Sundown

by Jade Laredo

  “Howdy, Miss Gentry.” He rasped. With one hand supporting his back, he hobbled toward the counter and cackled. “Damnable rheumatism is acting up again.”

  Arabella smiled. She thought the old man pleasant enough. Holding a letter, she nodded.

  “I’ll need a stamp please.”

  “That’ll be one cent.”

  Arabella handed the man a penny. She watched as he attached the stamp to the envelope, and then dropped the letter into a mailbag. Leaning forward, he nodded his head.

  “I have a letter for you.”

  “For me?” She returned. With mouth slightly apart, she stood erect and then shook her head. “But … no one knows my whereabouts, how could this be?”

  “The missive is postmarked Denver with no return address.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hauffmeyer.” She murmured, staring down at the letter pensively. Perhaps Ida and Ined Bump had thought to write. After the terrible hold up, she was sure the two old dears felt the need to console her.

  Bitten with curiosity, she zigzagged out the front door. With careful hands, she opened the letter. Sunlight poured over the missive, illuminating exceptional handwriting, not the eclectic hen-scratch of an old woman. Scanning the salutation, she suddenly felt her heart constrict.

  How in God’s name did he find her?

  She scanned the boardwalk with careful scrutiny, making sure she had not caused any undue attention.

  Nothing had changed.

  Across the street, Emeril Hartley stood outside his mercantile with hands perched on hips. His son James hobbled dangerously at the top of a latter, trying to move a sign as two young women walked by, seeking the young man’s attention. In return, his portly father barked at the young man, berating him for not paying attention.

  On the other end of the street, Edward Martin, the only banker of Sundown, stepped outside his depository, locking the establishment doors, he turned on his heel and marched straight for the local Saloon.

  Everything seemed normal, yet she could not shake the wary feeling someone was watching her closely. With heart racing, she turned on her heel, picked up her pace and within minutes, she was finally home.

  Arabella harried up the stairwell not even bothering to greet Lena. Once inside the privacy of her bedroom, she shut the door and crossed the room, slumping onto her bed. In her hand, she held the letter, her only precious link to Luke Shelton.

  Dearest Bella,

  By divine intervention, I have found you. Do not question yourself, how or why. Please just know this. You have my heart and soul it is yours to keep.

  Always,

  LS

  Arabella closed her eyes.

  If she died at that very moment then surely the feeling she felt was most certainly heaven. A sudden knock at the door made her heart skip a double beat. Like an enamored schoolgirl, she shoved the letter beneath her pillow before the door opened.

  “There you are.” Lena popped her head. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  “I’m sorry, Lena.” Arabella rose to her feet. Reaching behind her neck, she worked quickly to release each button while glancing with an apologetic smile. “I was in such a hurry to get home and out of this infernal dress I didn’t hear you. It’s dreadfully hot, and I’m not used to this stifling heat.”

  “All right, my dear.” Lena smiled with understanding. “I’m running a little late and gonna need some help with your Poppa’s dinner.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  As soon as Lena closed the door, Arabella released a ragged breath. She adored the older woman, but sometimes she seemed a bit too intrusive, almost like the mother she sorely missed. She flew toward the bed and withdrew the letter from beneath her pillow, holding it to her chest. She was certain she would read it at least a hundred times before she could finally convince herself it was from him.

  Luke Shelton narrowed a patient gaze, observing the woman from across the street that just turned and hurried away. From a stealthy vantage point, he had not missed the look of surprise when she opened the letter, nor the rush of alarm, which flashed before her eyes. After he stood there for a long moment with guarded pause, he finally turned away.

  Already he felt his gut twisting. Worst yet, he felt his heart clench at just the thought of not seeing Arabella Gentry again.

  “Mr. Hanly, can I help you find something?” A woman’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned away from the mercantile window, finding the lovely Genevieve Hartley smiling at him with a deadpan stare.

  “I’ll take some peppermint sticks for my nephew.”

