by Eric Red
“That’s the thing that I rode here to talk to you about. Those women staying with you have husbands. Husbands who want them back.”
“They don’t want to go back.”
“Why not?”
“They can’t.”
“Why can’t they?”
Puzzleface stared straight ahead, jaw tightening, stubbornly closemouthed.
“Why can’t these women go back to their husbands?” the deputy pressed.
“That’s their business.”
Sweet adopted a tougher tone. “And it’s their husbands’ business, who made it the marshal’s business, which makes it my business.” Deputy Sweet pulled his horse alongside Puzzleface and got close. “Listen up, Puzzleface. There hasn’t been this much talk since we locked up that wildcat lady outlaw Bonny Kate Valance last summer. The talk in town is you’re keeping a harem of married women in your house committing adultery and you are engaged in fornication with other men’s wives. They’re accusing you of committing acts of moral indecency at Puzzleface Ranch. That talk has gotten back to Marshal Bess.”
Shaking his head, Puzzleface chuckled softly, twisting his waxy mustache. “They think I would be with a woman.”
“Of course they think that. They don’t know any better.”
“You have a point.”
“So you see how this looks?” Sweet sighed.
“Appearances are deceiving and people are stupid. I don’t care what people think.” Puzzleface shrugged. “Let the good people of Jackson think whatever they want, Nate. Adultery is not against the law.”
“But prostitution is.” The deputy’s eyes narrowed. “And people claim you’re running a brothel.” Puzzleface laughed. Sweet didn’t. “Running an unlicensed whorehouse is against the law and the marshal can lawfully ride out here and raid your home and lock you and those runaway brides in jail. Whoring-out married women. Whose angry husbands are getting ready to grab their guns and ride out here and take their wives back by force.”
“If they come on my land that’s trespassing, and if they force their wives to go with them that’s kidnapping, and you and the marshal have to arrest them—”
“Which ain’t gonna do you any damn good if these boys burn your house down or shoot you and their wives, because you may not carry a gun, Puzzleface, but those pissed-off husbands certainly do, and they’ll use ’em. Trust me. There’s big trouble coming, very soon, unless this gets sorted out with these wives. And this is why I’m telling you, Puzzleface, you got to let Marshal Bess Sugarland in on your secret so she understands. She’s the law for Chrissake. Because otherwise the marshal can’t help but get the wrong idea. And she can’t do her job.”
“You can’t tell her,” came the same reply.
Deputy Sweet sighed, seeing the shadows in Puzzleface’s eyes and knowing all the reasons those shadows were there.
“Nobody else can know.”
Deputy Sweet nodded. Taking off his hat, he sat in the saddle and looked at the heavy-beamed two-story cabin-style ranch house a hundred yards away. In the big windows, oval shapes of female faces were pressed to the glass. It gave him a thought. Nate swung his gaze back to Puzzleface and jerked his gloved thumb toward Puzzleface Ranch. “Let me come inside, meet these women, have a few words, see them for myself, just confirm for the U.S. Marshal’s office the women are all OK and not being held against their will. Then I can ride back to Marshal Bess and give her my report and then I’ve done my job, she’s done her job, and she can say nothing’s going on out here. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough.”
They rode up to the big ranch house and tethered the horses by the corral, dismounted, and entered the mudroom together into the cozy warmth of the big house.
“Time to change into something more comfortable.” Puzzleface turned to Nate Sweet with a sigh of relief, pulling gloves off of slender fragile hands whose soft fingers touched the facial hair.
Peeled off the mustache.
Peeled off the goatee.
Peeled off the sideburns.
Revealing the woman’s lovely young face but for the jigsaw scar that ran from her cheek to her jaw that her gambler husband had once given her.
To escape his violent clutches, the woman named Rachel had disguised herself as a man and called herself Puzzleface. Making her living at poker, traveling far, she came to Jackson masquerading as a gambling man, hoping her husband would never find her, but find her he did. Deputy Nate Sweet had seen to it the husband would never bother Rachel again, and she and the kind, tough deputy had been loyal friends ever since. He protected her secret.
