St. John, Cheryl

by Prairie Wife

  The narrow passageway between two buildings opened out onto the main thoroughfare. Ahead of him, Cay dashed into the street, narrowly avoiding a horse and buggy, and startling another horse and rider. Jesse was at his heels, ignoring the curses shouted after him.

  From her position, Amy spotted Cay. She quickly tied the horses to a hitching rail and raced after him, too, as he entered another alley. Jesse caught up with her and they ran until they reached the backs of the buildings.

  The boy was nowhere in sight.

  Beyond was the log wall of the fort. To the right, a fence too high for him to jump. The only path he could have taken was to the left, and they immediately set out that way.

  A cat yowled and startled Amy. She froze for a moment, then pushed onward. They had stumbled into the residential section of town, and ahead lay tiny yards with outhouses, wood piles, and clotheslines hung with flapping laundry.

  Winded, she paused. "Why is he running? He could be anywhere. There are a hundred places to hide. Why won't he talk to us?"

  Jesse caught his breath. "I'm prepared to check a hundred places. Are you?"

  She nodded.

  They split up to investigate yards and privies and wood bins. Jesse called Cay's name a few times, and once a back door slammed shut as he passed. Irritation kicked aside some of the worry he'd been fighting down. Confound the boy, he had to know they cared for him! What kind of fool stunt was he pulling?

  After half an hour, Jesse rose from peering beneath a porch and came nose-to-gun-barrel with a lawman. The deputy wore a sheepskin coat with a tin star on the front.

  "What are you lookin' for, mister?"

  Jesse raised both hands to show he wasn't holding a gun. "My nephew, Cay Shelby. He ran away from home yesterday and we tracked him here. I came upon him out back o' the saloon, but he got away."

  "You beat him?"

  Jesse stiffened and lowered his hands. "Of course not."

  "Shelby, you say?"

  Amy came up beside Jesse.

  "Name's Jesse Shelby. This here's my wife, Amy. We run a—"

  "Shelby Station," the deputy interrupted. "I know who you are." He holstered the gun. "You riled a few womenfolk, sneakin' through their yards, Mr. Shelby. Maybe you'd best let the law look for your boy."

  "We've looked everywhere." Amy's voice and her expression showed her heartfelt concern.

  Jesse noticed that her nose was red from the cold and her eyes held a haunted look. "My wife's tired. I'm gonna find us a room."

  "Carolyn Bridges runs a clean place and the eats are decent. You'll find it if you head out on the street and take a left."

  "Thanks. You'll look for Cay?"

  "I will. If I find anything, I'll look for you at Carolyn's."

  "Thanks."

  Jesse took Amy's hand and led her back to the street, where they found the boardinghouse. He paid the rotund woman who greeted them. "I'd like a bath for my wife and something to eat, please."

  "Surely." She handed him a brass key.

  Jesse led Amy up the stairs and opened the door. The room was plain, but clean, with a bed, a lopsided chest of drawers and a washstand. "I'll go put up the horses at the livery. You rest."

  By mid-afternoon, Amy had bathed and napped and they'd both eaten. Jesse went to find the sheriff's office, but none of the officers had turned up anything. He spent the rest of the day asking business owners and citizens if they'd seen Cay.

  By evening, discouragement weighed on him as he stood in their room staring down at the street.

  "Jesse." Amy lay on the bed. She rolled to her back, "I'm sorry."

  He met her gaze. "It's okay, Amy."

  "You were right all along. When Cay first arrived, I resented him being with us. I don't know why. I told you I was afraid he'd run away. And now he has. But not because he was a troublemaker. Because I ran him off."

  "You didn't run him off. You did the best you could. He just misunderstood somethin' he heard, that's all."

  "But if he'd known how I truly felt about him, he wouldn't have misunderstood. I should have told him I love him."

  Jesse turned to look back down at the street lit by gas lamps. How long had he stifled the longing to hear those words himself? "You haven't even told me you loved me for a long time."

  He shouldn't have said that. Amy didn't respond well to pushing, but he wasn't much for holdin' back what he was thinkin'.