  The young woman’s honey-brown eyes lit up, and her lips curled into a thoughtful smile.

  He almost smiled back.

  In another time, and another place, he would have thought the mercantilist’s daughter quite appealing with her disarming gaze and head of chestnut brown hair pulled back from a heart-shaped face.

  Perhaps even then he might have thought of pursuing the young woman despite the desperate measures of her mother, but God help him, he just could not abide a meddlesome soul.

  Luke switched his gaze toward an elder woman who stood but a few feet away, watching him with a cool stare. If Mamie Hartley had her way, she would have him trussed up on a silver platter with an apple propped in his mouth to serve to her daughter. He shook the mental image from his mind and grimaced. Forcing a smile, Luke let his gaze fall back on Genevieve who quickly circled the front counter, carefully removing the lid from a candy jar.

  “The usual?”

  “That’ll do.”

  He watched her remove a handful of peppermint sticks and fold the hard candy in brown paper, and then tie the package off with a string. Handing his order, she offered him a reticent smile.

  “Good Day.” He issued her a coarse nod and then walked away. On his way out the door, he passed Emeril Hartley, and his son Edward, who were both caught up in a heated familial dispute, the two men hardly noticed his presence.

  Luke made his way down the boardwalk, passing a few establishments until he turned off toward a back alley. He soon heard the clang of metal against metal, which rang sharp and piercing. Lifting his gaze, he peered into a din of smoke and shadows where he sought the strapping figure of Matt Tinsley, the town farrier. He watched as the young man dipped a hot iron into a nearby swill. Steam hissed, rising slowly as it sizzled, while dissipating into thin air. Sensing his presence, the farrier turned his head, nodding a stern welcome.

  “I’ve been waiting on you.” The farrier spoke up.

  Luke chuckled. “Are you charging me by the hour?”

  “Nah.” Matt smiled then jerked his head toward the entrance. “There was this man … goes by the name Rafferty, he was looking for you.”

  Luke held a steady grin though secretly he seethed inside. The Pinkerton Agent was a constant thorn in his side. Hot on his trail for nigh two years, the relentless man never gave up. Twice, he came close to capture by the ruthless detective. Once near the border of Tejas in a little cantina twice the size of an outhouse, and then at a stage hold up headed for Dodge. Each time, he and his gang had narrowly escaped. Now the agent was dodging his alter ego. A feeling of dread overcame his mind. Perhaps it was time to move on to a safer location. Furrowing his brows, he felt like kicking himself. If only he had not held up that last stagecoach.

  He would never have met Arabella Gentry.

  Now things seemed complicated beyond reason.

  “Something the matter?” Matt asked, removing his apron.

  Luke forced a congenial smile. “Nothing as wrong as a good home cooked meal.”

  “You’re a lucky man.” Matt’s eyes suddenly turned soft. “Tell Miss Jenny I said hello.”

  “Will do.” Luke nodded his head. Turning to his horse, he mounted in the saddle and gave a conspirator wink. “You should come by for supper some time.”

  The other man laughed.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  L
uke mounted his horse and rode home as fast as he could. He sauntered through the front door. As he suspected, supper was waiting on the table, and the boys were already digging in. Taking his seat, he listened as Sam rattled on about his first day at the schoolhouse.

  “Miss Gentry says Momma should be very proud I know all my letters.”

  “Your Momma taught you those letters.” Jake scoffed, piling a stack of peas on his fork. Taking a bite, he chewed before continuing. “You should be proud of your Momma.”

  “You know I am.” Sam chortled, rolling his eyes at his uncle.

  Jake looked over at Jenny and smiled.

  “What else did you do with Miss Gentry?” Luke asked, reaching for a basket of biscuits, he plopped one on his plate.

  “We read some books, and then I did some counting on the aba … aba … whatever you call that thing.”

  “It’s called an abacus.” Jenny encouraged.

  “Sounds like you had a good time.” Luke replied, grabbing for a piece of fried chicken.

  “Yeah.” Sam returned looking down at his plate.

