Tom's Angel

by Linda George

  A pile of dirt that stood taller and darker than the others marked Lizzy's final resting place. Rosalie stood apart from it, her eyes strangely dry, hands folded in front of her, displaying no visible emotion at the sight of her sister's grave.

  Another woman rested beside Lizzy. Rose Elizabeth Montgomery.

  “She's at peace now.” Sadie dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her skirt. “They both are.”

  “No. Not Mama. She won't ever be at peace...because I broke her heart.”

  “No more of that.” Tom turned her to face him. “She wanted propriety and honor for you, and that's how it's going to be from now on. Listen to me, Rosalie. I'm taking you to Denver where we'll be married. If that isn't enough honor for your mother, then it doesn't exist.”

  She nodded, her eyes glassy. Tom wished again that he could get her out of this wretched place today. This minute!

  Kincannon's gruff voice intruded.

  “I'm real sorry about Lizzy.”

  Rosalie turned slowly to face her father. “Are you, now?”

  “She just couldn't take life no more, so she ended it. It's better this way.”

  “Better for her, or for you?”

  He seemed puzzled. “For her, of course. Don't make no difference to me. Dance halls girls are always easy to come by.”

  “And when they aren't, you just seduce your own daughter and increase your stock. Right, Paw?”

  Tom stared at Rosalie. “What are you saying?”

  “Tell him, Paw. Tell him how you lusted after your own daughter to the point of forcing her to—” The words caught in her throat until she couldn't speak. She turned her back on her father and sobbed.

  Tom glared at Kincannon, feeling hatred for this excuse for a human being welling up inside him. “You sorry son of a bitch.”

  Rosalie faced them again. “Why didn't you send for me, Paw?”

  “Ah, it weren't no reason to spoil your party. It didn't take half an hour to dig the hole and get her planted. No need for a funeral when it's just a whore.”

  Rosalie ran at her father, screaming and crying, clawing at his chest. He grabbed her wrists, trying to protect his face from her fingernails.

  Tom started to intervene, but she twisted away, breathing hard, swiping at tears, trying to swallow her sobs.

  “You never loved us! The only things you've ever cared about are yourself and those horses. Those miserable horses.”

  “I loved your mother.”

  “Then why is she here, instead of in the church yard, where decent folks are buried? Was it cheaper just to 'plant' her here? Easier and cheaper. How could you have buried her here if you loved her?”

  He shuffled his boots in the dirt and stared off toward town. When he looked back, his eyes were bright with tears. “Aw, now, Rosie, you'll feel better in the morning. Besides, I got some good news for you. I made enough in that last race for you to have some folding money to take with you to Denver.” He dug in his pocket. “See? Fifty dollars. All yours.” He held out the limp bills.

  Rosalie folded her arms beneath her breasts and stared at him.

  “I'll just put it in your pocket.”

  She slapped the money away, ground the bills into the dust with her heels, then walked away

  Tom followed, with Sadie behind. Kincannon dropped to his knees to pick up the money, mumbling curses under his breath.

  Inside the Kincannon house, all the doors and windows stood wide open against the stifling heat. How it could keep getting hotter in Fort Worth exceeded comprehension. Then she remembered she lived in Hell.

  Rosalie sank into a chair and covered her face with both hands. Oddly, no more tears came. Perhaps she'd cried the last of them.

  Tom came into the house, wishing he could do something to ease her suffering.

  “What can I do?”

  She shook her head, refusing to look at him. “Nothing. I told you before, this is hell. There's nothing anyone can do to change what's happened. Or what's going to happen.”

  Gun shots rang out, close by from the sound of it.

  Tom raced out the front door and joined several people running down the street toward the pauper's cemetery.

  Kincannon lay face down on the ground. He'd been shot in the back.

  Tom felt for a pulse. Nothing.

  Rosalie pushed her way through the crowd and stared at her father.

