’s question: would Missy grace him with the honor of escorting her to the dance Saturday night? And that’s just the way he put it. Missy hesitated, but only for a moment. She was 99.99% certain that the man she wanted to ask her wasn’t going to do it. And besides, how could she turn down such a gracious request? So she said, “yes,” and Tillman immediately began plotting how he could get beyond the “lucky” stage. I’m sure the reader is dying to find out if he did.
Read on….
As noted before Tillman interrupted, Missy prepared a meal for Sert Oldham Tuesday through Friday nights. Marshal Dugan wasn’t terribly happy that Missy was doing it, but it was saving the taxpayers some money, so he let her. He allowed her ten minutes with him, and no more; she’d have to pick up the dirty dishes the next day.
Tuesday night. Oldham was sitting up, but still a little pale. “How are you feeling?” Missy asked him.
He grinned at her. “Not quite ready to go to Californy yet.”
Missy smiled softly, but didn’t bother to respond to it.
But each night, she noticed that Sert was moving better. He obviously wasn’t near up to strength yet, but the combination of rest, the doctor’s medication, and Missy’s cooking was healing him rapidly.
“You gonna testify agin me?” he asked her Thursday night—about the 10th time he’d asked her over the past three nights.
Missy agonized a bit. “I guess…I guess I’ll have to, Mr. Sert—“
“Just ‘Sert’, little Missy.”
She smiled feebly. She actually didn’t mind him calling her “little Missy” any more, but she couldn’t call him “Sert.” She only said, “Ok.”
“You don’ really have to testify agin me,” he said. “Just say you don’t know who done it and I’ll ride on outta here. Then in a few days, I’ll come back and getcha and we’ll head to Californy.”
“I can’t lie, Mis--I can’t lie.”
Missy didn’t especially like the way he was looking at her. “No, I reckon you cain’t.” She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but Dugan showed up right then and told her it was time to leave.
Sert tried again on Friday. “You ain’t really gonna testify agin me Tuesday, are you?”
Missy lowered her head. “Why did you have to do it, Mr. Sert? Why? You’re not a bad man, I know you aren’t.”
“Yes, I am, little Missy, I’m pure poison, that’s all I am, an’ all I’ll ever be. But I don’t want to go to jail no more, neither.”
She looked at him, with earnestness in her eyes. “There’s some good in all of us, Sert.” He noticed, but she didn’t, that she called him “Sert.” She continued. “There’s some bad in the best people, and there’s some good in the worst. You’ve just got to find it inside you. And you can. I know you can.”
He shook his head. “Ain’t no hope for somebody like me, Missy. I’ve been too bad fer too long.”
“Then how do you expect me to go to California with you?”
He gave her a half-smile. Missy noticed that he actually wasn’t that bad looking when he tried. “You wouldn’t go anyway.”
She lowered her head again. “No. I can’t. You know that. I can’t leave my grandmother.”
Dugan interrupted. “Time’s up, Miss Jacobs.”
She nodded and stood up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sert, but I won’t be able to come tomorrow. Maybe Sunday, but I don’t know. I’ll try to bring you something to eat on Monday.”
He stood up, too, and continued to smile at her. “You don’t need to do that, little Missy. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
She met his eyes for a few seconds, reached up and touched his cheek, then turned and left the jail cell. She walked past Dugan and out of the jail house. As the marshal was locking the cell door, Sert said, “She really is an angel, ain’t she, marshal.”
Dugan glanced at him. “That’s a fact, outlaw, probably the only true thing you’ve ever said in your life.”
Missy walked home thoughtfully—and sadly. There’s nothing I can do for him…nothing…
I knew there was a town dance on Saturday night. I wasn’t terribly interested in going, but for some reason, I did. Maybe the cookies and punch. Hard to pass that up.
The festivities were scheduled to start at 7. There was a community “barn,” as it was called, on the western edge of town, and it was plenty big enough for events like this. The weather was chilly, but not unbearable. I had been told things, weather-wise, began to really turn south (north?) about mid-October, so September was usually the last month the dance was held. All of that information didn’t really interest me that much because I figured I’d be leaving after the trial the following week, trying to find that elusive somewhere that I had been headed to in the first place.
I arrived at the dance about 7:30. I could hear music and laughing inside, and there were people outside mingling around as well. The punch and cookie table was outside, and I browsed and grazed and drank. I saw a couple of people I had met at the stock pens and “howdy’d” but I didn’t talk to anyone. A little before 8 o’clock, I decided to go inside.