  “You don’t sound very certain.” Trig chuckled, tearing into his piece of chicken.

  “What’s the matter, honey?” Jenny asked, putting down her tin cup.

  Sam looked up and shrugged. “There weren’t any other children to play with …”

  “And?” Luke stared at his nephew who fiddled with his fork, stirring the peas on his plate.

  “I heard Miss Gentry crying when I was eating my lunch outside.”

  “Are you sure, Sam?” Jenny posed.

  “Yes’m” Sam replied, shaking his head. “I asked her what was wrong.”

  “What did she say?” Luke asked, staring down at his plate.

  “She just said she missed her friend, that’s all.”

  Luke looked up and found Jake staring at him with derision. It took all the willpower in the world not to get up and knock the living tar out of his brother. He swore to himself the boy was lucky since Jenny and Sam were sitting beside them at the table. Pushing himself away, he gathered his plate, and marched toward the front door unceremoniously slamming it behind him.

  “What the hell did I say?” Jake feigned innocence.

  “You didn’t have to say squat.” Trig shuffled a pile of mashed potatoes, dripping with gravy into his mouth.

  “Really Jake?” Jenny frowned. Standing to her feet, she marched toward the front door and paused. “Just for that you’re cleaning up the dishes tonight.”

  Stepping outside, she found Luke bent over the porch with his half empty plate sitting to one side, and his arms flailed over his knees, while he stared toward the distant town of Sundown. A cool breeze whipped at her dress, flouncing her skirts. She gathered the folds of her gingham dress and then sat down beside him.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  Luke turned his head and stared at Jenny. His eyes seemed soft, almost reticent.

  “Don’t you miss the old days, before the war?”

  Jenny smiled. “Of course I do.”

  “We hadn’t a care in the world.” Luke murmured.

  “It seems almost like a lifetime ago.”

  “You the daughter of a rich seafaring merchant, and I the son of a gentleman planter, how genteel and languid our life was back then.”

  “Those days are gone forever.” Jenny reminded him, resigned to the present.

  “I should have never let him follow me.”

  “You should have known he would have.” Jenny tried to reply, her voice strained with memory. “Your brother would have followed you to the ends of this earth if he had to.”

  “He was so dead set against war. I never thought he’d enlist in the army just to find me.”

  The wind blew again this time soft like a gentle caress against her face. Jenny closed her eyes, and smiled.

  “But he did, and I love him even more for doing so.”

  “He was a good man, better than me.” Luke nodded.

  “And now you are the better man for taking care of us.” Jenny murmured. “At least that’s what Miss Gentry said.”

  “Bella?” Luke queried.

  “Miss Gentry.” Jenny corrected. A slow smile touched the corner of her lips. “By the way, I invited her to supper this Sunday.”

  “Why’d you go and do something like that?” Luke muttered.

  “It’s inevitable.” Jenny replied. “She’s going to figure it out sooner or later.”

  “The boys and I.” Luke paused. Working a tick in his jaw, he changed the subject. “We need to leave for a spell.”

  Jenny perched her chin. “Why?”

  “That damned Pinkerton agent Rafferty is hot on our scent again.” Luke suddenly stood to his feet. “He’s been asking around town about me.”

  “Where will you go?” Jenny looked up.

  “Abilene, maybe Tulsa.” Luke figured. “Hell, wherever the wind blows, I don’t care just as long as we lose his trail.”

  “When?”

  “Since you were so kind to invite Miss Gentry to Sunday supper, I’d suppose Monday morning.”

  “How long this time?”

  “We won’t be here when the baby comes.” Luke answered her unspoken question. Rubbing his chin, he rolled his eyes heavenward. “I suppose I’ll have to get that meddling preacher to look in on you.”

  “You mean, your brother.”

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “I have complete faith in the two of you.” Jenny issued him a solemn vow. “One day you boys will make up for past grievances.”

  “When Hell freezes over.”

  Jenny shook her head. “Hasn’t it already?”

