by Walton Young
Swearingen paid no attention to Peter. In fact, he seemed oblivious to him. Instead, he stared at Ezra. Marcus was curious. He wondered why the rancher would focus so intently on his visitor. On Swearingen’s face a red fury mustered its strength. Ezra had his hat pulled low over his eyes, so he did not see. Perhaps he knew. Somehow, Marcus thought, a man like Ezra would know when he was being watched.
For some reason – and he did not understand why – Marcus thought about Atlanta, about the newspaper not far from Union Station. He thought about the vibration of the wood floors as the presses ran, mighty, implacable. And then he knew. He was ready to return. He had always wanted to see the West, and now he had seen it. It was time to go back. Besides, his editor might decide that the newspaper could operate just fine without him.
He thought that, immediately after the baby was born, immediately after riding back to Cheyenne, he would buy his ticket. Yet he knew he would not. As hard as it is to admit, he said to himself, I have to remain in Cheyenne. There’s more to the story I’ve been chasing. If I tell Wilcox there’s more to the story, I know what he will say.
‘Marcus, don’t come back until you have all of it.’
The cry of a baby reached the parlor and Peter jumped from his chair and ran into the hall. Luke, his white shirt sleeves rolled up, slowly descended the stairs.
‘You have a strong, healthy baby boy.’
‘And Anne? Is Anne all right?’
‘She’s exhausted, and that’s not surprising. The baby wore her out. The baby wore all of us out. She’s going to need some rest, but she’ll be fine. Why don’t you go upstairs? Your family wants to see you.’
Peter hurried up the stairs. Ezra stood at the parlor door.
‘You did real good, Doctor Tisdale.’
‘Jennifer was such a help. She and Mrs Swearingen were such a comfort to Anne.’
‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’
Jennifer came down the stairs. Her blonde hair hung loosely above her shoulders. Her face was red from the heat of the upstairs bedroom. Luke took her hand and led her down the hall and out of the door.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Swearingen said from his chair by the hearth. ‘I’m a grandfather. The financial market in New York should respond favorably to this news. What do you think, Chesterfield?’
‘I think you should not forget about London,’ Owen said.
‘Wire a story to your editor in Atlanta, Stokesbury,’ Swearingen said. ‘Tell him I’m so happy I think I’ll buy the whole damn state of Georgia.’
‘There’s still a bit of Wyoming left,’ Owen said.
‘Hell, I’ll buy it too.’
Luke and Jennifer stood in the grassless yard in front of the porch steps.
‘We need to head back to town,’ he said. ‘Peter’s mother can handle things now. If they need us, they can send a rider. But I think Anne will be all right.’
‘You were marvelous,’ Jennifer said.
‘There’s no need to say that.’
‘But you were. It was a difficult delivery. You and I both know it. At one point I wasn’t sure – well, I wasn’t sure if Anne was going to have the strength to make it.’
‘You held her hand and talked to her and that gave her strength. It was something I couldn’t give.’
‘You have a special gift. You should have seen your face – the moment you held the baby in the lamplight so that Anne could see him. Your face had a look of utter satisfaction, happiness.’
He took her into his arms and held her tightly and kissed her.
‘Is that my reward for being a great help?’ she asked.
‘Jennifer, I’m not a poet. I can’t say the things you need to hear. But what I can say is that I’m in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you since I first saw you on the train.’
‘Well, Doctor Tisdale, you have to remember that we have a professional relationship. I have assisted you in your medical duties. Emotion should not enter into it.’
Again he kissed her.
‘And then,’ she said, ‘perhaps it should. Yes, Doctor Tisdale, now that I’ve thought about it, emotion should definitely enter into it.’
Swearingen lifted a crystal decanter from the buffet and poured whiskey. He and Ezra and Owen and Marcus raised their glasses.
‘Here’s to the next generation,’ he said.
‘May it be a heap sight better than this one,’ Owen said.
‘It won’t have to try too hard,’ Ezra said.
