Sweetwater

by Dorothy Garlock

  “Calm down. I’m merely telling you what folks think is going on out here.”

  “I’ve met your folks in town, and what they think doesn’t mean a brass farthing to me.”

  “Virginia, listen to me carefully. We have an empty school in town. It’s equipped with everything you would need to teach grades one through six. You are needed there and would be a valuable addition to the Sweetwater community. For your own good and the good of your sisters, I urge you to consider coming to Sweetwater. A nice house will be provided … with a cook. You aren’t the type of woman who should live in a log shack, use an outhouse and draw water from a well.”

  Jenny stared at him with disbelief in her eyes. He was either the most dense person she had ever met or the most devious. Did he take her for a complete fool?

  “The Reverend Longfellow asked me to assure you that as a member of the schoolboard, he would see to it that you had free rein at the school. He also said to tell you that he looks forward to seeing you in church, and that he would provide a horse and buggy for your use,” Alvin added confidently.

  “You may be surprised to know that I’m not in the least flattered by your offer. In fact, I’ve never before had my intelligence so insulted. You’re not only despicable, you’re downright stupid if you think I’d even consider such an offer. How did you ever get a law degree, Mr. Havelshell? How on God’s green earth did you ever land the job as agent for the southern part of this reservation?”

  Her scorn, loftiness, and the curl of her lip, burst the dam of Alvin’s carefully planned civility. He took two quick strides to reach her. His hand shot out and gripped her upper arm.

  “Don’t look down your aristocratic nose at me, you snooty bitch. No woman of your standing would leave her easy life and come out here to teach the poor Indians unless she had to get away. With your money, you didn’t need a ranch you’ve no idea how to operate. You’re running from something, Virginia, and I intend to find out what it is.”

  “Let go of my arm!”

  Jenny was livid. If he had not grabbed her right arm, she would have pulled out her little pistol from her pocket and shot him. When he failed to release her, she swung her left arm and gave him a resounding slap across the face.

  “Let go my arm!”

  “You’ll … regret that!” His angry eyes left hers and flicked to the doorway.

  “Jenny …” Granny stood there, a brass-tipped walking stick in her hand. “I broke the thread on the sewin’ machine.”

  “Get out of here, old woman,” Alvin snarled.

  “Don’t … talk to her like that!” Jenny jerked loose from his grip. Her hand darted into her pocket and came up with the pistol. “Get out … and don’t come back.”

  “You’ll regret this, Virginia.” Alvin adjusted his coat, leaving his hands fastened to the lapels and his dark eyes to her face.

  “I think not.”

  “You’ll be seeing me again. I’m in charge here, and the sooner you come to terms with that fact, the better off you’ll be.” He left the building and strode quickly down the path to his buggy.

  Jenny assisted Granny down the path with her hand beneath her elbow. She held her head up and forced her trembling legs to carry her. Her chest hurt, her throat felt as if a hand were squeezing it, and her eyes burned. What was this place doing to her? She had never struck another human being in her life. Yet, without a second thought, she had slapped Alvin Havelshell. And she believed that had he made a move toward her or Granny, she would have shot him!

  They reached the yard between the house and the outbuildings in time to see Alvin climb into the buggy and send the whip out over the back of the mare. The startled animal jumped and took off in a fast run. The buggy circled the house, bounced over the rough prairie grass and careened down the trail leading to town.

  Frank, with a silly grin on his face, untied his horse and swung into the saddle. He paused and leered at Colleen.

  “Ya gonna miss me, pretty gal?”

  “Yeah, like a dog misses a batch a fleas.”

  “Don’t worry, hon. I’ll be back.”

  “Ya do and I’ll meet ya with a load of buckshot, ya pig-ugly jackass!”

  “I’m claimin’ ya for my girl,” he shouted and wheeled the horse to follow the buggy.

  Suddenly the animal stiffened and stopped. With a cry of rage, the horse went up in the air and came down with a jolt. Frank went over the horse’s head and landed on his back on the hard-packed trail. He rolled over on his knees and hung there shaking his head. When he got to his feet, a string of curses spewed from his mouth.

