by Kate Sheperd
Now that he actually had time to himself to reflect, he felt restless. There was nothing further for him to do at the cabin, not unless he wanted to upgrade it to a permanent living space. He had patched up the roof, and mucked out the outhouse. That had been a chore that he had not relished doing, but which he needed doing nonetheless. The whole time, he had wondered why he had even bothered digging a latrine pit in the first place.
He let out a sigh of exasperation. He muttered under his breath, “Jake old man, you’re going to have to make your mind sooner or later.”
It was then when he sat reflecting on he should put down roots in Sawtooth or move on to somewhere else when the swinging doors of the bar pushed open. He looked from the table. Surprise came over his face when he saw who had entered.
Chapter 2
A woman dressed like a bedraggled prostitute came in through the door. At some point, she had put makeup on her face and arranged her hair just so. She had put on fishnet stockings to go with her red dress that was slim at the waist and wide around the knees. She made no attempt to disguise the size of her bosom. A full third of her breasts showed, as white as new ivory. But for all her good intentions in trying to make herself as presentable as possible, something had gone wrong. Her stockings had torn in several places. Her makeup had run down her face until her cheeks were smears of black and red color. Her hair had come undone so that half of it fell over her shoulder while the other half sat against her back. She had flaming red hair that would have appeared attractive no matter how she arranged it. She had an expression of unbridled fury upon her face.
Before Scribner could say the first word of welcome to her, she spoke in a tetchy voice with a clear Irish accent. Jacob had met many Irishmen and Irish women during his time in Philadelphia. Hearing her accent was for him a reminder of days gone by. She said, “What are you looking at?”
Scribner stopped twirling his mustache. Instead, he made the best bow he could. Jacob was put in mind of the pictures of penguins he had once seen in books. Scribner said, “Why madam, nothing at all. There’s no call to be salty with me, for I’ve done nothing to you. Now just look, you only just came into my establishment. Why don’t you sit and rest somewhere? No doubt that shall improve your mood.”
She considered him with an icy glare that Jacob had not seen in many years. It was a look that he associated with a cheating husband getting his comeuppance at long last. She said, “I’ll not sit down until I find the rat that I came here to find.”
Scribner hesitated to respond. Yet, as the woman did not move away from him, he said, “And who might that be, madam?”
The woman pulled a paper from somewhere. She held it up before her, though it had been folded so many times that its contents could not be discerned at a glance. She said, “His name is Jacob Renmyer. Not a worse man have I ever known. Why, do you know he’s dragged me all the way out from Kansas just so I could marry him. Of all the nerve!”
Jacob put his hand on the edge of the table while he watched Scribner look around, trying to find anything to which he could cling. He looked like a man flung overboard into the sea. He took out a handkerchief and applied it to his sweating forehead. He said, “And how did that come to pass, pray tell madam?”
She sniffed in disdain, then said, “That is my affair. Do you know where I might find this man?”
Jacob stood up. He said, “I’m Jacob Renmyer. What is this you mean about being dragged out here?”
The woman put her hands on hips and advanced upon his table. She held the paper up to his face. She said, “Why, I’m your mail order bride. Don’t you know that? Or are you simple in addition to being a cad?”
Jacob forced himself to keep his equanimity, even though he wanted to give the woman a piece of his mind. That would get him nowhere, especially if she was the bridge that he had ordered through the mail. He said, “Very well, may I see your papers please?”
She pushed them against his chest. He unfolded the pages, then read what was written there. It was a copy of the ads that he put out in the newspaper. It often happened that, in order to fill up space, newspapers from all across the country accepted content from other publications. This was the case for the Topeka Star, who had reprinted every advertisement that he remembered seeing in the Ledger. When people did not buy up enough advertising space in that space, they stayed in business by selling their space to other newspapers. This was called boilerplate.
He said, “Very well, so you’ve answered the ad. I won’t claim to know how you got so here so quickly when the ad appeared in the paper here three days ago. You’re here, and you have proof that what you say is true. Now then, shall we get married?”
