Nathanial

by J. B. Richard

  “The other woman is my wife. That photograph was taken before Lucinda came west, where she fell in love with a killer, a man by the name of James Hardin Younger. I have letters to prove what I’m telling you. As I’m sure you know, they had a child, a son.”

  Nate twisted and tugged against Ma’s grip. Pa and Fletcher were having words, lots of them, angry and loud. And Nate wasn’t so sure Pa was winning that battle. That frightened him.

  People were starting to watch, stopping and listening. Tears flooded Nate’s eyes. What if they got into a fight? He didn’t want to see Pa get punched, though he could probably pound that slick fella into mincemeat.

  “Were you drunk like the other night in the saloon? Were you even watching him or anywhere nearby when that happened?” Fletcher pointed a straight finger at Nate’s bandaged arm.

  “I don’t see how any of that’s your concern. He is my son.” Pa’s fists balled at his sides.

  “You’re very wrong. I know for certain that is Nathanial Younger. The boy we are looking for,” Fletcher snapped with an air of indignance as if Pa had no right to know, had no right to Nate, as if he were doing Pa a favor by telling him.

  “Pa.” Nate didn’t like that pressed suit knowing his name. Fletcher’s sharp bow tie was perfectly squared, and his short-brimmed hat was without a speck of dust.

  Mrs. Fletcher, who had slipped through the crowd, stood back a foot or two and was gowned in lace, holding her parasol overhead.

  “Kate, git the children outta here.” Pa kept his eyes on Fletcher.

  Ma looked stunned at all the commotion and was surely stunned by what they’d just heard. Besides his uncles—and he didn’t count Jim Younger’s brothers—Nate and his folks believed he had no other relatives.

  Ma snapped to and turned Nate. He struggled against her tug, standing his ground. Maybe he could get rid of these people. He wasn’t supposed to lie, but he had no choice. He wanted these people to leave him alone.

  “My name’s not Nathanial. It’s Matthew,” he screamed.

  No one moved or maybe even breathed. Ma and Pa and the Huckabees were all aware of who Matthew was, Pa’s first son who had been killed during a stagecoach robbery led by Jim Younger.

  The Fletchers’ faces hardened. Nate was shaking, so maybe they saw through his fib. Maybe if they had been looking into who he was, then they knew the story about Matthew.

  Ma scooped Nate up. Mrs. Huckabee had Elizabeth on one hip and Ada on the other, the boys hanging on her skirt. They hustled them away down the boardwalk.

  Nate sobbed into Ma’s shoulder. He wanted Pa.

  CHAPTER 12

  I see you’ve taught him how to lie,” the Fletcher man snipped like an uppity bitch.

  Nolan had his fill of this arsehole, drawing back to throw a punch. Knocking the man’s teeth down his damn throat might turn his day around.

  Nolan’s arm got caught by the strong arm of another. He and the marshal struggled against each other’s strength, evenly matched until they both pushed off, breathing heavy.

  “How barbaric,” Fletcher spat. “You’re practically a savage, resorting to fisticuffs. You should know that Nathanial’s story is still talked about—a lawman adopting the son of a murderer. How else do you think we pieced our way out here? A snippet of information here and a fact there. We learned a lot about the boy’s life along the way. Those clues led us this far. And I know that Nathanial’s father killed your son, Matthew. No doubt, your behavior here will certainly help our case.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Nolan lunged.

  The marshal was quick to throw himself between the men. Lucky for Fletcher, because round two would have been very short-lived. Nolan had a mean notion to knock that smug son of a bitch on his ass.

  “Nolan, this ain’t the time. Our families are waitin’ for us. Let’s go.” Joseph gave him a hard nudge. His friend turned and eyeballed the Fletchers. “I’ll throw ya both in jail for the day if I see either of ya near this man or his family.”

  Fletcher made a hacking noise in his throat. It sounded like a retort to Nolan. “On what charges?” Fletcher chuckled in the marshal’s face. This man didn’t know too much about western law.

  Yes, there were sanctions and rules to be followed, jurisdictions, and steps to be taken in certain procedures, but mostly, the men who wore badges got their positions because of their bravery, being good with a gun. Most times, they had sound judgment when it came to right and wrong. They very clearly saw the line between the two. That didn’t mean they weren’t a rough lot. Most were and could handle themselves with fists, guns, or otherwise. Nolan was no exception, nor the marshal. In this case, he could enforce his rule, and not a damn thing could be done about it. He could toss those two in the pokey for a few hours, and exactly jack shit would be done about it.

