by Alan Black
Her eyes were red rimmed, but her face was grim. She grabbed her forge hammer from the wagon and walked back to the door. She stood as if trying to decide if she was going to break through the door or break the window.
A man hurried down the street. “Hold up. I’m coming.” He was in pants and boots, but his nightshirt flowed around him.
The sheriff laughed, “Better hurry, Merle. These women are about half crazy and I can’t stop them.” The sheriff turned and walked purposefully to his office.
Merle shouted, “Sheriff? Where are you going?”
The sheriff called over his shoulder, “City business, Merle. Got nothing to do with the county or with me.”
Merle unlocked the front door of his furniture store and stood back. Grace brushed by him as if he was not there. Susanne and LillieBeth followed her into the store.
Clayton was in a cheap pine box. The box was standing on end, ropes held Clayton in place, waiting for the window curtain to be drawn back. No attempt had been made to clean Clayton. He still lay in his bloodstained shirt, a hole punched through his face.
Grace dropped to her knees and touched her husband’s cold hands. Her other hand clenched her hammer.
LillieBeth grunted in shock to see Mr. Grissom treated so brutally. She flicked the safety off her rifle and levered a shell into the chamber.
Merle backed away from the women. “Now, hold on there. This isn’t anything personal. It is just business.”
Susanne said, “Business? You treat a human being this way and call it business? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Merle said, “I have a family to feed. A man has to do-” He stopped in mid-word staring at LillieBeth.
LillieBeth said, “Maybe your family would be better off without you?” She dropped the rifle barrel and leveled it at Merle.
Merle backed away farther. “There is no call for that.”
Susanne nodded. “I am not sure about that. We are taking Mr. Grissom home for a proper burial.”
Merle emboldened by the fact that LillieBeth had not shot him yet, said, “Who is going to pay me what I am owed. I am losing money here.”
Susanne said, “What services have you provided, sir?”
Merle said, “Well, the coffin was custom built. The gentleman was a large man. That is…um…a hundred dollars. And-”
Susanne said, “Keep the coffin. What else?”
Merle said, “I can’t reuse the coffin, why would I want to keep it. And you owe me for…um…body storage.”
Susanne sputtered. She did not know what to say.
LillieBeth said, “I will give you five dollars cash for the coffin, its lid and for everything you think you got coming. That is all or I will give you the lead from the end of this rifle for what I think you got coming.” She pulled five dollars from the wad of cash and threw it at the man’s feet.
It was only a matter of minutes before they had the coffin lid lightly nailed down. Grace insisted they only use a few nails because she would not let Clayton lay in such a state. She would clean him up when she got him home and could bury him proper.
It would have taken all of them to carry Clayton into the wagon, but a crowd had gathered by then. Even this early, news of events was spreading around town. As many people as could were hurrying to see what was going on. A few of the men stepped up to help carry the heavy load from the furniture store to the wagon.
A group was coming from the doctor’s office. Apparently, the night watchman had insisted he had fallen out of bed. Susanne could not imagine the man would ever admit to having been beaten by a twelve-year-old girl. She was sure the sheriff had figured it out, but he would not admit it either because then as the law, he would have to act on the knowledge, arresting LillieBeth or something.
Grace crawled into the back of the wagon with her husband and Art and Clare. She sat with her hands on the coffin as if protecting it from sliding out of the unmoving wagon.
Susanne said, “Miss Hazkit?” It did not look like the county clerk’s office was open yet.
LillieBeth pointed at the general store with the end of her Winchester. “Shopping, Miss Harbowe?”
Susanne nodded in agreement. “Shopping, Miss Hazkit.” She did not know what LillieBeth had in mind, but the girl was asserting her leadership. Susanne was glad as she did not know what to do. She called out over the crowd, “Who runs the general store?”
A young boy of about sixteen raised his hand. “I don’t run it, but I sweep up some at night. I gots a key.”
