Wildcat Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  Hog brushed his finger over the tip of September’s nose. “Because your father says we have to be. He’s throwing you a welcome home party.”

  “He is?” The girl’s blue eyes sparkled with delight. Her cheeks grew red as she bowed her head slightly. “Goodness, I was only gone a couple of weeks.”

  “He’s been planning it since you left. And says the fact you’re arriving early only means you get to help with the final plans.” Hog squeezed Randi tighter to his side. “And we wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  The whistle sounded again. “Oh, no, has it been fifteen minutes already?” Randi asked.

  Her question was followed by the conductor’s loud yell, “All aboard!”

  “I’m afraid so, my dear,” Hog answered. “Come here, kiddo, give your uncle one more hug.”

  September complied and Eva hugged Randi.

  “Thank you for the basket. I’m sure it will be delicious.”

  “And enough for the rest of the week,”

  September added, switching places with Eva.

  Hog gave her a bear hug. “Good to have you home, Eva.”

  “Thanks, Hog, it’s good to be home.”

  Within minutes, Hog and Randi were gone, and the train was pulling away from the station.

  September hung her head out the open window, waving and shouting at her aunt and uncle, while Eva stood near her shoulder, waving as well. As the train picked up speed, September gave a final wave and pulled her head in. She wasted no time opening the basket and digging into the variety of foodstuff.

  Surprisingly, she tucked the cloth back over the top and turned about. “Eva?”

  “Yes?”

  “I just had a terrible thought.”

  Concerned, Eva reached out and rested a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “What? What is it?”

  “If you were to marry Elliott Hampton, you wouldn’t be in our family anymore.”

  Eva’s mouth became so dry there was nothing to swallow. She licked her lips, trying to make her thick tongue work. “I’m not planning on marrying Elliott Hampton. Furthermore, I’m not a part of your family now. I’m your neighbor and your friend, and I’ll always be that.”

  “But it’s always been like you’re my aunt.”

  September shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve always felt like it was Uncle Kid and Aunt Jessie, Uncle Skeeter and Aunt Lila, Uncle Hog and Aunt Randi, and Uncle Bug and Eva.”

  The heart in Eva’s chest weighed a hundred pounds. “Your Uncle Bug hasn’t been home for almost three years.”

  “I know, but I still thought when he did come home the two of you…” September turned back to the basket. “Never mind. Are you hungry?”

  “Not really,” Eva admitted.

  September turned away from the table and plopped down in one of the chairs. “Me neither.” She waited until Eva sat down in the other before she added, “I sure do wish we would have seen Uncle Bug while we were in New York. One look at how pretty you looked that night of your art show and he would have hightailed it back to Kansas faster than you can say lickety-split.”

  Eva held her breath, hoping that would help ease the pain encompassing her chest. It didn’t. And when the air gushed out, she could have sworn her heart flew out with it. ****

  Bug stared at the walls surrounding him, wondering yet again how he’d came to be sitting in a jail cell in New York City. Yesterday afternoon, after eating lunch with Jack Houston, he’d headed for the train station. He hadn’t acquired much the past three years, and what he had that wouldn’t fit in his saddlebags, he’d left at the hotel. He really wouldn’t have use for the three piece suit and it had been as uncomfortable as hell. The stuff he wanted from the boarding house he’d lived at while working for American Refinery would be sent to Kansas. Chester said he’d see to it, and Bug knew the man would.

  The one regret he’d had was his horse. It, too, had been left in Pennsylvania when he’d traveled to New York. Tenderfoot, as he’d come to call the animal when he first bought it, was a fine bay, but there hadn’t been time for him to go retrieve the horse, he wanted to get to Kansas as soon as possible. Besides, Mrs. Whitesell, the boarding house owner, would find Tenderfoot a good home, maybe even make herself a nice stash of cash. She’d been good to him, and Bug didn’t mind her gaining a profit at all.

  What he did mind was staring at these gray walls and metal bars. The guard upstairs now had Bug’s saddlebag and his Peacemaker. He better get them back.

  There he’d been, minding his own business, walking across the platform, ticket in hand to give the porter, when some young gal started yelling someone stole her money. He’d turned around, looking for the thief when two constables bore down on him. They had him on the ground and his hands shackled behind his back before he had a chance to even get a glimpse of the girl, let alone the real thief.

  One of the officers had reached into Bug’s vest pocket and pulled out a little pink satchel. Bug had never seen it before and swore he had no idea how it got in his pocket, but the constables didn’t give him an ounce of attention. They wouldn’t give the girl the pouch either, they said it was evidence, and she’d have to come to court on Monday when a judge would oversee the trial.

  A paddy wagon had arrived shortly thereafter.

  They’d taken his boots, shackled his ankles, and then shoved him inside. The barred wagon stunk of urine and sweat, just like the cell surrounding him did. Even worse was the noise—men yelling and pounding on the bars. Bug rubbed his forehead. The men had carried on all night.

  They’d even taken his hat, so he had no way of muffling the sound or blocking the view. He flipped around, throwing his legs over the edge of the cot and braced his hands on his knees. The bottoms of his socks were crusted from walking on the filthy floors.