My thoughts, of course, were on Missy, though I had tried to direct them elsewhere. The harder I tried not to think about her, the more I did. Right before I entered the building, I stopped…and didn’t enter…
Tillman arrived to pick up Missy a little before 7. She had baked some cookies so she was going to take those. She had tried to talk her grandmother into going, but Judy pooh-poohed the idea.
“The dance is for you young folks,” she said.
That wasn’t true, at least half of the people at the dance were the senior citizens who loved getting out and having a good time. But Judy wouldn’t go. Ida stayed with her while Missy was gone.
Tillman, as always, was the perfect gentleman. “You look absolutely lovely tonight. But then, you always do.”
Missy blushed and thanked him. She did look lovely in a dark brown dress that accented her hair perfectly. Her face was all cleared up now and she was happy about that.
Tillman looked as handsome as Missy had ever seen him, dressed in a tailor-made black suit, white shirt, and black string tie. She complimented him, as he had her, and he acknowledged it with a smile. Being the gentleman that he was, he helped Missy into and out of the wagon. Missy, as always, was grace personified. The trip to the “barn” took less than five minutes. Missy didn’t sit right up against Tillman, but she didn’t sit at the far edge of the seat, either. She was a little uncomfortable, but she wasn’t sure why. Well, she did know, too. I wonder if Thomas will be there. Surely not. He doesn’t strike me as the type…still…she frowned. I kinda hope he’s not. Then she sighed. I’m with Tillman, I don’t need to be thinking about Thomas…She was determined to put him out of her mind, had had some success doing so the past couple of days, and once Tillman started talking to her, Thomas disappeared from her mind. For a while.
She had a nice time at the dance; she always did. Missy was a good dancer and she enjoyed it. Her first dance was with Tillman, of course. The two of them had gotten a lot of looks when they had come in together, and the biddy gossip network went into overdrive.
“Aren’t they an adorable couple together?”
“Yes, they are. It won’t be long till they are married. I’m sure of that.”
“He’s just a perfect gentleman and she’s a perfect lady. They were made for each other.”
“They dance so well together. Everything about the two of them together is perfect.”
There was almost universal agreement on all of those points.
And Missy was enchanted, more than usual, by Tillman. His blue eyes were mesmerizing. He made her smile, he made her laugh, and he swung her around the dance floor with a dash and a whirl and a frenzy that took her breath away. A few people even clapped when the song was over. Missy blushed at that. When Tillman asked her if he could have the second dance as well, she agreed, and it was every bit as pleasurable as the first one.
But others wanted to dance with her, so Tillman graciously backed off for awhile after that second dance. Two other single men got the third and fourth dances, but it wasn’t nearly as electric for Missy. She caught Tillman’s eye a couple of times, and a tinge of jealousy went through her when she saw him dancing with Jeannie Carter, another single girl who rivaled Missy in looks, though not in character. Well, I’m dancing with whomever I wish, I can’t stop him from doing the same…Still…jealousy was an emotion that was foreign to Missy and she didn’t especially like it. But Tillman caught her eye while he was dancing with Jeannie, and he smiled and winked at her. Missy, who was dancing with Billy Yancey, an older, married man, smiled in return. That made her feel a little better.
The biddy network might know what it was talking about for a change…
About a quarter to eight, Tillman caught up with her again. He bowed.
“May I have the honor—and exquisite pleasure—of having the next dance with you, Miss Jacobs?”
Missy was charmed. She smiled. “The honor would be all mine, kind sir.”
So they danced. And danced. And danced. And their eyes met. And Missy started floating around the dance floor….
When it was over, a little before 8 o’clock, Tillman said, “I’d like a little break. Maybe something to drink. Would you like to join me?”
“Certainly,” Missy said. “I’m thirsty, too.” A man approached her about the next dance, and she promised it to him when she returned. Then she looked at Tillman. “You don’t mind, do you?” It hit her. I don’t have to ask him that…but I did…
He smiled, all charm and grace. “Well, I can live with it,” he said playfully. “As long as you promise to dance with me again.”
She smiled back. “I think I can make that promise to you.” He’s so charming and kind…
As they were walking towards the exit, Tillman took her hand and held it. Missy didn’t pull away, but looked up at him and smiled. “Maybe we can go for a walk after we have some punch,” he suggested. “It’s a lovely night.”
And it was. Not a cloud in the sky and a million stars. Missy’s heart began to thump a little harder. “Yes,” she said, “It is a lovely night. A walk would be nice.”
