Wilda's Outlaw

by Velda Brotherton

  ****

  For a long while after Calder disappeared into the rain-swept darkness, Wilda remained hunched against the storefront, her fingers wrapped around the cross at her throat. What had this all been for if she was only meant to return to Fairhaven and marry Lord Prescott? Was it some cruel joke the fates had played on her?

  Fists clenched, she looked back toward Margaret’s small, clapboard house, where only the dim glow of a lamp shimmered in the window. Then she turned in the direction he had gone, took a deep breath and raced into the street. This would not happen; she would not let it. No matter what, she would not go back to Fairhaven, nor would she end up living alone in some frontier town doing laundry or cooking or, God forbid, working in some saloon. She’d rather be on the run with the outlaw she loved.

  In the dark she almost overran the livery. Just in time the gaping door appeared in a flash of lightning. Inside, dripping wet and gasping for breath, she stood still and listened. Rain pounded on the roof, the smell of hay and horses hung in the darkness, and she could hear nothing. Had they already left? The wagon she and Rachel had come to town in sat at the far end of a double row of stalls.

  A man holding a bobbing lantern appeared from one of the stalls.

  “Hello?” she shouted.

  He stopped short. “’Bout scared me clean to death, Missy. What you doing out in this storm?”

  “I’m looking f-for someone. A Mr. Smith was coming here to trade that wagon. Did he leave already?”

  “Why, yes’m, I believe he did. I tried to talk him out of going out in this here weather, but he wouldn’t be stopped. Would you be Missus Rachel?”

  “I…no, why?”

  “He asked me to see she got the money for the wagon I bought off him.”

  “She’s at Margaret Dolan’s house.”

  “Ah, I know the place. I’ll send it to her by me boy soon as this storm lets up a bit.”

  “Thank you. Was there another man with Mr. Smith?”

  “Another man? Nout that I saw, Missy.”

  She hugged herself and shivered. What now? Where was Calder?

  “He left two horses, though.”

  “What?”

  “For a friend, he said.”

  Mind awhirl with possibilities, she considered her options once more. “Has his friend been in yet? For the horses?”

  “Nout that I saw, but could be. I was up to the house for supper. Less go check if that fine gelding is still in its stall.”

  She trailed along behind, eyes on the lantern hanging in his hand till he opened a stall door and held it up. Empty.

  “Hmm, reckon his friend’s been and gone. Don’t see no one coming out in this to take a chance on finding a horse to steal here, do you Missy?” He cackled, impressed by his own humor.

  “Oh, dear. He’s gone? You didn’t see him?”

  “Tole you, Missy. You this Miss Wilda, you want me to feed and board the horse that fella Smith left for you?”

  “For me? I don’t understand.”

  “Sorry, I reckon I didn’t explain. One horse he said was for a friend, the other for this Miss Wilda. A fine little dapple mare she is.”

  Wilda stared into the empty stall. “But where is the mare?”

  The man led her to the next stall and swung open the door. Jeb lifted her head and whinnied. “If you’re Miss Wilda, this is the one he left for you.”

  Utterly confused as to Smith’s reasoning, she couldn’t think what to do or say. She could take the mare. Go after Calder. Aghast, she looked down at her wet dress. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pair of trousers I could borrow, would you?”

  “Trousers, Missy?”

  “Britches. Pants.” Dammit, was the man daft?

  “Oh, well, sure, I reckon. Less go see.”

  He led her into a tack room that smelled of sweet leather. “I keep clean britches here for when I get horse shit…uh, sorry Missy…sometimes I slip and fall in it, don’t you know?” He pawed around by the glow of the lantern and came up with a wadded bundle. “These’d have to do you, Missy. Alls I got.”

  She grabbed the denim pants, shook them out and lifted a leg. Paused. “Turn around please.”

  “Whut you doing, Missy?”

  “I’m changing clothes. Now would you please turn around?”

  “Why’nt I jest leave?”

  “Leave me the lantern, then. And would you mind, if that mare isn’t saddled, could you do that for me? I’d most certainly appreciate it.”