Ginevra walked into the parlor and sat without speaking. Ezra stared at her. She looked tired, more tired than Jennifer, and he wanted to go to her. He wanted to tell her that she had fulfilled her responsibilities in this house and that she should leave with him. He wanted to tell Swearingen that he would never see her again.
‘Some girls from the kitchen are upstairs looking after things,’ she said.
‘Dear, you look so tired one would think you’re the one who had the baby,’ Swearingen said.
‘Maybe you need a glass of whiskey,’ Owen said. ‘Nothing like whiskey to perk up a person. I base that opinion on years of empirical research. Marcus, as a newspaperman, do you agree?’
‘Those of us who profess to be newspapermen are known to have a drink or two.’
‘Or three or four,’ Owen said. ‘How about it, Mrs Swearingen?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Why don’t you lie down?’ Ezra asked. ‘You need to get some rest.’
‘Well, Mr McPherson,’ Swearingen said. ‘I appreciate the interest you show in my wife’s well-being.’
She looked hard at her husband, and he smiled a smile that told her he knew. She wondered whether Ezra saw the smile, whether he understood.
‘Ginevra, I care about your well-being also, just as much as Mr McPherson does, perhaps even more. Family is important to me. Why do you think I’ve built this ranch? I didn’t do it for myself. I did it for my family. Yes, there’s nothing more important to me than family. And when someone has someone that belongs to me, I want him back.’
She wondered what he was leading to. He turned and faced Ezra.
‘You and your friend Chesterfield and your new sheriff have something that is mine.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Ezra asked.
‘This is no time for a disagreement,’ Ginevra said. ‘Anne has just given birth. Have you already forgotten?’
‘There’s no disagreement,’ Swearingen said. ‘In fact, I’m sure we’re all in agreement – that what is mine is mine.’
‘Well, hell, Swearingen,’ Owen said, ‘you don’t hear us taking issue with what you’re saying.’
‘I think you need to be a bit more specific. What is your point?’
‘You’re holding my son in jail. I want him back. Do you understand?’
Ginevra rose.
‘Andrew is in jail?’
‘I’m not sure what you said to our son,’ Swearingen said, ‘but you certainly confused him. He has turned himself in to the sheriff. He is taking responsibility for something that was not his doing. Apparently you put some crazy ideas in his head. Anyway, I want him here with me. McPherson, I’ll give you and Chesterfield and this newspaper dude time to get back to town and talk some sense into the new sheriff. This afternoon, if Andrew has not returned home, I’m going to come for him, and I won’t come alone. Is that clear, McPherson? If blood in the streets of Cheyenne is what you want, then blood in the streets of Cheyenne is what you will have.’
Swearingen walked, heavy, out of the room. Ginevra looked at each of the men. Tears glistened in her dark eyes.
‘Ezra, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘He was not in jail when we left,’ Ezra said.
‘That’s the truth,’ Owen said. ‘I don’t know what your husband is talking about.’
Ezra took her hand.
‘We’ll return to town,’ he said. ‘We’ll find out what’s going on.’
‘Don’t let anything happen to
Andrew,’ she said. ‘Please, Ezra, I’m begging you. Richard is a violent man. To get what he wants, he’s willing to do – just about anything.’
Ezra kissed her forehead gently.
‘Marcus, pour me another whiskey,’ Owen said. ‘While you’re at it, pour one for yourself. And then we have to go. Cheyenne awaits.’
Meta Anderson stood at the window. Dark figures squatted just beyond her mother’s flower bed that bore no blooms. They had to be talking about something important. That was what her mother had always told her. You see men on their haunches, her mother had said, and you know they’re talking about something important – at least they think it’s important whether anyone else does or not. The men had ridden up and called out to her father. Jeremy Anderson and Lem Davis and her three brothers went outside, and they talked. They kept their voices quiet. The men were homesteaders. Her brothers squatted just behind them. They’re trying to be men, she said to herself. They’re so young, but they’re trying real hard. The pine floor was warm, gritty beneath her bare feet.
