Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  Joshua stopped pacing. He wouldn’t remember his lines if he didn’t calm down, he told himself sternly. He had to do something to settle his nerves.

  Turning, he went to his desk and opened the bottom drawer. He held his breath as he reached inside and brought out a dark-brown glass pint bottle.

  The blood pounded in Joshua's head. Several months ago, he had taken the bottle of whiskey away from a drunken cowboy who wandered into services one Sunday and started to disrupt the sermon. Joshua took the puncher aside and had a few words with him. Shamed, the cowboy handed over the bottle and then sat contritely in one of the front pews during Joshua's message. He never would have suspected that a preacher would threaten to thrash the living daylights out of him if he didn’t behave. The possibility quickly sobered him up.

  Joshua had intended to pour out the whiskey and throw the bottle away after the service, but instead he stuck it in his desk drawer for some reason. Now he couldn’t even remember what that reason had been. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to handle the whiskey any more than he had to. In any case, he was glad that it was still there.

  One little sip wouldn’t hurt, he decided. If anything, it would help. The liquor might settle his nerves, and it would also serve as a reminder of the days when he had been a slave to the stuff. He could draw on those memories in his portrayal of Charles Abernathy. He was only doing this for the good of the play. Joshua pulled the cork, lifted the bottle to his lips, tilted back his head. He drank, long and deep.

  We're going to have a large crowd, Augusta Hall thought as she edged the makeshift curtain aside and peeked out at the audience gathering in the courthouse. People were still coming in, and the chairs were filling up fast.

  A small stage had been erected at the front of the room and a curtain strung in front of it. The rest of the hall had been filled with chairs, as many as could be found. Augusta estimated that, with the space at the back for standing room, an audience of several hundred could pack the courthouse to see the performance.

  Anticipation and anxiety vied within her, with anticipation triumphing. Tonight, she would reach more people with her message than ever before, and her crusade would win many converts. At least she prayed that it would.

  But where was Joshua?

  All the cast members were there except the minister. All were ready to take their places, and the people working behind the scenes were also prepared. But Joshua hadn’t arrived, and the play couldn’t begin without him. The first scene was one of domestic bliss and tranquility in the Abernathy household, before it was torn apart forever by the specter of liquor. In fact, Joshua spoke the opening lines.

  Mrs. Grantham bustled up to Augusta. "Oh, my dear, I'm so excited," she gushed. "This is going to be the most important night in the history of our little society. Isn't it time to start?"

  Augusta nodded. "Very soon. We're waiting for Joshua."

  "Well, he had best arrive soon. That audience will get impatient in a hurry. They came to see a show, and they expect it to start on time, even if they didn't have to pay an admission charge."

  Augusta peeked through the curtain again and studied the audience. Quite a few townspeople were in attendance, as was a large number of cowhands from the surrounding ranches. She also noticed railroad workers, farmers, and other rugged types crowding into the large room. Most of them had postponed their Saturday night drinking for a couple of hours to see the play, and they would demand to be entertained. Augusta knew their sort quite well; that was why the advertising posters for the play had emphasized its drama, pathos, and scandal.

  She let the tiny gap in the curtain sag shut as the murmuring from the crowd seemed to grow slightly louder. "You're right," Augusta said, turning to Mrs. Grantham once more. "Perhaps I'd better go look for Joshua and make sure nothing's happened to him."

  She started toward the rear door of the courthouse, but before she reached it, it suddenly opened. Joshua Markham stepped inside and let the cold wind slam the door behind him. He was wearing his own dark, conservative suit, which would serve as the costume for Charles Abernathy during the opening scenes, before he began his descent into the besotted state of the later acts. But he had no hat, and Augusta was surprised that he had ridden bareheaded from the church on such a cold night.

  No matter, she told herself. He was here now, and that was all that counted. Quickly she came up to him and said, "Hello, Reverend Markham. We were beginning to worry about you."

  "Nothing to worry about," he said breezily, a smile appearing on his lips. "I'm here, aren't I?"

