Make Me No Grave

by Hayley Stone

  I crouched and rolled the boy onto his back. There was a small hole beneath his right eye where the bullet had gone straight through. His expression still held relief, safe in the knowledge that he’d soon be back in Halverson with his father. At least it was quick.

  I kept seeing his face, that last time he looked back at me, questioning. Is it safe? That’s what he’d wanted to know. I’d encouraged him with my staying put, my silence, and the small smile I’d given him. I’d as good as promised him it was.

  As I lifted Charles into my arms, I was surprised by his lightness. I’d moved sacks of potatoes with more weight. Even still, I struggled to get to my feet. The bullet was still in my shoulder, and I damn sure felt it. Each time I got Charles into my arms and tried to set off, my injuries acted up, sending such a wave of pain through me I feared I’d pass out. I staggered and stumbled, and sometimes had to stop entirely, lay the boy down again until the dizziness passed. Startled by the gunshots, the horses had fled, even the one that’d thrown a shoe. I could see her in the middling distance. Might as well have been all the way in California for how far it felt. Almena’s horse was closer, but she was already throwing Casella over its flank.

  As I ventured toward the other horse, I talked to him a little—Charles. Apologized for what’d happened to him on my watch, and for my bumbling efforts now, including my blood ruining his fine white shirt. My tears splattered his face, almost in lieu of his own. I was sorry for that, too.

  “Almost there,” I said, hoisting Charles up into the saddle. He immediately tipped over the side, and I couldn’t catch him quickly enough. His body put up a little puff of dust when it hit.

  I wanted to give up. Just give up and sit down and…

  I don’t know what would’ve come next.

  Instead, I went around and picked Charles up again, hissing through my teeth as I laid him over the saddle by the stomach. It allowed me enough time to get my boot in the stirrup and lift myself up. Once seated, I had an easier job of keeping the boy in the saddle. I cradled Charles in the crook of my arm. His head lulled like a doll’s, and I could almost imagine he was sleeping. How many times had his own father experienced this feeling as he took a turn rocking him to sleep as a babe, or taught him how to ride?

  “Lord,” I breathed, though I wasn’t sure whether I was entreating him for help, or taking his name in vain.

  I kicked the horse’s flank and told her to walk on.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  For obvious reasons, we couldn’t stay in Halverson after that. Leaving aside Almena’s tense relationship with the law, I was, you could say, a touch removed from the decision-making process, mindless with something resembling grief, possibly shock or guilt. Tears flowed over my cheeks when I thought of Charles, and for the life of me, I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment right before the gun went off.

  The rest of the night passed in flashes, like the hard strobe of a lighthouse. I remembered reaching town, Charles’s father taking the boy from my arms, and then later, the doctor thrusting hot pliers into my wound, withdrawing a tiny chunk of lead, and depositing it with a soft clink into a metal bowl. Other moments I expect I imagined. Like Almena holding a cold cloth to my forehead, speaking gently while I shook, feverish. The warm, soothing press of her hand on my bruised jaw. The next day, the doc expressed amazement at the rate of my recovery, but I knew it was no miracle. That same morning, I noticed Almena holding herself a little stiffly when she walked.

  We left as soon as I was able, making for a town just north, a place to lie low and recover from our spoiled plan. We rented a room and took turns sleeping, though I judged by the position of the sun that Almena was letting her shifts go long.

  “Where’s your hat?” she asked me during one shift change.

  “Must’ve lost it in the scuffle with Casella.”

  “We’ll get you a new one in Ellsworth.”

  “I don’t want a new hat, Almena.” I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands dangling between my knees.

  “Really? You seemed pretty attached to the old one…”

  “That’s not what I mean. Of course I’ll need a new one, at some point. I just… it’s not… I’m…” I sealed my mouth in frustration and shook my head.

  Almena came and sat next to me. “You’re still sore over what happened with that boy.” Her hand came to rest on the mattress between us. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know.”

