Chapter Twenty
Alvin swiveled around in his chair when the door of his office was thrown open. Wind swept papers from his desk. He muttered a curse and stooped to pick them up. A small shiny black shoe sat firmly on one of them. Alvin ignored the rude gesture, picked up the rest of the papers, stacked them on the desk and secured them with a glass paper weight. Then he greeted his visitor.
“What brings you here?”
“Thank you, I will.” The small man in the carefully brushed derby seated himself in Alvin’s chair. It was an action taken to put the agent firmly in his place for being discourteous. When Alvin began to pace the floor, he said, “Sit down, Alvin. It hurts my neck to look at you.”
“I have work to do. I’m trying to maintain my law practice, you know.” Alvin sat down in a high-backed chair next to his desk and drummed his blunt fingertips on the top.
“You went to Stoney Creek yesterday.”
“Yes, I went there. I offered the teacher a job in town. She turned it down.”
“You didn’t think offering her a job was important enough to talk over with me beforehand?”
“I figured you’d find out if she took the job, which she didn’t.”
“You didn’t go see Arvella.”
“Did Frank beat a path to your door to tell you that?”
“I would have found out anyway. Pud Harris is out there.”
“Looking after your interest, I presume.”
“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, my friend.”
Friend, my hind leg! You’d cut my throat in a minute if you didn’t need me.
“I hear we have a new sheriff.”
“Sid Armstrong.”
“You’re taking a lot on yourself, Alvin. I don’t like for you to go over my head.”
“Do you have a better man in mind?”
“That isn’t the point. In a little more than six weeks the army will be bringing in five thousand head of cattle to divide among the tribes. We don’t need a puffed-up, tinhorn sheriff nosing around.”
“If we didn’t have him, we’d have someone else. The merchants are making noise about law and order.”
“I think it’s time you went to visit your wife.” It was the habit of the man to change the subject rapidly to catch Alvin off guard.
Alvin stood. “I was there two weeks ago.”
“I’ll go with you when you go again.”
“I think not!” Alvin’s voice bounced from wall to wall.
“No need to shout.” The little man got to his feet. “Arvella’s girl ran off. Did you know that?”
“I knew it. Linus came in and told me.”
“I’m sending your wife another girl. The orphanage over in Rawlings was only too happy to provide one. She’s too young for you to diddle with.”
Alvin spun around to glare at the little man.
“What … what do you mean by that?”
“I think you know. You diddled with Moonrock, causing her to go back to her tribe. Don’t do it with this girl. If you feel the urge to diddle, do it with your wife.” His cold eyes boring into Alvin’s. “One more thing, friend. Don’t forget that I put you where you are, and I can put you six feet under. Get the job done and soon or Arvella will end up a widow, a rich widow with any number of opportunists eager to climb into her bed and give me a grandson.”
After the little man left, Alvin sat down and pounded his fist on the desk. Six feet under! My God! He means to have me killed! That’s the only way Arvella could become a widow. For a long while the agent sat at his desk staring at the wall in front of him. The pious little bastard!
His mind kept going back to the day about a month after he had come to Sweetwater with a brand-new certificate to practice law in his valise. He had worked hard, cheated a little, and was ready to make his fortune. As the only lawyer in the area, he had a clear field.
The Reverend Henry W. Longfellow, rancher and preacher, had come to the territory the year before and was firmly established when he built the church. The man could charm the skin off a snake. He could make you believe that black was white and cow shit was apple pie if he set his mind to it.
Soon Alvin was going to church on Sunday and like the rest of the congregation listening with rapt attention to the fire-and-brimstone sermons. He, however, had recognized Longfellow immediately for what he was: a confidence man, a schemer who could wheedle a man-hating old maid out of her drawers and sucker a community into thinking he was Saint Peter reincarnated. Unlike the gullible townspeople, Alvin listened and admired the man only for his duplicity.
