Emmett & Gentry (an Emmett Love Western) Page 7

  Unfortunately, when she’s dressed, she goes to the stairwell before enterin’ the kitchen and yells, “Girls? Come downstairs and say goodbye to Mr. Love.”

  17.

  I HEAR THE door open upstairs. One of the girls says, “Did you call us?”

  May says, “Come on down and say goodnight to Emmett.”

  While that’s happenin’, I try again to pull up my pants, but my back simply ain’t allowin’ it. This is all I need, to be standin’ here naked from the waist down with my pants around my ankles and have May and her girls walk in!

  I hear the girls on the landin’ upstairs, and throw myself on the floor and bend my legs toward my chest. It’s workin’, but I hear the girls thumpin’ down the stairs already, which means I ain’t gonna make it!

  I roll under the kitchen table, while pullin’ fiercely on my pants. Just as they enter the kitchen, I get the pants up, but can’t tie the rope belt. I lay there very quietly, tryin’ to work the rope, but it’s caught in the chains on my leg irons. I can’t reach that far, but I have one end of the rope belt in my hand.

  “Mr. Love?” Ellie says.

  I’m fumblin’ with the rope belt. Next thing I know, little Molly has spied me on the floor, under the table.

  “He’s under the table!” she squeals.

  May enters the kitchen, says, “Emmett, what on earth are you doing on the floor?”

  I say, “My back was lockin’ up. I needed to stretch it out.”

  “You picked just now to do that?”

  “I did. A spasm come over me just as you called for the girls.”

  “Well, let me help you up.”

  “No!”

  The minute I stand, my pants will fall back down around my ankles!

  “I know it’s terrible rude,” I say, “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to lay here a little longer. Girls, I feel bad not to stand and give you a proper good evenin’. But this old back of mine has put me in a dither.”

  The four females stand where they are. I suppose they’re lookin’ at each other, tryin’ to figure out what to do, and finally May has them say goodnight from where they are. I answer from where I am, and she sends them back upstairs. When they’re back upstairs, she gets on her hands and knees and looks under the table and says, “What’s really going on?”

  By the time I tell her, she’s laughed herself silly.

  Once I’m finally on my feet with my belt secure around my waist, I say, “Can you please tell me what Gentry shared with you?”

  We walk outside and stand on her front porch. It’s a hot, muggy night, and the crickets in the garden behind her house are making a steady buzzin’ sound. When a moth gets hung up in May’s hair she flails away at it till she’s satisfied it’s gone. Then she says, “This is a bad idea. Let’s go back inside.”

  I follow her in and close the door. As I turn to face her she says, “Here’s the thing, Emmett. Gentry’s run off with a cattleman from England.”

  18.

  MY STOMACH LURCHES. I fall back against the door as if I’d been pushed. For some reason I don’t understand, I take a few steps forward, and grab the beam in the center of May’s parlor, to keep from fallin’ down.

  “I’m so sorry, Emmett,” May says.

  “What cattleman?”

  “He first showed up Christmas before last, a couple months before the rebels robbed the bank.”

  “The bank was robbed?”

  “Jim didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  “That’s the main reason the stores shut down. Most folks had their life’s savings in the bank, and got wiped out financially. The stores lent as much credit as they could, but had no cash to restock their inventories. So all the men folk above thirteen signed up to soldier. It was the only paycheck available.”

  I heard her words, but couldn’t focus on ’em. I remember Jim Bigsby mentioned somethin’ about the English cattleman who taught Gentry about Christmas trees. But if Gentry ran off with him, Jim didn’t seem to know about it.

  “When you say Gentry ran off with this man, what do you mean? Did she tell you she was going with him?”

  “Do you want to sit down?”

  “No. I want you to tell me exactly what Gentry told you.”

  May pauses, then says, “Well, Gentry only spoke to me once. It was evening, and she was walking very quickly on the street boards, on her way back to the Spur, and when she turned the corner, she ran right into me and knocked me down. When she helped me up I could see she was crying.”

