Her Outlaw Heart

by Samantha Harte

  She could imagine brash young T. T. McQue calling out, “Would you look-ee there, boys. Ain’t that the prettiest hair color you ever did see? What hair color is that, young missy? Ain’t it the color of morning sunshine?”

  At that point in her mother’s stories, Jodee’s mother always giggled. “I told him, ‘I am Haydee Latham.’ And I said it right in front of the whole town. They couldn’t stop me from talking to him. I never did what folks thought I should. Mother called me willful. Pa said I’d been a trial since the day I was born. What’s the use in doin’ what folks tell you to do if it ain’t what you want to do? If it ain’t fair or right?”

  Jodee always pictured her handsome father, loitering by the saloon's hitching rail, hat cocked, looking rough and tumble. A scoundrel, they called him. A no-account with bad blood.

  “He was all that,” her mother used to say with perverse pride. “He didn’t own a thing but his horse, his pistol, and his hat, but your papa had a smile as bright as a bonfire. His eyes were kindly. He treated me like a lady. One afternoon by the river he proposed on bended knee. We ran off that night and were married by Justice of the Peace Warren Carter in Texas. There’s a certificate in my bureau drawer to prove it.”

  Jodee’s mother always scrubbed a lot harder at the washboard when she spoke of such things. “When Timmy comes back for me, Jodee honey, he’s going to be mighty surprised to find you, too. We’re going to go away with him, you and me. Have you ever wondered why we stay here, doing laundry to earn our keep? If we left, Timmy wouldn’t be able to find us, so we’re staying and we’re waiting for as long as it takes.”

  With that, Jodee remembered her mother laid out on the dining room table just the following year. Twenty-four years old. Her hair still like morning sunshine.

  When her father finally did come, he rode away with a daughter instead of a wife. Terrified as she was, Jodee wanted him to carry her off. She never wanted to return to the loveless home of her childhood. Her father proved to be everything her mother promised, doting and good-hearted. He proved to be a fool, too, with impossible dreams. Jodee loved him anyway.

  “Do you think your ma knows I came back for her?” her father once asked. They hadn’t taken up with Burl yet, but times were hard.

  “I heard Grandmother talkin’ one day," Jodee recounted to her father. “I was listening at the window. ‘In the end…’ I heard Grandmother say, ‘Haydee didn’t even know me. Her fever was so bad. I prayed, Lord, spare her. I’ll forgive her everything. Haydee rose up like she was seeing a vision and called out, Timmy! Timmy!’ Honest, Pa. That’s what I heard Grandmother say. Mama loved you to her last breath.”

  It was comforting to think her mother and father were together in the hereafter. Rinsing her face, Jodee scrubbed her hair with the fragrant hair washing paste. She scrubbed hard, as if to erase her grief. If she were to go home to Arkansas she’d have to spit in the eye of every do-gooder who drove off her father and broke her mother's heart. No, she’d never go back. She must think of somewhere else to go. Anywhere else.

  Sweeping handfuls of water over her head, Jodee rinsed away the lather from her long tangles. Reaching for more hair washing paste, she froze, realizing the servant was standing in the doorway, staring at her fiery puckered wound.

  “Doin’ all right, honey? I brought you something to eat.” Hanna placed a tray laden with milk and sandwiches on the table. “You’re skinny as a drownt rat.” But she smiled. Freckled, with several missing teeth, Hanna’s was the kindliest face Jodee had seen in a good while.

  Six

  That afternoon, Jodee and Hanna sat behind Avinelle’s house letting the wind dry Jodee’s hair. It was chilly outside, but the warmth of the sun felt good. In spite of her throbbing shoulder wound, Jodee felt refreshed and ready to face her new life, whatever that might turn out to be.

  Wearing only the shapeless blue dress Avinelle had given her, Jodee felt half-naked, perched on a low stool while Hanna brushed her long damp hair. The touch of the woman’s hands was soothing.

  “I been workin’ for Miz Ashton and Miz Avinelle since they came to Burdeen four years ago.” Hanna let Jodee’s hair play through her careworn fingers. “They’re wearisome ladies, to be sure, but Miz Ashton can turn out a new dress in less than no time. Never heard of no lady could sew like that. You ask me, she weren’t born to money like she wants folks to believe.”