  Tom started toward her, but her eyes, wild and fierce, stopped him. He'd never seen this expression from her. There wasn’t a trace of love or regret, only shock and disbelief. It chilled him to the bone.

  She stood there for a long time. Finally, she turned her back on the corpse and said, “I want the watch in his pocket.”

  Tom knelt beside the body, turned Kincannon over and felt in his watch pocket, but it was empty, except for a raggedly torn fob. Someone had jerked the watch free. Searching other pockets, he came up with nothing.

  “It isn't here. The murderer must have stolen it.”

  Rosalie took a deep breath and straightened her spine.

  “Bury him next to Mama.”

  <><><><>

  Midafternoon, the next day, Tom knocked on the front door of the Kincannon residence. Rosalie had asked for time to be alone, and he'd granted it, reluctantly. She'd refused his offer of taking her to the El Paso, insisting she had to sort things out at home before leaving for good.

  She came to the door wearing an old dress, so faded it must have been washed dozens of times. It made her appear older. Or, maybe the fatigue and anxiety etched in her face had robbed her of the bloom of youth.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Come in. I have something to tell you.”

  A hollow opened in the middle of Tom's gut. He didn't like the sound of finality in her voice, the dullness in her eyes.

  “Sit down, Tom.”

  He sat, even though every nerve in his body jumped, making him want to pace, shout, shoot something!

  Or someone.

  “I've come to a decision.”

  “I can see that.”

  “You must go back to Denver and forget about me.”

  “Are you daft? You want me to leave you?”

  “Yes. Leave me to whatever fate is mine. I've endangered your life too much already. I couldn't bear it if I lost you, too.”

  Tom took her in his arms before she could protest. Her body sagged against him, limp, as though she'd given up completely. He wanted to shake the life back into her, make her see how much he loved her, wanted her, that he'd never abandon her as everyone else had done.

  “This has been a hell of a week. Tomorrow, things will be better.”

  “It's because of me your family is in jeopardy. Richard Strickland wouldn't have called in your father's notes if you hadn't come to Fort Worth and gotten mixed up in my problems. And, you wouldn't have come to this God-forsaken place at all if my father hadn't asked for an escort to take me to Denver. It's all because of me. It has to stop. I cannot tolerate being the cause of so much misery.”

  “Rosalie, listen to me. I've never found any use in worrying about how things should have happened instead of how they did. There's no changing the way things are. There's only today and the future, and we can control what happens if we try hard enough.” He gripped her shoulders and felt her tremble.

  “I wish I could approach the future with hope, but I can't. There's no way out of this for me that I can see. But you can go home and convince Richard Strickland not to call in those notes. You can go on with your life.” She locked her fingers behind his neck and kissed him lightly. “Can't you see, Tom? I've been nothing but trouble and bad luck for you.”

  “Bad luck? There's no such thing. You make your own luck in this world, and when times get tough you find your way out. There has to be a way out of this. For both of us. I intend to find it. I won't let you give up. I'm going to marry you and we're going to have a good life together. You have to believe that as much as I believe it, if we're to make it come tru
e.”

  Rosalie wanted to believe, but the weight of reality had crushed all hopes and dreams she might once have had. Time had come to face truth, and to set him free of his obligation to her.

  “I won't marry you, Tom. I can't. Not while I'm chained to Zane Strickland. My father owed him two thousand dollars and I'm payment for that debt.”

  “In jail, he forfeits all rights. Including the right to collect.”

  “Would you have me renege? In essence, I'd be a thief, no better than he is.” She took a deep breath. “If I'm to be an honorable woman, as my mother wanted, then I must pay what I owe.”

  Tom had run out of arguments. But then something occurred to him. “You own everything now.”

  She frowned, confused.

  “You have no other living relatives, isn't that right?”

  “I'm the only Kincannon left.”

  “Then you own everything. The Yellow Rose, this house, and the horses. Give everything to Strickland. Then come with me to Denver. You can sell the house and the Yellow Rose and the horses, too. If that isn’t enough, we'll borrow whatever it takes to pay off that bastard. Please, Rosalie. Think about what I'm telling you.”

