Pearl River Junction

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Very impressive,” Shaye said.

  “Glad you think so,” Sheriff Riley Cotton said. He stood up behind his desk. “My deputy told me we had three strangers in town. That’d be you three?”

  “That’s us,” Shaye said. He approached the desk. “Dan Shaye. These are my sons, Thomas and James.”

  “The Epitaph bank job Shayes?” the lawman asked.

  “That what they’re calling us?” Shaye asked.

  “Sorry,” Cotton said. He was a tall man in his forties, bearded, wearing a clean shirt, tie, and trousers. He was dressed more like a schoolteacher than a lawman, but Shaye could tell more from the way the man stood than the way he was dressed. There was a gun belt hanging on a hook on the wall right behind him. The leather and the pistol itself were well cared for.

  “Word gets around,” Cotton said. “I notice you’re not wearing badges.”

  “That’s because we’re not lawmen anymore.”

  Cotton raised his eyebrows.

  “That by choice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Too bad. From what I heard, you were good at it.”

  “How long have you been sheriff?” James asked.

  “Been wearin’ a badge for fifteen or sixteen years. I’ve been sheriff here for the last five. You fellas wouldn’t be, uh, workin’ in some, um, related capacity, would you?”

  “What?” Thomas asked.

  “He wants to know if we’re bounty hunters,” Shaye said. “The answer is no.”

  “So then what brings you to Pearl River Junction?”

  “We’re looking for someone,” Shaye said.

  “Who?”

  “A girl named Belinda Davis.”

  The sheriff didn’t react.

  “Do you know her?”

  “Why do you want this girl?”

  “So you do know her?”

  “Answer my question first, please.”

  “She sent me a letter asking for my help.”

  “Do you have that letter on you?”

  Shaye hesitated, then shifted his saddlebags from his right shoulder to his left so he could dig into his shirt pocket and come out with the letter. He held it up, but did not offer it to the sheriff.

  “Can I see it?” Cotton asked.

  “Answer my question now,” Shaye said. “Do you know her?”

  “Yes, I know her.”

  “And you can tell us where to find her?”

  “I can,” the lawman said. “The question is: Will I?”

  Shaye hesitated, then handed the letter over.

  “I tell you what,” the sheriff said. “You fellas wait around your hotel or one of the saloons and I’ll get back to you.”

  15

  After they left the sheriff’s office, they went across the street to a hotel Cotton recommended to them. They got two rooms, with Thomas and James sharing one. After they stowed their gear in their rooms, they met in the lobby to go and get something to eat. Again, the restaurant they went to was recommended by the sheriff.

  Once they were seated and had ordered their food, James asked, “Why did you let him get away with that, Pa?”

  “Get away with what?”

  The diners surrounding them stared curiously at the strangers, but went back to their meals fairly quickly. The Shayes simply ignored the stares.

  “He knows the girl, but he ain’t tellin’ us where she is.”

  “He wants to check with her first,” Thomas said. “I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “But he has the letter,” James said. “He knows she wrote to Pa askin’ for help.”

  “Months ago,” Shaye said. “Maybe she’s changed her mind.”

  “That would mean we came all this way for nothin’.”

  “Not for nothing,” Shaye said. “Even if she doesn’t want our help anymore, I still want to find out if her child is Matthew’s.”

  “So how long do we wait?” James asked.

  “Don’t be in such a rush, James,” Shaye said. “We’re here and the sheriff knows we’re not going anywhere.”

  The waiter came over carrying three plates laden with huge steaks and generous portions of vegetables.

  “Eat your food,” Shaye told James. “When the sheriff knows what to tell us, we’ll hear from him.”

  James hesitated, but when his father and brother bent to the task of consuming their meal, he followed.

  Sheriff Riley Cotton lived in a small white house at the northern end of town. He could tell by the delicious smells filling the house that his wife was hard at work in the kitchen, baking and probably preparing supper. He found her there, wearing one of her many hand-made aprons.

  “Smells great,” he said as he entered the kitchen, “but then everything you make smells great.”

  She turned her head so he could kiss her and said, “Peach cobbler for dessert.”

  He kissed his wife, who he loved dearly even after twenty years of marriage. Marion Cotton had always been supportive of his chosen career and had moved from town to town without complaint—until they’d arrived in Pearl River Junction five years ago. She told him after only a year of living there that she never wanted to move again.

  “What brings you home two hours early?” she asked. “I wasn’t expecting you until supper.”

  “Dan Shaye and his sons rode into town today,” he told her.

  She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Have you told Belinda?”

  “That’s what I came home to do,” he said. “Is she around?”

  “I think she’s out back with Little Matt.”

  “I better talk to her and see if she still wants to see him—and his sons,” he said.

  She grabbed his arm before he could leave the kitchen.

  “Why did they come, Riley?”

  “Well, they say they came to help her,” he answered, “that is, if she still needs help.”

  “Will they take her away?” she asked. “And the baby?”

  “I don’t know, Marion,” he said. “I guess we’ll all find that out at the same time.”