  Only half listening, Jodee began to doze.

  “Now Avinelle, she’s spoilt clean through, been self-sorry since her husband got himself killed—it’s a scandal we ain’t supposed to talk about. Now, that outlaw…” She lowered her voice. “I can’t believe a little thing like you was living with outlaws.”

  Jodee roused herself. “I was with my father, not the others. How can I make folks believe I wasn’t like them? The marshal let me out of jail, didn’t he?”

  “You know how folks is, honey. They believe what they want, the truth be damned.”

  Jodee wilted. “Then there’s no hope. I might as well be an outlaw for all they care what I’ve been through.”

  Avinelle appeared on the rear porch, her expression peevish. “Oh, there you are, Jodee.” She called back into the house in her sing-song, “Miss McQue, won’t you come inside? The marshal insists on seeing you,” she added in a harsh whisper.

  “I can’t see him, not like this,” Jodee cried, crossing her arms over the thin fabric of the dress.

  “I’ll fetch a shawl,” Hanna said, hurrying inside.

  Jodee followed her. Once in the kitchen, Hanna draped a homely knitted shawl around Jodee’s thin shoulders.

  “Thank you, Hanna. You’ve been so nice. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Don’t be scared now,” Hanna said, teasing. “Ain’t a gal in town prettier than you.”

  What a fool notion, Jodee thought. Avinelle was the pretty one with that pert chin and dazzling smile. Jodee felt as rangy as a buffalo calf.

  “Fact is, honey, your chances of marrying are better than finding work. You want a husband and family, don’t you? Well, then, get yourself a big strapping man like the marshal.” She gave Jodee a gaping smile.

  • • •

  Fragile lamps with crystal drops. Doilies on every surface. Whatnots that probably cost more than was decent—Corbet hated Avinelle’s suffocating parlor. His jailhouse suited him better. Cold stone walls, iron bars—well, maybe the jailhouse wasn’t the best fit either. Just anything but this.

  Avinelle's aging maid told him Jodee was in the yard. If they had her doing laundry, he’d raise holy hell. She was supposed to be in bed, recovering.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, Corbet braced himself.

  “Ah, Marshal Harlow.” As usual, Widow Ashton didn’t smile. “I was lying down. What more do you need of us today?”

  Corbet felt like a schoolboy. “I stopped by to make sure you’re managing.”

  “If you mean has Miss McQue robbed us yet, we have given her little opportunity. You may think it wise to set her free; I bow to your judgment. But I have my doubts. Avinelle could not rest, knowing the unfortunate girl was in jail, wounded, subject to public scrutiny and the riffraff you usually have installed there. She insisted we invite Miss McQue to stay with us.”

  Jaw tightening, Corbet didn’t envy Jodee’s time under this roof. He noticed a certain pallor around the widow’s eyes, however, which suggested perhaps he was frightening her. He tried to soften his expression. He didn’t purposely bully old women.

  When Jodee appeared in the hallway, Corbet’s breath went out. Already she looked better. No more was her hair a mop of tangles. Like corn silk, it fell in a cascade to her waist. She looked as shy and reserved as any proper young lady might.

  “You wanted to see me, Marshal?”

  He couldn’t remember why he’d come. When Jodee gestured toward the knapsack he held, she came forward to claim it and retreated back to the hall. He realized she wore nothing under the dress but her lithe young body.
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br />   Avinelle crowded past Jodee and seized his elbow. “Have you had lunch, Corbet? Hanna would be happy to fix you a plate. I want to discuss that outlaw, the one you said got away. I don’t feel safe unless you’re near.”

  “Sorry, Avinelle. I just wanted to drop off Jodee’s knapsack. I can’t stay.”

  “But you must give us a bit of consideration,” Widow Ashton put in. “We have had a trying time this past week. And Miss McQue is not yet presentable. We allowed your visit nevertheless. I assumed you had—”

  “—If this is too much for you ladies,” Corbet interrupted, “just say the word. I’ll take Jodee somewhere else.”

