Yesterday's Magic

by Beverly Long

  A witch? She had to bite her tongue to keep the words inside. There was no way he could know. Was there? “What’s that?” she asked, careful not to sound too interested.

  “Well, now, I sure as hell don’t want you to be telling Patience that I said this but what’s true is true. You’re a beautiful woman. It ain’t your fault or anything but I imagine it makes Jed squirm.”

  Aunt Freida wrapped an arm around Bella’s shoulders. “Don’t pay no attention to him, Girl.” She frowned at Bart. “Did you want to buy something or did you just come in to bother me?”

  Bart shrugged good-naturedly. “I need some peppermint. I got me a stomachache and I swear, it’s probably from the stew that Patience’s mother made. Couldn’t recognize a damn thing in it. I don’t know if I’m going be able to stay standing. I wish to hell that Jed hadn’t ridden out this morning.”

  “Where did he go?” Aunt Freida asked.

  “As far as he had to, I guess. Early this morning, right before he was set to go home, he got a telegram from Bat, over in Dodge City, about a rough character coming our way.”

  Bat. Dodge City.

  Eighth grade history was suddenly coming alive. “Bat Masterson?” she asked. “Sheriff Bat Masterson?”

  Bart looked at her like she was a card short of a full deck. “Last time I checked, Bat was still the sheriff. Man dresses too fancy for me but he’s a hell of a lawman. Not as good as Jed, mind you.”

  “Not many as good as Jedidiah,” Freida agreed.

  “Jed’s the best shot in Kansas,” Bart said.

  “Sits a horse better than any man I’ve ever seen,” Freida offered.

  Oh good grief. It was a We Love Jed convention and she was going to be asked to take the pledge any minute. “So, he rode out of town?” she asked.

  “Yes, well, the telegram said that one of Bat’s men was already on the way with more details. You know, Jedidiah. He ain’t the type to sit around and wait to hear. Especially not when trouble might be coming to his town. The next thing I know, he’s on his way to meet up with Bat’s man.”

  Bart turned toward Bella. “Now don’t you worry about him getting back in time for the dance. If he said he’d take you, then he’ll be there. Jed never goes back on his word.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Bella said.

  Bart just smiled. He tipped his hat at Freida. “I best be going. Jed asked me to meet the stage.”

  Bella felt her own stomach turn and wondered if she needed to chew on a couple peppermint sticks as well. Would Toomay be on the stage? What would she do? Even if he wasn’t, it didn’t mean that the arrival of the stage was without peril. What if the real Merribelle Wainwright showed up? That could cause a bit of a stir.

  It wasn’t like she hadn’t given the possibility some thought. She figured her best course of action was to admit immediately to Freida that she’d lied. Having lived with her for less than forty-eight hours, she was still fairly certain that the women would take the news in stride. Not that she planned on telling her the whole truth. No. That could get her locked up somewhere with people whispering behind her back that it was so sad that such a young woman had lost her mind.

  No. In the early morning hours, she’d finally come up with a Plan B. If she had to admit that she wasn’t Merribelle Wainwright, then she’d have to give them a compelling reason why she assumed the woman’s identify at the first chance. The most compelling thing she could think of was that she was on the run from an abusive ex-husband.

  Freida would understand and she’d probably let her slip away without making a scene. The man with the most to gain if that happened was Sheriff McNeil. He’d be officially off the hook. He wouldn’t have to worry about hurrying home to go to the dance. Freida would be under no obligation to find a date for the woman who was simply pretending to be her niece.

  Bart pulled a coin out of his pocket. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take that peppermint now.”

  Freida nodded and walked behind the glass case. She put ten pieces of peppermint candy into a small sack and handed it to Bart. In return, she took his coin and threw it on the pile of papers that she’d evidently been trying to sort while Bella had been busy with her buttons.

  “I hate bookwork,” Freida said. “I’d rather run a stick through my eye than spend an afternoon doing this,” she said. She held up a pile of what looked to be invoices and charge slips and other assorted pieces of paper.

