by Jill G. Hall
And what about love? She could hear Elvira say, “There’s honey in every pot.”
Yes, Cliff was filled with honey, but he could also be hot as those red peppers. Could you love and hate someone at the same time? Mama had told her a wife’s duty was to submit to her husband. If Sally Sue was married to Cliff, and even if she wasn’t, she would consider it not submittal but rapture. She thought about all the nice things Cliff had done for her: taught her to cook, shoot, ride.
She looked forward to seeing their garden grow, to picking the vegetables and eating them for supper. Long afternoons on the porch he planned to build, just talking. And—she smiled—more afternoon dalliances. Evenings with singing, dancing, and then more luscious lovemaking. Living here in all this beauty with him for the rest of her days would be miraculous.
Overhead, a hawk circled. Purple shadows shifted in the faraway sky. The storm had moved on. In the west, lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Her mind flashed to the robbery, the man’s scream, the gun on her chest. Cliff was an outlaw, wanted dead or alive. Maybe her mama was right, and all men were evil. How could she have coupled with a man like him and have these thoughts?
54
Sally Sue quickly and quietly donned the red dress and slipped out to the barn. Inside, Scout whinnied beneath her loving hands as she stroked his neck. “Hush.”
He calmed under her touch. She haltered and saddled him up. She’d ride to town, borrow money from the McMillans, leave Scout with them, and hop a train back to Missouri.
A day moon rose over the edge of the mountain as Sally Sue began her escape. She glanced back at the cabin and dug her heels into Scout’s flanks. He whinnied and ambled out the dirt path toward the bridge.
Past it, she whispered, “Gentle moon, lead the way.” Salty tears choked her voice. “Away from him.”
On the other side of the bridge and out of sight, she clucked and kicked her heels into Scout’s flanks. “Good boy. Let’s go.”
Sally Sue leaned forward, and Scout began to lope. After a few strides, she fell into Scout’s rhythm and became one with him. Ponderosa pines lined the road like sentinels guarding their way.
Before a bend in the road, she stopped. She thought she heard Roan’s hooves behind them, so she encouraged Scout to pick up the pace. Soon they were flying along, Scout a Pegasus. They followed the curves and continued on the road, this way and that, until, exhausted, Scout slowed to a walk.
They passed the crop of boulders where Elvira’s revolting husband had been killed. Had a coyote, wolves, or vultures picked away at his mangy body? Had Elvira told the sheriff what had happened? The wind whooshed, and clouds swirled above, covering the moon. Sally Sue shivered—she didn’t believe in ghosts—but even so, she encouraged Scout to split into a gallop.
At the lumber camp, she paused to catch her breath. A scarlet sunset filled the windy sky. She kept going, and after a while, from a rise, she spotted the town lights below.
Entering Flagstaff, she passed the church and headed toward the mercantile. As they drew closer, her eyes began to water and sting. A strong gale blew sticky moths that landed in her hair and on her arms, smelling of soot. This was not moths, but ash. A flickering light rose and lit up the dark night sky.
In shock, she held Scout’s reins tight as the hussies and men ran from the saloon across the road. Crackling sounds echoed, more voices called, and folks started to pass buckets from the well, dousing flames.
In horror, Sally Sue watched a spark fly across the street to the mercantile eaves, and the roof quickly caught on fire. She imagined fabric ribbon, lace, hats, shoes igniting, guns and tools melting.
“Is the family inside?” she shouted.
No one heard her.
She leaped off Scout, ran toward the mercantile, and shoved the door open.
As her boots crossed the threshold, Cliff, seemingly out of nowhere, pulled her back by her arm. “Sally Sue, there you are.” He dashed into the burning building. “Get back. Leave it to me.”
Coughing and trying to inhale, she staggered over to the hotel porch, catty-corner from the mercantile. It felt like an eternity until he ran out of the building with the boy Isaiah in his arms.
“Mama, Mama!” Isaiah cried.
Sally Sue dashed toward Cliff. He handed the boy to her. “Move him to safety.”
