by Kip Gayden
Anna shook her head and shrugged. “Go to Elizabeth Jennings, I suppose. She at least tried to warn me. Maybe some of the others.” After a few seconds, she said, “Walter, do you think you and I ought to talk to someone? Together?”
“Who?”
“I don’t know . . . Brother Olmstead, maybe. We need help, Walter. He’s our minister. Will you go with me to talk to him?”
“Maybe so. I don’t know how much good it will do. I don’t know if I can . . . What you’ve done has . . .”
“I know, Walter. We don’t have to decide that right now. Let’s take this one thing at a time, all right? For now, I just want you to promise that you won’t do anything rash or violent about Charlie.”
He looked at her. “I gave him until morning. That’s all I can promise, right now.”
Dear God, please get Charlie Cobb out of this town, and please keep my husband away from him until he’s gone.
“ DON’ T GO DOWN THERE, CHARLIE! They’ll see you! They’ll kill you!”
“Will you be quiet, Daisy? I need that money to get us out of town. And besides, Dotson’s not the only one who owns a gun,” Charlie said, checking the chambers of his .32-caliber revolver.
“Charlie, don’t do it! Let’s just go, right now. Let’s take our things to the station. Nobody ain’t going to bother us if they can see we’re fixing to leave.”
Charlie flicked his wrist, snapping the cylinder in place. Daisy ran to the door and tried to block his way out. “Don’t, Charlie! Please!”
He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her out of the way. “I said move, Daisy!” Alice was wailing in the background.
He jammed the revolver into the pocket of his coat, keeping his finger on the trigger. If Walter Dotson thought Charlie was scared of him, he ought to think again. Charlie had been handling guns since he was old enough to walk, just about. He could knock a tin can off a fence post with his .22 before he could read. Just let Walter start something; Charlie would finish it for him.
Oh, he’d leave town for a while, let things cool down. No harm in that. But sooner or later, he’d come back this way—just to show everyone he could, if for no other reason. Charlie wasn’t about to let himself be pushed around by somebody, just because the other fellow had more money and knew people. No, sir. If somebody pushed Charlie, he’d push back. In his own time and his own way, but he would, and you could bet your bottom dollar on that.
Charlie thought about slipping down the alleys, but decided that wasn’t his style. He walked down Railroad Street, keeping his hand inside his coat pocket and on his gun. His eyes roved both sides of the street and all the crossings, watching for any sign of Dotson or somebody who might be helping him.
It was well past midnight, and the bank and stores were closed. There’d be people he knew over at the Keystone. He figured someone would make him a loan there. He was crossing the square when he noticed a faint glimmer of light from a building in the square. Someone was working late. Charlie went around to the back door and knocked. J. H. Bingham, the butcher, opened the door a moment later, wiping his bloody hands on his already stained apron.
“We’re closed at the moment. I was just getting this beef ready for the morning.”
“I just need to cash a check; got to the bank just as it closed. I don’t suppose you have any cash in the till?”
The butcher rubbed his jaw, a frown between his eyes as he measured Charlie. “S’pose I might. Wait here a minute.” He disappeared into the shop, and Charlie glanced around the alley. A mutt with matted fur was eyeing him from behind a stack of crates, and the faint stench of slightly rotting meat wafted over from that direction.
“All I got to spare is eleven dollars. Have to make change in the morning,” the butcher said as he returned.
“That would be fine, just fine.” Charlie stepped inside, using the corner of the wooden butcher block to hurriedly write the check. Thanking the man, he stuffed the cash in his coat pocket, and left. He still didn’t have enough, but maybe he could talk his way into a ticket—promise to wire the rest of the money.
Charlie stayed alert and as inconspicuous as he could, keeping his field of vision moving. He was just across the street from Person’s when he spotted a man walking briskly by the courthouse in his direction, and from the way he had his right hand hidden beneath his coat, Charlie guessed he probably had a gun. Charlie stopped still, moving his own gun inside his coat pocket slightly in front of him to convey the unmistakable message that whoever it was had best think twice before doing anything threatening.
