The Yellow Rose

by Gilbert, Morris

  “What about the Comanches?” Zane said.

  “They’re always trouble, Zane. It’s been real quiet for the last six months, but if they take a notion, they could ride in here with a thousand braves and wipe us all out. We’re right on the border, and that means we’re trouble to them.”

  “What about the cattle business? Is there going to be a market?”

  Jerusalem asked.

  “Always a market for cattle.” Kern smiled. “Getting them there is the problem.”

  “It’ll have to be New Orleans,” Clay spoke up. “No way of driving them north.”

  “That’s right.” Kern nodded. “And that’s getting to be a bigger problem all the time.”

  “We’ll make it, though. All of us.”

  Kern stayed late, which irritated Clay, but Jerusalem was enjoying his conversation. He had traveled a great deal and was knowledgeable on many things, which she found quite interesting. After the others had left the main room of the house to go to bed, Kern sat talking with Jerusalem. They were sitting on the leather-covered couch in the living room, and she had asked him about Europe. He had been to England and to Spain and Italy, and she was fascinated by the stories from his extensive traveling.

  Finally, Kern said, “Well, I’ve kept you up late. I should be leaving.”

  He got to his feet, and Jerusalem rose with him. Before he turned to leave, he stopped still, and at that moment Jerusalem read his intentions. He was a strong, virile man, and when he stepped forward and took her by the arms and bent over and kissed her, she did not resist. Whether it was curiosity or something else, she did not know. His lips pressed hard against hers with a roughness, but for some reason she welcomed it. It had been a long time since she had been kissed like that, and she’d wondered if there was anything more in this man than his rough, rugged good looks. Now, as she received his kiss and responded with her own, she felt stirred in a way that shocked her. Something strong and powerful brushed against her then. She knew she had the power to stir him, but she was more concerned about the emotion she had not anticipated. Putting her hand on his chest, she stepped back, and he released her at once.

  “You’re going to say I shouldn’t have done that. Well, I know it,” he said, looking deep into her eyes.

  Jerusalem did not answer for a moment. She had known the depth of her loneliness over the years. For that one instant of that caress she had felt a longing for a man, not necessarily this man, but a companion. “Good night, Kern.”

  “It’s been pleasant.” He smiled, got his hat, and left.

  She heard the sound of his horse moving away and then turned and started for her bedroom. She undressed, got into bed, and knew that she would not forget Kern Herendeen quickly. He was not the sort of man a woman would forget.

  During the winter, Herendeen came often to the Hardin house for visits. He took Jerusalem to a dance once during that time and twice to church. And each time Kern would show up at the ranch, Clay would get in a foul mood and head for town. As the winter faded, Jerusalem found herself more and more confused about how she herself felt about Herendeen. Julie, whom she saw only rarely, was living in Jordan City and working in the saloon—something that grieved Jerusalem. Julie had the rare ability to see what was in women and men, and one time she had asked Jerusalem point blank, “Would you marry him if he asked you?”

  Jerusalem had said, “Too soon to think of anything like that.”

  But Julie had smiled knowingly at her and had shaken her head. “Be careful,” was all she said.

  It was in the middle of March when Kern Herendeen was bringing Jerusalem home from a dance. She had enjoyed the evening, and her cheeks were still flushed with the remembrance of the music and the excitement of going out with Kern. When the buggy pulled up in front of the house, she waited for Herendeen to get out and help her to the ground, but instead he turned to her and said, “Jerusalem, have you thought of me as a man you might marry?”

  His words struck hard against Jerusalem, and she could only be honest. “Well, yes, I have. I guess a woman will think about that with any man who pays her attention.”

  He reached out and took her hand and made no attempt to embrace her. “I’m asking you to be my wife. I know it’s soon, but I’m a lonely man, and I think you’re a lonely woman.”

  The suddenness of his words surprised Jerusalem. She had known that he was ambitious and would press people at times to get what he wanted.

  That was a trait that had made him as successful as he was. He was witty and better educated than most men she knew, but she had not picked him for a man who could look inside a woman’s heart and understand her feelings. “How do you know that, Kern?”

  “I can’t say,” he admitted. “Just something I felt about you. I’ve felt that you are a woman who needs a man just as I’m a man who needs a woman. There’s nothing wrong in that,” he said quickly. “I think we’d make a good marriage of it.”

  Jerusalem said instantly, “I can’t give you any kind of an answer, Kern.

  I’m not sure how I feel about marrying anyone right now.”

  Kern reached forward then, took her in his arms, and kissed her. She did not resist, but when he lifted his lips, she whispered, “Don’t press me, Kern.”

  “I won’t,” he said. “You’re not the kind of woman who can be stampeded. But I wanted you to know how I felt.”

  He got out of the buggy, came around, and handed her down. As he walked her to the door, she expected him to try to kiss her again, but he was wiser than that.

  “Good night. I had a good time.”

  “So did I, Kern.” She hesitated, then said, “I’ll think about what you said.”

  “That’s all I ask.” Climbing into the buggy, he slapped the reins and drove away.

  Jerusalem went into the house and found Clay cracking walnuts on an iron with a hammer. “You should have come to the dance,” she said.