  Widow Ashton’s eyes flashed. “You wound me, Marshal. The entire territory seems bent on provoking my daughter and myself, helpless widows at the mercy of thieves and murderers. If you wish to take Miss McQue away, then do it. We opened our home to her. My guest room is waiting. You cannot hold the decency of a bath against us.”

  A bath—Corbet felt like a fool. Perversely, he said, “Miss McQue, I’d like to just say your hair looks like morning sunlight.” The moment he spoke he figured he must have lost what was left of his mind.

  When Jodee collapsed to the floor in a heap, Avinelle and her mother looked so startled they didn’t respond. Corbet had been waiting so many days for Jodee to faint he didn’t need to think. He was at her side in a single stride and scooped her into his arms.

  “Jodee?” he whispered. “Jodee!”

  She didn’t revive.

  “I’ll fetch Doc,” Hanna said from the back of the hallway where she’d been watching. She vanished back into the kitchen.

  Corbet drew Jodee tightly against his chest. The day had been too much for her. His fault. He was rushing things. His fault. Through the thin calico, he could feel the warmth of her legs and back.

  “Upstairs, quickly,” Widow Ashton said.

  Corbet took the stairs two at a time. He was pleased to note the guest room smelled freshly aired. Widow Ashton turned back the coverlet and closed the window. He placed Jodee on the bed. Stepping back, he realized Widow Ashton was glaring at him. Avinelle stood in the doorway, wearing the same wounded expression she had often worn since her husband’s death. He felt like a cad. Avinelle loved him, but he felt nothing in return. Now she knew it.

  As Jodee stirred, Corbet held his breath. Blinking, she looked around until her eyes fell on him. He filled with her wide-eyed gaze. She was all right. He heaved a sigh.

  “Jodee,” he said awkwardly, “you’re in good hands here. See you all Sunday.”

  He made it down the staircase without seeming to run. He didn’t understand what had just happened. He wanted nothing more than to keep his town in order until he decided if he should stay or move on, but his thoughts were suddenly in chaos.

  The memory of Jodee’s eyes kept him moving. Corbet felt bewitched. He wasn’t even sure where he was going.

  • • •

  Jodee threw herself off the bed and backed away from it on unsteady legs. The abrupt movement made her dizzy. What was she doing on this fancy bed? Avinelle and Widow Ashton stood in the doorway, gawking at her.

  The last thing she remembered—the marshal said something about her hair.

  Jodee twisted away. She saw her reflection in a tilting mirror framed on top of a bureau of drawers. Was that her ma? That sun-browned face with the astonished-looking eyes was her own actual self, Jodee realized. With her hair clean like morning sunshine, she looked decent. Actual and for real decent!

  Reluctantly, Widow Ashton touched Jodee’s arm. “Lie down. You fainted.”

  “I can’t take your room, Widow Ashton,” Jodee exclaimed. “It’s too fine for the likes of me. I’ll sleep in the shed.”

  “Bailey sleeps in the carriage house, foolish girl. This is our guest room. My room is down the hall. Avinelle’s is across from mine. The pitcher and basin are here for washing your face and hands in the morning. Hanna will show you where to empty the chamber pot. Lie down now. No more nonsense.”

  Downstairs there came a rap at the front door and then the sound of footfalls pounding up the stairs. Dr. Trafford burst into the bedroom, his hair windblown. “Hanna said there was an emergency.”

  Stepping aside, Avinelle bit out, “Mother, I must speak with you.” She edged into the hall. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Doctor. It’s Jodee, as you can see.”

  Widow Ashton looked about to say something but thought better of it. “I apologize for this infringement on your time, Doctor. Miss McQue is all right. Please join us downstairs for a refreshment. You look tired.”

  Ignoring the invitation, the doctor came at Jodee and tugged aside the neckline of her dress to examine the wound. This was Widow Ashton’s first glimpse of it. She fled with her fingertips covering her lips.

  Dr. Trafford looked relieved. “Why did you faint?”

  “Oh, Doc, I’m just so gull-darned tired. Everybody keeps pulling at me. Go here. Go there. Do I have to stay here? The marshal said something about the hotel.”

  “No decent woman stays at a hotel unaccompanied, Miss McQue. If you had a decent upbringing, you’d know that. If you were to waltz out of here in that get-up, folks would chase you straight to Rella’s. She’d paint you up, fit you with a silk dress that men would pay you to take off. Soon you’d be drinking whiskey to dull the shame of your life and end up smoking opium to make it through the night.”

