Outlaw in Paradise

by Patricia Gaffney

  Good thing: it was full of people. Jesse's face when he saw her made her heart clench. Doc told everybody to get back, get away, and her neighbors— Jacques, the Schmidts, old Mrs. Sheets, Lisabeth Way-man, Arthur Dunne—started to drift outside, murmuring and shaking their heads, taking last looks back. Jesse didn't get up, but he put his arm out, and Cady went to him and let him embrace her, his hand strong and sure on her hip. "Ham," she said. "Oh, Ham." His eyes were closed, so she let herself cry. Jesse squeezed her, or she might've broken down. He looked so bad! "How is he? He'll be all right, won't he? Won't he be fine?"

  Doc Mobius ignored her, and she took some comfort from the sure-handed, impersonal way he touched Ham. But then he stripped the quilt away from his skinny, naked, brown-skinned body, and she saw two ugly black dots, livid and swollen, in his knee. Two more in his other leg. Oh, God—two more in his foot! Jesse caught her as she sank to the mattress edge, weak with dread and revulsion.

  Doc did things. She tried to watch. She saw him make two deep, oval slashes in Ham's knee, and she saw him pull the skin away from his calf and snip off skin, flesh, and bloody wound with a pair of scissors. She saw the piece of broken fang he cut out of Ham's foot. Mostly she saw black, from burying her face in Jesse's bare chest, and bright colors from pressing her fingers against her eyelids. Ham was barely conscious; he didn't scream until the doc swabbed the yellow liquid—chloride of lime, he said it was when Jesse asked him, white-lipped—into all three wounds.

  Thank God Levi didn't come until it was over. Cady let go of Jesse and stood behind Levi with her hands on his shoulders while he hovered over Ham's limp, sweating body. "He ain't breathing right." She could hear him trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "The poison gettin' to him? Doc?"

  Doc Mobius stood up, his bones creaking. His face wasn't reassuring, but then he always looked like death warmed up. "Come outside with me," he said, and Levi got up slowly, stiffly, and followed him out of the room.

  Jesse grabbed Cady's hand. She wanted him to hold her tight and tell her everything was going to be fine. Instead they sat down on either side of the bed and looked at Ham, and touched him softly, and murmured things to him.

  Levi came back by himself. Jesse gave him his place on the bed. "He gone to get some other kinda medicine. Perma something; he got to make it up special in his office." He reached for Ham's hand and kissed it. "He say you done jus' right," he told Jesse. "The cases you tied, they was the right thing to do." Jesse nodded gratefully. "You, too, Cady— gettin' 'im so fast. He say that was a good thing."

  "How is he, Levi?" Cady got up the courage to ask.

  His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. He dipped his bald head and whispered. "He can't tell. Say he young and strong, and that's good. But three of 'em... three..." His lips pulled apart in anguish and tears started to roll down his cheeks. "But he got this other medicine, and it could help. He give it in a shot, and maybe it get to the heart before the poison. It an anti..."

  "Antidote."

  "Yeah." He wrapped Ham's little hand up in his two big ones, hunching over him, eyes shut tight, and stayed that way until the doctor came back.

  Permanganate of potash, five grains to two ounces of water; he put it in a syringe and injected it three times, in three different places. "I'll do it again in a couple of hours. Meanwhile, watch him close and keep him quiet. He'll probably just sleep, and that's the best thing. He's got a good chance, I'm telling you," he said with force in his voice. "I think he'll make it. I do, that's the truth. Anyhow, we'll know in a short while. Stay with him, Levi, and try not to worry so much." His tired face creased in a smile; he knew how useless that advice was.

  Cady and Levi nursed Ham all day. Jesse disappeared. She didn't realize he'd gone for good until an hour went by and he didn't come back. She knew where he was—she felt it in her bones: Wylie's. Good, she thought. I hope he kills him. I hope he shoots him dead. Did Levi hope so, too? She looked at him curiously. He sat in a chair pulled close to the bed, his big hands folded, eyes closed. He might've been praying. He must know as well as she did that Wylie was behind this—Glen said that Arthur Dunne said there was a gunny sack in the outhouse. But something told her Levi wasn't sitting there hoping Jesse would shoot Wylie. Even before he'd started reading about Buddha, Levi was a gentle man. A good man. A much better person than Cady was. If she had her hands around Wylie's neck right now, she'd squeeze until his eyes popped out.