  For the first time since they'd returned to Fort Worth, a ray of hope pierced the gloom of defeat in her muddled mind. Why hadn't she realized it? Everything hers. Everything.

  Tom saw in her eyes that he'd reached her with this incredible fact. The sparkle he'd come to love returned, and the limpness of her body disappeared as hope-filled energy pushed aside the despair she'd accepted as unchangeable.

  “Tom, could it be true? Could it actually be so simple?”

  “I love you. It's as simple as that.”

  She came into his arms gladly, willingly, seeking confirmation the revelation wasn't just another dream, but actually existed as possibility.

  Tom kissed her, captured her within the safety of his arms, knowing, beyond all else, he must have this woman in his life, or forfeit the joy of life itself.

  “Let's see how much money Paw had in that can under the bedroom floor.”

  Tom had forgotten about the stashed money. If only there could be enough.

  Rosalie found the loose board and pried it up. Reaching below the floor, she felt around, becoming more and more frantic when she couldn't find anything. “I know he kept it down here. I saw him putting it back once, when he didn't know I was watching.”

  “Let me see what I can find.” Tom flattened on the floor to gain the best advantage possible. Just within fingertip reach… “I found something. But it isn't a can. It feels more like saddle bags.” He pulled over, up and out. “How long ago did you see the can?”

  “At least two years. Does that mean the money got to be too much for the can?”

  “We'll soon find out.” He handed the bag to her.

  Rosalie opened the buckle with shaking fingers and lifted the flap. Her spirits soared when she saw a bundle of what appeared to be money. She removed it from the bag. Her elation faded quickly.

  “IOUs. Bills of sale. Totally worthless.”

  “What else is in the bag? Look in the other side.”

  She found a Bible, and a hundred and fifty dollars in cash.

  “That's all?” Tom couldn't believe it. “What happened to the money he won in the race? It has to be here somewhere.”

  Rosalie nodded, closing her eyes. “I'll go through everything. I need to do it anyway, now that it's mine.”

  Tom picked up the Bible and blew dust from the cover before opening it. “This Bible belonged to Rose Elizabeth Montgomery.”

  Hearing the name, Rosalie shivered.

  “Did you know she had it?”

  “Paw told me he buried it with her.”

  “Why would he want to keep it hidden from you after she died?”

  Rosalie took a deep, shuddering breath. “I wonder what he didn't want me to see.”

  She opened to the center pages where records of births and deaths were kept. Her name had been written there, between Elizabeth's and Penelope's. Nothing out of the ordinary. She turned to the marriage record page.

  The names, Rose Elizabeth Montgomery and William Kincannon, were there, but nothing more. The space for the preacher's name remained blank, as well as the date of the marriage.

  “How odd. Why would Mama write in their names but not the rest of the information about when and where they were married, and by whom?”

  The obvious truth came like a clap of thunder. Her headstone. The name in the front of the Bible. Rose Elizabeth Montgomery. Not Kincannon.

  “They were never married.”

  “Rosalie, you don't know that for sure.”

  His tone said he believed it, though, just as she did. One more piece of the puzzle had been filled in, the reason her mother had been so adamant about wanting Rosalie to be “proper” and “respectable.” Because Rose never had been. Had he refused to marry her? A thousand questions jammed Rosalie's mind, but no one remained to answer them.

  Tom took the Bible from her and laid it carefully on the bed, then eased her into his arms, worried that losing her sister and her father, then finding the Bible, might prove to be more than she could cope with.

  After a moment, she stepped back, easing out of his embrace. “I need some time by myself, to sort it all out. Do you mind?”

  “I'll be at the El Paso if you need me.”

  She watched him go, then took the Bible to the front room and sat down. Carefully, she turned page by page, examining each carefully for anything Rose might have written there. Nothing. She reached the book of John, the Apostle, where a single sheet, folded, rested between the seventh and eighth chapters.