  Judge Prescott was in town, but until the Fletchers contacted one of the two lawyers who worked at the courthouse to have them released, the day would be gone. Besides, every business in town was shut down for the celebration. The Fletchers had best step lightly because the marshal was a man of his word.

  When Nolan and Joseph got to the finish line, Tate had a blue ribbon pinned on his vest. The boys were ogling over it. As soon as Nate noticed his pa, the boy practically crawled into Nolan’s pocket.

  He gave Tate a hearty clap on the shoulder. They talked easily for a few minutes, then took the kids, as promised, to the carousel. The painted horses spun in a circle. Was there anything better than the laughter of children?

  It was irksome that Nolan’s mind wasn’t where it should be. Did the Fletchers have a case that would stand up in a court of law? It was how men like Fletcher fought. What did those letters Fletcher claimed to have say?

  Nolan watched his son, all smiles. He and Deputy were yapping excitedly over one another as the ride twirled. They waved at each pass. Nolan didn’t want to think about good-bye.

  The Fletchers had recognized Nate right off, so they must have possessed enough evidence in those letters that they were able to correctly identify him from that damn tintype. But why now after so long a time? Nate’s mother had died when he was but three, leaving him in the hands of Jim Younger for a few years, then Mr. Harper before Nolan adopted him. The boy had been kicked around so often. Why would anyone even entertain the idea of uprooting him from a stable home? And it seemed that was what the Fletchers were thinking. That Nate was somehow theirs.

  Nolan needed to get it out of his head and make the most of today with his family.

  They all had a try at the dunk tank next. It was pitiful, but Nate did his best with his left arm, missing the target by at least three feet. Nolan missed by an inch, and the marshal sank the clown. Cheers erupted from all the kids.

  “Constance and I are going to watch the judging of the baking contest. She used my cherry pie recipe.” Kate kissed his face. Then she and Elizabeth turned and walked off with Constance and baby Ada.

  Nolan and the marshal had the three boys. They went to the arena to watch the trick riding and, after that, the bronc busting in which Tate was entered. Nolan sat Nathanial on the fence post next to Deputy, Miles, and the marshal, then leaned heavily on the top rail, watching as the first bronc was let loose. Five seconds and the cowboy hit the dirt. The next man held tight for a few seconds longer, then was tossed into the air, falling flat on his back. The boys cheered each rider. Nolan whistled as Tate climbed onto the back of a big snorting, pawing black stallion. That beast looked downright evil.

  “I wasn’t aware that your deputy had so many talents.” Nolan ribbed the marshal.

  “I told the fool I was in no hurry to find a new deputy. Likely, he’ll bust his noggin open.” The marshal shook his head. “He’s got his sights on a pretty filly by the name of Betty Sue. I tried to tell him that gettin’ hisself kilt wasn’t gonna impress her.”

  Nolan laughed, thinking of Jesse and Kristy Short. In the past, the Shorts had hosted some good times. Their parties were always full of
food, drink, and laughs. Jesse was probably having the time of his life.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jesse turned the mare into the yard of the Short ranch, both sides of the lane lined with buckboards. In all his born days, he hadn’t seen so many people. Little heathens, all Nate’s friends, were running amuck everywhere. Squeals and giggles floated in the air. The whole town must have turned out for the Fourth of July picnic.

  Near the barn sat a wagon with three keg barrels on the bed and a line of men waiting. Around the food tables, women were busy placing platters filled with every garden vegetable in season and frosted cakes and apple pies. A pig roasted on a spit.

  It all smelled wonderful, making his mouth water. He hadn’t eaten a decent meal since the Crossons had left for Birch Creek. With the sheriff gone, Jesse’s duties as a lawman had doubled, keeping him busy nearly every minute of the day. He and Kristy hadn’t spent much time together lately, but he aimed to change that. Soon, if she gave the answer he expected her to, they’d be making a lifetime of memories.

