Whippoorwill

by Sharon Sala

  Alfonso gasped. “Sophie dear! Are you all right?”

  No thanks to you, she thought, as she dug a handkerchief out from between the mounds of her breasts and began to dab at the perspiration on her upper lip.

  “The nerve of that man,” Sophie said, glaring at Eulis’s inert body as if it was something foul. “Come along, Alfonso. I’ve been out in this heat far too long as it is.”

  “Certainly, my dear.”

  ***

  Eulis was still reeling from the blow when the pair disappeared. He crawled to his feet and peeked out from the alley. The coast was clear. That damnable woman and her parasol were nowhere in sight. He smoothed a hand over his jacket and lifted his head as he started across the street to the White Dove Saloon, certain that he would be able to con Will the Bartender out of a drink.

  Just as he was about to step inside, a flutter of white caught his eye. He turned and squinted, trying to adjust what was left of his vision to the wanted poster flapping in the breeze. It took him a bit to sound out the name then staggered backward in shock.

  KIOWA BILL

  God all mighty! He knew the name, but he hadn’t seen the face in more than twenty-five years. Images he’d long ago buried suddenly flashed through his mind.

  A squirrel barking at him from a nearby tree as he knelt at the creek to draw water for his mother’s laundry.

  The sound of gunfire, then his mother’s shrill screams.

  The answering belch of his daddy’s buffalo gun.

  The water he spilled in his shoes as he dropped the bucket and ran up the hill toward the house.

  The way the rafters caved in on their home as fire ate through the roof.

  His little brother’s screams from inside the house, then the deafening silence as the fire continued to consume.

  After that came the shock of seeing his mother’s blood soaking into the dust and the hard-eyed young man on the Appaloosa horse who’d come riding down on him. The half-breed outlaw they called Kiowa Bill was already responsible for the deaths of nine people and now he’d just added three more.

  Eulis shuddered, remembering his mad dash for freedom, and then knowing he couldn’t get away—of grabbing his daddy’s chopping axe and drawing back and flinging it high in the air toward the man who was riding him down.

  He grunted, remembering the spurt of blood and the outlaw’s wild scream as the axe hit him square in the face, then seeing him fall back off his horse and into the dirt near his mother’s foot.

  At that point, Eulis had grabbed the horse’s reins and vaulted into the saddle.

  “I’ll make you pay!” he shouted.

  But by the time he got back with help, the fire was nothing but smoldering ashes and Kiowa Bill was nowhere to be found.

  A fly landed on his cheek, breaking his visit to the nightmare of his past. Eulis brushed it away and then touched the poster, tracing the dark line the artist had drawn from the outlaw’s right eye, then angling across the bridge of his nose, to the edge of his left cheek.

  “I put that scar on his face,” he muttered, and yanked the poster from the side of the building.

  When he turned, Will the Bartender had come outside and was sweeping the sidewalk in front of the White Dove Saloon.

  “I put that scar on his face,” Eulis shouted, waving the poster under old Will’s nose.

  Will frowned. “Dagnabit, Eulis. The Marshall was just through here putting them up and now you done went and pulled it down.”

  Eulis smoothed out the paper, pointing with a shaky finger to the scar on Kiowa Bill’s face.

  “See that? I done it. I was only twelve years old, but I done it. I put that scar on his face.”

  His drink forgotten, he clasped the poster to the curve of his belly and walked away, leaving Will to make what he chose of Eulis’s outburst.

  ***

  Meanwhile, Alfonso was scurrying to keep up with Sophie’s quick steps. He was so close upon her heels that Sophie had no time to fret over the fact that she’d been manhandled, however innocently, by Eulis. She reached the door to her house, pausing at the threshold and lifting the sack from Alfonso’s hands before he could find an excuse to follow her inside.

  “Thank you for your assistance. I’ll be seeing you this evening then. Don’t forget the cinnamon now… you hear?”

  Alfonso’s head was still bobbing as Sophie shut the door in his face. He couldn’t find it in his heart to be miffed that she hadn’t even said goodbye, because he was already planning what he would wear.

