by Lilah Rivers
“Quite so.” After another prolonged silence, Scott went on, “However, I feel that Clinton and I have established something like a friendly association, if not a genuine friendship. I would like to, of course, he seems a good man.”
“And so he seems to me,” Jodi was happy to agree. She took another step closer to Scott, standing before him quite prone and available.
Scott seemed to swallow hard before adding, “And if Clinton were to find such an arrangement of another visit from me, I mean, well, he and I could always, um, talk it out.”
With another simple step forward, Jodi flummoxed the mighty Scott Covey all the more.
“And… in all likelihood and in any case…” Scott seemed barely able to breathe with another step closer, close enough for a kiss. “Well, um, next Friday night, perhaps?”
Jodi smiled. “Perhaps.”
“Pending Clinton’s approval, of course.”
“Of course,” Jodi repeated.
They stood face to face, the New Mexico dusk robust and purple in the sky above them.
Chapter 26
Scott was beginning to feel good about Jodi, in a way that actually felt good, too. He began to second-guess his outlook on life, on everything. His code of the lonesome protector, isolated and safe, began to feel obsolete, the views of a younger man.
No reason I can't have that, Scott told himself, the kind of life other people enjoy. Perhaps that is what God intends for me, after all.
God, Scott thought, sipping his coffee and looking at his empty jail cell. It was easy to look back over the last few years and see himself slipping away from God, little by little, without even realizing it. He’d never turned away from God the way he'd turned away from his father after his mother's death. He'd never stopped going to services when his duties didn’t require him elsewhere.
But the horrors of his family life, the sadness they’d left him with, the perils of work with men both lawless and godless, had pushed the notion of God from the front of his mind and his heart.
Occupational hazard, he had to reason. Scott flashed back on that most recent sermon, the tale of Samson. Hadn't Samson strayed from God, Scott silently reflected, become distracted by the trappings of power, to forget where his true power lay? Is that what the pastor intended for me to understand, without even intending it? Is that what God wanted me to hear and understand, that it’s long past time for me to return to a more God-centered perspective; focus more on His teachings and less on the letter of the law?
Certainly sounds right.
The door opened and Doyle stepped in, offering Scott a smile and a wave. “Mornin,’ Sheriff.”
"Chipper this morning, Deputy.”
“Feelin' well.”
Scott took a second look at his deputy. Didn’t bring anything back on the rustlers, but he does seem full of purpose, no longer moping around.
Doyle poured himself a cup of coffee. “Thought I might take a ride out to the Burnett ranch, check up on things.”
After a dubious pause, Scott repeated, “Things?”
“Missus Burnett’s pregnancy, the rustlers…”
"I thought we decided there were no rustlers.”
“None out there, not that I could find.” Doyle shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “Could be they’re based in the mountains. I'll just have a look ‘round the Burnetts', make sure they haven't come back.”
Scott nodded to digest the truth behind his deputy's theories. He knew Doyle had an interest in Jodi, he'd had one from the start. And while Scott had thought he’d sidestepped the matter weeks before, something had changed. Maybe sending Doyle to Harmond had only made him come back with a greater sense of maturity, a renewed perspective.
I guess I'm not the only one.
But I really have to deal with this now.
“Doyle, um, something seems to have… happened in the past week or so.”
“S'that so? Rustlers?”
"No, not rustlers.” After an uncomfortable pause, Scott pressed forward, “Thing is, well, you recall when I investigated down at the Burnett place last week, well, they invited me to stay for dinner. And, of course, it would have been rude not to accept.”
Doyle seemed to give it some thought. “I suppose so. Odd that you never mentioned it before.”
Scott shrugged. "Didn't come up, and in fact I wasn’t sure it was worth mentioning.”
Doyle paused, then broke out in a little smile. “I see. Well, look, Sheriff… Scott, I understand what you're getting at here. I respect you stepping aside like this. And here I was, coming to all the wrong conclusions. But I should have known better, the kind of man you are.”
“Doyle—”
“The better man won? Don't think of it that way, Scott. To me, you'll always be the better man.”
“No, Doyle, listen to me. I… what I wanted to tell you was that, after that dinner, we made plans to see each other again.”
“Oh,” Doyle said, seeming a bit stunned, and Scott knew why. “I see. And will you be—?”
