“Yes! A Call!” he cried. “A Call to literature! Not literature of the highest order, you understand, but that of the lowest—i.e., humorous. I confess it is nothing to be proud of, but it is my strongest suit. And it is partly thanks to you!”
He let me go & picked up the cardboard box with the Stone Baby in it. “The boys at the Enterprise were pranking us both with this rock baby,” he said. “But it gave me the bulliest idea for my own hoax article. My account of the ‘Petrified Man’ has been a Wild Success. It is being reprinted in newspapers all over the country. Subscriptions of the Daily Territorial Enterprise have gone up ten percent, according to Joe Goodman.”
His pipe had gone out so he put down the Stone Baby & struck another match on the sole of his boot & put it to the bowl & puffed. “As a bonus,” he said through a cloud of smoke, “I have exacted vengeance on that varmint George Sewall. Even though I misspelled his name in the article, people are writing to him and visiting him by the drove. They are all demanding that he take them to Gravelly Ford to show them the Prodigy. Haw-haw!”
“Why is it all thanks to me?” I said.
“Well, if you had not left that rock baby lying around and made me mad, then I would not have kicked it and got the notion to write my own version,” he drawled.
“But the Petrified Man was all a big story, wasn’t it?” I said. “You made it up.”
He chuckled and puffed his pipe. “Course I made it up,” he said. “That makes my vengeance all the sweeter!”
“Vengeance is the Lord’s,” I said. “Be careful your revenge does not backfire upon you.”
“Dang it, Pinky,” he puffed, “don’t be so sanctimonious. Come on over to the Niagara Music Hall & Billiard Saloon. Let us engage in some jollification. I believe El Dorado Johnny is still laid out on the Billiard Table there. I will stand you a sarsaparilla and we will see if he is still a good-looking corpse. We will toast my ‘Call to Humorous Literature.’” He puffed his pipe some more and added, “No doubt your presence will attract another shooting affray by and by.”
“I am sorry,” I said. “But I hear the church bells calling the faithful to worship. Are you coming?”
“Not if I can help it,” he said.
Ledger Sheet 53
I WALKED DOWN TO D STREET alone to attend my first church service in Satan’s Playground. I reckon I was about as clean as I had ever been in my life. I wore my buckskin moccasins and trowsers, my blue woolen coat with the six brass buttons & my black felt hat with the hawk’s feather in it. I had sent my faded red (not pink) flannel shirt to be cleaned at Hong Wo’s and was wearing a brand-new pink flannel shirt instead. Yes, it was Pink. Not faded red but pink. I like flannel because it is real soft & I had got used to the color pink, too.
It kind of matches my name.
But if anybody says it is a “girly” color I will kick them hard in the shin without counting to ten or quoting Philippians 4:5.
The Methodist Episcopal Church was crammed to the rafters, as they say. I was surprised to see about 20 or 30 Soiled Doves there, along with a couple of Barkeepers and the Coroner for Storey County, Mr. George Sewall, not Sewell. Doc Pinkerton & his wife were there, too, & Isaiah Coffin with Miss Belle Donne on his arm.
(His dash to her side in the presence of a crazed killer had revived their Love.)
My Lawyer, Mr. William Morris Stewart, was also present. He told me he had put my fourteen hundred dollars back in my account and repaid Big Gussie and her Boarding House Girls the six hundred they had raised for my bail.
I sat near the back of the church on the end of a pew so I could make an easy escape if necessary. Sometimes Sunday services make me squirmish and I need to get out in the fresh air. Gussie & the girls all waved at me from the other side of the church. They were got up in their Sunday finest and they looked bully.
Mrs. Zoe Brown was there, too, in her finest mourning dress of black, trimmed with black lace ruffles. Martha stood beside her, wearing the pink calico dress and white boots, but with a brand-new hat on her head. It was straw with little pink flowers that matched her dress.
(I suppose I will have to buy two new calico dresses & bonnets & pairs of button-up boots. One to replace the ones I had taken from Isaiah Coffin’s clothes cupboard & one for my very own Prim Little Girl Disguise. But I do not mind. At least this time I can buy boots that fit.)
