Do Not Forsake Me

by Rosanne Bittner

  Peter put out his hand and Jeff shook it.

  “Actually, I met Jeff right after the shooting,” Peter told Jake. He looked Jake over. “I didn’t come on the scene until after the fact, but I saw a tremendous amount of blood still in the street.”

  Jake removed his hat. “Yeah, well, of all the wounds I’ve experienced, this one really put me down. It was the loss of blood that nearly did me in this time.”

  Peter glanced at Randy again. “I think it nearly did your wife in too.”

  Jake shifted, and Jeff suspected he was holding back an urge to tell Peter Brown not to be so concerned about his wife. “I’m aware of what it did to my wife,” he answered. “That’s part of the reason I’m here, but we’ll get to that later. Right now I want to discuss the book this kid here wants to write. In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve grown to like him a lot. I think he’ll try to do an honest job of it, which is why I’m letting him follow me around like a damn shadow. This book needs to be from hands-on experience and personal stories, not hearsay. The only way to do that is to let Jeff talk to me and my family. I’m even taking him along the next time Lloyd and I ride out on our rounds.”

  Peter glanced at Jeff. “Well now, Jeff, that will likely be an experience you won’t forget. I hope you know how to ride a horse and shoot a gun. You seem like more of a city kid to me. We’re both from Chicago, and I know not many men from there ride horseback and carry guns anymore.”

  Jeff loosened the top button of his shirt. “I am a city kid, but I do know how to ride. As far as a gun—well, you saw me the day of the shooting holding Jake’s guns. That’s the first time I’ve even touched one. I’m sure Jake can teach me a few things when we head out.”

  Peter laughed lightly. “Well now, that’s an understatement, isn’t it?” He glanced at Jake. “You couldn’t ask for a better teacher, Jeff, when it comes to using firearms.”

  “No, sir,” Jeff told him, watching the hint of challenge between Jake and Peter. He thought about what a powerful presence Jake was, the way he just filled up a room the minute he stepped into it. A commanding aura seemed to hover around the man. He knew Peter felt it too.

  Peter surprised Jeff then with his next statement. “Jake is the best there is when it comes to using those guns.” He glanced at Jeff again. “And he’s a good man, Jeff, despite some of the things you hear. If he wasn’t, you’d see it in his wife’s eyes, and she undoubtedly has eyes for only one man. If Jake was all the things others say he is, I doubt an educated, intelligent woman like Randy would still be with him.” He’d moved his gaze to Randy on that remark, then looked at Jake. “Put that in your book, Jeff,” he said, his eyes still holding Jake’s gaze.

  Jeff felt perspiration on his forehead. “I’ve already taken note of that, Mr. Brown. Mrs. Harkner is the strongest, most devoted woman I’ve ever met.”

  Peter took up a legal pad and an ink pen. “That she is,” he commented, scribbling something on the pad.

  “And both of you are embarrassing me,” Randy put in, reaching over and grasping Jake’s hand.

  Jeff wondered if she was afraid Jake would explode into words he shouldn’t, but he said nothing. He just kept watching Peter Brown carefully.

  “Well now, let’s get down to why you’re here,” Peter told them. “Jake and Randy, you want some kind of agreement with Jeff that indicates you have the last say in whether this book even gets published, right?”

  “That’s right,” Jake told him. He shifted again, wincing with pain. Jeff suspected he was really struggling to keep his mouth shut in front of Randy. “I want to make sure he doesn’t exaggerate like they do in those damn dime novels. I’m just a man, like any other, who’s a federal marshal because a judge forced him into it. Anything is better than prison, which is where I’d still be otherwise.”

  Peter kept writing. “You underestimate yourself, Jake.”

  Jake rubbed at his eyes. “I guess that’s something for others to decide after I’m long gone, which I expect will happen sooner than later, with guns blazing.”