  In the afternoon, Doc came back for the third time. When he said Ham was going to be okay, Cady broke down.

  She tried not to; her blustery tears were making Levi cry, too, not to mention sending Willagail into hysterics. But she couldn't help it. Relief knocked the props out from under her; she just gave way. It was the one and only time in the long, awful day when she was glad Jesse wasn't there with her.

  She went to his room and lay down on his bed. Just to wait for him, and rest her eyes. She couldn't remember ever feeling so tired in her life.

  When she woke up, it was dark and he was sitting beside her, watching her. "Jess, did you hear?" She rose up, into his arms, and they held each other close for the longest time. She had such a feeling of rightness then, close to contentment, of being exactly where she was supposed to be.

  She thought she'd cried out all the tears, but here came more. But they were gentle tears, sweet ones even, all the bitterness gone. And Jesse felt so good, solid and warm and real. Her man. She whispered his name, the only way she could say to him, I love you.

  He started to kiss her. As lovely as that was, she arched away—she wanted to talk. "What happened, Jess? Where's Wylie?"

  "Where is he?"

  "I mean—did you kill him?"

  He stiffened, let his arms fall. She saw the flash of his teeth in the semidarkness, and heard his airy laugh. It didn't sound real. "No. I let him live."

  "Well. That's good. I guess. Tell me what happened. Where was he? What did you do to him?"

  "We talked. Cady, let's not get into it now, okay? I'm beat." He started taking off his boots.

  She stared at his back. "You talked to him? That's all? Well—what did you say?"

  "What difference does it make?"

  "I just—"

  "Everything's fine. I took care of it."

  "That's what you said before."

  He kept his back to her and didn't answer.

  "Jess? That's what you said before, and look what happened. Ham almost died, he—"

  "I know that, Cady. I was there."

  "So—did you—what did you—"

  "I said I took care of it."

  "How?"

  "It doesn't concern you."

  She thought about that for a few seconds. She'd covered herself with the blanket; now she threw it back and got off the bed on the other side. "I guess I don't agree. Is there some reason you won't talk to me about this?"

  "I told you. I'm—"

  "Beat." She moved around until he had no choice, he had to look at her. "You didn't do anything, did you?"

  "I talked to him."

  "You talked to him." She went to the bedside table and lit the lamp. When she backed away from the light, Jesse got up and moved to the window. To the shadows. "So now he's shaking in his boots, is that right?" she said in a quiet voice. "Did he promise never to do it again?"

  "Cady."

  "Did he say Ham was the last little boy he'll ever try to murder?"

  "He didn't mean to hurt Ham."

  Her skin prickled; she felt ill. "Oh, that's right, it was me he was trying to murder. Then it's okay. No harm done."

  "Shit."

  She hated this revelation. She couldn't stop shaking her head. "What kind of a man are you?"

  "Cady, damn it, it's a job for the law."

  "A—" She stared at him in disbelief, almost speechless. "A job for the law? Did I hear you right? Did you say it's—"

  He cursed again and spun around, smacking his hands on the windowsill. The long, handsome back, the lean hips
, the hard arms she'd wanted around her a few minutes ago—they only looked obstinate to her now. Obstinate and mean.

  She tried again. "I'm not saying you should kill him." She kept talking over his mirthless bark of laughter. "I don't even want you to kill him. If Ham had died, then I might. No," she admitted, "then I would. But, Jesse—how can you just do nothing? How can you let him get away with it? And what's next? What will he—" He interrupted, said something she couldn't hear. "What?"

  "This is not my fight."

  She blinked at his dark outline, bent motionless over the brighter square of the window, and tried not to believe he'd said that. Seconds ticked past, until the silence between them grew intolerable. She said, "I see," and for some reason, maybe her hollow tone, that made him turn around and face her.

  "Cady, listen."

  "Nobody's offered you money. I see. You'll shoot a man down in cold blood if the price is right. Then it's your fight."

  "That's not—"

  "Let me tell you something. I wouldn't give you ten cents if Merle Wylie had a razor at my throat. Keep away," she warned when he started toward her. "Oh, God, you make me feel ashamed." If she said why—for loving him, for lying with him—she would start to cry. "Is that it, then? You won't do anything?"

