End of the Trail

by Vickie McDonough

  Jester pawed the wooden floor of the boardwalk and jerked at the reins. Brooks ran his hand over the horse’s coat, checking for injuries, then patted Jester’s shoulder. “You’re all right, boy.”

  A woman with a face that reminded him of a fox scampered out the door of a dress shop, shooing him away. “You can’t have that beast on the boardwalk. He’ll make a mess.”

  Brooks bit back the first thought that came to mind and smiled. He ducked his head, tipping his hat, and a river of water poured down onto the walkway. The woman yelped and jumped back. Brooks smiled and led Jester toward her. The horse hugged the wall, as if trying to get as far away from the hail as he could. “Sorry, ma’am.” Brooks raised his voice to be heard over the clatter. “We’ll just mosey on down to the café and see if we can’t get something to eat.”

  She sucked in a breath, blinking her eyes as if she had dust in them. “Why … they don’t serve horses at the café—and get that beast off the boardwalk before—”

  Her words were drowned out by the pounding of hail on the roof overhead. He passed a barbershop and nodded to the two men seated inside, one whose face was covered in lather. He brushed a hand across his own stubble. That was something he’d have to tend to himself since he had no money for luxuries like a shave in a barbershop.

  The delicious scent of bread baking—or maybe pies—pulled him to the third shop. CLYDE’S CAFÉ was painted on the window, and a light shone from inside. Maybe the place was still open, although 2:00 p.m. was rather late for lunch. Brooks glanced at the street. The hail had lightened up but still thunked against the wooden rails and walkway. If a man didn’t know better, he’d think it was winter by all the white that covered the ground, instead of late summer. He dropped Jester’s reins, ground-tying the horse, and opened the door of the café.

  One old man sat sideways in his chair, leaning against the wall, studying him. A rifle lay across the table next to him. Brooks nodded and glanced at the empty tables.

  “C’mon over and join me, if’n you’ve a mind to.” Curious, light-blue eyes shone out from under a set of bushy, gray eyebrows that matched the man’s thick moustache. He looked tall, if his long legs were any indication, but his frame was overly thin, like a man recovering from a long illness.

  Brooks flashed a grin and nodded. “Don’t mind if I do. I’m gettin’ tired of eating with just my horse for company.” He pulled out a chair, tugged off his wet hat, and laid it on the table behind him. He yanked on his shirt, which clung to his body, and peered up at the man. “I’ve had my bath now. Looks like I could use a change of clothes.”

  The man nodded. “Smells like it too.” His gap-toothed smile softened his words.

  A heavyset man with a day’s growth of whiskers plodded out from behind a stained curtain. “Help you, stranger?”

  “Just coffee.” Brooks longed to order whatever it was that smelled so good, but that would have to wait until he had more money.

  “That it? Just coffee?” The big man frowned then waddled to the back room. He returned with a coffee pot and a cup, which he set in front of Brooks, and filled the cup. Lugging the pot, he returned behind his curtain.

  The old man chuckled. “Clyde takes it as a personal offense if folks don’t buy his food.”

  “Nothin’ personal about it. My pockets are just a bit lean at the moment.” Brooks wrapped his hands around the cup and sipped the brew. A pleasant feeling of warmth traveled through him and helped satisfy his empty belly.

  The man nudged his chin toward the window that Jester stood in front of. “Nice horse.”

  Brooks nodded, liking the old man. “My pa gave him to me, a long time ago.”

  “Where’s your pa now?”

  “Waco.” If he was still alive. Brooks pushed the barrel of the rifle back toward the wall so it wasn’t pointing right at his heart.

  “Know what kind he is?”

  “Yep. A Morgan. My family raises them.”

  The man held out his hand. “I’m Will Langston. Welcome to Shoofly.”

  Brooks shook hands. “Brooks Morgan.”

  The man’s fuzzy brows lifted, making his pale eyes seem larger. “Same name as your horse?”

  Brooks nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “Yep. Even spelled the same.”

  Will chuckled. “I like you, boy.” He looked over his shoulder. “Clyde, bring this fellow some of those chicken dumplin’s and pie, if you’ve got any left over.”

  “I can’t let you pay for my food—not unless you’ve got some kind of work I can do,” Brooks said.