“But the night will never be lovelier than you,” Tillman said, with a squeeze of her hand. Missy held on a little tighter.
They walked outside and Missy froze. Oh, no!…not now…oh, what are you doing here?…you weren’t supposed to come…why don’t you just leave, Leave, LEAVE??
Of course, she had come face to face with Thomas Monroe.
I saw her at the same time she saw me. I wasn’t surprised to see her with Handsome Fellow At Church. Holding hands. Well, I guess that answers every question I have…I smiled, but it was strained. Hard to smile when your heart is in your stomach.
“Hello, Missy,” I said. “You’re looking well.”
“Thank…you, Thomas. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I looked at her date and held out my hand. “I’m Thomas Monroe. You’re a lucky man, you know it?”
Tillman had been a little suspicious because Missy’s hand almost immediately went cold when she saw this man. But, from all appearances, he didn’t seem terribly interested in her. “I’m Tillman Slaughter. And yes, I consider myself very fortunate that Miss Jacobs was willing to accompany me to the dance tonight.”
Me: What a snot. Why do the best women always end up with slimeballs like this?
Missy: He acts like…nothing…normal…But then their eyes met…and Missy’s heart fell into her stomach…
Me: Tillman Slaughter? What a name. That’s worse than…Abe Ackroyd…How does a woman make love to a man named Tillman Slaughter? Well, love is blind, I guess… “I just arrived a few minutes ago. Is everybody having a nice time?”
“Yes,” Tillman responded. He was a little stiff. “We are all having a lovely evening.” Then he paused. “You’re the man who…saved Missy from that…beast, aren’t you.”
Missy started to speak, and I knew what she was going to say…”He’s not a beast, Tillman…” But I caught her eye and silenced her by that look. To Slaughter, I responded, “It was nothing. You would have done the same thing.”
Missy: Ha. He doesn’t know which end of the gun the bullet comes out of…and then Missy was horrified at what she had just thought. How can I THINK such a thing of Tillman? He’s such a gentleman. Thomas is just a…a…
Thomas is just a man….all man…
Missy Jacobs just grew by five years…
Tillman was answering, “Yes, I certainly would have.” I almost busted out laughing. Somewhere, deep in my brain, I knew that this fellow didn’t know…which end of the gun the bullet comes out of. He continued. “But I’m glad you were there. Thank you for what you did.” Then, rather abruptly, he said to Missy, “Let’s get something to drink, dear.” To me, he said, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Monroe. I guess we’ll see you at the trial.”
We, he said…I sighed inwardly…I guess they are farther along than I thought…
“Nice to meet you, too, Slaughter. You two have a nice night.” I looked at Missy one more time, smiled softly, met her eyes, was curious at what I saw, then turned around and left.
Did I see pleading in her eyes? I shook my head. No…hope springs eternal…I found Horse, leaned against the saddle for over a minute, my eyes closed, head down and throbbing….Monroe…or whatever your name is…leave town…now!…leave town. Forget about the trial. You aren’t needed. Leave!…
I thought that was a very good idea. Resolved, I lifted my head, opened my eyes, mounted Horse and rode away from the “barn.”
The night was over for Missy. Try as she might, there was no way she could recover the excitement she had felt before she saw Thomas. Tillman, of course, noticed.
They drank a glass of punch and then went walking down a secluded road that led away from the “barn.”
She still let him hold her hand, but that was all. She had gone mostly silent. After a few moments, Tillman asked, “Is there something wrong? Or perhaps I should ask, is there something between you and Monroe? I won’t stand in the way if there is.”
“No,” Missy replied, and knew she had done so a little too quickly. “There’s…nothing between him and me. Really.” And that’s the truth. He doesn’t care. Why do I? “I guess…seeing him…brought back all that happened…that day.” She looked up at Tillman and tried to smile. “I’m sorry, Tillman. It was…horrible. He’ll leave town after the trial, along with that terrible man Oldham, so the memory will fade. But at the moment, it’s still…pretty strong. It was just last Saturday.” Seems like three months ago, though…
“I understand,” Tillman said, and he seemed somewhat mollified. “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know and I will do so.”
“Thank you, Tillman.” He’s so nice. Such a gentleman…a gentleman…a gentleman…what’s wrong with a gentleman?…absolutely nothing…that’s what I want…a gentleman…
But sometimes…I think I want…just a man…
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’d like to go home now. The doctor…gave me something to help me sleep. I think I need to take one.” Any excuse to leave…oh, Thomas, why did you have to show up? Why? It was all so perfect…
“Ok. It was a wonderful evening. I’m sorry that man spoiled it for us…you.”
