The Outlaw Takes a Bride

by Susan Page Davis

  Her husband swallowed. “How many were out?”

  “Twelve. And we’ll have another quilting tomorrow evening.”

  “Good, good.”

  Effie took a bite of the meat loaf then wiped her lips with her napkin. “Mrs. Haven’s time is near. I told her I’d take a turn helping out after.”

  Cooking and keeping house for new mothers was one of the good works Effie seemed to enjoy. Sally wondered if it was because she had no children of her own. However it was, she always took a turn, and that had endeared her to some of the parishioners. Sally also volunteered for that duty, though handling the infants scraped a raw place on her heart.

  She cleared her throat and looked toward the minister, not Effie. “It seems I shall be leaving you soon, sir.”

  Both the preacher and his wife stopped chewing. Mr. Winters froze with a forkful of potatoes in midair, and Effie’s hand hovered over the salt cellar. Sally couldn’t resist a quick glance, revealing Effie’s gaping mouth.

  “Yes.” Sally decided the safest place to turn her gaze was her own plate. “I’ll be returning to Texas straightaway.”

  “To Texas?” Mr. Winters stared. “This seems rather unexpected.”

  “I’m surprised you have the means to travel,” Effie said.

  Sally took a deep breath. “As you know, I’ve been corresponding with my family and—”

  “And a man.”

  Effie made it sound tawdry, but Sally kept her chin up, though it may have trembled a little.

  “Yes, a fine Christian man. I shall be married soon. My parents will be so pleased.”

  “Don’t they know of your plans yet?” Mr. Winters cocked his head to one side.

  Sally’s cheeks heated. She would shamelessly dodge that question. “I meant, sir, that they will be pleased to see me settled. My intended is, as my father would say, all wool and a yard wide.” She pushed back her chair. “Excuse me. I’ll get the coffee.”

  She stayed in the kitchen longer than she had to, but her absence seemed prudent. Effie made no attempt to modulate her voice in the dining room, and Sally could hear their words clearly.

  “I knew it! I knew she was up to no good.”

  “What do you mean?” The pastor’s voice was less strident. “I thought you wished to see Mrs. Golding settled.”

  “Of course,” Effie said, “but not like this.” The minister murmured something, and Effie went on, “I shouldn’t be surprised if she’s never met the man! She’s been writing him letters since way back before Christmas, but who knows how they made the connection? The newspapers have lurid advertisements almost every day for women to go and marry these rough miners and ranchers. He could be anyone. She could be walking into a life of slavery. Or worse. I wouldn’t want to be too near the Mexican border, myself.”

  “But she said he’s a fine Christian,” the minister said. “And you’ve remarked on the lack of privacy since she came here. You’ll have the freedom of your home back, my dear.”

  “We shall have to hire a girl to come in and do the heavy work, and that will mean wages.” Effie made this sound like a dire thing.

  “Perhaps we can find another woman who needs room and board. It’s worked out well with Mrs. Golding, hasn’t it?”

  “Hmpf.”

  Sally smiled grimly to herself. More than ever, she was convinced the minister knew nothing of the small amounts of money she gave Effie. She poured out their coffee and set the cups on a tray with the cream pitcher. The sugar bowl stayed on the table next to the spoon holder, so she needn’t worry about that. As she entered the dining room with the tray, Effie fixed her malevolent eyes on Sally.

  “Does this gentleman have a name?”

  “He does. Mark Paynter. He owns a cattle ranch.” Sally was proud of herself for keeping her voice level, and she hoped they didn’t ask how many cattle Mark owned, as his herd was yet very small. But it would grow and he would prosper, she was sure.

  “I suppose he has half-a-dozen unruly children he wants you to raise for him.” Effie’s tone had turned a bit smug.

  “Actually, no.” Sally set the cups and saucers carefully onto the tablecloth. “He has been a bachelor up until this time.”

  “Oh, an older man,” Effie persisted. “Set in his ways.”

  Sally shrugged and managed a slight smile. “I don’t know all his eccentricities, of course, but he is two years older than I am.” Effie opened her mouth again, but Sally said, “I see you’re nearly finished with the main course. I’ve baked an apple pudding, and I’ll bring it in directly.” She tucked the tray under her arm and made herself walk slowly back to the kitchen, though she wanted to flee.

