She stopped and drank from her cup. Laurel said nothing; she sipped at her coffee. The two women were wrapped in blankets. They sat close to the fire, more, I thought, for light than warmth. Virgil still sat on his heels beside them. Neither woman ever took her eyes off him.
“And then they came and took us and . . .”
She looked at her daughter. Her daughter’s face was blank, her eyes fixed on Virgil. She drank more.
“You don’t need to talk about it,” Virgil said.
She nodded.
“Anything you can tell me ’bout this Indian?” Virgil said.
“He . . .” She drank again. “English. He talked good English.”
Virgil nodded.
“And he was big; he was a very big Indian,” Mary Beth said.
“What did he wear,” Virgil said.
“Black coat,” Mary Beth said. “Long. And a funny hat.” Virgil nodded. Mary Beth was drunk. Laurel seemed unchanged.
“Buffalo Calf,” Mary Beth said.
“Buffalo Calf?” Virgil said.
“He said name Buffalo Calf.”
Virgil nodded again. He glanced at Pony; Pony shrugged and shook his head.
We were quiet for a time. Outside the circle of firelight, one of the horses stirred.
“Oh, God,” Mary Beth said.
“Just one of the horses,” Virgil said.
“But what if they come back?”
“Can’t,” Virgil said. “They’re all dead.”
“You kill them,” Mary Beth said.
“We did.”
“What if the Indian comes back?”
“He won’t.”
“But if he does?”
“We’ll kill him, too,” Virgil said.
“You don’t know what he’s like,” Mary Beth said.
“No,” Virgil said.
He smiled at her.
“But I know what I’m like,” Virgil said.
33
MARY BETH AND LAUREL SLEPT pressed together, with Laurel holding on to Virgil’s sleeve through the night as he slept next to them. Pony and I took turns staying awake. At sunup we had coffee and some cold biscuits, and started north. The women rode on two of the saddle horses whose owners we’d killed. We turned the rest of the horses loose.
“I want my horses,” Mary Beth said when we got her mounted.
“You’ll ride a lot more comfortable in a saddle.”
“Can’t we put the saddles on my horses?”
“Saddles ain’t big enough,” Virgil said. “Horses’ll trail along, just like the mule.”
And they did. Mary Beth kept looking back for them every few minutes. Laurel simply sat on her horse, with the reins wrapped around the saddle horn. She held on to the horn, and made no attempt to direct the horse. If he paused to graze, turned off the trail, Pony or I would ride up and nudge him back. She showed no sign that she was aware of us. She kept her eyes focused on Virgil, who was riding ahead of her with her mother.
At noon we stopped near a stream and let the horses graze on a long tether. There was some shade from a couple of cottonwoods.
“I want to wash myself,” Mary Beth said.
“Sure,” Virgil said.
“I want to wash myself all over,” she said. “Laurel, too.”
“We won’t look,” Virgil said.
“Will you come down and stand close while we go in the water?” Mary Beth said.
“Sure,” Virgil said.
He went with them, and when they got to the stream he turned his back. I made fire out of some dead cottonwood branches. Didn’t make a good fire. But it would be enough to cook. Pony was slicing salt pork into a fry pan. After I got the fire built I put some biscuits in a Dutch oven and put it next to the fire.
After a time, the women came up from the water, wearing a couple of blankets. Their clothes were draped in the warm wind over the lower branches of one of the cottonwoods. They sat close to Virgil while we ate lunch. By the time we were ready to move on, their clothes were dry enough to wear, and we looked away again while they dressed.
We rode northeast all the rest of the day. Laurel stayed close to her mother, and her mother stayed close to Virgil. As far as they were concerned, it was as if me and Pony were along to carry Virgil’s ammunition.
When it was dark, we made camp and sat around the fire with the whiskey jug.
“When we get to Brimstone,” Virgil said, “you gonna be able to handle the farm by yourselves?”
“Oh my God,” Mary Beth said. “My cow. She has to be milked. What happened to my cow?”
“She’s okay,” Virgil said. “Got somebody looking after her.”
Mary Beth nodded and looked at Laurel. Laurel looked blank. She had a little whiskey in a tin cup and sipped it now and then. Otherwise, she was still. Mary Beth drank some of her whiskey.
“You asked me something,” she said to Virgil.
“Can you work the farm by yourself?”
Mary Beth took another swallow of whiskey and let it rest in her mouth for a time before she swallowed.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I can cook and sew and milk the cow and grow vegetables. I don’t know about plowing and digging and hauling. My husband always did that.”
“Got any money to hire a hand?” I said.
She seemed startled that I was there. She looked at me long enough to say “No.” And then looked back at Virgil.
“Maybe Brother Percival would donate somebody,” I said to Virgil.
“But we can’t be alone,” Mary Beth said.
“Maybe we can arrange a hand,” I said.
“No,” Virgil said. “She means she can’t be alone.”
“Anywhere,” I said.
Mary Beth nodded. Laurel was still.
“Anywhere,” Virgil said.
“That makes it a little harder,” I said.