  Peter kept his attention on the tablet. “I’m sure you want this book to justify why you did some of the things you did—”

  “No. My past can’t be justified. It can be explained, but it can’t be excused or made right. A man makes his choices, and I made a lot of wrong ones. There’s no changing that. I was raised among whores and outlaws, and that’s all I knew. Maybe Jeff can explain how it all came about when he writes this book. The fact remains I have a family and grandchildren now who I’d prefer remembered me for the kind of father and grandfather I am. When I’m dead and gone, I don’t want my tombstone to say ‘Here lies Jake Harkner, notorious outlaw.’ I just want it to say ‘a good husband and father.’”

  Jeff took out his own notebook and began scribbling. Peter looked up from what he’d been writing and held Jake’s gaze. He slowly nodded. “And that’s what you are.” He glanced at Randy, then cleared his throat and looked back at his notes. “I take it you want a trust set up that includes future grandchildren? After all, your son just took a new wife. And your daughter might not be through having children either.”

  “That’s right. Fact is, Evie is carrying again,” Jake told him. “This book might not even sell that many copies, but if it does, I don’t want any of the proceeds from it. I want it all to go to my grandchildren.” Jake shifted again, rubbing at the back of his neck and, Jeff thought, still holding back. “God knows I don’t have much else to leave them, other than knowing they carry my blood and will have to live with that—let alone the fact that they carry my father’s blood. Maybe I got lucky and got rid of most of his blood when I almost bled to death after that last shoot-out.”

  Randy closed her eyes and grasped his hand again. “Jake, don’t go there. Please don’t go there.”

  Jeff could see Jake growing very restless.

  “Jake, let’s stay with why you’re here,” Peter told him.

  Jake kept hold of Randy’s hand. “I just want the truth told.”

  Peter kept his eyes on the tablet, as though almost afraid to look at Randy again. “Well, let’s begin with full names—you, your children, and your grandchildren.”

  “Jackson Lloyd Harkner and Miranda Sue Harkner,” Randy answered. “You don’t need my maiden name or my first husband’s name, do you?”

  “No.”

  “There was a first husband?” Jeff asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” Randy answered. “He was killed in the Civil War. I was only eighteen. I was married at seventeen, and we had all of two weeks together before he left and never came back.” She met Jake’s eyes. “I’ve been terrified ever since that the same thing will happen with Jake. He’ll go riding off into No Man’s Land and never come back.”

  Jake shifted yet again. “As long as I know you’re here waiting, I’ll always come back.”

  Peter kept writing. “Full names of children and grandchildren?” he asked.

  “Evita Louise Harkner Stewart,” Randy answered again. “Lloyd’s full name is Lloyd Jackson Harkner, a reverse of Jake’s name. Lloyd’s little boy’s name is Stephen Lloyd. Evie’s little imp is Jackson Lloyd Harkner, like his grandfather.”

  “In more ways than name,” Jake added.

  “Dates of birth?”

  Randy rattled off all the dates, until she got to Jake’s birth date. She looked at Jake. He became very quiet. Peter glanced at him.

  “I don’t know,” he told Peter. “My birthday isn’t exactly something that my”—he stopped as though something was stuck in his throat—“my parents…celebrated. I’m sure my mother would have liked to, but she, uh…” He shifted again. “I only know how old she said I was. Not long before she”—he cleared his throat, still clinging to Randy’s hand—“died, she said I was eight. And for the record, her name was Evita Ramona Consuella de Jimenez.”

  “Jake,” R
andy said softly, “you’re hurting my hand.”

  He quickly let go. “Jesus,” he murmured.

  Peter leaned back and rubbed at his temple. “So how old are you now?”

  Jake just sat there.

  “Jake?” Peter frowned.

  “My mother died in 1844. The day she and my little brother”—he cleared his throat—“died…I wrote the year on a piece of paper, and my age. I was eight.”

  “You had a brother?” Peter asked.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Jake almost groaned the answer.

  “And they both died at the same time?”

  “Yes,” Jake answered emphatically. “I watched them die. Now let’s move on to something else.”

  The room hung silent. Peter closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Jeff waited with bated breath.