  In the space of time it took to get back to the bank, his imagination was running rampant. He began to picture her naked, knowing she would be soft everywhere it counted. Shame rode his coat tails like a leech as he entered the bank. His face was flushed and he was afraid to look at the customers for fear that they could read his lustful thoughts.

  ***

  That evening, Alfonso stood beside his bed, looking first at the clothes he’d laid out, and then at his own skinny legs beneath the hem of his muslin drawers. Shrugging at the hopelessness of making himself into something he was not, he reached for his best suit of clothes and began to dress. A few minutes later he was standing before the mirror, smiling at the results. So he wasn’t the tallest man in Lizard Flats, and so what if his shoulders were the tiniest bit slumped. It came from honest work.

  The last thing to go on was his coat and hat. As usual, the long tail on the frock coat hung even lower on Alfonso’s short frame, bobbing against the back of his knees. With the cinnamon in hand, he headed for the door. Alfonso was ready for Sophie Hollis’s fried chicken and apple pies, and anything else she might dish out.

  ***

  Sophie cursed beneath her breath as she puttered about the kitchen, putting finishing touches to the evening meal. If she’d only kept her mouth shut she wouldn’t be facing this impossible evening with a man who couldn’t fill Nardin Hollis’s shoes, let alone his bed.

  She dusted flour and kneaded dough, all the while refusing to admit she was actually gaining pleasure from cooking for a man—even if the little sucker only came up to her chin.

  Cut, sop, plop. The precision with which Sophie made biscuits would have made a starving man cry. With a crystal drinking glass for a cutter, the thick dough came free in perfect round shapes from the dough slab on the table. The layer of bacon fat coating the bottom of the biscuit pan was just waiting for the flick of Sophie’s wrist. She swiped the biscuit into the grease and then turned it over with a plop, leaving the smooth, white orb freshly coated with the last remnants of Porter Griffin’s pig. One after the other, she cut, sopped, and plopped until her dough was gone and the pan was full and ready to bake.

  The knock at the door ended her train of thought. She slid the pan of biscuits into the oven and dusted off her hands. Who would have thought a tin of cinnamon would cost so much?

  As she hurried toward the door, her steps were muffled by the fine Persian carpets covering her floors. During their last winter together, Nardin had hauled the carpets overland, traveling north from the eastern coast of Texas to Lizard Flats. Eyeing the fine weave and the colorful red and yellow pattern, Sophie sighed. She would trade a lifetime of warm floors for one good night in a real man’s arms.

  When she opened the door, Alfonso was standing there with a wide, charming grin.

  “Sophie, my dear, you look beautiful.”

  To her surprise, he winked and entered her home without an invitation.

  Stunned by his unusual behavior, Sophie took the spice he handed her, then watched as he tossed his hat onto the hall tree. When it caught and spun on the peg before rocking to a halt, all she could do was stare as Alfonso sauntered about the room, sniffing a bouquet of cut flowers, running his hand lightly across the curve of the vase.

  “Thank you for the compliment—and the spice,” Sophie muttered, unable to believe Alfonso Worthy’s personality transformation. He almost seemed manly. “Please take a seat in the parlor. Supper will be ready in a few mi
nutes. Oh, and if it seems too warm, feel free to remove your coat. I’ve had the oven going all afternoon.”

  Alfonso nodded then unbuttoned his frock coat and swaggered over to the hall tree, hanging it on the peg next to his hat.

  Sophie couldn’t get over the difference in Alfonso’s behavior. He seemed so confident—so at home.

  That notion made her heart skip a beat, but then decided she wasn’t really interested in the little man—just overheated.

  “I’ll let you know when supper is ready,” she said, and darted toward the kitchen with the cinnamon clasped to her breasts.

  He watched her skirt tail swinging to the sway of her hips as she exited the room and then sat down in the easy chair with a thump. Loaning her cinnamon was hardly a declaration of love and adoration, nor was her invitation to supper anything but a kindness. Still, as he sat within the silence of the room, he couldn’t help but wish it was more.

