Ride the River (1983)

by L'amour, Louis - Sackett's 05

  He placed a sheet of paper on the table before me.

  All I could think of was the gold and what it would do for all of us, and I wished that Pa had lived until now.

  Mr. White dipped a pen in the inkwell and handed it to me. “Just sign right there” - he put a pudgy finger on the line - “just sign right there and it is all yours.”

  He pushed a stack of the gold toward me, and I reached for the pen.

  Chapter 5

  First I sat down and looked at that paper. Five hundred dollars in gold was a sight of money, and it would do a lot for my folks, but I did not like that bit about “paid in full.” How did I know that was all there was? And Mr. Prescott, him with the bald head and the beard, he had said, “Don’t sign anything.”

  “Mr. White,” I said, “I can’t do it. I talked to Finian Chantry and he is coming to your office with me tomorrow morning. There’s no reason why I can’t wait until then.”

  His mean little eyes tightened a bit around the edges. “Miss Sackett” - he held his voice patient - “I do not have time to waste. I have brought you the money, five hundred dollars in gold. Sign that paper and it is yours.

  “I won’t,” he added, “even deduct the cost of advertising or my expenses. You can have it all.”

  Whenever a man like James White gets generous, a body had better hold on to his pocketbook. “No, I’ve asked Mr. Chantry to handle it for me. It wouldn’t be polite if I went ahead without him.”

  “Finian Chantry,” White said impatiently, “is too busy to bother with any mountain girl. You are just using his name. Now, you just sign that paper. I have another appointment and I simply can’t wait.”

  “Tomorrow morning. Finian Chantry will be with me. We can get it all straightened out in a few minutes.”

  He stared at me; then he got up. “You’ve had your chance,” he said. “You may never see that gold again. I have no idea what your Finian Chantry hopes to do - “

  A voice spoke from behind me. It was the tall young man from down the table. “Mister, if I were you, I would leave that gold with the young lady. Anybody who carries that much in the streets at night is crazy.”

  James White ignored him. He pushed the paper at me again, and then the pen. “If you want that money,” he said, “you had better sign.”

  “I am sorry, sir.” I got to my feet. “Not until tomorrow morning.”

  He got up too, and he was almighty angry, I could see that. His face was flushed a mean red and he glared at me. “You are a very stubborn, foolish young lady, and you may lose it all.”

  The young man had moved up beside me, and Mr. Prescott had come into the room. He said, “If the money is due her,” he said, “you will have it or the courts will take steps to recover it.”

  He glared at us, then put the money back in the black bag he was carrying and without another word went out and slammed the door.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “So that is James White?” Mr. Prescott said. “I have heard of him. If you wish, I could arrange the time to accompany you?”

  “No, thanks. Mr. Chantry will be there.”

  We talked a few minutes and they left, going to their rooms. For a few minutes I just stood there staring down at where all that gold had been.

  Had I been a fool? Just think! Tomorrow morning I could have been on a stage starting for home again. Now how long would it be? And would I get any money at all? What the law said, I had no idea, and maybe there were ways he could keep it, and I would have to return with empty pockets.

  That night, lying in bed, I worried myself to sleep. Mr. Chantry was an old man and he looked frail for all that he was tall and moved well. Suppose there was violence? Where I came from in the mountains, there was often bloodshed over such things, and I did not know how it would be in Philadelphia. When I got up in the morning, I would check my pistol.

  Mr. White was stocky, and although a mite thick in the middle, he looked strong. And there was that man who followed me. I should have told Mr. Chantry about him.

  When morning came, and when I had my breakfast, I sat waiting in the sitting room. I was wearing a poke bonnet and a long full skirt trimmed with bows of ribbon and a shawl around my shoulders. My knitting bag was on my lap and my pick was inside my skirt in its scabbard and ready to hand. A girl can’t be too careful.

  Mr. Butts came in, picking his teeth with an ivory toothpick. He glanced at me irritably. “I am surprised,” he said. “You should have taken the money he brought. Five hundred dollars? It’s more than I earn in a year! Preposterous!”

