Render Unto God...

by S. F. Wood

  “From what I hear of him,” said Jackson, “Wild Bill Hickok sure would take a liking to your guns. ‘Specially that big one, the Le Mat. What’s a preacher doing with a fearsome beast such as that? It won’t be you turning the other cheek if you pulled that on someone.”

  “A namesake of yours, Pierre Gustave Toutant-Beauregard, and a fine general for the Confederacy, was a cousin of, and financial backer to, Jean Le Mat, the inventor of the weapon. You have French ancestry on your father’s side I take it? Are you sure you are not related to the man I referred to in Abilene? Bascourt-Beauregard?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve made reference to my family name. I’m not related to any of the gentlemen to whom you refer. Not as far as I know. But we are all related one way or another if you go back far enough.”

  “Naturally. A white man would be descended from other white men, and a red man from other red men. Same for the Black. Or do you declare with the modern way of thinking that we all came from... I can hardly bear to think on it, let alone say it; the word ‘disgust’ simply will not do.” There was no obvious animosity towards Jackson in the Preacher’s statement. But his position regarding Darwinism was clear.

  “Modern ways of thinking, as you put it, are really what I would declare to be more informed ways of thinking.” Jackson was enjoying the older man’s discomfort.

  “The Good Book contains all a person needs to inform his thinking.”

  Jackson pressed the Preacher further. “So if the Red Man is descended from the Red Man, and the white from the white, how say you about unions between the races?”

  The Preacher’s face was by now redder than any Sioux or Cheyenne. But he managed to keep his voice low to protect the sensibilities of the young passengers. But it was a struggle. “Mister Beauregard!” he hissed. “It would be better for the issue of such a union to be abandoned to the elements. Indeed, I do wonder about Mother Nature. She ensures that mules cannot reproduce. Should by rights be the same with the half-breed!”

  And with that, the Preacher reached into his valise and produced his Bible. He opened it deliberately and began to read. Jackson could see that so far as the Preacher was concerned, the matter was as closed as his mind.

  The stagecoach was making good speed, maybe six miles an hour. For some time the occupants sat in silence, sleeping, gazing out of the window or, in the Preacher’s case, valiantly trying to read whilst being swung side to side.

  The route was flat and a good breeze was coming in through the open window. No glass of course, just leather blinds that could be pulled down if the dust was too much. Which on this day it wasn’t. “If the conductor invites you to sit atop with the driver ma’am,” said Jackson, interrupting the silence and causing Sarah-Jane to break from whispering to her young man, “then I would heartily recommend that you do so. Indeed, riding atop with a knowledgeable reins man and conductor is one of the best ways to travel. Yes indeed. One of the best.”

  “Thank you kindly, sir. But I think we will sit here, if that’s alright with you. And no offence to the driver of course. No offence at all, I’m sure.”

  Jackson, having gained Sarah-Jane’s attention, continued the conversation in order to satisfy his curiosity. “Going on Honeymoon?”

  “We are...” began Duncan.

  “Are going to be.” Sarah-Jane completed the sentence, adding with emphasis, “Soon! We are betrothed, aren’t we Duncan. Yes, betrothed. And we are going to get wed at the very first opportunity, so we are.”

  “Well I congratulate you. Both of you,” said the Preacher without looking up, adding, “I am sure your parents are very happy for you.” He let that sink in, turning the page slowly and reading to himself about another daughter and her father, ‘Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, that we may preserve seed of our father...’

  A little over two uneventful hours had passed, aided by some small chit-chat, when Sarah-Jane gave an almighty scream! A man’s head had appeared outside her window. And to make matter worse, it was bewhiskered, grinning, and upside down. “Stoppin’ soon for little more ‘n’ ten minutes folks,” said the face before disappearing back a-top the stagecoach. Sarah-Jane realized she had made a bit of a fool of herself and did her best to regain her composure. But she wasn’t enjoying the journey, for despite the relatively smooth passage, to Sarah-Jane it was an incessant buffering and swinging and Oh My! She wasn’t feeling very well.

