The Yellow Rose

by Gilbert, Morris

  “John Quincy Adams?”

  “Yeah, the Bible says that the number of the beast is six-six-six, and that’s the number of letters in all of them names of John Quincy Adams.”

  Clay blinked with surprise. It was difficult sometimes to follow Clinton’s strange reasoning at times. “John ain’t got but four letters.”

  “Why, I bet his real name is Johnny, and that’s got six letters sure as you’re born.”

  Clay shook his head in disgust. “Clinton, Quincy has got six letters.

  What about Adams?”

  “Why, it’s got six letters, Clay. A-d-d-a-m-s.”

  “You fool boy! Adams is spelled A-d-a-m-s. That’s only five letters.”

  This information set Clinton back momentarily, but at once he said, “Well, if it ain’t him, then it’s Santa Anna.”

  Clay took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He was wet clear through, for the day had been hot. Settling his hat back on firmly, he said, “Clinton, you can’t make the Antichrist into somebody you just pure don’t like. Now, hush up, will you?”

  Clinton was silent only for a short time. No matter how many times people told him to hold his tongue, he simply couldn’t stop from talking. “Clay, I done figured out a way for you to get Ma to marry up with you.”

  “Who said I was thinkin’ about marryin’ anybody?”

  “Why, everybody knows it, Clay. Julie told me, and I reckon it’s true.”

  “People ought to have more to do than sit around gossiping.” He settled down in his saddle, but curiosity got the best of him. “What’s this way you’re thinkin’ about that I could get your ma to marry me?”

  “Well, get converted, join the church, and get baptized.”

  Clay said shortly, “Listen, Clinton, I can’t join the church just to get a woman to marry me. I ain’t no Christian, and I know that much. Will you please try to talk sense or else hush up. Talkin’ with you is useless! It’s like tryin’ to shoot pool with a well rope!”

  Moriah stood still and looked down pensively at Jerusalem, who was on her knees arranging the hem of a new dress that the two had been working on. There was a dance coming in Jordan City, and Moriah had begged her mother to help make a new dress. Jerusalem had come up with the money to buy the material, and now it was almost finished. She put the last pin in, then stood up and stepped back to admire the dress. “That looks real nice, Moriah. It fits you, too. You were bustin’ out of your old dresses.”

  “I wish we had a long mirror so I could see myself.”

  “Maybe we’ll buy one if Clay gets enough money for the cattle.”

  “When are they comin’ back?”

  “Why, they should be back this week sometime. It’s hard to tell how fast cow critters will travel.”

  Moriah turned around and turned her head, trying to see down her back, and then faced her mother. She noticed that Jerusalem had lines of fatigue in her face, and compassion came to her. She walked over to her mother and put her hand around her waist. “You look tired, Ma. This has been a hard four months gettin’ settled in here.”

  “Not as hard as some I’ve known.”

  Moriah thought for a moment, and then she said, “How does it make you feel gettin’ courted by two men?”

  “I think it’s foolishness,” Jerusalem said.

  “Well, Clay and Kern are going to get in a fight over you. Both of them are serious.”

  “I don’t know whether they are or not. Sometimes I think they’re both so foolish I wouldn’t have either one of them on a bet.”

  Indeed, the past four months had been hard financially and in other ways, but Clay and Kern Herendeen had indeed driven her nearly to distraction. Kern was straightforward about his intentions and had been quick to ask her out to every social event. He had even taken her to church, which Clay had never offered to do. Kern was not a member of the church, but he was not letting any opportunities slip to spend time with her. Clay, on the other hand, was not so forward. He took occasion to be with her every chance he had, and, as always, Jerusalem enjoyed talking with Clay as much as she had ever enjoyed speaking with anyone. He had a dry wit and a deep wisdom that showed itself in many ways. She had noticed that the two men were becoming more short-tempered and knew that Moriah was right. They were both strong-willed men, and it would not take a great deal to push them into a fight.