  Had he lost his mind? “Why are you saying this to me? I ain’t done a thing. What’s the matter with you?”

  “I haven’t slept in days. That’s what’s the matter with me. I came over here thinking you were dying. Corbet’s giving you this chance. You have to work now. You have to earn your keep. No more robbing or stealing. If you think life has treated you unfairly, you’re probably right, but life has treated you no worse than Virgil Robstart or anyone else. You can’t afford to stay in a hotel. You’re lucky to be a guest here. Lying on that featherbed will be the easiest trial you’ll have to endure.”

  Jodee decided she hated the doctor.

  He glowered back at her. “You wouldn’t be expecting a child, fainting like that, would you?”

  “I am a virgin girl,” Jodee snapped.

  “You are no girl, Miss McQue. You are a woman grown. Start acting the part.”

  How could he think such a thing of her? Jodee wondered, pacing the guest room after he’d gone. She would’ve died rather than lay with one of Rikes. Or Burl! Were they all crazy? Did folks really think that low of her? Well, she’d show them all. She’d earn her keep. She’d pay her way and walk out of this town free and clear same as she walked out of that jailhouse.

  She needed a ledger to write down her mounting debts. She owed Rella for a hair comb. She owed Artie for meals. She must return the marshal’s shirt, washed and starched. She owed that newspaperman a swift kick in his shins, but she supposed she’d never collect that debt. She owed Avinelle for the ugly dress she was wearing, the hair washing paste, the hot bath water, the soap…

  The list suddenly seemed awfully long. How would she ever earn so much? Looking around, Jodee felt grudging resentment and rising terror. The guest room looked like heaven with a four poster bed and a dresser with a doily protecting the marble top. There was a Turkish carpet on the floor beside the bed and another in front of the dressing table. There were flowered papers on the walls and a glass globe lamp on a spindly table beside the bed; her grandmother never owned such like.

  Forgetting the doctor’s insult, Jodee tiptoed to the window to examine the delicate weave of the dimity curtains. Pretty as petticoats. Would she ever look out a window of her own like this? She went to the bed and smoothed the linens. Not a stitch of mending. She couldn’t bring herself to climb between the sheets.

  There was an ornate metal box on the dressing table that she longed to touch. Up close, it looked to be pure silver. She smoothed her fingertips over the fancy design on top. What was in the drawers of the bureau? She longed to look but wouldn’t
let herself. Did any of them realize how hard she tried to make up for being born poor, and with bad blood? Her shoulder ached, reminding her this was no dream. This was her new life. She didn’t know the first thing what to do.

  Had she been in some hideout camp, she’d have water to fetch, firewood to gather, Burl and the Rikes to avoid. How easy it had been to dream of a better life while trapped in the old one, she thought. The doctor was right. This was her chance to show folks just what kind of person she really was. A decent person wouldn’t itch to open the silver box or peek in drawers. Would they?

  From the time she’d been twelve years old she’d been like a stick in a creek, swept away on the current with no will of her own. How did a lone woman stay decent? Was that why Avinelle tried so hard to win the marshal’s affections? She needed another husband to keep herself decent? Did it matter who a woman married so long as she was married? Should Jodee consider finding a man instead of work?

  She didn’t want a husband! Who’d take her, ignorant as she was? The marshal? She drew in a ragged breath and let it out slowly. Morning sunshine indeed. What was he playing at? He’d put her in jail. Questioned her like a criminal. She wasn’t sure why he’d let her go. It was probably a test. He no more cared about her than he would a stray dog.

  But she was as good as anybody. Standing in this guest room was no different than living in a shack or hideout camp or jail cell. She stared herself down in the looking glass. I am Jodeen Marilee Latham McQue. I was hard as rocks with outlaws because I had to survive. I can be polite as candy with do-gooder widows like Miss Avinelle and her mother. Easy.

  Easy pickin’s. She heard Burl’s sneering voice in her memory. “You won’t never have a different life than this, girlie-girl. You’re a born outlaw. That’s all you’ll ever be.”