  “Apple pudding,” Mr. Winters said behind her. “That sounds very nice. We’ll miss your cooking, Mrs. Golding.”

  Sally turned for a moment in the doorway. “Why, thank you, Reverend. It’s kind of you to say so.”

  The skin around Effie’s eyes contracted in wrinkles as she glared at Sally.

  CHAPTER 3

  Johnny rose when the first light of dawn crept through the one window in the cabin. Cam still slept on the floor. He had insisted Johnny take his brother’s bed. Johnny stepped over him and tiptoed outside.

  The sun was still below the horizon, and the air smelled sweet—breathably cool. He walked slowly around the yard and leaned on the corral fence. His horse and Cam’s came over, gazing at him with large, hopeful eyes. Reckless nickered and snuffled his sleeve.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Johnny said. “I’ll put you out in the pasture now.” They hadn’t dared turn out the horses the evening before—not with murderous robbers in the area. Keeping them close was their only defense, short of sleeping outside to guard them, and neither Johnny nor Cam wanted to do that. They’d slept in a house for the first time in weeks.

  Johnny opened the gate between the small corral enclosure and the field. The days of open range were gone in Texas, and Mark had fenced quite a chunk of his land. Johnny couldn’t help but be impressed with his brother’s hard work.

  He walked slowly behind the barn and up a gentle knoll to the spot Cam had chosen for Mark’s grave. They hadn’t marked it yet, but the newly turned earth showed where Mark lay. Johnny promised himself he would take care of that soon. A cross, at least. Maybe later he could have a stone made, but he was capable of putting together a decent cross and carving Mark’s name on it.

  He hauled in a deep breath as he stared at the burial plot. It wasn’t right. Mark had never hurt anyone, and so far as Johnny knew, everybody liked him. It just wasn’t right.

  He turned back to the cabin. A few chickens flitted about the barnyard. Johnny approached them carefully and watched where they skittered off to.

  Cam was standing in the cabin doorway, stretching, when Johnny ambled across the yard with four eggs in his hat. “What do you reckon?” Cam said.

  “Gonna be hot again.”

  “I mean, what do you think we ought to do.”

  Johnny shrugged. “I still think we should ride into town and talk to the sheriff.”

  “I thought we settled that.” Cam eyed him as if he were a six-year-old. “You’re a wanted man, Johnny. This is a good place for us to lie low. If anyone comes around, we just tell them you’re Mark’s brother, and he’s out tending his stock at the moment.”

  “We can’t keep that up forever.”

  “We won’t need to. And if it’ll make you feel better, after a while, we can tell the town folks that Mark died and we buried him. We just won’t say when.”

  Johnny let out a long, slow breath. He didn’t like lying, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t legal to dispose of a body without telling the authorities. He looked down into his hat. “I got four eggs.”

  A grin split Cam’s tanned face. “Now you’re talking. I’ll bet we can scare up a real breakfast.”

  As they worked together to prepare the meal, Johnny mulled things over.

  “Do you really think we’re doing the right thing?” he asked as he fri
ed the eggs.

  “Seems to me like the only thing we can do.” Cam eyed him keenly. “I thought staying around the Lone Pine would be a big mistake. I still do. And this isn’t such a bad place. No one from Colorado will bother you here.”

  Johnny nodded. After all, they had come to Texas at his own suggestion. “It just doesn’t feel right, you know?”

  Cam set two forks on the table. “Look, Johnny, I don’t really know what’s best for you. If you really want to turn yourself in, maybe you should, so it won’t eat at you.”

  Johnny swallowed hard.

  “Of course, there’s no guarantee you’d get a fair trial,” Cam said. “Especially in a place where nobody knows you.”

  Johnny broke the yolk on two of the eggs before turning them. He like his cooked firm. What would happen to Mark’s ranch? He was Mark’s only living family, and he figured he was his brother’s heir. But not if he wound up being hung for a murder he didn’t commit. “What would you do if I did go to the law?”