  He stared as if dumbfounded. “You ain’t from ’round these parts, with that fancy talk. Must be one of them danged and blasted Victorians. Figures why you’re crazy enough to ride out in this weather, and in men’s britches, to boot. Jest you wait till I fetch me ’nother lantern and I’ll get out of here. Leave you to your craziness.”

  He hung the lantern on a hook, and after fumbling around on a shelf, found another. A scratch and the smell of sulfur, and the flame of a match flared. Soon, he had a light and, muttering, shook his head and stomped out, hopefully to do her bidding.

  With him gone, she ripped the skirt from the long dress she wore and quickly stepped into the britches. They were baggy in the behind and too big around the waist, but he was a little man so the legs weren’t too long. On a nearby shelf she found a piece of rope and fashioned it into a belt to keep them up, tied it tightly and was ready. The high-button shoes weren’t boots, but they would do.

  By the time the livery man returned leading a saddled Jeb, the noise of the storm had moved off. Maybe it would stop raining.

  When she lifted her leg to the stirrup, she couldn’t reach it.

  “Since you’re set to ride out whether or no, if you’d allow, I’d boost you up, fix them stirrups so they’re right for you, Missy. I wouldn’t want it said I didn’t give you a hand in your ride to your own end.”

  “Thank you, I think,” she murmured.

  He made a cradle with both hands and she stepped in and was lifted easily. In the darkness lit only by the glow of his lantern hanging on the stall post, he adjusted the stirrups. She’d never gotten the feel for riding. The trip over with Smith had left her sore and she moaned as she climbed into the saddle. It was big and stout, gave her a comfortable seat.

  “There, now,” he said, patting the mare’s butt.

  “Did you see which way Smith went?”

  “Yep, he headed out yonder.” He pointed the opposite direction from Victoria.

  “Good, then that’s the way I’ll go too.”

  “Godspeed, young Missy,” he said. “If you don’t catch him, you can put up in Ellis. You need some supplies. Food and water.”

  She leaned down. “I know. I’ll take care. Thank you. You’ve been very kind. I’ll always remember you.”

  “That nout last long ’fore bad things will happen. You watch out, you do.”

  “I will. Thank you again.”

  He remained silent while she touched her heels against the mare’s sides and rode from the livery out into the street of Hays City. The rain had let up, and clouds drifted away from a speckling of stars. Off to the northeast, lightning outlined billowing clouds. On she rode, past Margaret’s where the lamp burned. Inside Rachel and her kids remained warm and safe. What the livery man had said about food and water pecked at her. She could die out there easily enough, without tempting those fates that had tricked her more than once already.

  She hauled on the reins, turned the dapple back toward Margaret’s, slipped off her back and tied her to the post out front. Taking a deep breath, she ran up the steps and rapped on the door.

  Her arrival caused quite a reaction. The children were asleep, but Rachel and Margaret bustled around firing questions too quickly to be answered.

  “Please,” she said. “All I need is some food and water.”

  “But why,” Rachel asked. “Where are you going? And where did you get those terrible britches?”

  “I’m going after Calder and Smith, and you can’t talk me out of i
t, so don’t try. I will not go back to Fairhaven, nor will I become a laundress or fancy woman.”

  By the time she finished, Margaret had left the room, and was soon back with a saddlebag stuffed with all manner of food. “This belonged to my son, Jason. There’s a canteen of water too.” She hugged Wilda. “Oh, child, I wish you wouldn’t do this, but I understand about love, I really do. What I don’t understand is how that nice young man could run off and leave such a beautiful girl as yourself.” She patted Wilda’s cheek. “Now you’ll be careful, and let us know where you land, will you?”

  “Yes, I surely will. Thank you so much. Both of you. I love you.” Realizing she’d probably never see either of them again, she teared up and gave them each a hug.

  “Go with God,” Rachel whispered in her ear.

  “Kiss the children for me, and be happy,” she told her. “I have to go now.”

  Outside, she fastened the bag behind the saddle, mounted from the boardwalk and rode off. A backward glance revealed a backlit Rachel and Margaret, standing in the door waving.

