by S. F. Wood
But worrying was precisely what Sarah-Jane and Duncan were doing. Would turning around and heading back to Junction City really be that bad? Heading back to an almighty row, for sure. But for Sarah-Jane it also meant heading back to her own room, with her own maid laying out her frocks and dresses on the bed, ready for Sarah-Jane to choose when she emerged from the hot bath that would have been prepared for her. As for Duncan, he hadn’t actually quit his job at the Telegraph - he’d just not turned up for work that morning. And given that he had gotten pretty good at learning his Morse Code, well Old Man Johnson wouldn’t have been able to hire a suitable replacement yet.
A little over an hour later the passengers were again taking the air at a swing station. The Preacher had found himself a quiet spot near some fencing and was leaning against a post, looking ahead at the prairie. He heard footsteps approaching, clearly two people, but declined to turn around to face them.
“Sir,” began Sarah-Jane. The Preacher, pipe in hand, now turned to face his questioner. “My fiancé and I have been considering all our options, as indeed folk should when embarking on a life together.” The Preacher drew on his pipe, savoring the flavor. Nice girl Sarah-Jane. Despite having a headstrong nature (and if eloping wasn’t headstrong, then what is?) she did have the makings of a sensible head on her shoulders. Sensible as when she allowed her head to rule her heart. And passionate when the authority worked in reverse. Life with Sarah-Jane would never be dull. It was a pretty head too, by the by. And when she got a bit older there’d be many a head that would be a-turning whenever she walked by.
“Sir? Did you hear what I just said?”
“Sorry Miss Taylor,” he said, looking now at the couple. “Could you confirm what you just said please? So I can be sure I understood you.”
“I said that Duncan and I have decided to head back to Junction City,” Sarah-Jane’s confidence had returned. “You were right when you said we need to be nearer kin. And it was when you questioned whether my Aunt Emmy-Lou would still be in Ellsworth that I began to think that maybe she mightn’t, and that maybe we should be nearer our folks.”
“I think your marriage will be all the stronger for the path you are taking.”
“I am not sure my father will be any better disposed to Duncan than he was before.”
“Less so, I fear,” added Duncan.
“Well fear not, Mr. Jones. A lady’s father always has to assert himself when a young buck vies for his daughter’s affections. You’re a rival, you see. And to ensure you come across as a worthy rival, it is highly advisable that you prepare yourself for, how shall I put it...? Rather more ‘assertion’ than you would normally expect, what with you both running off in such a manner. But,” and here the Preacher put his hands on both their shoulders, “you will no doubt be aware of the parable of the Prodigal Son. Well who’s to say that Prodigal Daughters are not equally blessed? Take what comes your way.” He decided not to add that what would be coming Duncan’s way would, in all probability, be a whippin’, the likes of which the young man would never have experienced before. “And if you do so in the right manner, I am certain that very soon a fatted calf will be prepared in your joint honor.” With that the Preacher shook Duncan’s hand before taking Sarah-Jane’s and kissing it with all the grace of a Southern Gentleman welcoming a lady of the first rank to his mansion.
“And one final thing sir, if I may be so bold,” ventured Sarah-Jane.
“Anything.”
“We, that is I... I mean... we have decided,” Sarah-Jane struggled to get her words out due the crimson tide rising swiftly from her neckline. She started again, “On account of the help you have been in getting us to See the Light, so to speak, well we have decided to call our firstborn after you sir. If’n you don’t mind an’ all. It would remind us constant of how you helped us to avoid what could have been so...so...”
“My dear Miss Taylor. Think nothing of it.”
“So, Sir,” Sarah-Jane had regained her composure. “What is it?”
“My dear?”
“What is your name?”
“Ah, well what is your favorite name, Sarah-Jane? Apart from ‘Duncan’ that is.” Here a nod in the direction of the would-be father.
“Well...” considered Sarah-Jane, “I’ve always had a partic’lar fondness for Thaddeus.”
“Thaddeus!” Sarah-Jane was pleased to see how surprised the Preacher was, what with him throwing his hands up in the air an’ all. “That was my mother’s favorite name, ‘deed it was, ‘deed it was. Gave it to her first born too, I am pleased - delighted - to say.”