“Rachel,” Nate said, tipping his hat. “It’s good to see you yourself again.”
She mock-curtsied with a bell-like laugh. Rachel then replied in her normal voice a few octaves higher than the low husky one she adopted in her Puzzleface disguise the world knew her as. With a welcoming gesture, Rachel gracefully ushered Nate into the living room.
“Ladies, may I present my good friend Deputy Nate Sweet of the U.S. Marshals Service.”
There, three women in robes and pajamas rose to greet him hesitantly and shyly, and she said, “Deputy, I’d like you to meet a few new friends of mine . . .” Rachel introduced the three women, who curtsied. “This is Vera Laidlaw, Beulah Best, and Millicent Farmer. They’re staying in my house as my guests.”
“Everybody calls me Millie,” said Millicent.
Sweet doffed his hat politely. The women were having tea. They wore freshly laundered garments and looked bathed and fresh, if very nervous in the presence of a lawman. Nate observed Millie had the remains of a black eye that was not recent, and Beulah’s arm was in a sling. Rachel saw him notice this. “As you can imagine, those injuries did not happen here,” she said flatly.
“Are you ladies all right?” Sweet asked carefully.
Nods.
“Your husbands are looking for you.”
“That’s why we’re here,” said Vera.
“So they can’t find us,” added Beulah.
“You won’t tell them where we are, Deputy, will you?” pleaded Millie.
“Is the reason you are hiding from your husbands because they hurt you?” the deputy asked gently.
“Oh, no, I broke my arm falling down the stairs and—” Beulah blustered, but the sharp look from Rachel and imploring looks from Vera and Millie silenced her.
It didn’t take brains to see what was going on here. Sweet’s brow furrowed—if there was one thing that got his blood up it was a man hitting a woman; he’d seen his own father do it to his mother enough times. Nate knew the look of a battered woman all too well, and knew Rachel did, too. And the deputy knew how to speak to a woman who had been abused: as gently as possible.
Quietly he sat on the couch across from them, his hat in his lap, and the three wives sat, too. “Ladies, Rachel is a friend of mine. I’m not here to take you back to your husbands, I’m not here to arrest your husbands or get them in any trouble, but the marshal sent me out here to be sure you’re okay and that you’re here at Rachel’s house of your own free will.”
“You won’t make us leave?” asked Millie tremulously.
“No, Mrs. Farmer, I won’t. You’re a free woman, married or not, and can stay where you please under the laws of this state.”
“What if Zachary, Levi, and Mose come out here and try to make us leave?” asked Vera, worried.
“You don’t know what my husband is like when he gets riled or liquored up, Deputy,” hastily added Beulah.
“You’re on private property, and if your husbands set foot here uninvited, that’s trespassing and there are laws against that. The marshal would take a dim view.” The wives exchanged urgent, emotional glances, still afraid but more reassured.
In the next room, Deputy Sweet became aware of movement, someone behind the door, trying to stay hidden. He looked toward the doorway. “Whoever you are, I know you’re there, so why don’t you come out now?”
When she stepped into
the doorway, the deputy was surprised to see it was Dr. Jane Stonehill. After Puzzleface had been shot by her husband a few months ago, Sweet had taken her to Dr. Stonehill and together they had discovered the gambler who they thought was a man was really a woman, and became the first two people in town who knew Puzzleface’s secret. Now the three wives made five, Sweet guessed, all the more reason the marshal needed to know too.
“Hello, Jane,” Sweet said, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”
“Good afternoon, Nate.” Dr. Jane smiled warmly. “I was just about to change Beulah’s bandages.” In her arms, she carried a tray with bandages and solvent.
“Don’t let me get in the way.”
