by Sharon Ryan
“Let’s see if we can fix you up,” said Sneed.
“Fix me? How? What do you mean, by God?” Willa felt bewildered.
“Let’s talk—just talk. I promise I won’t interfere with your farm work. I just need to make sure that… well, that you’re doing fine. I heard about your big brother’s death. Trampled. Tragic. That must be unimaginably difficult. You must be in a lot of pain.”
For the first time since Clay’s death, someone had acknowledged her sorrow instead of trying to change her life and what remained of Clay. Willa was touched, moved and even flattered.
What harm could this Dr. Sneed pose?
“Might I come in,” said Dr. Sneed, “and bother you for a cup of coffee?”
“I’m not your enemy,” said Dr. Sneed as he carefully examined the sod house. Willa brought him the coffee. He took a sip, displeased. He noticed the second window and wondered just how much Willa was worth; not many people could afford a second window.
He asked Willa about her childhood. Her parents’ deaths, Clay’s. All the while, Willa felt his eyes gazing on her dismissively, judgingly—from the top of her head to her boots.
She told him how she and Clay arrived in Colorado, as matter-of-factly as she could. He took notes and nodded.
“Well, first of all, Miss Freeman, the townsfolk would very much like to see you in a dress. This disturbs them—you’ going about in a dead boy’s clothes, your brother’s. So, when I come around here in the next couple of days, you’ll be in a dress. Then, we can talk about the rifle. This will all work out.” Sneed then waved his hand in contempt.
Willa’s fiery spirit flared, but she knew that now was not the time to threaten Dr. Sneed, that she must play nice, that any act of aggression was a mark against her. The entire community, which forced this physician on her, would back Sneed.
After she walked Dr. Sneed to the door, she felt a realization: Something unnamable about her conversation with the good doctor made Willa uncomfortable, made her need to see Shamus Harding again. She remembered his note. When Sneed’s horse was out of sight, she set off for Shamus’ camp at once.
Shamus sat quietly near the campfire eating a tin can full of beans. As she gazed on Shamus, Willa noticed that beside him was an empty tin can. Willa saw him from a distance; she didn’t know how to approach him, but she knew that she needed to. She deliberately stepped on some dry branches, and the breaking echoed through the cold dusk’s air.
“Who’s there?” Shamus said, surprised.
This was unbelievable—Willa had accepted his invitation. And she was wearing a dress and bonnet, too!
“You promised me a nice supper,” said Willa, timidly, still slightly unsure of her decision.
“Got some warm beans and fresh corncakes for you, Miss Freeman,” Shamus offered.
“That sounds mighty nice.”
Willa sat near the fire, next to Shamus Harding. She could feel the heat from the fire. She could feel the heat coming from Shamus Harding’s body, too. Shamus poured some beans into the empty can and offered them to Willa.
“You still sore?” asked Shamus, noticing the slight difficultly with which Willa sat down.
“No.” Willa ate the beans and a piece of corncake hungrily.
“That stallion been giving you any trouble?”
“No, he’s been mostly agreeable. Thank you, Shamus.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. So, that doctor pay you a visit?”
“How did you know about him? Yes, he wanted to talk over coffee.”
“Everyone in town knows about him. You just can’t shoot at a man and get away with it anymore. And you gave that bastard a cup of coffee. Unbelievable.” Shamus was miffed and jealous simultaneously.
“I don’t want to talk; I just want to live, Shamus. Pick up the pieces and get on with my life.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want you talkin’ to any doctor. Talking’s not going to set you straight. Hell, Andy deserved what you gave him, and now, to save face, he’s got to take this out on you. Turn the community against you. You can’t do this alone, Willa.”
“Nobody likes me here. Nobody wants me here either. Maybe it won’t be so bad if I go back to Iowa.”
“I do. I want you here; I don’t want you to go back to Iowa. Lass, I care for you and am beginning to have feelings for you. Please tell me you have feelings for me, too.”
Yes, she was starting to have feelings for Shamus, but she still doubted if she could trust him, or any man, so she ignored Shamus’ remark. Her cheeks, however, blushed ever so slightly in the moonlight.