Susanne shook her head. “Young man, you ‘have’ a key. It is not ‘gots’ a key.”
The boy nodded, “Yes, ma’am. I can let you in and go wake up the boss if’n he-”
“I am already up, Button.” a man interrupted. “But I am not opening my door at the point of a gun. I don’t care who you are.”
TUESDAY – DAWN
LillieBeth pulled the wad of cash from her pocket and held it up for the man to see. He beat her and Susanne to the door.
Susanne watched LillieBeth. The young girl was a whirlwind racing through the store. She pointed at items while the storekeeper and Button ignored the pointing rifle barrel while carrying the goods to the counter.
Susanne said, “LillieBeth, why are we getting all this here, just to haul it all the way home? I see the need for some of it, but I don’t understand.”
LillieBeth replied, “There are people in Oasis who lied about what the Braunawalls did. They saw it. They told Clayton they saw it. Then they said they did not. I will not do business in that town until I find out who lied and who did not.”
Susanne said, “But, what if they are just scared of the Braunawalls and their friends? Maybe they were threatened.”
LillieBeth nodded. “That may be or it may not be. I can dispense forgiveness when it is called for and asked for, but until then they will not profit because of me.”
Susanne nodded. The girl was right. It was one thing if the witnesses in Oasis had been threatened, it was quite another if their retraction led to the shooting and death of Clayton Grissom.
It did not take long to get back to the wagon. Susanne tossed three new blankets into the back for Clare, Art and Grace. Before they wrapped themselves to keep warm in the early morning damp, LillieBeth handed her father a heavy flannel shirt. They stacked packets and bundles of goods under the front seat LillieBeth had bought: salt, flour, coffee, bacon, beans, bullets and other staples that the mountains around them could not provide in any abundance. LillieBeth had even purchased her mother a new pot and a couple of new buckets.
Susanne said to the crowd around them, “We are looking for the county clerk. Is he here?”
A man raised his hand.
She pointed at the big, brick building. “Let’s get to it, sir. We have a long way to go and would like our business finished first.”
Susanne and LillieBeth followed the man into the building.
Susanne was glad to leave the crowd behind them. She did not mind standing in front of a classroom full of students, but a crowd of staring adults was a little unnerving.
Once inside the clerk’s office LillieBeth handed the man the deed to their new place. “I need to get this deed recorded.”
The man nodded. “Yes, Miss. That is a two dollar filing fee. Let’s see, there are four hundred and twenty acres and…here we go…ten cents per acre assessment on farm land is due on the property for forty-two dollars, so we have a total due of forty-four dollars. You have that much?” He took the money from her, stamping this, jotting notes there, putting a sticker here, and finally handing LillieBeth a pen.
He said, “Who are you? And are you authorized to sign for the new owner?”
LillieBeth said, “I am LillieBeth Hazkit. I am the daughter of Art and Clare Hazkit, the deed holders.”
The man shook his head and reached for the pen. “No, Miss. This deed is made out to Elizabeth O’Brien Hazkit. You cannot sign unless I know it is legal for you to sign for her.”
“But…” LillieBeth looked at Susanne. “That cannot be right. It is Daddy and Mama’s place.”
The clerk said, “Right here it says Art Hazkit was filing this deed for this other Hazkit woman. Art is your father, right?”
LillieBeth asked in confusion, “But that is me?”
The clerk looked at Susanne.
Susanne nodded. “She is Elizabeth O’Brien Hazkit.”
The clerk shrugged. “Sign here, Miss Hazkit. And you, Miss…” he looked at Susanne. “You sign here as a witness. I witness here. Okay, Miss Hazkit. It is your place.”