The Rev. C.V. Anthony preached a nice sermon on the Grace of God and we sang some hymns that reminded me of Pa Emmet and Ma Evangeline. I always feel closer to God with the sky above me, rather than a church steeple, but this was not too bad.
After the service ended, I stood outside the church in the sunshine, watching the legs & feet of each person who stopped to thank the Reverend.
From a nearby sage bush a quail called out, “Chicago! Chicago!” to remind me of my goal.
I thought, “When I am ready.”
When Mrs. Zoe Brown & Martha appeared in the doorway, the Reverend bent his head & prayed for them. Afterwards, they came over to where I stood, beside the Reverend’s future rose garden.
“We come to say good-bye,” said Mrs. Zoe Brown in her soft Southern accent.
“We’s going to Frisco!” said Martha in her strong Southern accent.
“You are leaving Virginia City?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Zoe Brown. She slipped her arm around Martha. “We are setting out right now, while the weather is still fine. We will take Sally’s rig. When we get to Frisco, I will set up as a milliner with Martha my apprentice.”
“Jess like Miz Sal was gonna do,” said Martha.
I said, “Are you sure that is the best plan? I have heard it takes about four days to reach Frisco with your own gig. Those steep mountains tire out the horses something awful and then there is the ferry from Sacramento. You and Martha would do better to sell the gig and team and buy passage on a stagecoach.”
“No,” said Zoe Brown. “I have made up my mind and planned our route: Van Sickles station tonight, Monday in Strawberry Flat, Tuesday in Sacramento, then the ferry to San Francisco. It is my way of honoring poor Sal. Also,” she added, “the Reverend has just asked the Lord to bless us with Road Mercies.”
“I will add my prayers to his,” I said.
“Fortune favors the brave,” said Martha.
Zoe Brown opened her little reticule & fished out a gold coin worth $20. She said, “I want to reward you for helping Martha.”
I reckoned it was a lot of money for them.
“I don’t need that,” I said. “I have got plenty of those in my strong box over at Wells, Fargo & Co. You keep it. That reminds me,” I added. I reached into my pocket and pulled out Martha’s cross & chain and held it out to her. “You should have this. It will remind you of Sally.”
Martha looked at me all wide-eyed and then up at Zoe.
Zoe Brown’s eyes were swimming with tears and she said to me, “Are you sure?”
“I am sure.”
“Oh, P.K.!” whispered Martha. “Thank you!” She took the cross and chain and Zoe Brown helped her put it on right then and there.
“Well, we’ve got to give you something,” said Zoe Brown. She looked at Martha & Martha looked at her. Then, before I could stop her, Zoe Brown grasped me by the shoulders & pulled me forward & gave me a kiss on the cheek. Martha giggled & kissed me on the other cheek.
As I scrubbed off the dampness with my coat sleeve, I thought, “What is it about Virginia City?”
“Oh, P.K.!” Zoe Brown had her hands on her hips & was shaking her head. Then she fished in her purse and brought out a striped paper bag. “Have these, too,” she said. “Acidulated drops.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the candy. “These are much nicer than kisses.”
“P.K.,” said Mrs. Zoe Brown, “do you ever not say exactly what you think?”
I thought about this. Then I said, “Only when I am lying.”
Mrs. Zoe Brown laughed. It was the first time I had heard her do such a thing
. It made her look real pretty. She said, “If ever you come to Frisco you must promise to look us up.”
I put an acidulated drop in my mouth & nodded. “I will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
They left me & went up to the street and I saw Sissy and Sassy, the two white mares, hitched to Sally’s lacquered buggy in front of Big Gussie’s Brick House. I watched black-clad Zoe Brown & pink-clad Martha climb up into the shiny black carriage. They both sat in front & Zoe Brown herself gathered up the reins & flicked the whip & Martha waved good-bye with a new handkerchief.
I watched as they clopped right past & then south along D Street & finally out of sight.
Ledger Sheet 54
EVEN THOUGH IT WAS SUNDAY, the Quartz Stamp Mills were pounding out their song & the hoisting works were sending up clouds of steam from their tall chimneys. The mine whistles started to go off. It was noon.