“To hell with them,” she said. “Maybe I ought to show that Dr. Sneed fellow my rifle the next time he tries to talk.” Willa knew that if she were to stop Sneed, she would have to shoot him, and she knew the repercussions of that choice—exile, more loss, maybe even her own life, murder charges. What’s more, Willa knew that she needed someone to stop her; she wanted someone to stop her.
“Willa,” he said, “You better behave yourself. I’ll talk to this physician; this ought to be between men. He might be reasonable. If you shoot at him, they’ll be sure to lock you up, and that’s the best outcome.”
“This was a mistake, coming here.” The anger began to rise in Willa’s voice. She felt cornered, like a frightened animal that needed to run or fight.
“Calm down, lass. Behave.”
Blind with fury, Willa retorted, “Who the hell do you menfolk think you are—you, Andy, Sneed? This is the last time I tell you this, Shamus: I can take care of myself!” She got up and threw the beans into the fire.
“The hell you can.” At that, Shamus grabbed Willa and put her over his knee. She felt light. He knew she could not escape him no matter how much she squirmed around. He knew, too, that he couldn’t be as hard on her rear as he was the last time, but he still had to make an impression. Slowly, he moved his hand over Willa’s shapely ass. Slowly, he let his fingers linger on her body. Slowly, he gave her the first swat. Then, his speed increased.
“No, you—” Willa lost the words that were about to come out of her mouth. The pleasure of the swats—not too hard or too soft—aroused all of Willa’s senses at once. Instead of talking, she merely moaned. “Oh, my… oh, my,” she said, scarcely audible, but Shamus heard. Instead of protesting, she simply submitted. Each swat from Shamus’ strong hand reverberated throughout Willa’s soul and moreover her body. This was so much more effective than any words or diagnosis from Dr. Sneed. Each pant she made brought her closer to knowing that she had, in fact, been resentful and unreasonable.
Shamus recognized, with each swat and each of Willa’s muffled pants of joy, that he needed to pay Dr. Sneed a visit.
Chapter 5
Once again, Willa spoke to her Wyandotte chickens as she tried to make sense of last evening’s encounter with Shamus Harding. After he’d swatted her until she felt an undeniable but pleasurable sting, Shamus walked with Willa back to her homestead. He insisted that she open the door before he left her so he could check for any unwelcome visitors. Once satisfied that Willa was safe, he gathered her in and held her tight as his chin rested on the top of her head. They stood like that for a long time, both reluctant to break away. Shamus left Willa with his promise that she should not concern herself with outsiders. Shamus would deal with Sneed.
“Good morning, girls!” Willa sang as she stepped into the hen house and started scattering chicken scratch. “Remember that Mr. Shamus Harding I told you all about? Well, I’m having to reconsider his motives.”
She walked over to the nesting boxes and began foraging for eggs. One hen was roosting, sitting daintily upon her nest and looking at Willa intently. “Do you suppose he had genuine concern for my wellbeing?” Willa asked as she reached underneath the hen, clasped an egg and pulled it free.
The hen clucked angrily as Willa continued, “I hear you. I felt the same way when he just started showing up around here. I was mad as hell if you don’t recall.” Willa tried to revive the ire she felt toward Mr. Ha
rding but wasn’t having much success. The hen jumped down and began pecking at the food. Willa picked up her basket and her feed pail; then, she quietly shut the henhouse door behind her.
Moving on to the next chore, Willa gathered the items she needed for milking Buttercup. As usual, the Jersey cow waited by the gate as Buttercup’s calf pulled up and munched the late summer grass.
“Oh, Buttercup,” Willa said as she haltered the cow and set the milking stool down. “I don’t know what to think. Mr. Harding once again dared to whack my bare rear end, but the sting of it today isn’t as bad as the last time around. In fact, I feel amazing—inside and out!” Buttercup swished her tail at flies as Willa filled the milking pail.
“Mind you, I don’t want you think I like it because I don’t. But with that Dr. Sneed creeping around and Mr. Sorensen getting folks all worked up, I wonder…” Willa leaned her forehead against the cow’s belly. “I wonder what I’m doing out here, ol’ girl.”
