Whippoorwill

by Sharon Sala

  Eyes Like Mole lurched forward, blinding reaching out for a woman he could not see. “No! She is my woman. You lost her. If you meant to keep her, you should have taken better care of what is yours.”

  Caitie bit her lip. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did.

  Joe gauged the passion in Eyes Like Mole’s voice. Although the man stood straight and proud, something about him didn’t seem right. Then Caitie began tugging at the leg of his pants. He looked down.

  “Ye can’t go fightin’ the likes of him,” Caitie begged. “He’s not seein’ his blessed hands in front of his face. T’would be nothing short of murder.”

  She stepped back as he dismounted, watching as he unbuckled his gun belt and hung it across the saddle horn in a gesture of good faith, then gave her an odd, almost affectionate look.

  “You do find the oddest assortment of villains.”

  She tried to glare, but was too weary and heartsick to do more than blink.

  “Just don’t be hurtin’ him,” she muttered.

  As far as Joe Redhawk was concerned, her last request settled her fate. If she could feel compassion for her captor, then he might actually stand a chance with her, too.

  “I promise,” he said, and untied her bag, willing to sort through the ownership business later. “Here.” He tossed it to her through the air. “Milt and Art send their regards.”

  “Me things!”

  Her face lit up like a candle as she dropped to her knees and began digging through the bag to make sure that all she owned was still intact.

  Eyes Like Mole stepped forward and in doing so, almost fell on top of her. She jumped up to steady him. Somewhere within the gathering of the tribe, a woman giggled.

  “Get lost the lot of you,” Caitie shouted, waving her arm at the crowd.

  Joe frowned. The warriors looked none too happy. If he didn’t do something soon, the situation was going to go sour. His posture shifted as he pointed toward Caitie.

  “I came for my woman. I will barter for her.”

  “You have nothing I want,” Eyes Like Mole said.

  “Oh, but I do. You want my woman.” Joe turned and stared at the small, shorn woman as his mouth quirked at the corner. “And, so do I.”

  Caitie was in shock. The gunfighter had laid claim to her right in front of an entire band of heathens. She wondered how much of it was truth, and how much of it was simply a ploy to get her out of her latest predicament.

  While she was pondering the last question, Breed lapsed into Indian dialect and she became lost her as to what was now going on. Several of the women standing in the crowd started to glare at her and shout what she suspected were insults.

  “Blessed Jesus,” she muttered, aware that her future and her safety had suddenly been tossed up for grabs.

  There was always the possibility that they’d be forced to make a run for it and if that happened, she wasn’t about to be leaving her precious possessions in the hands of heathens. Her movements were frantic as she began shuffling her belongings back into her bag.

  The bag was small, and spilling the contents had rearranged the spare space until she was having trouble making it all fit back. But when her fingers slid across a small leather case, her pulse gave a kick.

  Maybe… just maybe.

  She yanked it from the bag then jumped to her feet.

  “Joe! Wait!”

  He frowned. What was she up to now? He’d been about to make his offer and she had messed up his speech.

  “Girl—”

  Warning was thick in his voice as Caitie bolted toward him with the small leather case in her fist.

  “Look! They were belongin’ to me father. He was afflicted with bad eyesight as well. Maybe—”

  Joe’s eyes narrowed. “I’d say give it a try. It beats fighting a blind man all to hell.”

  As Caitie turned toward the little Indian, her conscience pricked. If a body wasn’t too picky about the details, he had sort of saved her life. There was no telling whether she would have survived a night on the prairie alone. If this gesture would set her free, it was the least that she could do.

  “You! Eyes Like Mole.”

  He turned toward the sound of her voice as Joe Redhawk began to translate Caitie’s words into their language.

  “It’s time for me to be goin’,” Caitie said. “But before I do, I’ll be rewardin’ ye for your kindness and bravery. Ye saved me from drownin’, as well as gave me shelter and food.”