  "Yes, but it's time to start the play—"

  "Then let's get on with it, shall we?" He started to stride toward the armchair in the middle of the stage where he would be sitting when the curtain opened. But before he reached the chair, he turned and said to Augusta, "Aren't you going to wish me good luck?"

  "Of course. Good luck, Joshua."

  She had called him Joshua. It was out in the open for everyone to hear. Perhaps he would take that for what it was, a sign of how she felt about him. It might spur him to give his best performance.

  Joshua stumbled on his way to the chair. Augusta frowned slightly but didn’t have time to worry, because everyone else was in place and waiting for her command to begin. She nodded to the actors, then scurried off the stage, gesturing to two teenaged boys from the orphanage who were in charge of the curtain. They began pulling it open, and a round of applause came from the eager audience.

  Joshua sat in the chair, waiting for the clapping to stop. When it did, he looked to his left offstage and called, "Oh, Ferdinand, bring me my newspaper like a good lad, will you?"

  Is there something wrong with his voice? Augusta asked herself. The words came out plainly, but he was speaking a little slower and not as precisely as he had during the rehearsals. Not surprisingly, Joshua had the best diction among any of the amateur actors. Speaking before a crowd was part of his job.

  Patrick Hammond hurried onto the stage, bringing a folded newspaper with him. "Here you are, Father," he said as he handed it to Joshua.

  Helen Dockery, in the role of Heloise Abernathy, entered on Joshua's right. She carried a pipe and gave it to him as she spoke her first line. "And how was your day, dear?"

  Joshua reached for the pipe but suddenly fumbled it, almost dropping it. He recovered quickly but then looked around for a second, blinking rapidly. Augusta realized he was flustered and had forgotten his line. She was about to hiss the first few words when his face brightened. "Just fine, my darling," he intoned. "How could it be anything else when I can look forward to coming home to you and dear little Ferdinand?"

  Augusta heaved a sigh of relief. Joshua still didn’t sound quite right, but at least he had remembered his line before she had to prompt him. During the next few minutes, she saw that he seemed to be in the flow of the script.

  Then he stumbled again as he moved from one side of the stage to the other. That uncertainty wasn’t like him, Augusta thought. Still, she had heard it wasn’t uncommon for actors to get very nervous during a performance, no matter how good they were during rehearsals. That was probably all it was, she told herself, just a case of nerves.

  During a brief pause between scenes, Augusta hurried over and asked, "Joshua, are you all right?"

  "Certainly, I'm all right," he snapped. "You're not going to hold one or two mistakes against me, are you?" He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat from his face.

  "Of course not. I'm just worried about you. You don't seem quite yourself."

  Joshua laughed harshly. "I'm not myself. I'm Charles Abernathy, remember?" Then he turned abruptly and stalked away to take his place for the next scene.

  As this scene began, Augusta moved to the far edge of the curtain and peered at the audience again. Mrs. Grantham and the other members of Abilene's temperance society were in the front rows. Augusta spotted the distinctive habit of the Dominican nun, who was speaking with the young Dr. Rose Keller. To her surprise, Angu
s MacQuarrie was sitting with them. But Jessica Partin wasn’t with him. Nor did she see either of Abilene's lawmen. She had thought Cully Markham might attend, since his brother was playing the lead.

  But not playing it well, Augusta realized glumly as the performance went on. Joshua was having trouble, tangling both his feet and his lines several times. But somehow, he always recovered, sometimes remembering what he was supposed to say, occasionally departing from the script, and ad-libbing his way out of trouble. Augusta watched, gnawing her lower lip and wondering what had happened to him. During the rehearsals he had been so determined to give a good performance.

  As the first act progressed, he avoided her during the scene breaks, and Augusta's concern grew. Perhaps he was ill, she thought. She wished he would just tell her what was wrong.