The physician knelt by Beulah and professionally undid her sling and unrolled the bandages. Underneath was an ugly break spotted by livid bruises. Deputy Sweet winced and Dr. Jane looked up at him as she cleaned and redressed the arm. “It’s important what Rachel’s doing, giving a shelter to these women. You can’t make them leave. If they go back to those animals they’re married to, one of these women is going to get killed.”
Deputy Sweet rose and put on his hat. “I ain’t making any of them leave. Just had to come out and see for myself what was going on here, and now I can report back to the marshal. Good day, ladies.” Nate tipped his hat with a warm smile.
Rachel rose and walked him to the door, taking him aside to speak privately out of earshot of the others. “What are you going to tell the marshal?”
He looked down at her squarely. “I’d like to tell her more than you want me to. It would help me help her understand what’s really going on here.”
“You mean tell the marshal who I really am?”
“That’s what I mean. She should know.”
Rachel’s gaze clouded with concern. “What if she tells somebody?”
“She won’t. Whether you believe me or not. But right now, the marshal can’t help but think that those three women are runaway wives shacking up with a gambling man having his way with them. A lot of public sentiment would support those husbands coming out here and taking their wives home, trespassing or no. If Bess Sugarland knew you are a woman, especially one who has been thumped yourself, I guarantee she would understand about you giving these women sanctuary and providing a safe shelter for them. She’d throw the full weight of the U.S. Marshals Service behind defending you with armed force if necessary. But you won’t let me give her that information.”
“I can’t.” Rachel shook her head.
Sweet sighed. “So who are you supposed to be, you living here in Puzzleface’s house anyway?”
“His housekeeper.”
“You ain’t making my job easy, Rachel.”
She smiled warmly and kissed him on the cheek. “If it was easy, everybody’d do it,” she replied, opening the door for him.
The woman who called herself Puzzleface watched the lanky lawman lope to his horse, mount up and give her a wave, if not exactly a smile, as he rode off back toward Jackson. Rachel watched her friend travel off, the sight of him making her feel warm inside.
Deputy Nate Sweet had shown her there were good men in the world who could be trusted, not just bad ones.
CHAPTER 15
The entire ride back to Jackson, Deputy Sweet wrestled with his conscience, burdened by the conflict between his sense of professional and moral responsibility, struggling to make up his mind whether his duty as a lawman overrode his personal sense of honor; there was the very real danger that Marshal Bess could make a wrong move dealing with the wives seeking sanctuary at Rachel’s house if she were not privy to the information that Puzzleface was a woman. Dire consequences could result, which were in his power to avoid, but to do so meant breaking his word to a friend. Nate was a simple, straightforward man; this was the first time the obligations of his badge had required him to make a complex judgment call.
During the whole lonely ride back, the difficult choice weighed heavily on the young lawman. Two hours later, when he entered town and rode past the saloon, Deputy Sweet decided to go in and have a whiskey, hoping it would clear the confusion from his mind and help him make a decision, resolving by the time he got back to the U.S. Marshal’s office he would make up his mind to either tell Marshal Sugarland the truth about Puzzleface or not.
Five minutes after he entered the bar, the matter took care of itself.
Evening settled on Jackson, the vast expanse of sky darkening in the gloaming. The day was coming to a close and the marshal wouldn’t begrudge her deputy one drink, since it was close to quitting time, Sweet was thinking as he dismounted his palomino and tied it to the hitching post beside the bar beside several other saddled horses that looked familiar.
The Broadway Bar was a long open room still smelling of cut lumber, the pinewood-planked floor covered with sawdust. It had been recently constructed and open for business only a year. The fanciest fixture was the authentic brass footrail on a long bar running the length of the saloon, but other than a few tables and chairs randomly placed in the space, the bar was unfinished. A few customers sat at one of the tables and several more stood at the bar. Behind the bar, shelves were fully stocked with bottles of whiskey and kegs of beer.