  Within a few minutes of the conductor’s surprise appearance, the party arrived at the swing station, the first of many on the journey. A hootin’ and a hollerin’ accompanied their arrival, and once the driver had brought the coach to a halt, the passengers made haste to disembark and make the most of the few moments they had to stretch their legs. Everyone walked clear of their companions, wanting breathing space and privacy. Sarah-Jane, tightly clutching a bag containing her packets of Gayetty’s Medicated Paper, headed around the back of the cabin in search of the privy. The Preacher took the opportunity to light his pipe, having heeded the driver’s instruction not to smoke it inside the stage.

  They had halted at a single-storied cabin with a barn. A corral completed the picture. The land around the station was flat, as indeed it had been throughout the whole journey. Green too, with few trees. Jackson could see why cattlemen drove their herds through Kansas to the railheads as there was plenty of grazing land. The turnaround itself was swift and smooth and barely raised a comment, for the stock-tenders had had the replacement horses ready and were soon leading the tired team into the corral to be fed, watered, rested, and made ready for a later stagecoach.

  Not ten minutes had passed before they were on their way once more.

  Every two to three hours the coach would arrive at yet another swing station where horses would be changed, maybe some water taken on by the passengers. The runs seemed to be pretty much the same distance, give or take. Jackson had had more than one exhilarating spell up top. There he’d felt that the stagecoach was in the center of an enormous, flat grassy disc that stretched every which way for fifty miles or more, until it touched the bluest of skies. Then this in turn spread itself like one huge sheet back over him, the very occasional small white cloud seemingly keeping sentinel over the whole of Kansas.

  Around noon, with about 40 miles under their wheels, a longer halt was taken at a waystation. Here the passengers were provided much needed food and drink. All four agreed: black bean soup and bread never tasted so good. But it was just a stop, not a rest and no sooner had the reins man and conductor finished their vittles then they were demanding the passengers get back on board.

  When the station was way behind them, and the driver had got the new set of horses into a decent rhythm, Jackson spoke to Sarah-Jane once more: “While I do congratulate you on your betrothal, ma’am, I can’t help but feeling that you are sore going to miss your kin when you try and settle down. Now that ain’t meant to be no judgement, just an observation, if you pardon me.”

  “Like I think I said before,” protested Sarah-Jane, “We have my mother’s blessing.”

  “Well I think...”

  “Duncan. Please! It is rude to interrupt! Mother is happy for you to be her son-in-law, she told me so herself. And in the fullness of time, so will…”

  Although there had been no mention of her father’s blessing, from other things the young girl had said it was clear that he was still a living presence. More firmly now Sarah-Jane added, “I have an aunt in Ellsworth. There we can stay for a while. But California. That’s where we are a-heading.”

  “She be expecting you no doubt. Your aunt?”

  “Well I don’t really know her full address, and er... But I am confident of finding her. Very confident. Ellsworth is smaller than Junction City.” Listening quietly, the Preacher envied youth its optimism, but not its ignorance.

  Sarah-Jane was spending some considerable time whispering to her beau. Being that the clatter from the horses, the cursing from the driver and conduct
or, the stresses and strains from the suspension and wheels, some of this whispering had to be quite loud. It was clear that many things were causing young Duncan to fret, not least of which was money. They barely had any. And it was clear that Sarah-Jane was busy making up Duncan’s mind for him.

  “Excuse me sir,” Sarah-Jane now to the Preacher, who waited until he had finished the verse he was reading before he replied. He laid a short and thin leather strap gently between the pages, and closed the Bible.

  “My Dear? Is there something you want to ask of me?”

  And indeed there was. “Sir, could you, I mean, would you mind, when we reach a suitable point in the journey today, would you mind... you see, Duncan and me, we want to be wed. Will you marry us, sir? Today?”

  The Preacher had been waiting for this. “Why not wait? Until Ellsworth I mean, where your aunt...” Here he looked at Duncan, trying to ascertain from his expression what the young man’s opinion on all this was. But Duncan looked as if he had a similar resolve to that of his fiancée. “Or even wait until you get to California. Unless of course...” here he turned back to Sarah-Jane, and gave an almost imperceptible nod to her abdomen.

