Gasher Creek

by J. Birch

  Starbit. A poet’s name, like that Romeo boy from the traveling theatre show. And Cole was a poet, with feelings like a woman. The letters he wrote gave her chills. At night, she’d lie in bed and read them and re-read them, then close her eyes and dream of a cabin beyond the town limits. She saw herself visiting with Caroline Tracker during the day (gossiping over the washboard), and preparing supper for Cole at night (chicken and potatoes and maybe even pie). Sometimes she saw children in her dream, and sometimes she didn’t. But children didn’t matter to her, not really. What mattered was a home and a bed and a man she could call her own.

  Of course, she’d never share her dream with anyone. The other girls would only tease her. Delilah was liable to smack her for being foolish. But what was so foolish about it? She could do it. She could become a respectable woman. The other girls would hate her when she left, seething with jealousy and calling her all sorts of names. But names never bothered her. The proper ladies in town might give her the stink eye, but they’d forget in time. Everyone forgets everything eventually.

  Liza looked upstairs. She could almost see her love waiting like a snake in a boot. He was so brave. He didn’t want any part of this nasty business, she was sure of it. He was doing it for her so they could finally be together. Sometimes you have to do terrible things for love.

  After all, Romeo was a killer, too.

  The long bearded man appeared at the top of the stairs, hitching a suspender over his shoulder and looking infinitely pleased with himself. Sally slipped past him, combing her hair with her fingers. Reaching the bottom, she coyly rebuffed a rancher and hurried down the back hallway to the wash room.

  Andy was watching now, waiting for her to come back. Liza’s heart beat faster. Her hands trembled. Almost time. She hoped her nerves wouldn’t get the better of her. Over at the piano, Foster started playing Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair. Liza smiled, thankful for the distraction. It was a lovely song, even though it always made her feel sad.

  Moving her lips to the words, she whispered:

  “Flitting like the dreams that have cheered us and gone. Now the nodding wild flowers may wither on the shore. While her gentle fingers will cull them no more. Oh! I sigh for Jeanie with the light brown hair, floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.”

  A glass shattered.

  In the corner of the room, Jack was on the floor, sobbing. Andy knelt beside him, saying something she couldn’t hear over the music.

  “What the hell’s wrong with him?” Hank growled.

  “Drank too much I reckon,” Delilah said, shaking her head. “What a shame.”

  Sally appeared out of the back hallway. She leaned an elbow on the bar and scanned the room, looking for her next hump.

  Delilah looked at Liza.

  Liza looked at Andy.

  Andy nodded.

  “Sally,” Liza said. “Come help me with Jack.”

  Seeing Jack, Sally stiffened and said, “I’ll not touch him.”

  “But he’s making a fool of himself.”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “Besides, if I go near him, he’ll only blubber and make an even bigger scene.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Oh?” she said. “He hasn’t been following you like a lost pup for the last six months. He hasn’t been trying to keep you from your tricks. Did you know he’s been telling fellas I have the cough?”

  “He’s just trying to protect you.”

  “He’s off his crown!” Sally exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Thinks I’m his sister. Well I’m not his kin, and I don’t care.”

  Liza fumbled for something to say, an argument that would persuade her, but she couldn’t think of anything. If she didn’t come up with something soon, everything would be ruined and Cole would be upset with her.

  “Please?” she said to Sally.

  “Go dunk your bucket.”

  Hank slammed his fists on the bar. Glasses clicked and spilled. Earl Reddle fell off his stool. “You,” Hank said to Sally. “And you,” he said to Liza. “Get that roostered son of a bitch out of here. I don’t care how you do it, just do it quick.”

  Sally sighed. “For Heaven’s sake,” she said, and marched over to the table. Liza followed. They reached the table as Andy was pulling Jack’s arm over his shoulder. Jack, for his part, was wiping his cheeks with a red ace card.

  “We’re here to help,” Sally said.

  “Good,” Andy grunted.

  Jack looked up and smiled at Liza. Then he saw Sally and started crying again.

  “You see?” she said. “I told you this would happen. Off. His. Crown.”

