Caught Between Love And Duty

by Clarice Mayfield

  “You think there’s something I ain’t seen before?” Martha scolded.

  “No, ma’am. I’d just prefer that Georgia be the one to wash me up,” he said with a wink, recovering his sense of humor.

  “Hush, boy, before I scrub your mouth out with soap. Now get those britches off so I can wash you up proper.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he murmured obediently.

  * * *

  While Aunt Martha fussed over David, James sat outside on the veranda swing with Georgia. The ranch hands had gone to their work for the day and the courting couple were alone.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Georgia asked.

  “I think so. He’s a tough cowhand underneath them soft outsides. How are you doin’, Georgia? It’s been one heck of an introduction to Sutton County.”

  She smiled. “I can’t argue with you there. It kind of feels like we’re living in a story from the dime store novels back in Boston. Outlaws and Indians, and a handsome sheriff to save the day.”

  James knew he was not a handsome man – if not exactly the ugly mug his brother teased him about – but he was flattered by her comment all the same.

  “Well, the fact is, Georgia...” he paused, considering how much to say to her. “Things don’t always turn out the way they do in them novels. Sometimes good men get killed for no good reason. Just so you know, the cards can fall either way.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Yes, life isn’t fair sometimes is it, James? But beautiful things happen too. Whether by the luck of the draw or God’s hand, who knows?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, “you got that right: who knows?”

  “And the beautiful things?” she asked shyly.

  “Yep! They definitely happen too,” he smiled, “I’m lookin’ at one of them.”

  She lowered her eyes modestly to the ground. “Thank you.”

  “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve seen around this place since...” His voice trailed off.

  “Since what?”

  “Well, since my wife died, ten years ago.”

  “Oh. I’m very sorry,” she said politely.

  “Thanks. We was just youngsters. Margaret was out riding with me one day when a rattlesnake spooked her horse. She fell and broke her neck. It was over very quick.”

  They were silent for awhile, each considering their own thoughts.

  “Why did you place an ad in the Matrimonial News?”

  “Well, it ain’t like there wasn’t any interest around here. It’s just that I’m the kinda man who likes to do the askin’.”

  “I’m very glad that you asked me to come here,” Georgia said.

  “Me too,” James replied. “Didn’t expect you to be so pretty though,” he grinned. She slapped him on the knee and smiled back.

  “Did you love her?” she asked after they had grown quiet again.

  “Oh, yes,” James replied, “we was just kids, like I said, but we knew what love was. A body can’t live on memories, though. You’ve got to move on.” He looked at her curiously. “How about you, Georgia Warton? I reckon a pretty gal like you must have left many a heart broken in Boston.”

  “No, not at all. They thought I was too independent and spoke my mind out of turn. ‘Too much sass,’ they said.”

  “I like your spunk.”

  “Thank you. I ended up being a spinster in Boston because of it. The boys stopped calling because they knew I speak my mind. But that’s okay by me. They were all a bore anyways.”

  “I hope I don’t bore you, Georgia,” James said.

  “How could a woman be bored in the midst of a dime store novel like this, Sheriff?” she chuckled and regretted saying it this time – remembering that his brother was suffering as a result of a very real kidnapping. “I’m sorry, James. I know this is no game.”

  “No problem at all,” he said. “Speaking of the situation, my deputy and I still have to find out who this gang is and what they’re after. I’m gonna ride into town, Georgia. You go ahead and make yourself at home. Aunt Martha will be glad to have the company.”

  “She seems like an amazing woman,” Georgia said.

  “Yep. Don’t know what we’d do without her. She works so hard though, sometimes we worry. Wish she’d slow down a bit. Martha ain’t no spring chicken no more. It’ll be good to have another woman about the place to help her out. And with you being a seamstress and all, that’ll come in mighty handy on the ranch too.”

  Georgia swallowed hard and felt a butterfly in her stomach. “Yes, I’ll do my best to help,” she said with a twinge of guilt.

  “You’ll be fine!” James crowed. “I reckon Auntie likes you already.” He got up and stepped off the veranda with a friendly wave good-bye. “Talk to you later.”

  She stood up and watched him go.

  “How long does it take a woman to learn how to sew really well, Lord?” she prayed quietly. “I haven’t picked up a needle for years and I don’t want to disappoint this man. I like him a lot.”

  She turned toward the house and went inside. Aunt Martha was in the kitchen, kneading some dough in a large bowl. “How’s David doing, Martha?”

  “Sleepin’ now,” she replied. “The boy’s worn out. I reckon he’s gonna be okay though. Can you give me a hand making up some grub?”

  “Yes, of course,” Georgia said. Cooking was one thing she had learned to do well as a debutante. It was socially acceptable for debs to learn the finer culinary skills, so she had done so and enjoyed it very much. She grabbed an apron off a peg on the wall and asked brightly: “Where can I start?”