  “That can be arranged. I’m in need of someone to help me while I’m in town.”

  Brooks studied the man, wondering what kind of help he needed. “Like what?”

  Will ran his fingers over the engraving on the stock of his rifle. “I’m good at reading people, and I sense you’re all right.” He leaned forward, tapped his finger on the table, then glanced up, pain lacing his eyes. “There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m dying.”

  Brooks sat back, staring at Will. That had been the last thing he’d thought the man might say. “I’m sorry.”

  Will pushed out his lips. “Don’t be. I’ve lived a long life, and I’m ready to meet my Maker.” He heaved a sigh that tickled Brooks’s cheeks. “There are days, though, that I don’t feel so well and could use some help. Nobody in this little town has the time. I thought maybe you’d be interested.”

  Rubbing the back of his hand against his cheek, Brooks stared at the old man. Being a nursemaid wasn’t exactly the job he’d been looking for, but something about Will pulled at him. Maybe he could help out while he looked around for other work. “I reckon I could help for a bit.”

  Will’s expression softened, and he smiled and leaned back. “Good.”

  Clyde set a plate heaping with chicken and dumplings in front of Brooks, then a fat slice of peach pie. Brooks wolfed down the food, hoping he wouldn’t regret his decision. But how hard could it be tending an old man?

  WESLEYAN FEMALE COLLEGE

  GEORGIA

  Keri Langston swatted at the badminton shuttlecock and smacked it clear across the net to the back row. She gave her roommate, Emily Adkins, a victorious smile. While she thought the game—one brought back from England by a student returning from break—was a waste of time, she seemed to be the only woman who could play it as well as the men. Maybe she hadn’t lost all her rough edges.

  Across the net, Emily dabbed at her cheek with an embroidered handkerchief.

  Keri watched the shuttlecock fly over her head, then heard it whiz back after being hit by a player standing behind her. It smacked Emily in the forehead. Emily’s eyes went wide, she back stepped, and fainted. The gentleman behind Emily caught her under the arms, and his surprised gaze collided with Keri’s.

  “Let’s take her to rest under one of the trees,” she said.

  The man scooped up her friend and followed Keri to the nearest live oak. He set her down. “Should I get some water? The headmistress?”

  Keri stooped beside her friend and peered up into the man’s kind gray eyes. “Maybe some water. Emily has frequent bouts of fainting.” She could hardly tell the man that Emily insisted on lacing her corset as tight as possible to make her waist extremely thin.

  She waved her hand in front of Emily’s face as several of their classmates gathered round.

  “Is she all right?” Corrabelle Stuart asked.

  “She will be.” Keri swatted her hand in the air. “Y’all just scurry on back to whatever you were doing.”

  Charlotte Winchester leaned toward Keri’s ear. “A refined lady does not say y’all, and we don’t scurry.” She straightened, her nose pointing up, and glided away.

  Keri scowled at the wealthy young woman who’d been her nemesis ever since she first arrived at the Wesleyan Female College in Georgia. The only thing Keri liked about Charlotte was her last name—the same name as Keri’s rifle back in Texas. How many times had she wished for her rifle, i
f for nothing else than to instill a little fear into Miss Charlotte Winchester. But no, two years at college had refined her into a lady—and a lady never shot someone who was unarmed.

  The man returned with a glass of water just as Emily started stirring. Keri thanked him, lifted Emily into a sitting position, and held the cup to her friend’s lips.

  “Here, drink some of this.”

  Emily’s lashes fluttered as she gazed past Keri to the young man still standing there. “Whatever happened?”

  “You fainted,” the man said.

  “You got walloped in the head with a shuttlecock.” Keri stared at the red spot on Emily’s forehead. If her friend knew it was there, she’d probably faint dead away again.

  “I’m heading back to the dorm to rest,” said Corrabelle. “I’ll take her with me.”

  The man and Keri helped Emily stand, then Corrabelle wrapped an arm around Emily’s waist, and the two toddled away.

  “I’m Allen Dawson from Alabama.” He tipped his hat. “You certainly handled that well. Calm and collected.”

  “Thank you. I’m Keri Langston from Texas.”

  “Ah, well, that explains it.”