  “I’m more interested in your man, Moriah.” Indeed, she was interested in Leonard Pennington, who had been courting Moriah from the first time they had met. Pennington was twenty-five years old, no more than medium height, and very trim. He had crisp brown hair, warm brown eyes, and a neat mustache. He was a lawyer by profession, very proper, and better educated than most. Jerusalem had watched the progress of the courtship, which seemed like a whirlwind in nature, but she was troubled by the thought of Moriah marrying him.

  “Do you love this man enough to marry him?”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “He’s not a country man. You said he’ll want you to move to St.

  Louis. He’s ambitious, and he won’t be satisfied in a little one-horse town like Jordan City. Would you like that?”

  Moriah hesitated, then shrugged. “I . . . I think so. It’s a wife’s place to make her home with her husband, isn’t it, Ma?”

  “Yes it is, but city living can be hard for a woman who’s only known the country like you have.”

  “Well, how can I know for sure that he is the right man, Ma? Tell me.”

  Suddenly, Moriah seemed very vulnerable to Jerusalem. She was eighteen years old now, intelligent, pretty, a hard worker, but there was still something of the little girl in her that troubled Jerusalem. She wanted to say, “If you’ve got doubt about marrying him, don’t do it,” but that seemed harsh. Instead, she said, “Well, you’re asking the wrong woman, Moriah. I’ve been struggling with what to do with Kern and Clay for months now.” She laughed and hugged Moriah. “Maybe we ought to be just maiden aunts or something.”

  Mary Aidan came bursting in at that instant. She never walked anywhere but plunged forward at a dead run. “Clay and Clinton are here— Clay brought me a present!” She held up a new doll, and her eyes were sparkling. “Her name is Agnes.”

  Jerusalem was surprised at the sudden relief she felt. She had been worried about Brodie and Clinton, but, as always, whenever Clay left there was something about his absence that disturbed her. She had seen her husband, Jake, ride off so many times and not return for months or even two years on one occasion. Clay, of course, had always talked of going to hunt for gold or going back to the mountains, and she could not afford to tie herself to another wanderer. “Well, let’s go see how they did in New Orleans.”

  The two went downstairs and saw that Clinton and Clay were dirty and exhausted. “You’re back.” Jerusalem smiled.

  “We’re back, Ma,” Clinton said cheerfully. “I had me a good time in New Orleans. You ought to see what those folks eat there. There’s somethin’ that looks like bugs.”

  “That was shrimp, you dummy.” Clay grinned. He looked at Jerusalem and Moriah and took his hat off. He slapped it against his leg, and the dust flew. “Well, you got all dressed up for our homecoming?”

  “Why, no,” Moriah said. “We’re going to the dance. Leonard’s taking me, and Mr. Herendeen’s taking Ma.”

  Jerusalem saw something pass across Clay’s face. Disappointment, she thought, and she said, “We didn’t know when you’d be back, Clay, or I’d have waited.”

  Clay shrugged. “Well, I’ll get cleaned up and go by myself. Just save me a dance, Jerusalem.”

  Jerusalem hesitated for one moment, for she knew that Kern would not like it, but she smiled and said, “Of course I will.”

  The dance was well attended, for there was little in the way of diversion in the area. Whenever a dance was announced, farmers and ranchers with their wives and dates would come from as far as twenty miles away to the schoolhouse that had been cleared to use for a dance hall. It was r
eally a combination of city hall, school, and anything that called for a larger number of people than could gather together in other buildings.

  A fairly good band with guitars, banjos, two fiddlers, and the usual blowers into jugs filled the schoolhouse with lively music.

  Leonard Pennington was wearing a new gray suit that fit him perfectly. His low-cut shoes were black and made from patent leather, and a dark brown tie matched the color of his eyes. He was an attractive man, and as Moriah moved around the floor with him, she said, “This is fun, Leonard.”

  “Well, it’s fine, but wait’ll we get to St. Louis.” He smiled, and his white teeth were perfect. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and he said, “We’ll be dancing at the Rose Ballroom. You could put ten of these places inside of it! You’re going to like it in a real city.”

  As they moved around the floor, Len leaned close and told Moriah how pretty she looked and how well she danced. He was quick to compliment her throughout the dance and felt there was nothing unmanly about it. He was a city man with none of the roughness of most of the men that inhabited Texas. He was quietly witty and courteous and was ambitious almost to a fault.

