Make Me No Grave

by Hayley Stone

  Mireia smiled, satisfied with being right, and pretended to shoot me again. Normally, I might have clutched my chest and staggered back, playing along. But this was important. “Listen now. Killing a man ain’t fun, Mireia. You try and remember that when you’re older.”

  The little girl lowered her hand, nodding soberly. Trying to appear serious. Failing some.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I think I saw her father smile.

  “Anyway, I’m telling you this because I want you to know how important this star is to me.”

  “Does it give you powers?” she asked.

  I smiled, charmed. “In a sense. This star gives me the authority to keep the peace. Best power there is.” Mireia smiled, but I don’t think she was impressed by my answer, since it didn’t include the ability to fly or produce ponies on command. “All right, hold your hand out there.”

  She did so—even closed her eyes, though I didn’t ask her to. Her toes wriggled against her mother’s hip.

  Carefully, laying it down so the pin wouldn’t prick her, I placed my marshal’s badge—my most prized possession in the world—into Mireia’s little sun-kissed hand. Almena was right. After what happened at Coffeyville, I didn’t need it. Didn’t deserve it. Not until I made things right again.

  Mireia sucked in her breath and her eyes flew open. She squeaked and held the star to her chest. “My marshal,” she said dreamily. I took her to mean the star. Though it was also true, in the short time I’d known her, the little girl had captured my heart, too. I’d always wanted kids, and she reminded me why.

  “I’m not giving it to you for keeps, mind,” I told her, and she leaned away from me, removing the star from my sight, as if I might take it back, which made me chuckle. “Now, now. A star is earned. Takes hard work and dedication. Proof of character. There’s also a messy bit of bureaucracy involving a judge, but that’s neither here nor there.” Her face softened in confusion. I’d lost her. “I need someone to hold on to it for a while. Someone brave and honest.”

  Mireia lifted her chin. “I’m brave and honest.”

  “Yeah. I was hoping you might be.” I smiled, straightening up. “You keep that nice and safe now, hear?” Mireia nodded vigorously, turning the badge over in her hands. It was a little strange, seeing my star in the hands of a child. But it also felt right. She was sure to get more pleasure out of it than I had of late, and who knew? Maybe in the future, the marshal’s service would enlist women. It seemed less farfetched now than it had before the war. “If anyone tries to pick a fight with you, you just tell them Marshal Richardson lent you that star on account of how tough you are. That’ll surely send them running for the hills.”

  “What do you say to the kind marshal, Mireia?” Mrs. Cortez prompted.

  “Gracias,” Mireia said, not bothering to look up from her gift.

  I went to tip my hat, only to find it missing from my head, so I just smiled at her instead.

  Without much thought, I glanced over to the table where I’d set my headwear down only to find Almena missing, too. She and her plate of food were gone, and the back door was open, a shot of blue-and-black night captured between its splintering frame.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I rushed outside, expecting to catch sight of Almena’s back as she thundered away on her horse. It was dark out. The moon, trapped behind a drifting prison of clouds, couldn’t be relied upon for seeing any great distance, nor were the stars much use, too small a congregation, as though most of them had blown away with the storm.

  “Going somewhere?”

  I snapped to attention, turning back, although my forward momentum took me a few steps farther than I meant to go.

  There was no porch behind the Cortez’s house, so Almena sat on the ground just outside the warm glow of the kitchen window, legs drawn up against her chest, back to the wall. She looked awful small. Grass filled the space around her thighs and back, almost like she’d been here so long, nature had grown in around her.

  She didn’t smile, but remarked, “Shoot, Marshal. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Don’t believe in ghosts,” I answered reflexively, though that was perhaps no longer true.

  “Oh, you don’t, do you?”

  “Almena, what’re you doing out here?” I asked, a little more harshly than I meant to. My heart still hammered against my chest, punishing me for the mistake of having let the Grizzly Queen out of my sight. Good Lord only knows what trouble she could’ve gotten up to, and me being responsible for her. Me being responsible for all of this.