“Charlie Cobb!” the man called. “What are you doing out and about at this hour of the night?”
It was Will Hall, one of Charlie’s regulars, his coat collar turned up against the cold.
“Was that the two o’clock that just pulled in?”
“Sure was. I’m just getting back. Wish it wasn’t such a long walk home. Sure is a cold night.”
“Say, I don’t suppose you have any money on you,” Charlie asked.
Will looked surprised by the blunt question. “Well, a few dollars.”
“It’s just, I’m taking my family on a little trip and realized I’m a bit short for the tickets. I’m good for it.”
“Well, sure you are, Charlie.” Will set down in his bag and dug in his pockets, producing five dollars and change.
“Much obliged, Will, much obliged.”
“Have a good trip, Charlie. Let me know when you get back, we’ll have a beer over at the Keystone.”
“Sure thing. Goodnight, Will. Thanks again.” Charlie walked quickly on into the night.
He took the alley until he calculated he was about even with Railroad Street, then rounded the corner of the building at the intersection and took the street the rest of the way home, keeping a careful watch all the way.
That night, he and Daisy packed their belongings into their steamer trunk and the wooden crates they’d used when they moved from Big Rock. Alice whimpered the whole time, clinging to her mother’s skirts and asking when she was going to see Mabel again. Charlie had to do some pretty hard talking to himself to keep from shaking her; the girl’s constant whining was getting on his already-frazzled nerves.
In the morning, he would put Daisy and Alice on a train bound for Kentucky and her parents’ home. He would stay at the station long enough to arrange for a drayman to pick up their belongings for shipment to Herndon, and then he would head for Big Rock and his family. Charlie needed some time to be in a safe place with no one around to harass him or ask him questions he didn’t want to answer. And he was pretty sure Daisy’s folks wouldn’t exactly be glad to see him, anyway.
I just need a little time to get on my feet and make a plan. Then I’ll be back. Oh, yes, my sweet little Anna—I’ll be back.
25
J. P. PERSON LOOKED UP when the door to his shop opened. It was early for Walter Dotson to be in. He usually came around lunchtime.
“Good morning,” he said, nodding to J.P. “Don’t suppose you have time for a quick shave?”
“Sure I do, Doc, but don’t you want to wait for Charlie? He’s not in yet. I suppose he must be running late, but I expect him any minute now. Not like him to be late.”
“Charlie won’t be here.”
“Why do you say that? Did you see him?”
“Yes, I did. Saw him early this morning at the depot, getting on the train.”
“That’s a strange thing. He didn’t mention to me about taking time off. Did he say where he was going?”
“No, I didn’t speak to him. I was some distance behind.”
“Well, that’s just a right strange thing. He was here just yesterday playing checkers with Harry Orman and having a right good time, and he didn’t say one word about a trip. Anyway, have a seat, Doc, and I’ll get you fixed up.”
Walter seated himself in the chair. He knew J.P. wanted to ask more, because he was as quiet as he’d ever been for the whole shave. And when he was done and Walter had thanke
d him and paid, he asked Walter if he might have a brief word in private.
Walter followed him to the back room, past the watchful eyes of the other men in the shop, who had been unusually subdued.
When they were alone, J.P. said, “You seem to know more about Cobb than you’ve told me. Will you tell me what’s happened to make him leave town?”
“No,” Walter replied curtly.
“I beg your pardon,” J.P. replied, and, giving Walter a long look, he turned and walked back into the shop.
Walter followed, and continued through and out the front door, giving only brief nods. He headed directly for his office. He had only wanted to reassure himself that Charlie Cobb was well and gone. As he passed Whitehead’s Hardware and Dry Goods, Bobby rushed out.
“Walter!” he called. “Please, I need to speak to you. About what happened. About what people are saying.”
Walter sighed. “Come with me to my office, Bobby. We’ll talk there.”
ANNA LOOKED up from the magazine she was trying to tell herself she was reading. Walter was coming in the front door, and Bobby was with him. Bobby looked as if he’d been crying.