  Jenny started laughing first; it was a high-pitched, nervous giggle. Cassandra joined in, and Colleen let loose with a rebel yell.

  Frank came toward them menacingly. “What’d ya do?”

  The women continued to laugh. He was unaware that the laughter was the result of two days of nervous tension and that tears were streaming from the eyes of both women.

  “Ah … hell!” He yanked on the reins and the quivering horse stood still while he mounted. He rode away as Jenny’s laughter turned to sobs.

  “What did that horse’s ass do to you, Virginia?” Cassandra’s small freckled face was creased with worry. She had never seen her older sister cry except when their father died.

  “Nothing, honey. And … what did you say?”

  “I don’t think I should repeat it. Little ears, you know.” She indicated Beatrice, who was paying rapt attention to every word.

  “What did ya do, Cass?” Colleen asked. “I saw ya hidin’ that slingshot Ike gave ya.”

  “It pays to practice, doesn’t it?”

  “I reckon.”

  Cassandra preened and lifted her chin in a gesture of superiority. She brought several small, straight sticks from her pocket. Each had a sewing needle stuck in the end.

  “I figured that if a stone would hurt, a dart would hurt more. Drat it! I wanted to try it on Havelshell’s horse, but he got away before I could get it in place.”

  “Cassandra! Where did you get such an idea?”

  “It’s really your fault. You won’t let anyone show me how to use a gun, so I have to use my own inventive skills. Pygmies in Africa use blowguns. I knew I didn’t have enough wind for that, so I combined the dart and the slingshot.”

  “Cass hurt the horse.” Beatrice tugged at Jenny’s hand.

  “Well, yes, I regret that,” Cassandra said. “But it sure was fun to see old Frank bite the dust. Besides, it didn’t really hurt the horse; it only startled him. I didn’t dip the needle in poison or … anything.”

  Damn, damn her!

  Unmindful that the horse was tiring, Alvin continued to run the animal. Jenny had practically spit on him—thrown his offer back in his face! There were at least a dozen women he could call to his bed in an hour’s notice. And they were not whores, just women who appreciated the kind of man he was.

  She needed to be taught a lesson. He was as good as she was. Hadn’t he managed to get himself educated despite being one of eight kids of a tugboat pilot on the Mississippi River? Eight? Hell, there were probably dozens of bastards up and down the river. The old man wasn’t known for keeping his britches buttoned.

  Long ago Alvin had distanced himself from the Havelshells that the quality folk in St. Paul considered trash. He had shoved the memories of his family to the back of his mind. Now the snooty bitch had brought it all back. He wasn’t even good enough to address her by her first name! Damn her!

  Alvin was still fuming about the sacrifices he had made to get to where he was now: marriage to that fat cow, kowtowing to the old man, taking shit from the likes of Hartog, when Frank rode up and grabbed the halter on the horse pulling the buggy.

  “You tryin’ to kill this horse?” he said when he had stopped the running, lathered animal.

  “It’s my horse! Let go!” Alvin snarled.

  “She’ll drop in another mile runnin’ full out pullin’ this buggy. Then how’ll ya get to town?”
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  “How come you let that old woman come over to the school? I’ll have no man working for me that can’t take orders.”

  “Ya didn’t say nothin’ ’bout the old woman. Ya said keep the girl there, and that’s what I done.” Frank released the halter on the horse and backed his own mount away.

  Alvin walked the horse slowly down the trail, and Frank fell in behind the buggy. For sure, the teacher had gotten under the agent’s skin. Frank had never seen him so riled. He was pretty well riled up himself after being dumped from his horse and laughed at.

  But what the hell! He wanted to wring the neck of that blue-eyed witch in men’s pants, but he’d never touch her. He wasn’t so low-down he’d beat a woman. He wasn’t too sure about Havelshell, and something told him that he’d better hit the trail and put some distance between himself and the agent before he found himself in more trouble than he could handle.

  The remainder of the day passed in slow motion for Jenny. As the hours dragged by and evening approached she recalled the last words Trell said to her.

  “I’ll be back, Jenny. I’ll be back.”

  When she closed her eyes, she could summon up his face, serious most of the time, but when he smiled … so endearing.