  “Not running, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She was aggressively crushing cornbread in her hands, leaving a mess of crumbs on her lap. Either she didn’t notice or didn’t care. I thought the latter more likely. A faraway look in her eyes made me think Almena was visiting the past. Or trapped in it.

  “You could’ve said something,” I told her. “Rather than just disappearing like a… a thief in the night.”

  “Wasn’t aware I needed your permission to come outside and relieve myself.”

  “That what you were doing?”

  “No, but I could’ve been. I don’t see how it’s any of your business what I’m doing out here. It can’t be less important than that.”

  “In case you haven’t caught on yet, you’re my business, Miss Guillory.”

  “I wish you’d stop that.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Calling me Miss Guillory like I’m some lady whose delicate sensibilities you need to protect. I’m afraid that horse was let out of the barn a long time ago.” She dusted the crumbs off her hands and started attacking the grass, ripping the blades out by the roots. “You don’t need to coddle me.”

  “You sure have a funny idea of what it means to be coddled,” I replied drily. “If I’m not to call you Miss Guillory, then you could try using my name, too. I think we’re past titles. In that, you may have a point.”

  “Apostle.” She shook her head. “I know that’s not your real name.”

  “It’s what I go by.”

  “Out here, where you could be anything, anyone, you still let others name you. Why is that?”

  I scratched my ear. Never really thought about it like that. “I think you’re placing a little too much importance on a name. Name isn’t who you are.”

  She smiled wanly. A thin strip of moon appeared. I knew the two weren’t related, but there was still something haunting about her face, grim and lifeless in the moonlight. “That’s where you’re wrong. A name you’re given at birth, maybe that’s not who you are. A name you take on afterward, though. That’s exactly who you are.”

  “Jed—Sheriff Strickland, he told me they called you Killin’ Al Guillory during the war. Is that who you are?”

  “It’s who I was.”

  “And now you’re a grizzly bear, on account of that’s what they call you.”

  “Careful, Apostle. That sounded almost testy.”

  I sighed rather than answer her and leaned up against the doorframe. As an afterthought, I closed the door to the Cortez’s behind me, affording us some privacy. A chance to finally hash things out. But first, I took a few seconds to prepare my thoughts, watching Almena stare at the middling distance, where the long, jagged surface of the grass was the only thing separating the dark shade of the earth from the infinite black of the night sky. Amazing how something so empty could still be so beautiful.

  I finally broke the silence. “What’re we doing out here, Almena?”

  Thought she might try and be clever about answering my question or dodge it entirely, but instead her response was straightforward. “There’s a woman out there riding under my name. I’m planning on killing her. You’re here because you’re going to help me do that.”

  “You need my help to kill someone?”

  She finally looked at me, smiling with her eyes. “Probably not. But I’d have a hard time passing up an opportunity to have a former marshal for a mascot. Es
pecially one so pretty.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  The smile migrated to her lips in a wicked curve. “Not ever.”

  “No, that’s not—I mean, you said former.”

  “As in, not anymore.”

  “I know the meaning of the word, Almena.”

  Standing, she didn’t bother to brush the dirt from her trousers. It clung to the shape of her rear and the curves of her thighs like a sooty fingerprint—not that I was paying special attention to those areas of her person. I kept my eyes up, much as I could.

  “It’s pretty simple, but since you seem to be struggling to understand, allow me to clarify. You were a U.S. marshal. You’re not anymore.” She came toward me as she spoke rather than raising her voice to be heard. Hadn’t noticed before, but she was talking very gently, maybe on account of how quiet the night already was. “You crossed a line at Coffeyville, and you know it. Or isn’t that why you gave Mireia your badge?”

  “I’m surprised you saw that exchange, given how quickly you fled outside.”