  “You did what you could.”

  “I know what I did. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do and all, but with respect…”

  “With respect, what?” I looked up to find her crooking an eyebrow at me. “With respect, I don’t know what it’s like to kill a man, or watch boys die senselessly in the mud? You forget who you’re talking to, Marshal.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.”

  Her gaze shot up to the ceiling, visibly annoyed. “For God’s sake, don’t apologize.” She sighed. “Apostle. Nathan,” she corrected and quickly looked away. Like just the act of speaking my given name was too intimate. I had to agree, her use of it did make the room feel close. “You’ve been so damn quiet since Halverson… it’s like I’m traveling with a ghost. I hate to say it, but I miss your chatter.”

  I forced a smile, but instead of making me feel better, it smashed my resolve to be stoic and private about the whole matter. Almena seemed doggone determined to pry that last stone loose, the one holding back the flood.

  “Talk to me,” she whispered. “Say something.”

  I scrubbed at my forehead like it was dirty, dragging in a shaky breath. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. My own gestures felt foreign and strange, awkward as when I was a boy growing into gangly limbs. “You didn’t see it. Casella shot that boy down in cold blood, and I came too close to killing him for it. I wasn’t myself… or maybe I was. That’s the worst of it. I don’t know. Maybe that’s who I am underneath it all, just another brute with a badge.”

  “You’re more than just the worst thing you’ve done. And besides, God forgives,” she added awkwardly, “or isn’t that what you keep trying to tell me?”

  “Suppose it’s easier being on the other side of that conversation.”

  “Suppose it is,” she said, adopting the cadence of my speech again with a smirk.

  “I just keep thinking…”

  “Stop. Casella would have killed you. You were defending yourself.”

  “But I should’ve stopped sooner. If you hadn’t of come along, don’t know what would’ve happened. That scares me.” I’d never wanted violence to be my way, spent my whole life trying to avoid becoming a man who spoke with his fists, yet I couldn’t seem to keep from stumbling into conflict. Clearly, I’d gone into the wrong line of work.

  “You’re overthinking this. Some men need a bullet. That’s just how it is.”

  “If that’s how you feel, why didn’t you give him one?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

  I let out a cold laugh. “Like I believe that.”

  It was a mean thing to say, but Almena didn’t seem to take no offense from it. Instead, she rose and went to the small pack of belongings she’d brought with her from her house, which I guessed was mostly filled with ammunition. Meanwhile, I reviewed my return to Halverson, as I’d done continually since we’d left. It was a scab I couldn’t stop picking at, refused to let heal.

  “You know, he thanked me,” I said while she rummaged.

  I thought maybe Almena didn’t know who I was talking about, but then she said, “I know. I was there.”

  “I brought him his dead son, and the man thanked me.”

  “He was grateful. You gave him the opportunity to bury his boy. That matters.”

  “Would you have thanked me? If it was your son I’d brought back?”

  “No.”

  “Would you have blamed me?”

  “Absolutely.” Almena returned to the bed, sitting closer than bef
ore. “But I’ve always been partial to the rending of garments and gnashing of teeth.” She was holding something in her hands, but I couldn’t see what it was until she took my hand, folding my gold marshal’s star into it. The sharp corners of the badge laid flat in my palm. “Grief has a way of changing the color of the world, making everything seem black and white when it’s not. If you aren’t careful, you can lose yourself in those shades of grey.”

  “My badge.” I gawped at her. “But I gave this to Mireia.”

  “Mireia’s father didn’t feel comfortable with his daughter having a marshal’s star. He thought someone might get the wrong idea and suspect he killed a lawman and stole it off his corpse. I promised him I’d give it back to you.”

  “Why now?”

  “Because right now, I think you need the reminder.”