  ***

  The meal went down in near-silence. Alfonso had never eaten such wonderful food in his life, which enforced the notion that he would corner Sophie Hollis and marry her or die trying.

  Sophie, on the other hand, was nearly at her wits end. She could hardly eat for watching the little man chew. He ravished the food from her platters and bowls as if he was starving. Someone had once told her a man who enjoys his food also knows how to enjoy his women. If that someone had been right, then Alfonso’s women would be in ecstasy. She thought of that loose woman over at the White Dove. She didn’t want for the attentions of a man. Just because this one was smaller than most, didn’t have to mean he was worth less in the sack. As she passed him the potatoes for the third time that night, she reminded herself that she didn’t want just any man. She wanted someone who adored her in every way—like her secret admirer.

  But as the evening progressed, Sophie found herself looking for Alfonso’s admirable qualities, when before all she’d done was look for his faults. Granted he was a little skinny, but a good woman’s cooking could take care of that. And yes, he was a bit on the short side, but height wasn’t everything. By the time they’d gotten around to dessert, Sophie had convinced herself that it was wits rather than bulk that made a man. Still, if only-

  “Ah, dear lady… that was a very fine meal,” Alfonso said, and leaned back in his chair, patting his belly with both hands.

  When he reached beneath the table, Sophie inhaled sharply then began to fan her napkin against her face. Her Nardin had been in the habit of rearranging his own masculinity from time to time when the situation was needed. Sophie was convinced that Alfonso had unwittingly just done the same, and she was certain that the sins of her thoughts were emblazoned upon her face for all to see.

  Harlot. Strumpet. Loose woman. Her father had called her all three.

  Nardin Hollis had called her his wife.

  She had a sudden and terrible urge to regain that last title—even if it was with another man—even if he was a little skinny and had bulging green eyes like the lizards of Lizard Flats.

  “Would you care for more?” she asked, and tried not to stare at the edge of the table and what lay beyond and below.

  Alfonso had been watching her all night. He was a skilled business man, but he knew little about the ways of a proper woman. However, he hadn’t reached the heights of his successes by hesitation. He knew if ever there was going to be a time to make his pitch, it had come. He leaned forward and slipped his hand over hers.

  “Ah, dear lady of my heart, I want more—much more. But I’m afraid it has nothing to do with food.”

  Sophie’s heart skipped a beat. Dear lady of my heart? Had he just said that or did I imagine it?

  Sweat began to run out of her hair and down the back of her neck as she stared down at his hand. She fluttered her napkin a little faster against her breasts, wondering if she had indeed just spent the evening with her secret admirer? If so, then there was much, much more to this man than she had believed.

  “Oh my! Why Alfonso! I am speechless.”

  Alfonso feared a rejection was coming, and because he did, he began to talk faster.

  “Dear, dear Sophie, I know this may be sudden, but I can not wait any longer to tell you what’s on my heart.”

  “Uh… Alfonso, I—”

  “No, wait, dear lady,” he said quickly. “Please hear me out.”

  Sophie gasped again. Dear lady? He said it again. Oh my word! I believe that it’s true! This sweet little man is the one who’s stolen my heart.

  “Alfonso! Oh Alfonso!” Sophie gasped, and threw her arms around his waist, burying her face against his shirt somewhere between his belly button and his chest.

  Alfonso was stunned. He didn’t know what had precipitated the gesture, but he wasn’t going to refuse it. He laid his hand on the top of her head then cupped her cheek, tilting her chin until they were staring into each other’s face.

  “Sophie, dear, I am overwhelmed by your show of feelings, and since they echo mine, I beg you to please hear me out.”

  Sophie’s heart was pounding. Say it. For God’s sake just say it!

  Alfonso knew that timing was of the utmost. He dropped to one knee and clasped her hands.

  “Dear Sophie, I have long admired you, and feel that a proper time has passed in which you have honored your late husband’s name. But you must realize that living does go on. I can’t believe that your husband would have wanted you to do without the security and honor that comes with being properly wed.” Then he took a deep, dramatic breath and leaned closer. “Sophie Hollis, will you marry me?”