  The mare’s dainty hooves splatted and sucked at the muddy street as she rode west into a rain-washed wind. She had no idea if she would ever catch up to Calder or Smith. No telling where they were headed, but when she did catch them, she was going to give Calder a serious talking to. How dare he go off and leave her when they loved each other so much?

  ****

  Calder had no idea which direction the sheriff had gone with his posse, so it was best he just go back into the cell at the jail and wait for their return. He dare not spare a glance for Margaret’s house, nestled among the cluster of soddies and clapboard dwellings along the streets of Hays City. One look and he’d have to go back in there, grab Wilda and off they’d ride. Together. Forever.

  His throat ached with sorrow, near bad as he’d felt after the death of his family during the war. Wilda should be a part of his family, of him. Instead, he would be hung and her sent back to Fairhaven. But that was better than being arrested for helping him escape and hung alongside him. That he could not face. Not ever. He would die a hundred times before he’d let that happen to her.

  So, he tied Gabe out back, gave him some hay kept stacked in a small shed behind the jail, and spent a moment rubbing the velvety nose against his cheek. “You be good, ole boy. I’m gonna miss you.”

  Sighing, he went inside. The cell was locked, but the key hung by the door. He let himself in, shut and re-locked the door and sat down on the stinking dirty cot to await the return of Sheriff Calumet and the posse. By morning, he’d be swinging by his neck, and his death would be the end of the Raines family.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Against a silver dawn, the town of Ellis appeared like a scattering of boxes on the flat plains. The dapple mare slowed obediently with a mere touch. Wilda stretched tall in the stirrups, rubbed her back and groaned. This riding took some getting accustomed to. While Smith and Calder probably traveled the miles at a trot, she couldn’t manage that. Riding full tilt could have proven disastrous considering how clumsy she was on horseback.

  She nudged the mare forward, the muffled hoofbeats the only sound along the deserted street. Night fires had been allowed to burn down and tendrils of smoke filled the air with a woodsy fragrance. No sign of Calder and Smith. Maybe they weren’t even going to Ellis and had turned off. Or they were so far ahead of her she’d missed them. There’d been no clear trails on which they could’ve turned off.

  Disappointment added to her weariness.

  A large red horse stood tied to a post, hipshot and sleeping. Jeb snorted and tossed her head. The horse pricked his ears and whinnied, the two of them creating quite a song of greeting in the sleepy town. Stiff from the unaccustomed riding, she slid to the ground with a loud groan and tied Jeb to a post. She sat on the edge of the raised wooden boardwalk near the mare and swung her legs, not sure what to do. Next thing she knew, she was startled awake from a curled position on the hard boards. Sunrise, and the town awakened around her. Shopkeepers approached their businesses, threw open doors. Some swept the boardwalk and placed displays of produce, clothing and leather wares outside.

  If two men had come through here in the night, none of these people would know of it. Passers in the night would’ve been simply quiet shadows moving in silence along the street and off into the darkness.

  A barrel of a man approached and stopped at the door of the mercantile behind her. He unlocked it, then spoke. “You waiting for me to open?”

  “Not really. I was just so sore from riding so long, I thought I’d take a rest.”

  “Aye. You’d be from Victoria City, I’d wager,” he said with a chuckle.

  “How did you know?”

  His chuckle turned to a laugh. “Couldn’t miss that accent, now could I? You ride all that way alone in the night, Lass?”

  “Ah, no, I came from Hays City. I’m looking for some friends. Two men who would’ve ridden through here last night. A big, bald fellow by the name of Smith. He’s a blacksmith, and….” Perhaps it’d be better not to describe Calder. He might be known in these parts as a member of the gang who had robbed the bank in Hays City.

  He obviously saw the humor in that. “Smith, the blacksmith,” he said in the brogue that was so obviously Irish. “Well, can’t say as I saw him or his friend. Was snuggled deep in bed with the Missus through the night.” His laughter rang out.