  I’ve fallen in love with you. Please come back. If you don’t love me … I’ll understand—

  Never in her life had Jenny felt such an overpowering feeling of dread. Never had she felt more like praying. Sweet, gentle Trell could be somewhere suffering … alone. She tried to close her mind to the possibility that he was dead, would never come back, and she’d never again know the joy of being held close in his arms, giving and receiving his kisses—

  Cassandra dashed into the kitchen. “Whit’s back! He went into the school.”

  Jenny dropped the towel she had been using to dry dishes and hurried out the door. By the time she reached the yard, Whit had come out of the school with a large bundle in his arms.

  “Whit!” she called to him. “Whit! Whit—” He ignored her, jumped on his pony and rode into the woods.

  “Forevermore!”

  “What’s he doing? What did he take out of the school?”

  “I don’t know what he’s doing, but it looks like he took his wood carvings. I wonder why.”

  “He’ll have a reason, and I’ll probably not agree with it.” A note of frustration echoed in Cassandra’s voice.

  “I’ll look around.” Colleen, wearing her six-gun and carrying her rifle, started up the path to the school. “One of us should stay here with Granny and the girls.”

  “I’ll stay here.” Jenny felt in her pocket for her little pistol.

  “Be careful, child.”

  “I will, Granny.”

  To those watching, it seemed to take an unbearably long time for Colleen to circle the building, then look inside. She came out, stood for a moment, then went to the edge of the clearing. Loping along with the rifle cradled in her arms, she circled the area, then disappeared in the deep shadowy forest.

  Night was coming on fast. Waiting with Granny and the girls, Jenny kept her eyes on the edge of the forest. Her heart thumped heavily, her breathing was shallow. No one spoke, not even Cassandra or little Beatrice, who clung to Granny’s hand.

  Then Ike, on his mule, came out of the woods with Colleen. They spoke for a brief moment, before he turned Trouble toward the pond and Colleen trotted toward the house. The women and the girls moved in a group to the edge of the yard to meet her.

  “They’ve got Trell. He’s been hurt. Whit came ahead to see if Linus was snoopin’, and if he was, to lead him away so they could brin’ Trell in. Ike’s lookin’ around the pond makin’ sure nobody’s there.”

  “Thank God! Oh, thank God!” Jenny’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Is Trell hurt … bad?”

  “I … think so. They’re bringin’ him in the peddler’s wagon. Ike said get the bed in the bunkhouse ready.”

  “Oh, but … if he’s hurt, he should be in the house where we can take care of him.”

  “Ike said bunkhouse. For some reason they don’t want anyone to know he’s here. Ike said he’d explain it later.”

  “I’ll get the medical kit I brought from home. Oh, I’ll wait. I don’t know what we’ll need. Oh, dear—” Jenny’s hands were clasped tightly together.

  “Now isn’t the time to get all clabber-headed, Virginia.” It upset Cassandra to see her sister so distraught.

  “You’re right, honey. Let’s get$$$ the medical kit and some extra sheets and blankets.”

  “I’ll light the lantern.” Colleen disappeared inside the bunkhouse.

  “Guess I ort to get a meal goin’. Them men’ll be hungry. Come help me, sugarfoot.” Granny and Beatrice hurried to the house.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Trell had awakened from a laudanum-induced sleep to see his brother bending over him. He thought he was dreaming.

  “Trav—?” His voice was hoarse from disuse.

  “Yeah, it’s me. How ya feelin’?”

  “Rougher’n a cob. How’d ya … find me?”

  “Long story, bud. Who did this to you?”

  “Don’t know who or why. Feller shot me. Fell over the bluff into the river. When I crawled out, I heard ‘em talkin’. Wanted to find … me. Make sure—”

  “Messed ya up a bit. Yo’re a sorry sight.”

  “Yeah. I don’t have enough strength to spit.”

  “Don’t fret about it. We’re takin’ ya home.”

  “I’d … not make it.”

  “Takin’ ya in the wagon, bud. Take another dab a this laudanum and go back to sleep.” Trell held a glass to his brother’s lips.

  “Trav, pay … these good folks.”