  Looking around the floor, Len said, “It looks like the saints and the sinners are all one tonight. Even the dance hall girls have joined in.”

  Suddenly, Len missed a step when he saw the hurt look on Moriah’s face. “What is it?”

  “Well, that’s Julie, my aunt.”

  “Why, I didn’t mean to say anything—”

  Len halted and tried to make it right, but he saw that he had wandered into an unmentionable territory. It bothered him that Moriah had an aunt who was a dance hall girl, and he rarely spoke of her, though he was polite enough on the few occasions when they met. He changed the subject quickly. “Everybody’s wondering if your mother’s going to marry Kern Herendeen.”

  “I don’t think she knows. She likes Clay awfully well.”

  “Why, I like Clay, too,” Len said quickly, “but he’s got no ambition.

  Kern will be in the legislature someday. He’s a man with vision who’s going to make a difference here in Texas.”

  “I don’t think Ma judges a man by his politics. There are other things more important.”

  “Well, of course you’re right. Speaking of marriage, I promised I wouldn’t urge you too much, but I’d like for you to set a date, Moriah.”

  Moriah did not answer right away, and he leaned back and looked into her face. “What’s wrong? We’re made for each other.”

  Moriah could not put into words what she was feeling, but finally she said, “I’m not sure I can please you, Leonard. It will be so different for me living in a big city.”

  “Why, you’ll do fine. I’ll help you. You’ll see.” He suddenly lifted his head and said, “Well, there’s Clay. I hope he and Kern behave themselves.”

  Clay had not worn new clothes, although he looked better than he had in the travel-stained ones he had been wearing when he came back from New Orleans. He stood there for a moment, then heard his name called. He turned to see Julie and Frisco Barr approach him.

  “How’s my darlin’ husband tonight?” Julie winked. She loved to tease Clay about the fact that they had pretended to be man and wife simply in order to get the land for Jerusalem and the family. Julie had been willing to marry him legally, but Clay had drawn the line at that, so she had suggested they just say they were married, which satisfied Steve Austin. It was not exactly honest, but neither of them was troubled about it too much. They were more interested in finding a place where Jerusalem and the family could sink down roots and get established.

  “You ought not to call me that,” Clay said. “It gives people the wrong ideas.”

  Sheriff Joel Bench was standing beside them. He was a tough, little man in his early fifties with white hair and startling blue eyes. “Miss Julie, I think this is our dance, ain’t it?”

  “Why, I think it is, Sheriff.” Julie smiled, took his hand, and went out to the dance floor with him.

  Frisco Barr was dressed, as usual, in the latest fashion. As a gambler, he could afford to be flamboyant, and Clay stared at his vest and said, “I ain’t sure a man that wears a vest that colorful is to be trusted.”

  “Probably not,” Frisco grinned, “but anybody with a few dollars can buy a vest like this. How’s the cattle business, Clay?” The two men talked for a while about the difficulty of running cattle in Texas, and then humor gleamed in Frisco’s dark eyes. “Who’s runnin’ ahead with the widow Hardin?”

  “Don’t you start on me, Frisco,” Clay said, putting a hard glance on the gambler.

  “All right, I won’t.” The two men stood there, and finally Frisco said, “Miss Moriah’s doin’ right well. Pennington’s gonna go up in the world.”

  “I guess he is,” Clay murmured, but his eyes were on Jerusalem. He straightened up and said, “Guess I’ll go have myself a dance.”

  Frisco lifted his eyebrows. “Kern don’t take too well to bein’ cut in on—in any way. Watch yourself, Clay.”

  Clay paid no heed but moved right over to where Jerusalem and Herendeen were dancing. He tapped Herendeen on the shoulder, and when Herendeen stopped to turn, he said, “Mind if I cut in, Kern?”

  Kern Herendeen was a bigger man than Clay. He was taller and bulkier, and had an aggressiveness about him that flared out at times.

  “Wait until the next dance, Taliferro,” he said.

  Kern started to turn, but Clay said, “You know the custom is that gentlemen step aside to give other gents a chance.” Kern started to pull away, but Clay put a hand on his arm. “Let’s do this easy, Kern.”

