by S. A. Glenn
“Yes! Please, sit down,” Sara replied, a smile breaking free. “I’m Sara, Sara Jones.”
“Nice to meet you.” Bridget took a seat and called out to her cousin. “The usual, Jesse!”
“Right away, Bridget,” he hollered back.
“You want to fool around, honey? I gots a shiny quarter with your name on it,” said a drunken, old man to Bridget, holding a coin in his filthy hand.
“Please, leave us alone!” she told him, shaking her head in disgust.
“Yes, ma’am.” His deviant smile dwindled as his head hung low in shame.
“One day a lady will be able to sit in a saloon and not be looked at as a piece of meat!” declared Bridget.
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen,” joked Sara.
“Your chardonnay, Bridget,” said Jesse, setting it onto the table.
“Thank you, Jesse.”
“You’re welcome. And Sara, I didn’t feel like I was much help for you, so I had Bridget come here to give you a woman’s perspective on your problem. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”
“No, not at all, Jesse. Thank you for caring.”
“Bartender! Another round!” shouted a man.
“Coming, sir.” Jesse Frost tipped his hat for the ladies then hurried away.
“You look a lot like a woman I took a cooking class with years ago—Clarice Montgomery. Is she your sister?”
“She is…”
“My goodness. How is she doing?” Sara brought her voice up an octave.
“Wonderfully! She lives in California now.” Bridget peered down at Sara’s empty shot glass. “I see you’re hitting the hard stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s going on with you? No. Wait! Let me guess: there’s a man involved.”
“You’re very intuitive.”
Bridget sipped her dry, white wine and dabbed her upper lip with a napkin. She rolled the wine around in the glass. “No, not really. It just usually seems to be that way.”
“Well it is…”
“So, what’s going on, Sara?”
Sara breathed deep and let it out with a pathetic pant. “I met this gentleman a while back. He’s charming. He’s smart. He’s well known. We’ve gotten along well, never had a fight, and he’s wealthy—quite! We love each other, and I think he wants me to be his wife.”
“Sounds dreamy. But! There’s always a but!”
“But my son-in-law said he saw him grope my daughter, taking advantage of her while she was tipsy.”
“Oh, my! What did your daughter say about that?”
“She doesn’t remember him doing that.”
“Hmmm. Is there any reason for your son-in-law to lie about it?”
“Perhaps,” Sara answered, hoping Samuel was not a deceiver as much as she believed Louis was not a sex fiend. But it couldn’t be both ways, and this troubled her dearly. “He has had something against my Louis ever since he met him!”
“You said his name is Louis?” asked Bridget, setting down her glass and leaning toward Sara.
“Yes. Louis Pierre. Do you know of him?”
Bridget flashed a disturbing look upon her face. “Yes, I’m afraid I do…”
“What does that mean?”
Bridget swallowed two large drinks, removed the excess wine from her upper lip with her lower one, and stared Sara straight in the eye. “Clarice used to go steady with him.”
“Really! And… ?”
“And while she was with him, he put the moves on me, as well as a woman named Emily Cromwell. He tried having all three of us at once!”
“No!”
“Yes! And after I told my sister what he attempted with me, she packed up and moved without a word about it to him.”
“How did you find out about Emily and Louis?”
“I caught him at the schoolhouse kissing on her, telling her that he loved her. I told Emily what was going on—but I moved to Saddle Ridge for college and haven’t seen her since.”
“Emily Cromwell was murdered, Bridget! Her throat was cut! Didn’t Jesse tell you about her?”
“Oh, my God, Sara! No! I just got here, and Jesse and I haven’t talked much, yet. When did this happen?”
“Back in July of ’69.”
“That’s right after I left for school!”
“Jesse! Another round for us, please!” Sara yelled out, overwhelmed by the information.
The two ladies who had Louis Pierre in common, talked for awhile, and had a more few drinks. They spoke about men and how they could be so damn deceptive at times; how they led you into believing that they loved you, then how they ripped your heart out when you found out that they had cheated. Bridget helped Sara make a decision. Sara felt better. Bridget left.
Feeling quite intoxicated, Sara hurried out the door. Too drunk to ride her horse, she waved down a carriage with an urge to confront the man who she thought was of her dreams. “Sir! Sir!” she called.
“Whoa!” yelled the man. He pulled on the reins and brought his carriage to a stop. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Are you by chance heading west out of town? And if you are, may I please catch a ride?”
“Yes, I am, ma’am. You’re more than welcome to ride with me.”
“That’s most generous of you, sir.”
He set the break, hopped down, and opened the door. After helping her in, he climbed aboard, released the break and whipped the leather straps over the horses’ backs. “Yaaawww!” he hollered as he pulled away from the saloon.
As Sara rode in the darkness, enduring the bumpy road, thoughts ran through her mind about what she would do. She planned on meeting with Louis at the door then demanding that he explain about the last three women he was with. After he confessed, she would tell him that it was over between them then insist that Fréderic drive her home.
Thoughts of Samuel came to her head. “Oh, that poor dear and the way that I treated him. I should have known that that sweet young man was being honest—and Katherine, my caring daughter—I owe them both an enormous apology!” She shook her head, displeased with herself.