The woman stomped her foot on the floor. She said, “Mr. Renmyer, all of the temerity! First you have me board a train, then you drag me through miles of wild country dressed like this! I must look quite a sight. How do you intend to take responsibility for this, sir?”
Jacob stood where he was, unmoved. He said, “Madam, I believe you must have me mistaken for someone else. I did not, as you say, drag you anywhere. The fact is that I have been here in Sawtooth for the last year and a half. I do not know who it was that you met along the road, but I am not he.”
She blinked at him. She said, “Well consarn it, I shouldn’t have let my spectacles get broken. When I got off the train, I showed my paper around asking if anyone knew you. Of course no one did. Then a man told me that he was Jacob Renmyer himself. He said that he had come looking for me, since he had heard I might be coming.”
“Madam, that is where you were deceived. It should be highly improbable for the mail to beat the passenger train here, even presuming that you wrote a letter to anyone in Sawtooth declaring your intent. Did you do so?”
She said, “Why-why no, as a matter of fact.”
“Then you have been practiced upon. I regret to tell you this, for I know it’s not something you may desire to hear. Yet it is the truth. There are men who wait at train stations looking for unsuspecting women to take advantage of. You must have a very strong mind to have escaped your predicament.”
“Aye, and that I do. My name is Rachel O’Leary, of the Irish O’Learys. Might be you’ve heard of us.”
Jacob felt a twinge of humor strike him, even while he understood the seriousness of the situation. Someone was out there diverting women away from their intended husbands. Doing so would not be difficult, for every ad that he had ever read did not include a photograph of the husband-to-be. Any man could show up and pretend that he himself had placed the ad.
He said, “I haven’t. But that’s immaterial-”
“Immaterial indeed! Why, I’ll have you know-”
“-next to your ordeal. I believe that you and I should pay a visit to the sheriff and inform him of the situation.”
“Now how I do know you really are Jacob Renmyer? I must confess that my head is so turned around that I don’t know what is what precisely. Can you prove to me that you who you say you are?”
Jacob shrugged his shoulders. “Once we see the sheriff, he’ll either recognize me or he won’t. Then you’ll have your answer.”
Rachel considered this statement for a time. Doing so appeared to calm her down. Then she said, “He’s a fair man, your sheriff?”
“As far as any other. He gets hot under the collar when anybody tells him that he doesn’t do his job. Otherwise, he’s easy to get along with I think you’ll find.”
She grab Jacob’s sleeve. She said, “Good. Then let us go there at once.”
Chapter 3
Sheriff John Farson’s office was not difficult to find, for it lay four doors down from the saloon. A five-pointed metal star had been painted on a sign that hung above the sheriff’s door. Rachel kept dragging Jacob by the shirt collar until they both stumbled into the office.
There were two cells, each of which was regularly used as a place where the town drunks could sleep off a night of hard drinking. It had a single desk that the sheriff had built
himself. One of the desk’s four legs did not reach all the way down to the floor. A rock had been placed under the front right corner of the desk. However, as the rock was one size too big, that corner of the desk stuck up in the air. Though Jacob had been in the office several times before, he never got used to the sight of the lopsided desk. It didn’t seem right to him.
The man sitting behind it was six feet and four inches tall. He stood head and shoulders above everyone else in the town. He had a head full of thick blond hair that he let grow beyond what regulations would have called for, were he living in a bigger town. Yet, as Sawtooth primarily served as a ranching town where people stopped to rest on their way to California, no one from the state government interfered in his business too often. He let things go that would not have been tolerated in Philadelphia. Though he tried to keep his shirt tucked in, a corner would sometimes poke out over his waistline. If it did, he paid it no mind. He wore a tan uniform with a silver star upon his chest. His boots were often muddy, except when he expected a visit from a county or city official. Then he brought out his dress boots. Those days were rare enough that he had earned the nickname of “Mudshoes.”