WEDNESDAY - EVENING
Susanne was tired. It had been a long ride from Galena to the Hazkit home. LillieBeth drove the wagon with unerring accuracy. The girl handled the reins with the energy of the young, still refusing to let Susanne do any of the driving. She did not push her young friend, even though twenty-five miles is a long way for anyone to handle a team alone, even a strong well-matched team. It was especially hard when the driver was going slowly, moving at a crawling pace; trying to miss the big rocks and deep holes scattered along the roads. Missing rocks was hard at any time, but it was doubly so in the spring when the rocks seemed to take on a growth spurt and pushed up through the dirt.
They stopped frequently letting Art and Grace rest from the jostling, allowing everyone else to stretch their legs and giving the horses time to graze wherever they could. Art slept during much of the day, the gently rolling wagon rocking him back and forth with the warm sun on his face. Clare held him in her arms the whole way. They talked quietly in his waking moments and she fed him sips of the whiskey from Doctor Rawlins’ bottle.
Tuesday had been a long day and while they were close to the Hazkit place as dusk approached on Tuesday evening, Clare demanded they stop for the night. The weather was mild, so camping out in and under the wagon was comfortable enough with a small fire.
LillieBeth had bought enough provisions in Galena that meals were plentiful and hearty. They took time for Clare to boil up a little soup for Art. The man complained he wasn’t old and frail, that he had been shot and still had his teeth. None-the-less, Clare fed him soup and soup was what he had.
Art wasn’t sleepy come nightfall as they camped, and sat up most of the night keeping watch, spelled only occasionally by LillieBeth. He said it was an old army habit, but Susanne was sure it was a reaction to having someone sneak up on you and shoot you down in cold blood. She wondered if that was what made it an army habit, too. The Braunawalls had snuck up on her. They had not shot her, but there were many nights she lay awake, just as Art had done.
Susanne had only spent a few hours at the Hazkit place, helping move furniture, setting things in order, laughing and talking with her friends. That was before Art’s shooting and Clayton’s killing. Even days later, the farm felt peaceful and more like home than her small room at the Hollisters.
No one dared broach the subject of Susanne’s standing in the community. She wanted to tell Art, to clear the air, to hear his judgment, advice and counsel. There were very few options left to her if Art wanted her gone from his house. Susanne would not and could not blame Art if he told her to go. He had a Christian wife and a young daughter to protect. Having a fallen woman in the house would do untold harm to Clare and LillieBeth’s reputations.
She wanted to stay with the Hazkits. She loved them all so much it hurt. Yet, she did not want to bring up staying, as she was not interested in causing pain to her friends. She would be hurt whether Art said yes or said no.
With the exception of a few lucid moments, Grace lay in a stupor, stunned, at a loss for what to do and with little or nothing to say. She clung desperately to Clayton’s coffin as if, by strength alone, she could bring him back.
She and Grace had been friends ever since Susanne came back to the hills after college. The last few days had drawn Grace closer into Susanne’s heart than ever before. She wanted to help and protect her friend, but she was on such a trembling perch herself that any help she might give to Grace could knock her own life loose and damage Grace further in the process.
She knew Grace might…might take her in, but without Clayton alive, Grace’s status was reduced to being a widow, which was a precarious state in and of itself. Without a man’s protection and income, widows became targets of all manner of creatures: scoundrels, con men, thieves and even gigolos, should she have any money or land. Grace did have land and could support herself as a blacksmith and ferrier, but Susanne would be an additional burden.
Susanne knew Samson’s Boarding House for Young Woman loomed large in her future. She could not stomach the thought of going to work at Samson’s brothel, but she would not have the courage to kill herself first. She did not know any of the women who worked there. She had never even seen one, but she could only imagine what poor, pitiful creatures they were; half starved, struggling to survive, a lost woman in a man’s world.
She knew where Samson’s was in Oasis. Everyone knew, but polite folks did not mention that it was a brothel, calling it only a boarding house. Clayton had known what it was. As the sheriff, he decided what people did was their business, as long as they did not hurt others in the process. His philosophy was it was a man’s own business if he made and drank illegal corn liquor. It was a man’s own business if he consorted with harlots, even though prostitution was just as illegal as moonshine. It was the man’s business and his wife’s in both cases.