  Among the lively music, boisterous conversations, laughter, and kids yelling as they chased one another between the mingling groups of men and women, Kristy appeared at the side of the house, between the trellised rose bushes. In each hand, she carried a pitcher of lemonade. The breeze lifted her hair off her shoulders, exposing the graceful curve of her neck. Jesse was a lucky man.

  He raised a hand, giving her a wave. What a smile she had, beautiful, simply lovely. Her eyes twinkled. He tied his horse, then headed straight for her, a definite giddy-up in his step. The dress she wore was a peach color, tight at the waist, and lace trimmed the bodice. The brooch he’d bought her last Christmas was pinned there. Honestly, she could have been wearing a burlap sack and he wouldn’t have cared.

  Kristy hurriedly plunked the pitchers down, probably slopping some of the liquid over the lip. On her heel, she spun to face him, reaching out. He swept her into a close embrace and planted a big one on her. She giggled. They kissed again.

  Mrs. Short loudly cleared her throat. Jesse was familiar with the sound, so there was no mistaking who was interrupting.

  With a broad smile, he turned, facing his soon-to-be mother-in-law. “Good day, ma’am. Exceptional weather we’re having … Fine day for a picnic,” he offered in a genial tone.

  At best, Kristy’s ma tolerated Jesse, not exactly disliking him, but she’d made it clear a few times that his job as deputy put her daughter at risk for becoming a widow too young. He should instead go back to being a cattleman. Quit being a deputy before contemplating marriage. Hell would freeze over first.

  Mrs. Short, remaining silent, glanced up at the wide blue yonder. Fluffy white clouds floated overhead, and the sun was not too hot for July.

  Jesse’s star wasn’t just a tin fixture pinned on his shirt. It symbolized a truth, a core belief that he had adopted and internalized while working every day with Sheriff Crosson. Even before that, when he was just a boy, a sense of justice had been born in him. He reckoned that was why he had never fallen into his pa’s thieving ways and had left home at fourteen. Too bad Mrs. Short couldn’t understand that. It didn’t bother Kristy that he was a lawman, and he was glad of it. Or if she did share her ma’s attitude, she’d never said anything.

  Mrs. Short’s gaze fell away from the bright welkin and fixed on Jesse. Her grin was not so welcoming. “Let’s not spoil the day by having us a shotgun weddin’. You two …” She pointed a finger at Jesse, then turned on Kristy. “You’re not married yet, not even engaged. Conduct yourselfs properly.”

  Perhaps holding Kristy in his arms in a public setting the way he’d done had been a touch fresh. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “Shorty’s over there.” The cattleman’s wife nodded. “Why don’t you go say hello? I need to speak to my daughter.” There was a hint of something, annoyance perhaps, in her tone, which led him to believe the conversation about to take place would not be a pleasant one.

  Jesse’s gut tightened for Kristy’s sake, but what could he do? Kristy might not marry him without her ma’s blessing. Her pa already referred to him as son, so there were no worries there. Jesse hated to leave her, knowing she’d heard the lecture before. It was a sore spot between them.

  Kristy loved him, and her intention throughout their courtship was never to upset her ma. Jesse did what he could to get along with the woman, but damn, if she didn’t make it difficult. Anytime she could, she’d point out how dangerous his job was. One time, he had his fill of her big mouth and countered that stampedes, rustlers, and lightning could get a cattleman killed just the same. They’d bickered until Kristy ran from the room in tears. He didn’t want that to happen again, ever.

  He gave her hand a little squeeze before he turned to go. Suddenly, the ring in his vest pocket felt like a lead weight holding him in place. There was something he could do for Kristy and himself. Once they were married, he’d have the say, not Mrs. Short. Kristy would be his wife. Mrs. Adams. He grinned and spun on his heel to drop on one knee directly before the woman he’d been in love with since the first moment he’d set eyes on her.

  Mrs. Short gasped. Others around them all held still, all eyes on them. The buzz of conversations halted. Jesse didn’t care who saw him profess his love. This was a proud moment. He only wished the Crossons were there.

  He gently took Kristy’s hands in his. She seemed to be holding her breath. A smile spread across her face, and she squeezed his hands.

  “I love you, Kristy Short. Will ya marry me?”

  Kristy screamed, “Yes!” about ten times. She threw her arms around his neck just as he began to stand. He swung her around a few times. Cheers rose around them. The band struck up a lively tune, and the hum of people talking was louder than before. This was indeed a celebration.