I handed the whiskey jug to Pony; he took a pull and passed it on to Mary Beth. She fastidiously wiped the mouth of the jug with the bottom of her skirt, and poured some whiskey into her cup.
“Can’t be alone,” she said.
34
THE NEXT DAY WE CAME to the Paiute, and a day later, riding up the low rise from the river, we saw the Ostermueller farm. The draught horses that had followed us all the way broke into a trot and went past us, heading for the stock shed. We paused. Virgil glanced at the women. As we sat, tears started down Mary Beth’s face.
“Want to stop off here?” Virgil said.
Mary Beth shook her head.
Laurel suddenly kicked her horse in the ribs and hung on to the saddle horn as he broke into a gallop. Pony went after her and caught her as her horse, getting no instructions from its rider, slowed to a walk. He caught the bridle and they stopped. Laurel stayed hunched over the saddle horn, her face turned away from the farmhouse. Pony looked back at Virgil. Virgil gestured toward town. Pony shrugged and let go of the harness, and rode beside her as they went toward Brimstone. As soon as we were past the farm, Laurel slowed her horse until Virgil came up.
“The horses,” Mary Beth said.
“Everett’ll take care of them, for now,” Virgil said. “Till we get you settled.”
Mary Beth nodded. They kept riding.
The horses were standing blankly in the stock shed. I tethered my horse, gave the draught horses more food than they needed, and filled the drinking trough. One of the horses paused while he was eating and put his head over into the empty stall where the milk cow had stood. He stood for a moment like that. Then he went back to eating. I put some fresh hay on the floor, hooked the stall gates, and rode after the others.
I caught up with them at the edge of town. We rode in before noon, tied the mule and the horses to the rail in front of the sheriff’s office, and went in. Virgil put two chairs out for the women. Then he went and sat at the desk. Laurel sat in the chair nearest Virgil. I took my usual chair, and leaned the eight-gauge against the wall next to me. Pony leaned on the wall by the door.
>
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Virgil said. “We’re going to get you a nice room at the hotel. They . . .”
“No,” Mary Beth said. “No. Not alone. You can’t leave us. Don’t leave us. He’ll come back. He’ll come right into town.”
Virgil waited. Laurel sat stiff in her chair. Mary Beth started to cry.
“No, please, no . . .” And then the sobbing overcame her and she couldn’t talk.
“We won’t leave you alone,” Virgil said quietly.
She was too committed to crying to stop all at once. But she cried more gently.
“We get you a room,” Virgil said, “that looks out on the lobby. One of us, me, Everett, or Pony . . .”
He looked at Pony. Pony nodded.
Virgil continued.
“. . . be sitting right there in the lobby.”
“He’ll sneak in on us. He’ll come in while we’re sleeping,” Mary Beth said.
“Be on the second floor,” Virgil said. “You keep your window locked. And we’ll give you a bell.”
“Bell?”
“Cowbell,” Virgil said. “He ain’t gonna know what room you’re in. If he does, he ain’t gonna climb up the side of the wall. If he could, he’d have to break the window and you’d hear him and ring the bell and we come running.”
“What if he kills you?”
“We been doing this kind of work for a long time,” Virgil said. “Nobody’s killed us yet.”
Mary Beth was shaking her head.
“Won’t be for long, just while we arrange something for you,” Virgil said. “I’ll have my . . . I’ll have a woman I know come in and see to you. Bring you clothes, things like that. She been through some of what you been through.”
“She has? Can she be alone?”
Virgil and I looked at each other.
“She’s managing it,” Virgil said.
“Well, I can’t manage it,” she said. “And neither can Laurel.”
“Mary Beth,” I said. “No such thing as perfect safety. You are as safe now as you have ever been in your life. Or ever will be.”
Mary Beth looked at her daughter. Laurel was stiff, and her body was all angles. She registered nothing.
“Lady,” Pony said softly from the doorway. “He will not hurt you. I promise he will not.”
“What if they don’t have a room that you can see the lobby?” she said.
“They will,” Virgil said.
Mary Beth had stopped crying.
“This is as safe as I’m ever going to be,” she said.
“Or ever were,” I said.
“What Everett means,” Virgil said, “is safe is more how you feel than how things are. You’re safe. You just don’t feel it.”
Mary Beth nodded.
“Two weeks ago,” I said, “you felt safe in your house. And you weren’t. Now you don’t feel safe with us. And you are.”
“Safe and not safe is mostly in your head,” Virgil said.
He stood and put out one hand each to Mary Beth and Laurel. Mary Beth took it. Laurel didn’t. Virgil didn’t seem to notice, except that I knew he did, because Virgil notices everything.
“Here we go,” Virgil said.
The women hesitated.
“Bring the eight-gauge,” Virgil said to me. “Make everyone feel safer.”
“Including you?” I said.
Virgil grinned.
“ ’Specially me,” he said.
The women stood. Mary Beth first, then Laurel. And we went out of the sheriff’s office and walked down to the hotel, Laurel holding on to Virgil’s left sleeve. The chances of Buffalo Calf coming into town were very small. The chance that he even knew the women weren’t in Mexico was very small. But the women were so scared I found myself keeping an eye out.
