Mississippi

by J. B. Richard

  Doc bandaged his leg, then stitched his shoulder. “Can ya walk?”

  It would hurt like hell, but he supposed he could. “Sure.”

  Mississippi bit his lip, holding back a cry as he pushed up off the cot and swayed on his feet for a minute. Pike lazily watched from behind his desk where he puffed on a cigar with his feet up on the edge. Stan was building a fire in the stove. All the damn rain had made it chilly both inside and out.

  “I believe it would do Jessa some good if she could see ya. She insists that you’ve been hanged. She won’t get out of bed. She just lies there covered in blankets and cries. Seeing ya dragged off and then losing the baby… Called me a liar when I told her you were still alive.” Doc shook his head, exasperated by those efforts that had gotten him nowhere. “She’s so distraught she ain’t fit to be out in public. Her emotions are out of control. I’ve never seen her in such a fretful state. Of course, a lot of that is due to bad humors. Her body has been through a lot, and it might take weeks, maybe months, before she’s herself again. At times, she just ain’t thinking straight.”

  “That boy ain’t going nowhere.” Pike slid his feet off the desk. The smack of his boots hitting the floor reverberated loudly inside the room. “I need him alive. He’s the only one that can clear Jessa’s name when the governor gets here.” Pike picked up a piece of parchment on his desk. “Curry has brought charges against her for aiding and abetting.”

  “Henry, don’t you think you’re overreacting, calling for the governor? There isn’t a judge in this territory that would convict an innocent girl, even if Curry does have pull.”

  “Curry knows some powerful people, Doc. I got friends too. One being Governor Aurand. I ain’t taking chances.”

  “What about the boy?” Doc asked as if Mississippi wasn’t standing right there.

  Something turned cold in Pike’s eyes. “I didn’t contact the governor for him. If he wants to plead his case, that’s fine by me, if Governor Aurand has time to hear him out. Otherwise, he will hang for his crimes.”

  Pike had done what was necessary, which meant keeping his prisoner alive for Jessa’s sake and no more. It was really no surprise. Mississippi hadn’t expected this much, aware that his remaining time on this earth was short. Governor Aurand would be there in a few days.

  It sounded to Mississippi like Jessa needed more help than just having her name cleared, and she needed it now. From Doc’s description, Mississippi barely recognized the image of the woman he loved. She’d been through a lot in a short time. Some grief would be expected, but she definitely wasn’t behaving like herself. Weak spirited she was not. Time had taught him that she had inherited her father’s feistiness. Pike wasn’t put off by any obstacle that stood in his way, and as Mississippi had seen so far, with all the things thrown at Jessa, she’d kept fairly levelheaded and dealt with any troubles as she saw fit. Until now, after losing the baby and thinking that she’d lost him too. That dreadful hour was coming, but they had a few days until the governor arrived.

  How could Pike just ignore his daughter’s heartache? Because the man couldn’t possibly be blind to it. He’d seen it once before, so why not try and spare her this time? Mississippi was willing to risk facing down Curry and his men out there on the street if it meant a chance to go help Jessa in any way he could.

  “I’ll write my statement down. That she is innocent.” Mississippi clung hopefully to the iron bars of the cell door. Pike looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowed. Before he could spit out a word, Doc interjected.

  Doc slammed his black bag on the corner of Pike’s desk. “Henry. You haven’t been to see Jessa this morning. She’s much worse than last night. And there’s only one medicine for her heartbreak.” He pointed a straight finger at Mississippi.

  “No!” The staunch old man was relentlessness. “Curry could argue that I forced that boy to write a statement.” Pike’s argument was valid, but…

  “What if Doc and Stan were to witness my statement? They’re here.” Mississippi felt desperate. He’d do anything. And consoling Jessa after the loss of their child might be the last gift he could give her.

  As though that witnessing idea had been overlooked and dawned on the doctor now that it’d been mentioned, Doc beamed a wide grin. “Yes, I’ll be a witness.”

  Stan looked up from his solitary card game and nodded.

