—Oh, now, I don’t look that bad, do I? You don’t have to answer. Do you mind if I smoke? It helps with the pain.
She shook her head slightly and waited while I lit my rolled cigarette. I offered it to her after I’d inhaled a lungful.
—No, thank you.
—It’ll take the edge off, and, I have to be blunt, you look like you’re on the edge.
—Are you going to try to convince me to let you go?
—Would you?
—No.
—Not even a dying woman. That’s a little surprising. I thought you had more compassion than that.
—You blew a hole the size of a dinner plate in my nephew’s chest.
—The papers said you found him.
—Yes.
—I’m sorry about that. Truly. It is difficult to see violence on a body like that. I guess thanking me is too much to ask.
—Thank you? For killing my last remaining family member?
—Well, yes.
I took another drag.
—Power looks good on you, Dorcas. Don’t try to act modest. You’re reveling in it, as you should be. Never know how long you’ll have it, do you? You had it for a bit after the colonel died, didn’t you? Until Callum showed up to claim his birthright?
Her nostrils flared, and the tip of her nose went white.
—I saw how your brother treated you, and I don’t imagine Callum treated you much different. Did he? You don’t have to answer. I could tell from our conversations that he held little regard for you, your opinions, or your business acumen. But now you’re back in charge, and, unless Callum or your brother has some by-blow no one knows about, the company is yours. Last remaining relative and all. Correct?
—That doesn’t absolve you of killing my nephew.
—Not asking for absolution. Just for a little bit of grace.
—Grace?
—Let me and my family go. They’re all going to have to leave the territory, so you won’t have to worry about them stealing from you. I’m closer to hell than I’ve admitted to them. I only have a couple of weeks to get where I need to go, where I want to die. I would rather be surrounded by my friends, and the beauty of God’s creation, than in a cell.
—I’m sorry, but no. You’ve stolen from us for years, you killed my nephew. I’m not going to let you die on your own terms. I won’t let that happen. I won’t make you die in a cell, but I will make you die in chains. I know you, Margaret, and—
I never got to hear the rest, because all hell broke loose. Spooner was on the ground, holding his leg and screaming. The Pinkerton to my left unloaded his gun into the dark, and the other Pinkertons turned their guns toward us.
My horse screamed, and warm blood splattered on my sleeve. The horse reared and almost ran me over trying to get away. A shot whizzed by my head. I shoved Dorcas out of the way and told her to run. I pulled the sawed-off shotgun I’d hidden down the back of my vest and laid out as much fire as I could to get me and Dorcas safely to the bent cottonwood tree. I pushed Dorcas down and behind me for safety. Another whiz and the tree splintered next to my head, and I felt a sharp pain like a bee sting on my cheek. I wiped at it with my hand and saw blood.
—Bloody hell.
—So you were armed.
I rolled my eyes at Dorcas and reloaded my shotgun.—Of course I was.
—Why are they shooting?
—Hell if I know. I’m assuming you didn’t tell them to shower me with lead while you stood two feet away.
—No.
—Stay down.
I peeked around the tree. A haze of gun smoke and dust hovered over the ground, but it didn’t blot out the bodies lying between me and the house. Smoke drifted from Ought-Not’s rifle, and his expression was one of bewilderment and shame. Spooner still writhed on the ground, and I saw a knife sticking up from the meaty part of his thigh.
—Don’t move, Dorcas.
Using the shadows as cover, I ran toward the keening, half expecting to be shot down, and sure enough I heard the shot at the same time that my upper right arm exploded in pain. It knocked me down to the ground, and I crawled behind a woodpile, bullets kicking up puffs of dirt around me.
I leaned against the wood Stella and Jehu had been chopping and hauling since the spring to stock us up for the upcoming winter. In the dim light of the moon, I saw blood blooming on my sleeve. I checked the wound; as much as it hurt, it was only a graze.
I heard the steady footfalls of a heavy man at the same time that I realized I’d dropped my gun. The only weapon at hand was a stick of wood. What the hell was Ought-Not doing? And where the bloody hell was Luke Rhodes?