  “Sir!” exclaimed Sarah-Jane, both embarrassed at the question and horrified that anyone could think such a thing of her. “It is precisely because we are not wed that makes being alone together so difficult.” And, in an attempt to demonstrate that her head was as sound as her morals, Sarah-Jane added, “And it will be more economical for us in hotels if we are wed, but that is not something that I am prepared to lie about.”

  “You planning to spend your lives in hotels?” asked Jackson. The view outside his window had been sagebrush for some time now and it seemed things were becoming more interesting inside the coach.

  “When we get to Ellsworth, Mr. Beauregard, we will seek out my Aunt Emmy-Lou. She will put us up for a while, of that I am sure.”

  “She married, your aunt?” asked the Preacher.

  “No sir. ‘Least, I ain’t heard tell of an uncle. I call her Aunt, but she is really my mother’s cousin, though they never saw eye to eye. I last saw her when I was but eight years old.”

  “How old are you now, young lady? I don’t mean to pry, but I need to know for the paperwork. The license needs to be accurate to be legal.”

  Sarah-Jane was firm in her delivery, sure in her desire. “An’ I do so want this to be all legal an’ above board sir. I am 16 years old next month. And Duncan here is 19 next year, tell him Duncan,” she said, turning to her fiancé for affirmation, which he duly gave by nodding his head.

  “Well you’re sure old enough to be wed, and no mistake,” said the Preacher. To which Sarah-Jane breathed an audible sigh of relief. She leant back into her seat. Jackson coughed ever so slightly and took to listening to the wheel outside his window, spinning and clattering over ground that was becoming kinda rough.

  After a pause Sarah-Jane turned again to the Preacher. “So, would you sir, marry me and Duncan sir? Today sir? Maybe even at our next long stop? I mean, I am sure the driver and conductor, and of course, Mr. Beauregard, could be admirable, reliable witnesses.”

  “My dear,” said the Preacher, who was leafing through his Bible, “If that is what you wish, then so be it.”

  Sarah-Jane squeezed Duncan’s arm with delight, and the Preacher wondered why Duncan did not ask to change places with the girl, if only to give his left arm some respite at the expense of his hitherto un-bruised right one.

  “It’ll be $37 of course.” This was said so matter of factly, so nonchalantly, so... well it was a throwaway line. But if the Preacher had looked up at that moment, he would have seen Sarah-Jane’s jaw drop. He would have then seen the young woman turn to her Duncan with horror written across her face. And if the Preacher had been listening he would have overheard the couple’s frantic whispering.

  “Th-thirty-seven dollars!” Sarah-Jane spelt it out to her beau, emphasizing the enormity of what she had just heard, as if Duncan had not already appreciated the fact, which was certainly a possibility. “Becky Thompson told me it was but a single dollar! Why, we ain’t got no more than seventy between us! What are we gonna do? I sure do want to be married to you! But that’s gonna take nigh on half our savings! What shall we do? Say something Duncan. Please!”

  And to his credit, Duncan did say something, and he said it to the Preacher. He said, “How much?”

  The Preacher closed his book and leant forward, the better to be closer and more intimate with the couple. Jackson looked on. “Young man. Miss. You want to get married. Here. In Kansas. And that is fine and right and the proper thing to do. Now, being married in Kansas is one thing. But there are 37 states in the Union. You want it to be so that you are seen to be wed in all of them, am I right?”

  The couple nodded, not so much as to show that they agreed, but because the coach at that precise moment went over a particularly bumpy bit of trail. But this was enough for the Preacher to take it as assent. “Thirty-seven states is thirty-seven pieces of paperwork at a dollar apiece is thirty-seven dollars.” Then he added, “It is the custom, normally, for the Father of the Bride to pay for the licenses.”

  He left Sarah-Jane and Duncan to whisper together a bit more. “Should we not think about going back, Sarah-Jane? I mean, we don’t even know if your aunt is still alive, let alone living in Ellsworth. What if she ain’t? What do we do then? And if your father will pay...”