“It wasn’t his fault, Tillman. I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for him. But seeing him did bring…the whole thing…back to my mind. So I guess, in that sense, he did spoil it. I’m sorry.” I feel horrible for what I’m doing to Tillman…oh, Thomas, why didn’t you leave town??…the thousandth time that thought went through her head. And each time she knew she didn’t mean it…
Tillman and Missy walked back to his wagon in silence. And they rode home in silence. He walked her to the front door. “You promised me a dance I didn’t get,” he said to her, with a smile.
She tried to smile back, but it was hard. Thomas ruined my whole night…and it was such a beautiful night…”I promise to make it up to you. This trial…it’s just too close to the surface of my mind.” Too many excuses…She looked up at him and did manage a smile. “It will be over soon.”
“I hope so,” Tillman responded, but not unkindly. “For your sake.”
“Thank you,” Missy replied.
Their eyes met for a few seconds. He moved his head down, obviously intending to kiss her. Missy put her hands on his chest and dropped her head. “No, Tillman… not…not yet…I want it to be right…”
“It is right, Missy,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You’ll see that very soon.”
She just nodded. Pulling her hands away, she said, “Thank you. I had a lovely time. Good night.” She just wanted to get into the house, so she opened the front door quickly.
She heard him say, “Good night,” and then she closed the door. She leaned back against the door, her eyes closed, and sighed deeply, trembling inside.
Thomas Monroe…who are you?
And why are you doing this to me?
I ended up doing basically two things for the next week—riding around the area and working some at the local stock pens. It was a beautiful region with lovely mountains and spring fed valleys…I’d sure like to own a piece of this…but I didn’t have enough money to make a down payment on a tree, much less a piece of land. But it was relaxing; well, as relaxing as I could be relaxed considering the fact that it was impossible for me to relax. Not when I thought I was supposed to be somewhere else, and read the paragraph above for details about that.
There were a few late roundups going on in the area, so the stock pens were full of cattle about to be shipped to market. There were some repairs that needed to be made on certain of the pens, so I helped with that and found out that I wasn’t too bad with a hammer and a saw. I talked cattle with a couple of the local ranchers and, somehow, knowledge of that subject came free and easy to me. Am I a cattleman? Then what in the world am I doing up here? Did I come up here to buy cattle? The more questions I asked myself…the fewer answers I got. Frustration…read the first paragraph of this chapter again…
There was one other thing that frustrated me very much. Except for the lynching attempt Tuesday evening, I didn’t see Missy. I guess that was my fault, I knew where she lived and could have gone over to her house. But I was convinced that handsome fellow at church was her boyfriend, and I wasn’t the kind to monkey with another monkey’s monkey. It would be my luck that I’d go over to Missy’s house and Handsome Fellow At Church would be there. That would be very awkward for her and I wasn’t going to do that. Or even worse, I’d arrive just about the time her grandmother decided to play another long tune on Missy’s ear and I sure didn’t want to be there for that. I’ll play my own tunes, thank you very much.
So, besides Tuesday, I didn’t see Missy. Well, except one more time. Which is why I didn’t see her twice…
Missy went back to work on Monday. School was from 9 to 3 and she loved being there with the children. It helped her forget—from 9 to 3—about Sert Oldham and Thomas Monroe. Once school was out, she walked home and, each night, Tuesday through Friday, she fixed Sert Oldham something to eat and took it to the jailhouse. More on that in a moment. Monday was the exception and she let school out a little early that afternoon so she could take the widow Walters some soup and medicine.
She had made that intention known Sunday afternoon to her grandmother, so Sunday night at church, Judy, unbeknownst to Missy, made arrangements with Tillman Slaughter to ride with her granddaughter out to the widow’s house. Tillman was more than happy to do so. He owned a local grocer and was able to take off occasionally for necessities—such as being with Missy Jacobs. When he arrived at the house around 3:30 Monday afternoon, Missy was surprised to see him.
“Tillman. I didn’t know you were coming over.” She wasn’t unhappy to see him, but she would have preferred someone else. “I’m just getting ready to leave and go to the widow Walters’ house.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m going with you. Your grandmother didn’t tell you?”