  Her clothing rustled as she sat up. A board creaked and her reflection came into view in the pane of glass. If he'd made her angry, at least she was still willing to talk to him. He studied her wavy likeness without turning around.

  "I love you, Jesse. I do."

  Her admission touched that place of need in his heart. His throat tightened. He composed his emotions, let the curtain fall into place and turned.

  She'd never had to worry about being vulnerable to him. Never. He returned her love, relished it, gloried in it. Why had it taken her so long?

  Amy looked into Jesse's blue eyes and saw her love returned. She'd been afraid of being vulnerable to herself. Of opening up a flood of well-sealed emotions and letting herself feel anything. Even love for him.

  But love him she did. Amy confessed the truth as much for herself as for him. And the admission made her feel lighter than she had for a long time—for months, for more than a year. Loving too much hurt sometimes, and she'd pulled into herself for protection. But not letting herself love hurt just as much. Maybe more.

  "I shut you out," she told him, her voice unsteady. "I thought if I didn't love, I wouldn't hurt. I did the same thing with Cay."

  He took her in his arms and held her against his chest. Jesse was warmth and safety and comfort, but she'd never let him be those things to her before. Feeling safe and warm made her again think of Cay.

  "Where do you think he is tonight? Where will he sleep?"

  "I don't know."

  She leaned away and grasped his forearms as a horrible thought struck her. "He wouldn't take another stage and leave Fort Crowley because he knows we're looking for him, would he?"

  "I don't know. I didn't think he'd run away at all."

  "Maybe you'd better go to the freight station and the livery and ask them to watch for him in case he tries to leave."

  "That's a good idea." He grabbed his coat and hat. "I'll check the saloon again, too, in case he went back for his pay."

  After Jesse left, Amy turned the key in the lock and stepped to the window, where she watched the street below as Jesse crossed and headed down the boardwalk.

  An hour later he was back with a pail of warm water and a cup of coffee, which they shared.

  Jesse removed his boots and socks and hung his holster on the metal bed frame. He wearily removed his shirt and washed at the basin.

  Hours later, he and Amy lay side by side on the bed, the unfamiliar noise from the street below as much of a detriment to sleep as the worry they shared. Amy turned on her side and rested her head on Jesse's chest.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  They sat bolt upright in the darkness, and Jesse grabbed his Colt from its holster and stepped to the door. "Who is it?"

  "I got somethin' to tell ya," returned a small voice.

  Jesse turned the key and the knob and opened the door enough to see who stood in the hall. He immediately dropped the gun to his side and took a step back. "Who are you?"

  A small boy with shaggy brown hair and a tattered jacket stood in the opening. "How much're you willin' to pay to know where your kid is?"

  "You know where Cay is?" Amy climbed from the bed and pulled on her coat to cover her nightdress.

  "He's clean and has hair and eyes like you," he said to Jesse. "Wears a nice coat and boots."

  "Where is he?" Amy asked.

  "I figure you're rich enough to pay b'fore I tell."

  "Pay him, Jesse."

  Jesse moved to the belongings he'd placed inside the top drawer of the chest. He took six dollars in coins and held them out to t
he urchin.

  The child's hazel eyes lit with appreciation when he saw the money. "I'll take you to 'im. But first you gotta give me the money."

  Jesse dropped the coins into his grimy palm. "I'll give you half now, and half when I see Cay."

  The young boy scowled, but he tucked his three dollars safely away.

  After pulling on his boots and shirt, Jesse strapped on his holster. Amy handed him his hat and coat, but her eyes were on the child with the dirty hair and clothing. The toes of his shoes were worn clear through the leather. What kind of parent let a child dress so poorly and roam the streets at this hour of the night?

  She watched them leave and then ran to the window, but didn't see them down on the street.

  ***

  Jesse followed the boy through the alley behind the hotel. He'd traveled enough alleys that day and sure didn't want one of the deputies to spot him back here again.

  "Where are we goin'?"

  "Ssh." The ragamuffin held a finger to his lips.