  “We need some dessert for supper. Know how to make pies?” Martha asked, looking expectantly at the younger woman.

  “Martha, I’ve got a pie crust recipe that will make those boys think they’ve died and gone to heaven,” she smiled.

  “Hallelujah! We’ll need four of ‘em, girl.”

  “Four? Yes, ma’am. Sounds like the hands certainly build up an appetite.”

  She set to work gathering ingredients as Martha directed her to the various cupboards, drawers, and shelves in the spacious ranch house kitchen. Then the older woman returned to mixing dough and watched as Georgia started on the pie crust.

  “James is sure fond of you, ma’am.”

  Martha smiled. “I set a great deal o’ store by them boys. Raised ‘em myself from babies.”

  “James mentioned that their birth mother died very young.”

  “Yep. Killed on the frontier by Indians. I knew the family and stepped in to help care for the young ones till Mr. McCloud got his bearings. He recovered and did well by them boys but never did take another wife. So I stayed on with ‘em and became their auntie. They just started calling me that one day and it stuck. Reckon I’m the only mother they’ve ever known.”

  “And a fine one too, by the looks of them: a couple of successful businessmen and ranchers,” Georgia said.

  “Well, a lot of that’s down to their pa. Josiah was a good man. Raised ‘em right, taught ‘em by example how to work hard and treat others with respect. He never held no grudge against the Indians after they killed his wife neither. Treated ‘em with respect just like he did everybody else. Said they were defending their home the only way they knew how.”

  “Sounds like he was a very wise man,” said Georgia.

  Martha nodded. “Tough as nails too. Never took no guff. Always treated folks fair and gave ‘em the benefit of the doubt. But if they did him wrong, Josiah wasn’t shy to let ‘em know. His boys are like that, too. That’s one of the reasons James got elected sheriff, I reckon. Folks respect that about him. He’s tough but fair.”

  “And merciful, I hope,” the younger woman said with a shy grin.

  “Yes, that too, girl. James ain’t got no bloodlust like some lawmen do. Only shoots when necessary. He ain’t no bully-sheriff and never took a bribe that I know of. And if the right thing to do ain’t by the letter of the law – so to speak – then he’s not shy to give folks a rain check. Guess t
hey like that about him too.” Martha spooned the dough into a pan.

  “Maybe he saw somethin’ of them things in you too, girl,” she continued, “else he wouldn’t have asked you out here to Texas.” Martha’s red hair was lit by the morning sun from the window and she looked thoughtfully at the new arrival.

  Georgia was a bit embarrassed. “Well, we really didn’t talk that much about ourselves in our letters. But I try to do the right thing, Martha, I really do. It’s so hard sometimes, isn’t it? I confess that I struggle with that a lot. I’m a poet, and you know what they say about poets.”

  “Flaky as pie crust?” the older lady grinned.

  Georgia laughed. “Yes, ma’am. And I hate it. Maybe I need a strong man to help bring out the best in me. I don’t know.”

  “Well, dear, you have found one here, I can tell you that. I hope you do right by our James.”

  “So do I, Ma’am, so do I. I really like him.”

  “Well, they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. So if that there pie is as good as you say it is, you’re off to a fine start, gal. I hear you’re a seamstress, too. If you can sew as good as you cook, we’ll never let you leave!”

  6

  Arthur Richards gazed admiringly at the mirror in his hotel office. He thought himself a dashing figure of a man: six foot two with piercing blue eyes, blond hair, and a slim, fit build. A tasteful, clean-cut business suit hung comfortably on his body. Mirrors held a special fascination for Arthur – especially when his own reflection was gracing their surface.

  “You are one good looking gentleman, Arthur,” he said, complementing the image with practiced appreciation. “Dare I go welcome James’s new lady friend to Sonora when looking so handsome? She just might fall for me instead,” he chuckled.

  Richards was the owner and proprietor of the Sutton County Hotel, an establishment he believed to be the finest in west Texas. And not without some justification, it was true. The hotel was the largest in the area, tastefully decorated, with a tea room – a rarity in that part of the country – comfortably appointed guest rooms, and a grand chandelier overlooking the dining room.

  Arthur prided himself on bringing the taste of “a more refined” culture to Sutton County. A self-educated man, he loved to read and could quote large portions of Shakespeare from memory, as well as copious poetry. People sometimes wondered how it was that with such refined gifts and a successful business Richards had not taken a wife to enjoy it with. He brushed off the question, telling them good-naturedly that there was simply no time; what with the responsibility of running a large establishment and so many great books to read.

  “All right now,” Arthur said, making final adjustments to his tie in the mirror, “time for a little visit to the Golden Lane.”

  * * *

  As Arthur’s one-horse carriage rolled up to the ranch house, Martha stepped out onto the veranda to greet him. He doffed his derby hat in respect for the lady and bounded up the steps with a youthful vigor that belied his thirty years. “Martha!” he chirped with a smile. “It’s been awhile. How are you?”