  No one back home had ever bothered to explain that Colorado Territory was hot and dry, and enough to shrivel a woman’s skin like a wrinkled prune. Tugging at the drawstrings of her bonnet, Arabella pulled the cap snug over her head while carefully handling a steaming hot apple-pie. Placing the desert in the back of the wagon, she wrapped a towel over the tin, and climbed into the buckboard beside her father and Lena.

  “You sure you don’t want to come along after service? Arabella asked her father. She issued him a sidelong glance. “Miss Jenny invited you.”

  “She did?”

  Arabella watched her father’s eyes grow soft, considering her question. For a moment, she thought she detected a hint of interest. Looking down at the reigns, he shook his head.

  “I’ve got some work to go over at the office with Wade.”

  “Too bad.” Arabella murmured. “She seems like an awfully nice person. Considering her recent loss, I’d say she’s more than hospitable.”

  “Send Miss Jenny my regards.” Wyeth replied. Yanking on the reigns, the team instantly moved forward.

  As the wagon rattled down the streets of Sundown, Arabella tried hard to understand her father’s position. Perplexed, she wondered about his aloof behavior. Aside from Lena, Doc Parker, and his jailhouse deputy, she noticed her father had no desire to socialize any further than his own tight-knit circle. Somehow, she decided she would have to find a way to change this.

  In the distance, the church bell rang.

  When, they reached the building they were the last to enter for Sunday service. Hurrying to take a seat, Arabella followed Lena and her father who found room next to his deputy, Wade Coffee and his wife, Lydia. She had yet to have a proper introduction, but the couple smiled up at her in greeting as if they had known her all her life.

  Just then, Parson Hanly stepped up to the podium. His warm eyes roved over the room, pausing briefly before opening his bible. On cue, the congregation took to their seats as he shuffled through a few pages before finding the passage he had been looking for.

  “If everyone would open your scripture to Ecclesiastes, chapter three, verse one through eight.” The Parson requested, waiting for the congregation to catch up. He cleared his throat before commencing to read. Parson Hanly finally finished the long and tedious passage.
He looked up from his bible and scanned the silent room with a smile. His eyes drew narrow when he raised his hand and pointed toward the ceiling.

  “God is speaking to all of us.” He motioned, stepping away from the podium he began to paraphrase. “To everything there is a season, to every purpose under heaven.”

  Descending the pulpit, he began to walk toward the center aisle his footsteps heavy with moderation. Stopping beside an old man at the end of the aisle, he rested his hand on his shoulder.

  “My friends.” He spoke quietly. “We suffer, some more than others, but we bear the cross don’t we?”

  In unison, there was a round of encouragement.

  Parson Hanly lifted his hand and continued down the aisle.

  “Who doesn’t want to laugh, or dance?” He smiled, placing his hands behind his back. Arabella watched as he turned around and paused before her aisle, letting his gaze travel to each person seated, until he rested his placid gaze on her.

  “Or dare I say it … who wants to love?”

  This time there was a delighted round of laughter. The Parson lifted his chin, and turned to the other aisle. For the first time, she caught his stare. Bray Hanly sat in the same aisle, staring at her with hooded eyes, his expression cloaked under a mask of bleak derision.

  “But.” The Parson lifted his voice, narrowing his gaze at his own family. Smiling at Jenny Hanly, he continued. “When we choose the hate festering inside us, it leaves us lacking the love God gave us. It prevents us from a time to heal, or a time to embrace.”

  He stood for a moment, silent in his contemplation. Turning on his heel, he wandered back toward the pulpit, and picked up his bible.

  “I must confess.” He lifted his voice and shook his head. “I spent my entire evening, contemplating these passages. After much reflection, I realized God recognizes man’s weakness. He does not spurn us. Instead, he encourages us to sustain throughout our darkest hours. We must learn to let go of these things, which weigh us down, life’s unpleasantry and bitter disappointment. We must overcome by learning to forgive those who have maligned us, and most of all, that which we must forgive within ourselves.”