  "Sorry," Jesse whispered. "Where are we goin'?"

  "I'll show you."

  "What's your name?"

  "They call me Scrap."

  "How do you know where Cay is?"

  "Found 'im and showed 'im where to sleep."

  "Where's that?"

  "I'll show you if you quit yappin'."

  Jesse stopped trying to talk and followed. The boy called Scrap led him behind a brick building and across a vacant lot to where a few tents sat. Beyond those was a grassy area that held broken wagons and cannon carts. Scrap pointed at a spot beneath a lopsided wagon, where layers of newspaper covered what appeared to be a sleeping form.

  Jesse looked at Scrap, who met his eyes in the darkness and nodded. He held out his hand.

  As yet unconvinced, Jesse crawled under the wagon until he could see hair and an ear. Scrap followed. Stealthily, Jesse raised a layer of newspaper and made out the side of the boy's face, finding it familiar. Relief and anger assailed him.

  Scrap tugged on his coat sleeve and Jesse reached in his pocket and handed over the last of the coins. Closing his fingers over them, Scrap scrambled backward from beneath the wagon.

  To assure Cay didn't escape again, Jesse clamped onto the boy's shoulder and pulled him out from under the wagon. Cay awoke startled, and struggled to get away from his captor. Newspapers flew in all directions. Jesse got a steady grip on him by holding him against his body and locking his forearm over Cay's chest.

  "Stop," he told him. "It's me. Uncle Jesse."

  The skirmish ceased. "Uncle Jesse?"

  Jesse turned the boy to face him. "I warrant you are in a serious fix about now, so you'd best stop struggling and come along."

  Cay obediently stopped struggling and stood as though prepared for whatever might befall him. "Why'd you make such a fuss over comin' after me, anyhow?"

  Jesse took his arm and glanced around. The other boy was nowhere to be seen. "Why d'ya think?"

  "I dunno. I'm a bother, so you should be glad I left."

  "We've got some talking to do." Jesse made his way to the street and along the fronts of the buildings. He led Cay into the boardinghouse and up the stairs.

  After a quick rap, he said, "It's Jesse."

  The key was turned from inside and Amy opened the door. Her expectant gaze lit on Cay, and she reached for him, pulling him inside and hugging him soundly. She buried her face in his hair.

  After a few minutes, she released him and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "Do you know how worried we've been?" She patted the edge, indicating he should join her, and he did.

  He shook his head. "No."

  "We followed you and we've been looking all over. Why did you run from Jesse today?"

  He shrugged.

  Amy drew a breath as though gathering her composure. "I know why you ran off."

  "You do?"

  She nodded. "You heard Jesse and me, night before last. I was upset and I said some things I didn't really mean. Can you understand that? Have you ever said things you didn't mean?"

  Her question was met with another shrug.

  "You heard me say I didn't want more children, didn't you?"

  Gaze on the floor, Cay nodded.

  "And you thought that meant you."

  "It ain't like you wanted a kid," he said. "You din't ask for me. You just got stuck with me, like my gran did."

  "Your grandma loved you very much. That's why she wanted to make sure you were safe with us. Most times we don't choose the family we get. Just like havin' your own baby, you can't pick the one you want."

  "But leastwise a baby's yours," he replied logically.

  "And how do you get a baby?" she asked.

  Cay's cheeks pinkened, and Jesse wondered where she was going with that question.

  "From God, that's where. He gives you a baby when he thinks you're ready. Like he gave you to us."

  "My ma din't want no baby," he said defiantly.

  Amy's expression showed her compassion. "But she loved you enough to give you to someone who would take care of you and love you like you needed."

  He raised his gaze then, skeptical but interested. "How would you know that?"

  "If your mother hadn't loved you, she could have let you die. Or left you at a foundling home. But she didn't. She took you to your grandma because she knew that would be best for you. Just like your grandma brought you to us."

  Cay studied Amy's face as though he'd never before considered the possibility that his mother had loved him. Jesse himself had always doubted it, having known his sister's impulsive, selfish nature, but Amy's explanation made it believable. She'd just given Cay something extraordinary, something no one had ever given him before: belief that his mother had cared.