  “I’d be happy to help,” Bella said. “I . . . mean, in a few minutes. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a little walk. It clears my head.”

  “That’s probably because the cold air makes your nose drip,” Bart said.

  Bella smiled. “Perhaps.” She grabbed her cloak as well as the gloves and scarf her aunt had given her the day before. She hurriedly put them on. If the stage was due, then she needed to be waiting for it. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” she said, as she opened the door.

  The sky was a pale blue and the snowflakes were lazily falling and effortlessly settling on the ground. She looked up and down the wide, dirt road that was quickly getting snow-covered. There were a few horses, a few more men in various shapes and sizes and beard lengths, but no sign of the stage. She heard laughter and music and realized it was coming from the saloon.

  She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Bart wasn’t following her and then ducked into the noisy building. It was one big room, with a shiny wooden bar that spread across the whole back wall. A tall man with long gray hair that had a middle-part that did nothing to help his thin face, stood behind the counter. His apron might have been white at one time. He was drying glasses—with a towel that matched the gray hue of the apron.

  In the corner, there was a man playing the piano and sporadically singing, loudly, as if he didn’t know all the words to the song but he didn’t intend to let that stop him.

  There were three tables with five or six men gathered around each. Each table had a pile of coins in the middle of it and each man had his own stack. She glanced at each face and dismissed them one by one. None matched the description that her father had given her of Rantaan Toomay.

  Mindful of the approaching stage, she was just about to leave when she glanced in the mirror that was propped up behind the bar. It was big enough that she could see most of the room. In the far corner was a woman, her narrow back to Bella. She was small, barely five foot tall. It wasn’t that which caused Bella’s breath to catch. No, it was the woman’s long, orange-red hair, which hung down almost to her waist. There was no mistaking it. This was Delilah—the woman her father had tried to protect.

  She was clearing a table littered with empty bottles and dirty glasses. When she turned, Bella saw that Delilah wore a low-cut faded green dress that was gathered so tight underneath her small breasts, that it almost looked like she was trying to get them to pop out. She picked up her tray and crossed the room, coming close enough that Bella could see the freckles on her cheeks, on her little nose.

  The nose that in just days, Rantaan Toomay would smash. Unless Bella could stop him. Her knees felt suddenly weak and she reached out a hand out toward the wall, looking for something to help her balance. Delilah glanced at her and kept walking.

  “Hi,” Bella said.

  Delilah stopped, a wary look in her pale green eyes.

  Bella rubbed her gloved hands together. “It sure is good the sun is out. Otherwise, it would be really cold.”

  Delilah nodded once. She was holding onto her tray so tight that her small knuckles were white.

  It dawned on Bella that this was a woman who wasn’t used to other women making polite conversation. She more likely expected whispers and raised eyebrows. But Bella didn’t have time for that. Her father hadn’t known whether Delilah and Toomay had met prior to that fateful night—he thought it was possible they had. If that was true, then Delilah could lead her to Toomay.

  Bella extended her hand. “My name is Bella and I’m helping my aunt at the Mercantile. I hope you
don’t think I’m crazy but I spent the morning sorting ribbons and I just had to tell you that there are some blues and some greens there that would look just lovely in your hair.”

  Delilah’s smooth cheeks, which looked out of place next to her very-old eyes, turned a rosy pink. “I haven’t bought a ribbon in a long time,” she said, her tone hesitant.

  “Well, you’ve got the hair for it,” Bella said. “Anyway, maybe I’ll see you later.” Bella took a step back. There was no need pressing too hard.

  Delilah didn’t answer. Bella turned and headed for the door. When she got to the sidewalk, she turned and saw that the stage was just pulling up. She started walking, her heart beating furiously in her chest.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jed pulled the saddle off his horse and tossed it, with more force than was probably necessary, towards the bench. Blankets followed the same path, landing with barely a sound. His canteen was next. However, it hit the wood at an angle and wobbled noisily before landing on the dirt floor with a soft thud.