  With Andy under one arm and the two women under the other, they managed to drag Jack toward the stairs, his boots scraping across the floorboards. He wept and sniffed. He whimpered. Foster covered it up with a rousing chorus of Paddy Works on the Erie.

  They reached the stairs and managed to heft him up a few steps before Sally lost her grip. Jack slumped onto a step. Chuckling, he said, “Where’d those stairs get to?”

  “Oh, shut up,” she said.

  Regrouping, they continued their ascent. “Up, up, step lively Jack,” she said.

  “I think he’s out,” Liza said.

  “He’s still crying,” Andy said.

  “I’ll give him something to cry about,” Sally said.

  They lifted, and paused. Lifted, and paused. Liza tried to ignore the pain in her shoulders by concentrating on the steps beneath her. She never realized how scratched they were. Sally dealt with her ordeal by growling and cursing. Andy panted like a dog.

  “Almost there,” he said.

  With one last heave, Jack flopped over the top.

  Sally took a breath. “What a waste.”

  Liza knelt on the top step and wiped her forehead. Andy started to roll up his sleeves, seemed to think better of it, and re-covered his arms. Liza saw the cuts but said nothing. She’d seen those marks before, but never on a boy.

  “That room,” Sally said, nodding to the closest door.

  “No,” Andy said. “Jane’s in there. We’ll take him to the end of the hall.”

  “The end of the hall?” she said. “You’re testing my Christian charity, Andy.”

  “Come on,” he said. “You know my pa won’t want the stink of his sick coming down the stairs.”

  “Then let’s throw him outside and be done with it.”

  Andy stood and grabbed Jack’s right arm. Liza crawled over his body and took the left.

  “Saints help us,” Sally muttered.

  They pulled him to the end of the hallway. Andy pushed the door open.

  Inside, a lamp was lit.

  “Hello,” Cole said, sitting on the bed.

  Liza took a step toward him, then stopped. She hadn’t seen him in almost three days—a lifetime, really. He needed a shave, his hair wasn’t brushed, and he smelled like the livery. But it didn’t matter. She still wanted to hold him, to lay her head on his chest and listen to his heart. She snuck him a smile, but he didn’t see it. He was staring at Sally.

  “Off,” Sally said to him.

  Cole rolled off the bed, opened his arms, and bowed to her. He wobbled. He probably had a few nips of bourbon for the courage.

  With his help, they hoisted Jack onto the bed. Liza pulled off his boots and set them on the floor. He looked peaceful with his eyes closed and his hands folded on his belly. She started to feel bad for him again.

  Clapping her hands, Sally said, “It’s been a joy, but I have more fools to help upstairs, so if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Wait,” Cole said, reaching beneath the bed. He pulled out a small, brown bottle. “I’ve finished my new brew.”

  “Your shine?” Andy said, a little too exuberant. He’d certainly never make it as a traveling show Romeo.

  “Shine,” Sally said. “Since when do you make shine?”

  “For a while now,” Cole said, handing her the bottle. “I hear you know a thing or two about it.”
<
br />   Sally held it up to the lamplight. Squinting, she said, “I learned a little from my pa before I ran off. He used corn mash.” She gave the bottle a shake. “But this looks nothing like my pa’s brew. What do you use, potato skins?”

  “Berries.”

  “Berry shine? Never heard of it.”

  “Take a sip,” Cole said.

  Sally pulled out the cork, sniffed it, and wrenched her face away. The stench filled the room. Liza coughed and covered her nose. It was horrible, worse than a drowned rat.

  “Oh Lord,” Sally said, holding the bottle at arm’s length. “I think you burned it.”

  “It’s just strong,” Andy said, picking at his trousers. “Go on.”

  “I’d never drink this,” she said, pushing the cork back in. “It smells worse than the last fella I humped.” She tossed it to Andy.

  Andy caught it. “She won’t drink it,” he said to Cole.

  Liza’s stomach clenched. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She was supposed to drink. Cole said she’d drink and then faint and that would be that. If she didn’t drink, then how could—

  Cole lunged at Sally and clamped a hand over her mouth. His other arm wrapped around her waist and twisted her off her feet. Together, they fell onto the bed and pinned Jack’s arm beneath them. “Okay,” Cole said, struggling to keep hold of her, “let’s get this done.”