Walking up to the bar, Nate nodded at John Robinson, the affable bartender, who walked up to him with a friendly grin, polishing a glass. “Evening, Deputy. Hear Marshal Bess is back in town.”
“That she is, John.”
“Give her my regards.”
“I’ll do that.”
“You did a good job covering for her in her absence.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“The marshal’s been gone, what, a few months?”
Sweet nodded.
“Where’s she been?”
“Hunting down a killer. Got him up in Destiny.”
“Is she OK?”
Another nod. “Marshal Bess is a woman who can take care of herself.”
“Destiny, huh? Cold as a witch’s tit up there.”
“That’s what I was told. Nice new mirror.” Sweet indicated the full-length mirror behind the rows of bottles behind the bar, which still had tape on the glass and other signs of recent installation. “When did you put it in?”
“Two days ago. Installed it myself. Starting to look like a real saloon.”
“Just need the swinging doors.”
“They’re coming. What can I get you?”
“Whiskey.”
“Coming right up.” A moment later, Deputy Sweet had a shot glass set in front of him and the barman was pouring a generous slug. As Nate raised the glass to his lips, he looked across the counter at the big mirror against the wall and caught his own reflection and those of people behind him sitting at the tables.
Three men he hadn’t paid attention to when he walked in were crowded together at a table in the corner. It was the three disgruntled husbands who’d made a fuss in the marshal’s office earlier that day. They’d been drinking ever since, from the looks of them. Zachary Laidlaw, Moses Farmer, and Levi Best were in animated, aggressive conversation. A half-full bottle of bourbon was on the table beside an empty whiskey bottle. And two revolvers. A rifle leaned against the wall. The deputy took a careful sip of his drink and watched their reflection steadily out of the corner of his eye. The three of them had a bad air about their congregation, and the lawman’s gut told him these men were up to no good.
Sweet caught the barman’s eye and quietly gestured him over. “John, how long them boys been here?”
“You mean Zachary, Levi, and Moses?”
“Yeah, them.”
“Been drinking all afternoon.”
“Pretty liquored up, you’d say?”
“I’d say. That’s their second bottle of whiskey.”
“Thanks.” The barman went back up the counter to serve another customer, and Deputy Sweet edged down the bar a few stools to be nearer to the angry husbands, keeping a close watch on their reflections. The th
ree men’s attention was fixed on one another, and they hadn’t noticed Nate yet as he eavesdropped and caught snippets of their conversation.
“—our wives, goddammit—”
“—screwin’ our women and the marshal expects us not to do anything—”
“—she’s a woman and she’s on their side—”
“—hens stick together—”
“—we’ll show them who the rooster is—”
“—I say if that lady marshal won’t enforce the law we’ll enforce it ourselves—”
“—ride on out there to that ranch and shoot that Puzzleface son of a—”
“—hear hear—”
“—Let’s go. You boys ready—?”
“—finish our drinks.”
Deputy Sweet tensed up as he saw the three men drain their glasses, snatch the revolvers off the table and holster their weapons, ready to get up from the table. He tore his gaze off them long enough to lean over and grab John Robinson’s arm as the bartender walked past, whispering urgently.
“John, do me a favor. Run on over to the U.S. Marshal’s office and get Bess Sugarland back here and tell her to bring her rifle. We got trouble. Tell her those husbands are getting ready to ride out to Puzzleface Ranch and get their wives back by force. Hurry.”
The bartender saw the steel in Nate’s eyes, nodded tightly, and was out the door like a shot, running up the street.
Deputy Sweet’s hand was by his holstered revolver as he stepped away from the bar and turned to face the two husbands—Zachary and Levi—getting up from the table.
Mose was gone.
Sweeping his gaze quickly around the saloon, the lawman saw the third husband was not in the bar, having departed during the few moments he had been distracted sending the bartender to fetch the marshal.
As Zachary Laidlaw and Levi Best swaggered drunkenly toward the door, Deputy Nate Sweet blocked their path. “You boys ain’t going anywhere.”