Just in case.
35
“THESE WOMEN NEED OUR HELP,” Allie said to Brother Percival.
Mary Beth and Laurel sat in the front row of pews beside Allie, wearing some clothes that Allie had given them. Brother Percival stood in front of the altar rail, facing them in his white robe, with his long blond hair spilling onto his shoulders, and his thick arms folded across his chest.
“He thinks he’s Jesus,” I whispered.
“No beard,” Virgil said.
Pony stood in the back of the church, by the door. Choctaw Brown stood near him. Choctaw and Pony were studying each other. A couple of other deacons stood against the far wall. There was no one else in the church.
“What is your name?” Percival said.
“Mary Beth Ostermueller.”
“Tell me your story, Mary Beth,” Brother Percival said.
“An Indian killed my husband and took us,” Mary Beth said. “He sold us to some men who were taking us to Mexico when Mr. Cole came and saved us.”
“All by yourself,” I said.
Virgil ignored me. He was looking at Percival.
“What happened to the men?”
“Mr. Cole killed them.”
“Wish I coulda seen it,” I whispered.
Virgil shrugged.
“Were you despoiled?” Percival said.
“Despoiled?”
“Did these men do things to you.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Mary Beth shook her head.
“We can’t talk about it,” she said.
“And the young lady?” Brother Percival said.
“My daughter, Laurel.”
Percival nodded and spoke to her.
“What do you have to say, Laurel?”
Laurel’s silence was like a boulder.
“Does she speak?” Percival said.
“Hasn’t spoke since this happened to her,” Allie said.
“That right?” Percival said to Mary Beth.
“Yessir,” Mary Beth said. “And when we passed our farm she tried to ride off.”
“Do you know why?” Percival said.
“It’s where her father got killed,” Mary Beth said. “Figured it was something about that.”
“You own that property?” Percival said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you work it without a man?” Percival said.
“No, sir,” Mary Beth said. “We can’t even live there.”
“They are afraid,” Allie said. “After what happened. They are frightened of being alone.”
Percival nodded.
“I understand,” he said.
“I thought perhaps that they could live in the single woman’s dormitory in the church compound,” Allie said rapidly. “I been seeing them every day, you know, and I been thinking about it a lot, and I thought maybe the church could work the farm for them. Sort of as a way for them to pay for their keep here.”
Percival stood silent for a while, then looked at Virgil.
“Do you have a thought, Deputy?”
“I believe it is your Christian duty,” Virgil said.
“Of course,” Percival said.
36
VIRGIL AND I SAT IN two straight chairs tilted back against the wall on the front porch of the sheriff’s office.
“Where’s Allie?” I said. “Ain’t seen her in a while.”
Virgil grinned.
“Miss those lunches?” Virgil said.
“God, no,” I said. “She ain’t doing your shirts no more, either.”
“Nope, taking them to the Chinaman again.”
“So she’s out closing down saloons?” I said.
“She’s at the church, mostly,” Virgil said. “I think she adopted them two women.”
“Mary Beth and Laurel?”
“Yep.”
“Laurel talk yet?” I said.
“Allie says no.”
“Seen a doctor?”
“Both of them. Nothing wrong with them but a few bruises.”
“He look at their, ah, private parts?” I said.
“Don’t know what he looked at, Everett,” Virgil said. “Didn’t ask.�
�
“Just thought, since they’d been misused . . .”
“Doctor says they are okay,” Virgil said.
“So why don’t the girl talk?” I said.
“Don’t know.”
There were some clouds so that the sky was a pretty even gray, and it looked like it could rain in a while. But it was warm, and the weather still was pleasant.
“How ’bout Mary Beth?” I said.
“She’s drinking a lot,” Virgil said.
“Can’t say I blame her.”
“Ain’t helping the kid,” Virgil said.
“Probably not,” I said.
“Allie says that the mother told her they can’t be mother and daughter no more,” Virgil said.
“So you and Allie are talking ’bout things,” I said.
“Yep.”
“They can’t be mother and daughter because of what happened?” I said.
“Allie said that Mary Beth said that she and the kid seen each other do things that no mother and daughter should ever see.”
I nodded.
“Wasn’t like they had a choice,” I said.
Virgil shrugged.
There was a lot of traffic on Arrow Street. Carriages, buck-boards, freight wagon, men on horseback. There were a lot of people walking along the boardwalks and going in and out of shops. From the blacksmith shop across the street and around the corner, I could hear the clang of his hammer.
“How they getting on with the Reverend Brother Percival?” I said.
Virgil grunted.
“He has them in for pastural counseling, every day,” Virgil said, “whatever that is.”
“Pastoral,” I said. “Like a pastor.”
“Sure,” Virgil said.
“Both of them together?”
“Nope, one at a time,” Virgil said.
“Must be an interesting time with the kid,” I said.
“Who don’t talk,” Virgil said.
Brimstone Page 9