  Andy didn’t move.

  Sally thrashed about as Cole climbed on top her. She tried to kick him in the groin but he closed his legs and kneeled on her stomach. She landed two hard slaps to his face before he cracked her across the chin. Her arms fell limp. Pressing both hands over her mouth, he said, “Do it!”

  Andy gripped the bottle to his chest. His lips trembled. “I—I don’t know if—”

  “It’s too late to back down now.”

  “But—”

  “Do it or I’ll bash your brains in, I swear to God I will!”

  Andy pulled the cork out. Sally looked at the bottle and squealed.

  “Liza, hold her legs!” Cole yelled.

  Liza stepped forward and grabbed Sally’s ankles. She held on as tight as she could, but her entire body was trembling.

  “Now!” Cole shouted.

  Andy rushed forward, upended the bottle, and jammed it between Cole’s fingers. The vile liquid gushed into Sally’s mouth. She choked, but it was getting in there. She tried to twist her head away, but Cole was too strong. She moaned pathetically. Her hands clenched into tight, white fists.

  Liza let go and backed away. She covered her mouth and stared.

  It wasn’t happening quickly, not like Cole had promised. It was a slow, agonizing death. She’d never watched someone die before. It was so heartless. There were no angels, no trumpets or light. It was like watching a squashed bug still wriggling its legs in a futile attempt to escape. One minute, two, and still Sally fought. Finally, after a horrible bed shaking shudder, she grew still.

  “All of it,” Cole said, removing his hands. “Pour all of it in there.”

  Andy dumped the last of the poison into Sally’s mouth. The bottleneck clicked against her teeth.

  Cole rolled off the bed. Wiping his forehead, he said, “That’ll do just fine.” He looked at Liza and held out his arms. “Come here, darling.”

  Liza didn’t move.

  Andy backed away until he touched the wall. He gripped the bottle in his hands and said, “What did we just do?”

  Cole grinned. “We did good, that’s what.”

  “Stop your smiling,” Liza said. “This isn’t a celebration.”

  Andy slid to the floor and hugged his knees. “Oh God.”

  Cole looked at both of them and planted his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe you two. This had to be done. We needed to test our brew before trying it on Hank. Now we know it works. It works like a charm.” He looked at Andy. “With your pa dead, we’ll own this town and you won’t have to worry about him beating on you anymore.” He looked at Liza. “With Hank gone, we can finally be together. No more secret letters.”

  “I liked those,” she said feebly.

  “This was wrong,” Andy said, twisting his fingers around the bottle. “This was a Hell bound act, and we—”

  “Shut it, you hear me!” Cole roared. “You both keep your mouths shut. If you do as you’re told, we’ll be in the green. Jack here will take the drop for us and everyone will forget about it within a week.”

  “The boys will ask for her,” Liza said.

  Cole smiled. “Not after they pick their new favorite.”

  She looked at him. “Me?”

  “Don’t fret. When Delilah runs The Ram, she’ll make sure you get the pick of the best ones.”

  “But,” Liza said, “I thought we would…”

  Her voice faltered.

  “We would what,” Cole said.

  She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  Cole turned back to the bed. “All right,” he said, “let’s give her neck a smile.” He pulled a knife from his pocket.

  Liza shut her eyes.

  She heard Cole’s boots on the floor as he moved toward the bed.

  She waited. The room grew silent.

  Then, after a few moments, she heard him say, “What in the hell?”

  She opened her eyes.

  Cole stood next to the bed, the knife still clean in his hand.

  “What do you see?” Andy asked. He stood and joined him.

  Liza craned her neck and slowly rose to her feet. She didn’t want to look, but she had to look. She took a step closer. At first, she couldn’t see what Cole was on about. Sally lay dead as nails and nothing had changed.

  Then she saw them. She saw the green, brown, and blue splotches.

  “Did you touch her neck?” Andy asked.

  “No,” Cole said.

  “It must be a reaction of the poison. They look just like bruises.”