My acidulated drop had almost dissolved when Rev. C.V. Anthony finally came up to me.
“Ready for our excursion?” he said.
“Yes, sir.” I decided not to tell him I had briefly suspected him of murder.
“Good. My wife is picnicking with some lady friends. We will have our own picnic.”
Ten minutes later I was sitting beside him at the front of a buckboard pulled by a big roan & a gray and we were clipping south along D Street. The road climbed up to merge with C Street and soon we were going over the Divide. It is a kind of hump on the mountainside that separates Virginia from the village of Gold Hill. The Reverend had been talking about the weather & such things but now he grew silent. The road went sharply down now—steep & winding—and I reckoned he wanted to concentrate on his driving. He slowed down to pay a coin at the Toll House and immediately after that we passed between the towering & demonic rocks called Devil’s Gate.
We continued down the winding canyon road through Silver City & we saw the stage from Carson City letting off passengers in front of the hotel. I thought we might catch up with Zoe Brown and Martha but we didn’t. I guessed they were making good time towards Frisco.
After Silver City, we forked left onto that nice new toll road. It was smooth as silk but as twisty as a snake. It was a hot afternoon, almost like summer, only the Cottonwood trees were golden and trembling, which told you it was autumn. We had both taken off our coats and sat there in just our shirtsleeves with the breeze on our faces & the smell of horse & sage & the taste of dust in our mouths.
When we finally reached the flat, straight part of the road, the Reverend breathed a sigh & said, “There is a picnic basket behind you with some ham sandwiches and bottles of lemonade. Why don’t you bring them out?”
I did so & he looped the reins around his left wrist & we sat eating the ham sandwiches & drinking lemonade as the buckboard clopped south.
We finished our sandwiches & lemonade just as Dayton hove into view. The Reverend picked up the reins & guided the buggy through the town & past the Toll House & across the bridge over the Carson River.
“Tell me,” said Rev. C.V. Anthony, “about Absalom Smith.”
I said, “His real name was Deforrest Robards. He liked the idea of being a soldier so he gathered together a band of volunteers from among his friends. He became a Confederate Lieutenant. But when he faced the enemy at Shiloh, he froze with terror and then fled, causing a rout of his men and great loss of life. He came here and adopted the false name of Absalom Smith.”
“Absalom,” said the Reverend. “Perhaps the most heroic coward in the Good Book. ‘O Absalom, my son, my son!’” he quoted.
I said, “He went to Topliffe’s Theatre on Friday afternoon and they asked him to stand in for Mr. Woodhull, who was ill that evening. Sally knew Robards from Mobile, Alabama. She happened to be at Topliffe’s that night. When she saw him, she went to greet him. He had to finish the show but he arranged to meet her later down at her crib. Short Sally loved a brave man but despised a coward. Also, she had a tongue as sharp as an acidulated drop. I reckon he told her what happened, but instead of consoling him, she taunted him. Martha heard her shout ‘Flicker, flicker. Yellowhammer!’ That was about the worst thing Short Sally could have said. Deforrest Robards went crazy and throttled her.”
“War is a terrible thing,” said the Reverend. “It drives some men crazy.”
I said, “I should have guessed sooner that he was the killer. He must have followed Martha to my office and used the duel between Farner Peel and Murphy as an opportunity to try to break in. But the door held, so he followed me and struck up a conversation with me in the Fashion Saloon.”
“You frequent the Fashion Saloon?”
“Sometimes,” I said, and hurried on with my account. “Anyway, Absalom Smith, a.k.a. Robards, froze when El Dorado Johnny challenged him. If I knew how to read people better I’d have known he was petrified with fear.”
“You witnessed a gun duel in a saloon?”
“Not that time. Absalom Smith left, but when I went out back to talk to someone, I think he must have been in the other privy. If I was better at conundrums I would have known that.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Just before Absalom Smith, a.k.a. Robards, left the Fashion Saloon that day, he posed me a conundrum. He asked me what the difference was between roast beef and pea soup. Before we could answer, he said, ‘Anyone can roast beef.’”
The Reverend frowned for a moment, then chuckled. “But not everyone can pee soup!”
