Slow John

by C. J. Petit

  “What question was that?”

  “I asked him if he murdered Jeff Bigelow, and that terrified him.”

  Melissa’s eyes grew large as she released John and put her hand to her open mouth.

  “He killed Jeffrey?”

  “Some of us suspected he did when it happened because Jeff liked you.”

  Then, Melissa did begin to cry, and not for her dead husband, but for sweet Jeffrey Bigelow. She had liked Jeffrey, but not as she liked John.

  “I’ve got to go over to the sheriff’s office and write my report. Are you going to be okay, Melissa?”

  She nodded and forced a weak smile.

  “The sheriff said the coroner would take care of the body, so the house should be empty in a little while, but you might ask your father to go and check to make sure first, okay?”

  “Okay.” she replied with a sniff.

  John turned and left the store, stopped at the sheriff’s office and filled out his report. Before he finished, Hector Blake stopped in, and after getting John alone, confessed that he and his wife had been deeply concerned about Billy Bannister but there was nothing he could do to prevent him from hurting Melissa, and was grateful that she was free of him. He said Melissa had told him the story and quietly asked if it was true. When John assured him it was, Hector exhaled and shook John’s hand before leaving.

  With the whole Melissa Blake/Bannister episode behind him, he believed, John returned to his temporary quarters in Omaha.

  He had a lot more information, but still a lot more questions that would take some time to ask.

  _____

  July 26, 1866

  The regiment was finally mustering out. Since they had arrived in Omaha City two weeks earlier, they had been completing forms, turning in equipment that they decided not to buy from the army, and generally just waiting.

  Today, they were standing at attention in the broiling heat in their heavy dark wool uniforms listening to the governor of the Territory laud the men of the unit for their service, extolling their heroism and dedication to the cause of freedom.

  To the men in the regiment, from the colonel to the youngest private, they wanted no acclaim or tribute. They really wanted just two things: their pay, which was long overdue, and their discharge papers, although, to be out of this sweltering heat and hot uniforms was becoming much more urgent.

  Lieutenant Flynn’s unit hadn’t been paid for over a year now, which wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the unit’s history.

  After his unit had been formed as the First Regiment Nebraska Volunteer Infantry and the Department of the Army reneged on their promise to use the men to defend the Territories, the unit spent more than two years fighting under Grant at Shiloh and other engagements. Then, the unit was reformed as the First Regiment Nebraska Volunteer Cavalry and returned to Nebraska and Dakota Territories in November 1863, to quell Indian attacks, which had reached epidemic proportions after the emptying of the forts of the regular Army units.

  Between casualties, disease, and expired enlistments, the unit was severely understrength when it returned to Nebraska Territory, so it was absorbed into the First Battalion Nebraska Veteran Volunteer Cavalry and continued the mission of keeping the hostile tribes at bay. It was that unit that now stood at attention, totally ignoring the governor’s flowery praise. They had other, much more important things on their minds.

  Two hours later, speeches finally over, the men had returned to their tents and temporary quarters as the final process of mustering out began. Each man, upon arrival, had been required to complete a form detailing his service. When the form was completed and verified, the soldier could return to the Quartermaster and the Paymaster, and be processed for discharge.

  Lieutenant John Flynn’s record wasn’t especially noteworthy, as proven by the history form he had completed: no wounds, enlisted July 3, 1861 with an eighteen-month enlistment, promoted to sergeant July 8, 1861. After reenlistment, he was promoted to second lieutenant on February 11, 1863, and promoted to first lieutenant May 3, 1864.

  But it didn’t give a complete picture of the last five years of his life, because to the army, as long as it didn’t affect his pay or history, it didn’t matter. What was left unwritten was that in his capacity as sergeant, he exhibited exceptional courage and calmness during combat, which continued when he was an officer, adding a solid grasp of tactics and leadership. First Lieutenant John Michael Flynn had distinguished himself in every manner possible as a soldier and as an officer, from marksmanship to command, but not one word of it ever reached those short forms, and John, like most others, didn’t really care. It was time to leave the bosom of the blue and return to civilian life.