  “They do,” Cole said. “They do look like bruises.” Another hideous grin spread over his lips. “The Doc will see these marks and think Jack choked her. This is perfect!”

  “No, it’s not,” Andy said. “This is a disaster. If these marks show up on Sally, then they’re bound to show up on my pa. We won’t be able to excuse his death as a failing of the heart or some other malady.”

  Cole’s smile vanished. His eyes grew dark. Liza stepped away from him, but he didn’t start yelling or stomping. Instead, he started pacing. He circled the room, his hands tucked behind his back. “How long did the poison take to work?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Andy said. “Three minutes maybe?”

  Cole stopped. He nodded. “Then we might still be in the green.”

  “How?”

  “If Jack here is going to hang for Sally’s death, then we might be able to hang him for your pa’s death as well.”

  “And I ask again—how?”

  “The same way with Sally.”

  “Finger him for two deaths in one night?” Andy said. “The sheriff will suspect something.”

  “He won’t if we do it right,” Cole said, raising a finger. “First, we get him arrested for murdering Sally. Then, when everyone thinks he’s guilty, we frame him for the death of your pa. What’s that old saying? A murderer once, a murderer always?”

  “But you’re forgetting something,” Andy said. “Come morning, Jack will be locked up in jail. How do we get to him?”

  “We form a lynch mob,” Cole said. “That’s an easy enough feat for your pa.”

  “He’s too lazy for all that.”

  “I bet he’d do it for a rundown. You know how he’s always jawing about the old justice.”

  Andy seemed to think about it for a moment. “Go on,” he said.

  “We break Jack out,” Cole said, starting to pace again. “We spirit him to the edge of town, and let your pa have a thrill.”

  “But how do we get Jack to poison him?”

  “Ah,” Cole said, spinning around. “That’s the easy par
t. Everyone knows how your pa hates horses. He’ll want a few sips before climbing on. We get our hands on that silver flask of his, mix the poison in with his favorite whiskey, and give it to him. He’ll drink, ride down on Jack, and fall over dead.”

  “But wouldn’t Jack plead his innocence?” Andy asked.

  “Not if he’s trampled,” Cole said. “Even someone as useless as your pa can run over a stick boy.”

  “And what if Devlin escapes?”

  “He won’t.”

  “But what if he does?”

  Cole sighed impatiently. “If he does, then I’ll hunt him down and kill him myself. Either way, Jack Devlin won’t make trial. I give you my word on that.”

  Andy hesitated, but then nodded.

  “Good,” Cole said. “I’ll speak to Don tomorrow. We’ll need his help breaking Devlin out. For now, we have work to finish.”

  Andy frowned at him. “We have finished.”

  “Not quite,” Cole said. “We have to rough Sally up or it won’t look right. A bruised neck and a china doll face don’t exactly match.”

  Liza shut her eyes as Cole laid into Sally with his fists. She heard the smack of skin, the crunch of bone. She shuddered.

  “There,” Cole said. She opened his eyes to see him shaking his hand, his knuckles bloody. “Doc won’t question that. Even a stick boy can do some damage when he’s drunk. Ain’t that right, Jack? Got yourself soaked and beat the poor girl to death?” He giggled. “That’ll teach her.”

  Jack muttered: “I dream … Jeanie with the light brown … like vapor on … the air.”

  Andy leaned over the bed. “Jack?” he said.

  Jack said something else, but it was impossible to make out. His voice was faint, his eyes swimming beneath their lids. “I dream … Jeanie…”

  “It thought you got him good and drunk,” Cole said to Andy.

  “I did,” Andy said. “He drank enough to kill a horse.”

  “Hey Jack,” Cole said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Nah, his eyes are open but he’s not awake. Unless … Liza, help me get their clothes off.”

  “What?” Liza said. “What for?”

  “To sweeten the pot,” Cole said. “Come on, quick now.”

  Liza helped him. She didn’t know why, but she helped him. A part of her wanted to believe she hadn’t been wrong about Cole, that he was doing this for her, that it would all make sense in the morning. But she knew that wouldn’t happen. It would be worse in the morning.