  When Kid had been arrested several years ago, Scott City, then known as Nixon, didn’t even have a jail. They’d just lowered Kid into an old dried up well on the edge of town. Glancing around, Bug determined his brother’s accommodations beat the hell out of his.

  His internal clock said it had to be morning by now, but since he was in a deep dungeon, under the police station house and without windows, he had no way of checking. Yesterday, one of the men upstairs, a large, dark haired man with such a deep accent Bug had a hard time understanding, had asked if there was anyone Bug wanted notified of his arrest.

  The only person he knew in the city was Jack Houston, so that’s whose name he’d given the man.

  Which was another thing he couldn’t check on—if the man would try to get a hold of Jack or not.

  The shouts around him increased, and included a loud banging noise. He stood and moved to the barred wall of his tiny concrete cell.

  “Quinter!”

  He pressed his face to the bars, attempting to see where the sound came from. It was useless. His fingers barely fit through the openings between thick metal.

  “Quinter!”

  “Here!” he yelled. “Down here!”

  A constable, dressed like the others, in blue from head to toe with shiny buttons and a big badge on his fat chest, stopped near Bug’s cell door. “You Quinter?”

  “Yes,” Bug assured. “Why?”

  The man waved a hand. “Down here!” He turned back to Bug. “You got company.”

  A moment later, Jack Houston appeared. Much taller than the constable, Jack had to duck so his head didn’t hit the gas lantern hanging from the ceiling. Bug had stared at the light and the way it flickered all night.

  “What the hell happened?” Jack asked, stopping at his cell door.

  “I don’t know, Jack. Some gal at the train station said I stole her money. I didn’t, but damn if they didn’t find a frilly little pink pouch in my vest pocket. I swear, Jack, I have no idea how it got there.”

  Jack stared at the constable who stood nearby.

  “Could we have some privacy please?”

  The constable laughed but the
n moved. Bug had a feeling the pot-bellied man was leaning against the wall just out of sight.

  Jack turned back to Bug. “Tell me what she looked like.”

  “A little thing. Bright red hair.” Bug shrugged, he hadn’t really cared what the girl looked like, figured it didn’t matter. “I really didn’t get a good look at her, but she spoke funny. Like a bunch of the folks in here.”

  “Irish.” Jack nodded and leaned closer, whispering, “Irish immigrants have infiltrated the police department. There’s not a one of them that isn’t beyond taking a bribe. Start over and tell me everything from the moment you left the hotel.”

  “I walked straight to the train station.”

  “Did you talk to anyone?”

  “No?”

  “Bump into anyone?”

  Bug started to say no, but then recalled a minor incident. “Just outside the hotel door two boys ran past me. One fell down and I helped him up.”

  Jack shook his head. “He probably planted the pouch on you then. You didn’t feel anything?”

  “What do you mean, feel anything?”

  “The streets are full of pick-pocketers. Many are orphans, but some aren’t, they’re part of a ring.

  Usually though, they take things out of people’s pockets, not put them in.” Jack glanced up and down the hallway that Bug couldn’t, but wanted to see.

  “You went straight to the station then?”

  “Yup, and I was just about to step onto the train when the girl started yelling.”

  “How much money was in the pouch?”

  “I don’t know. No one ever said.”

  Jack scratched the back of his head. “It’s Saturday morning. They won’t set bail until you see the Judge on Monday. I can’t get you out before then, but I’ll call in some help, and see if we can get the whole thing figured out before you go in front of the Judge. I’ll also find a way to get your hearing the first one heard that morning.”

  The thought of staying in the small cell two more days and nights was about the worse thing his mind had ever conjured up. But from what he’d experienced so far, he believed Jack was right—there was no chance he’d get out before Monday.

  “What do you mean, call in some help? My family can’t get here that quick.”

  “I’m not calling in your family. I’m calling in mine. You just sit tight, and I’ll see you Monday morning.” Jack glanced around again. “I’ll see about getting you a decent meal.”

  “I’m not worried about eating.” He’d go hungry before eating the stuff they’d set on the floor this morning. “But, clean water in a clean glass would go a long way down here.”

  “All right. I can’t come again. Visiting hours are Monday through Friday only.”

  “How’d you get in today?”

  “I told you, there’s not one of them that’s not open to a bribe. But you gotta know the ones to ask.”

  He tapped on the cell door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.” “Thanks, Jack. Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.” “You can thank me on Monday.”

  With that, Jack was gone. The constable, too.

  Bug stood there, his hands wrapped around the bars, and stared at the flickering light. This may prove to be the longest weekend of his life.

  ****

  On Monday morning, he was in the exact same spot, waiting for someone to shout his name. The days had been long, as if time had stopped, but the nights had been worse. The haunting eyes of the rats scattering about had glowed red and peered at him from every angle all night. For some reason, and it couldn’t be because daylight filtered in since none did, the creepy critters weren’t quite as daring during the day.