  Kern Herendeen’s anger suddenly flared. “Get your hands off me!”

  “I don’t like your manners much, Kern.”

  “I don’t like yours either.”

  Jerusalem stood there watching and wanting to separate the two, but it was moving too fast. “If you don’t like my ways, Kern, take it up.”

  “I’ll take it up,” Kern said, his mouth tightening. “Let’s just go outside.”

  “Stop this!” Jerusalem said. “Behave yourselves, both of you.”

  “I just wanted to dance with you, Jerusalem. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Wait your turn,” Kern said and grinned.

  Jerusalem had no chance to say anything else. She had been about to say, “Clay, you can have the next dance.” But Herendeen swept her away, moving to the other side of the dance floor.

  For one instant the wildness that Clay Taliferro tried to keep down way beneath the surface of his manners erupted. An almost irresistible urge to go after Kern, turn him around, and strike him in the face overwhelmed him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, then he turned and walked toward the door. He passed by Julie, who spoke to him, saying, “Clay—”

  But he ignored her and left the room.

  “He’s pretty sore,” Frisco said, who had come to stand by Julie. “I’m surprised he didn’t call Kern out.”

  “I know him,” Julie said. “He’ll go away and think about it, and when he gets mad enough, he will take it up again. I hate to see it.”

  Barr turned and studied Julie, who was looking toward the door that Clay had passed through. “You think pretty highly of Clay, don’t you?”

  Julie turned and faced Frisco squarely. She said in a level tone, “He’s the only man I ever met I’d trust with anything—at any time.”

  The words seemed to strike Frisco with some force. He chewed his lower lip and then shrugged. “It makes me feel small to hear you say that.”

  “You’ll live. Let’s get something to drink.”

  Kern pulled the horses in front of the house, then turned to face Jerusalem. It was past midnight, but the dance had gone on for a long time. Several times Jerusalem had urged Kern to take her home, but he had protested that there were few dances for them to enjoy. Finally, she had said bluntly, “I’ve got to go, Kern, with you or without you.”

  He had at on
ce said, “Why, sure, I should have taken you earlier.”

  The moon was merely a silver crescent in the sky, but the stars shone bright, like diamonds scattered across dark velvet. Jerusalem started to get out, but Kern caught her arm and held her. “I’m sorry about that run-in with Clay,” he said.

  “It embarrassed me, Kern. I felt like a bone that two dogs were fighting over.”

  Kern was clearly shocked at her choice of words. “I didn’t want it to be like that,” he said hurriedly. “But look, if you’d marry me, Jerusalem, there wouldn’t be any more of that.”

  Though she had enjoyed the dance at first, she’d seen another side of Kern when Clay had tried to cut in on them. Kern’s spark of anger forced her to make a decision. The dance had begun well, but it had ended badly, and Jerusalem wanted to put an end to their relationship. She turned to him and spoke directly, “Kern, you’re a strong man, and I admire strong men—but I can’t marry you. I should have told you this weeks ago.”

  Kern Herendeen was not accustomed to having to beg for anything.

  He had tried to court other women in his life, but he saw in Jerusalem Hardin a certain strength, which he admired, for he possessed the same quality. She was still an attractive woman, too, young enough to bear a son, which he longed for with all of his soul. He held her arm trying to persuade her, and when she remained adamant, he said roughly, “It’s Taliferro, isn’t it?”

  “That’s my business, Kern.”

  “No, it’s not just yours. It’s mine, too.”

  “Plenty of women would jump at the chance to marry you. Find yourself a wife who has no doubts.” She pulled away from his grasp and stepped out. She looked at him and said, “Let’s not let this turn into something ugly, Kern. We’re going to be neighbors. I can’t marry you. I wouldn’t make you happy if I did.”

  “I’m not taking that as final, Jerusalem.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Kern,” Jerusalem said sharply. “Put me out of your mind. I know your pride hurts, but let that be all that comes of this. Stay away from Clay.” She turned and walked into the house, and Herendeen stared after her. Suddenly, he raised the whip and struck the horse, which cried out with a scream, and then drove off at a furious rate.