  My hands become fists.

  May continues, “I asked her what was wrong. At first she didn’t want to say. Then she told me the Englishman had come back to get her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently he’d become smitten with her the first time they met, and he snuck back into town several times to meet her. He proposed to her, and promised a better life for her and the baby.”

  “And she said yes?”

  “According to Gentry, she said no. Then she made me promise not to tell anyone about our conversation. But the next morning she and the baby were gone, and no one’s seen them ever since. It makes sense they went with the Englishman to his cattle ranch.”

  “Where’s the ranch?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  I pace from the post to the door, then back.

  “Why do you think she was cryin’?”

  “I couldn’t say for certain.”

  “What’s your belief?”

  “Looking at it purely from a mother’s viewpoint, I think Gentry didn’t love him. But he was rich and she was broke, and couldn’t provide for her baby. A woman who loves her child will do whatever it takes to keep her child safe.”

  My heart hurts, thinkin’ about Gentry bein’ forced to make such a terrible decision.

  “She met this man before Christmas, and kept the Spur open another three months,” I say.

  “That sounds about right.”

  “When did the bank get robbed?”

  “End of January, 1862.”

  “And she stayed at the Spur another year?”

  “I don’t know, Emmett. Gentry and I weren’t very close. We only had the one conversation, and she was quite upset at the time.”

  I nod, while forcin’ my brain to understand what’s happened. I always knew at some point Gentry was likely to run off with a younger, more handsome man. If that’s what’s happened, I’ll want to hear it from her lips.

  “What’s this Englishman’s name?” I ask.

  May shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Emmett, I truly am. Maybe Jim can tell you more about him. I think they shared a few drinks together.”

  “You never said anythin’ to Jim or anyone else about what Gentry told you?”

  “No, of course not! I’m not a teller of secrets. I’m only telling you because I know you’re in love with her, and want to find her.”

  I look her in the eyes. “You also want me to choose you.”

  She looks down at the floor, and says “Yes.” Then she looks back up at me and adds, “But only if Gentry spurns you.”

  “Say exactly what you mean.”

  She sighs. “Emmett, I won’t give my heart and home to a man who’s undecided about me. I want you to find Gentry, and see if she wants to be rescued. If she does, I’ll be very happy for you, and if you choose to live in Dodge City, you and I can pretend that tonight never happened. But if she spurns you, I’ll be proud to be your woman.”

  “Even though Gentry’s the love of my life?”

  “Yes. I’m not ashamed to admit I’d want you even if you’re in love with another woman, provided you treat me and the girls with respect and affection. We could be a tidy little family, and together we can gradually rebuild this town. I don’t mean to be bold, but I think you could do a lot worse than to have the girls and me by your side.”

  “It’s your opinion Gentry still loves me?”

  “Yes.”
<
br />   “But you don’t think she’ll come back with me?”

  May bites her lip, then sighs. “It’s not for me to say.”

  “I’m askin’ for your honest opinion.”

  She pauses a moment, then says, “It depends on how she’s been treated.”

  I feel my face, neck and ears burn.

  “That makes sense,” I say.

  I ask to borrow a lantern. She gives me one, and I use it to light my way back to the Spur. I remember a time the streets glowed from the lamps and lanterns inside the buildin’s and homes. It’s a long, slow walk, and there ain’t an ounce of joy in it.

  19.

  NEXT MORNIN’ I finish my third drink of birch bark tea, while thinkin’ about the two things that bothered me most of the night. When the women show up to haul more wood to the fire pit, I get May aside in the kitchen and ask, “Do you think it’s possible the cattleman robbed the bank?”

  She gives me an odd look. “No, Emmett. It was rebel soldiers. More than a dozen of them.”

  “What if the cattleman dressed up a dozen of his ranch hands in rebel uniforms and got them to rob the bank?”

  May’s look turns to sadness. “I know what you want me to say, Emmett, but I don’t think that’s what happened.”

  I nod. “Can I ask one more question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did this cattleman talk to anyone else in town?”