  “I don’t know.” Cam rubbed his jaw. “I suppose I’d go looking for a job.”

  “You wouldn’t go back to Colorado?”

  “Maybe. I’d have to do something. We’re both flat broke.”

  Johnny blew out a deep breath. They hadn’t found any money in their quick search of the house. Whoever killed Mark must have taken any cash he’d had. The supplies were minimal. If he and Cam stayed on, they’d have to go to town soon. But the small herd of cattle—mostly breeding cows and their calves—looked healthy. Besides that, Mark had provided a sturdy cabin; a small garden growing out back, though most of the plants were beginning to die off; and a flock of chickens scratching about the yard. Increasingly, keeping his head down made more sense. The two of them had everything they needed, and nobody would look for them here. No one in Texas knew about the killing. There was no reason to keep running.

  The eggs were done, along with what bacon they’d had left in their saddlebags. Johnny took the frying pan over to the table, where Cam had set two plates and was pouring milk, their one plentiful commodity, into the only cups they’d found—one tin cup and a thick, ironstone mug.

  Cam gave Johnny the mug. “We need to get some coffee soon.”

  Johnny grunted and slid the eggs and bacon onto their plates.

  “What?” Cam asked.

  “Nothing. You’re right. We’ll need some other stuff, too. And you’re right that we don’t have much money.”

  “Too bad those robbers got whatever your brother had.”

  They sat down and began to eat. After his eggs and bacon had disappeared, Cam said, “So, what do you think? I’ll go along with whatever you decide.”

  Johnny clenched his jaw for a moment. “I reckon we should either stay here or keep moving. I’m sort of leaning toward staying.”

  Cam nodded. “The way I see it, we’re broke, but we’d be worse off if we tried to move on.”

  “Guess so.” Johnny picked up his last piece of bacon. “I reckon we can stay a few days, anyhow. Sort things out. Let Reckless rest his foot.”

  “Hey, maybe we could sell his cattle. That’d give us a stake.”

  Johnny didn’t like it. Yes, Mark was dead, but did he have a right to sell off his brother’s property? Next Cam would want to sell the whole ranch.

  “Let’s not be hasty,” he said.

  “Right. We may wind up eating those cattle.” Cam rose and took his dishes to the worktable and set them in the empty dishpan with a clatter.

  Johnny leaned back in his chair while he chewed the bacon and thought over their situation. “Cam, I’d like to clear my name in Denver, but I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “Likely not, unless you could show ’em something that would prove someone else killed Red Howell.”

  “Don’t know how I could do that.”

  “You can’t. Seems to me, disappearing is still the best solution, like you said. And here, you can ease into the countryside. We can work this ranch and make it pay, like Mark wanted.” Cam eyed him closely. “We can do it, Johnny. I know we can.”

  Johnny tried to make that fit over his grief, but the hard knot still sat in his chest. Having a small ranch of his own was every cowpuncher’s dream. But building up Mark’s ranch wouldn’t bring him back, and hiding from the law to do it… He tried to push that thought away. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

  From outside, a distant bellow wafted to them. Johnny shoved back his chair.

  “I forgot about the cow. She’ll need milking again.”

  Cam joined him and puttered about the barn, taking stock of their new assets. When Johnny had milked the cow, he let Cam turn her out while he carried the bucket of milk to the house. He set it in a corner with a dish towel draped over it. Mark must have had a springhouse, or a root cellar. Or maybe he kept things like milk down the well to keep them cool. He would have to explore those possibilities.

  He noticed a drawer on the front of the worktable. He and Cam had missed it last night. Johnny pulled it open. A jumble of small items lay inside, and he took them out, one by one, in the dimness and held them up toward the window.

  Two sheets of writing paper and an unused envelope he set aside. A pocket knife. A carriage bolt. A key, but to what? It looked too small for a door key.

  The next item he recognized immediately. He’d seen the miniature portrait of his mother many times. Pa had insisted she have it made before he went off to fight in the war twenty-four years ago. Someone musthave sent it to Mark after she died. Johnny gazed at it for half a minute. He had no family left. Even after Ma and Pa died, he’d had Mark out here, where he could reach him if he really wanted to. He wiped a tear that trickled down his cheek and set the portrait on the table.