“Thaddeus it is!” said Duncan, turning to Sarah-Jane. “Thaddeus Jones. It has a ring to it, ain’t it so!”
The Preacher tapped out the ash and embers from his pipe on the sole of his boot. “I just hope for young Thaddeus’s sake,” he added in conclusion, “that when he is born into this world, he ain’t a she. Now, time to board the coach. It’ll be dark before we know it.”
Chapter 6
When the stage arrived in Ellsworth Jackson and the Preacher were anxious to ensure the young couple’s resolve did not weaken overnight. So they found a hotel in which they could keep an eye on that resolve, the appropriately named Stockade. It was a grocery store, doubling-up as a lodging house. Duncan slept in a big iron bed between the two men. So even if he did have an attack of the type of sleepwalking that is liable to afflict young men when young women are nearby, he would not be able to act on it. And to make doubly sure Sarah-Jane would remain safe, she shared a bed with the inn keeper’s 80-year-old mother-in-law.
Despite Sarah-Jane’s protestations the next morning, the Preacher was adamant she should not try to find her Aunt Emmy-Lou. “This is the last stage for a week, so you have to take it. And you can be sure your aunt is no longer in this town. I mean, look around you Sarah-Jane. What self-respecting woman would settle in a place like this without the protection of a husband. And maybe not even then!”
Main Street, in which the Preacher and Jackson were stood, watching the stagecoach shrink in the distance, was as broad a street as Jackson had ever seen, and it was sure wide enough for cattle herds to drive through. There were two Main Streets actually, one on the north side of the rail track and one on the south side: North Main and South Main. “Shall we share a pot of coffee before you go find Marshal Hickok? I fear there wasn’t enough for me this morning, as young Duncan seemed to have a most prodigious thirst.” Jackson nodded his agreement and the pair were soon sat on a small verandah with a pot of Arbuckle’s, from where they had a commanding view along one of the Main Streets.
And a long, straggly street it was too. At one end, the main business part was perhaps three blocks in length. Had some two-storied buildings as well, stores mainly, with lodgings atop. A few even had porches out front. Needed them too in the hot dry months. The occasional brick building suggested that Ellsworth was establishing firm foundations. And this mattered, for not two or three years previously an attempt to establish Ellsworth at a site nearer the Smoky River had failed. That had been due to said river breaking its banks, which in turn left the townsfolk paddling up and down the old Main Street in canoes. Then cholera spread from nearby Fort Harker. Those citizens who hadn’t already upped and left for good, relocated to higher, drier ground. Wagon trains from back east started to pass through on the way to the Chisholm Trail. Coupled with cattle drives coming up from the south west, well the second incarnation of Ellsworth was beginning to boom.
“Are you a romantic? Do you see a rosy future for Sarah-Jane and her beau?” This Jackson to the Preacher.
“There are two types of work for a woman out here: at the stove, or on her back. Sarah-Jane was treading a fine line for a while.”
“You have a dim view of what life offers women. What about teaching? Many women become teachers. Sarah-Jane probably has enough learning to become a teacher.”
“Teachers are the exception that prove the rule.”
“I’ve heard of plenty
of women who develop good careers, in New York and...”
“You and your fancy eastern ways! Life’s not like that for a woman out West. It’s harsh and brutal. Especially without a man to look out for her.”
“Duncan wouldn’t have abandoned Sarah-Jane. He seemed a decent enough young man.”
“That is not the point, Mr. Beauregard. Say something unfortunate befell young Mr. Jones? And that is quite a possibility out here. Then what would that young woman do? Only one choice. But it may be that one day this escapade will serve as a cautionary tale for Sarah-Jane to relate to her granddaughters. But no more than that.”
“You are not an optimist? You do not see the best in people?”
The Preacher drank his coffee.
Jackson persisted: “I’ll wager you are a pessimist. Do you see the world as evil?”
“There is indeed evil in this world Mr. Beauregard, and a lot too. It needs to be rooted out whenever it rears its ugly, serpent head.” The Preacher spat the words out.