  “I think she did the right thing, Mr. Butts,” Mrs. Sulky said. “Why would he come over here at night to get her to sign those papers? They had an appointment for today.”

  “She will wind up with nothing, nothing at all!”

  There was a tap at the door, and when Amy Sulky opened it, Finian Chantry was there, a tall, elegant old man in a gray frock coat and trousers of a lighter gray.

  “Mrs. Sulky? Mr. Chantry.”

  “How do you do?”

  “Mr. Chantry?” Mr. Butts thrust himself forward. “I am Ephraim Butts, and I have been hoping to have a chance to speak to you - “

  “Another time, Mr. Butts. Miss Sackett and I have business to discuss.” He stepped back to allow me to precede him. “Miss Sackett?”

  When we were seated in his carriage, I said, “I don’t like that man.”

  “Do not let yourself be bothered by the inconsequential. One has only so much time in this world, so devote it to the work and the people most important to you, to those you love and things that matter. One can waste half a lifetime with people one doesn’t really like, or doing things when one would be better off somewhere else.”

  As we rode along over the brick-paved streets, I told him about James White coming to the boardinghouse with the five hundred dollars.

  “You did the right thing, Echo,” he said. “There is much more involved.”

  He stepped down from the carriage at Mr. White’s office and shifted his cane to the other hand to help me down. “That’s a beautiful cane,” I said. “My father had one like it.”

  “Yes, I shouldn’t wonder. Inherited from your grandfather, perhaps?”

  “Yes, I believe it was, although Pa never had much use for it. He was always a strong walker.”

  “Of course.” He held the cane up. “It is just a little something I like to have with me. It has become a habit, I am afraid.”

  The tall, dirty-looking young man stood up quickly when he saw Mr. Chantry. “Yes, sir!”

  “Mr. White, if you please. Miss Sackett and Finian Chantry to see him.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  White sat hunched behind his desk when we entered. He stood up grudgingly. “Mr. Chantry? What can I do for you, sir?”

  “You can pay Miss Sackett three thousand, three hundred and twenty-five dollars. This is, I believe, the sum due her from the estate of Barnabas O’Hara, deceased.”

  “Now, see here! I - “

  “Mr. White, I am not a very patient man. As I grow older, I find time very important. I also have had occasion to discuss some of your activities with various members of the bar. Miss Sackett has apprised me of your attempt to get her to sign away most of her inheritance, and I am in no mood for dillydallying. The money, sir!”

  Reluctantly White got up and went to his safe. For a moment he hesitated; then he turned the handle and opened the door.

  When he had counted the money, he pushed it across the desk. “There!” he said. “Now, here’s the receipt.”

  “One thing more.” Finian Chantry’s voice was cold. “The iron puzzle cube.”

  White gripped the edge of his desk. He stared at Chantry, trying to frighten him. “That cube? It’s nothing but a child’s toy.”

  “My client likes toys, and she is very good at puzzles, Mr. White. The cube, please.”

  White returned to the safe and brought the cube to the desk. “It isn’t an
ything.” He waved a careless hand. “Just a sort of puzzle for youngsters.”

  “Thank you, Mr. White.” Chantry turned to me. “Now, Miss Sackett? Will you sign his paper?”

  When we were seated in the carriage, Finian Chantry suggested, “Now that your business is over, would you consent to have dinner with me? You have no idea what it would do for me to be seen with such a young and beautiful lady.”

  Well! An elegant supper with Finian Chantry! When I was back in my room, I got out the dress I had made for just such an evening. It was not a dress made for this trip, but one I had made after dreaming of all those fancy places Regal had talked about.

  Godey’shad a lot of pictures of dresses, although none of them had much of an explanation, and Regal was no help at all.

  Amy Sulky helped, and then - and I was fairly amazed - the tall woman who I’d said looked like she was weaned on a sour pickle, she came to help. She was much better at pressing than I was, and she ironed out my dress. Then she said, “Where are your gloves?”

  “Gloves?” I stared, in a sudden panic.

  “You must have gloves. No lady of fashion appears in public without them!”