About that time, Judy walked into the room and heard Tillman’s question. “Oh, Missy, I did forget. I asked Mr. Slaughter to ride with you. I’m just afraid for you, given what happened Saturday.”
Missy didn’t like her grandmother interfering like that, but what was done was done. She smiled and tried to make the best of it. “Well, that’s nice. I hope it’s not too much trouble, Tillman.” I hope we don’t get attacked by a savage, killer rabbit…
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, believe me. I’m glad to do it.” He smiled. “You know that I enjoy being with you, Missy.”
She smiled again. “Well, thank you. I’m about finished with the soup. Give me just a moment…”
Missy had to admit that Tillman Slaughter was a nice man, and by far, the most handsome man in Silver Creek. Tall, slender, with dark hair and dazzling light blue eyes, every single woman in town—and most of the married ones—wanted to have his attention. Rumor had it that a lot of the ladies had been successful in gaining that attention, and not all of them unmarried. But gossip was common—and fun—in a small town. A lot of the town’s biddy matchmakers already had Tillman and Missy married, and wondered what the holdup was. Actually, they had been to dinner only twice, and that was all. They talked when she went to the grocer’s, and he usually found a way to visit with her at church, and especially at the occasional church potluck. Town picnics weren’t uncommon in the summer months, and he’d be there if she was. And he usually got at least two dances with her at the monthly shindig. Judy thought he was perfect for Missy in every way. Missy was a little more…cautious. Men just weren’t that important to her at the moment. At least most of them…
Missy was still sore from the weekend’s activities, but she was rapidly getting better. There was no swelling at all in her face now and the bruises were getting lighter in color as well. She still hated to look at herself in the mirror, though. She hadn’t seen Thomas, and was attempting to put him out of her mind. He’ll leave as soon as the trial is over…in fact, he may already have left. I don’t know anything about him, except his name and that he’s hiding something…he’s probably an outlaw…She was trying to talk herself into not liking him, but not with a lot of success.
Anyway, on the way home from widow Walters’ place, Tillman asked Missy if he could take her to the monthly dance, which was to be held the next Saturday night. Due to the weather, it would probably be the last monthly dance of the year. It was the first time Tillman had ever asked to take her. It wasn’t really a big deal. He’d come pick her up, get the first dance with her and probably a couple more, then escort her home. And, if he got lucky, he might get to hold her hand. If he got real lucky, he’d get a kiss or two out of it. And if he got real, real lucky, she might make out with him for awhile. And if he got super duper lucky……Well, it’s probably superfluous to say, but I’ll say it anyway. Very few men had gotten lucky with Missy. Very, very few men had gotten real lucky with her. Nobody had even come close to getting real, real lucky with her, and forget about super duper. Tillman had actually cracked into the lucky category one night, but that’s all, and since I’m getting confused and disappointed with all this rotten luck these guys had had with Missy, I’ll move on.
Back to Tillman’s question: would Missy grace him with the honor of escorting her to the dance Saturday night? And that’s just the way he put it. Missy hesitated, but only for a moment. She was 99.99% certain that the man she wanted to ask her wasn’t going to do it. And besides, how could she turn down such a gracious request? So she said, “yes,” and Tillman immediately began plotting how he could get beyond the “lucky” stage. I’m sure the reader is dying to find out if he did.
Read on….
As noted before Tillman interrupted, Missy prepared a meal for Sert Oldham Tuesday through Friday nights. Marshal Dugan wasn’t terribly happy that Missy was doing it, but it was saving the taxpayers some money, so he let her. He allowed her ten minutes with him, and no more; she’d have to pick up the dirty dishes the next day.
Tuesday night. Oldham was sitting up, but still a little pale. “How are you feeling?” Missy asked him.
He grinned at her. “Not quite ready to go to Californy yet.”
Missy smiled softly, but didn’t bother to respond to it.
But each night, she noticed that Sert was moving better. He obviously wasn’t near up to strength yet, but the combination of rest, the doctor’s medication, and Missy’s cooking was healing him rapidly.
“You gonna testify agin me?” he asked her Thursday night—about the 10th time he’d asked her over the past three nights.
Missy agonized a bit. “I guess…I guess I’ll have to, Mr. Sert—“
“Just ‘Sert’, little Missy.”
She smiled feebly. She actually didn’t mind him calling her “little Missy” any more, but she couldn’t call him “Sert.” She only said, “Ok.”
“You don’ really have to testify agin me,” he said. “Just say you don’t know who done it and I’ll ride on outta here. Then in a few days, I’ll come back and getcha and we’ll head to Californy.”
