“Then she’s woman enough. I’m goin’ upstairs to find me a room. Bring ’er to me.”
“All right if I take ’er after you get ’er broke in?”
“Fine with me.”
One hour later, Brenda Tadlock, fourteen-year-old daughter of the mayor of Lamar, lay dead in the alley behind the hotel. Bartell never got his chance at her. Brenda had jumped out of the window as soon as Shardeen left her alone in the room.
News of the Shardeen raid on Lamar spread throughout southwest Missouri. Small communities held meetings to discuss the possible organization of a militia to defend themselves should such an attack occur against their town.
“What good would a militia do?” Tom Byrd asked in Galena. “Most of the fightin’ age men are already gone. The rest of us is on farms outside of town. Why, by the time you got us mobilized, it would be too late.”
“Tom’s right,” another said.
After an hour of discussion, it was finally decided that raising a city militia would not be possible. The meeting disbanded without any action.
Kirby had come to town, hoping that some sort of militia would be formed, because he was sure that they would take him. He was disappointed with the results of the meeting.
Janey had come with him and, as the meeting was being conducted, had gone to Bloomberg’s Mercantile to buy some jars for canning. She was surprised to see Belle Robb there. It was the first time she had ever seen the woman anywhere but riding in her carriage. Looking around to make certain that she wasn’t being observed, Janey mustered up the courage to approach the notorious madam. “Hello, Miss Robb.”
Belle glanced up, obviously surprised at being addressed by a local citizen. When she saw that it was a young and very beautiful girl who had spoken, and not one of the matriarchs of the town, she smiled. “Hello, dear. Can I help you with something?”
“No, I just wanted to say hello.”
“How nice of you.”
“Also, I was wondering how . . . I mean, suppose someone wanted to do what you do, how would—” Janey stopped in mid-sentence. “Uh, never mind. I have no right to bother you.”
“What is it, exactly, that you think I do, dear?”
“I don’t know, exactly, what you do,” Janey admitted. “All I know is that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And you seem to be rich.”
Belle laughed. “Oh, believe me, I am rich, Miss . . . what is your name?”
“Janey. Janey . . .” She started to tell her last name but at the last minute thought better of it. “Just Janey.”
“Well, ‘just Janey,’ not everyone can do what I do.”
“I suppose not. I’m sure that someone would have to be very beautiful.”
“Don’t you worry about that. You are certainly beautiful enough. But it takes more than beauty. It takes someone who has the ability to put aside what others may think or say about her. Do you think you could do that?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I’ve never actually thought about it.”
“But you are thinking about it now?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“The farm,” Janey said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You don’t know what it’s like. It’s nothing but work and drudgery from dawn to dusk. And the thought of marrying a farmer and living the rest of my life that way is almost more than I can take.”
“You’re wrong, honey. I know exactly what it’s like. I was raised on a farm near New Madrid, Missouri. Not a large plantation with slaves to do our every bidding, mind you, but a small pig farm. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“Then you do understand,” Janey said with a broad smile.
“Oh, yes. I understand all right. How old are you, Janey?”
“I’m . . . uh . . . eighteen.”
Belle smiled. “How old are you, really?”
“Seventeen,” Janey lied.
“I’ll tell you what. Wait a year. When you’re eighteen, come visit me and we’ll have a long talk.”
“A talk about what?”
“Why, Janey, we’ll talk about anything you want to talk about,” Belle said.
“All right, and thanks. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“Oh, honey, you have been nothing but nice to me. How could that possibly be a bother?”
Later, as Janey was loading her purchases into the buckboard, a man approached her. She thought he might be the most handsome man she had ever met. His dark hair was perfectly combed, he had a neatly trimmed moustache, and he was wearing a dark green jacket with mustard-colored pants which were tucked down into highly polished boots. The vest was white, and a pearl pin was stuck in the red ascot at his throat.
“May I be of assistance, Janey?”
“Thank you, I—How do you know my name?”
“I heard you give your name to Belle.”
“You . . . were listening to our conversation? Sir, you should have made your presence known.”
“I feared that to do so might cause you some embarrassment. Please forgive me if I erred.”
“What is your name?”
“Paul Garner at your service.” He lifted his finger to his eyebrow.
“Mr. Garner . . .”
“Please, it is Paul.”
“Paul, how is that you aren’t away at war?”
Garner laughed. “You do get right to the point, don’t you?”
“My pa, my brother, so many of the county men are at war. I was just wondering why you weren’t, is all.”
“Do you believe in this war, Janey?”
“I’ve never given any thought to whether I believe in it or not.”
“Well, I don’t believe in it. I don’t believe in the concept of holding men and women as slaves. I don’t own any myself, nor have I ever, and I won’t fight a war so those who do own slaves can keep them.
“On the other hand, I think if some states want to break away and go out on their own, they certainly should have the right to do so. I won’t fight for an army that would force a state to belong to a union to which it no longer wishes to belong.