Samuel was working late, alone at the sawmill, needing to correct a mistake on a large order. All that was left for him to do was to ride out to the customer and have him confirm the mishap, saving money and stopping a huge hassle. He closed the mill, packed his gun, climbed onto his horse and headed west out of town.
Sara knocked on the carriage. “This is fine right here,” she informed the driver.
“Whoa!” he yelled, and stopped the ride. “You want out here, ma’am? In the middle of nowhere?”
“I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you. I’m going up this drive,” she pointed.
“As you wish, ma’am.” He hopped down and helped her out.
“Thank you, sir.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.” He peeled off his hat and nodded.
As the man rode away, Sara pulled her coat tight around herself, deflecting the chill. She hurried up the drive, her mind clouded by the alcohol. Seeing the mansion come into view, her heart raced, giving her a nervous stomach. Walking up the stairs, she stood at the door feeling faint. She grasped the golden knocker that seemed blurry to her. She slammed it against the door three times. Waiting for an answer, she acquired a sixth sense that maybe she shouldn’t have come—but it was too late.
The door swung open. Fréderic stood there in his fencing suit, his dueling sword and mask in hand. “Madame Jones!” he exclaimed with surprise.
Losing her nerve, she decided to forgive Louis, not wanting to part with him even if he was deceitful with other women. “Hello, Fréderic. Is Louis here?” she inquired in a soft voice.
“He is bathing, Madame Jones.”
She peered around him,
seeing the roaring fire. “May I wait for him by the fire? It is quite cold.”
“As you wish, Madame Jones.” He backed up, let her in, and took her coat. “I will let Monsieur Pierre know you are here.”
“Thank you, Fréderic.” She hustled over to the fire and rubbed her hands together. As she warmed herself, she glanced over the books on the mantel. Pulling out a Shelley Mary tale, she gazed at the cover and uttered, “Frankenstein—such a sad story.” Slipping it back into place, she drew out another. “Charles Dickens: David Copperfield—it’s awful that Dora died: she was so darling and pretty.” Sara thumbed through the pages. Setting it back into its space, she tilted out a William Shakespeare piece. “Romeo and Juliette: what a tragic love story!” She let it fall back into place. “The Holy Bible!” she voiced, only looking at the edge of it. “I must read the writings about forgiveness. What’s this?” she asked herself, extracting a little, black book that was sandwiched between the others. She opened its cover. “Emily Cromwell’s diary?!” she said quietly as she turned to the first page and read:
“July 19, 1868,
‘Dear diary,
Today I met the most wonderful man. He is so very handsome and quite witty. He…’”
Sara had difficulty reading about Louis’ past relationship. She became troubled with anger at his multiple associations. Flipping through Emily’s personal experiences, she searched the final entry, curious about what she might find. Continuing on, she read:
“July 12, 1869,
‘Dear diary,
Today I found out Louis is a cheater. A woman came to me claiming she had been having relations with him.
At first I did not believe her. But she convinced me after she told me about the gazebo and him spilling wine down her bosom, licking it up—just like he did with me (refer back to page 27).’”
Sara hurried through the pages, stopping on 27. She sat on the lounge and finished Emily’s description of her night under the stars. “He told me that he never did anything like that before. He said that it was special what we did!” Sara threw out in disgust. Turning back to where she left off, she continued Emily’s entry:
“‘Later that night I confronted Louis, telling him everything
I learned. He denied all of it, becoming extremely hostile toward me, yelling, cursing, and showing a
side of him that I had never known existed.
I fled from his presence, fearful that he might do something horrific. I could hear things crashing inside as though he were throwing objects against the walls.
I caught a ride home. As I write in my darkened room crying,
I fear what lies ahead.’”
Sitting next to the fire, a chill ran down Sara’s spine from Emily’s foreboding words. She saw large, irregular spots on the pages: Emily’s tears of trepidation. Sara ran her fingers over the blotches, experiencing her dismay.
“Sara! What a portentous surprise,” exclaimed Louis with a big smile, his hair damp and slicked back. “What do I owe the honors… ?”
Sara twitched, realizing that the man being spoke of stood just feet away. She slapped the diary closed and jumped to her feet.
“What is that?” he demanded, peering down at her hand.
“What is what?”
“Come, come, Sara… that black book in your grasp.” He moved toward her.
“I think you know what this is!” she suggested, bravely.
“Pardon wa? I have never seen that in my life.”
“You know exactly what this is!”
“Sara, you are acting quite strangely. Let me see that,” he smiled.
“No!”
“Give that to me, Sara!” he demanded, his smile declining.
“You’re a womanizer, Louis!”
“What are you talking about? Let me have that book!”
“Never!”
He stepped toward her, smiled grimly and reached for it. But she pulled away and stepped back. His face became agitated, his eyes narrowed with wroth. His fists clenched, appearing like he was ready to pounce upon her.
“Stay away from me, Louis! You’re not the kindhearted man I thought you were!”
He breathed hard. “Have you gone mad?! I will not tell you again, Sara. Give me that damné book!”