  In the end, she loaned me a beautiful shawl. “From India,” she said, with no explanation at all. And she loaned me some lace mittens which were all the fashion. The shawl was rich cashmere, almost too beautiful to touch.

  The dress was a full triple skirt, blue as the sky. I’d only two petticoats, so the sour-pickle lady, whose name turned out to be Alicia, loaned me another. Oddly enough, although she was tall, the petticoat was perfect for me.

  When I spoke of it, she said, with never a flicker of expression, “It belonged to my daughter.”

  “Oh! I hope she won’t mind.”

  “My daughter is dead.” She spoke flatly and turned away. I did not know what to say, so I said nothing at all.

  When I was all ready and waiting for Mr. Chantry, both Amy and Alicia stood waiting with me. “You are very beautiful,” Alicia said. “You should stay in Philadelphia. “

  “I love the mountains, and besides, while Regal is laid up, who would hunt for them?”

  “You mean youhunt ? You? You actually kill things?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Whatever meat we have is wild meat, shot by me when the boys are away. We have hogs, razorbacks they call them, but they run wild in the forest and we only gather them up to sell them in town. There’s no more fun ever than being on a hog or turkey drive, going miles across the hills to the towns.

  “That is, it’s a sight of fun while the weather’s nice, but if it comes on to rain, it can be awful. We have to find a place to pen them for the night. Mostly folks along the way are helpful, but if a body’s caught in the forest, it can be right mean.”

  There I was standing in my triple skirt with lace mittens and all, that auburn hair which everybody says is beautiful falling over my shoulders, and talking of driving wild hogs and hunting game.

  “If I were you,” Amy advised, “I’d say nothing of driving hogs to the people you may meet tonight. They wouldn’t understand.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but ever’body in the mountains does what’s necessary.”

  The United States Hotel served up a supper the like of which I’d never seen, and we had Mumm’s champagne to drink, which cost two dollars and a half a bottle!

  “Do you have wine in the mountains?” Mr. Chantry asked.

  “Some do,” I admitted, “but mostly folks drink cider or whiskey of their own make. At least, the menfolks do. There’s wild grapes in the mountains, and there have been some planted here and there. Some folks have made wine, but not such as this.”

  Two dollars and a half a bottle! That was outrageous. In the mountains a body could buy a barrel of whiskey for that price.

  “I never paid much mind to it, Mr. Chantry,” I said. “Womenfolks in the mountains in our time don’t touch whiskey. At least, not in public. There are some who like a little nip on the sly, but not me. None of our family were drinkers, although I’ve heard tell that wild Clinch Mountain bunch would tap the jug once in a while.”

  “You must be careful,” Mr. Chantry warned. “You’ll be carrying quite a lot of money, and I shall be surprised if there isn’t an attempt to rob you.”

  “I came a long way to get this money, and I don’t intend to let no thief take it from me. I’ve got a pistol, and I have my pick.”

  “Oh, yes. The pick.” Finian Chantry had a nice smile. “But be careful. That’s a lot of money to most people.”

  We had mock turtle soup, boiled bluefish with oyster sauce, tomatoes, and eggplant.

  Mr. Chantry asked me about the mountains, so I told him about our cabin in the laurel with pines along the ridge above, the clear cold spring that gave us water, and the hole near the spring where we kept our butter and milk. I told him about hunting game and of the Clinch Mountain boys who were raised on bear meat and poke greens.

  “There was a time we could have become rich folk. The land was for the taking, but we taken more to hunting along the ridges than settling in the rich bottomlands. Of a sudden the rich land was gone and all that was left was ridges and high country.”

  Across the room a man had been seated facing us. He was a tall man with high cheekbones, a beak of a nose, and thin, tight lips. When I looked over, he was staring at us, and he turned his eyes away, but I had seen the look. He was a hunter.

  “Mr. Chantry, there’s a man across the room, just beyond the gray-haired man with the two ladies. I figure him for trouble.”

  After a moment, Finian Chantry looked over and said, “You are a very perceptive young lady. That is Felix Horst. James White defended him once … for murder.”

