Jack had forgotten about the cup and saucer in his own hand. He took a sip and found the coffee was growing cold. Aunt Ginny was staring with a sort of stillness toward the floor of the valley, toward the wooden bridge and beyond. Jack wasn’t sure if she was angry, or hurt, or what.
He said, “Please don’t think me ungrateful. I know what an opportunity you and Pa have given me. But it’s not an opportunity to do what I want. It’s as simple as that.”
“Jackson, don’t you think your father would have leapt at the opportunity for a classical education, and go on to be a lawyer? Or a doctor? Or a professor at a fine school? With his mind, he would have been successful at whatever endeavor he chose. He could have been a Senator. With your father’s capabilities and leadership skills, who knows? He might have had a chance at the presidency. But school costs money, and he was born to a farming family. He didn’t have the opportunity that you now have. By going to school, you are, in a sense, following the path he might have chosen had things been different.”
Jack shook his head. He didn’t disagree with his aunt lightly and frivolously, and surely didn’t do it simply for the sake of doing so. But he did disagree with her. “He might think he wanted a classical education. But I don’t think he would have been happy.”
Ginny had been staring off to the valley floor, but now she turned to face her nephew. It wasn’t often anyone other than John himself openly disagreed with her.
Jack said, “I’ve seen the serenity in his eyes when he looks off at the mountains. When he is riding through the ridges, with his horse beneath him and his guns at his side, he is at one with himself and the world around him. Had he been off in school at Harvard or Oxford or some such place, he never would have spent that winter in this valley with the Shoshone, years ago, he never would have found the peace and harmony he now has within him. Shoshone beliefs and religion is such a part of him. Of who he is.
“Aunt Ginny, the grass is always greener, like they say. And sure, Pa might stare into the fire at night sometimes and wonder what-if. But one thing the Shoshone taught him and he taught me was we are each guided along the path we are supposed to be. He had the opportunities he was supposed to have. I think, in the long run, he would have felt as out of place at an Ivy League school as I do. Maybe even moreso.”
“So, when would you have told us all of this, had I not dragged it out of you this morning?”
He shrugged. He looked down at his cup of coffee, and saw it was mostly empty. The bottom of the cup was filled with the sludge that tends to settle at the bottom of a cup of trail coffee. “I was considering leaving in a couple of weeks, as though I was going back to school, then maybe going off to sea, or something. But that would be the cowardly way, and that wasn’t the way I was raised. And then I met Nina, and suddenly things were a lot more complicated. And now Nina’s out of my life, and I’m back to not knowing what I’m going to do.”
“You could simply stay here, at the ranch. Work alongside your father.”
He shook his head. “I don’t really belong here.”
“Jackson, this will always be your home. Whether we understand your decision or not. Being family isn’t about agreeing with each other or even understanding each other. It’s about loving each other, regardless.”
“I appreciate the offer to stay here. Really, I do. And working alongside Pa is something I yearned for every single day that I was off at school. But when it comes to operating this ranch, I’m an outsider. Family, yes. But I’ve been away too long.
“Dusty fits in here like he has always been here, and maybe that’s because he’s so much like Pa. You said it yourself, in a letter you wrote last winter. The way he moves, the shape of his face. He’s like a younger version of Pa. But I’ve found, even more than that, his attitude and the way his mind works is all so much like Pa.
“Maybe it’s time for me to admit to myself that I am not like Pa. I am myself. Similar in some ways, maybe, but distinctly different in others. I have to start making my own way in this world.”
“And that way does not involve school, or being a doctor?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no.”
She drew a lungfull of air and let it out slowly, and then let her gaze drift back to the valley again. Clouds off to the north were now taking on a reddish hue.
“You know,” she said, “Joshua has had similar problems. Oh, the details might be different, but at the core, it’s the same situation. Wanting to be able to ride alongside your father and be the man he is, and yet finding his presence seems to somehow make it difficult to be an individual. He seems caught between the man he thinks he should be, and the man he needs to be.”
Jack nodded. “I didn’t know that. Part of being away from the family for so long. But I’m not surprised to hear it.”
Ginny looked at him. “Your father is a good man. But he’s just a man. Human. He’s not a god.”
“He’s practically a living legend, Aunt Ginny. Did you know there’s a writer in New York who’s writing dime novels about him? The man contacted me last year, wanting to pick my brain about Pa. I declined.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“They talk about him in saloons and cattle camps from the Rio Grande to the Canadian border.”
She nodded. “That I did know. And his exploits seem to grow with the retelling. Not that they weren’t sometimes fairly incredible to begin with. But despite all of this, he’s not really a legend. He’s not really larger-than-life. He’s not a dime novel hero. He’s just one man.”
Jack nodded ruefully. “Maybe so. But that one man’s shadow is mighty large, and mighty hard to step out of. It seems to follow you wherever you go.”
“So, where will you go? If you’re not going back to school, and you’re not staying here?”
His turn to let his gaze drift off toward the center of the valley. Toward where the settlers were building their farms. It had been nearly two weeks since his fight with Harlan Carter. Two weeks since Nina had told him not to come see her anymore.