  I stared down at the star in my hands, dazzled by its familiar contours, and what it meant for my future. Almena’s hand slid onto the back of my neck, hesitant at first, but when I didn’t pull away, her fingers began to move, gently managing my tension. I had to fight the desire not to close my eyes like a dog being scratched behind the ears, relaxed by her ministrations.

  “You’re a good man, Apostle Richardson, but even good men sometimes have to do bad in defense of what’s right,” she said, low into my ear. “Be careful you don’t forget that because once you start seeing yourself as a monster, it’s hard to stop from becoming one.”

  “What happened to you’re wasted as a lawman? Seems like the whole time we’ve been together you’ve been trying to convince me to put on the black hat.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “About being an outlaw?”

  “About you. You were willing to give up your life in that bank. Not just for me, I know, but let’s be honest here. You’ve got too much martyr in you. I almost wonder if you’re not just hunting for the right cause to die for. Or the right person.”

  Truth was, I’d sometimes wondered the same thing. If some part of me had a death wish. If being a marshal was my roundabout way of getting out. Was I some paragon of goodness like everyone believed, or was I just very good at not being my father? If he’d been a better man, would I have been a worse one?

  “It’s not a critique,” Almena continued. “Hell, it’s one of the things I like about you. You always try to see the good in people. Sometimes that’s frustrating, but other times, it’s like I’m listening to someone discuss a book I’ve already read. Your perspective is completely different. Part of me wants to tell you you’re seeing things all wrong, but the other part… wants only to be quiet and listen. The world you see is so much more beautiful than mine, Nathan. It offers hope and consolation and justice for those who deserve it. When I’m with you, I almost see it again, that world of possibility. I remember what it was like to believe in people, and I don’t want you to lose that.”

  I was silent, listening, trying to take in what she was saying, but I couldn’t keep myself from hearing what she wasn’t saying, too. I don’t want you to turn into me. Emotion pressed the silence that followed into something hard and uncomfortable, until, embarrassed, Almena finally got up. I grabbed her hand, keeping her with me a moment longer.

  “You aren’t locked into this lifestyle, Almena. You don’t have to continue like this.”

  She gave me a narrow look but didn’t pull away. “Sometimes you get in a thing so deep, you can’t turn back. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  “Haven’t you ever felt sorry?” Suddenly it was very important I know whether she regretted the crimes she’d committed. “About what you done, I mean. After the war.”

  “There you go again, looking for the best in people,” Almena said, but it wasn’t a denial. After another moment, she nodded sharply in the direction of the window. “You know, there’s a small church near the miller’s place. Little place with yellow doors. I saw it when we rode in. We have a few hours until we need to leave. If you want to go… I won’t stop you.”

  The idea of being in a church right then filled me with terrible apprehension. All the more reason I knew I should go.

  “Thought you didn’t believe in God,” I said, as a way of stalling my decision.

  Almena smiled wistfully and rolled her shoulders. “I don’t. But I know you. I know what you need right now is to make peace with your Redeemer. So, by all means, if it’ll make you a little less mopey, go.” She gave a little flap of her hands.

  “I’m”—I paused to clear my throat—“thank you. Not sure a building’s what I need right now, though I wouldn’t turn my nose up to reading a little out of the Good Book. Don’t suppose you’re carrying a copy in your bag of goodies there?”

  “You’ll be shocked to learn I’m not, but I can go downstairs and see if the owner has one he’d be willing to lend you.”

  “No need. I can do it.” I started to stand.

  She placed her hands on each of my shoulders, pressing me back down to the mattress. “For once in your life, Apostle, let someone do something for you.”

  “Much obliged,” I answered stiffly.

  “Stay and rest up. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  In fact, she didn’t return for ten, but just as I was starting to worry, she came through the door and closed it softly behind her.

  “I was starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost,” I joked.

  Almena wordlessly handed me the Bible. Its binding bore no wrinkles, and the ink on the pages was still crisp and black. There was no handwriting or personal inscriptions in it, save for a small stamp that read Property of The Cattlewick Hotel.