“Anna, I want your brother to hear it from your own lips,” Walter said. “You told me you wanted to change. Prove it. Tell it to your brother, just like you did to me.”
“Walter, why? Is this really necessary?”
“I want to hear it, Anna,” Bobby said. His voice sounded raw. “I want to hear it from you. I’ve already heard it from everybody else, including Walter.”
“Are the children at school?” Walter said. Anna nodded.
“All right, then. Your brother has made a request.”
As best she could with shame and grief choking off her voice, Anna told him. “Yes, Bobby, it’s true. I was unfaithful to Walter. It was horrible and sinful, and I beg you to forgive me, if you can.”
Bobby sat heavily in one of the upholstered chairs. He was shaking his head slowly, staring at the floor in front of the chair. “Even after everything I’ve heard, I didn’t want to believe.” He fell silent for a moment, then said in a voice that was almost a growl, “I’ll kill him.”
“No, Bobby! Don’t say that. You mustn’t dirty your hands in this; that would only make things worse. I beg you, don’t think of avenging me. I have no honor left to avenge.”
Bobby just stared at the floor, and the dead expression on his face was torture to Anna. He had always looked up to her. Now, he was having to face the fact that his big sister was an adulteress of the most sordid kind.
Bobby finally left. Walter walked out onto the front porch with him, then came back inside and went upstairs without so much as looking at Anna. She sat in the parlor and stared at the magazine in her lap. Futile thoughts chased each other around in her mind like a mob of fighting cats. Finally, she went upstairs and fell across her bed, still fully clothed.
CHRISTMAS CAME AND WENT, but the gaiety of the season was completely lost on Anna. She forced herself to go through the motions for the children’s benefit, but she felt like a hollow imitation of a person. It was almost as if she were standing outside herself, watching someone pretending to be her.
Walter wasn’t any better. He never spoke to her and rarely even looked at her. When he did, his expression was full of hurt and suspicion. The only time he said anything was when he told her he was considering taking the children and moving to Chicago, saying they were sure to hear the gossip at school, or in town. As yet, he hadn’t acted on it, but Anna felt as if she were constantly under inspection, and constantly failing to pass muster.
When she went about in Gallatin, it wasn’t much better. She was attending the ladies’ teas again, but the other women generally talked over her head, as if she weren’t there. When they spoke to her, they did so with all sorts of looks at each other, as if to say, “Look at me, now. Listen to what I say to the fallen woman.”
Only Elizabeth Jennings came anywhere close to making Anna feel like a real person. Anna could tell Elizabeth pitied her, but even that was a relief from the judgment and disdain she felt from everyone else. They mostly talked about the cause. Elizabeth was very excited about the plans for the coming March: thousands of suffragettes from all over the country were traveling to Washington, D.C., to march in a demonstration, demanding the passage of laws to give women the vote. Anna did her best to act interested in what Elizabeth was telling her, but most of the time that’s all it was: an act.
Anna was having difficulty sleeping most nights. It was hard to imagine, because she felt close to exhaustion most of the time. But as soon as she’d lie down at night in the stillness and dark, her mind would start up, replaying all that had happened—including the times when she and Charlie had made love. And deep down inside herself, Anna knew she missed him. Even after the disaster her life had become, there was a part of Anna that couldn’t turn loose of Charlie Cobb. Anna prayed to be delivered from the thought of him, the need for him that still clung to her, but it seemed her prayers went no higher than the ceiling of her bedroom.
She wrote Charlie two letters. One she addressed to Herndon, Kentucky, where Daisy’s people were, and the other she sent to Big Rock. She told Charlie that they must never see each other again, that if he tried to come back to Gallatin, Walter and Bobby had promised to kill him. She carried the letters to the post office herself, dropped them through the brass slot. She wondered if it was the last communication that would ever pass between the two of them.