“Or what? You’ll kill me like you did Emily Cromwell?!” she blurted out.
“SARA! I have had enough of this!” Spit sprayed through his stiffened lips.
“I’m going to the Marshal with this!” she threatened, holding up the book and standing behind a chair for protection.
“God damné you, you lamia!” he screamed as he pushed the chair out of his way and ripped the book from her clenches, breaking off one of her nails. “Now I have this bloody thing!” He, without a second thought, tossed it into the fire. “Ha ha! How do you like that?”
She watched the book smolder then burst into flames. She frightfully backed away and ran to her coat. “I’m reporting you to the authorities, Louis Pierre.”
He calmed himself and a smile replaced his tempered face. “You have not any proof of wrong doing by me, my dear. Please, let us take a seat and discuss matters.”
“I will have nothing to do with you. You are a madman. You’re sick. You need help!”
“Sara, please. You are hurting my feelings.”
She yanked her coat off the rack and slipped it on harshly. Staring him dead in the eye, she spoke with a laugh. “Oh! Your feelings!”
“Sara!” he expelled, his humor lacking. “Enough of this impishness! Sit yourself down—or else!”
“No more, Louis… it’s all over,” she stated with a soft voice and smile. She walked to the door and opened it.
Her demure tone enraged him. “Damné you, Sara! Do not leave this mansion… if you know what is best for you!” he shouted.
“Bon voyage, Louis.” She exited and shut the door behind her.
“AHHH!” he yelled, throwing items about, smashing them against the walls.
Sara hurried away, hearing his tantrum slowly fade away in the distance. Reaching the main road, she stopped, bent over and vomited from all that had transpired throughout the last 16 hours.
CHAPTER 32
The morning started off with a dense fog. Wrangler lacked activity on that still, somber Sunday. A couple of lads were out shortly after sunrise, bearing their fishing poles and tackle. During their carpe diem, they split up and searched for a good spot to fish, at the lake north of town.
The youngest boy made his journey around the east side of the shore. “Jimmy! Come here, real quick!”
His brother rushed over to him and stood at his side, both gazing intensely into the water. Never seeing such a sight, they held one another, then they turned to each other with blank expressions upon their boyish faces.
“Come on, little brother. We gots to tell the marshal!”
Dropping their gear, they hurried back to town, horrified.
Katherine and Samuel had arrived at the restaurant. He told his wife everything that Sara had said to him at the sawmill, yesterday. Katherine wanted her mother to apologize to Samuel. They entered the kitchen, finding it calm. Katherine peeked through the swinging door, finding no one. She headed upstairs, expecting to discover her mother dallying around, getting ready for church.
“Mother,” she called, midway up the stairs.
Samuel sat at the table, tapping his fingers and waiting nervously for Katherine’s return.
Running down the stairs, Katherine took his hand and pulled him up. “Come on, Sam. Let’s sit out front. Mother’s not here. She must be with Louis.”
They took a seat on the swing, moving back and forth and looking outward, barely able to see the saloon through the thick haze. As Katherine listened to the eerie silence of the land,
waiting to hear the 3-beat gait of two horses bringing her mother home, she instead gave ear to a 2-beat gait of two boys. Gaping into the mist, she saw the children jogging up the street then onto the wooden sidewalk in front of the marshal’s office. She watched them hurry inside the building. Moments later she saw the marshal rush out, climb onto his horse and ride northeast out of town. “Something is going on,” said Katherine, putting her foot down to stop the swing.
She and Samuel take positions at the top of steps, viewing the two kids going door to door, bringing people out of their homes. The townsfolk gathered and talked among themselves. With great curiosity, she and Samuel held hands and journeyed over to find out what the commotion was about. Standing behind the circle of the crowd, Katherine pushed her way in. “What’s going on, everybody?” she asked with concern.
“Somebody’s been found face down in the lake!” answered an old man, propped up with his walking stick.
“I heard it was a woman!” replied a lady, standing in her robe with her hair wrapped in strips of cloth.
“Oh, my goodness!” uttered Katherine with intense emotion. “The poor soul.”
Katherine and Samuel hung out with the gang, appearing to have a substantial interest in the mystery. Many speculations took place, but nobody would know for sure who the victim was until the marshal returned.
It was getting late and Sara had not pulled up in the carriage. Deciding her mother must be at the church, Katherine excused Samuel and herself and left for the services. As Katherine and Samuel walked up the stairs of the church, a beam of light broke through the clouds, giving a lustrous sight of the doors. Entering the holy harbor, they took a seat in their usual spot. Sara and Louis were not present.
Throughout the sermon, Katherine grew anxious, needing to share the dreadful news with her mother. As Katherine wondered about where her mother was, Reverend Papanikolaou spoke of the incident, asking that all pray for the unfortunate causality; it caused Katherine to worry herself sick about her mother. As soon as the reverend ended his lectures, Katherine grabbed Samuel’s hand, jerked him out of his seat and hauled him out the door to their carriage. “Samuel!” she jutted out, trying to control her sudden, overpowering fright as she ran for the restaurant. “Meet me at mothers.”