  Verse eleven had been underlined. “And Jesus said to her, 'Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.'“

  Rosalie unfolded the paper carefully.

  Chapter 14

  Tom reached the El Paso, gave Josh another two bits to take care of the horse and buggy, but didn't feel like going inside. On the front porch, a thermometer, nailed to the wall, had swelled to one hundred five degrees. Tom mopped his forehead with one sleeve and longed for the mountains and snow. Seemed every time things got worse with Rosalie, the sun burned hotter.

  Josh came back in a few minutes. “Anything else you need, Mr. McCabe?”

  “Just a cool breeze and some conversation.” He sat on the top step and patted the spot next to him. Josh sat down. “There's some information I need, son, and I figure you might know who I should ask.”

  “What is it you want to know?”

  “I need to find someone who knew William Kincannon, the owner of the Yellow Rose. I want to know where he came from and any personal information about him and his wife. Do you know someone who could help me?”

  Josh studied for a minute. “Well, my grandpa has been in this part of Texas a sizable portion of his life. Could be he'd know.”

  “Where could I find him?”

  “Upstairs.”

  Tom got up and Josh did, too. “Let's go, son.”

  Upstairs, Josh spoke to his grandfather for a minute before Tom came into the room.

  “Mr. McCabe, this here's my grandpaw, Josh Winslow. I carry his name. Grandpaw, this here's Mr. McCabe. He's the nice man who's been paying me to fetch horses for him.”

  Tom offered his hand to the elderly gentleman. “I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Winslow.”

  “Same here. Josh said you had some questions for me. The older I get, the harder it is to recollect, but I'll do my best.”

  “I'm interested in William Kincannon. He owned The Yellow Rose Dance Hall in the Acre. Did you know him?”

  He nodded. “You're talking about him like he's dead. Is he?”

  “Yes, sir. Someone shot him in the back earlier today. We don't know who.”

  “Could of been a dozen men around here what done it. Kincannon wasn't exactly what we'd call righteous and upstanding.”

  Tom nodded. “How long did you know him?”


  “Since he come to the Acre, about seven, eight years ago. Had that pretty little woman with him, and two children, if memory serves.”

  “Two daughters.”

  “Yep, that'd be 'bout right.”

  “Did you know his wife?”

  “Nope. 'Cept talk was, around here, she wasn't his wife. She called herself his wife, all right. But someone, can't recall just who it was, had known her before they come to Fort Worth.”

  “Why weren't they married?”

  “Would you marry a whore?”

  Tom sat straighter. “She was a whore?”

  “From what this feller said—wish I could recollect his name—Kincannon took a shine to her in the saloon where she worked, somewhere in East Texas. Didn't want no other men buying her time. Eventually, he brought her to Fort Worth. But as far as anyone could tell, they was never married proper.”

  There was that word again. So, Rosalie's mother had been a saloon girl and never married Kincannon. If Rosalie knew it, she surely hadn't told him. Nor would he expect her to.

  The old man went on, as though his thoughts had continued, even after he'd stopped talking. “That could be the reason, I suppose.”

  “The reason for what?”

  “Why she killed herself. Oh, some folks said she died of consumption, but mostly, they said she killed herself.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “Nope. When folks get a burr in their saddles, they don't usually ask who put it there or why. They just cuss the burr.”

  “I guess you're right. Thanks, Mr. Winslow. I appreciate your time.” Tom tipped his hat.

  “Any time. Any time. Has that grandson of mine been bothering you? I'll tell him to mind his own business if he has.”

  “Not at all. I've enjoyed talking to him. He's a fine boy.”

  The old man grinned, revealing two missing teeth. “That he is, for sure.”

  Back downstairs, Josh met Tom out on the porch again.

  “Did he answer your questions?”

  “He surely did. Thanks, Josh.”

  “Any time. Any time.” He grinned, with one tooth missing in the front.

  “When did you lose that tooth?”