“So, as you see, Janey, I see nothing noble or uplifting about either belligerent party in this war. Were I to go, I would have no idea which side to support. Therefore, I have made the conscious choice to remain neutral.”
“I’ve never heard anyone talk like you do,” Janey said.
“You mean in my observation of the futility of the war?”
“No. Yes, but I mean, I’ve never heard anyone use pretty words the way you do. Not even my teacher talked like that. That is, when I had a teacher. She’s gone now. Besides, it’s been a long time since I was a schoolgirl. Are you an educated man, Paul?”
“Yes. I attended school at Westminster College in Fulton,” Paul said.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a peddler.”
“A peddler? You mean like Mr. Gray, who goes about in a wagon selling pots, pans, notions, and the like?”
“Not exactly. I sell money.”
“Money? How do you sell money?”
“I deal in investments. People invest in me and I make money for them. When I make money for them, I also make money for myself.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It can be quite lucrative,” Paul said with a broad smile.
She tried not to smile back. “I must get back home,” Janey said.
Again, Paul touched his eyebrow. “It has been a most pleasant few minutes, Janey. I do hope we see each other again.”
They did see each other again, several times, at first meeting “by chance” in town, until finally, Garner took the bold step of going to the farm where Janey introduced him to her mother and brother.
“I don’t like him,” Kirby said after a few visits.
“He seems like a nice enough young man,” Pearl said.
“I can’t help but feel like he has somethin’ up his sleeve. Ma, he has to be twenty-three o
r -four, or somethin’ like that. And Janey’s only sixteen. What’s he doin’ hangin’ around her? Don’t you think she’s too young for him?”
“Kirby, you know that Janey ain’t none like you or Luke. Ever since she was a little girl, she’s been more like a feral cat than a tame kitten. Your pa and I have worried a lot about that girl, wonderin’ what is going to become of her. It could be that this feller, Paul Garner, is just what Janey needs. And I warn’t but seventeen when I was married.”
“I hope so, Ma. But I don’t mind tellin’ you, he seems a bit uppity to me. I’ll keep quiet about it, though. Who am I to tell Janey who she should or shouldn’t like?”
“I would appreciate you doin’ that,” Pearl said.
Frequent and nourishing rains throughout the long summer ensured a bumper crop and, as Fred Matthews had suggested, it was a sellers’ market when Kirby took his harvest in to peddle. He was paid $2,088, which was the biggest single year, ever, for the little farm.
“What are you plannin’ on doin’ with that two thousand dollars you made from selling your crops?” Paul Garner asked during one of his frequent visits.
“What makes you think I made two thousand dollars?” Kirby asked, obviously irritated by the question.
“Why, Janey told me.”
“She had no business telling you.”
“Janey and I have no secrets between us,” Garner said.
“Yeah, well this ain’t just between you ’n Janey. This is the whole family, and as far as I’m concerned, you got no business knowin’ anything about it.”
“I can understand your concern, but my interest is more than mere curiosity. The reason I asked, is because if you will trust me, I can double your money for you in no time.”
“How?”
“As I explained to your sister, I deal in money. My profession is to invest money in certain mathematical probabilities, doing so in such a way as to maximize the return.”
“Sounds to me like you’re usin’ big words to say that you are a gamblin’ man.”
Garner laughed out loud. “Yes, in any investment transaction there is a degree of risk, so, I suppose you could call it gambling. But the degree of risk is inversely proportional to the skill with which the transaction is handled.”
“Garner, you can use all the big words you want, I’ll not be trusting you with money that I broke my back for most a year to earn. Except for what it takes my ma, my sister, ’n me to live on, I’m puttin’ the rest of the money away so that when Pa comes back home, we’ll have a good stake to start with.”
“Have you not read the Bible?” Garner asked. “Are you not aware of the parable of the talents?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“In the Book of Matthew, it tells of a wealthy master who left money with three of his servants. Two of his servants invested the money so they could give even more of it to the master when he returned. But the third buried the money he was given, and when the master returned, that servant gave him only what had been left with him. ‘You wicked, lazy servant! You should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest.’ “Is that how you want to face your father when he returns, not with an increase, but only with what he left?”
“That don’t apply to me,” Kirby said. “Pa didn’t leave me any money. He left me only a team of mules and forty acres of rock and dirt. I wasn’t given the money I’m holdin’ for him. I earned it.”
“Yes, and you are to be commended for it,” Garner said. “I only wanted to help, is all. Of course, it is your money and you should do with it as you wish.”
“You were rude to Paul,” Janey said to Kirby later that evening after Garner left.
“I wasn’t rude. I was honest with him. He has no business bein’ concerned with how much money we have, and you had no business tellin’ him.”
“Why not?”
“Janey, I’m going to have to agree with your brother on this,” Pearl said. “Your pa always said it’s best that not ever’one knows our business.”
“I’m sorry,” Janey said. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I was just bragging on you, Kirby. I’m real proud of what you have done.”
“I’m just askin’ you not to share all our business with him. Sometimes it’s good to keep secrets.”