Willa freed Buttercup and gathered up her milking supplies, she was certain that Dr. Sneed would be lurking outside her door today. She’d best get the rest of the stock fed and get inside to change before she took a short break for morning coffee.
“I reckon Miss Freeman scared the virtue outta Andy Sorensen,” Joe chirped as he looked over his steaming cup of coffee.
“What do you mean?” Shamus asked after taking a sip from the cup Joe had offered. They sat on cheap stools behind Joe’s shop.
“Well, I saw Andy frequent the saloon three times last week, and he left really late. I’m talkin’ after the last call was made. Went in the front door and out the back. I’m sure Andy’s momma is gonna say Miss Freeman ruined her boy.”
“I’d say he was already on the spoiled side to begin with,” Shamus replied.
“Indeed,” said Joe. “Miss Freeman ruined his virtue so much that he was playing with whores the night before Miss Freeman shot at him. And the night before that. And even the night before that.”
Both men returned to sipping coffee as they leaned against Joe’s shop. The shop faced west, so one could enjoy the morning sunrise as it spread over the horizon. As they contemplated nature’s grandeur, the squeak of hinges and a quiet slam of a door made both Joe and Shamus look toward the other buildings in town. Behind the saloon they saw Dr. Simon Sneed moving away slowly with his hat and coat held close.
Neither Shamus nor Joe uttered a word as they looked knowingly at each other.
“Be careful,” Joe mouthed as Shamus turned to leave. “Please.”
Shamus finished conducting his business matters of selling pelts and replenishing supplies. He was lashing his purchases from the mercantile to the back of his saddle when Mr. Wilson caught Shamus’ eye and started across the dirt road that was called Main Street.
“Good morning, Shamus.”
“Mornin’, Mr. Wilson. A fine morning, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, it is. You know, Shamus, my older daughter has an eye for you; she makes a good pie. There’s going to be a pie social at the church this afternoon, in case you don’t hear. I know you don’t live here proper, but I’d like to invite you all the same.”
“I like a good pie, sir,” said Shamus, trying to not answer Wilson’s unasked question about his daughter. “I appreciate the invitation.”
“The women folk are feelin’ the need to get the townsfolk together,” Mr. Wilson continued. “That business of Miss Freeman going off her rocker has everyone out of sorts.”
Shamus tied off the last strap on his supply package and turned to Mr. Wilson. “There are always two sides to a story, you know. I hear from the citizens of the town what happened, but has anyone gotten Miss Freeman’s side of it?”
“Well, that New York doctor thinks he can fix her up. I’m sure it will all blow over soon enough. Meanwhile, a piece of pie never hurt a soul. Say you’ll join us this afternoon at two o’clock.”
Shamus hesitated.
“Everyone will be there,” Mr. Wilson said. “Maybe you could talk to that doctor yourself and get Miss Freeman’s story from him. That way you can act upon your need for fairness and enjoy a slice of my girl’s strawberry rhubarb pie.”
“All right,” Shamus said decisively. “Mr. Wilson, you talked me into it.”
“See you later on then,” Mr. Wilson said as he turned to move on to his original destination. “You won’t regret it!” he called over his shoulder.
“No, I don’t think I will,” Shamus muttered as he stepped into his stirrup and mounted up.
Willa was wearing her everyday dress covered by a long, practical apron. She wanted to work with the stallion that morning, but she’d learned she dare not go into the corral wearing a long skirt. She decided it would be best to busy herself with domestic chores and began getting jars sterilized for canning. She was able to save a little bit of sugar over the course of the year and planned to make jelly and preserves. She’d found some wild raspberries near the river where she raided the wild asparagus beds. She was also able to gather a fair bunch of prickly pear cactus. She could make preserves out of the fleshy pads.
She worried that her hair looked a mess because she was working over the large pot of boiling water, but she had coffee warming on the back burner. She decided she was as ready as she could be for Dr. Sneed’s house call.
The good doctor did not fail to keep his promised appearance. He knocked at Willa’s front door and let himself in without waiting for her permission to enter. Willa was miffed but kept her annoyance behind a sugary greeting.