  “Entertaining the ladies again, Magruder?” a lanky man said, and stopped to join the conversation, introducing himself as Jonah Larkin.

  “Who else would I be entertaining, Jonah?” Magruder asked.

  “You’re Irish,” Wilda said.

  “And how in the world did you keen that?” Magruder said. It seemed he never spoke but what he followed the words with merriment and laughter.

  “Could it be the accent?” she responded.

  All three chortled as if they’d been old friends for a long while. A few others joined the group and began to visit amongst themselves.

  After a while Magruder silenced them. “This lass is searching for a couple of friends who might’ve ridden through in the night. Any of you up and about, might’ve seen them?”

  They all shook their heads, and he addressed Wilda. “Sorry, Lass. Could I be asking you one question?”

  She hesitated to say yes, for fear of what it might be, but Magruder didn’t wait for permission.

  “Where have you been finding such fine trousers as those you’re a wearing? I’ve yearned for me a belt such as that.”

  This brought hearty laughter from everyone. Even she couldn’t help but grin and pirouette once. To their delight she flipped the frayed ends of the rope holding up the borrowed britches. Some clapped as if she were on a stage at a bawdy house. These people were much different from those in Victoria City and Hays, where everyone seemed morose and unfriendly.

  One by one the shopkeepers drifted off to get to work, each waving farewell to her and wishing her well in her search. Magruder dragged a table onto the boardwalk and set out some housewares, then stood brooms and shovels against the front of the building.

  With a rumbling stomach, she opened the saddlebag and took out a biscuit, a slice of ham and the water canteen. Sitting back in her spot, she ate every bite. Magruder cast an occasional look as he went about his morning chores. When she finished and replaced the canteen, she untied Jeb, stepped onto the boardwalk and climbed into the saddle.

  Magruder stuck his head out the door. “Good luck to ye, in finding your friends, Lass. It does seem a shame, men running away from such a lovely wee gal as you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Magruder.”

  “Ay, Lass, and you be careful alone on the trail.”

  And alone she was. All the way through town and on down the road, the mare’s hoofs setting a soothing rhythm. How far should she go before giving up? What had possessed Calder to abandon her? Didn’t he know she loved him? That love was more important than anything else in this world? That without
it we could die? Maybe he didn’t care. And if he didn’t, should she?

  “Oh, Jeb, I don’t know what to do but keep going.” She rubbed the mare’s neck and stared ahead at the flat plain, stretching out forever to the distant horizon. And nowhere did she see two men on horses. Where could they be? A hole of dread opened in her chest. What a huge place this America was. What if she was lost and never found her way? Never found the man she loved.

  ****

  The arrival of Sheriff Calumet and his posse in the middle of the night awoke Calder from a restless sleep in his jail cell. Horses with heads hanging, men slumped in the saddle, rode past the open jailhouse door, which he’d failed to close when he self-arrested himself the evening before. Wouldn’t be long now before Calumet discovered his prisoner had returned on his own. Probably wouldn’t help him a lot, where his scheduled hanging was concerned.

  No one came around for most of the morning and he was beginning to think no one would show up before he starved. He was thirsty, hungry, dirty, and about ready to change his mind about the whole matter when the young deputy called Jake came strolling in, toothpick hanging out of one corner of his mouth. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a prisoner in the cell.

  “Whut the thunder you doin’ here?” He grinned, showing a set of dirty, buck teeth, then backed up to the door. As if all of a sudden he’d been struck, he took off down the street hollering.

  It wasn’t long before he returned, chattering at none other than the sheriff himself, who looked a bit dumbfounded. Speechless fury soon followed. Calder didn’t much blame him. After all, the man had run a posse all over hell and creation chasing after two prisoners, only to return to find one of them securely locked up in a cell.

  When he could speak and make sense, Calumet said, “I don’t know what sort of trick this is, but if you think I’m gonna honor that sumbitching governor’s amnesty just cause you come in on your own, you’re crazier than my mama’s pet coon.” Hands on hips, he eyed Calder, who stood, fingers gripping the bars of his cell. When he didn’t reply, Calumet said, “Well, say something.”