  He leaned his head against the bars. Jack really had no reason to help him, but during the long hours Bug had hoped like hell the man was true to his words—still did. There was no way he could live another day in this cell. Fresh water had arrived not long after Jack had left, delivered in a Mason jar so he could replace the lid. He’d also been given some bread, wrapped in brown paper instead of left open to the air like the other food that had been delivered.

  “Quinter!”

  “Here! Down here!” he shouted in response.

  “Down here!”

  Chapter Six

  Monday morning arrived sunny and clear.

  Barefoot, Eva padded across the floor of her bedroom in the home she still considered new. It had been built over a year ago, on the same property the sod shanty sat. After selling several paintings, she’d bought the place from Kid and Jessie. Her main regret was that Willamina hadn’t ever lived in the new home.

  Then again, Eva surmised as she plucked fresh undergarments from her dresser drawer, it wouldn’t have mattered to Willamina, she’d been happy no matter where she lived. She had that ability.

  Something Eva just couldn’t muster up right now.

  She dressed quickly, listening to the morning birds twittering outside the window and the wind rustling the leaves on the windrow of trees next to the house. Memories and thoughts intermingled in her mind. She’d been happy in the soddy, too.

  Couldn’t help but be with Willamina and the Quinters nearby. Why did that seem to have been so long ago?

  After donning a day dress, she made the bed, her fingers smoothing the covers while her inattentive mind carried thoughts about as easily as if the wind outside was blowing to and fro in her head.

  The homecoming on Friday night was wonderful. The entire Quinter clan, along with most of the town had met her and September at the train station. It was bittersweet. She was happy to be home, yet September’s musings had hovered in Eva’s mind until they grew so heavy she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. It was silly, no matter whom she married, if she ever married at all, the Quinters would still be family to her. Yet a chunk of doubt sat in the base of her mind, asking her if she could manage to remain close with the family when Bug brought his new wife home.

  He eventually would, there was no doubt there.

  Family meant too much to all of them for him to remain out East permanently. Would she be able to witness his happiness—married to someone else?

  These were the thoughts that had followed her home from the train station and took residency in her mind all weekend. Whether he’d hurt her or not during their brief encounter in New York, she still loved him. That would never change. It was different, the way she felt about Bug compared to the rest of the brothers, always had been.

  Leaving the bedroom door open, so the morning breeze could waft through the house, she made her way down the hall to the staircase. Her house wasn’t large in comparison to Snake and Summer’s or Kid and Jessie’s, but it was a mansion in relationship to the soddy. There were three bedrooms upstairs, and a water closet that boasted hot and cold running water and an indoor privy.

  The stairs delivered her to the ground floor, and she crossed the open space to the doorway that led to the kitchen, where she filled the coffee pot with water from the pump at the sink. She lit a burner on the oil burning cook stove and then strolled past the stairway to the front room. Each room, including the bedrooms had oil burning heat stoves. The brothers had been instrumental in convincing her to install them instead of fireplaces or woodstoves. Last winter, when the snow blew into three foot drifts, she was very thankful to not have to haul wood in several times a day.

  There was no need for heat now, wouldn’t be for a few months, and she continued through the room to her studio. Her favorite area. It was large and encompassed the entire west side of the house.

  Windows started a foot off the floor and stopped at about the same distance from the ceiling. They made up most of the three outer walls, filling the room with natural light even on gloomy, cloudy days.

  Easels stood with paintings in different stages of completion, and dozens of canvas frames, some done and others simply a sparkling white, leaned against the wall and windows. The back wall was filled with shelves from bottom to t
op, holding paints, brushes, books, and all the other materials she used on a regular basis.

  Center and forefront was the painting she’d been working on last night. A covered wagon, with its tarp mended and torn and buckling against the wind, was the focal point. But to her, it was the girl being escorted off the bouncing wagon seat by the dark haired young man. It was the day she’d arrived at Kid and Jessie’s. The day she’d met Bug.

  Her heart beat slow and steady in her chest, as if it too was remembering and cherishing the simple, yet cosmic moment of her life. She sighed, closed her eyes, and then took a deep fulfilling breath. If she’d known what the future would bring that day, she’d have fenced in her heart with barb wire.

  The jingle of a harness and clop of hooves interrupted her meditation. Out the window, a black buggy rolled down the driveway, driven by a tiny woman with her long, blonde hair neatly plated into a braid that hung to her waist.

  Eva twisted about and scurried to the front door.

  The wide, covered front porch ran the length of the house. Stopping short of walking down the steps, she waited beneath the edge of the wide awning for Jessie to bring the buggy to a stop.

  “Good morning!” Jessie called, wrapping the reins around the brake.

  “Hello. What are you doing out and about so early?” Eva asked. “My coffee isn’t even done perking yet.”

  Jessie laughed. “Good because I haven’t had any yet.” She climbed the stairs. “The children were still sleeping and Kid said he’d make them breakfast when they did wake up.”

  They wrapped their arms around each other’s waist, a familiar greeting between the two of them, and walked side by side into the house. “Are you on your way to town?” Eva asked as they crossed the threshold.

  “No, I came to visit you. We barely had a chance to talk the other night. I want to know everything about the art show, about New York,” Jessie caught the door with her free arm, as it snapped shut she added, “and about Bug.”