“Already did, on Sunday after church.”
Doyle stood there, clearly wrestling his feelings. “On Sunday, after church.”
“We had lunch and a bit of a dance.”
"Is that why you sent me to Harmond?”
“No—”
“To give yourself a clear field, distraction instead of combat?”
“We're not in combat, Doyle. You're my deputy and my friend.”
“You may have treated me like the former,” Doyle retorted, “but certainly not like the latter.”
“Doyle, I know how this may seem. But, in fact, it's all a good deal more innocent than you might imagine.”
“It would almost have to be!”
“Take it easy. I assure you, I'd never have been less than straightforward. It wouldn't have been seemly for you to introduce yourself that way, then.”
“For me, but not for you?”
“I was invited, and the real reason I was there was to investigate the word of the rustlers. You know all this.”
“Not about this… this date. And right here in town?”
“What difference does that make?”
“Quite a bit,” Doyle replied. “Staying for a happenstantial meal may be one thing, but to parade her up and down the thoroughfare, dancing in the streets as if you already intend to marry—”
“Parading her,” Scott echoed. “Now, that’s quite enough, Doyle!”
"What would you call it?”
“Increasingly,” he said, “I'd be inclined to call it none of your business.” A long, tense silence passed before Scott continued, “I'd hoped that trip to Harmond had encouraged your maturity, Doyle. As much as I value your youthful energy, let me say that for quite some time it’s been a source of doubt, anxiety—professionally, I mean.”
Doyle stood there, head down, as if knowing he had no choice but to stand there and absorb Scott's correction.
“But it's time you grew up, Doyle,” Scott finished.
Looking up and pointing an angry finger, Doyle snapped, “You're not my father!”
Scott sighed and stood up to face his deputy. “I know you're disappointed. But things happen the way they do.”
“Do they now?”
“Yes, Doyle, they do, and not always to our liking. But these are the lessons life teaches, and it really does behoove us to learn them when we can.”
Doyle seemed to give that some angry thought, his head jutting up and down. “Yeah, okay, I see how things are.” He set down his coffee and crossed the little office to the door. Pulling it open, he turned back to the sheriff before storming out. “We’ll see how things shake out, then, and who has the lesson to learn.”
Scott sighed and crossed the office himself, looking out the window. Doyle faded into the crowd of pedestrians and street traffic, horses and carriages.
He’ll get over it, Scott told himself. But his longtime immaturity was a lingering challenge, for him and for Scott and for all
of Angeldale, and it hadn’t seemed to reach its zenith quite yet. Scott shuddered to imagine what might happen when it did.
Chapter 27
Jodi swept while Amy dusted, the two of them smiling and chatting as they went about their work, the warming sun pouring through the white lace drapes.
“Imagine,” Amy enthused, “your own bakery!”
“Well, we’ll have to keep imagining it for now, Amy. I’m here to help you. And as time goes on, you’ll need that more and more.”
Amy waved her old friend off and kept sweeping. “Maria is worried, but I have faith. With you here, I’m sure everything will be just fine. And I may be with child, but I don’t have to be treated like one.”
The two old friends shared a chuckle. Jodi knew well how it was to be treated by men; like an inferior, like a child even when in the body of a grown woman. Their notions were often shunted, their opinions reduced in value. Amy had always been the one to thwart that convention, with Jodi lagging behind her example.
But Jodi could see and feel for herself how powerful Amy’s position had always been. It was true, Jodi was coming to realize, that our opinions and talents and desires are every bit as valuable as any man’s. And we must impress ourselves in some way, harder than men have to, in order to make those things happen. Perhaps it will always be that way, perhaps not—but they’re that way now. And if women like Amy, like me, fail to act now, these things will likely never change.
“Of course,” Amy went on, “our sheriff may not want his wife to be in business. He may be the type who prefers his woman barefoot and pregnant.”
Jodi was so stunned she almost didn’t know what to say. “He—? You’ve already got us married off? Really, Amy!”
Her friend shrugged and went on dusting the mahogany china cabinet. “Call it a hunch, though I’d call it a lot more. I saw it from the first, since the moment he walked up to us at the train station.”
“Well,” Jodi conceded, “he does make an excellent impression, I’d never say otherwise.”