  “Jake,” Randy spoke up softly. “You never told me about any note.”

  Jake cleared his throat again, straightening and taking a deep breath. “Yeah, well, now you know. I’ve carried it with me for forty-eight years.” Jeff was astounded to see tears in Jake’s eyes.

  Peter started writing again. “Well then, we’ll just make up a birth date and figure the year to be 1836. Surely there are records of your birth. Texas, wasn’t it? I have your mother’s name, although you’ll have to spell it out for me. I’m not fluent in Spanish.”

  Randy grasped Jake’s hand again and he spelled his mother’s name for Peter.

  “Thanks.” He looked at Jake. “Now, if I know the town where you think you were born, and your father’s full name—”

  “No!” Jake barked. “You make up a date and leave it at that. I don’t want my father’s name mentioned in any way. Not in any way! Not in those papers and not in Jeff’s book. If his name has to be mentioned, then I’m not doing this at all!”

  Peter set down the ink pen and leaned forward. “Jake, although I am risking you putting a gun to my head for asking, I have to ask it.” He paused, weighing his words and swallowing before speaking. “How do you expect Jeff to write this book if he can’t settle for once and for all what happened to your father? It’s the one thing that hangs over your head…the one question everybody wonders about but is afraid to ask, as I am sure Jeff is afraid to ask. The book won’t be complete until you clarify that one thing from your past. If that isn’t settled, the book won’t tell the whole story, and your grandchildren will never understand that part of their grandfather.”

  Jeff wanted to crawl under the man’s desk. Jake sat glaring at Peter, his dark eyes smoldering. The tension inside the small room could have been cut with a knife, and Peter kept a steady eye on Jake. Randy let out a little groan and looked away. Jeff wondered if Jake was going to speak at all, or if maybe he’d just pull a gun any minute and shoot Peter Brown.

  “You know I’m right, Jake,” Peter told him. “This is man-to-man. I sincerely am not trying to upset you, and God knows I don’t like upsetting your wife. I know I’m asking the forbidden question, but you really need to understand that all the other truths about you will do no good if that one little matter isn’t cleared up. Everyone knows you killed your own father, but no one knows why. The why is all that’s necessary to the truth, and you said that’s what you want this book to be—the truth.”

  “The truth is I killed him, plain and simple,” Jake nearly shouted. “And for a damn good reason! I’ll be the one to decide if and when I tell Jeff all of it, so right now just let it go!”

  The words were spoken with such wrath that Peter literally backed up his chair. Jeff froze in place. He wanted to make notes but was afraid to even move his hand. Peter’s secretary tapped on the office door.

  “Is everything all right in there, Mr. Brown?”

  Peter watched Jake, who glared back at him. “Is everything all right, Jake?”

  “Jake, you’re hurting my hand again,” Randy told him.

  Again he let go. Randy got up and went to stand behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Everything is fine, Nancy,” she called to Peter’s secretary.

  “If you say so, Mrs. Harkner.”

  Randy pressed her fingers into Jake’s shoulders. “I say so.”

  Unbelievable, Jeff thought. If she can control that man when he’s like this, she could probably walk into a cage full of tigers and make them all lie down.

  Jake closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He reached up and grasped one of Randy’s hands. “Sit down,” he told her.

  “After you apologize for yelling at Peter. Your past isn’t his fault, Jake. He’s just doing his job, and you’re the one who asked for this meeting.”

  Jake squeezed her hand. “Sit down, Randy.”

  She sighed deeply and took her chair. Jake ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands behind his head, squeezing them together so tight that Jeff noticed his knuckles turn white.

  “I’ll make a deal with you, Peter. If you can accomplish the other thing I came here for, I’ll tell you my father’s name and you can do all the research you want. And I had already considered having to tell Jeff…what happened…and owning up to my grandchildren. It’s just…I feel like it’s no one’s goddamn business…but I know I can’t die with it either, because then no one will ever know the truth.”