  “I couldn’t bear it if—” she started, but then stopped abruptly and released his arm.

  “I know,” he said. “Believe me, I know.”

  16

  By the time Dan Shaye and his sons reached Pearl River Junction, Jeb Collier and his men were still about a week away. They were making camp for the night while the Shayes were eating supper.

  “We got enough money now, Jeb?” Ben asked as they sat around the fire.

  “We got enough, Ben,” Jeb said. “We’re headin’ straight for Pearl River Junction, come mornin’.”

  “You still gonna go after that gal?” Ben asked. “That ain’t smart, Jeb—”

  “Next time I need you to tell me what’s smart, Ben,” Jeb said, “I’ll go back to Yuma.”

  “Aw, Jeb—”

  “Go and get some more wood for the fire.”

  “Jeb—”

  “Git!”

  Muttering, Ben got up and went out into the woods to look for wood.

  “We could hit another bank on the way, Jeb,” Clark Wilson said. “I know of one—”

  “Clark, you picked out two sweet banks for us and we hit ’em,” Jeb said. “We got enough money to outfit ourselves and head for Texas, and that’s what we’re gonna do now.”

  “This bank I’m thinkin’ of is on the way.”

  “In Texas?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jeb shook his head.

  “Ain’t gonna hit no Texas banks until we’re done in Pearl River Junction,” he said. “Once we’re done, we’ll hit that bank and light out for Mexico.” They had already hit one bank in Arizona and one in New Mexico. Wilson had chosen the banks, but it was Jeb’s planning that enabled them to pull those jobs off successfully—without killing or injuring anyone.

  “We gonna be takin’ the woman and child with us?” Wilson asked.

  “I
don’t know that, Clark,” Jeb said.

  Dave Roberts sat across the fire from them, but did not take part in the conversation. Wilson and Jeb Collier had been friends—or partners—for a lot longer than Roberts had known either one of them. He didn’t feel he had anything to add to their discussion.

  “I got to find out if this kid is mine before I decide somethin’ like that,” Jeb added.

  “Well…he’s the right age,” Wilson said.

  “I’ll know,” Jeb said. “As soon as I look at the boy, I’ll know if he’s mine or not.”

  Wilson looked across the fire at Roberts, who just shrugged.

  “Okay, then,” Wilson said. “You’re the boss.”

  “Pearl River Junction,” Jeb said. “We head there tomorrow.”

  17

  Shaye and his sons left the café and stopped just outside the door.

  “What now, Pa?” James asked.

  “Let’s split up and walk around the town,” Shaye said. “If we’re going to be here for a few days, I want to know what’s going on.”

  Shaye split the town in three parts and they each went their separate ways. There was a saloon a few doors down from the café, small and quiet at the moment. They agreed to meet there in two hours. After that they’d check back with the sheriff.

  Shaye kept the middle part of town—where most of the businesses were—for himself and sent James north and Thomas south.

  It was nearing five o’clock, the time when many of the merchants would be closing their stores, and Shaye was surprised to find that many of them were still full of customers. The word “bustling” wasn’t strong enough to describe the feeling he got walking around Pearl River Junction.

  Shaye had been the lawman in many towns, but none of them had ever had the feeling of energy this one had. It made him wonder what it would be like to wear a badge here and have an office that looked like Sheriff Cotton’s.

  On the trail to Pearl River Junction from Winchester with his boys, the subject of wearing a badge again had not come up. This was actually the first time in months Shaye felt like he missed it.

  James walked north as far as he could go. The last building he came to was a schoolhouse. It was empty now, but it was the building itself that interested him. It was obviously new and it was the largest schoolhouse he’d ever seen. He walked up to it, around it, then stepped in to peer through a window. He was surprised to see someone inside. A pretty young woman was shuffling papers at the desk, stuffing them into a leather case. It looked as if she was preparing to leave. James decided to walk around to the front of the building and wait for her. It was the classic curse of every young man: Just a brief glimpse of her blonde hair and smooth skin and he was smitten.

  Thomas walked south and eventually found himself at the fork in the road they had come to earlier when they first rode into town. Going right would take him to the livery where they’d left their horses, so he decided to go left. He thought it was strange that, given the name of the town, there was no river, and this was the only junction he had seen since arriving.

  He kept walking and came to a collection of small houses. A few of them were aged, but most of them seemed new. He didn’t recall having ever been in a town that was in this stage of growth. Even growing up in Epitaph, Texas, it seemed as if the town had reached a certain stage of growth and stalled. No one in Epitaph had seemed to even care. As for Winchester, that town seemed very happy with the way it was.

  Pearl River Junction was a different story. He could feel that people liked it here and could see and smell the growth. He found himself wondering what it would be like to wear a badge in such a town.

  Unlike his father, Thomas had often thought about wearing a badge again. Now the urge seemed to swell inside of him. Whatever happened with Belinda Davis, whether her baby turned out to be Matthew’s or not, Thomas decided that he would not return to Wyoming with his father and brother. He was going to move on from here, not go back.