  The Arapaho began to mutter among themselves. They had not known of Eyes Like Mole’s bravery in these things. They thought he’d simply stumbled over a lost woman and dragged her home behind his horse like a stolen calf.

  Eyes Like Mole started to argue, but Caitie stopped him with a touch of her hand. “And because of yer kindness, I’m bringin’ great magic to ye.”

  She opened the case and pulled out her father’s eyeglasses. The wire rims were old and worn, but the glass was still intact. When she unfolded the earpieces and extended her hands toward his face, he stepped back in fright.

  Whatever Joe said seemed to calm the little man. Caitie proceeded again. And this time, he stood, bowing slightly as she slipped the glasses up his nose and settled the ear pieces behind his ears.

  “You can be openin’ yer eyes now,” Caitie announced.

  “Aaiiee!”

  Eyes Like Mole’s cry was somewhere between a war whoop and a shout of pure joy. He began to run, darting from people to places, touching and feeling, seeing that which had eluded him all his life. His small brown eyes seemed huge beneath the prism of the lens, but for the first time, he was seeing the world in clear colors and shapes.

  “Ye must be careful!” Caitie warned. “Or the magic will break!”

  Joe translated again, and this time Eyes Like Mole nodded. Of course they could break. Magic could not last forever unless great care was taken.

  To the amazement of those gathered, Eyes Like Mole stalked directly toward Chief Little Deer.

  “I was wrong,” he announced grandly, speaking in English so that his woman could understand. “The spirits of my ancestors did send this woman to me, but not to take as wife. She brought great magic with her instead. She brought me eyes so that I would see.”

  He looked at Caitie, then frowned and shook his head. “While she has given me a great magic, I do not think she would give me many fine sons. She is too small and has no hair.”

  Joe laughed at the disgust on Caitie’s face. “Mount up while you’ve got your chance, girl, and quit fussing about the fact that he no longer wants you.”

  Caitie did as she was told. Minutes later, they rode out of the Arapaho camp in a more dignified manner than that which she’d come in.

  ***

  A coyote howled from the ridge beyond their fire. The sky was dark but clear. It was one of those nights that you could see forever. But Caitie O’Shea was not looking past the man who sat beside her. She was too intent upon making sure that certain rules stayed fast.

  “I’ll be wantin’ to know, Joe Redhawk, why ye keep comin’ after the likes of me?”

  Joe looked into the flames between them while he struggled for an answer she would be willing to hear. Would she accept the truth of what was in his heart, or should he simply lie and let her go when they returned to Mudhen Crossing? The latter thought didn’t bear consideration. This small person had become fixed in his heart.

  He looked up. “You never told me your name.”

  Caitie rolled her eyes and tucked her buckskin tunic a little tighter around her knees. “Yer not about askin’ me to believe ye’ve came all this way, fightin’ outlaws and Indians just to be askin’ me name.”

  Joe hid a grin. “I might.”

  Caitie frowned. “I’ll be wantin’ the truth.”

  “You might not be wantin’ to hear it,” Joe said, mimicking her mode of speech to perfection.

  Her nose tilted upward just the tiniest bit. “The truth is best, even if it’s
sometimes painful.”

  “Then hear this,” Joe said. “At first I came after you because I felt I owed it to you. But I kept looking because I didn’t want to lose you, girl.”

  “My name is Caitlin O’Shea. My family called me Caitie.”

  “I didn’t want to lose you, Caitie O’Shea.”

  Her heart thumped twice in rapid succession. This sounded awfully like a declaration of love.

  “And why would that be?”

  He looked away. If she said no, it would kill him.

  She wouldn’t be swayed. “I’m waitin’, I am.”

  He stood and Caitie resisted the urge to run. He was so terribly big and intimidating.

  “I had in mind that you and I… that maybe we could—”

  She jumped to her feet. With nothing between them but a small campfire, she doubled her fists.

  “Ye’ll be comin’ no further, Joe Redhawk. I’m not about sleepin’ with a man unless we’re wed.”

  Joe grinned. The perfect opening.