It seemed the Reverend Longfellow had larger game in mind than fleecing the congregation out of a few dollars. He wanted Stoney Creek Ranch and a large share of the cattle being sent by the government to feed the Indians on the reservation.
When he put his proposition to Alvin, he was careful to drop information he had received from the police of the town where Alvin had gone to school. Alvin had been angry and had sworn that he had not been with his fellow law student when he broke into the professor’s office and stole papers that would prepare him for an examination.
“Your name is here in the report, Alvin. But don’t fret about it. It can be taken care of, just as easily as new charges can be added.” The chubby little man spoke kindly, but Alvin got the message.
From that time on. The Reverend Longfellow had Alvin firmly in his pocket. The preacher had dug into every corner of Alvin’s life. He had found out about his father’s numerous offspring spread up and down the Mississippi River.
“The Havelshell family appears to be a horny lot.” He made the comment one day in the middle of a discussion about getting Alvin appointed Indian agent. “Out of fifteen known offspring your father sired, including the bastards, eleven of them were males.”
Alvin was too stunned to reply and Longfellow continued.
“Two out of three of yours are male.”
“Goddammit! What the hell are you getting at?” Alvin found his voice.
The preacher’s usually jovial face was suddenly frozen in lines of disapproval.
“Never take the Lord’s name in vain in my presence. Do I make myself clear, Alvin?”
“No, you don’t make yourself clear. What are you getting out?”
“I want you to marry my daughter and get her pregnant. There is a very good chance she would give me a grandson.”
“Marry … Arvella?” Alvin felt the floor sink out from under him. The thought was so repulsive, he was almost sick.
“Miss Arvella. I’ll thank you to have some respect for my daughter.”
“Marry her?”
“Why of course. You don’t think I’d let you fornicate with her without marrying her do you?”
“I … couldn’t—”
“I think you can. I think you will.”
The matter was closed. A month later the wedding was held in the church with the bride’s beaming father officiating.
It was the beginning of a nightmare for Alvin, the only bright spots were his appointment as Indian agent to the southern section of the Wind River Reservation and meeting Virginia Gray. He managed to find out that Arvella’s mother’s family had left a sizable fortune to the first male born into the family. Arvella was the end of the line, and it was up to her to produce the heir or the fortune would go to charity. Henry Longfellow intended to have control of that comfortable fortune.
Alvin knew for certain that if Arvella had a son, it would not put one extra dime in his pocket; and after Longfellow had used him, he would get rid of him. There was a good chance that he’d not be able to give the preacher what he wanted. It was getting harder and harder to go to bed with the fat woman. Moonrock had helped to arouse him the last time. God only knew what it would take the next time to get him primed to perform his husbandly duties.
He had no trouble dredging up desire when he thought of Virginia Gray—it spread like fire in his loins. But when he was with Arvella he blocked her completely from his m
ind, not wanting to soil his daydreams. Virginia was a constant reminder of what he had always planned for himself and what his life could have been if he had not come to this backwater town of Sweetwater and met the Reverend Longfellow.
Alvin came to the decision then and there not to wait for Longfellow to kill him. Where in the hell was Hartog? The bastard was willing to take his money for killing Murphy. He’d pay him twice as much for doing in Longfellow.
After the deed was done, he would leave Sweetwater, change his name, and start up someplace else! What did he have to lose? Virginia Gray! He would not go without seeing her, at least once, and more if he could persuade her to go with him. He was pretty good at persuasion. Hadn’t he talked the banker’s wife into going to bed with him?
He recalled the guilty look on Virginia’s face when he had thrown out the accusation that she had been running from something when she came to Sweetwater. It had been a straw in the wind. Nevertheless, he had already sent a wire to the Pinkerton Agency inquiring about her.
Regardless of the outcome of that inquiry, he would have her—bury himself in that aristocratic body. Before he finished with her, she would know what it meant to be loved by a real man. She’d follow him anywhere. Yearning had become delusion; desire had become obsession. Alvin Havelshell’s mind had begun to slip out of reality and into fantasy.