One afternoon Anna was at home, too tired to make even the pretense of keeping up her normal activities. She took to her bed and tried to sleep, but as usual, her restless mind wouldn’t allow the mercy of slumber. After a while, she sat on the edge of her bed and suddenly remembered the French nightgown. It had lain undisturbed in the bottom of the drawer of her armoire since sometime last summer. She got up and went to the armoire, taking the nightgown out and holding it up. She went back to the armoire and found the last Argosy Charlie had sent back to her with notes in the margins. The magazine was still in its place, at the bottom of the same drawer that held her nightgown. She sat in a chair with the nightgown bunched in her lap and flipped through the pages of the Argosy, looking at Charlie’s handwritten notes and remembering.
And then she looked up and realized Walter was standing in her doorway, glaring at her. How long had he been there? Anna froze, afraid of what might happen next.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. Just one of my magazines.”
He strode across the room and before she could react he snatched the Argosy from her grasp. She watched as his face clenched tighter and tighter, forming a mask of dark rage.
“So this is how your lover communicated with you, is it? What does this say?” He tilted the magazine and peered at it. “ ‘Dearest one, I cannot wait to hold you in my arms like the lovers in this story.’ ” He flipped a few more pages. “‘My Anna, this poem made me think of you, sitting in the garden, like the woman in the picture over your bed.’”
He flung the magazine across the room, making an inarticulate sound of rage.
“You filthy woman! What is that thing you’ve got in your lap? Give it to me.” He snatched up the French nightgown and held it out in front of him. “What sort of lewd thing is this? Did you wear this while you were defiling your vows with him?”
Anna was too afraid to move or speak. Wadding the nightgown in one fist, Walter grabbed her wrist and yanked her out of the chair. “Come on. I’m going to show you something.” He hauled her into his bedroom. Still clamping her wrist in one hand, he pulled open the drawer of his nightstand and retrieved his pistol. Holding the pistol and the nightgown in the same hand, he dragged her down the stairs and into the backyard.
“Stay here,” he said, jabbing a finger at the back steps. He retrieved a board and placed it against the trunk of the large elm tree in the corner of the yard. Then he draped the nightgown on the board, the delicate fabric catching on the rough bark. He walked abou
t fifteen paces away, then took aim at the nightgown. He looked over his shoulder at her. “This is what I think of your filthy nightgown. This is what I’ll do to Charlie Cobb if I ever lay eyes on him again.” He turned and sighted, then fired three times. The first bullet struck the nightgown where Anna’s heart would have been. “That’s what you and Charlie Cobb did to me,” he said. He fired again, and the slug pierced the nightgown lower down. His third shot was close to the first.
Somewhere nearby, a dog started barking, alarmed by the gunshots. Walter turned to Anna and said, “Why don’t you try it, Anna? You keep saying you want to repent, you want to change. Prove it.” He held out the gun toward her. “Kill this damned nightgown. Put it to death, and put to death everything it stands for.”
Trembling, Anna stood. She walked toward Walter, not sure whether he might not suddenly decide to do to her what he’d just done to her nightgown. He reached out and grabbed her, thrusting the gun into her hand. “There,” he pointed. “Shoot it. There are two bullets left in the cylinder.”
Holding the gun with both hands, Anna aimed and squeezed the trigger. The recoil caused her to stagger back a step. She wasn’t sure whether she’d hit anything or not.
“Well, I’m surprised! You did hit it,” Walter said. “Again! Shoot it again!” Walter’s eyes were wild. Anna was afraid not to do what he said. She aimed the gun again and fired.
“Give me that,” he said. He grabbed the gun from her and ejected the spent cartridges, then put in five more. “Now. Shoot it again. Shoot it, damn you!”
Anna was beginning to weep. She held up the gun, but her grip was loosening. She fired twice more, thinking she’d hit the nightgown each time. Then she dropped the revolver and ran toward the house, wailing with fear.
“Run away, that’s right,” Walter called after her. “But you can’t hide from what you’ve done. You’re still pining for him, aren’t you? Up in your room pawing through your magazine and lusting for him. You haven’t changed. You’re still the same.”