  His horse turned to look at him and he ran his hand across his coarse mane. “Don’t worry, Midnight” he assured the animal. “You’re safe enough. You’re too damn heavy to toss.”

  Since he’d gotten the telegram from Bat early this morning, he’d been as tense as a cornered rattlesnake because he knew that Bat wasn’t a man prone to crying wolf. Nor was he a man who got himself worked up over nothing. No, Bat Masterson could handle more things with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back than most men could on their best day.

  If Bat thought there was reason enough to sound a warning, then Jed was not fool enough to ignore it. So, he’d ridden out just before dawn to meet Bat’s man. He’d gotten the description and drawing of the man as well as some additional details that Bat’s telegram hadn’t included, and started back for home. Two hours out of Mantosa, it had started to snow.

  An hour out of Mantosa, he’d caught up with the stage. Jed had decided to follow it back to town, thinking it couldn’t hurt to offer the driver and the unsuspecting passengers a little added protection. It had, however, slowed him down and the cold wind, which seemed to be both blowing snow in his face and up the back of his coat, had chilled him to the point that now most every bone in his body ached.

  Plus, he’d missed lunch. His stomach had been making noises for the last hour that would have been hard to explain in polite company.

  But it surely wasn’t the time to be worrying about a missed meal. Not when there was a man who went by the name of Rantaan Toomay, who was reputed to be a fast draw and so good with a knife that it almost seemed like the blade had a mind of its own, traveling around Kansas, picking up a card game here or there, generally causing a stir wherever he went.

  The man had been arrested and tried for murder; once in Illinois and once in Iowa. Both times, key witnesses had disappeared. As a result, Toomay had been declared innocent and released. It was his general demeanor during the trials that had caused great unrest. He’d acted amused and at times, had literally laughed at those charged with carrying out justice.

  Blatant disregard for the law was not something that set well with Jed. If Toomay thought he could waltz into Mantosa and set a spark to trouble, he had another thing coming.

  And speaking of waltzing, in less than four hours, he was committed to taking Bella Wainwright to the Fall Social. Was it any wonder he was in a mood to throw things?

  He reached to give Midnight one last pat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the very woman who’d been occupying his thoughts, walking down the sidewalk, headed toward the stage, going so fast in her silly shoes that she was almost running.

  What the hell? Was Bella leaving?

  The notion caused his empty stomach to pitch and, while it was pure nonsense, his knees seemed a little weak. He leaned his weight against Midnight, which caused the horse to toss his head and snort in irritation.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled and moved away. No doubt his horse was hungry too and didn’t appreciate him acting like a fool. If Bella was leaving, then so be it. Who cared? After all, he’d just met the woman. There was no way she could mean anything to him.

  He turned away, determined to ignore the activity on the street. He dipped a bucket of water out of the big tank and put it in Midnight’s stall. Then he threw some feed into a second bucket. He turned, sure that he’d see her standing in line, waiting to get on.

  But she wasn’t there.

  He looked up and down the street and if he hadn’t known she had to be close by, he’d have never seen her. But he caught a glimpse of bright blue scarf. She’d evidently walked past the stage and rounded the next corner. Now she stood by the dressmaker’s shop, safe from view of anyone coming from the direction she herself had just come from.

  She was hiding.

  Well, hell. Two could play this game. He moved forward to the door but stayed back far enough that he was hidden by the dark interior of the livery.

  The passengers were making their way out of the stage. First was an older man, with rounded shoulders and a long white beard that blew in the wind. Once his feet were on the ground, he turned to help a young woman. She had long dark hair and when she turned, Jed could see that she had the brown skin and high cheekbones of an Indian.

  He watched as Bella glanced at them and then focused her attention again on the stage. Next off was a woman. She was all bundled up yet moved with the agility of a young person. Once outside the stage, she turned, making a complete circle, like she was looking for the person who was to meet her.

  He saw Bella take a step forward. Then another. But she didn’t move with the ease and the grace he’d witnessed before. Her steps were short, almost jerky. She yanked on her scarf, as if it were suddenly choking her.