  Pike, the old goat, adamantly shook his head. “I’m not willing to chance that boy’s written word being disputed. Doc, you’ve known Jessa since she was baby. You’re her friend, a good friend, and Stan’s testimony also might be dismissed for the exact same reason. Partiality could be brought up as a factor. Curry’s no dummy.”

  Mississippi kicked the bars. He wasn’t feeling any pain at the moment, except what was in his chest. He flipped the cot, spilling the mattress, blanket, and dirty pillow onto the floor. Then he grabbed the iron bars and shook as hard as he could. “Let me the hell out.”

  Pike sprang out of his seat. Doc stiffened and didn’t move. Their eyes were stuck on him. Mississippi shoved an arm through the bars, fingers outstretched, reaching for the keyring lying on the corner of Pike’s desk. In two hurried strides, Pike came around and slapped Mississippi’s hand away, not that he was even close to getting his fingers on the keys.

  “Settle yourself!” Pike snarled, baring his teeth.

  “Go to hell, old man!” Mississippi pressed into the bars and took a second swipe at the taunting keyring that was a long four feet away. It might as well have been a goldurn mile. All the fury between them, between a desperate, caged outlaw and a hard, leathery lawman, was on display for Doc and Stan.

  Stan had stayed quiet this whole time, sitting in the corner near the potbellied stove, playing a game of solitaire. But he had squeaked at the commotion. His eyes were now as wide as Doc’s, and both men stared, not saying a word. Stan chewed on his lip. Doc was fidgeting with the handle of his bag.

  “Boy, you’re certainly giving me reason to come in there and nail your hide to the wall.” Pike snatched the keys off the desk. They jingled as he rammed one into the lock, then turned it.

  Mississippi knew defeat. Pike had him. There was no escaping those iron bars, as much as he wished to for Jessa’s sake, not his own. He didn’t want to fight her father, though Mississippi felt like punching something. He turned away as Pike threw the door open. His back was against the bars, and he slid to the floor in a slump, resting his head in his hands.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He wasn’t apologizing for his temper. “I’m sorry I ever got Jessa involved.” That, he truly did regret. She deserved far better than him.

  Mississippi waited with his head hanging low and figured at any second, Pike would yank him off the floor and stamp a fist into his mouth a few times for being smart earlier. When that didn’t happen, Mississippi looked up. He blinked back the water in his eyes.

  Pike squatted next to Mississippi. The old badger’s face was wrinkled up hard, but there was a softness in his gray eyes that hadn’t been there before. Jessa was at Doc’s, and Mississippi was locked up like a wild animal. He didn’t want her sinking so far down that she couldn’t get up again. Perhaps Pike recognized that. As her father, he wouldn’t want that either.

  The old man laid a hand on Mississippi’s shoulder. Mississippi was at a loss for the exact moment when his life had spun so far out of control. In that cell, he had no rights. He’d lost them. Gone was the control to come and go as he pleased. Pike’s permission was what Mississippi needed to go see Jessa, and it had been made very clear that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Son, I know she’s aching. And I can see you are too. But I’m gonna keep you in this cell for her good.” Pike straightened. He was still staring down at Mississippi. “I will go talk to her. If she feels up to it, I’ll bring her to see ya. In the meantime, you get that cot put back together, and no more outbursts.” Pike stepped out and locked the cage door behind him. He and Doc then left the jailhouse.

  Stan
refocused on his card game.

  Mississippi was tucking the thin wool blanket in around the mattress when the jailhouse door opened.

  “Jessa.” He straightened from his work.

  A broad smile swept across his face. She was pale and gimping toward him, but she’d never looked so lovely. At the bars, he reached through. She held tight to him and nestled her face into his chest as best she could with cold, iron rods from floor to ceiling between them. He breathed in the scent of her hair and strangely felt at peace, given that he was a man soon to be sentenced to die.

  Pike stepped up beside them and did something surprising. He unlocked the cell.

  Jessa ripped lose from Mississippi’s embrace and threw open the barred door. The old man had barely gotten out of the way. She wiped at her eyes as she glanced at her father. “Thank you.”

  Pike nodded.