  His last pay was April 15, 1865, so he was due a mustering out pay of $105.50 per month for fifteen months for a total of $1582.50. From that, the Army deducted ten dollars for his Spencer carbine, which he decided to keep and another $100 for his assigned horse, another option. He, like all others being mustered out across the country, could keep the rest of his gear without charge from a grateful army. For most soldiers, that was their knapsack, canteen, cartridge belt and uniform, all of which were usually in sad condition, despite replacements being issued over their terms of service. For officers, it included their sabers, compass and field glasses, if they had them. John Flynn had all three and had kept his in good condition. His Spencer was a replacement that had only been issued six months earlier and was still almost new, so spending the ten dollars to keep it wasn’t a difficult decision.

  The final accounting of his mustering out pay worked out to a very tidy $1472.50 to begin his return to the life of a civilian. But John had already accumulated a significant amount of cash since he had reenlisted. He had his $300 bonus for reenlisting, and still managed to keep his expenses to those of his sergeant’s pay, which he thought was a wise thing to do because of the sporadic nature of army pay. He guessed he was setting aside almost $90 per month of his officer’s salary by the time he received his mustering out payment. When he finally left his temporary quarters, he had a substantial amount in his ever-present money belt; almost $3000, an enormous sum, especially with the scarcity of cash in the West.

  Most of the soldiers took their pay and indulged in excess, and for two weeks, the city of Omaha was engulfed by hundreds of new civilians with money in their pockets. It was a good time to be a bar owner or a madam.

  But the bars and bawdy houses were not for ex-Lt. Flynn. He did spend a few more days in Omaha, but for a far different reason.

  He had purchased two new Remington 1858 revolvers at Blanton’s Gun Shop and paid to have them modified to use the new .46 Short cartridge rather than ball and powder. They were also converted to double-action revolvers rather than single action. The conversions cost more than the pistols themselves.

  When he went to pick up the Remingtons, he had added two new Winchester repeaters to his arsenal that already included his Spencer carbine. The gun shop was selling out of the Winchesters within a few days after they arrived, and he was lucky in his timing.

  He just happened to enter the shop to pick up his revolvers when he spotted one of the last three Winchesters being sold. The only two remaining for sale were the less-desirable rifles with the longer twenty-four inch barrel as opposed to the shorter twenty inch barrel of the popular carbine version. But beggars can’t be choosers, and he gladly bought both remaining Winchesters, despite the gun shop placing a premium price of $26 for each rifle.

  With six boxes of the .46 Short cartridges, another eight of the .44 cartridges for the Winchesters and the four boxes of .56 caliber cartridges for the Spencer, along with four already filled tubes with another twenty-eight rounds, he finally felt he had enough firepower to satisfy him when he finally had to go west to find his family.

  He had purchased a new saddle for Arrow, his mustering out horse, too. He was named not for his speed, but because he had narrowly avoided a Lakota warrior’s arrow, which had glanced off the horse’s bridle be
fore John had finished the Lakota with a shot from his Spencer.

  He had also purchased a second horse and a mule from the army as they suddenly found themselves with a temporary abundance of the animals in Omaha when many of the enlisted men declined to purchase their animals. He had bought a pack saddle for the mule as well, but left the army saddle on the second horse.

  He had finally left his temporary quarters just three days after mustering out, and rode down to Bellevue to begin his investigation into the whereabouts of his family. It was the first of August, and he thought he’d be on the Mormon Trail heading west in two weeks at the latest. His estimate proved to be woefully optimistic.

  He rented a room at Hardy’s Boarding House in Bellevue and became a fixture in the town as he talked to everyone he knew.