  "Cady—"

  "Yes or no. Just tell me yes or no."

  "I told you. I already—"

  "Talked to him." She waited until she could speak clearly, no quavering and no crying. "I want you out of my place tonight." She stuck her arm straight out, warding him off again as she backed toward the door. "Not tomorrow morning. Pack up and get out tonight, you hear me?"

  She waited, but he didn't answer. She couldn't see his face clearly. His hands at his sides looked clumsy, helpless, clenching and unclenching. "Get out of my place," she said again. Still he didn't move or speak, so she jerked the door open and left him standing there.

  ****

  He didn't leave. He'd be damned if he'd leave. What was she going to do, throw him out? He wished she'd try. He felt like getting into a wrestling match with Cady. He felt like pinning her to the ground, rolling around, making her holler. Maybe it didn't make sense, but he was as mad at her as she was at him.

  A day of the silent treatment went by, though, and his anger started to break up, lose ground. He could see her side of it too well. Since she couldn't see any of his side of it—that was the whole point; he'd fixed it that way on purpose—how could he blame her for hating him? But oh, it hurt. He went around with a hole in his chest that ached, like heartburn or something. He could hardly stand it. He shouldn't care so much—when had this started?—but he couldn't get over it. He couldn't stop hearing her say, "God, you make me feel ashamed." He knew exactly what she was ashamed of: taking a chance on him in the most personal, the most important way a woman knew. Women were like that about sex; unless they were whores, it meant the world to them. Cady felt like she'd cheapened herself with him, and he could hardly stand it.

  He didn't pack up and get out, though, and she didn't do anything about it. At first he thought that was a good sign, that maybe she was relenting. But then he figured it was more likely she just didn't want to talk to him. And she had a pure genius for avoiding him. He could plant himself in front of her and start talking, and she'd put on that poker face she wore when she dealt blackjack, look straight through him, and walk away. It happened twice, and it took so much of the heart out of him, he couldn't do it again. He left her alone.

  He paid a visit to Ham. He and Levi lived in a little two-room place behind Wayman's boardinghouse. It used to be a horse barn, but now it was a little house, painted blue and white by Levi, neat as a pin. Jesse had seen Lia Chang, the laundryman's daughter Levi was so crazy about, but he'd never spoken to her. The door to the house was open, so he knocked once and walked in. Before she jumped up, Lia was sitting on the edge of Ham's pallet-bed, spooning some funny-smelling concoction into his mouth. She made a low bow, and the long black pigtail down her back slid over one shoulder. Jesse bowed back. She barely came up to his breastbone; she must hit Levi around the navel. She had a sweet face, and when she smiled, it was like looking at an angel. As soon as he saw that smile, Jesse wanted her for Levi.

  "Mr. Gault! Hey!" Ham struggled up on his elbows, trying to lift himself higher on the pillow.

  "Oh, sorry. I got the wrong house—I heard there was a sick kid here. Be seeing you."

  "Wait, that's me!" Ham said, laughing. "I'm sick!"

  "You are?" He peered at him, scratched his head. "Well, if you say so. Is this your nurse?"

  "This is Lia," Ham said, and Jesse heard the fondness and affection in his voice.

  He said, "Hi," Lia Chang said, "Much honor," and they did the bowing thing again. "You visit," she said in a soft voice, and bowed herself out of the room.

  Jesse sat down on the bed. "What's this stuff?" He picked up the bowl she'd left on the table, sniffing it.

  "Soup. Lia, she make it herself. She call it a tonic for vital energy. It ease the mind an' soothe the nerves."

  "What's it taste like?"

  "Horse manure."

  They shared a laugh, and it was good to see Ham so lighthearted, because he didn't look too healthy. He looked weak, and his skin, usually a handsome milk-chocolate color, was pasty gray. "So, pardner, how're you feeling?" Jesse asked, giving him a gentle cuff on the cheek.

  "Okay. Can't do nothing yet, but Doc say I be stronger in a few days."

  "That's good. You had us pretty scared there for a while."

  "I know it. I'm sorry."

  "Wasn't your fault."