The expression on Kirby’s face reminded Janey that he had kept a secret for her, and she understood exactly what he was saying. “All right, Kirby. I won’t say anything else about it. Please don’t be mad at me.”
Kirby smiled, and kissed his sister on the cheek. “I’m not mad at you, Janey. I just want you to be careful, that’s all.”
After their initial meeting in Bloomberg’s Mercantile, Janey had become more bold, frequently visiting Belle in her place of business. On one of her visits, one of the customers—Belle referred to them as “guests”—mistook Janey for one of the girls who worked there.
“She is not on the line,” Belle said. “And I’ll expect you to honor the code that we all follow here. Just as the visits of my guests are kept secret, so too shall the presence of my friend be kept secret. If I ever hear anything spoken about her, I will hold you responsible, and the consequences will be grave.”
Belle’s admonition to her clients had been heeded, and men that Janey recognized—married men and officials of the town—were confident that knowledge of their visits would not go beyond Belle’s establishment. Janey was equally confident that her secret was safe, and she and Belle’s clients developed a symbiotic relationship.
“It’s called a rubber,” Belle said, showing it to Janey.
She had asked how it was that the girls who worked for her didn’t get pregnant.
“After it is used, it must be washed very thoroughly to make certain that nothing is left in it. Then it should be lubricated and put it back into its box.”
“And that will keep me, uh, I mean the girl from getting—?”
Belle looked at Janey knowingly. She nodded. “Yes. It will. I’ve made every man I’ve ever been with use it before I will let him lie with me, and I’ve never gotten pregnant. You are asking about this for yourself, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Janey replied rather sheepishly.
“Paul Garner?”
“Yes. I’ve been lucky so far but every time, I’m frightened as to what would happen if I got pregnant. How would I face my Ma and Pa?”
“It’s probably smart of you to have him wear this.”
“What will I say to him to make him use it?”
“All you have to do is ask him. He has used it before. Many times, I suspect. I see no reason why he wouldn’t use it with you.”
“He has?”
Belle put her hand on Janey’s shoulder. “Honey, you didn’t think you were getting a virgin, did you?”
“No. No, I guess not.”
CHAPTER 5
April 1863
The day was unseasonably warm. Kirby was walking behind the plow being pulled by the two mules, Ange and Rhoda, opening the ground to plant this year’s corn. He was at the far end of a row when he heard a scream coming from the house. He didn’t know if the scream came from his mother or his sister, but it didn’t matter. It was a scream of absolute terror. He dropped the reins and started for the house on a dead run.
He heard another scream and saw smoke curling up into the sky. Reaching the fence, he saw at least a dozen men carrying hams and sides of bacon, taken from the smokehouse before it had been set afire.
Jayhawkers!
Janey was on the ground naked. Her clothes had been torn off.
“Spread ’er legs out, boys. I’m goin’ to have me a little of this.” The raider was a big ugly man with only half of one ear.
“Get away from her!” Pearl attacked the man.
Their leader was standing off to one side, watching it all. He had red hair, a red beard, and a scar that started at the corner of his mouth, then zigzagged like a li
ghtning bolt up the side of his face, ending with a deformed eye. The horse next to him had a dark blue saddle blanket. In a corner was the silver eagle insignia of a colonel outlined in gold.
Kirby knew the man was Angus Shardeen!
“What the hell, Bartell? Can’t you handle a young girl and an old woman?” Shardeen asked with a demonic laugh. He raised his gun and shot Kirby’s mother in the chest. She flew backwards as if being yanked violently by an invisible rope, then fell and was dead before she even hit the ground.
“Ma!” Kirby shouted as he ran toward her fallen form. Before he reached her, Shardeen brought the butt of his gun down on Kirby’s head, and he went down as well.
Kirby came to lying on the ground. For a long moment, he tried to understand what he was doing there. He turned his head, saw his mother lying nearby, and knew that she was dead. In that moment, he remembered what happened.
“I see you aren’t dead.” The words came from his sister, and they were spoken in a flat and totally unemotional tone of voice.
Looking toward her, Kirby saw that she was sitting on the front porch. She was dressed, and there was a bag sitting beside her.
“Janey.” He sat up and felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. Reaching up, he felt blood.
“I didn’t know if you was dead or alive,” Janey said.
“I reckon I’m alive. How are you?”
“What do you mean, how am I? You know how I am. You seen me lyin’ on the ground, bein’ used by all of them.”
Kirby was surprised to see that, rather than crying uncontrollably, she seemed to express only anger. He was oddly proud of her for showing such gumption.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time to stop them.” Gingerly, Kirby stood up.
“What could you have done? If you woulda got here any earlier, you’d more ’n like be lyin’ there dead, like Ma.”
Kirby walked slowly to the porch and sat on the step. “Janey, let’s don’t tell Pa how Ma died. He don’t need to know that while he was off fightin’ in the war ’n all, that Shardeen’s Raiders come here and killed her. Let’s tell him that she died peacefully in her sleep. I think he’ll take it somewhat easier, that way.”
Smoke Jensen, the Beginning Page 5