by Dan Arnold
“Oh, John! That’s awful. How little are they?”
“The little boy; his name is Jacob. I guess he’s six or seven. I don’t know his little sister’s name, but she’s only four or five. Al would move them down into the room at the back of the barn, but it wouldn’t really be any safer, and winter is coming on.”
Lora’s eyes became huge and she pulled away from me.
“John Everett Sage! How could you leave those children there like that?” she cried. “You go hitch up the team. We’ll go get them right this minute,”
“Okay, but then what? What will we do with them? Where will we take them? Tomorrow is our wedding day. We don’t even know anything about them!”
“We know enough. Good grief! Men! You haven’t got the sense God gave a chipmunk!”
15.
We drove up the hill into town and parked the carriage in front of the livery stable.
I helped Lora down and unlocked the barn door. I barely got it open before she whisked inside. Not that it did her any good because it was pitch dark in there.
“Hang on a second, baby; I’ll light a lantern.”
When the lantern was lit, I could see the eagerness and concern on her face as she looked up at the hayloft.
“Better let me go up first. We don’t want to scare them. I’ve spoken with them some and brought them some food and candy, so they know me a little,” I whispered.
She nodded in reply.
I left her with the lantern, as I went up the stairs.
Right at the top of the stairs, I found Jacob and his sister staring at me with wide, but sleepy, eyes.
“Jacob, I’d like you to meet a beautiful and wonderful lady. Her name is Lora, and she and I are going to be married tomorrow. Would you like to meet her?”
Jacob looked at his sister, and she nodded tentatively. Jacob looked at me and shrugged.
I could hear Lora coming up the stairs, and the lantern light soon filled the loft.
I watched the children’s faces when they saw Lora.
They were in awe.
So was I.
Lora has the kind of beauty some women are born with. The balance of physical characteristics which are sometimes stunning, attractive, alluring, seductive, or even inspiring to those who observe them. But that kind of beauty is only to the eyes. It’s a beauty that fades with time, can be lost to trauma, or polluted by excess.
There’s another kind of beauty that shines right through the physical and doesn’t fade with time. A beauty more precious and rare. It’s a beauty that can, and often does, increase with time. The beauty of the soul
It was this more important and rare beauty which instantly attracted the children to her, especially the little girl.
“Hi, sweet girl, what’s your name?” Lora asked her.
The little girl started twisting, swinging around back and forth. Shyly she answered, “Sarah.”
Lora turned her smile upon the boy.
“Hello, I’ll bet you’re Jacob, right?”
The boy nodded.
“Yes ma’am. I’m pleased to meet you.”
See, right there, that’s what I’m always talking about. One minute with them and she had Sarah’s name. I couldn’t get it out of either one of them. I was lucky to get even a mumbled word from Jacob, any of the times I had tried to talk to them, but she had them both talking with just her smile.
And who would have guessed Jacob had good manners?
Lora sat on a hay bale and reached out to Sarah. To my surprise the little girl walked right into her arms! Lora pulled her onto her lap, gently cuddling her. She reached a hand out to Jacob and he went to her as well.
Lora looked up at me with a look I’d never seen before.
I felt like an intruder in a place of sacred wonder. That hay loft had just become a glorious cathedral. It was as if I found myself standing on hallowed ground.
I guess I had just a little bit of insight into how old Joseph must have felt, looking down at Mary in that stable, on that day in far off Bethlehem, so very long ago.
“How would you children like to come back to my house and have some cookies and milk? I live in a great big house on the edge of town, right down by the creek,” Lora offered.
Jacob shrugged again, but Sarah smiled real big and nodded her head vigorously.
***
Within a couple of hours, Lora managed to get those kids bathed and bundled into a bed in one of the guest rooms. I stood in the door and listened as she sang them to sleep.
That’s how Lora and I came to have children—before we were even married.
16.
Saturday morning found Tom, Becky, and I having breakfast at the Bon Ton, as was our habit on Saturday morning, except Lora wasn’t with us.
She was a very busy lady, what with taking care of the kids and it being our wedding day and all. Consuela had agreed to help with all of that.
“Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me,” Becky said. “I’m tired of all this political talk. I want to see those kids, and, as I am Lora’s matron of honor, I have certain duties to attend to. I’ll see you at the wedding. Do try to get to the church on time.”
Tom and I both stood up as she rose from the table and swept out of the room. I noted that Becky’s pregnancy was beginning to show.
When we were seated again, Tom picked up where he’d left off.
“As I was saying, John, if having to wear a uniform wasn’t bad enough, they want to rename the town. They say Bear Creek is too ‘provincial’ and doesn’t represent the modern metropolitan city in which we live.”
I chuckled at the idea. “Well I’m afraid the names St. Louis, San Francisco, Chicago, New York, and even Carson City are all taken. What do they have in mind?”