  Something was very wrong.

  And he was two steps out of the livery before he realized that she’d stopped. He shifted and saw that the bundled-up woman had turned back toward the stage and was helping not one, not two, but three young children to get out.

  At the same moment he saw Bella slip back into the shadows, he heard the sharp click of boots on the sidewalk. Suddenly Bart was there, smiling and greeting the passengers, rubbing the little children’s heads with the palm of his hand. Jed took two steps back and rested his tired, cold back against the rough interior wall of the livery.

  He was glad that his deputy had followed orders and had met the stage. Now certainly wasn’t the time to be less than diligent. But he didn’t feel inclined to strike up a conversation with the man.

  Evidently Bella hadn’t been so inclined either.

  She’d slipped so far back that he couldn’t even see her scarf anymore. But she was still there. Didn’t have to see her to know it. He could feel it. Like there was some damn connection between the two of them.

  Hell.

  It took another five minutes for the driver to unload all the cases but soon enough, he was up in the seat and driving off. Bart turned and headed back in the direction of the Sheriff’s office and Jed waited, sure that Bella would follow.

  But she didn’t. And he got tired of waiting and wondering just what the hell she was up to. He sucked in a breath and walked out of the livery like a man full of confidence, not like a man who’d been hiding behind spider webs. He crossed the street, fully expecting to see her huddled against the wall of the dressmaker’s shop. But the only evidence that she’d even been there were small footprints in the fresh snow, obviously made by someone with insensible shoes.

  Knowing that she could only have gone behind the buildings, he tracked her. Sure enough. He followed her footsteps and caught a glimpse of her, a hundred yards in front of him. He watched until she ducked in the back door of the Mercantile.

  He retraced his steps and then walked down the main sidewalk. He stopped a couple times, exchanging words with the few men who refused to give into the cold and spend the afternoon inside. He was ten yards from the Mercantile when Yancy Tate waved him over. The man sat on a ben
ch outside the saloon and Jed wondered if his nose was red from the cold or had Yancy hit the whiskey earlier than usual.

  As a boy, whenever he wasn’t playing with Bart, he was with Yancy Tate. They’d swum in the creek together and caught frogs to scare the girls. As teens, they’d hunted most anything that had four legs and gotten damn lucky that neither one of them had shot the other. They’d laughed and planned and dreamed of what it would be like to be men.

  Then Jed had left home and when he’d come back for his father’s funeral, Yancy had been there. After the services, Yancy had come up to offer his condolences and Jed had felt the trembling in his friend’s hand and had smelled the scent of despair warring with liquor. When he’d looked into Yancy’s eyes, he realized that this was a man who’d lost himself somewhere along the way.

  “Yancy,” he greeted the man.

  Yancy tipped an imaginary hat. “Jedidiah. Christ, it’s cold enough to freeze a man’s piss.”

  His words were not yet slurred. Maybe today would be the day. Maybe today he would have the strength to walk away from the drink. “How have you been, Yancy?”

  “Getting by. You?”

  “Same. How’s your mother?”

  Yancy shrugged and he reminded Jed very much of the young boy who’d thrown the fish back in the water because they were so darn pretty. “I’m an embarrassment,” Yancy said.

  Jed dug the toe of his boot into the fresh snow. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Yancy.”

  His friend didn’t acknowledge the comment. “You know what, Jedidiah? You’re stirring up talk.”

  Christ. Just what he wanted most to avoid. “Why’s that?” he asked, trying not to sound too interested.

  “You always had an eye for the pretty ones,” Yancy said. “Remember Becky Jane Phipps. You had that girl wrapped around your little finger.”

  Becky Jane had been a year older than Jed and Yancy and the year she’d turned fifteen, she’d taken a fourteen-year-old Jed behind the Church and helped him see Jesus in about ten strokes. They’d regularly worshipped most every week for the next six months until her folks had married her off to a man seven years older and the pair had moved away.