  “Fair to middlin’,” Martha grinned back. “I figured you’d be here sooner rather than later. Heard about our visitor from Boston and come for some news about the big city, have ya?”

  “You know me too well, Martha,” Richards chuckled. “Yes, ma’am: I couldn’t wait to come out and get the latest news from Boston town. And, of course, to meet my best friend’s mail-order lady. Is the lucky girl in today?”

  “Yep, she’s here. We were in the kitchen doing up some grub. I’ll tell her you’re here. Why don’t you have a seat on the veranda, Arthur?”

  “Thanks,” he replied. “She sounds like a fine girl, in the kitchen and helping you out already. Can the woman cook?”

  “Oh, mercy,” the older lady exclaimed, “that girl’s got her a gift. The boys all think they done died and gone to heaven when she whips up them fancy dishes of hers. Makes me look like the bull cook at a mining camp,” she laughed.

  Arthur was taken aback. “What? Never, Aunt Martha! Your table is renowned across Sutton County.”

  She smiled at the compliment. “Oh, you always had a way with words, Arthur. Have a seat and I’ll go fetch Georgia.”

  “How is David doing? I heard he had a time of it getting away from that awful gang,” Arthur asked hurriedly as Martha turned to go.

  “He’s comin’ along. Took a nasty beating from that Indian dart and getting away from ‘em half drugged up. But his head’s clear now and Dave’s gettin’ his strength back. He’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time.”

  “Great to hear it. I won’t disturb him if he’s resting then.”

  The older lady turned and went into the house and Arthur gazed out on the rolling hills of the McCloud brother’s ranch. They had grown up together in Sutton County from an early age. He, James, and Margaret – the sheriff’s late wife – were all close childhood friends.

  You’ve done well for yourself too, James, Richards mused as he watched the cattle grazing in the meadows.

  After a few minutes the door opened again and Georgia walked out onto the veranda accompanied by Aunt Martha. The host still had her apron tied about the waist but Arthur saw that the visitor had changed out of working clothes into a clean gray dress to receive their visitor.

  This woman has some finely bred manners, even if that dress is a little homely.

  “Arthur Richards,” Martha announced, “this here’s Georgia Warton from Boston.”

  Richards stepped forward and nodded a greeting. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Warton.”

  “Please,” she said, “call me Georgia.”

  “I’ll leave you folks to get acquainted,” said Martha. “We got some grub in the oven for lunch that needs tending to. Arthur here is James’s best friend since they were kids, Georgia, so I reckon it’s okay to leave you two out here without a chaperone,” she smiled.

  “Please, Mr. Richards,” said Georgia, beckoning toward some chairs sitting in the shade against a wall, “won’t you have a seat?”

  “Thank you. Call me Arthur.”

  “So what brings you out to the Golden Lane today, Arthur?” she inquired politely, assuming a ladylike posture in the chair. Arthur noted her poise and the fine diction of her Boston-accented speech.

  “Well, Ms. Warton, I wished to extend my sincerest welcome to Sutton County. I see that James has made a fine choice in such an exquisitely beautiful woman and one of some culture too.” She smiled at his compliment and hoped that it wouldn’t lead to too many questions about her background. “I confess I’m a man of culture myself,” Arthur continued, “and I am positively eager to hear the latest news of Boston town.”

  “Yes, I can tell you are a gentleman, sir,” Georgia responded, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction, “are you a businessman as well?”

  “I own the Sutton County Hotel in Sonora, it has the finest appointments and dining in the area. You must drop by sometime and sample the atmosphere of our tea room, Ms. Warton. It’s a bit of a rarity in the West Texas Hill Country.”

  “I would be delighted to do that,” she smiled. “I hope that James and I can make a visit soon. How long have you owned the establishment?”

  “Since its inception. I planned the building from top to bottom and built it with the finest materials. You will find it most accommodating, I’m sure.”

  “Lovely!” Georgia intoned. “I look forward to it, Arthur. So James and yourself have been friends for many years?”

  “Oh, yes. Ever since I can remember. His late wife Margaret, along with James and myself, were childhood adventurers together in Sutton County. And we had some adventures, let me tell you!” Arthur’s face lit up with the memory of youthful days. Then his countenance fell. “Margaret died terribly young.”

  “James told me,” Georgia sympathized, “I’m sorry for the loss of your friend.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Tell me,” she said,
“as a cultured man do you enjoy literature?”

  “Very much so,” Arthur replied, brightening again. “William Shakespeare is my favorite writer. And as for poetry, there is none finer than our own Walt Whitman, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Oh, I love his free verse!” she said, unable to resist the impulse to talk about poetry.

  “Have you heard Song of Myself, 50?” Arthur said enthusiastically, “It is my favorite:

  There is that in me – I do not know what it is – but I know it is in me.