  Chapter 6

  We took our time over supper. There was music playing somewhere out of sight-mighty pleasant it was, too. Most folks dined at home, but there were always a few who wished to go out to eat. The waiters went about their business so quietly a body scarcely realized they were about. Meanwhile, I kept an eye on Felix Horst.

  It was unlikely his being here was an accident. He had been sent to prison for murder but James White had got the case reopened and contrived to free him. Maybe it was happenstance that he was having supper at the same time and place as me just after I had come into money, but I didn’t believe it.

  Murder didn’t scare me the way it did most folks. Cuttings and shootings were common back in the hills, and we even had a feud of our own, with some killings over the years.

  From time to time folks stopped by our table, and Mr. Chantry introduced me as the granddaughter of an old friend. A good many of them were younger men, mighty fetching in their ways.

  Three of them sat at a table not far off, but only two paid their respects, as the saying was. The other young man sat with his back to us, very broad in the shoulders, and he looked to be tall, although I did not see him on his feet.

  “My nephew, Dorian,” Finian Chantry explained. “He will not come to our table because we have recently had words and he is a very independent young man.”

  Mr. Chantry smiled suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “We are much alike, so we do have words occasionally. Lately he has been devoting more time to dancing, riding to hounds, fencing and such things, and not studying law.”

  “He is a good shot?”

  “Excellent, I believe, and a fine horseman, too. He is a great favorite with the ladies and a bit too sure of himself. Nonetheless, he’s a fine lad if a little too formal, too stiff.”

  Mr. Chantry glanced at me. “You mentioned your rifle? Do you shoot?”

  “Yes, sir. Pa started me shooting when I was seven. Those brothers of mine had been riding roughshod over me because I was a girl.

  “Pa, he said, ‘Look, bein’ a girl is a mighty fine thing. Don’t let those roughneck brothers of yours get the better of you.’

  ” ‘How can I help it? They are older than me and stronger than me.’ “

  ” ‘Be better than they are. Learn to
shoot better.’ “

  ” ‘How can I? Nobody can shoot better than a Sackett!’ “

  “He laughed at me and said, ‘But you’re a Sackett too! Just learn to shoot better. Here, I’ll teach you!’ And he did.”

  “And did you beat them?”

  “Yes, sir. Most of the time. Only Regal … he’s my uncle, although more like a brother. Regal would not shoot against me. I think he did not want to beat me, seeing I just outshot my brothers.”

  “Maybe that is what Dorian needs, to be outshot by a girl.”

  “Oh, no! I’d never do that! Regal, he warned me to never let a man know how good I could shoot.”

  “Good advice, but don’t let it stop you. Dorian’s a fine lad. What he needs is seasoning. He needs to be taken down a bit, to travel some rough country.”

  Later, when I glanced over to catch a glimpse of him, he had gone. I felt kind of let down. We talked on for a bit and then Mr. Chantry said, “You surprise me sometimes. You can speak very good English, but sometimes you talk like a mountain girl with no education.”

  “Yes, sir, but that’s the way with most folks, if you think on it. They talk one way to one person, and another way to others.”

  “Ma insisted I learn to talk proper, and at school it was insisted on, but when around the hills, a body gets to talkin’ as they do. But it seems to me we all have several ways of talkin’ or writin’. Take you, for example, you bein’ a lawyer. You have a set of law words you’d use in court but not over supper like this. And when a body writes a letter, he often uses words he wouldn’t use in conversation.”

  “Down to the store, the men set about talking of politics, planting, the wars, Injuns and suchlike, and most of them can argue the Bible up one side an’ down the other. Because a man doesn’t speak good English doesn’t mean he doesn’t have ideas.”

  “Our atheist, he’s a book-learned man. Nothing folks like better than to get him and the preacher talking history and religion. They’ll argue sundown to sunup, and folks settin’ about listenin’. There’s old Mr. Fothergill, he was in the army as a boy and went upon the sea a time or two. He can’t read nor write but he’s bright, an’ he can argue down both of them when he wants.”