  “Then, Caitie O’Shea, I wonder if you’d consider coming with me to Lizard Flats.”

  “Why? What’ll there be in Lizard Flats that’s not in Mudhen Crossing?”

  “A preacher. A real one from back East. I thought if you were a mind to, maybe we could get hitched.”

  Caitie gasped. This man was offering her his hand in marriage. It was an enticing, yet frightening thought.

  “Horses are hitched. It’s people who be gettin’ wed,” she muttered.

  Joe scooped her up into his arms. “Oh hell, girl. Anyway you say it, it still comes out the same. Will you be my wife?”

  Caitie grinned. “I’ll be givin’ ye many fine sons,” she offered, mimicking the demand of her weak-eyed captor.

  Joe Redhawk laughed.

  The next day, they struck out for Lizard Flats.

  ***

  Eulis was standing at the end of the bar near the back wall, watching for the odd customer who left without finishing a drink. It was his job to clear the tables. He considered it his right to finish off the liquor before Will the Bartender wiped out the glasses, and the way business was booming tonight, he had started hoarding the dregs in a jar in the back which he could drink later after he’d swept up the floor. No sense making Will angry by passing out before he’d done his job. Will might cut him off from his three free drinks, and then what would he do on the nights when business was slow?

  A tall, scrawny man was sitting at the far table with his back to the wall. Eulis watched as the man suddenly laid down the hand of cards he was holding. He rolled the unlit cigar in his mouth from one corner to the other, then leaned forward and raked the coins on the table toward him.

  As far as Eulis knew, the man had been at that table for almost thirty-six hours. Except for the times when he’d gotten up to relieve himself, he hadn’t budged. And he hadn’t seem him lose. Either the man was the best card player to come to Lizard Flats, or he was a damned good cheat. Eulis thought about telling him what had happened to the last gambler who’d come into town, then decided to mind his own business.

  Suddenly, one of the men at the table jumped up with a shout and threw down the cards in his hand.

  “You cheatin’ bastard! You couldn’t have a full house. Not unless this deck has five kings.”

  Before anyone could think what might come next, the man standing had a gun in his hand and put a bullet between the gambler’s eyes.

  Eulis flinched.

  “God all mighty,” he muttered, and made a run for the back room as the place erupted.

  Upstairs, Letty was in the act of pocketing her dollar from the last man she’d pleasured when she heard the shot. The man, a liquor salesman from up north, grabbed his sample case and his hat and bolted out of the room.

  It wasn’t the first time there had been gunshots in the White Dove, but it was the first time she’d heard them since Jim had died. The sound made her sick to her stomach, but she was curious as to what was going on. She slipped out of her room and peered over the railing just as Will the Bartender pulled a shotgun from underneath the bar. She got a brief glimpse of a man lying in a pool of blood and a dozen others in a rip-snorting fight, and ran back inside her room and locked the door. But the moment she’d done it, another round of gunshots went off. At that point, she panicked. She was mad at the world, but not ready to die and the floors in this place were as thin as the walls. She could get shot here as quickly as if she were downstairs. She grabbed a shawl and made a run for the back stairs, exiting onto the street just as she heard running footsteps behind her. Still nervous, she darted into the nearby alley then held her breath as the men ran past. Like her, they’d just wanted out of the way of flying lead. Another round of gunshots sounded and Letty resisted the urge to duck, even though she knew she was far away enough now to be out of danger.

  Figuring that work was over for the night and knowing it was too soon to go back inside, she stood for a moment, uncertain of where to go next. She ventured out of the White Dove only rarely, and never at night. But the air was cool and the way she figured it, the farther she got from the saloon, the safer she would be. Pulling her shawl a little closer around her shoulders, she started to walk. At first, it was only to put some distance between her and the gunshots, then it became a journey of a different kind.

  It only took three blocks before she ran out of sidewalk. Although she was now walking on dry ground, she kept moving. She passed the barber shop, then the livery stable and finally came to the house where Sophie Hollis lived.