Valentine emerged from behind the woodpile, blotting out the moon. I couldn’t see his face, but I imagined his expression of superiority easy enough. The moon rays did manage to glint off the honed blade of an ax on Valentine’s shoulder, and the bravado I was preparing to hurl at the blacksmith died on my tongue. I’d always imagined dying in a blaze of gunfire, not being hacked to pieces with an ax. It looked sharp, at least.
—Not so high and mighty now, are you, Duchess?
The smell of whisky oozed from him, and his speech was slurred. He was big, slow, and drunk. I thought I could best him, and the urge to needle this man was just too great. If I couldn’t die looking at a beautiful view, I might as well die taking the piss out of Ulysses Valentine. I waved my hand in front of my nose.
—A little early to be toasting my demise, isn’t it, Val?
—In a minute it won’t be.
—Go ahead, Valentine. Kill me. But it’ll never change the fact that for two years, it was a woman’s generosity that kept a drunken coward like you alive.
Growling, he raised the heavy ax over his head.
—Get away from her, Pa.
Jehu, Hattie, and Newt were all in a line, staring down the barrels of their rifles, advancing toward Ulysses Valentine.
—You OK, Garet? Hattie called.
—Never better.
Valentine looked at Newt and laughed.
—I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you threw in with a bunch of women. You always were a gal-boy, clinging to your mother’s skirt.
—This gal-boy’s got a gun on you, and I know how to shoot, thanks to Garet.
I was not going to let Newt have killing his pa on his conscience for the rest of his life, and I’d made a promise to myself I’d make Valentine pay for the damage he’d done. I pulled my knife from my boot, lunged forward, and jabbed the long, sharp blade into his leg. Valentine screamed and dropped the ax behind his back, thank God. I managed to roll away as a gunshot rent the air and the side of Valentine’s head exploded. Chunks of flesh and blood hit me in the face.
I crawled away and vomited by the picnic table under the tree. When I sat up, Jehu and Luke looked down on me. Luke’s rifle was smoking and he was breathing heavy. Jehu held out his hand to help me stand.
—You came.
—You’ve never let me down. I couldn’t very well not return the favor, Jehu said.
He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped my cheeks. I stared into his lovely little face, my throat constricting from emotion, tears blurring my vision. I blinked them away, not wanting to lose a moment of seeing him clearly, this tenderhearted man who’d been with me through so much, his quiet strength always propping me up, his love a constant for a quarter of my life. The closest thing to a son I’d ever had. For the first time I truly felt the impending loss, my loss of their future, seeing Jehu and Hattie happy and in love. They would grow old without me, achieve without me, cobble together a new family without me. Love others. Their memory of me would fade, and I would be a footnote in their lives, taking up a few years, hopefully fondly remembered.
Where would I be? Watching from heaven or hell? Or would I merely cease to exist? I hoped the latter; I’m not sure my spirit could take watching my family move on without me.
Shaking from everything that had happened, I pulled Jehu to me, wrapped my arms aroun
d his shoulders, and whispered in his ear that I loved him. His arms tightened around me, and he told me the same. We pulled apart, and he looked down at the ground, face red.
I turned to Luke to give Jehu time to compose himself and said,—It’s about goddamn time you showed up.
—My horse fell in a hole. Broke his leg. I just ran half a mile in a few minutes, woman. Have you ever tried to run in boots and spurs?
—I’ve never had to. Proof positive I’m the better horsewoman.
I was still shaky, and thought Luke was moving forward to embrace me, maybe kiss me, and was disappointed when he touched my arm and said I was shot.
Someone screamed my name, and I picked up my shotgun and ran toward the sound.
I stopped when I came upon Joan cradling Stella’s head in her lap. Stella’s guts were spilling out of her stomach.
I knelt down beside the sisters and took Stella’s hand. Hattie, Jehu, and Newt surrounded the sisters. A quick glance at Stella’s stomach and we all knew how this would end. When she spoke and asked if she’d hit Spooner, her voice was hoarse.