“I can’t lie, Mis--I can’t lie.”
Missy didn’t especially like the way he was looking at her. “No, I reckon you cain’t.” She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but Dugan showed up right then and told her it was time to leave.
Sert tried again on Friday. “You ain’t really gonna testify agin me Tuesday, are you?”
Missy lowered her head. “Why did you have to do it, Mr. Sert? Why? You’re not a bad man, I know you aren’t.”
“Yes, I am, little Missy, I’m pure poison, that’s all I am, an’ all I’ll ever be. But I don’t want to go to jail no more, neither.”
She looked at him, with earnestness in her eyes. “There’s some good in all of us, Sert.” He noticed, but she didn’t, that she called him “Sert.” She continued. “There’s some bad in the best people, and there’s some good in the worst. You’ve just got to find it inside you. And you can. I know you can.”
He shook his head. “Ain’t no hope for somebody like me, Missy. I’ve been too bad fer too long.”
“Then how do you expect me to go to California with you?”
He gave her a half-smile. Missy noticed that he actually wasn’t that bad looking when he tried. “You wouldn’t go anyway.”
She lowered her head again. “No. I can’t. You know that. I can’t leave my grandmother.”
Dugan interrupted. “Time’s up, Miss Jacobs.”
She nodded and stood up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sert, but I won’t be able to come tomorrow. Maybe Sunday, but I don’t know. I’ll try to bring you something to eat on Monday.”
He stood up, too, and continued to smile at her. “You don’t need to do that, little Missy. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
She met his eyes for a few seconds, reached up and touched his cheek, then turned and left the jail cell. She walked past Dugan and out of the jail house. As the marshal was locking the cell door, Sert said, “She really is an angel, ain’t she, marshal.”
Dugan glanced at him. “That’s a fact, outlaw, probably the only true thing you’ve ever said in your life.”
Missy walked home thoughtfully—and sadly. There’s nothing I can do for him…nothing…
I knew there was a town dance on Saturday night. I wasn’t terribly interested in going, but for some reason, I did. Maybe the cookies and punch. Hard to pass that up.
The festivities were scheduled to start at 7. There was a community “barn,” as it was called, on the western edge of town, and it was plenty big enough for events like this. The weather was chilly, but not unbearable. I had been told things, weather-wise, began to really turn south (north?) about mid-October, so September was usually the last month the dance was held. All of that information didn’t really interest me that much because I figured I’d be leaving after the trial the following week, trying to find that elusive somewhere that I had been headed to in the first place.
I arrived at the dance about 7:30. I could hear music and laughing inside, and there were people outside mingling around as well. The punch and cookie table was outside, and I browsed and grazed and drank. I saw a couple of people I had met at the stock pens and “howdy’d” but I didn’t talk to anyone. A little before 8 o’clock, I decided to go inside.
My thoughts, of course, were on Missy, though I had tried to direct them elsewhere. The harder I tried not to think about her, the more I did. Right before I entered the building, I stopped…and didn’t enter…
Tillman arrived to pick up Missy a little before 7. She had baked some cookies so she was going to take those. She had tried to talk her grandmother into going, but Judy pooh-poohed the idea.
“The dance is for you young folks,” she said.
That wasn’t true, at least half of the people at the dance were the senior citizens who loved getting out and having a good time. But Judy wouldn’t go. Ida stayed with her while Missy was gone.
Tillman, as always, was the perfect gentleman. “You look absolutely lovely tonight. But then, you always do.”
Missy blushed and thanked him. She did look lovely in a dark brown dress that accented her hair perfectly. Her face was all cleared up now and she was happy about that.
Tillman looked as handsome as Missy had ever seen him, dressed in a tailor-made black suit, white shirt, and black string tie. She complimented him, as he had her, and he acknowledged it with a smile. Being the gentleman that he was, he helped Missy into and out of the wagon. Missy, as always, was grace personified. The trip to the “barn” took less than five minutes. Missy didn’t sit right up against Tillman, but she didn’t sit at the far edge of the seat, either. She was a little uncomfortable, but she wasn’t sure why. Well, she did know, too. I wonder if Thomas will be there. Surely not. He doesn’t strike me as the type…still…she frowned. I kinda hope he’s not. Then she sighed. I’m with Tillman, I don’t need to be thinking about Thomas…She was determined to put him out of her mind, had had some success doing so the past couple of days, and once Tillman started talking to her, Thomas disappeared from her mind. For a while.