  The final scene of Act One took place inside a room where Abernathy and some new cronies he had met in the course of his business were playing cards. The script called for one of the men to bring out a bottle and pass it around, but as Augusta watched in amazement, Joshua reached into his coat and drew out a small, dark-brown bottle. Augusta didn’t recognize it as one of the props they had been using. Joshua pulled the cork from its neck with his teeth, spit it out dramatically, and lifted the bottle to his mouth. Liquid gurgled out of it. He took a long swallow, then thumped it down on the tabletop and glared at the other actors as if daring them to take it away from him.

  Bewildered, the men looked at each other, then tried to play the scene as it was written, ignoring the bottle that Joshua had brought out. However, when the prop bottle of tea was offered to him, he shook his head and took another sip from his own bottle. As the scene ended, he got to his feet, headed for the side of the stage, and stumbled again, almost falling.

  Augusta, her face a mask of horror and anger, all but ran to him once the curtain was closed. When she reached his side, she clutched at his sleeve. "Wait, Joshua!" she exclaimed.

  He jerked around to face her. "Leave me alone!" he snapped. "I'll be fine. I'll get through the play. Just ...leave me alone."

  Augusta stepped back, recoiling from his sour, whiskey-laden breath. What she had suspected was true! Joshua was drinking real liquor during the play. Worse than that, he had obviously been drinking even before the performance began. Now he was drunk.

  If it hadn’t been so awful, Augusta might have laughed at the ironic situation. The leading actor in a temperance play—drunk!

  "Oh, Joshua," she wailed, "how could you?"

  He smiled bitterly at her. "You wanted a morality play, didn't you, my dear? You wanted to teach all the frontier bumpkins about the evils of drink? Well, now you have what you wanted! Witness, my friends, the destruction of a man by Satan's potion!"

  He had raised his voice, and everyone backstage was staring at him. Augusta prayed that the audience couldn’t hear his drunken ravings through the closed curtain. If she was going to salvage this performance, she had to do something quickly.

  Joshua still held the liquor bottle. Moving too quickly for him to react, she reached out and plucked it from his grip, then in the same motion turned and flung it toward the rear wall of the building. It shattered, splashing what was left of its contents over the wall. As Augusta whirled to face him, she saw Joshua gaping at her.

  "You listen to me, Joshua Markham," she said in a low, urgent voice, "you aren’t going to ruin this play, do you hear me? I won’t allow it! You're a fine, decent man, a minister, one of God's chosen servants. You aren’t going to do this, do you understand?"

  For a moment, as his face twisted in a grimace, she thought he might strike her, but then a great shudder went through him and he took a deep, ragged breath. "You're right," he agreed slowly. "You're absolutely right, Miss Hall. And you have my apologies. I will...will persevere to the best of my abilities."

  Augusta drew a deep breath, too. "Thank you, Joshua," she murmured. "I know you won't let me down." She looked around, saw that everyone was waiting for them before resuming the performance. Augusta put a hand on Joshua's arm and gently steered him back to his place for the opening of the next scene. Then she nodded grimly to the others and moved offstage.

  She prayed they would get through it. That was all she wanted now, just to be done with this play. Once it was finished, she could give the short lecture she had prepared, and this evening would be over.

  Augusta saw that Joshua made a valiant effort to shake off the effects of the alcohol, but he was only partially successful. He still stumbled, still forgot his lines. But at least he didn’t seem to be getting any worse. The audience might not even be aware of what was going on, she thought. Joshua's missteps and misstatements might be interpreted as part of the play. The audience seemed to be laughing and booing in the right places. As the play grew more and more poignant, several spectators began to cry.

  Augusta began to hope that they would actually get through the performance without any catastrophes. That was a far cry from the thrilling success she had anticipated, but it was about the best she could wish for now. And when this was all over, she was going to have a long, angry talk with Reverend Joshua Markham.

  Standing in the back of the room with his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, Cully Markham watched the performance and wondered what was wrong with his brother.

  Cully had arrived just before the play started, slipping in and finding a spot where he could see the stage. Irked because Augusta seemed to prefer Joshua's company to his, he had planned not to come, but at the last minute his curiosity had gotten the best of him.