—Yes. In the leg, I said.
—Shit … I was … aiming for his … cock.
We laughed, but there was no humor in it, no energy. Stella’s life was ebbing away and Joan was comforting her, telling her Hattie would fix her right up. Grace and Ruby came running up and stopped when they saw us all staring down at a broken woman. A note of desperation came into Joanie’s voice when no one moved, and she started to order people around, for bandages, hot water, my laudanum.
Stella’s body jerked, and a trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth. Joan tried to lift her, asking us to help take Stella inside.
Hattie reached out and grasped Joanie’s arm, telling her it was time to say her goodbyes. Stella’s face had relaxed and her eyes had taken on a faraway expression. Joanie sobbed, thinking Stella was gone, but her sister’s eyes refocused. Her face relaxed and she looked up into Joanie’s eyes.
—Joanie, be …
She never finished.
Joan stood and grabbed Stella under the arms to pull her up.
—You aren’t going to die on me, Stella. We have a baby to raise. You promised you’d take care of us! Help me get her inside, goddamn it!
Her frantic entreaties washed over us. We couldn’t move, couldn’t hear, all we could do was stare as Stella’s indomitable spirit was defeated at last.
Joanie went completely still, stopped breathing. Her hair was disheveled around her tear-streaked, red face, and her blue eyes shone with pooled tears. She screamed, fell to her knees, and pulled her sister’s body closer to her.
I stood on wobbly legs and went to Spooner, who’d pulled the knife from his thigh and was tying a kerchief around it. Luke held a rifle on him. Newt stood nearby, staring at Joan and Stella.
Spooner looked genuinely shocked, remorseful, about what had happened, as if it finally, after all these years, had dawned on him that his actions hurt others.
—I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, Duchess.
—Kill him if he says another word.
I walked into the house and went to the water pump. I rinsed my face off with the cold water and scrubbed it with a wet rag. I could hear Joan sobbing outside and wanted to scream, Shut up, shut up, shut up. I kept scrubbing my face until it felt raw, and leaned over the washbasin and cried.
That’s how Opal found me. Dazed and rubbing the back of her head, she asked what she’d missed. I told her Stella was dead and the whore didn’t have the grace to look sad. She asked about Ruby, and I told her in no uncertain language to get out of my house. Opal started in with her ignorant, fun-loving, harmless whore routine, and I picked up the closest item and threw it at her. Turned out it was a coffeepot with hot coffee in it. She screamed at the same time the gunshot rang out.
I went to the front door and saw Spooner dead on my porch, blood pooling beneath him before oozing slowly between the cracks and dripping down onto the dusty ground below.
38
Claire Hamilton’s Case Notes
Events of Wednesday, September 5, 1877 cont
Written on Friday, September 7, 1877
Heresy Ranch
Timberline, Colorado
No one will ever know why Stella chose a knife instead of a gun, but it was a fatal decision. No one is even sure who shot her. Spooner was dead before the question could be asked.
Mingzhu and I gently took Stella out of Joan’s arms. I lay my coat over Stella. All the while, Mingzhu knelt next to Joan and held her hand and rubbed small, comforting circles on her back.
I looked around the yard. Four dead Pinkertons, Stella, and Spooner being guarded by Luke. Newt. A pair of legs stuck out from behind the woodpile, but I didn’t have the stomach to see who or what it was. I still wasn’t over Deacon lying dead in the barn.
Dorcas stood near a tree, in a trance. I went to her.
“Was it worth it?”
“What?”
“Your revenge on Garet. Was it worth it?” I motioned to the yard.
“You’re blaming this on me?”
“Who else?”
“I’m sorry your friend is dead, truly. But no one was shooting until she came around the corner.”
“Joan, stop!” Mingzhu called out.
We turned and saw Joan walking toward Spooner with her pistol out. Spooner started to rise, but Joan put a bullet in his heart before he’d straightened his legs. He dropped like a sack of potatoes at Luke Rhodes’s feet.