  The drawer was nearly empty, and he fished out two horseshoe nails and a few coins totaling forty-five cents. Those he slipped in his pocket. Spending Mark’s spare change didn’t rankle him nearly as much as the thought of selling the herd or the land. He heard Cam’s steps on the stoop and scooped the things back into the drawer and closed it.

  “Bossie’s all set. Now what?” Cam asked.

  Johnny turned to face him. “I was wondering if Mark had a root cellar or anything like that. Maybe we should do some more looking around outside. And if we want to keep cooking, we need to find out where he got his firewood. Or maybe he burned mostly coal in that stove. There was some coal in the barn.”

  “All right. I guess there’s plenty of work to do around here.” Cam smiled at him. “Before you know it, this will feel like home sweet home.”

  Sally settled into her seat on the train, her heart pounding. She had actually done it.

  She scooted over to the window and gazed out at the back of the station and the freight cars standing in the rail yard. She hoped she would never see St. Louis again.

  Face turned to the window, she waited for the wheels to turn, taking her to her new life.

  “Beg pardon,” a man said. “Might I sit here?”

  Sally looked up at the middle-aged gentleman. He had a large mustache, and his sack suit, felt hat, walking stick, and folded newspaper told her that he wasn’t wealthy but at least a part of the respectable middle class. A quick glance about revealed that the car’s seats were filling fast, so she didn’t suspect he had ulterior motives.

  “Of course.” She shifted her handbag to the window side and made sure her skirt didn’t spill over onto his part of the seat. She had worn her mourning gown but had a new traveling dress in her luggage. She had been able to purchase cloth for the new dress with the money she’d received for making Mrs. DeVeer’s outfit. For the last two nights, she had sat up stitching it. She hoped she’d find an opportunity to change shortly before they reached Beaumont. She wanted to arrive looking fresh, not rumpled and dusty. She hoped Mark would like the new dress.

  The man removed his hat and stuck it and his stick in the rack above the seats then sat down with a sigh.

  “William Thormon,” he said with a
brief smile.

  “Oh, Sally Golding.” She extended her gloved hand, and he took it for a moment.

  “Traveling far?” he asked.

  “Yes. Beaumont, Texas.”

  “Texas?” He eyed her keenly. “And I thought my jaunt to Tulsa was a wearisome distance. Whereabouts is Beaumont?”

  “Southeastern Texas.”

  “Near the coast?”

  Sally nodded. “It’s east of Galveston and Houston. Not far from the Louisiana line, actually.”

  “Hmm. It’ll be hot down there.” He eyed her black dress and shawl.

  “Yes.” Sally didn’t think she owed him an explanation of why she was going. He could plainly see that she was widowed. But he seemed like a decent man, and she didn’t want him to think otherwise of her. “I have family there.”

  “Of course.” He seemed relieved and opened his newspaper.

  Sally folded her hands demurely in her lap. Through the black cotton of her gloves, she could feel her thin, gold wedding band. She had almost discarded it after David died but thought better of it. She was glad she’d kept it when she moved into the Winterses’ home. The reverend would surely have disapproved if she’d stopped wearing it.

  She had held on to it for the journey, too. All along she had known that somehow she would leave St. Louis, and whether she returned to her parents’ home or went elsewhere to make a new start, the ring would lend her a modicum of respectability, and perhaps even protection. Predatory men would think twice about pursuing a woman who wore a wedding ring.

  She glanced at Mr. Thormon. He seemed engrossed in his newspaper, but he looked up and smiled, as though he had sensed her gaze upon him.

  “May I offer you my paper when I’ve finished with it?”

  “Oh, well—yes, thank you. When you’re done. That would be nice.”

  He nodded and went back to his reading.

  Sally felt her face flush. She certainly didn’t want the gentleman to think she was grasping or flirtatious. She turned toward the window. They had left the city behind and were hurtling across the plains. The trees and fence posts in the foreground whipped past so fast, her stomach started to lurch. Better to focus on something more distant. A herd of cattle, gently sloping hills.