  Jesse pulled Kristy back, then reached into his vest pocket, producing a gold ring. On it was mounted her birthstone, opal. He slipped it onto her finger. Then at least a dozen men, if not more, came forward, giving Jesse’s shoulder a pat and congratulating them both. Kristy beamed and kept glancing at the sparkling stone on her hand. Jesse believed he stood taller than his normal height of six two.

  Shorty pushed through the crowd. Standing in front of them, he lifted his beer. “To my daughter and her future husband. I couldn’t ask for a finer son-in-law. I’ll be proud to call you family.” Shorty clapped the top of Jesse’s shoulder. “Here, here!”

  All their friends and neighbors repeated the toast, raising their cups. Mrs. Short wiped at her eyes, but she drank ceremoniously. Folks began congratulating Mr. and Mrs. Short as well. Her smile seemed forced, but it was hard to tell. What mother wouldn’t be excited over the happiness of a beloved child? It made him think of his family, the Crossons.

  Mrs. Crosson, Ma, would have been crying her eyes out, happy of course. And she’d probably do just that as soon as he relayed the good news. No doubt, the sheriff would offer lots of fatherly wisdom—he always did—and Jesse would accept all of it. Partner … Jesse wasn’t so sure how the boy would react. They’d grown close, tighter than most brothers. The kid might cry a fit at the realization that Jesse would be leaving home to start his own family. Not that he and Kristy would be going far. Neither had a longing to leave Gray Rock, but Jesse and his little partner would no more be living under the same roof. He expected the kid to be upset, but maybe with the promise of him having his own room at Jesse’s place, he’d be okay.

  As the enthusiasm lessened, Jesse faced Kristy’s ma. Kristy was next to him, but her back was turned and she was showing off her ring to the huddle of girlfriends surrounding her, all chattering at one time, going on about how beautiful the stone was and how Kristy was glowing. Shorty was nearby, pouring brandy into small glasses for a group of men. Another toast, Jesse supposed. Everyone appeared elated but one.

  “I reckon I should have asked permission before proposing to your daughter.” No one ever accused him of being refined, though he always did the best he could. That didn�
�t seem to be enough for Kristy’s ma.

  She didn’t blink, just stared a hole through him. He shifted uncomfortably.

  “You know very well my husband would have given his blessing.” She glanced at Shorty, who was boasting loudly about the coming nuptials and what a shindig they’d have there on the ranch. The whole town would be invited.

  More drinks were poured.

  “It’s your blessing I’d like to have,” he said sincerely.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath. If I can talk my daughter out of this marriage, I will.”

  The blow of those words hit Jesse hard right above the belt, knocking the wind out of him.

  Without thought, he took a staggering step back, putting space between them. “I don’t understand. Kristy and me have been courtin’ nigh to a year. Where’d you think that was leadin’?”

  Jesse knew for sure that Shorty had been aware of his intentions. A man didn’t keep coming around for no reason. He ate supper with them twice a week. How could a future wedding not have crossed that woman’s mind?

  “I hoped it would fizzle out on its own. When it didn’t, Shorty forbade me to intervene. I wanted to talk to you privately. You’re a decent young man, and I believe you will take care of my daughter. But you hunt criminals for a living, men who’d rather put a bullet in ya, kill ya rather than go to jail or hang. That gun on your hip scares me.” She dabbed a napkin to the corner of her eyes. “On top of that, there’s your reputation for being a rifleman. No one better. Every person in this territory and beyond has heard stories of you and that Winchester. So tell me. What outlaw wouldn’t want to brag about cutting down the best?” Her eyes were reddening as more tears welled up.

  A man could die performing in any occupation. Plus, accidents happened. In his mind, he called her irrational, but he’d never say it aloud. She was truly upset, and he didn’t want to start a real argument. It was a fact that he did interact far more frequently with outlaws than a man not wearing a badge. He had learned well from Sheriff Crosson, who was one of the best. Jesse was still learning, but he wasn’t as green as he had been when he was brought there to the Short ranch some time back, full of bullet holes after chasing a killer. Mrs. Short and Kristy had patched him up. Apparently, that awful memory had never left her mind.