  Keri frowned. “Explains what?”

  “Why something like your friend’s fainting didn’t faze you. Being that you are from Texas, I would imagine that you’re used to fighting outlaws and Indians.”

  Keri resisted rolling her eyes. That was all anyone in Georgia thought of Texas. “Why, that’s correct. I’ve killed a dozen outlaws and more than twice that number of Indians.”

  Mr. Dawson’s eyes widened; then he smiled, and his ears and cheeks reddened. “Ah … you’re joshing me, aren’t you?”

  Keri just shrugged. These Georgians were an uppity bunch, most turning their nose down at her because she didn’t come from a wealthy Georgian family. Just two more weeks, and she’d be returning to Texas. She couldn’t wait to get home.

  She meandered across the wide lawn, glad to have a day free of her studies. Two men rode up on a near-matched pair of bays. They dismounted, and Keri studied their horses. Riding was one of the things she missed most. Oh, the school had riding classes, but she’d been forced to ride sidesaddle. What a horrible torture that had been.

  Someone walked up beside her, and she glance sideways.

  “That’s Ben Martin and his brother, Arthur.” Anna Kate Howard held her purse in her hand and swung her hips, making her skirt swish back and forth. “They’re from a wealthy family that lives just outside of town. They’re both so charming.” Anna Kate blew out an exaggerated sigh.

  Keri didn’t bother to explain that she was more interested in the men’s horses than them.

  Someone sped past them, and Anna Kate shrieked. “Why … why … he stole my handbag. Somebody stop him!”

  The lithe youth dodged around the few people who’d been close enough to hear Anna Kate, then tore off across the lawn. Keri’s feet moved before her brain did, and she picked up her skirt, running toward the Martin brothers. “I need to borrow your horse. Give me a leg up.”

  Both men stared at her as if she’d gone loco. She snatched the reins from Arthur’s hand, mounted without their help, and kicked the bay into a gallop. She focused on the thief and began closing the distance, but Miss Marks, the headmistress tried to head her off, arms waving. “Miss Langston, what do you think you are doing?”

  Keri reined the eager bay to the right and passed her shocked headmistress. The boy had reached the edge of the school’s lawn, and if he got to the side streets, she may well lose him. But the horse was fast. She rode past the boy, heading him off, and pulled back on the reins. “You there, give me that purse.”

  The youth tried to dodge past her, but she reined the horse around, as if cutting a steer out of the herd and pulled in front of him again. “You’re not getting away unless you give me that purse. And a crowd is coming this way, so you’d better hurry if you don’t want to get caught.”

  The boy glanced over his shoulders, his gaze frantic when he turned back. He flung the purse toward Keri and took off running the other way. She let him go this time. She hated dismounting and returning the horse, but she didn’t want to be called a horse thief. Once on the ground, she picked up Anna Kate’s purse and dusted it off.

  The Martin brothers were the first to reach her. “Quite excellent riding,” Ben said.

  Arthur frowned. “She took my horse.” He ran his hands down the animal’s legs as if checking for injuries.

  “I’m sorry for that, but I couldn’t allow that thief to steal my friend’s purse.”

  Ben grinned. “No, we can’t have that, can we?”

  “But she could have caused injury to Charlemagne.” Arthur walked the horse around, keeping his eye on the animal.

  “Ah, lay off her, Art. Can’t you see she’s a hero? Uh … I mean a heroine.” He smiled again and tipped his hat. “Ben Martin at your service. And that was the finest riding I’ve ever seen by a woman.”

  “Keri Langston, and thanks.”

  The crowd parted as someone struggled to the front. “Miss Langston, I need to have a word with you, right this instant.”

  Anna Kate followed on the headmistress’s heels, panting hard. Her blue eyes sparkled. “Did you catch him?”

  Keri nodded and handed the beaded bag back to her friend.

  “Oh, thank you.” Anna Kate hugged her purse to her chest. “All the money I have is in here.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have brought it today.” Miss Marks peered at Anna Kate through her thick spectacles, then turned her glare on Keri. “In my office, right now, Miss Langston.”