Already the eastern sky above the dark hilltops reddened. Some of the men smoked, the tips of their cigarettes red like the sunrise. Some of the men chewed and spat. One of the men had a large knife. He dug the blade into the dust again and again.
‘Meta, come back from the window,’ her mother called from behind the curtain that separated her bed from the main room.
‘I’m just listening.’
‘It’s not for you to eavesdrop, young lady.’
Her mother and Mrs Davis tiptoed next to her, as if the men could hear their approach. The man with the knife scooped up dust and flung it away from the group. Apparently he did not agree with something her father said.
‘I know what you think of Andrew Swearingen,’ her father said. ‘I can’t say I trust him myself, but there was something about him that makes me want to see how things turn out. I think we should wait.’
‘Wait, hell, I’m tired of waiting,’ one of the men said. ‘Wait for them to come in the middle of the night and burn us out like they did to you, Davis? No, sir. I say we ride into Cheyenne and hang that young Swearingen buck. When I found out he was in jail, I said to myself, what an opportunity to serve justice, the only kind of justice men like Swearingen understand.’
‘We shouldn’t do something rash,’ Davis said. ‘I agree with Jeremy. I think we should wait. Let’s see how the law handles this.’
‘Law. What law? Harrison is dead. Do you think Zeke Stuart will know what to do? Anderson, he ain’t much older than your boys.’
The men stood. They scraped their boots in the dirt, as if expecting to find an answer to their debate beneath them.
‘Anderson, we all know that Swearingen and his men will ride into town later today to get his son. If this law you have such faith in doesn’t let him go, there’s going to be a gun battle the likes of which Cheyenne hasn’t seen in many a year. Zeke Stuart doesn’t stand a chance going up against Swearingen and his men. Stuart will end up just like Harrison. And when that happens, Swearingen will send his boy back to New York and he’ll never get what’s coming to him.’
‘We should let the law deal with it,’ Anderson said.
‘Damn, Anderson, you’re hardheaded.’
‘I just don’t want unnecessary bloodshed. After talking with Andrew Swearingen, I am convinced he feels the same way. I don’t believe he wants any more killing.’
‘All right. Let’s suppose we do as you suggest. We let the law handle this. Let’s suppose Zeke Stuart prevails against the old man. And let’s suppose the young Swearingen goes to trial. He deserves to be hanged, but there’s not a jury in Wyoming that’s going to sentence him to be hanged. He may get a prison sentence. He may just get a friendly slap on the wrist. But, Anderson, do you honestly think that will settle anything? If Andrew thinks his going to prison solves anything, he’s naïve. We will still have what his old man wants – our land. His old man will fight to take it. We will fight to defend it. There’s no getting around it. What you want us to do is simply to put off the inevitable. But rest assured – we can all put this in our pipes and smoke it – war is coming, and whatever happens to Andrew Swearingen is not going to prevent it.’
The farmers grunted and stood tall in the fading darkness. They stretched the soreness out of their joints and mounted their horses and rode off. Anderson and Davis and the three brothers walked inside the cabin.
‘Well, did you hear?’ Anderson asked.
‘We heard enough,’ his wife Isabelle said. ‘I think we might as well have some coffee.’
‘No need to stop with coffee,’ Anderson said. ‘Bacon and eggs goes with coffee.’
Meta went onto the porch and stared in the direction of the riders. Then she stared at the black Wyoming sky as yet untouched by the redness in the east. How many stars are there, she wondered. I’ve never seen so many. John would say, ‘What a sight’. Pans rattled and coffee perked. Her mother called for her, but she did not respond. She left the porch and walked to the barn.
She climbed the ladder and went to a bale of hay in a corner of the loft. She reached behind it. I’ve kept it hidden real good, she said to herself. No one has found it. Not Pa, not my brothers. She went back down the ladder and walked to the stall where the mule stood.
‘Buttercup, are you ready to do some more traveling? Are you ready to go back to Cheyenne? I know you are. It’s a good day to travel.’
Her mother called again.
Chapter Twelve
‘I’m going to walk Jennifer to the door,’ Luke said.