  “Not much of a dancing man.”

  “You are, too,” Jerusalem argued. “You’re a good dancer.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to.”

  Jerusalem suddenly thought of all that Clay Taliferro had done for her and her family. He had always treated her honorably. In fact, he had never tried to take advantage of her in any way. They were more than friends, but how much more she could not tell. She only knew that he had been good to her, and she needed someone to talk to about what she felt.

  “Clay,” she said, coming over to sit across from him, “Kern asked me to marry him tonight.” She saw the hammer, which was poised to strike, seem to freeze in the air. Clay lowered it then and turned his eyes toward her.

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I told him I couldn’t think about that right now.” Clay was upset.

  Jerusalem could tell.

  “I don’t think he’s the kind of man that can make you happy,” Clay said.

  Jerusalem stared at him. “Why do you say that?”

  “Just a feelin’ I got. I don’t think you should marry him.”

  Jerusalem felt something stronger than aggravation, but less than anger. She got to her feet and stared at him. “Thanks for your advice, Clay.

  Good night.” She turned and walked to her bedroom, slamming the door with more force than necessary.

  Clay put a walnut on the iron, raised the hammer, and smashed it with all of his strength. He got up then, tossed the hammer down, and walked outside the house. For a long time he stood staring up at the sky, studying the stars, and then muttered, “He ain’t the right man for her.”

  Julie listened as Clay told her what had happened. He had come to the saloon, and he told her he had to talk with her privately. She had a large well-furnished room upstairs, and when he came in, he turned to her and said, “Herendeen has asked Jerusalem to marry him.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  Clay stared at her. “You knew it?”

  “Of course I did. He’s been pretty obvious about it, Clay. If you weren�
��t half blind, you would know it, too. He’s been calling on her off and on for months.”

  “Well, I don’t think he’s the right man for her.”

  Julie saw that Clay was more agitated than she had ever seen him.

  “He’s got plenty of money and land. He’s educated. Good-looking.

  What’s wrong with him?”

  “He don’t—” Clay broke off suddenly. “I can’t put it into words,” he said finally. “But he’s not the kind of man that can make your sister happy.”

  “Clay, I used to think you were a pretty smart fellow, but you’ve been actin’ like a fool lately.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “You’ve been in love with my sister for a long time. Why don’t you up and tell her so?”

  Clay swallowed hard. “Why, I . . . I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” Julie said impatiently. “You don’t have a wife stashed away somewhere, do you?”

  “You know I don’t, but I don’t have anything to offer her. She’s got a ranch, and all I’ve got is the clothes I’m standin’ in.”

  “That’s foolish! We wouldn’t have anything if it wasn’t for you.

  Jerusalem knows that.”

  Clay felt terribly uncomfortable. “I can’t do it,” he said. “I’m leaving.

  I can’t stand this place no more.”

  Julie stared at him and then shook her head. “I feel sorry for you, Clay.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re a fool who doesn’t know how to follow his heart. Go on. Go chase your gold or whatever it is. You won’t get any satisfaction out of it.”

  “I’m not going back to the ranch for anything. I’m just riding out.

  You tell Jerusalem I’m leaving.”

  “You don’t even have the guts to face her?”

  “It ain’t that,” Clay said quickly. “I just don’t want to.”

  He turned and left before she could move or speak. Julie walked to the door and stared after him as he went down the stairs. “You fool,” she whispered and shook her head sadly.

  Clay had been gone for two weeks now. The day he had ridden out, Julie had given his message to Jerusalem, who had stared at her and said, “Did he say why he was leaving?”

  “He said he was going to look for gold.”

  “That’s all he said?”

  Julie said bluntly, “He’s in love with you, and he thinks you’re going to marry Herendeen.”

  “I told him that I wasn’t. At least I told him I was just thinking about it.”

  “That’s all Clay needed.”

  Jerusalem found herself unable to speak about Clay’s leaving. Everyone was asking where Clay was gone and why, and all she could say was that he had decided to go prospecting—for a time.

  During those two weeks she had asked herself a lot of hard questions, and she had refused Herendeen’s invitation and had kept to the house.

  She did not sleep well and had lost some of her appetite. Deep down she knew that she felt something in her heart for Clay Taliferro, but his sudden picking up and leaving was too much like something Jake Hardin would do. To simply ride off without a word, that was Jake all over again, and it grieved Jerusalem and brought back too many painful memories of being left alone to care for her family all by herself.

  Jerusalem saw Clay ride up and was waiting when he stepped inside the house. “Hello, Clay.”

  “Hello, Jerusalem.”

  Clay’s clothes were wrinkled, and he had not shaved in days. He stood there staring at her, evidently unable to find words.

  “Well, did you find gold?”

  “No, I didn’t find gold. I didn’t even look for gold.”

  “Julie told me you were leaving to go prospecting. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

  “Because I couldn’t.” He came over to her then and stood in front of her. “I came back because I had to, Jerusalem. I got to tell you something.”

  Jerusalem felt something stir within her. “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Well, I’ve been makin’ a fool of myself. I’ve been doing it for most of my life,” he said, shaking his head with disgust. “But I came back to tell you that I’ve got feelings for you.”