  “Randy knows,” Peter said. “I can tell by the look on her face. And I’ll bet Lloyd knows too, doesn’t he? But they love you so much that if you tell them never to speak of it, they won’t.”

  “Lloyd doesn’t know his full name.” Jake stared at the hardwood floor. “Only Randy knows all of it, because I owed her that. For some ungodly reason, she chose to spend her life with me. Before I could let her do that, she needed to know all of it so she could be damn sure she really wanted to live with a wanted man with a madman’s blood in him.” He took a deep breath, still staring at the floor. “Suffice it to say for now, I was fifteen and…I had no choice.”

  The room hung silent for what seemed hours.

  Jake finally straightened, a dark, intimidating look in his eyes. “I am having a lot of trouble not coming across that desk right now and putting my hands around your throat, Peter, but for my wife’s sake, I won’t. Besides that, you don’t deserve it for asking what you have a right to ask, and for that I do apologize. Maybe I can get you the name later.”

  Peter nodded. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s something that’s hard to talk about, and I sure as hell don’t blame you.”

  “I had a run-in with Hash Bryant this morning that didn’t go too well, and my wife isn’t well, and I’m not real happy about coming to you of all people for help—and we both know why that is—so combine all of it together, and this is the best job I’ve ever done of controlling my temper.”

  “Jake—”

  “He knows what I’m talking about, Randy, and so do you.”

  Jeff still sat frozen in place.

  Peter sighed, resting his elbows on his desk and putting his head in his hands. “Jake, please explain then why you did come to me. Guthrie is growing by leaps and bounds, and there are at least fifteen or more other lawyers in this town. The only thing growing faster is the number of saloons.”

  Jake remained quiet again for a moment. “I came to you because I trust you with this. I trust you because whatever you do, it won’t be for me. It will be for Randy, because I firmly believe you care about her happiness over your own feelings. Because of that, I’m trusting you to try your best to do something else for me…for us…Randy and me.”

  Peter glanced at Randy, who blinked back tears and looked at her lap.

  “What is it you want, Jake?” Peter asked.

  Jake took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “You know that I’m a federal marshal because a judge sentenced me to it, but most federal marshals aren’t married men. When I was given this job, I didn’t take into con
sideration how hard it would be on my wife and family, let alone the danger they’d be in for even being related to me. It’s bad enough being Jake Harkner, but when you’re a United States Marshal, you make a lot of new enemies—something I sure as hell don’t need. This thing that happened a couple of weeks ago was extra hard on Randy, and my little grandson could have been killed. Lloyd is only doing this because he’s a devoted son who insists on staying by my side out of loyalty. I know he’d rather be doing something else, and he has the money to buy a ranch or whatever else he’d like to do. Looking death in the face practically every day is not exactly a fun way to live, Peter, and we’re both only human. Someday the right bullet will hit the right spot and that will be the end of it. It almost happened this last time. If Jeff hadn’t gotten to that jail before me and warned me he saw Bryant and his men go inside, I’d already be a dead man.”

  “What are you getting at, Jake?” Randy asked.

  Jake glanced sidelong at her, then turned away and rubbed the back of his neck, obviously still very tense. “You and I were happiest those years back when I had that ranch in Colorado, before all hell broke loose and I landed in prison.” He faced Peter again. “We loved it there. I want to go back. I want to take Randy to some little mountain town where no one gives a damn who I am and there is hardly any crime. I want to lie in bed with my wife till noon, if we want, with no goddamn reason to get up. I’m in a lot more pain from old wounds than even Randy knows, and I refuse any kind of painkiller because they are all mostly whiskey. I can face ten men with guns, but I’m scared to death that if I drink, I’ll end up an alcoholic—the rotten, mean kind, like…” He didn’t finish. “And I’m damn tired of never being able to step outside the door without wearing guns and wondering when some bastard’s stray bullet meant for me will end up hurting or killing someone I love. I want to build us a cabin in the foothills and raise horses again. And on the side, I can clean and repair guns and even customize them for people. I customized my own .44s to shoot smoother and faster.”