  From outside, the house looked like something from a storybook, all clean and pretty with lamp light in the downstairs windows. As she stood, she saw a silhouette pass between the curtains and the light and knew that Sophie must have heard the gunshots, too. When she saw the curtains part and then saw Sophie peering out, she moved back into the shadows. But as she watched, she saw something she hadn’t expected to see. There was fear on the pretty widow’s face.

  Letty frowned. She had never considered that someone who had everything would still be afraid. There was a brief moment when she felt a kinship for another woman alone, but the feeling disappeared. The only thing she and Sophie Hollis would ever share was that little weasel of a man she was going to marry.

  There was a soft fluttering of wings above her head, then a whippoorwill called—so close that she imagined if she took just one step backward, she would hear its tiny, beating heart.

  “Who’s there?”

  Letty jerked. While she’d been daydreaming, Sophie Hollis had walked out on her porch, and wonder of wonders, she was carrying a gun. Afraid she’d be shot in the back if she walked away without letting herself be known, she knew that she had to speak up.

  “It’s me, Leticia Murphy. I’m just out for a stroll.”

  It took Sophie a moment to realize who she was speaking to and then stepped back in shock, as if speaking to a woman such as Letty would soil her own reputation.

  “Get out!” Sophie cried, and waved the gun in the air. “Get away from my house this instant or I’ll shoot.”

  “Perfect,” Letty drawled. “Then you’ll be no better than the fools down at the White Dove.”

  Sophie gasped and then hurried back into the house, slamming and locking the door behind her.

  Disgusted for having yet a moment of softness for this woman, Letty started back to the White Dove. Sophie Hollis had her place in this world. Letty Murphy had hers and they were never going to be the same.

  She thought of the preacher as she retraced her steps. He would probably be as out of place in this town as the Widow Hollis. The only difference was that when the wedding was over, he would leave. Sophie would still be here, married to the town banker, and Letty would still be smiling and flirting and pretending that each man who rode her was the best lay she’d ever had.

  It wasn’t much to look forward to. So when the whippoorwill called again, Letty didn’t break stride as she yelled.

  “Stupid bir
d! Whatever you’re looking for sure as hell ain’t here.”

  I BAPTIZE THEE…

  Gravestones littered the hillside above Isaac Jessup’s farm. It was a poor testament to the Jessup name that Minna Jessup gave birth and then gave up more babies than Isaac could name. It was for that reason that their last, and only surviving child, had never been named.

  Before, they’d lovingly named each baby that had come from their union. But nine years ago when their next to the last child had died, Isaac had put his foot down, refusing to put a name on another baby he was certain he’d have to give up to the Lord. When the next baby was born, he stayed true to his word.

  So delighted was Minna that her child was surviving, that she was indifferent to her husband’s decision. Even if she had deigned to disagree, in the times in which they were living, a husband’s word was as strong as God’s law.

  To their joy, the child not only continued to survive, he thrived. Soon Minna was too busy chasing him about to prompt Isaac into rescinding his vow. The years passed and as they did, Baby Boy Jessup began to outgrow his name. But it wasn’t until a school teacher came to Crawler’s Mill that Isaac’s omission created a new set of problems for their little family.

  ***

  It was the first day of school and Minna Jessup’s joy knew no bounds. Her child was going to get the education neither she, or Isaac had ever had. Her son would amount to something better than the dirt farmers they were, or she’d know the reason why. Even Isaac was perfectly willing to sacrifice his son’s help on the farm so that he could get an education.

  Everyone was happy with the situation except Baby Boy. At the tender age of seven and one half years, he stood a head taller than most of the children his age, and yet regardless of his size, it was his name he couldn’t live down.

  Poor Baby Boy. In the first week alone, he came home with a busted lip, a black eye, and had irreparably torn the only pair of good pants he owned. When Monday of the second week of school rolled around, Baby Boy bowed up like a pissed-off skunk and ran away from home. It was only after Isaac found him on their farm and hiding in the cave above the spring, that matters finally came to a head.