  “What is it?” I asked, questioning Almena’s nervous silence.

  “Prough the Rough’s dead.”

  “What?” I nearly dropped the Bible.

  “Some men downstairs were talking about it. Apparently, a lawman was shot and killed in a shootout with the Guillory gang near here, yesterday in Emporia. They gave his name as Wade Prough. Prough the Rough. Wasn’t he one of the men you traveled with?”

  “Yes. He was my friend, but… Wade would never be so stupid as to get himself—”

  What was I going to say? Shot? Killed?

  I swallowed and clenched my eyes shut, bowing my head.

  Except he would. Wade would be stupid. Or he’d be slow in his old age. And we both knew he wasn’t a man to render up the ghost without the help of a bullet. It’d taken more than forty years to get here, but it’d come all the same.

  “I’m sorry, Apostle,” Almena said, and she sounded it too, though she had no reason to shed tears over the death of one of her enemies. One less lawman could only benefit her in the long run.

  No, that was an unworthy thought.

  “Was there any mention of a young man with him?” I asked, looking up suddenly. “Boy by the name of Du Pont?”

  She shook her head. “None that I heard.”

  “Emporia. That’s not far from here. They’re moving east, not west.” Almena’s mouth was tight with tension. She chewed on her fingernail. “You were wrong. They’re not going to Ellsworth.”

  “Doesn’t seem likely, no. Your friend must have spooked her. My guess is they’re probably headed for Missouri now. Or maybe a train in Topeka.”

  “You think they’d risk it?”

  “I don’t know!” Almena flared. “I’m not a fucking psychic.”

  “But if you had to guess. If you had to stake your life on it—where would you go? Think, Almena.”

  “I am thinking! What do you imagine I’ve been doing this whole time? Twiddling my thumbs?”

  “Where?”

  “Topeka,” she decided after another moment.

  “Why?”

  “There are more people in Topeka. It’d be easier to blend in. Disappear. If the marshals are looking for a gang on the run, staying put in a city as big as Topeka is the safest way to hide.”

  “Topeka,” I repeated, looking for my boots somewhere beneath the bed. “You’re sure?”

  �
��As sure as I can be, under the circumstances. Where are you going?”

  I grunted as I got up, feeling every bruise like I was receiving it for the first time. A coordinated ache crisscrossed my body. The bullet wound might have been mostly healed, but it was still an effort to lean over and pull my boots on. “I’ve changed my mind. I think I will go to church. You mind handing me that Bible? Thank you. And when I get back, you best be packed, because we’re heading for Topeka.”

  A Hard Place

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When Almena told me we were going to meet an old friend on the outskirts of Topeka, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Of those who might be counted among her friends, such as the Cortezes, none were folks I’d have guessed ahead of time. Almena seemed to take comfort in the company of those society preferred not to see, and I wondered if it wasn’t on account of her viewing herself as an outcast. One more exile in a land of exiles.

  “Their name is Song,” she told me when I finally pressed her on a name for the fella we were supposed to be getting help from.

  “And this Song, you think he’s gonna know where to find our quarry?”

  “They,” Almena corrected, “always manage to know a little bit about everything going on around them at any given time. If anyone’s been keeping their ear to the ground, it’s Song. And before you ask, nothing they sell is magical, although they might try to convince you otherwise.”

  Wasn’t sure why she felt the need to warn me until we entered Song’s shop. It was a small, single room in the back of a dingy furniture store—and it was full of mirrors. Many were about the size of my hand, but together they covered almost every square inch of the space in round patterns of light. I didn’t understand most of what I saw reflected on the walls, seeing as they featured symbols I wasn’t familiar with, and I supposed that was why Almena worried I might mistake it for magic.

  “Chinese magic mirrors,” Almena explained to me in a quiet aside. “The back of the mirror is bronze and features a design that can be seen when light hits the polished front.”