When he had told Aunt Ginny, she had said for him to give it time. But how much time was he to give her?
“I don’t really know. But I think it’s time for me to find out. The longer I stay here, the more uncomfortable it’s going to be. Dusty already knows. He knew something was wrong, and we talked about it, and I think he understands. But to explain all of this to Josh, and then to Bree, and then eventually to Pa. I really just need some time to sort out my thoughts and let myself find my way.”
“Will you at least send me a letter to let me know where you alight? So I’ll know you’re safe?”
He smiled. “Absolutely. And as soon as I can, I’ll begin repaying you for all of the money you spent on my schooling.”
“I’ll have no such thing.”
“But my education is wasted.”
She shook her head. “No education is wasted. Like what the Shoshones taught your father, we are guided along the paths we are meant to follow. I’ve always believed that sort of thing, too. If you hadn’t been meant to go to school for the years you did, then you wouldn’t have. You were meant to learn what you did for a reason. You owe me nothing.”
“I am so grateful to you, and to Pa. I hope you know that.”
“Your father and I have an agreement we made long ago. I handle the household, and he manages the ranch itself. So, maybe I’m overstepping my authority a little, when I tell you this – if you must go, then take the best horse from the remuda. It’s yours. Take whatever rifle you want from the rack, and all of the ammunition you need. And anything else you need from the ranch.”
“Thank you.”
“So..,” she hesitated, as though she dreaded to ask this question. “When do you think you will be leaving?”
“I think in the morning. Before first light.”
She nodded. “I assumed as much.”
And then she took her nephew in a long hug.
Ginny said nothing about
it the rest of the day. This was Jack’s to tell, when he was ready, and to tell in his own way. So she went about household duties. She and Temperance took a buggy into town to Franklin’s to buy some supplies. Then Ginny and the two girls took rugs out and gave them a good beating. This was a process that took most of the afternoon because furniture had to be moved in order to free the rugs so they could be rolled and carried outside. Then dinner had to be prepared. This involved going out back and fetching a couple of chickens to be prepared.
Ginny sometimes smiled with amusement at what the high-society ladies of San Francisco could see her killing and plucking and cooking a chicken. But such had been her life for years.
The family sat about the hearth that night. John’s chair was empty, as it always was when he was away. There were no household rules against sitting in his chair, it was simply not done. Josh put the fire together and poked at it. Temperance sat on the sofa, looking at Josh like every man wishes the woman in his life would.
They talked idly of things. How crazy the town would become tomorrow night, when cowhands from the McCabe spread and the Circle W and others within riding distance descended on it. Even though it was not payday, and would not be quite as wild as it had been the night of the Fourth, it would still be wild.
They wondered where John was. He had been gone for days, now. Meandering peacefully through the mountains, she figured. Making his way gradually south and west, toward California. Sleeping under an open sky, and sitting in the evening by a fire.
Josh and Dusty talked about moving the herd. The grass on the section of range they were using, in the lower grassier hills east of the valley, was close to becoming grazed out.
And Jack said nothing. He simply sat. He poured himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter on the small table in the parlor, and sat and stared into the flames.
Such a complicated young man, she thought. Before he had returned this summer, she would have been willing to bet her life that she knew this boy inside and out. Now she realized she had actually known little about him all along. She wondered how she could possibly have been so oblivious.
Morning came, and she was the first one to the kitchen. The morning was chilly, as it often was at this altitude even in the summer. She built a fire in the stove and began heating water for tea.
She was sitting at the table with a steaming cup in front of her, the comforting aroma of Earl Grey filling the air about her, when Temperance stepped into the room. It was her turn to fix breakfast. But the first thing she did was to put on a pot of trail coffee, because the boys would be wanting it. They drank it like it was the elixir of life. Ginny only hoped Bree didn’t want a cup this morning. Ever since Bree’s jaunt in the mountains rescuing Nina Harding, she seemed to be developing a taste for it, also. Oh well, Ginny supposed. Bree was her father’s daughter.
Dusty drifted into the room. He was in a range shirt, and his gunbelt was in place. The boy never seemed to wear a vest. He poured a cup and then stood by the counter. The boys often preferred to stand when they were in the house, as they would be spending the day in the saddle.
“Josh and I’ll be moving the herd Monday. No sense to try to start today, with it being Saturday.”
Bree came downstairs and offered her good-mornings to everyone, and then said, “Where’s Jack?”
Dusty gave a sort of half shrug. “Upstairs, probably.”
“No, his room’s empty.”
Josh stepped into the room and went directly to the cupboard for a cup. “What’s going on?”
Bree said, “Jack’s not here.”
“Oh?” he said absently, reaching for the coffee pot. “Where is he?”
“Maybe he’s off riding in the hills again,” Bree said.
Dusty said, “He doesn’t usually leave this early.”
“He’s been acting kind of strange ever since he got back from school.”
Ginny finally said, “He’s gone.”
All were silent now, looking at her. Then Bree said, “Gone? Gone where? He’s not due to leave for school for another week.”
Ginny shook her head. “He’s not going back to school.”