  Early in the performance he sensed that something was bothering Joshua. At first, he attributed it to the fact that Joshua was playing a role; he wasn’t supposed to sound like himself. But there were just too many slips, too many pauses when Joshua was obviously trying to remember what he was supposed to say next. If Cully hadn’t known better, he would have said that Joshua was drunk.

  During the break between Acts One and Two, Cully heard a loud voice backstage that sounded like Joshua's. That was followed a moment later by the sound of breaking glass. He started toward the stage to see if there was any trouble, but then he hesitated. If Augusta needed help, she could come and ask for it, he decided. He wasn’t going to poke his nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

  As the play went on, Joshua looked more and more haggard, and Cully grew increasingly uneasy. It certainly looked as though Joshua had started drinking again—or he was the best actor Abilene had ever seen, not that that would take much. But Cully didn’t think Joshua was acting.

  He was sure now that his brother had fallen off the wagon, gone back to the way he had been in the dark days after their father had been murdered. Cully watched grimly and shook his head. He would have to have a long talk with Joshua and try to straighten him out. Chances were, he wouldn’t take too kindly to that, but somebody had to do it.

  The play ended with Charles Abernathy still a broken man, still a drunkard, but vowing to change with the help of his family. It was a conclusion full of hope, if not fulfillment. The audience applauded enthusiastically as the curtain was closed for the final time. They stayed in their seats, expecting the cast to come out for another round of applause, but instead Augusta Hall parted the curtain and stepped in front of it alone. She walked to the center of the stage, faced the audience, and began to speak.

  "Thank you for coming to see tonight's performance of Adrift and Astray. As you know, this play was sponsored by the Abilene Temperance Society and put on with its support. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Augusta Hall. I am visiting your city on behalf of the Christian Ladies Temperance Society, a national organization dedicated to the eradication of liquor and its evil consequences."

  Most of the audience listened attentively, but some of the cowhands began to laugh when she mentioned doing away with liquor. Augusta ignored the distraction and continued with her speech, launching into a condemnation of alcohol and everything associated with it. The cowhands' muttering and l
aughter grew louder.

  Cully frowned. The cowboys hadn’t minded sitting through the play, preachy though it had been, but they were not likely to sit there for long and let someone tell them how wrong they were to drink—even if the someone doing the telling was a pretty young woman like Augusta.

  One of the punchers suddenly stood up and called out, "Honey, if I give up booze, will you go walkin' in the moonlight with me?" His companions laughed raucously.

  Augusta flushed but said, "I can tell you this, sir. No decent young lady would want to be your companion when you are in a besotted state."

  "Shoot, I never said I was interested in decent young ladies!"

  Mrs. Grantham stood up and, turning around, glared at the cowboy. "Sit down, you lout!" she commanded. "Let Miss Hall speak."

  "Who you callin' names, lady?" he shot back. His friends supported him with catcalls.

  Now several other members of the local temperance society turned in their seats and began to rail at the cowhands. Two young men stood up to join their companion. The three of them ignored the scolding of the temperance ladies and called ribald questions to Augusta. She stood on the stage, silent and blushing furiously, obviously mortified.

  "Why don't you ruffians just leave?" Mrs. Grantham demanded, shaking her purse at the three troublesome cowhands.

  "Shut your trap, you old bat!" the leader shouted at her. "I'll tell you what you can do with your damned play!"

  An offended uproar from some of the townsmen drowned out most of the cowboy's obscene suggestion. Several men who were seated around the cowhands surged to their feet, fists clenched. It was clear that within minutes there would be a brawl.

  Cully had watched long enough—too long, really, he thought. He should have stepped in and broken this up when the first cowhand stood and taunted Augusta. But he had wanted to see how she would handle it. If she insisted on trying to wipe out liquor, she would encounter this kind of opposition everywhere she went. So far, Augusta hadn’t done anything but stand in the center of the stage, lips pressed tightly together, while the uproar grew louder and potentially more violent.