She had a nice time at the dance; she always did. Missy was a good dancer and she enjoyed it. Her first dance was with Tillman, of course. The two of them had gotten a lot of looks when they had come in together, and the biddy gossip network went into overdrive.
“Aren’t they an adorable couple together?”
“Yes, they are. It won’t be long till they are married. I’m sure of that.”
“He’s just a perfect gentleman and she’s a perfect lady. They were made for each other.”
“They dance so well together. Everything about the two of them together is perfect.”
There was almost universal agreement on all of those points.
And Missy was enchanted, more than usual, by Tillman. His blue eyes were mesmerizing. He made her smile, he made her laugh, and he swung her around the dance floor with a dash and a whirl and a frenzy that took her breath away. A few people even clapped when the song was over. Missy blushed at that. When Tillman asked her if he could have the second dance as well, she agreed, and it was every bit as pleasurable as the first one.
But others wanted to dance with her, so Tillman graciously backed off for awhile after that second dance. Two other single men got the third and fourth dances, but it wasn’t nearly as electric for Missy. She caught Tillman’s eye a couple of times, and a tinge of jealousy went through her when she saw him dancing with Jeannie Carter, another single girl who rivaled Missy in looks, though not in character. Well, I’m dancing with whomever I wish, I can’t stop him from doing the same…Still…jealousy was an emotion that was foreign to Missy and she didn’t especially like it. But Tillman caught her eye while he was dancing with Jeannie, and he smiled and winked at her. Missy, who was dancing with Billy Yancey, an older, married man, smiled in return. That made her feel a little better.
The biddy network might know what it was talking about for a change…
About a quarter to eight, Tillman caught up with her again. He bowed.
“May I have the honor—and exquisite pleasure—of having the next dance with you, Miss Jacobs?”
Missy was charmed. She smiled. “The honor would be all mine, kind sir.”
So they danced. And danced. And danced. And their eyes met. And Missy started floating around the dance floor….
When it was over, a little before 8 o’clock, Tillman said, “I’d like a little break. Maybe something to drink. Would you like to join me?”
“Certainly,” Missy said. “I’m thirsty, too.” A man approached her about the next dance, and she promised it to him when she returned. Then she looked at Tillman. “You don’t mind, do you?” It hit her. I don’t have to ask him that…but I did…
He smiled, all charm and grace. “Well, I can live with it,” he said playfully. “As long as you promise to dance with me again.”
She smiled back. “I think I can make that promise to you.” He’s so charming and kind…
As they were walking towards the exit, Tillman took her hand and held it. Missy didn’t pull away, but looked up at him and smiled. “Maybe we can go for a walk after we have some punch,” he suggested. “It’s a lovely night.”
And it was. Not a cloud in the sky and a million stars. Missy’s heart began to thump a little harder. “Yes,” she said, “It is a lovely night. A walk would be nice.”
“But the night will never be lovelier than you,” Tillman said, with a squeeze of her hand. Missy held on a little tighter.
They walked outside and Missy froze. Oh, no!…not now…oh, what are you doing here?…you weren’t supposed to come…why don’t you just leave, Leave, LEAVE??
Of course, she had come face to face with Thomas Monroe.
I saw her at the same time she saw me. I wasn’t surprised to see her with Handsome Fellow At Church. Holding hands. Well, I guess that answers every question I have…I smiled, but it was strained. Hard to smile when your heart is in your stomach.
“Hello, Missy,” I said. “You’re looking well.”
“Thank…you, Thomas. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I looked at her date and held out my hand. “I’m Thomas Monroe. You’re a lucky man, you know it?”
Tillman had been a little suspicious because Missy’s hand almost immediately went cold when she saw this man. But, from all appearances, he didn’t seem terribly interested in her. “I’m Tillman Slaughter. And yes, I consider myself very fortunate that Miss Jacobs was willing to accompany me to the dance tonight.”
Me: What a snot. Why do the best women always end up with slimeballs like this?
Missy: He acts like…nothing…normal…But then their eyes met…and Missy’s heart fell into her stomach…
Me: Tillman Slaughter? What a name. That’s worse than…Abe Ackroyd…How does a woman make love to a man named Tillman Slaughter? Well, love is blind, I guess… “I just arrived a few minutes ago. Is everybody having a nice time?”
“Yes,” Tillman responded. He was a little stiff. “We are all having a lovely evening.” Then he paused. “You’re the man who…saved Missy from that…beast, aren’t you.”