“He’s not the only one, Jodi. He was taken, I can tell.” Jodi waved her old friend off, but Amy continued, “Don’t you know how it is by now, Jodi? We never can see ourselves quite the same way others see us. You always thought of me as brave, but I was only impressed by your sense of self-control and decorum. I knew I could never be the young woman you were going to be, quite as refined and sophisticated. I had to be sassier, or the world would never have taken notice.”
“Of course it would, Amy—it certainly has so far!”
“And whatever the world sees,” Amy pointed out, setting her hand on Jodi’s arm, “won’t ever be what I see. And it’s the same for you, for us all. And what I see between you and our sheriff, well, it’s more than a passing fancy.”
Jodi surely knew that this was so, and she was glad to hear it come from somebody whose opinion she respected and admired. And she wanted to believe it, becoming increasingly willing to do so.
Amy jutted forward with a small, pain-filled grunt, hand on her belly, leaning against the back of the sofa. Jodi’s heart leapt and she dropped the broom and crossed to her. “Amy?”
Amy smiled, but her breath was clearly short, her body still bent forward a bit. “No, it’s… it’s nothing, I’m fine, honey, really.”
“You don’t look fine to me!”
“No, it’s just… y’know, a little discomfort—” But she couldn’t even finish the word before jutting forward again, another jab of pain clearly forcing its way through her gut.
Jodi led Amy around to the couch and sat her down. “You just relax, I’ll get Clinton.”
“No, don’t… don’t worry Clinton about this—”
“Don’t be absurd,” Jodi admonished gently, already rushing across the house and calling Clinton’s name.
Chapter 28
Maria the midwife sat over the bed, Amy resting comfortably under the old woman’s scrutiny. Reassured that Amy was being looked after, Jodi and Clinton stepped away from the bedroom door into the relative privacy of the hall.
“I’m so sorry, Clinton, I feel terrible.”
“But… whatever for?”
“I was supposed to be helping her around the house.”
“And weren’t you?”
“Not enough, obviously!”
A little half-smile curled into his cheek. “Jodi, you’ve already been a tremendous blessing to our house. You can’t possibly be held responsible, not even by yourself.”
“Even so,” Jodi pressed, “and it’s very generous of you to say so, but I still feel terribly.”
“Well, she is your best friend, after all. It's a frightening thing to have happen.”
“It most certainly is!” With a glance back toward the bedroom, Jodi felt like she had to ask, “Isn’t there a doctor in town? I don’t mean to disrespect the… the cultural differences or whatever, but—”
“Had a doctor, last one in a hundred miles, too; died a month ‘fore you got here. And he serviced Harmond, Sheetrock—”
“El Paso?”
Clinton nodded as he obviously gave it some thought. “Probably a doctor there, but Maria’s here now, and she’s only an hour away.”
Jodi could hardly argue the necessity of their position. But as the daughter of a physician, she could hardly imagine a town the size of Angeldale, and an area as large as the town’s surroundings, going entirely without one.
The old Mexican woman, Maria, waddled out of the bedroom and into the hall, wordless and impressive. Jodi and Clinton backed up as the midwife eased them back into the living room.
Clinton asked her, “¿Como es ella?”
“No tan bien como esperaba.”
Jodi couldn’t understand Spanish, but by their tone and their facial expressions, and old Maria turning to glance sadly toward the bedroom behind her, she could tell what they meant and she knew it wasn’t good.
Maria said, “Tiene que tomár selo con calma o perderá al bebé.”
Clinton responded, “Ella solo estaba desempolvando.”
“¡Ella puede perder al niño y su vida!”
Jodi looked on, silent and helpless and growing increasingly worried as the words came faster and louder. When the old woman looked at Jodi, eyeing her from head to toe and back, she said to Clinton, “¿Quién es esta mujer blanca?”
Jodi asked, “Is she talking about me? Blanca, that means white, doesn’t it?”
Clinton said to Maria, “Es una amiga nuestra, una buena amiga y una buena persona.”
Buena persona, Jodi repeated, what’s that? Good person? He’s telling her I’m—
“Ella trae problemas,” Maria said to Clinton, still staring at Jodi, “tiene que irse.”
“Problemas,” Jodi repeated, “what’s that, problems? I’m not the problem!”
Clinton replied, “Ella se queda, Maria.”