“There’s a lot of discussion, but so far the original name for Bear Creek, Rio Oso, is possible, then Middleton, Stockton, and Grandville seem to be the most popular picks with that crowd.”
“Oh! Well then, I like Grandville!” I laughed.
“Yeah, that’s fine, you go on and laugh, but they’re serious about this.”
Just then a newspaper boy came in the door.
“Paper! Get your newspaper,” he called.
Tom waived him over and gave him a nickel in exchange for the latest offering from the Bear Creek Banner.
His face grew dark as he scanned the headline.
“What is it?” I asked.
He shook his head and handed me the paper. The headline jumped at me.
“FAMOUS LAWMAN FAILS.”
There was the picture of the deputies, right under the headline.
The story went on to say: “Sheriff John Everett Sage and nine deputies were only able to account for two of the five bandits that robbed the First National Bank of Bear Creek in broad daylight; a robbery in which an area man named Ted Johanson, bravely risked his life and lost it at the hands of the desperados. The Sheriff failed to return the stolen money and has killed one of the outlaws, while threatening to lynch the other.
A source informs us, Sheriff Sage and his posse has also stolen several horses from an area ranch.
This is typical behavior for the violent and primitive lawman whose history is filled with gun play.
When asked for comment, Sheriff Sage refused.
TIME FOR A CHANGE?
Surely in these modern times more sophisticated law enforcement techniques should be employed. Isn’t it time for better educated and skilled law enforcement in Alta Vista County?
Sheriff Sage failed to take advantage of the telegraph system or the railroad, and decided to rely on the things he knows best, horses and guns.
The result ?
Two men are dead, and the worst offenders have escaped!”
“How do you like that?” Tom asked.
“Well, I’m not even in the photograph. They spelled Ted’s name wrong, with only one ‘s’ instead of two, and I don’t know how the railroad could’ve been of any use. Other than those things, it
’s about the way it went,” I sighed.
“No, it ain’t! You identified the Thorndykes and tied them to several bank robberies. You found all the money they stole. You arrested the bank officer who was in cahoots with the gang. Your posse captured one of the bandits and dropped another when he attempted to kill one of your deputies, without a single deputy being injured or killed. Not to mention shutting down their hideout. You don’t have to take this, John!”
“I guess it is all a matter of perspective.”
“Bullshit!” Tom cursed. “It was you and your deputies, out there risking life and limb in a heated pursuit, who got all that done. If you had simply sent telegrams and waited for responses . . . ahhh, how stupid can they be?”
I smiled, remembering, at about this time last year, Tom had barely been able to read a newspaper. He’d come a long way.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I suggested.
He blinked at me; then he grinned.
“You’re right. Today is your wedding day. I’m your best man. What a whoop tee do! Are you ready?”
I thought about it for a second.
I’d been a wandering man. After today, the only place I was going to wander was back home after work. And there it was . . . home. I realized that from now on, home was where Lora was, maybe Lora and those two kids.
“You bet I’m ready!” I grinned.
“Well then, the wedding is at four o’clock. Till then, we’ve both got some work to do. How about I meet you at your office at about three o’clock? We’ll put on our wedding duds and walk over to the church together.”
“Good plan, but I figure we’d both better be ready by three o’clock and head over there about then. I’d much rather be early than late.”
“That’s all right by me.”
“I’ll get dressed and meet you at the police station at three, and then we can walk over to the church together.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then,” he said.
We both stood up to leave.
“And, John . . . Don’t let that newspaper story upset you. You’re the best lawman I know.”
“Thanks, Tom. We both do our best. I guess it’ll have to be good enough. I’ll see you at three.”
17.
When I walked into the office at about 8:30, there was a woman waiting to see me. “Sheriff Sage, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Emma Poole.”
She extended her hand, and I accepted it, removing my hat.
She was, like my mother, an older woman of indeterminate age. She was very fashionably dressed and carried a folded parasol, as was the current fashion, to provide shade from the sun. Her hair was tucked up under a fancy hat. The hair I could see was now mostly grey, yet her sparkling blue eyes had not faded, and her face showed few lines. She wore a small amount of tasteful makeup, and her figure was still remarkable, no doubt enhanced by a tight fitting corset.
“How do you do, Mrs. Poole?” I said.
“Ah, so you’ve heard of me.”
“Yes, ma’am, and I’ve seen you about town on occasion. Please have a seat. What can I do for you today?”
She sat in the offered chair in front of my desk, as I hung my hat on the coat rack and returned to sit behind my desk.
I’d heard the famous Mrs. Poole was retired from the prostitution business, after selling out to Spencer Wilson, the Mayor of Waller, and now lived in a modest house just a couple of blocks south of the square.
It was rumored she was a canny business woman who had made quite a bit of money, both as a madam and as a working girl before that. I knew she had invested in some of the local businesses and had contributed to charitable causes on occasion. She was a respected member of the community, although her reputation made her unpopular with the local socialites.