  She clutched at his hand as joy mingled with relief. “Oh Alfonso, I would be honored.”

  Unable to believe that it had been this easy after all, he stood abruptly, pressing his lips exactly and properly against the shocked pout on her mouth before she could change her mind.

  “There! Our pledge has been sealed!”

  For added measure, he let his hand trail suggestively from her cheek to the upper edge of her bosom. When he might have ventured further, he decided to leave her wanting.

  Sophie was in shock. Her pulse was racing, her eyelids fluttering. All this time and she hadn’t known he possessed such fire.

  “I fear that I should leave now before I compromise your reputation,” he said.

  Sophie followed him back into the living room with thoughts in a flutter. Before, his idiosyncrasies had bothered her. Now, they were enticing and intriguing. She pictured them side by side at the altar, and then down through the years, growing old together. She shivered longingly. Thank God, she would never be lonely again.

  Out in the hall, Alfonso was trying to maintain his dignity, when in truth he wanted to kneel at her feet and thank her for rescuing him from an empty life. He slipped on his coat and then reached for his hat before turning to her with a smile.

  “I have a friend back East. I’ll write and ask for a preacher to be sent here immediately. Plan whatever kind of wedding you think proper for a lady of your standing. I will let you know his approximate arrival date.”

  She simply grinned and nodded, trying not to show her disappointment that he was leaving.

  “Until tomorrow, my dear Sophie.”

  He grasped her cheeks with both hands and sucked a kiss from her face before she knew it was coming. Then, quick as the lizards he so reminded her of, he was gone.

  Sophie began to clear the table as visions of bodily satisfaction and earthy pleasures filled her head. Once she’d cleaned up the remnants of their meal, she took all of the letters from her secret admirer and retired to her bed. One after the other, she read them through. This time, picturing dear Alfonso as the author and imagining his feelings and his longings as he put pen to paper for her. She fell asleep with them in her lap, and for the first time since they’d buried Nardin Hollis in his grave, she slept the entire night through without awakening.

  The next day, she began to plan for her wedding. Word began to spread of the coming nuptials and the citizens of Liza
rd Flats began plans of their own for the preacher’s arrival. Letty was trying hard to curb her jealousy, but it wasn’t easy. Every time she turned around, someone was talking about that blamed wedding. It wasn’t as if she begrudged Sophie Hollis the permanent company of one of her more frequent clients because there was always someone else to take their place. But she couldn’t help but remember that handsome gambler who’d treated her special. Every night since he’d disappeared, she’d cursed herself for the way she’d behaved and then cursed herself for thinking he had meant anything by it. She wasn’t the kind of woman who had a chance at happy-ever-after and that was that. Still, each night as she sang at the bar, she couldn’t help but look toward the back of the room, wishing Gentleman Jim Dupree was sitting there.

  ***

  A few days later, she got up earlier than usual. It was her habit to sleep until after the noon meal, but she’d ordered some things special from Matt Goslin and he’d sent word by Will that they’d come in. She washed her face and brushed out her hair without bothering to curl it back up on her head. Instead, she secured at the back of her neck with a ribbon, then took her only decent dress from the armoire and put it on. After fastening her shoes, she stuffed some money into her purse and started down the stairs.

  There were two men in the saloon. One was Eulis, who was trying to sober up with his morning whiskey, the other was Will the Bartender, who was polishing glasses behind the bar.

  “Where are you off to?” Will asked.

  “The General Store.”

  “Want me to fry you up a steak for when you get back?” Will asked.

  She hesitated. Will was certainly going out of his way to make sure she stayed happy.

  “Sure. That would be nice. I won’t be long.”

  She walked out onto the sidewalk, and then had to sidestep a pair of young boys who came running past.

  “Look where you’re going!” a man yelled at the boys, then realized it was Letty and turned his back to her, as if it no longer mattered that she’d almost been knocked down.

  The slight was nothing she hadn’t suffered before, but it still made her angry.