Cliff raced back into the inferno. She returned to the hotel, sat on the wooden steps, and shifted the sweet boy onto her lap. Soot tears streaked his cheeks.
She cooed, wiped his face with her handkerchief, and held him close to her chest, not wanting him to see the mercantile ablaze. Her eyes focused on the wooden structure in hopes Isaiah’s parents would escape the building with Cliff. Please, God, protect them, she prayed.
A crashing sound came as the roof caved in. It seemed like hours but was probably only a minute by the time Cliff lumbered into sight and collapsed in the doorway.
Sheriff Mack and the blacksmith reached Cliff as the whole mercantile gave way behind him. One picked up his arms, the other his feet, as they carried him to the hotel and laid him near her on the porch. Then they ran back to help put out the flames.
She sat Isaiah down on a step, slid over to Cliff, and put his head in her lap. “Breathe, please, breathe.”
She wasn’t sure if her eyes were teary from the smoke-filled air or from a deep longing and love for this man—the man she’d wanted to get away from all this time.
His eyes opened, and they blinked at her with a smile that said so much.
She ran her fingers along his forehead scar where she’d stitched the lesion.
Then his eyes closed for the last time.
She held him close, her heart tugged with grief, and she cried, “Cliff, don’t go! Come back to me.”
55
A spark flew toward the church steeple but disappeared as it blew out. Isaiah reached for her hand and moved close to her. The fire burned down to its last embers. The livery, saloon, and mercantile were all destroyed. Fortunately, the flames hadn’t spread farther or jumped across to the north side of the street.
Elvira sat beside Sally Sue and wiped her cheeks with a cloth. “Turns out there was honey in that heart.”
“You were right.”
“It’s a miracle God saved you.” Elvira put her hand on Isaiah’s back.
“God saved me?” he asked.
Mr. Bjork came out of the hotel and walked toward them with an armload of blankets. Elvira stood up and backed away.
“Wait.” He handed her a blanket.
“Thank you, Mr. Bjork.” Elvira accepted it, spread it over Cliff’s body, sat again, and put her hand on Sally Sue’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Mr. Bjork gave Sally Sue a blanket too.
“Thank you kindly,” Sally Sue said, pulling Isaiah onto her lap and covering them both.
“The poor lad.” Mr. Bjork looked at Isaiah.
The boy coughed and began to cry. Sally Sue hummed a lullaby to him softly. He put his thumb in his mouth and quieted.
“You go home now, Elvira.” He gave her a blanket and said to Sally Sue, “Come on in, ma’am, before others descend on me.”
“Much obliged. I haven’t any money.”
“At times like this, money doesn’t matter. My workers will care for your horses.”
Sally Sue followed Mr. Bjork upstairs to a small room at the end of a hallway, carrying the boy in her arms, and laid him on the bed. She poured water from the pitcher into the bowl on the washstand.
Isaiah squirmed while she removed his soot-filled clothes and cleaned him as best she could. She tucked him in bed and hummed to him. He turned over and sighed, then stuck his thumb back in his mouth. Soon his eyes closed, and his breathing grew soft and shallow.
In a split second, both of their lives had changed forever. Her love for and with Cliff, which she hadn’t even known was there, was now gone. And what would become of Isaiah? Her heart shifted, and a yearning tugged on it. She didn’t want t
o part with him. Maybe she could take him with her back to Missouri, but without a husband or even a pretend one, she knew Flagstaff would probably never let her keep him.
She rinsed his clothes in the washbasin, squeezed them out, and hung them up to dry. Could she steal out of town with him? What would she do for money? She could tell Mack who Cliff was and collect the dead-or-alive bounty. He’d start asking questions, though, and she didn’t want to share details of their life together. It was too private.
Maybe it was best not to tell anyone and to let Cliff rest in peace. Memories of their time together would be precious to her forever. She would make certain he had a decent Christian burial. Even if he didn’t believe, his body needed to go back to the earth with dignity.
Outside in the hallway, voices chattered and doors slammed. Isaiah coughed and woke up teary-eyed. She sat on the bed’s edge and rocked him back and forth until he fell asleep again.