‘Mrs Beauchamp, where does Mr Taylor keep his buggy and horse?’ Ezra asked.
‘Out back in the barn.’
‘I’ll see to it. Owen, you and Stokesbury take the horses back to the livery. I’ll meet up with you at the jail. I’ll be along directly.’
Luke took Jennifer’s hand and led her up the steps onto the porch. They were tired. Strands of blonde hair fell across her face, and she wiped them away.
‘I’m sure I’m a terrible sight to behold,’ she said.
‘Jennifer, once again, I can’t—’
‘You have thanked me enough.’
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. She opened the door and went through the parlor to the kitchen. Charlotte stood at the sink washing dishes.
‘How’s mother and baby?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Fine. It’s been quite an experience. How’s Bobby?’
‘He’s fine too. He’s back in his room going through a McGuffey Reader. You’ve taught him well.’
‘Has Silas already gone to the store?’
‘Oh, yes. Honey, you look plum worn out. Sit down and rest and tell me everything that happened.’
Ezra and Luke walked in the early morning heat past the small houses. Ezra knew Luke wanted to talk. It seemed the young man was fighting to keep the words penned in, but he was losing the fight.
‘Ezra, I’m going to marry her.’
‘I figured.’
‘I’m going to stay.’
‘I figured.’
‘Have you ever considered expanding your vocabulary?’
‘I say what needs to be said.’
‘Father isn’t going to be happy.’
‘It’s your decision, not his.’
‘I never dreamed something like this would happen. She’s wonderful, Ezra.’
‘She’s a nice young lady. Luke, I’m going to give you a piece of advice. I learned a long time ago that when you find the right woman, you’d better hold on to her. Don’t let her get away.’
‘I’m not going to. And I think Bobby likes me.’
‘I think he does. The boy needs a father. You’ll make a good one.’
Ezra slowed his pace.
‘Ezra, is everything all right?’
‘Back at the Swearingen ranch, while you were outside with Mrs Beauchamp, Swearingen told us his son Andrew is in jail. He’s turned himself in. I’ve got to get to the bottom of t
his. There’s going to be trouble. No getting around it. If we don’t release Andrew, if we don’t persuade Andrew that he needs to leave – that sounds a bit strange, doesn’t it? – Swearingen will come for him. He told Owen and me that’s what he’s going to do. I’m sure he’s got a passel of hired guns, and these men won’t be like the ones who tried to rob the train. Luke, men are going to die. I don’t want you to be one of them. I want you to stay clear of any shooting. I promised your father I’d watch out for you. I haven’t forgotten my responsibility.’
‘That sounds like a lot of exaggeration. I doubt things will be that bad.’
‘I’ve found that violence is like a wind storm, the kind that rushes in from the northwest in the dead of winter. There’s no turning it back. It just has to blow itself out.’
Eloise Endicott stepped outside her office and admired the sunlit morning. In her hand she held a notepad and pencil. She headed toward the jail. Outside the general store Silas Taylor swept. Like the other shopkeepers, he did the same thing every morning. Getting rid of the dust was impossible. Still, he swept. His face was red. His white shirt was already wet.
‘Have you had any word from the Swearingen ranch?’ she asked.
‘No, ma’am, not a word.’
‘Well, this is Anne Swearingen’s first. Sometimes the first ones take their time.’
As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. The Taylors had lost their first and only one in childbirth.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—’
‘No need to apologize. The dark blue of your dress looks really good. That reminds me – some new catalogues have come in, two from New York, one from Paris. When you have a moment, I’d like to show them to you.’
‘I will – later this week.’
‘You know, I think Doctor Tisdale is pretty sweet on Jennifer, but don’t print it.’
‘Is she sweet on him?’
He smiled and she crossed the almost deserted street and entered the jail. Zeke Stuart sat behind the desk. He stood. The glare from the open door almost blinded him.
‘Did you get any sleep last night?’ she asked.
‘Not much. There was trouble at the Two Rivers.’