  Mississippi was right there when Jessa stepped inside. He didn’t care who saw them as they held each other tight and Jessa cried all over him. Doc was smiling. Evidently, he was happy that his patient was getting a dose of what she needed. Stan looked up, grinned, and then his eyes focused on the cards in front of him. Pike sat down at his desk and began to pour himself a whiskey. Mississippi could have used one himself as a toast. He was a right happy man at the moment.

  He and Jessa sat together on the cot. She pulled back just a little and looked into his eyes. Hers were full of tears. Mississippi sensed something had changed. Those were no longer happy tears that streaked down her cheeks.

  “I lost the baby,” she said sadly.

  He lifted her chin. “You’ll have other children. Not that one can be replaced.” That wasn’t at all what he meant, and he’d been careful not to say that they would have more children. She would, but his time with her here on this earth was ticking away too damn quickly. “It just wasn’t meant to be this time.” He was sad too and felt an ache inside for their loss, but he wasn’t going to let her linger on that pain.

  She looked much healthier than the last time he’d seen her. She was up and moving, which was good. She had a future, and he was happy to know that. And he wasn’t about to let her forget it, no matter what happened to him.

  For three days, rain hammered down. Curry and his men seemed to have disappeared. No one in town had seen them, and Stan had been doing lots of asking around. It was assumed by all that they were riding the slick, wet trails, hunting for Clint and Rascal.

  Stan came and went, bringing food at mealtimes, sitting while they ate, and the man had a flair for stirring up good conversation. An enjoyable fella, he smiled easily and couldn’t say enough positive things about the livery business, which he had learned as a boy while working in his pa’s stables. It brought joy to the body to talk of old times when Mississippi’s life was worth more than just a bounty.

  Pike rarely left his post, guarding Mississippi day and night. To his liking, the cell door was left open, and Mississippi passed most of his time watching the street. His gaze often stuck on Doc’s place, where he knew Jessa was still being watched over, more so for her heartache than her injuries, which were all healing fine, as were his. Eventually, time would lessen the pain of their loss, but she was also dealing with the ever-present and growing reality that he would soon hang. A public display of justice right there in town where all could witness his death, including Jessa.

  She came by each day, usually several times, and spent a good many hours with him. He looked forward to each and every visit. Front and center in his mind was the fact that one of these calls would be the last. Governor Aurand was due any hour. He was actually late, probably because of the weather. Mud-slick roads weren’t easy to travel, especially through the mountains.

  This morning, Mississippi’s heart pounded with more anticipation than before as he waited for Doc’s front door to open and to see Jessa step out. Not knowing exactly when the governor would show was working on Mississippi’s nerves. His minutes were ticking away. He should just focus on the borrowed time he was getting to spend with Jessa.

  Doc’s door opened, but a rattle in the street drew Mississippi’s attention. A covered wagon driven by one of Curry’s men. Another one of his men trotted his horse alongside. What or who was in that wagon? Mississippi unknowingly pressed his face to the glass. This was the first they’d seen any of Curry’s men in a few days. Mississippi’s fingers dug into the window frame.

  It wasn’t a barred sheriff’s wagon to haul prisoners, if they were thinking of toting him back to Burnt Cabins for the hanging. Looked to be an average Conestoga used by settlers, water barrel strapped on the side, along with wood boxes that usually carried such things as grain and axes and other homesteading implements, often handled along the trail. It didn’t make any sense. What were Curry and his men up to?

  All of Mississippi’s muscles tightened.

  Out of nowhere, there was Jessa. Doc was with her, and they walked past the Conestoga toward the jailhouse. Still pale and moving slow, she was a ray of sunshine during a storm. He would have smiled. But some sense was telling him that wagon, or whoever was inside it, would be trouble.

  “Boy, what in tarnation are you frowning so ugly at?” Pike dropped the papers he’d been sifting through and raised a brow as he came to his feet. One glance out the window at the wagon and Pike’s face went sour.

  “Git in the cell.” Pike gave him a push.