  "Poppy say it is," he mumbled, playing with a button on his nightshirt. " 'Cause I snuck in Cady's backhouse 'stead o' the other one."

  "Why did you?"

  " 'Cause it smell better an' the paper be softer."

  He chuckled. "Pretty good reasons."

  They talked for a little longer, but Jesse didn't want to tire him out. He got up to go, wishing he'd brought Ham something. He ended up giving him a bullet from his gunbelt, and that turned out to be inspired. Ham loved it—except for one of his six-shooters, Jesse couldn't have picked a better gift.

  Levi arrived home just as he was leaving. They said, "Hey," and talked about how Ham was doing, passed the time of day for a few minutes. Covertly, Jesse studied him, but he couldn't detect, now or at any time in the past two days, the slightest hint of hostility in Levi's manner. Not even disappointment.

  So. It was only Cady who hated him. Well, that was something. Not much, though. Because Cady was the main one, the main person in the world he didn't want to hate him.

  When had this happened?

  He decided to get drunk. Where, though? Paradise only had two saloons, and he sure as hell wasn't going to get drunk at Wylie's. He'd barely gotten out alive when he'd gone over there after the snake incident, attempting to bluff Wylie one more time. "Try something like that again and I'll make you pay," he'd threatened creepily. "I'll start with your gun hand, Merle, and then I'll shoot your knees off. Feet next, or maybe elbows. Then your gut, and that's when I'll walk away. Know how long it takes to bleed to death when you're gut-shot?"

  But this time it didn't work. Wylie smiled right back at him and said, "I don't think so. I don't think you'll do shit." Jesse had sneered, said something brilliant like, "We'll see," and walked out, pretending he wasn't terrified. But the truth was staring him in the face: Wylie had his number.

  So. Where would he get drunk? Cady's face when she looked at him would sober him up, so the Rogue was out. Alone in his room would be too depressing. His balcony? Nah; he might fall off. He might be sad, but he wasn't suicidal. Yet.

  "Evening, Mr. Gault." Tom Leaver tipped his white hat and flashed a smile. He was leaning against a post in front of his office, arms crossed, shiny boots crossed, watching the sun go down behind the Mercantile.

  "Howdy." Jesse stopped, arrested by something in the sheriff's lonely stance and shy smile. They struck a chord. "Say
, Tom."

  "Sir?"

  "You got anything to drink?"

  "How's that?"

  "Stashed away in a drawer. A bottle of something."

  "Oh. Well, yeah, I have some whiskey. For medicinal purposes, of course," he said with another bashful grin. "And the occasional celebration."

  "Hot damn. How're you feeling?"

  A hopeful light gleamed in the sheriff's mild blue eyes. "Kinda poorly, now that you mention it."

  "Good. Let's celebrate."

  ****

  "The trouble with women," Jesse pronounced, squirming his shoulders into a more comfortable pocket in the jailhouse pillow, "is they don't know what they want."

  "One trouble," Sheriff Tom corrected, trying to blow a smoke ring with one of Jesse's little black cigarettes. The effort made him look like a guppy with a goatee.

  "One thing," Jesse agreed. "They—"

  "Another is, they don't know a good thing when they see it."

  "Hear, hear." They saluted each other through the bars from their respective bunks, with their respective whiskey bottles. Half an hour ago they'd polished off the sheriff's half bottle of bourbon; now they were starting on two new ones, easily acquired by sending a passing kid—Ardelle Sheets's boy, Arnold—to the Rogue with four dollars and a twenty-five-cent tip.

  "Take Glendoline Shavers."

  "Wouldn't dream of it," Jesse quipped, and they broke into loud guffaws. The sheriff was a cheap drunk; just about anything Jesse said cracked him up.

  "No, seriously," Tommy wheezed, stretching out flat on his bare mattress and addressing himself to the ceiling. "Take Glen. Now, there's somebody the right man could make a happy woman out of."

  "Not to mention honest," Jesse threw in. Since they were being straight with each other. Tommy didn't answer for the longest time, though, and he started to think he'd stepped over the line.

  But finally he said, "Yeah, honest," in a melancholy voice. "Wanna know something, Mr. Gault?"

  "You gotta start calling me Jesse." He'd told him that ten times already.

  "Wanna know something, Jesse?"

  "What."