Missy started to speak, and I knew what she was going to say…”He’s not a beast, Tillman…” But I caught her eye and silenced her by that look. To Slaughter, I responded, “It was nothing. You would have done the same thing.”
Missy: Ha. He doesn’t know which end of the gun the bullet comes out of…and then Missy was horrified at what she had just thought. How can I THINK such a thing of Tillman? He’s such a gentleman. Thomas is just a…a…
Thomas is just a man….all man…
Missy Jacobs just grew by five years…
Tillman was answering, “Yes, I certainly would have.” I almost busted out laughing. Somewhere, deep in my brain, I knew that this fellow didn’t know…which end of the gun the bullet comes out of. He continued. “But I’m glad you were there. Thank you for what you did.” Then, rather abruptly, he said to Missy, “Let’s get something to drink, dear.” To me, he said, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Monroe. I guess we’ll see you at the trial.”
We, he said…I sighed inwardly…I guess they are farther along than I thought…
“Nice to meet you, too, Slaughter. You two have a nice night.” I looked at Missy one more time, smiled softly, met her eyes, was curious at what I saw, then turned around and left.
Did I see pleading in her eyes? I shook my head. No…hope springs eternal…I found Horse, leaned against the saddle for over a minute, my eyes closed, head down and throbbing….Monroe…or whatever your name is…leave town…now!…leave town. Forget about the trial. You aren’t needed. Leave!…
I thought that was a very good idea. Resolved, I lifted my head, opened my eyes, mounted Horse and rode away from the “barn.”
The night was over for Missy. Try as she might, there was no way she could recover the excitement she had felt before she saw Thomas. Tillman, of course, noticed.
They drank a glass of punch and then went walking down a secluded road that led away from the “barn.”
She still let him hold her hand, but that was all. She had gone mostly silent. After a few moments, Tillman asked, “Is there something wrong? Or perhaps I should ask, is there something between you and Monroe? I won’t stand in the way if there is.”
“No,” Missy replied, and knew she had done so a little too quickly. “There’s…nothing between him and me. Really.” And that’s the truth. He doesn’t care. Why do I? “I guess…seeing him…brought back all that happened…that day.” She looked up at Tillman and tried to smile. “I’m sorry, Tillman. It was…horrible. He’ll leave town after the trial, along with that terrible man Oldham, so the memory will fade. But at the moment, it’s still…pretty strong. It was just last Saturday.” Seems like three months ago, though…
“I understand,” Tillman said, and he seemed somewhat mollified. “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know and I will do so.”
“Thank you, Tillman.” He’s so nice. Such a gentleman…a gentleman…a gentleman…what’s wrong with a gentleman?…absolutely nothing…that’s what I want…a gentleman…
But sometimes…I think I want…just a man…
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’d like to go home now. The doctor…gave me something to help me sleep. I think I need to take one.” Any excuse to leave…oh, Thomas, why did you have to show up? Why? It was all so perfect…
“Ok. It was a wonderful evening. I’m sorry that man spoiled it for us…you.”
“It wasn’t his fault, Tillman. I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for him. But seeing him did bring…the whole thing…back to my mind. So I guess, in that sense, he did spoil it. I’m sorry.” I feel horrible for what I’m doing to Tillman…oh, Thomas, why didn’t you leave town??…the thousandth time that thought went through her head. And each time she knew she didn’t mean it…
Tillman and Missy walked back to his wagon in silence. And they rode home in silence. He walked her to the front door. “You promised me a dance I didn’t get,” he said to her, with a smile.
She tried to smile back, but it was hard. Thomas ruined my whole night…and it was such a beautiful night…”I promise to make it up to you. This trial…it’s just too close to the surface of my mind.” Too many excuses…She looked up at him and did manage a smile. “It will be over soon.”
“I hope so,” Tillman responded, but not unkindly. “For your sake.”
“Thank you,” Missy replied.
Their eyes met for a few seconds. He moved his head down, obviously intending to kiss her. Missy put her hands on his chest and dropped her head. “No, Tillman… not…not yet…I want it to be right…”
“It is right, Missy,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You’ll see that very soon.”
She just nodded. Pulling her hands away, she said, “Thank you. I had a lovely time. Good night.” She just wanted to get into the house, so she opened the front door quickly.
She heard him say, “Good night,” and then she closed the door. She leaned back against the door, her eyes closed, and sighed deeply, trembling inside.
Thomas Monroe…who are you?
And why are you doing this to me?
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