  “I know Jim Bigsby met him, because his talk of Christmas trees in England had a big effect on Jim. He tried to get us to come into the saloon to see Gentry’s tree, but…”

  Her voice trails off, but her meanin’s clear. She don’t wish to insult me, but proper women don’t frequent saloons where liquor and whores are offered to their husbands and sons.

  “Did the cattleman talk to any other women?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Thanks, May.”

  My body’s feelin’ stronger today, though my heart’s got a hole in it. I found an old saw in Tom Collins’s shed earlier this mornin’ when I did an inventory of the wood left over from yesterday. I aim to saw the banister and spindles off the indoor stairs and use ’em for firewood. I ain’t convinced Gentry’s run off with this rich feller, but I ain’t convinced she ain’t, neither. I love Gentry, and I’m proud she’s makin’ sure our baby survives. But it don’t sit well with me to think of her wigglin’ between the sheets of another man’s bed just ’cause he’s got money. I know that sounds crazy, since from the age of twelve to the day I met her, Gentry whored day and night with men she didn’t love, and did it just for the money. So why wouldn’t she do it now, with a baby to support?

  She would.

  And I’d understand it.

  It’s just that I don’t like it.

  I agree with May about needin’ to find Gentry to see if she still wants me. But I disagree with her thinkin’ Gentry won’t want me if the cattleman’s treatin’ her well. I believe she’ll want me no matter how she’s bein’ treated, ’cause me and Gentry have somethin’ special. And I believe Gentry feels the same way.

  The women aren’t as eager to help carry wood today after learnin’ May gave me a shave and haircut at her place last night. They turned even frostier just now when I called May over for our little chat. But they’re good-hearted women, and they’ll do what they said they would.

  Jim Bigsby’s bustin’ things left and right with his sledge hammer, and the women are haulin’ the wood remnants to the fire pit. It takes six women to carry the wood cover I built for my jail hole, and they have to rest several times along the way. I marvel at these women, and how good-hearted and hard-workin’ they are. I realize this is the only time most of them have ever stepped inside a saloon, and they ain’t overjoyed about it, even though the place ain’t been open for more’n a year. Of course, Jane and Claire came in here together the first mornin’ after I became sheriff, to complain about problems they wanted me to fix. But they ain’t been back from that day to this, to my knowledge.

  Yesterday, all the tables and chairs were carted off to the fire pit, and all the interior doors ’cept the one that goes to my bedroom. They also hauled off the plywood Jim hammered over the front door to keep people out. Right now Jim’s takin’ the bar apart, and I’m makin’ good progress sawin’ the handrail and spindles off the steps. I hope things won’t come down to me havin’ to remove the steps, but after seein’ how much we had to burn yesterday, and how little progress we made on the leg iron, I s’pect Tom Collins is right. I’ll probably have to burn half the saloon to get these chains off my ankles.

  It pains me to dismantle my home and business one plank at a time, just to build a fire. This is the place Gentry and me love. But I need proper use of my legs if I’m to find Gentry, since she could be anywhere. It’s also possible I might have to rescue her. I’m more than ready to fight for her, but I’d have a hard time succeedin’ against grown men with these chains on, since two days ago I couldn’t even defend myself against two unarmed Indian boys sharin’ a horse.

  There’s one woman in the bunch that keeps lookin’ at me like she’s tryin’ to get my attention. She straggles behind when some of the others are liftin’ a load, and when she hauls one off by herself, she rushes back sooner than the others. I’m terrible when it comes to readin’ women’s feelin’s, but if I didn’t know any better I’d think this partic’lar woman is more interested in me today than she was yesterday. And that surprises me, ’cause the woman showin’ all this interest is Lilly Gee, the youngest, prettiest, available gal in town. Lilly’s the one with the legendary behind that didn’t walk over to speak to me yesterday. Accordin’ to May, Lilly finds me too old and immoral to be a possible husband.