He had used a part of his budget to purchase a typewriter from Chicago. The machine sat on the slightly slanted desk looking like a miniature stove. Jacob had trouble imagining that anyone could write anything on the machine. Yet somehow, the sheriff managed it.
When he heard two people stumble into his office, he looked up from his work and said, “Mr. Renmyer and...I’m sorry miss, I don’t know your name.”
Rachel let go of Jacob’s shirt sleeve and said, “The name is O’Leary, your honor. Rachel O’Leary. I’m here on official business, I fear to confess.”
The sheriff asked, “Jacob, do you know anything about this? I don’t recall having this woman in my town before.”
Jacob smoothed out his shirt as best he could, then said, “Miss O’Leary here has arrived from Kansas. She claims that after departing the train-”
Rachel held up a hand. She said, “I’ll tell my story myself, if you please.”
Jacob stopped. He waited.
Farson said, “Well, miss? Perhaps you would care to educate me on what has occurred.”
Rachel related the incidents that had brought her to Sawtooth, Nevada. She had begun by reading a boilerplate advertisement from Nevada. She took a train ride to Reno where she met someone who claimed to be Jacob Renmyer-but only after she had shown the man the advertisement that she had brought with her. The man had led her into the wilderness, telling her that he had his own land, but that they would have to ride to get there. She did not mind riding a horse, for she had done so from an early age. She rode through heat the smeared her makeup and through woods that cut at her clothing. At one point, she had stopped her horse to ask the man what he thought he was playing at. It was then that he had pulled his gun on her. He demanded that she turn over all her valuables. She had been carrying a knapsack with her, which had contained everything that she owned in the world.
Afterward, he had left her where she was to fend for herself. She tried walking back to the train station only to find that she got herself lost. If she had not encountered a passing stranger on the road who told her the way to Sawtooth-it had been five miles due east of where she found the passing stranger-she might have starved to death out there in the wild.
When she finished her story, the sheriff used the knuckle of his index finger to raise the brim of his hat. He said, “Now if that doesn’t take the care. I’ve heard some wild adventures like you wouldn’t believe. I never did hear of a man taking advantage of a woman like that. Would you be willing to describe the man to me? Might be someone will recognize him if I pass word around.”
Rachel described the man to him as best she could. That process took ten minutes. Jacob leaned his back against the wall while he waited. He wondered just what it was that he had gotten himself into.
Chapter 4
When they left what passed for a police station in Sawtooth, Rachel said, “Mr. Renmyer, what is it that you do for a living?”
Jacob kept walking, back toward the saloon. He said, “I’m a cowpuncher.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. She said, “Surely not.”
Jacob stopped. He saw the incredulity written all over her face. He said, “You do know what a cowpuncher is, don’t you?”
“It just so happens that I do not. Perhaps you would care to explain.”
“There’s a man who lives in these parts, goes by the name of Callahan. He has a big tract of land up north of here half a piece. He’s a wheat farmer, and a cattle farmer. But since he doesn’t have but one son, he has to hire help to take care of his cows.”
“How do you mean, take care of his cows? All he need do is erect a fence, surely?”
“That might be true, if the cows didn’t get thirsty. They can’t subsist on dew every morning. There’s too many of them to make it practical to bring water in from a nearby stream or river. So that’s where I come in. Every day, I lead the cows down to a watering hole so they can have their drink. They could do it themselves, if they didn’t have a habit of getting lost or getting stolen. That’s where I come in.”
She took in what he said before she replied. She said, “Does it pay well? I trust you make a good living for yourself?”
He said, “It pays well enough. I have my own cabin out yonder. Gets a mite cold in the winter and a mite hot in the summer. It doesn’t bother me none when I’m sleeping, though.”
She put her hands on her hips before saying, “So, do you wish to get married? I am ready to begin at once.”
Jacob thought about leaving for another state. He had wanted to do that, hadn’t he? Marrying the woman had responded to his ad would surely force him to settle down in Nevada. He ran a hand through his hair and said, “One thing at a time here. Okay? Let’s you and I sit down and talk. Then we’ll see where we stand.”