She pulled off her boots, and in her soot-covered dress, she curled up beside him. “Sweet boy,” she whispered. “Sweet, sweet boy.”
She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, a loud knock woke her. “Sheriff’s downstairs and wants to see you.”
A hazy eastern sun shone through the lace curtains. Her throat ached, and her eyes still watered.
“I’ll be right down,” she called.
Isaiah coughed and rolled over, fast asleep. Sally Sue pulled her boots back on, picked up Isaiah, and descended the stairs.
Vittles filled the dining room table, where Mr. Bjork was serving folks biscuits, flapjacks, and eggs. Men in filthy clothes stood around, eating. The saloon girls, with flattened hair and smeared makeup, looked like any ordinary women fallen on hard times.
“What do you think started it?” the redhead from the saloon asked.
“I think lightning.” The livery owner spooned honey on a biscuit.
“Is this the end of Flagstaff? No one’s gonna want to move here now.” The redhead sighed.
“That’s not true. We’re resilient. I’m going to rebuild in brick starting next week.” His voice was firm. “I’m going to propose a law that every new building in town should only be stone or brick,” he continued.
Several people nodded in agreement. Sally Sue agreed.
The redhead smiled at her kindly, with sad eyes. “Sorry about Mr. Cliff, ma’am.”
“Thanks.” Sally Sue wondered again if he had frequented the saloon on any of those nights away.
“Step outside, please.” Sheriff Mack looked like he hadn’t slept for weeks. The redhead opened her arms, and Sally Sue put Isaiah in them.
The porch was covered in ash an inch thick. The smoke-laden air was stifling. Sally Sue coughed.
The sheriff held his hat in his hands. “I’m sorry about your husband.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Thanks for caring for the young one last night.”
“I was happy to. What’s to become of him?”
“No next of kin that I know of,” the sheriff whispered, and looked at the door.
“Won’t someone from the church take him in?”
“Everyone’s got troubles now. If a decent family doesn’t step up, we’ll have to take him to the orphanage in Prescott.”
Her stomach lurched. “I’ve heard they’re horrible: gruel for food, cramped dormitories, even beatings.” She just couldn’t let that happen. She’d find a way to care for him, even if she had to become a hootchy-cootchy girl.
“Can’t be helped.”
“How about if he stays with me?” Sally Sue offered.
“You know I can’t do that, ma’am. As much as I’d like to, you’re alone now, without a man to take care of even you.”
Sally Sue thought fast and swallowed. “He’s so distressed. How about if I take him out to the cabin for a good night’s rest and return him to you in the morning? I’ll make arrangements for my husband’s burial then.”
Mack handed her a fat envelope. “This is for you from Cliff. He had me hold it in the safe for you, in case anything happened, since a few months after you arrived.”
She slid the envelope into her pocket.
“I reckon the homestead is yours now.” He held up a piece of paper. “Here’s the deed. Want me to keep it safe for you?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“He was a good man. He sure loved you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He said sometimes you could be ornery, but still you were the best little wife a man could ever have. This is also for you.” He handed her a heavy pouch that shook with metal. It must have been filled with coins. “Do you want me to hold the cash and these for you too?”
She paused. “No, sir. Thank you. I’ll take them.”
Isaiah ran out the door past her and stopped in the middle of the road, staring at the devoured mercantile. “Where’s Mama?” he cried.
Sally Sue knelt down and held his hands. “Your mama’s in heaven now.”
“Heaven?” His big blue eyes blinked back tears.
“Papa?”
“Papa too. They’re together in heaven.”
She led him back toward Mack. “Let’s go talk to the nice sheriff.”
Isaiah wiggled and pulled his hand away. “Where’s Mama?” he asked again.
“In heaven.” She put her arm around Isaiah. “Please, Sheriff, he’s so confused. Let me take him to the homestead for a night.”
“I reckon that wouldn’t hurt anything. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sally Sue held Isaiah in front of her on Scout’s back as they rode at a gentle pace on the trail toward the homestead.