  So it’s likely I’m imaginin’ the attention. She’s probably just starin’ at how different I appear without the whiskers and long hair. When she sees me lookin’ at her, she immediately turns away, provin’ she ain’t interested.

  So that’s that.

  But ten minutes later she walks toward me to fetch a load of spindles I’ve piled on the stair steps. She don’t even look in my direction when pickin’ them up, but whispers, “Emmett, I need to talk to you.”

  She gathers six spindles in her arms and walks past me while carryin’ ’em. Though she don’t speak, her eyes are locked on mine. I look around to see if anyone’s watchin’ us, and it might just be a coincidence, but every woman in the saloon is! I turn my back to Lilly, cover my mouth, and whisper, “Noon. Here.”

  She keeps walkin’.

  20.

  BY TEN O’CLOCK the women have stacked enough wood at Tom’s fire pit to last a full day. I thank ’em, and they peel off one-by-one to go back to their houses and farms to do chores. By ten-thirty Jim’s got the poker white-hot, and he starts in on my leg iron again, workin’ that same spot we burned yesterday. Tom comes out to watch us awhile, but the heat chases him back inside. Now that Jim and I are alone, he says, “Nice haircut.”

  I look up and notice he’s grinnin’.

  He says, “Accordin’ to Clara, May hasn’t been with a man since the night she and Earl conceived the baby.”

  I shake my head, thinkin’ how everyone always knows everyone else’s business in Dodge. It’s always been that way. Still, I wonder how May would feel if she knew her private business about Earl was known and discussed by everyone she knows. Because if Jim knows, everyone knows. I’ve always liked Jim’s wife, Clara, and she’s one of May’s best friends, if not her very best friend. But apparently Clara ain’t so good at keepin’ secrets. Seein’ Jim grinnin’ at me makes me wonder if May told Clara what happened between her and me last night. That’d be awful embarrassin’, ’specially if it ever got back to Gentry.

  Jim appears to be expectin’ a comment. Normally I wouldn’t respond to such talk, but he’s been workin’ hard to help me, so I say “I wouldn’t know about May and Earl, or what they did behind closed doors.”

  Jim don’t let it end that easy. He says, “May’s
a comely woman. What is she, thirty-five?”

  “Probably.”

  “If it’s true she ain’t been ridden’ all these years, she’d probably have a lot of buckin’ to do.”

  He winks at me.

  I frown.

  He removes the poker, and takes a cloth and wipes away the ash and shakes his head.

  “We haven’t made the first dent,” he says.

  “Let’s try again,” I say.

  He stokes the fire and sets the tip of the poker in the flames and stands back from the heat. He wipes his brow with his shirt tail.

  “Must be a million degrees,” he says.

  “Feels like it,” I say. “Especially the circle around my ankle.”

  I dip some water onto my leg and let it run down so it can soak the cloth between my ankle and the leg iron. I’ve learned this is the best way to keep the cloth in place. Yesterday I dipped the water directly onto the cloth cuff and it moved the cloth and I had the dickens of a time tryin’ to get it back where it needed to be. It were a painful lesson.

  After ten minutes, Jim retrieves the poker and presses it against the burn spot that ain’t made a dent yet. While he does that I think about how town gossip is a lot like leg irons. There’s always someone stokin’ the fire and pokin’ at someone else, and the person gettin’ poked has to go through a lot of pain. Gettin’ others to stop talkin’ about your business is probably as hard as gettin’ shed of leg irons. And if they do stop talkin’ about you, the feelin’ of relief is probably similar to the relief I’ll feel when I’m finally free from these cursed cuffs.

  While he’s pressin’ the poker into the cuff, Jim says, “When I was eleven my parents bought a little farm outside Elwood, Illinois, that belonged to an older couple. They had a fishin’ lake forty yards from the back porch that had been productive for twenty years.”

  I don’t comment, figurin’ if Jim has a point he’ll get to it eventually. He presses the poker against the cuff some more, and says, “As they got older, the couple quit fishin’ that hole, so the fish just kept growing and multiplying.”