“Well as I see, now that the rebellion is over, it is the West that beckons. And Man’s enterprise has invented the railroad and the telegraph and all for the greater good. America is going to be a great place to live in. We are living in the best of times!”
“Well I agree, Mr. Beauregard, in that I think these times are the best there have ever been.” He paused while he swatted a fly away from his face. “Which is indeed why I am so pessimistic. As for Sarah-Jane, why I declare that as soon as she returns to her fine house, her maid - did you hear tell she had her own maid? Very soon she will become ashamed of this escapade. Ashamed and rightly so! She will at times shudder to think how she nearly threw away all her comforts just to spite her parents. And while Mr. Duncan Jones is present in her life she will continue to shudder and she will not be able to forget. He will soon be cast off, mark my words.”
“That is a cynical view sir.”
“They both deserve a thrashing. And after that, she will want to forget, that is my view on it.”
The Preacher had drawn a line on the conversation. And as the coffee pot was now empty Jackson said, “Shall we go? Marshal Hickok, remember? That is why I am here in Ellsworth after all.”
“Ah yes. The Wild Bill. Best we get that out of the way. And if he is not present, well maybe you can help me. I have need to visit a certain saloon. Have a duty to carry out. A dying man’s final wish.”
“Sure. Happy to oblige - once I have interviewed Hickok.”
They left 50 cents as payment and walked along Main Street looking for the Marshal’s Office. In keeping with what was becoming a custom in western towns, most of the stores offered benches so tired cowboys could sit and watch the world go by. And to cater for the cowboys, and pioneers wanting to rest from their wagons, hotels were beginning to spring up. Just a few rooms at first, and with them clothing and supply stores too. Messrs Reuben, Sheek and Ringolsky were three businessmen who’d moved from Leavenworth to set up a gentlemen’s clothing emporium. Then there was a drug store, ‘The Oldest Established Drug Store in Western Kansas’ was the boast, proclaimed for all to see in neat white paint on the side of the building. As it had been in business for nearly two years it was quite a reasonable claim to make.
“Sure hope you’re right about Sarah-Jane’s aunt having long moved on from here,” said Jackson.
“If her aunt is still here then you can bet your bottom dollar she ain’t married. You know what they say of this place?” Jackson’s quizzical look showed that he did not. “Abilene the first, Dodge the last, but Ellsworth the wickedest!”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Jackson. “The worse it is here the better Hickok’s stories will be. That’s what I’m figuring anyways. There’s the Courthouse.”
But inside the building Jackson met with disappointment. “I think your information is not so much out of date,” said the cigar smoking policeman, sitting at a fine wooden desk, “as just plain wrong”. He was a middle-aged man sporting the finest pair of moustaches, ones that stretched nose to ear. He’d introduced himself as being the Town Constable, saying his name was Whitney, Chauncey Whitney. He leant forward and rested his elbows on the desk, fingers interlocked, looking across to the pair seated before him. “It is true Hickok wanted to be sheriff here. But I won more votes. I believe Hickok is in Hays now. You’re in the wrong town.”
Whitney was drinking coffee, the pot permanently simmering on a corner stove. He did not offer his visitors any, which they did not need, but which offended the Preacher. From his point of view it was impolite; in Jackson’s mind it was merely an oversight. He was a big man was Whitney. Even sitting down behind his desk he had presence. And despite Jackson’s immediate disappointment on the discovery that the information about Hickok was wrong, the tales the constable was telling him were being noted in the reporter’s notebook. “Take them Honky Tonks over Nauchville way. We take nigh on $300 a month in fines fer pros’tution. But they must be takin’ so much more on account as they ‘allers seem to be able to pay, like it’s no more ‘an small beer to them.”
The Preacher had been listening politely, but without much interest. But when Jackson’s questioning came to an end, he said, “I have some business with a party called Lowe. Have you heard of the gentleman, Sheriff?”