  The headmistress grabbed Keri’s arm and dragged her through the crowd. Ben Martin tipped his hat to her with a wide grin on his handsome face. Keri ducked her head. She hated being the object of everyone’s attention and could almost hear the snooty upper-society girls gossiping about what a backwoods ignoramus she was.

  She had never wanted to come here in the first place, but Uncle Will had insisted she needed to learn to be a lady. Just two more weeks, and she could leave.

  Two more weeks and she’d be home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Will leaned over the side of his bed and retched into the bucket Brooks had left there. Brooks grimaced at the stench in the room, rose from his chair, and hurried to Will’s side.

  “You’re going to have to do more than that if you plan to set a record. I once knew a guy who’d spew a barrel full.”

  Will rolled onto his side, a tiny grin softening his miserable expression. “Don’t plan to set no record.”

  Brooks patted the old man’s shoulder and grabbed the pail, wincing at the foul odor. He hadn’t known emptying messy buckets would be one of his duties when he hired on, but he’d grown to like Will, and the old man had no one else to care for him. He dumped the bucket, rinsed it out in the horse trough, then hurried back inside and put it within Will’s reach. He stared down at the slight figure on the bed, compassion stirring in his chest. “You need anything? Food? A drink?”

  “Water might be good.” Will coughed and swiped his sleeve across his mouth.

  “You sure you don’t want something stronger to ward off the hurt?”

  Shaking his head, Will stared up at him with pain-filled eyes. “I quit drinking the hard stuff years ago. Just give me one of my pain pills with that water.”

  “Let me run out to the well and get some cool water. Be right back.” Brooks grabbed a pitcher in the kitchen and hurried out the front door toward the town square. Shoofly looked like many small Texas towns with an open square, sporting a few tall oaks, surrounded by businesses that faced the square. The town spread out several blocks in each direction, but there wasn’t anything particularly special about it. The well sat on the southwest corner of the town square. He jogged across the street and dropped the bucket down, making a loud echoing splash, then he hauled it up and filled the pitcher.

  He lifted his face to the sun as he carried it back. Mos
t of his life had been spent outside, and he missed that, but he’d promised Will to stay and help him, so he would. He needed to take Jester for a ride next time Will fell asleep, or the poor horse would think he’d been abandoned. He shook his head. Maybe he shouldn’t leave Will alone, even while he was sleeping. In just the week he’d been in Shoofly, the man had gone downhill. How many more weeks did he have on this earth?

  His steps slowed as he waited for a buckboard to pass. The driver nodded, and Brooks did the same. He hadn’t asked Will his age, but he guessed him to be in his early fifties—just about twice Brooks’s age. Scrunching his lips to one side, Brooks considered that thought. If he lived to be Will’s age, that meant he’d already lived half his life—and what did he have to show for it?

  Shaking his head, he hurried back to the house and fixed Will’s glass of water and got a pill from the new bottle he’d just picked up from the apothecary yesterday. Will was sitting on the side of his bed when Brooks returned to his room. He handed the items to him and stood there in case Will needed him. He hated seeing the older man in pain and wished he could do more. “You want me to cancel tonight’s poker game?”

  Will grimaced as he swallowed the pill. He shook his head. “Since I been goin’ to church the past month, I’ve started feeling it ain’t right to be playing cards, but I promised the marshal one last game, so I’d best keep my word.”

  “You sure you feel up to it?” Brooks pulled his chair over and sat so he wasn’t towering over Will.

  “I’ll feel better after I eat. You can go down to Clyde’s and get us both some supper—stew or whatever soup he made— or get you a plate of something you can sink your teeth into.”

  Brooks nodded. “Just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll go.”

  Will stared at him, his pale-blue eyes taking on a serious cast. “I’m grateful to you, son, for helping me. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  That evening, Brooks surveyed the scene at Will’s table, feeling odd serving as host to a group of men he barely knew. The marshal, town doctor, and Will sat on the only three chairs in the house, while Brooks and Earl, the barber, sat on upturned crates. A bowl of peanuts sat on the sideboard behind him, along with some sliced fruit bread he’d bought at the bakery. The men hadn’t grumbled about drinking lemonade instead of liquor, probably because they already knew Will refused to allow it in his home. Brooks still wasn’t sure Will should be out of bed, but it wasn’t his choice to make.