  Disappointment filled Jerusalem. She had expected more than this!

  “You’ve got feelings for your horse and for Bob!”

  “Well, I mean I’ve got strong feelings for you, and I want to tell you that you can’t marry Kern Herendeen.”

  “And why not?”

  “He don’t want you, Jerusalem. He wants this ranch. He’s just using you.”

  “Oh?” Jerusalem said, and the rivers never ran colder than her tone.

  “A man couldn’t want me?”

  “I didn’t say that. I didn’t mean it that way, anyway. But listen. If you’ve got to marry somebody, why, you might as well marry me!”

  Jerusalem could not believe what she was hearing. “Is that what you call a proposal?”

  “Yes, I reckon it is.”

  “Why, even Jake did better than that.”

  Clay suddenly seemed to slump. “Well, what do you want, Jerusalem?

  You want me to write poetry and sing love songs under your window?”

  Jerusalem suddenly smiled. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

  “What! You don’t mean that.”

  “Don’t I?”

  Clay could never quite tell when Jerusalem was dead serious. Well, he could, but he pretended not to. Now suddenly he stepped forward and drew her close. “I might as well warn you,” he said. “I’m fixin’ to kiss you.”

  “All right. You warned me. Now, do it.”

  Clay found her teasing amusing, but he kissed her, holding her tight for a moment, his arms drawing her close. He stepped back, then said, “Now, I’ll say it again. I can’t write a poem about it, but I love you, Jerusalem.”

  “Clay, I don’t believe you. And I won’t spend the next forty years with a man who takes me for granted.”

  “Takes you for granted! What are you talking about? I’m telling you I love you.”

  “And I’m telling you that you haven’t shown it.”

  “Well, what do you want me to do?”

  Jerusalem stared at Clay and said, “That’s for you to find out, Clay. If you really want me, you’ve got to make me believe it.” She turned and walked away from him, going out the back door of the house.

  Clay stood there in shock. He had expected anything but having to prove what he felt for her. Suddenly, he felt a weight on his feet, and he looked down to see that Bob had come over and sat down right on the toes of his boots. “I’m going to marry that woman, Bob, no matter what it takes. You hear me?”

  Bob lolled his tongue and leaned over against Clay’s legs. “Whoof!” he barked.

  “If I have to shoot Kern Herendeen, I’ll do it. If I have to take a bath every night and shave every day, I’ll do that. No matter what it takes, I’m going to marry her. You got that straight?”

  Bob looked up, his tongue hanging out like a red necktie, and replied woefully, “Whoof!”

  PART THREE:

  COURTSHIP

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Well, I swan, Clinton. I believe you’d talk to a possum!” A decrescent afternoon sun sinking in the west cast its last feeble rays on the two riders whose horses plodded slowly along. Clay had taken Clinton and Brodie on a cattle drive to New Orleans, and they were now almost within sight of the ranch. The boys had been excited about the trip and had worked hard. Clay had gotten a good price for the cattle, and the money would come in handy, for the expenses of getting settled in at the new ranch had been heavy.

  Brodie had cut away when they had passed within a few miles of their old place. He had said rather defiantly that he was going to see Serena, which Clay had, more or less, expected.

  Clay himself had been rather silent on the return journey, thinking a great deal about how he could convince Jerus
alem of how he truly felt. Clinton, as usual, spilled over with an unending river of talk the whole way back. Clay had finally burst out with some aggravation. “Don’t you ever hush?”

  Clinton didn’t take offense. He did not really need a big audience, and he always had plenty to talk about when he could get someone to sit still long enough to listen to him. For the past three miles, he had been talking about his views on the book of Revelation, particularly on the Antichrist, and Clay had managed to tune it all out. Now Clinton said, “This is important, Clay. I mean, after all, when the Antichrist comes along, you’d better know who he is or he’ll get you.”

  “You can’t tell who the Antichrist is,” Clay said with disgust.

  “Oh, sure I can!” Clinton nodded firmly. “I know who the scudder is, all right.”

  Despite his irritation, Clay grinned. Clinton never had any doubts whatsoever about any of his notions. Being proved wrong five times in a row never changed his opinion of his own rightness about theological matters. “Well, who is it, then?” Clay said.

  “Why, it’s John Quincy Adams.”

  Clay laughed out loud. “John Quincy Adams! What in the blue-eyed world makes you think John Quincy Adams is the Antichrist?” John Quincy Adams was, indeed, a Yankee, which qualified him in Clinton’s view for any depth of villainy, but as far as Clay knew, he did not carry a pitchfork or breathe fire and brimstone.

  “Why, that scoundrel has kept Texas from joinin’ the Union, Clay!” Clinton said with amazement, staring at Clay. His face was intent, and he nodded firmly. “That’s proof enough, ain’t it?”

  “No, you ignoramus, it’s not proof enough. There’s lots of politicians up North that want to keep Texas out of the Union. They think we’re gonna expand the slave states—which we would.”

  Clinton hesitated, which was rare for him, but then he shot right back, “Well, that ain’t the only reason I know he’s the Antichrist, Clay. There’s his name.”