“Correct,” said I. “If I was smarter, I would have known he was going to the privy just like Poker—my friend. The murderer himself was sitting less than a foot away as I discussed my plan to investigate his Crime.” I shook my head, amazed at my own stupidity.
“Ironic,” said the Reverend.
I was not sure what “ironic” meant but it sounded good so I nodded & continued my account. “I first realized that Absalom Smith was Robards the Killer when I sniffed his tobacco at Sal’s crib. I remembered he carried a Confederate revolver. That was also a clew confirming that he was Deforrest Robards, the petrified Lieutenant of Shiloh.”
“Brilliant,” said the Rev. “Quite brilliant.” And to the horses, “Gee up there!”
Another quarter hour’s trotting brought us to the tiny hamlet of Temperance out in the hot, sagebrush-dotted desert.
It was the first time I had been back since my foster parents were scalped & murdered there.
Ledger Sheet 55
THE REVEREND HAD GOT a key to my family’s cabin from somewhere & he opened the door of the cabin & went in first.
I followed him in. It smelled stale in there but I caught a faint whiff of Bay Rum Tonic & blood.
I tried not to look at the stain on the bare wood floor. I guess they had burned the rug Ma Evangeline loved so much. She had made it from scraps of old calico braided together and then sewed in a big spiral like a squished but colorful snake. It made the place seem bright & cozy. Without that rug, the cabin seemed sad & bare. There were already some cobwebs up on the ceiling near the beam where I had cowered less than two weeks ago.
Someone had packed up the china & cooking things & bedding into wooden tea chests. In one chest were Ma Evangeline’s books; I saw the Bible, Bleak House & Worcester’s Elementary Dictionary lying on top.
“What is this?” The Rev. C.V. Anthony was holding up a flat wooden case with a glass top.
“That is my Bug Collection,” I said. “I also have a Button Collection. I like collecting things,” I added. “Ma Evangeline said it was one of my Eccentricities.”
“Do you want to keep your bed?” said the Reverend, gesturing towards the smaller of the two beds.
“No,” I said. “It is too big for my back room. Mr. Bloomfield left me a camp cot and I can sleep on that.”
“As you wish,” he said. “What about the cabin and the remaining furniture therein? Do you want to keep it or sell it?”
“Sell it,” I said. “I will never come back here. If you get any money fo
r it then put it towards the cost of my foster parents’ burial, which you paid for. Anything left over can go in the church collection box.”
“That is very Christian of you, P.K.,” said the Reverend. “You are storing up treasure in heaven.”
I nodded to myself. I had donated about $100 of my own funds to help Martha but my share of the reward for Extra Dub had been twice that, for they had doubled his reward money to $400 since his first escape. You cannot outgive God.
We carried the tea chests out of the cabin & put them in the back of the buckboard. I also took my school shoes, a few extra cups, a pitcher & washbasin and a dustpan & broom. But we left the big bed & the small bed & the dresser & the table & chairs & the potbelly stove.
We climbed back up into the buckboard & the Reverend flicked the horses with his whip & we drove back along the dusty desert road & crossed the Carson River & paid the toll & took a left fork at Main Street of Dayton & drove up to the graveyard.
The Rev. C.V. Anthony left the horses by a water trough as there was no shade anywhere. I had never been here before, so I let him lead the way through the dusty gravestones. By the time we stopped in front of one, my throat felt tight and my vision was blurry. I knew it was the grave of Ma and Pa Jones, who had been kind to me & had taken me in & loved me & had died on account of me. The chorus of that song “Kiss Me Good Night, Mother” was going through my head:
Thy tender love, Mother, makes all so bright;
Kiss me good night, Mother, kiss me good night.
I blinked & my vision cleared & I was able to read the inscription on the stone:
EMMET JONES 1818–1862
EVANGELINE WYATT JONES 1822–1862
“I HAVE FINISHED MY COURSE.”
R.I.P.
I swallowed hard & took a deep breath & let it out slow. Their race was done & they had gained the Victor’s Crown.
I looked around at the barren graveyard on the hill and the sage-dotted mountains around and the blue sky above.
The Case of the Petrified Man Page 20