  “I will. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

  Travor had been elated to find his brother alive, and shocked at his appearance. One side of his face was raw and covered with a heavy coat of salve; his lips were puffed and his cheeks sunken. In order to treat the cut made by the bullet that passed across his skull and knocked him into the river, the peddler or his mother had cut away a strip of hair.

  Devin McGriff had told him about the broken leg and ribs, and about the fever. Travor thanked God the peddler had come along and had been decent enough to pick up his brother and hide him, or he’d surely have died either from his injuries or another bullet from Crocker.

  Ike had suggested taking him to Stoney Creek when Travor mentioned that the man who had tried to kill him would be watching the ranch. Travor was pretty sure that Crocker had mistaken Trell for him, and would still be around looking for the body to make sure of the kill. He would have to take all or part of it back to Silas Ashley to collect the rest of his money.

  Rage at what had been done to his brother boiled up in Travor. Trell was the most decent man he knew and didn’t deserve to be cut down just because he was his twin. After he finished with Crocker, Travor vowed, he would pay a call on Ashley and that sniveling daughter of his. He had just flirted with that little feather-head, nothing more. It certainly wasn’t a reason to kill a man. His own stupidity had almost cost his brother’s life. It would be a long time, if ever, before he could forgive himself for that.

  Trell awakened off and on during the long day in the slow-moving wagon. Frequently Travor or the peddler brought him some water. He hurt in places he didn’t even know he had. His mind was foggy, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open for very long at a time. He didn’t even try to figure out how his brother had found him. He felt only a tremendous relief that he had.

  After dark Ike led the wagon past the school and into the yard of the homestead. As soon as the wagon stopped, Travor dismounted and tied his horse to a corral pole. The other horses in the enclosure nickered a greeting. Jenny and Cassandra waited beside the bunkhouse door. But Travor saw only Colleen waiting with a lighted lantern.

  “Ain’t nobody ‘round ‘less’n it’s that Indian, Head-Gone-Bad. He be the one that saw McGriff put Trell in the wagon. He ain’t sayin’ nothin’ to
nobody but Whit.” Ike slid from the back of his mule. “Whit must’a led Linus off on a wild-goose chase.”

  “Ike, is Trell hurt … bad?” Jenny asked, her heart pounding so hard she was almost breathless.

  “Bad enough, I reckon.”

  Travor opened the double doors at the back of the wagon and stepped inside. Colleen held up the lantern. Trell lay on his back his face turned away.

  “He’s still sleepin’. Let’s get him out before he wakes up. He’s goin’ to hurt like hell when we move him.”

  Trell was lying on a canvas litter on a feather bed placed on the floor of the wagon. With Travor at his head and with help from Ike and the peddler, they pulled him from the wagon and carried him into the bunkhouse. Even in a deep sleep, Trell cried out once when the stretcher bumped against the doorframe.

  The light from the lantern fell on Trell’s sunken eyes and ravaged face. The blanket that covered him reached only to his knees and Jenny could see that one leg was encased in wooden splints, the other splotched with cuts and bruises.

  Gently, as if they were handling a baby, Travor and the peddler lifted Trell off the stretcher and onto the bed. When Trellis moaned, Jenny’s heart dropped like a rock. She tried to blink away the tears as she looked at Travor.

  “Has … he been sleeping long?”

  “Most all the day. He be havin’ the laudanum to ease him.” The peddler, McGriff, answered. “He better not be havin’ more to my way a thinkin’. Doctor say he could be gettin’ a cravin’ for it.”

  “I’ve seen it happen,” Travor said. “It got him through the day. But I agree, no more for several days.”

  “Ma’am, I be Devin McGriff.” The peddler pulled the shabby cap from his head when he spoke to Jenny. She held out her hand.

  “Virginia Gray. And … thank you for looking after Trell and bringing him back to us.”

  “’Twas but what any decent mon would be doin’.”

  “This is Miss Murphy, and my sister, Cassandra.” Jenny made the introductions automatically.

  “It be a pleasure, ladies. I got ter tend to my Rosie. ‘Twas a hard day she be havin’, pullin’ the wagon.”