Trell improved greatly during the days that followed. Granny tempted his appetite with strength-building meals, and Jenny saw to it that he ate them despite his sore jaws.
Blessing the invention of the sewing machine, Jenny cut out a nightshirt from material she had bought at the store to make gowns for the girls. Cassandra sewed it, pleased to be doing something for Trell. Travor helped his brother to bathe completely for the first time since the ambush, then slipped the garment over Trell’s head.
“Cass made the nightshirt. She’ll be in to see if it fits. Too bad it isn’t Jenny visitin’. Want me to sprinkle some bay rum to kill the smell of that salve.”
“You’re funny, Trav. Real funny.
“Stop watching the door. Jenny’s at the school.”
“What’s she doing there. Any kids showed up yet?”
“Not yet. She’ll tell you when they do.”
“I’ve got to get out of this bed and move around.”
“Why? You’ve got two pretty girls waitin’ on you.”
“Don’t forget Cass.”
“It’s impossible to forget Cass. She won’t stand for it. I like the little twit. She tells me things.”
“For instance—”
“She told me she thought her sister might be in love with you.”
“Oh, Lord!” Trell tried to sit up. His ribs hurt so bad he sank back down. “When did she say that?”
“The night we brought you here. Jenny about croaked. But she didn’t deny it. She denied it, though, when I asked if you were in love with her. She said you were a very good … friend.”
“Godamighty, Trav! You’ve got a nerve.”
“I wanted to know. I had to know if you’d staked a claim on her or Colleen. You may as well know, Trell, I’ve got my eye on Colleen. She’s everythin’ I want in a woman, and I’m goin’ to do my damnedest to get her.”
Trell studied his brother’s face for a moment before he spoke.
“Don’t trifle with Colleen’s feelings, Trav. I know how you are with women. I don’t want you to hurt her.”
“I won’t hurt her and I’ll not let anyone else hurt her.” Travor spoke so sincerely that Trell had to believe him. “I’ll marry her if she’ll have me.”
“I never thought this day would come. I’m glad, Trav. Colleen is a fine girl, but … she’ll not put up with any monkeyshines from you.”
“She’ll not have to. I’ve seen what’s on the other side of the mountain, and it’s no better than what’s on this side. I want to sleep in the same bed every night and put my feet under the same table. I want to hear a little peckerwood callin’ me ‘Papa.’”
“I hope it works out for you, Trav.”
“All I’ve got to do now is convince Colleen. A horny jackass and a hairy-chinned billy goat are only a couple of the things she’s called me. She’s threatened to shoot me and cut me with her knife.” Travor grinned. His eyes shone with more light than Trell had seen in a long time.
“Looks like you’ve got your work cut out. Good luck.”
“I’ve got to go over to the Double T and help Joe for a few days. I already made one fast trip to tell him we’d found you. But before I go again, I want to ride into Sweetwater and look around. The gunman I told you about might still be hanging around.”
“Wait until I’m on my feet so I can go with you.”
“I think it best if I go alone. If he’s the one who shot you, he’ll be caught off guard when he sees me. Besides, he may be long gone. I’ll find out from the barkeep at the saloon.”
Jenny was extremely happy. Trell was improving. Last night she had spent the evening at his bedside. They had talked of many things. She told him about her childhood, saving for another time the story of why she and the girls had come to Stoney Creek. Instead, she amused him with anecdotes about Uncle Noah. Trell told her about his mother and Mara Shannon, also saving some of the details for another time. Both Jenny and Trell knew how important it was that they learn more about each other, but every fleeting touch seemed to reveal more than words.