  Being this close, even the subtlest change in Almena’s face was obvious to me. I couldn’t make sense of the contradictions I found in her expression. For example, the injury in her eyes didn’t match her scowl. “It was getting a little too warm and sentimental in there for me.”

  “You don’t have kids, I take it.”

  “No.”

  She looked away, but I heard the hesitation before her answer, that painful second suggesting some deeper truth. There was more to the story, but if she didn’t want to talk about it, well… it wasn’t my place to ask. I recalled my wife’s face, every time someone asked her about us having children—that lean, annoyed look. Her gold-brown eyes, almost catlike in the evening, daring the inquirer to press the issue.

  “What about you?” Almena asked. “No pitter-patter of little marshal feet back at the old homestead?”

  “No.” My answer held a similar hesitation. Maybe if I opened up, though, Almena would, too. “It’s a nice idea, but my wife, Lilah… she didn’t want kids.”

  Her eyes held sympathy. For me—or for Lilah? “Did she tell you that?”

  “Not in so many words, but I knew. I knew and I didn’t care. I was in love. Suppose I just assumed she’d change her mind after we were married.” I frowned at my boots. “That was wrong of me, saddling her with my hopes. Not believing her when she told me no. Kept telling myself she just wasn’t ready, but she knew her own mind. Always did. I should’ve accepted that.”

  Almena was quiet a long moment, then she said, “You shouldn’t blame yourself. Actresses are known for being fickle.”

  My hands went cold.

  “What did you say?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s done their homework. I did a little checking up on you after Asher. Figured it’d be good to know who I was up against. Imagine my surprise to find you divorced. And you seemed so solid, too. Loyal.”

  “I was faithful to my wife,” I defended, feeling like a hot brand dipped in icy water.

  “Then what was it? All the pressure of you wanting to put a baby in her? Or maybe she just got bored. Is that why she left you? For another man?”

  “Watch yourself.”

  I stepped toward her, but she only angled her face up to mine in challenge.

  “So the masterful Apostle Richardson shows himself to be human at last. Good. I was starting to worry you really were an apostle. I don’t think that would’ve earned me any generosity from the big man upstairs. Not that I have much credit with Him to begin with.”

  Almena smirked coldly. I was suddenly reminded of something told to me when I first began my hunt for Guillory: there’s a reason they call her the queen. She enjoys seeing men on their knees. Over the course of the day, I had forgotten who I was dealing with.

  “You having a good time with this?” I asked her. “Dredging up my past?”

  “She kept your name. Did you know that?”

  I hadn’t. Lilah wrote me a couple times after she’d gone—maybe out of guilt, I don’t know—but after watching her board a train and leave home with another man, a big city broker who swore he knew all the right people to make Lilah famous, I wasn’t feeling charitable. Took me a while to write back, and when I finally did, it was to beg her to reconsider. Laying aside my pride and exposing myself to her scorn and ridicule, I asked her to come home. Just come home, Lil. The letters stopped coming after that.

  “Lilah Richardson of Richmond, Virginia. Formerly one Miss Lilah Inghram of St. Louis. Currently employed by a small theater company based out of the city. I don’t remember the title, but I’m sure my associate in Richmond could find it, if sufficiently motivated.”

  “If you’re trying to make your point, best get to it.”

  All trace of mockery disappeared from her tone. “I’m telling you this so you know I’m not lying when I say I can get to her.”

  “Are you blackmailing me?” I was pleased by how calm I sounded. No, not calm. Tired. I just sounded tired. “Threatening to hurt her if I don’t go along with your plan?”

  “I’m glad we understand each other.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t do that. Don’t piss in my eye and call it rain.”

  “You know when you’re upset, a little muscle jumps on your jaw. Right here—” She reached a finger toward the spot in question, but I pulled my head back. Almena took my recoil in stride and let her hand fall back to her side.

  Too late I thought to downplay the feelings I had for my wife. Still, I couldn’t help trying. “What makes you think I even care what happens to Lilah? She’s my former wife. As I was reliably informed just recently, former means not anymore. There’s a reason for that.”