“That sounds fair enough to me.”
By the time they got to the saloon, they found a surprise waiting for them.
Chapter 5
A man wearing a derby hat and red suspenders had come into the bar. He had a handgun on either hip. Though Jacob had never found it necessary to carry a gun around, he could not fault those that did. People were still wary of Indian raiding parties, even though one had never come to Sawtooth. He supposed that he would have to carry a gun one day, if for no other reason than to have a fowling piece. Some folks carried their rifles in their bedrolls so as to surprise anyone who might come looking for trouble. Others, like the man who had entered the saloon, made no secret about walking around armed. In Jacob’s experience, doing so only led men into a grave on Boot Hill. Every town that he visited had a Boot Hill, and into each of were interred the remains of men who had thought that they could draw faster and shoot better than anyone else. They were born spoiling for a fight and, more often than not, they found one without too much difficulty.
The man spoke with an Irish accent, just as Rachel did. Jacob considered that to be one coincidence too many for the day. He heard the man saying, “Has a woman by the name of Rachel O’Leary come here today?”
Rachel burst through the doors of the saloon when she heard the voice. She cried out, “Seamus Flanagan, as I live and breathe, did I not say that I was through with you?”
Seamus’ face turned beet red. He huffed out a breath, then approached Rachel, who was a head shorter than him. He said, “Aye, that you did, and I’ll not believe it, for you’ve often said such and then come back to me. This is no different, I’m sure. You’ll change your tune when your temper cools, or I’m not an Irishman.”
Rachel scoffed. She said, “After what you’ve done? That I will not. For sure as I live and breathe, I know that I saw you in the arms of that slut Heather Worthington. I’ve had done with you and your cheating ways, Seamus. I’ve found a new man.”
She gestured to Jacob, who stood at the threshold, trying to figure out how to disentangl
e himself from the situation. Seamus looked from Rachel to Jacob, then said, “You’ve got a new man? Just like that? I’ll not have it. I swear to you that I shall not. I’ll not have it.”
Jacob said, “Excuse me-”
Rachel interrupted him before he could finish. She said, “Whether you’ll have it or no is nothing at all to me. This is how it must be. I’ve found a man who can be relied upon to keep his word, and I aim to marry him. As for you, Seamus Flanagan, you had your chance and then some. You must learn to keep your pants on before you declare your undying devotion to any woman.”
Seamus grabbed Rachel by the wrist. She cried out. He said, “You’ll be coming back with me to Topeka, and there’s no two ways about it.”
Jacob then interjected himself in the situation. He wasn’t sure then what compelled him to do so. Though he had been raised to believe that a man should never strike a woman, he knew as he moved forward that he would be better off if he let Seamus have his way. He could go back to his normal life, and then decide whether or not he wanted to help Callahan find a new man to look after his cattle. He could go to the Salinas Valley and buy himself an orange orchard, if he so chose. He had enough money saved up. He could go today, if he wanted to. He thought about all the fruits he would pick. He thought about hiring migrant workers to help out with each season’s harvest, and then selling his products to whoever would take them. He thought about these things even while he put a hand on Seamus’ chest.
He said, “Excuse me-”
Seamus said, “A pox on you!”
Then, he struck Jacob so hard about the head that the world went dark before Jacob even hit the floor.
Chapter 6
He woke up to find Rachel wringing out a white towel into a washbasin. He lay in bed-that was strange enough. He couldn’t recall actually sleeping in any kind of bed at all since he had come to Nevada. He had made do with what he had, which was good enough for him. Now, as he opened his eyes to get a sense of his surroundings, he understood why people put themselves through so much trouble to get mattresses in their bedrooms. The bed was comfortable, so impossibly comfortable that he could not quite believe it. His head rested on a pillow. He had almost forgotten that pillows existed, much less that he could lay down on one. He decided that if a warm bed was what putting down roots felt like, then that might not be as bad as he had once thought.