  As Elizabeth Newland came out the front door of the schoolhouse, she saw a man loitering there.

  “Can I help you?” she asked. He didn’t look old enough to be the father of one of the students. He looked barely old enough to be out of school himself, but then she knew the same was true of herself. He was probably her age—or even a year or so older. “All the children have gone home.”

  “Oh, I’m not a parent,” James Shaye said. “I’m, uh, a stranger in town. I was just…taking a walk and I saw the schoolhouse. It’s…the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

  “Yes,” she said, coming down the steps. She was clutching her leather case to her breast. It was filled to bursting with papers. “We’re very proud of it.”

  As she approached him, coming down the walkway, James moved to intercept her.

  “Are you going home?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “I really don’t need—”

  “I could carry those for you,” he said. “Maybe you can tell me a little bit about the town?”

  She hesitated, but the young man looked harmless enough. And he was not unattractive.

  “Very well,” she said, surrendering her burden to him. “I have to walk this way.”

  He fell in next to her as she led him back toward town.

  “I actually live all the way on the other end of town,” she told him apologetically.

  “I don’t mind the walk.”

  “I’m Elizabeth,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m James,” he said, “James Shaye…”

  As James started walking with Elizabeth, he turned his head and saw the sheriff in the backyard of a small house. He was with a young woman and a small boy.

  “Is that the sheriff?” he asked Elizabeth.

  “Yes, it is,” she said. “He lives there with his wife.”

  “Is that his daughter?”

  “No, that’s a girl who he and his wife took in to live with them,” she said. “Her name is Belinda.”

  “And the child?”

  “Her son,” Elizabeth said, then lowered her voice. “She had him out of wedlock. It’s something of a scandalous situation.”

  “Really?” he asked. “Her having the baby? Or living with the sheriff and his wife?”

  “Well…both, actually.”

  “How long has she lived in town?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ve only been here myself for a year, and she was living here when I arrived. I came from back East to teach here.”

  James filed away the information about the sheriff and Belinda Davis and turned his attention back to the pretty schoolteacher.

  “So where back East did you come from?” he asked her as they continued on.

  18

  Thomas was the first one to arrive at the small saloon they’d chosen as their meeting place. Above the door was a handwritten sign that said: BO HART’S SALOON. Good, simple, straightforward name, he thought.

  He went inside, found the place quiet, in spite of the fact that it was pretty full. A quick look around told him there was no piano, no stage, no gambling equipment. There was one barmaid moving through the room, carrying a tray. Seems Bo Hart’s Saloon was simply a place a man could get a drink—and not much more. Well, at least there won’t be any trouble here, he thought.

  He walked to the bar and leaned on it. The bartender was a man who had the misfortune to possess both a barrel chest and bandy legs. Gave him an odd appearance and, as he moved about behind the bar, an odd gait as well. Thomas waited until the man finished loading the barmaid’s tray with drinks before waving his hand at him.

  “What can I get ya?” the man asked.

  “Just a beer.”

  “Comin’ up.”

  The man filled a mug with a frosty brew and set it down in front of Thomas.

  “Mind if I start a tab?” Thomas asked. “I’m waitin’ for two more fellas and they’ll also be drinkin’.”

  �
��Sure,” the man said, “why not?”

  Thomas grabbed his beer, turned his back to the bar, and leaned against it. There were only about ten tables in the place and eight of them were full. There were two empties toward the back of the room. He waved at the bartender again.

  “Another one already?”

  “No, just a question,” Thomas said. “Them two empty tables in the back, they reserved for anythin’ special?”

  “Poker games,” the man said. “We usually have a couple goin’, but they won’t start for a few hours yet.”

  “Mind if I sit at one, then?”

  “Uh…well, we usually keep them open,” the bartender said, looking confused.

  “Where’s the harm if I sit at one for a little while?”

  “Well…no harm, I guess—”

  “Much obliged.”

  Thomas left the bar, walked to the back of the room, and sat at one of the tables. He sat facing the batwing doors so he’d see his brother and father when they entered.

  The men seated at the other tables—seated by twos and threes—all turned to look at him as if he’d just dropped a turd in the middle of the room. He simply raised his beer to them, nodding his head.

  It took a few moments, but finally several of the men—two from one table, a third from another—slowly stood up and walked over to him.

  “You can’t sit there,” one of them said.

  “You’re not supposed to sit there,” another said.

  The third simply stood there, staring at him.

  “I’m just waiting for my father and brother,” he said. “When they get here they’ll each have a beer and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Can’t sit there,” the third man said.

  “We’ll be gone before your poker game is supposed to start,” Thomas said. “I guarantee it.”

  A fourth man got up and came over.

  “You gotta get up.”

  Now, Thomas knew that the simple thing, the easy thing, to do was get up—just get up and walk out. He could have waited for his father and brother right out front. But he also knew that once you let a man cow you, move you, tell you what to do…well, once you did that men tended to try to do that to you all the time.