  Gradually, a picture emerged of what had happened. It was more than two bad crop seasons, one caused by a massive flooding of the Missouri River and the nearby Papio Creek, or even the barn burning. Some of the locals told him that some of the workers on the Union Pacific Railroad’s push west were unhappy with the Irish immigrants that were coming to Omaha to take the grading and tracklaying jobs for less money. Some of those that had returned to the city had begun a campaign of harassment of any Irish, immigrants or not. His family had felt the pressure and it was the final impetus to push them west to homestead a new area and start with a much larger farm.

  By the time he finished his investigation, it was three weeks later, but he could have gone then if he wanted to, but another obstacle for his departure presented itself named Melissa Blake.

  It had started innocently enough when he had begun to help Hector in the hardware store. Melissa still worked there, but many of the jobs required a strong back, which qualified John for the job. He wouldn’t take any pay for his work, which made Hector feel a little guilty, but not too much.

  Melissa, free of her malicious mate, had cleaned up her house and returned to her same, cheerful self that John had recalled from school, only she was far from the schoolgirl he recalled. She was a woman fully developed and in need of a man.

  After just two days working in the store, Melissa invited him to dinner. That first night’s dinner led to an extended night in the bedroom and it was followed by a string of dinners and bedroom frolics that they both thoroughly enjoyed. Before John even noticed, it was October, and any thoughts of crossing the plains vanished. Rather than face the freezing plains, John spent the cold nights in the warmth of Melissa’s bed.

  He and Melissa developed an unusual relationship. She knew he would be leaving in the spring, so she didn’t try to push him away with talk of love or marriage. The last thing Melissa wanted was to lose Slow John Flynn. She had asked him the source of the nickname and when he had told her, she had laughed and said she could think of a very different reason for it, and was so very grateful that he was so slow with her.

  John thoroughly enjoyed being with Melissa, and not just because whenever he arrived, she would drag him into her bedroom. He liked Melissa a lot and wanted her to be happy, so he took his time and made sure she enjoyed every second they were together, whether in the bedroom or working together in the hardware store.

  Melissa early in their relationship, had told John that she thought she was barren because she had never conceived in the three years she was married to Billy Bannister. While it may not be true, she never did get pregnant, despite the repeated opportunities.

  John began to seriously think about abandoning his search for his family, marrying Melissa and staying in Bellevue with her. She was such a delightful young woman. But he knew that not knowing what had happened to his family would eat at him and eventually poison the effortless joy they had in being together. He would have to leave in the spring and then he began to think that maybe Melissa would join him.

  But Melissa told him when he asked, that she knew she could never leave town because she wasn’t an adventurous person, and feared dramatic change. It meant that all they could do was to enjoy their time together and see if something changed. She knew she would never even try to talk John into staying because it wouldn’t be fair to him to deny him his family.

  None of this would make their lives any easier in springtime when John had to leave, but each found comfort and peace when they were together. Melissa would be more affected by his departure because she loved him totally, and it would break her heart when he left.

  John was in a similar situation. He didn’t know if he loved Melissa, but he respected her and was completely comfortable with her. They enjoyed each other’s company, and were much more compatible than most married couples he knew. But he knew the thought of crossing the Plains was terrifying to her and he had to go. He couldn’t deny his mission any longer.

  So, as the snows melted, and the spring rains began, they both were painfully aware that their tethered time together was drawing to a close. They were in their customary positions on Melissa’s bed, with John supine with Melissa draped over him, both still covered in a light sheen of sweat, despite the cool temperature in the house.

  “You’ll be leaving tomorrow, Slow John?” she whispered.

  “I’m afraid so, Melissa. I have to find my family. I’ve delayed it too long already. I wish you could come along, I really do.”

  “I know. But my place is here. Yours is out there. Will you write to me, Slow John?”

  “I will. Don’t write back until I get a permanent address. Do you think you’ll get married again, Melissa?”