“Gentleman?” Whitney broke into a cynical laugh. “You call Joe Lowe a gentleman? He’s no more a gentleman than his woman is a lady. She’s called Kate. An’ they’re known ‘round here as Rowdy Joe ‘n’ Rowdy Kate. I will leave it to your imaginations as to how they got those partic’lar sobriquets. But being as I am the Law here, I am within my rights to know what business you have with a low-life like Lowe.”
“I am merely carrying out the final request of a departed soul. Seems he has a sister working for Lowe. Or had. Been some time since they last met.”
Whitney gave out a laugh laced with derision. “Working for the Lowes eh? In their vice den? Well I will leave that to you.”
“I am only doing my Christian Duty sir.”
“You won’t find any Christianity in that Den of Satan. But I respect your motives, Preacher, fer I can see you are a man of principle an’ morality.” The Preacher said nothing. He hadn’t made that tiresome and uncomfortable stagecoach journey just to be praised for his principles and morality. Whitney continued, “The Lowes hail from Illinois I hear. Run the Chance Saloon in Nauchville. And aptly named it is too. Take a chance with the Texans an’ if you survive that, you takes a chance with the women. Fer it is only a saloon bar at the front. Out back it is, well, let’s say Joe and his wife pay more in fines than any other establishment in Nauchville.”
“Where is this Nauchville, Sheriff?”
“Edge of town, eastwards. Maybe half an hour to walk. It is pretty much a canvas community.” Whitney gave a chuckle before leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. But if you gentlemen looking fer some company, then don’t stay long in Nauchville. Plenty of more respectable places on the North Main, where a man can have a drink and a dance with a pretty lady and not be afeared of a-catching anything.”
“As a God-fearing man I know full well the temptations of Satan. The evil one targets men of the cloth more often than any other mortal soul. And that sir,” it was the Preacher’s turn to have all the attention, “that sir, is because Beelzebub has more to fear from people of Faith than those whose morals are, how shall I say it, more ambiguous.”
“Well I know all about religion, not that you will find much here in Ellsworth. And don’t go thinking that Nauchville is a valley in which the Good Lord’s rod and staff are all you need for to fear no evil. If you have to go, then take a revolver as well. And mind you go while it is still daylight. An’ come back while the sun is still high in the sky. That’s my advice. Want me to escort you?”
“Well if you want to...”
“That won’t be necessary,” said the Preacher, interrupting Jackson. “But thank you all the same. Mr. Beauregard here has kindly
offered to escort me and I am sure that, provided we act in the proper manner, no harm will befall us.”
Outside, about 50 head of cattle were being driven along North Main Street, the vanguard of a larger herd destined for the railhead and shipment to the eastern abattoirs and New York dinner plates. As soon as the steers were penned the Texans would be headed for the bars and no doubt many of them would end up in Nauchville’s honky-tonks. “So Hickok was in Hays after all. You said he was here!”
“I said I heard he was here. Didn’t claim I knew if for a fact. It’s not my job to check for facts. You’re the newspaperman, not me. But you can get a train to Hays from here tomorrow. I know that for a fact. In the meantime, shall we go straight to Nauchville? Too soon for lunch I’d say, and I could do with stretching my legs, what with sitting in that stagecoach these last two days.”
“To say nothing of the cramped night’s sleep. And while we’re walking, I suggest you tell me about this dying wish you are carrying out.”
“I admit you deserve to know some answers, given that you are here and Marshal Hickok isn’t. Do you remember that poor unfortunate on the gallows, back in Abilene? His dying wish was for me to find the money he’d put away for his old age and to use it for... for charitable purposes. Regardless of my personal view of a person’s circumstances, my Christian Duty commands me...” And so it was, while walking to Nauchville, the Preacher told Jackson what Jed Williams had told him in his final hours.
Well, as much as the Preacher thought Jackson ought to know.
Chapter 7
Once the Preacher had told Jackson some of Williams’ story they walked pretty much in silence. And that was fine by the Preacher, who had to think about what lay ahead. As for Jackson, well it was a fine morning, one of those good to be alive mornings. It reminded him of how he felt when taking the air in the new Central Park. Not that there was any similarity to be observed between Nauchville and New York; it was the sense of well-being that he was enjoying.