Susanne realized that while Clayton as sheriff could have closed down Samson’s, it would not have been a kindness to the women working there. Where else could they go? What else could they do to survive? They were broken, desperate creatures without other options. She was little better than they were.
She thought about Reverend David James off and on during their long ride back from Galena. She was still hurt and angry beyond words. At the same time, she was still attracted to him. That was the most confusing thing of all. She was confused at the mixture of an aching heart because of the man and the ache in her heart for the man. It was baffling.
She had a sudden memory flash of LillieBeth’s granite heart. It was the rock she used to symbolize the hardness of her heart when speaking to the Braunawalls. Susanne knew if she had a granite heart then nothing Reverend James…David… should have done or would do could hurt her heart. LillieBeth’s granite heart, the very rock she had slammed on the wagon bed, still lay in the wagon at the young girl’s feet.
Here, back at the Hazkit farm, by the front door stood the Right Reverend David James. She did not know whether he had gone and come back or simply stayed to help where he could. It would have been a long time to wait since it had been a long journey there and back. Even after days of thinking she was not settled in her heart or mind. She wanted to turn away, to hide her face, to run away in shame and not look at the man. She climbed to the ground rather than vacillate further.
LillieBeth dropped off the wagon and stood next to her. The young girl took Susanne’s hand, opened it up and set the granite heart in her palm.
Susanne looked at the rock and looked up into James’ eyes. The cold rock lent strength to her heart.
He said, “Susanne, can we talk?”
She shook her head. “Not now. We have to get Art into the house and into bed. Then someone needs to drive Grace home and help her with Clayton’s funeral arrangements.”
He said, “But-”
She interrupted, “No. We can’t-”
Calling from the wagon bed, Art interrupted her, “What is going on with you two?”
Clare helped him off the wagon and toward the house. He was holding himself upright, but he had his arms wrapped around his wife. They moved with a slow and steady pace up the rock painted path to the house.
Clare said, “Not now, honey.”
Art said, “Yes, now. The doctor said I needed to rest. How am I supposed to rest if these two keep going on arguing and fussing about…whatever?” He stopped moving, standing still, slightly off to the side,
not blocking the patch, but not moving forward any farther.
James said, “We can’t be arguing. She won’t even talk to me.”
Clare said, “Can you blame her? Look what you did the last time she tried to talk to you.”
Art looked at his wife, at Susanne and at James. “Okay, James. What did you do this time?”
James shook his head. “I can’t say.”
Clare snorted. “I don’t know why not. You said all you had to say at the school board meeting that got Susanne fired and kicked out of her home.”
Art shouted. “What? You thick headed Tennessee goober, what did you do?” He started coughing and grabbed his shoulder. He reached for the bottle that Clare held, but it was empty.
Clare said, “Sorry, that was all we had.”
LillieBeth had been passing back and forth, carrying blankets and packages from the wagon into the house. She had been quiet, not interrupting her parents and the other adults, as befitted a polite youngster. She finally spoke. “Maybe not, Mama. Get Daddy into the house before the night air comes on. I think I can get him something.”
Clare nodded. “Reverend James, perhaps you could get Grace to come into the house and rest up a bit before someone drives her home.”
Grace sat up in the wagon bed. “I need to water and feed my horses.”
LillieBeth and Susanne had stopped at every opportunity on the road to rest, water and let the horses graze. They swapped one team of horses for another each time they stopped. It had been a long few days for both sets of animals. All four horses were visibly tired.
Art said, “Plenty of grass here. Just turn David and Solomon loose to rest, to feed and to water. Run the wagon down to the crick and let your mares feed and water in the traces. You can come back for your geldings, or we can bring them to you later.” He looked at James. “Well, you old Bible Thumper, get to work and help Mrs. Grissom.”