  Melissa sighed, but answered truthfully. “I think so. I don’t want to be alone. But I know no matter who he’ll be, he’ll never make me feel the way you do. I know why you have that nickname, Slow John, and it’s not what’s the most appropriate. You take so much time with me, it makes me feel incredible. I’ll miss you for that. And I’ll miss you even more for making me feel wanted.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Melissa.”

  “Slow John, before you leave, can you answer one question?”

  “You want to know what really happened when Billy died.”

  “Could you tell me, please?”

  John leaned over and kissed the top of Melissa’s head.

  “The report I wrote is accurate, but I’ll tell you everything. When you showed me the burn mark on your arm, I knew I would have to do something. I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore. I wasn’t sure what I could do until I arrived and found him already drunk and he was terrified that I was a ghost. So, I went inside after telling him that we in the spirit world had come to claim him and Jeff Bigelow had told him to stop hurting you. That’s when I told him that Jeff said that Billy had murdered him. Then, I told him that we couldn’t take him to hell as long as he had liquor in him, so that’s when he went and poured those two bottles down his throat.”

  Melissa sighed.

  “Thank you, Slow John. I knew that if I showed you my scar, you would help me somehow. He was always afraid of you, you know. Ever since you were five. I only asked about it because I wanted to make sure that you didn’t feel guilty about anything.”

  “If I feel guilty about anything, Melissa, is having to leave. You’re a wonderful woman, Melissa. You deserve a good life.”

  Melissa slid closer to John and kissed him softly.

  “These past few months have been the best life any woman could ask for, Slow John. Now, could you put me into ecstasy one more time?”

  John wrapped Melissa in his arms and let his fingers begin to give Melissa what she asked.

  _____

  The next morning, his supplies already purchased and loaded on the mule, his weapons already stored, John sat at the breakfast table with Melissa. He knew she had been fighting back tears since they had gone to sleep in each other’s arms, and hadn’t always won the battle. She was trying to put on a happy face and failing miserably. John wasn’t doing much better, as the ache in his heart was overwhelming.

  Melissa had expected her heart to be breaking, but it was much more than that, it was bei
ng crushed into nothingness.

  John drank the last bit of coffee in his cup and knew he couldn’t prolong it any longer. He stood, as did Melissa. They embraced closely, and Melissa tilted her head back to accept one more, bittersweet kiss from John. She wanted so much to tell him that she loved him, but didn’t want to be the reason for the loss of his family. So, she just stretched the kiss as long as she could and felt the strength of his arms around her.

  They separated at last and John looked into those giant, kind brown eyes and said simply, “Goodbye, Melissa.”

  Melissa choked out a barely audible, “Goodbye, Slow John.”

  John ripped his eyes from Melissa’s before it was too late, turned quickly and walked out the kitchen door. Melissa stayed rooted where she had last felt John’s lips on hers and heard his horses’ hooves fade away.

  It would take time to get over him, but Melissa finally smiled, touched her lips and was grateful for the memories.

  CHAPTER 2

  March 8, 1867

  Kate Walsh was out in the field with Fred Willoughby preparing the soil for the year’s crop of feed corn. It was still chilly outside, and she was wearing the worn, second-hand coat that the Willoughbys had bought for her in nearby Plum Creek that first September she had been with them.

  Ever since that day almost two years earlier, when she had wandered lost and hungry onto their homestead, Fred and Bertha had treated her like the daughter they never had, sharing their food and even their limited money. She had confided in them what had happened to her last summer, and her initial fear of becoming pregnant by the assault. When she hadn’t, she felt relieved, but knew that finding her family would be impossible without the funds to strike out on her own and that wasn’t going to happen soon.

  It wasn’t that she couldn’t make any money, it’s just that she refused to make money the one way that was available. She’d only been to Plum Creek three times and had been propositioned at least once on every trip. The last trip, just two weeks earlier, she had been followed back to the farm, too. She still shuddered at the thought. Fred had told her that the man was Thomas Murphy and he lived with his wife and three adult sons on a homestead about a mile southwest. They had only recently arrived and were already the scourge of the town.