  Curry’s men would be coming around to make sure he was still locked up. Checking to see if Sheriff Pike, who had saved Mississippi’s hide, had let him slip away. It certainly wouldn’t do to have him standing at the stove, free as a jaybird, making coffee. Pike turned the key behind Mississippi and locked the cage. About then, the door swung open, and it wasn’t Curry’s men.

  Jessa hobbled across the room past her pa, giving him a big, grateful smile. She had hugged him the other day before she’d left the jailhouse. It was clear that every moment she got to spend with Mississippi was precious to her, and she was thankful. Her father could have kept them apart had he been inclined. He was wearing the badge. Therefore, he had the power to do as he saw fit, and there wouldn’t have been a damn thing Jessa or Mississippi could have done about it.

  Doc made himself as scarce as possible inside the one room and took a seat near the sheriff’s desk where Pike had planted himself once again.

  “I gotta tell ya something.” Jessa pressed her face between the bars and whispered.

  Before anything could be shared, the jailhouse door opened again. Two of Curry’s deputies boldly stepped inside, and two stern-faced women dressed from head to toe in black and wearing veils hesitantly entered behind the deputies.

  “What’s this?” one of the deputies snapped while eyeing Jessa standing against the bars, her arms stretched through and hands clinging to Mississippi. “Seems to me you’re fit enough to sit in a cell.”

  If that arsehole laid a finger on Jessa, Mississippi would snap those bars in front of him and knock the daylights out of that fella. Mississippi protectively pulled Jessa closer.

  A misguided glance from the deputy with the big mouth was thrown toward Doc as if he’d confirm Jessa’s health, which would sentence her to a cell. In the past few days since she had started visiting, Doc had come by once in the late evening, alone, and informed them that their girl, during the hours she was there at the jailhouse, seemed to be doing better, but at night, with Butch moaning in the next room, Jessa often burst into sobs, yelling at God, questioning why everyone she loved was taken away from her.

  Doc came to his feet, standing erect, a sullen and too serious frown on his face. “This woman’s not well.”

  Pike had swiftly left his chair. He and the blowhard who wanted to lock Jessa up were nose to nose. “Go near her and I’ll bust ya down to size, boy”

  “We’ll see about that when Curry gets back.” Both deputies chuckled. “In case you’re wondering,” one of them said, “he went to give escort to Governor Aurand. With criminals thick in the area and the local l
aw not able to handle them, well, Curry thought it best.” The two looked smug.

  Mississippi didn’t have a chance of pleading a case. Curry would fill the governor in on all the wrong details. He was guilty. His end was coming on the gallows or a tree. Always had been, even without Curry butting in. What Curry no doubt had done was convince the governor that Jessa was guilty before he even heard a word otherwise. What if the governor wouldn’t hear Mississippi out or didn’t believe him? A lawman’s word against his, an outlaw. Things were not looking good for Jessa.

  “Is this one of them?” the shorter of the two women asked stiffly. Her eyes were filled with both tears and hate as she glared at Mississippi.

  There was no level too low for Curry to sink. The black dresses, the veils, hollow eyes, and long faces, these were widows. Widows from the town of Burnt Cabins. He’d bet his life on it. They would tell stories of a precious life, a lost loved one, of how brave and good their husbands were, of humility and honor, members of a sound community, law-abiding citizens. Could be they weren’t good men at all, but no one would dare think it while looking into the sad eyes of either grieving woman.

  Slapped on Pike’s desk was a stack of folded papers, at least a dozen, pulled from a vest pocket by one of the deputies. “Letters from the other widows.”

  Curry was building quite a case. A case, at this point, that could only hurt Jessa. After Governor Aurand got through reading all those tearstained papers, he’d be primed to throw the book at anyone involved. It didn’t seem right for Curry to be picking on the girl, unless there was something personal between him and Pike. Or him and Jessa. What else could it be?

  It just seemed strange. Curry had Mississippi caged. Butch was alive but barely. Jay was dead, and the Apache had gotten Porter, leaving two to be rounded up. It wasn’t an impossible job, though Clint was a shifty one and wouldn’t make it easy. Quite the opposite. A few more of Curry’s men likely would lose their lives, but by the time it was over with, Curry would be regarded a hero. So why be so damn determined to get Jessa too?