  “Duncan Jones! How could you! You promised! An’ you said you would come with me, head west an’ leave Junction City. I hate Junction City! We wanted to make our fortunes in California, remember? And if papa wouldn’t let me see you before, he sure ain’t gonna take more kindly to you now!” But what Duncan was remembering at that moment was how he had been more than content to spend the rest of his life as a clerk at the Junction City Telegraph Office. It was this beautiful, sweet, gorgeous, headstrong young girl who had made him go against his timid nature. The Preacher closed his eyes and let Sarah-Jane and Duncan’s discussion wash over him. Eventually...

  “Sir? Sorry to disturb you an’ all, but Duncan an’ me, well of course we knew about the need to be married in all the states of the Union. We just didn’t know about the amount of paperwork that’s all. But yes. So, if, I mean, maybe, when we get somewhere soon and, well... we agree. We will pay the thirty-seven dollars and...”

  “Each.”

  Now Sarah-Jane couldn’t get any words out of her mouth. Sarah-Jane Taylor, running away from her parents’ home, with its servants and fine bed linen, the dinner parties, piano lessons and the instructions that the butler had not, on no account, to open the door to her adored Duncan... how could she have not known that the cost of a marriage license was per person?

  “But sir,” Sarah-Jane was almost pleading, “We do not have that sort of money! Why, even the one license will cost us nearly half our savings!”

  The Preacher’s valise had been resting on his knees, the better to prop his Bible in a comfortable reading position. And because there was nowhere else to put it. He opened the case and put the book carefully inside. Taking his time, he closed the valise, and deliberately buckled the leather belt that was wrapped around it.

  Jackson decided it was his turn to add to the debate. “Why, I do believe that the cost of getting wed was one of the main reasons why the Latter-Day Saints upped and left the United States.”

  “Sir?” As if Duncan could not become more confused than he already was.

  “Why, Mr. Jones! Surely you know that the Mormon can take unto him a hundred wives! More some say, but in truth,” he leant toward the young man and his voice quietened as if he were conveying a confidence, “I ain’t been too inclined to count.” Resuming his position Jackson spoke clearly: “But at $37 dollars a wife, male Mormons would have gone bankrupt if they’d tried to marry that many while living in the United States. That’s why Brigham Young was able to persuade them to go on their very own Exodus! To Utah! Because he couldn’t afford to marry al
l his wives while living in New England!”

  “Land sakes! I hadn’t thought of that,” said Duncan. Eloping was supposed to be exciting and romantic. Seemed that marriage though was nothing more than an expensive headache.

  “But of course,” said Jackson in a more mollified tone, “Why would you want a hundred women to marry, when you can have just the one, and one who is as pretty as Sarah-Jane here.”

  “Why indeed,” said the Preacher. “She sure is the wife for you. Any fool can see that!”

  “You would not want a hundred wives would you Duncan!” It wasn’t a question from Sarah-Jane. And she was determined Duncan did not make a fool of himself.

  “No, no, my sweet!” Duncan hurriedly sought to pacify his fiancée. She was upset enough about everything that had happened over the previous two days, what with leaving her home at the break of dawn and hurrying in a wagon belonging to one of Duncan’s friends to the railroad station. How ashamed she had felt, even as she was doing precisely what she wanted (which, incidentally, was principally about getting her own way against whatever her father objected to). Maisie, her maid, would be distraught at finding Sarah-Jane’s bed empty and her case gone. Right then the last thing Sarah-Jane wanted was to imagine her Duncan with a hundred wives in attendance. On the other hand, Duncan at that moment was beginning to think that even one wife was one wife too many. But neither did he want a sorry, sobbing fiancé. “I only want to marry you.” He was holding both her hands in his and had turned to face her – turned as well as anyone could in the tight confines of an overland stagecoach.

  There was little more to be said. The Preacher contented himself with letting the stagecoach rock him to sleep, his hat pulled down over his eyes to keep out the sun, which was on his side of the coach at that time. On the slightly more shaded side of the coach Jackson was looking out of the window, looking like he hadn’t a worry in the world.