“I’ve come about the children,” she said.
“What children are you referring to, ma’am?”
I was pretty sure if she had any children, they would be long since grown and gone. I hoped she wasn’t referring to Jacob and Sarah.
She smiled and said, “I don’t suppose I could get you to stop calling me ma’am. My friends all call me by name. Please call me Emma.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She smiled again.
“I’ve become aware there is a problem with orphaned children in this town. Am I correct, Sheriff?”
“Yes, ma’am, recently there has been an increase in the number of homeless children here in town.”
“I’ve seen quite a few of these kids. Some of the older ones are ganging together. I understand there’s been some petty theft, and some of the local churches are attempting to get the county to address the issue.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Sheriff, what, in your opinion, is the greatest impediment to getting these children off the streets?”
I appreciated her straight forward manner and her insight.
“Well, I can’t speak for the county commissioners, or for the city leaders, but it appears to me as if they each tend to think the problem should be addressed by the other.”
“Politics and bureaucracy!” she snorted in disgust.
“No, ma’am, that isn’t really the problem, at least not entirely, and certainly not intentionally. The county and the city have established agendas and budget constraints. Building an orphanage will take time and money.”
“How very diplomatic of you,” she observed. “Of course I see that aspect, but in the meantime, these kids are on their own and in peril.”
“Yes, ma’am, but the churches are forming a committee . . .”
“A committee, Sheriff Sage? The camel is a horse that was designed by a committee.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know what you mean. Why are you bringing this inquiry to me?”
“I’m going to the Chief of Police after this. These kids are starting out on the wrong foot. Some little thefts and petty crimes now, but it will get worse as they become more desperate. Some of these kids will be, and probably are being, exploited, the little ones and the girls in particular. Something has to be done quickly, not several months from now.”
She was right. She’d come to me partly because there was a law enforcement component to all this.
“Yes, ma’am, I take your point, but there is little I can do at present.”
“I know you’re doing some good things already. I can help, but not by being on some church committee, even if they would have me.”
“It sounds like you have a plan.”
“I sure do. I know you have laid down the law up in North Fork. You’re forcing them to clean up the town and shut down some of the more, shall we say, ‘colorful’ businesses.”
“Yes, ma’am, but what has one thing to do with the other?”
“I own one of those businesses. I have a big house up there on about twenty five acres of land. As it seems I shall have to close that business, I want to donate the house and the land to the county to be used as a school and orphanage.”
Someone could have knocked me over with a feather!
“Mrs. Poole, that is extraordinarily generous. I must say, I’m surprised.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, I’m given to understand some of the more prosperous business owners up there would like to see me dead. I’m costing you money, and you volunteer to give your property to the county?”
She looked me in the eye.
“I’m philosophical. The way I see it, I can be part of the problem and resist the changes, or I can be part of the solution and do some good. Some of those ‘ladies of the community’ used to work for me, and now they’re married and wanting to see a better life for themselves and their children. I support that notion.”
“Yes, ma’am, may I say you impress me greatly. I admire your attitude.”
“Do you? Well I have some pretty serious provisions and reservations. This isn’t something I’ll do with no strings attached.”
“You’ll have to put it all in writing an
d present it to the county commissioners.”
“Fine, but some of it involves you. You strike me as a man who can be trusted, and I’ve met far too few of those.”
“What do you have in mind?”
***
After she informed me of her plans and my part to play, I offered to escort her over to the Police Station. She accepted my offer.
As we were walking down the sidewalk, she laughed.
“I’ve had a number of lawmen come to visit me over the years, but this is the first time I’ve gone to visit one of them. Two in one day! Times really are changing.”
I reflected for a moment on the hardships of the west.
In the early days of western expansion, men outnumbered women by as much as ten to one. A woman alone out here, was a woman in trouble. A woman with young children and no husband was in serious trouble. If she had family, a church home, or friends, she would have some support and time to figure out what to do.
Most towns were so rawboned and rough; many women didn’t have anyone to support them. They had to make a living doing what they could. Many had taken to entertaining men for a living.
Mrs. Poole was a typical example. She’d seen more than her fair share of mining camps, cow towns, and army posts.
***
Back at the office, I found a telegram had just arrived from Sheriff Jed Worthington of Kimball, Nebraska. He reported that Henry and Harvey Thorndyke had been seen in Kimball, and had ridden west toward Cheyenne where they planned to board the southbound train to Denver that morning. In Bear Creek we called it the 12:10 train to Denver.I usually arrived in Bear Creek at about that time, give or take a half hour or so.
The telegram was just telling me a tale that someone claimed to have overheard in a saloon in Nebraska, but it was a lead.
It gave me about two hours to prepare.
18.
The sound of the train whistle could be heard all over town. As the locomotive came grinding to a stop, steam swirled and the engine slowly chugged. The water flume was lowered from the tank on the other side of the tracks.