“Why, Dr. Sneed, good morning. I figured you would stop by. The coffee is on.”
Sneed looked Willa over from head to toe, his gaze lingering. She noticed a strange smile playing around his lips. A grimace? Perhaps a smirk?
“I see you heeded my advice for your presentation this morning. You could have afforded to fix your hair properly, but you do have work that needs to be done, I suppose.”
Again, Willa resisted the urge to tell Dr. Sneed that she did not give a care for his assessment of her; instead, she turned around to take two cups from the shelf. After pouring the coffee, she set a cup in front of the unwanted visitor.
Sneed took a sip and curled his lip before he spoke. “Now, Willa, we will continue to discuss how you are feeling today. I cannot provide a remedy for your hysteria until I understand where it is coming from.”
The familiar use of her first name unsettled Willa. This man was not her friend.
“Have you met any of the women in town?” asked Sneed. “They might prove to be worthy company. They say you talk to your hens. Is this true?” Sneed asked.
“No, doctor,” said Willa. “I like to keep to myself. Besides, it seems like all young ladies want to talk about is menfolk—what they look like, what they do, how much they’re worth. Not my cup of tea at all. They seem, well, vapid.”
“Foolish girls, they need husbands. They might teach you how to be a woman yet, best prescription I could offer you, Willa, if I’m being honest. And the chickens? You… you converse with them.” Willa noticed Sneed’s eyebrow rise quizzically.
“My mother said talking to hens yields better eggs—a silly thing, a habit.”
“I see.” Sneed took notes and crossed his legs. “Your big brother… You lived here with him? Lived like man and wife, I assume.” Sneed laughed loudly to himself.
The more the man talked, the angrier Willa became. She tried to make a game of sounding as syrupy as possible whenever she answered him.
“My brother was my brother. He was all I had.” She avoided Sneed’s weasel-like eyes. “As such a learned man, I trust you to know that.”
Finally, Sneed stood up to take his leave, and Willa showed him to the door. He followed her and placed his hand into the curve of her back, and then his hand went lower, to her lower back. She tried not to stiffen. Clearly, the man was becoming too intimate. Willa knew she needed time to think this through.
“I shall return tomorrow morning,” he told her.
Sneed mounted up and turned his horse toward town as Willa walked back to the sod house to finish her canning. She also began working on a plan. No one in town would believe her if she spoke of her unease about being alone with this doctor. After all, the townsfolk sent Sneed out to fix her. There had to be a way to prevent Sneed from getting any closer. Willa stirred the fruit and sugar, and as the mixture began to boil, she set the pot aside. She began to ladle the hot syrup into the jars; then, it dawned on her. An alliance for protection! Of course, and she knew exactly what she needed to do.
Shamus Harding resented having to hang around town, but he also needed to gather more information about Sneed and what he knew about Willa. Moreover, he needed to know what bunk the good doctor was feeding the gullible townsfolk.
At a quarter past two, Shamus sauntered over to The Lord’s Valley Church. He wanted to appear aloof as he came through the doorway. Mr. Wilson saw Shamus and rushed over.
“Shamus!” the older man exclaimed. “Glad you could make it.” Mr. Wilson grabbed Shamus’ hand with a hearty grip. “Come on, let’s get you some pie.”
Shamus followed Mr. Wilson over to a table lined with a variety of freshly baked delights.
“Here’s the one my daughter Lucy made. I set a piece aside for you special because it always goes fast. She’s a girl of many talents.”
Shamus accepted the dessert and followed Mr. Wilson toward the rising and falling of voices. A group of chairs and benches were set up in the back of the church, and Shamus noticed Mrs. Frank with her children. She smiled. Shamus nodded. Shamus also saw Andy Sorensen trapped in a circle of women while sitting next to his mother, the type of woman made angry by a world that would not budge for her. Sorensen looked down at his boots when Shamus entered the room. Shamus looked to a corner of the gathering and noticed Sneed surrounded by the young, eligible women in town. The girls hung upon the doctor’s every word as each gal tried to look more inviting by fluttering eyelashes and leaning in closer.