“My God, these women are crazy,” Dorcas said.
I moved in front of Dorcas, cutting off her view of the carnage in the yard. “What about earlier? Inside. You enjoyed watching Valentine beat me, didn’t you?”
Dorcas’s nostrils flared. “No, I did not.”
“You didn’t try to stop him.”
“Sometimes, the lengths you have to go to …”
“Have you ever seen that before? Someone being beaten? Or been on the receiving end?”
“No, of course not.”
I took my gloves off and threw them on the ground. I lifted my hands, showing my scars. “I have. It isn’t something I want to relive, and I would never take joy on inflicting pain on the weak.”
Dorcas’s eyes stayed on my hands.
“Dorcas, you had it all figured out. From the beginning. You know that, but I want to tell you how much I admired you for it. A rare intelligence. I hope it’s more of a benefit than a hindrance for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Is the company yours?”
“As far as I know. Unless Callum made someone else his heir, I’m the last family member.”
“It’s exciting, isn’t it? The power of being in command. I saw it on your face inside. You are in your element. I have no doubt you would be a brilliant businesswoman. You’re intelligent and ruthless. I look forward to reading your marriage announcement.”
“What? That’s absurd.”
“With a company as valuable as yours? With all of the different types of businesses? I imagine you’ll have a marriage proposal within six months. Maybe less.”
“I’m not getting married.”
“Ironic, that. Think of all the reasons why not, and then think back on your brother and what he did to Garet. What he took from her. You remember that when you’re running Connolly Enterprises, remember that your success was built by ruining people like Margaret Parker.”
The sun was rising behind Heresy Ranch as I walked back to my family, my gloves abandoned at Dorcas’s feet.
PART SIX
THE AFTERCLAPS
39
Margaret Parker’s Final Journal Entry
Tuesday, October 2, 1877
The Owlhoot Trail, Utah
Today is the referendum on suffrage. I hope it passes, but, well, it won’t. Men aren’t ready for it, and we live in a man’s world.
Luke and Dorcas smoothed out the story about the shoot-out, since a report woul
d have to go back to Pinkerton about his dead agents. We buried them in a mass grave in the town graveyard. Out of consideration for Newt we gave Valentine his own grave, right next to Lou’s. We did the same for Spooner, but no one really cared. Joan didn’t come to the service, and Ought-Not, Domino, and Sly Jack didn’t step up to say anything. It was left to Ruby to say something over the grave.
—His breath smelled better than most men’s. Like mint.
I felt a tad sorry for Spooner right then, this outlaw who was once a good man, as outlaws go, that his eulogy complimented his minty breath. But I didn’t speak up for him. I couldn’t. I was too busy cataloguing my sins.
Since that night, I’ve tried to figure where everything went wrong. What was the decision I made that ended there, at our ranch, with dead Pinkertons littering the ground and a young woman and her unborn baby orphaned? For I had no doubt then, and I believe it even more today, that I was the cause of all of the pain and death we suffered. In my effort to take care of my family after I’m gone, I’d been the instrument of its destruction.
It won’t bother me for too much longer. I feel the end, and it’s a relief.
Newt moved out to the ranch and became Joan’s protector. She sat on the gallery and stared into the distance most of the day. She disappeared from time to time, and Newt would ride out to Stella’s grave with an extra horse and they would ride down to the river. Newt fished and Joan lay on the ground, staring at the clouds through her tears. I know this because Newt came to me, asking what to do, how he could fix it. I asked him if he still grieved for his mother. He thought for a bit and said that he did more lately than when his pa was alive.
—I was too afraid of him to miss her. Seeing Joan brings it back, though.
—Grief isn’t something that you can fix for someone. They have to work through it on their own. Some people like to talk through their sadness, and I think after the shock wears off, Joanie will be that person. Remember, don’t try to fix it, just listen.
—Listen. That ain’t very manly advice.
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