When they arrived at the cabin, she climbed down and lifted Isaiah to the ground. Socks mewed and greeted them at the door. “Kitty!” With delight, Isaiah bent down and petted her.
It was the bright hour when sunlight filled the cabin, sinking into the floorboards, and warmth began to rise.
He coughed. “Mama.”
Sally Sue cuddled him onto her lap in the rocker. “It’s me, Sally Sue.”
He whined, “Mama.”
“Bye, Baby Bunting, Daddy’s gone a-hunting.” She rocked him until he fell asleep and tucked him under a blanket on the cot. Cliff’s blanket, Cliff’s cot. Her heart ached. She stepped over the green dress she’d let fall on the floor and crawled into bed. Had that been only yesterday?
Propping up her pillow behind her, she pulled the envelope from her pocket, opened it, and shook out the contents. A handful of cash fell out, along with a letter. She felt a twinge in her chest as she counted the bills. Even from the grave, he was taking care of her.
She unfolded the letter and read:
Darlin’,
If you’re reading this, I’m a goner. Your caring presence has forced me to realize what’s important in life. I’m not a bad man, as I said, but I had been painted into a corner and couldn’t get out of the past without stomping tracks all over, hurtin’ others along the way. I’m sorry you were one of them. Enjoy your freedom. Thank you for your kindness, which I never deserved.
Always, C
Caring and kindness? Tears sprang to her eyes for all the times she’d been surly to him. He hadn’t had any idea how much she had hated him. He’d told Mack she could be ornery, but that wasn’t even the half of it. Cliff had been the caring and kind one, and she’d been too stubborn and hateful to even take notice. At least not until the end.
She read the epistle again, lay down, and closed her eyes. Cliff’s scent wafted from the empty pillow beside her. She picked it up, pressed it to her nose, and inhaled the deep, musty aroma of him, letting it fill her senses, memorizing it. She wrapped the pillow in her arms, rolled over, and wept uncontrollably. He’d had lots of honey in his heart.
“’Ally.” Isaiah patted her hand. “You okay?”
“Yes, dear one.” She lifted him up, held him close beside her. He just couldn’t go to an orphanage.
As much as she had gro
wn to love the ranch, she wouldn’t be able to stay here without Cliff. Sure, she could take care of herself without him, though it wouldn’t be worth it. Besides, the missing him would be too much.
Sally Sue wiped a tear from her eye and cuddled Isaiah, certain what she had to do. She would miss the turkeys, deer, owls, horses, and even frogs. The magnificent meadow and pond. She wouldn’t get to see the garden grow or what the ranch looked like in the fall, as the aspens turned golden.
She’d saddle up Scout. At the crossroads she’d go right, instead of left, avoiding Flagstaff, and head on to the next town. They’d take the train back to Missouri, where Mama would help her raise the boy. Sally Sue would tell everyone she’d become a widow whose husband had died in a fire and left her his child. Everyone would be convinced.
56
Grass tickled Sally Sue’s ankles through her wool stockings as she strolled between windswept dunes toward the sound of pounding waves.
A gull squealed and flew overhead.
“Birdie.” Isaiah ran down the path toward it. “Big birdie.”
Basket on one arm and a satchel on the other, she followed him. A miraculous view took her breath away. Not another person was in sight. The coastline seemed to go on forever and disappear around a bend. Offshore swells rolled toward the beach and roared as they smashed onto the dark sand.
“Look!” Isaiah yelled, then raced toward the mighty Pacific.
“Isaiah, come back!” she called into her cupped hands, right before he darted into the water.
He turned around. She motioned for him, and he dashed back to her.
“You’re such a good boy.” She gave him an enormous hug, and he squeezed her back. “Let’s at least take off our shoes.”
She laid her shawl on the sheltered edge of a sand dune, sat, and patted the shawl beside her. “Sit down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She removed her shoes and stockings. “Now you.”
He took off his shoes and socks and set them aside. He mimicked her with a giggle as she wiggled her toes in the warm sand.