Jenny could not resist brushing back a lock that fell across his forehead. Trell felt the softness of her breast as she leaned over him, and his fingers ached to caress it. His thoughts brought heat to his face, and Jenny, responding to the warmth, pressed her hand against his forehead. Maybe he had a fever! When he caught her hand and drew it to his lips, she was suddenly as hot with desire as he. Virginia Gray, she cautioned herself, you are encouraging this shy man to take liberties. Slowly, regretfully, she had withdrawn her hand. She blushed now, as she remembered the incident. Tonight, when she went to see him, she must be less forward.
Tonight … she could hardly wait for tonight.
Travor had taken it upon himself to build up the wood supply. In two days’ time he had dragged deadfalls to the homestead and cut a cord of firewood. Trell’s twin might be a flirt, but he dearly loved his brother, and he was not lazy. He flirted with Colleen at every opportunity. She was not shy about telling him what she thought of his outrageous behavior. Granny looked on and occasionally smiled when her granddaughter wasn’t looking.
Early one morning a group of Shoshoni arrived and set up poles for a lodge in the dense woods north of the school. When they finished, they left a pile of skins, jumped on their ponies and rode away.
“For the children who come to school,” Whit explained. “They will have shelter from the rain and a cookfire.”
“Why didn’t they finish it?” Jenny asked.
“Rest is woman’s work,” Whit said with a frown.
“Won’t the children go back to their families at night?”
“No family. They will live here.”
“But … who will take care of them?”
“Woman who have no husband will come. Tribe bring food.”
Whit answered her questions patiently even though he did not understand why she asked them.
Later that afternoon, the Reverend Longfellow paid a visit to the homestead. As soon as the buggy, accompanied by a rider, was spotted coming across the meadow toward the house, a flurry of activity ensued.
Trell was cautioned to make no sound before the bunkhouse door was firmly closed. The tracks made by the peddler’s wagon had already been swept away. Beatrice was Jenny’s only worry. The child didn’t understand the reason for keeping quiet about Trell. She liked sitting beside his bed and snuggling the puppy who was getting almost too big for her to hold.
Jenny suggested at first that the minister might be an ally. Ike shook his head.
“He be hand in glove with Havelshell. He even let him wed his girl. Some think he be a playin’ the tu
ne the agent’s a dancin’ to.”
“That’s got nothing to do with the men who tried to kill Trell,” Jenny insisted.
“We ain’t knowin’ that yet, missy.”
“I agree,” Travor said. “Let’s play the cards close to our chest for the time being.”
Jenny came out the back door of the house as the buggy and rider came into the yard. The rider was Frank Wilson. He hung back, leaning on his saddlehorn, his eyes taking in the cut wood, the shed that had been made more secure for the cow and meadow grass that had been cut with a scythe and stacked outside the pole corral.
The preacher alighted from the buggy before Jenny spoke.
“Afternoon.”
“Afternoon. It’s a lovely day for a ride. How are you, my dear.”
“Very well, and you?”
“Couldn’t be better. I’ve looked for you every Sunday. I began to worry and thought I should ride out and see if you were all right. So many things could happen to a woman living alone.”
“I’m not alone, as you can see. Can I get you a cold drink?”
“Why yes, I’d like a cool drink of water. Are the Murphys still here?”
“Of course.” Jenny turned to see Travor approach. “Reverend Longfellow, have you met Mr. McCall?”
“I’ve not had the pleasure, but I’ve seen him in Sweetwater from time to time.” The preacher stuck out his pudgy hand. “How do you do?”
“Very well, thank you.” The two men shook hands. Travor towered over the pudgy little man.
“It’s Christian of you to help out our teacher. God writes good deeds down in his book.”
“That’s what I thought. I wondered why the church in Sweetwater had not offered to send a crew to cut wood for the teacher. Where I come from, neighbors help neighbors.”
“Where are you from, Mr. McCall?”
“A ranch west of Laramie. You may have heard of my half brother, Pack Gallager.”
“No, I can’t say that I have. Although I’ve been to Laramie a few times.”
“Perhaps you know our friend, Charlie McCourtney, who helped to build the new Federal prison over there.”
Sweetwater Page 25