  Almena folded her arms across her chest. “Enlighten me.”

  I felt the muscle on my jaw twitching, just like she said. Whatever my grievances with Lilah, it didn’t feel right airing our dirty laundry to a stranger. An outlaw at that. I couldn’t publicly condemn her, even now. Even when it would’ve been to my advantage to do so.

  I looked away. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not exactly feeling forthcoming at the moment.”

  “Right,” Almena said, like she expected as much. I hated how predictable I was to her. “Well, I’ll tell you what I know. Everyone has a weak spot, Apostle. Apply the tiniest amount of pressure to it and you own them. For many men, it’s vice—drinking, gambling, whoring. More commonly, it’s a person. Someone they love, maybe against reason and sense. Like you and your ex-wife. Don’t bother trying to deny it. I watched your face just now; it went soft when you talked about her. Some part of you, however small, is still in love with her.”

  I had nothing to say to that. After a moment, Almena went on.

  “Virtue’s what condemns men like you. You have this insane idea that the world is a fair and just place and everything’ll work out if you just have faith. If you just believe hard enough, then good is rewarded with good, and everyone goes home a winner.”

  Her tone implied she was not one such person. But maybe, I thought, trying to see past the vitriol to its poisonous source, she used to be. My mama always said the worst people in the world were those who’d loved, and been hurt for their loving. I’d encountered too many bandits without a conscience to believe that was true all the time—some men were just born mean—but in Almena’s case, the jury was still out. Something told me I was only seeing the part of her she wanted me to see, the hard outlaw. But I’d had glimpses of the woman underneath. I knew she wasn’t all bad. Then again, maybe that was just a story I was telling myself to make this easier.

  “And what would you know of virtuous men?”

  “More than you think.” Almena flattened herself against the house, letting her hands fall to her holstered weapon, absently caressing the gun. “Enough to know virtue doesn’t mean a thing against an assassin’s bullet. Standing on the moral high ground only makes you an easier target.”

  Assassin’s bullet? I let it pass without com
ment, thinking it must have been some odd turn of phrase.

  “Sometimes standing up for what’s right often means standing alone,” I said.

  “In my experience, it usually means dying alone, too.” She waved me off. “You keep your ‘right,’ Apostle. You keep on believing there’s a man up there who gives a damn about anything that happens down here. I don’t care. As long as it doesn’t interfere with my business.”

  “How in the world did you get like this? Who did this to you?”

  “If you’re waiting to hear about the man who broke my heart and sent me down a path of crime, you’re going to be disappointed.” Almena peered at me from out of steady shadow. “I did this to me, Marshal. There wasn’t anyone else. It was all me. I made my choices. And I’m living with them.”

  “But it ain’t just you who’s living with them.” Surely she could see how unrealistic—I might even go as far as to say, selfish—that view was? World was a large place, but not so large that it meant we alone were responsible for what happened to us. Call it God or coincidence, our lives had a tendency to meet in unexpected ways. “None of us moves through this life without bumping into anyone else. Like it or not, your choices affect others. We probably wouldn’t be speaking right now, if you hadn’t gone and dragged me into this mess with all of these choices of yours, so please spare me that excuse for you behaving badly.”

  Aggravated, I rubbed the side of my face, feeling the scratch of a couple day’s bristles. It wouldn’t get much worse even if I neglected myself. I was one of those sad men who couldn’t grow a decent beard. Grew a moustache once while on a lengthy pursuit, but my wife made me shave it soon as I got home. Said it made me look mangy. Like a dog? I remember asking her, smirking against her soft lips. Positively vagrant, she replied, but I felt her smiling, too.

  Not sure why my mind kept sparking memories of Lilah recently, though I suspected Almena’s presence had something to do with it. I sighed. “You know we’re after the same thing here. I intend on finding the ones responsible for Baxter Springs, same as you.”