  "Cay, Jesse and I love you. We already had problems between us before you ever came to us—you didn't cause them. In fact, you've helped us." She touched his hair and tilted his chin up on her palm. "I love you. Promise you won't ever scare us like that and run away again."

  "I promise." Cay threw himself into Amy's arms and laid his head against her breast.

  She smoothed his hair and rocked him as though he were an infant.

  Swallowing back tears, Jesse hung his coat and hat. "Are you hungry, Cay?"

  Cay shook his head. "Scrap got us food tonight."

  "How did he pay for it?"

  "I dunno, but I paid him for my share."

  "You used your earnings?"

  He nodded.

  Jesse tilted his head as though to say, well, it was Cay's money. "What do you know about Scrap?"

  "Nothin'. Just that he lives back there where you found me, and that he knows how to get food and stuff."

  She glanced at Jesse. "Where did you find him?"

  "Sleepin' under a wagon."

  "And Scrap lives there?" Amy asked.

  Cay nodded. "I asked him about his family, and he said his pa had left 'em a long time ago and his ma died."

  Amy looked from Cay to Jesse in shock. "And he's allowed to live without a home or anyone to care for him?"

  Jesse shrugged. "I'll inquire about him at the sheriff's in the morning."

  "That won't be long now." She glanced toward the window. "We'd better get some sleep."

  Jesse locked the door. "Cay, you take the bed with Amy, and I'll stretch out on the floor." He opened both bedrolls, which had been stacked in the corner, and made himself comfortable.

  Cay shucked down to his union suit and lay on the bed. "Think Sam's worried, too?"

  "He is," Jesse replied. "I'll send a telegram to Liscom's first thing, so he'll know we found you."

  Cay pulled the blanket up to his chin. "Okay."

  "Where did you sleep last night?" Amy asked.

  "Same as tonight—under the wagon," he replied. "Scrap found me last night and showed me the place to hide out."

  "Weren't you afraid?"

  Cay didn't say anything.

  "Men don't admit to being afraid," Jesse told her
in the darkness.

  "Pardon me. Did you miss us? Would that be okay to admit?"

  "I missed home somethin' awful." A few minutes passed. "I'm glad you found me."

  "Me too," Amy answered.

  Reassured now that Cay was with them, and pretty certain that the boy understood he was wanted at Shelby Station, Jesse closed his eyes.

  Cay had called it home.

  ***

  While Jesse visited the sheriff the next morning, Amy led Cay into a dry goods store and he helped her shop for fabric and ready-made shirts for Jesse and her father. She purchased two shirts as well as two new pairs of dungarees for Cay.

  The store carried rows of footwear, and she insisted Cay try on boots until he found a pair that fit him well. "It'll be getting colder and you'll need warm socks," she told him.

  Cay looked down at the new pair of boots thoughtfully. "There will be lots of snow soon, huh?"

  She nodded as she looked over spools of thread.

  "Scrap don't have very warm clothes," he said.

  Amy stopped in reaching for a package of needles and looked at Cay. She'd been unable to get the other boy out of her mind. Surely someone would take care of him before winter set in hard.

  Jesse found them, and he and Cay carried the packages to the boardinghouse, then returned and met Amy in front of an eatery with red-and-white checked curtains in the windows.

  Inside, they seated themselves, and a tall young woman with braids wound around her head brought them cups and a slate with the day's menu. They ordered and she hurried away.

  Amy folded her hands on the table. "What did the sheriff say?"

  "He knows about the boy, of course. Seems he's been taken by the authorities before, but always manages to run away. Apparently that Bartholomew fellow at the saloon said he'd be responsible for him, and lets him sleep in a back room when the weather is bad."

  "That's unacceptable," Amy responded. "What about the families in town, the church women? Why doesn't someone take him in and provide for him?"

  "Seems his mother wasn't respectable enough for them," Jesse replied. "They look the other way."

  Amy's compassion and sense of injustice had been riled. "If I lived here, they'd have a piece of my mind."