Josh stepped forward. “Not going back to school? Then, where’s he going?”
Ginny said, “If I only knew.”
38
Jack didn’t necessarily intend to wind up at Hunter’s.
He was in no specific hurry to leave the valley, as this place would always be home in his heart, and he didn’t know when he would be back. If ever. So as the sun climbed gradually into the sky, he meandered through the ridges one more time.
He stopped at a small meadow and watched a white-tail buck and three does grazing contentedly. Polygamists, he thought with a smile. Then the wind changed and the buck caught the scent of Jack and his horse. The buck raised its head and the three does followed, then they bolted for the trees at the other side of the meadow and were gone like they had never been there. Jack turned his horse and they started away.
Jack had his bedroll and saddle bags tied to the back of his saddle. Two canteens were full and slung over the saddle horn. In the scabbard was a Winchester carbine. He had thought about taking a long rifle, which could hold seventeen cartridges, but then decided on the shorter gun which held only twelve, because it would be easier to pull quickly from the scabbard and was more maneuverable. Two boxes of cartridges were in his saddle bags.
He was in a faded blue range shirt and he wore a vest that actually belonged to an old suit. It was now worn and a little tattered. He was in levis, and his revolver was at his side and tied down. He had no suit jacket or dress shirt or ties with him. He had left them at the ranch house, because he figured he wouldn’t need them any more. His sombrero was pulled down about his temples.
He roamed along, eventually working his way to Pa’s rocky cliff. He waited there a long time, looking off into the distance. He had to admit that, as much as an outsider as he felt at the ranch, he felt a pang of sadness at riding away from this valley. It was even stronger than what he felt when he left to return to school, because he knew where he was going. This time, his entire future felt wide open.
For years, he had felt like his entire life was planned for him. School back east. Then medical school. Then interning at a hospital in Boston or New York. Then becoming a surgeon and making his mark on the medical world and making lots of money. Now, it was just him, his horse and saddle, and what little he had in his saddle bags and wrapped up in his bedroll.
The sun was high in the sky when he finally pulled himself away from Pa’s cliff, and followed a high pass that would take him out of the valley.
As he descended the slope on the other side, he knew he would come out maybe a mile from the small town of McCabe Gap, and the thought of a cold beer suddenly seemed good. After all, he didn’t know when he would find cold beer again. This was how he wound up at Hunter’s.
He swung out of the saddle and gave the rein a couple turns about the hitching rail, and stepped into the barroom.
Hunter and Franklin and Shapleigh were there at a table, having coffee. From the position of the sun, Jack figured it was late morning. It was Saturday, and tonight the town would go wild for a little while, but right now it was dead quiet.
Henry Freeman was there, too. A former slave, and now the blacksmith of this community. He ran a small farm outside of town, and his grandmother, a granny doctor from back in the Appalachians, served as the local doctor.
It might have seemed odd to some for a man of color to be sitting at the same table as a bunch of white men, but in many places on the frontier, equality was seen as something earned, not granted or denied simply because of heritage or the color of your skin. Henry had long since shown himself to be a stand-up sort of man, and that was all that mattered to men like Hunter or Franklin.
Miss Alisha was also with them. A woman about forty, with maybe a little too much pancake on her face, and her brows dark like she had taken a paint brush to them. She was in
a simple dress that buttoned to the neck, but anyone taking a look at her knew she was no farmer’s wife.
They all looked up at him.
“Jack,” Hunter said. “What brings you to town?”
Franklin said, “Good morning, Jack.”
Miss Alisha nodded her head at him.
Jack had come in intending to have a cold beer and take a last look at a place he might never see again. But as he stood in the doorway looking at them, he found himself saying, “You folks have been looking for a town marshal. Well, if the terms you offered my brother apply to me, then you’ve got yourself a marshal.”
Franklin looked uncomfortable, and looked to Shapleigh, who gave a small shrug and looked at Hunter.
Hunter said, “What about medical school?”
Jack shook his head. “I’m not going back.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. There’s been something different about you this visit.”
Hunter looked to the others. “Well? What do you think?”
“Well..,” Franklin said, “we appreciate the offer, but..,”
Hunter said, “You handled that gambler well enough. And Dusty told me about how you handled yourself back on the trail. You might be a college boy, but you’re your father’s son.”
Franklin looked like he was trying to find a way to argue that, but couldn’t. Franklin had always reminded Jack a little of a nervous chicken. Squawking about what he didn’t have, but then squawking even louder when he did get it.
Miss Alisha gave him a surprisingly motherly smile. “I think being his father’s son is about as good a recommendation as a boy can have.”
Shapleigh nodded and said, “I’m sold.”
Hunter got to his feet and crossed the floor to Jack, and extended his hand. “You got yourself a job, Marshal.”
PART THREE
The Tin Star
39
Henry Freeman was a skilled smithy, and he hammered out a tin star with a long thin pin in back. Jack pushed the pin through his shirt on the left side, just inside the line of buttons, and the tin star hung on his shirt like it belonged there.
One Man's Shadow (The McCabes Book 2) Page 34