by Jo Goodman
She shifted to find a more comfortable ridge in the bark. She went on in a firmer tone. “And he is too confident for my tastes. That is an aspect of character that does not translate so well off the page. It suited Nat Church in the Frisco Fancy, but it is an annoyance when Mr. Coltrane thinks he knows so much. Even when he’s just sitting there, saying nothing at all, you can tell he’s amusing himself. You can tell he knows something you don’t.”
Raine fell quiet. She considered what else she might tell them, what else she might confess. After a time she closed her eyes. “He kisses very well. I never thought about how Nat Church might kiss, but I think it would also be very well. Before he left the Indian Maiden, it seemed he might kiss Miss Lansdale. He never did, though, so I can’t say whether she would have welcomed it.” Her voice was barely audible now. “I did.”
She opened her eyes and stared at the pale whitewashed wooden markers. “It is not the worst thing to be alone, but it’s terrible to be lonely.”
Raine swiped at her eyes with gloved fingertips and offered a watery smile up to the darkness. “You see what I have become? Mawkish. I am everything I despise. Maudlin and self-pitying. You know I am not vain, but this looks truly unattractive on me.” She imagined Adam and Ellen were agreeing with her. She swiped impatiently at another tear and then sucked in a deep breath to hold back the tide of those that threatened to follow.
She stayed a little longer, drinking in the night and embracing the calm. Settled, she pushed away from the cottonwood and quietly bade Adam and Ellen good night.
Raine passed under the wrought iron archway that marked the graveyard entrance and slowly walked in the direction of town. She was halfway between the cemetery and the Pennyroyal when she realized she was no longer traveling the narrow road alone. She stopped and cocked her head, straining to hear whether the footsteps were coming from behind or ahead of her. It was more concerning when she didn’t hear them at all.
“Who’s there?” she asked. “I know someone’s there.” She raised one hand to her brow, flattening it like a visor to block the light from houses in town and help her accustom her eyes to the dark. Squinting, she looked for a shape out of place among the cottonwoods and prairie grass.
The figure, though, appeared on the side of the road. It rose up from the ground without warning and remained motionless. Raine understood that what she had mistaken for a boulder was actually a man huddling close to the ground.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
“Is that you, Mrs. Berry?”
She did not recognize the voice, which relieved her in some ways and alarmed her in others. “Tell me who you are.”
A match was struck and the man’s face was briefly illuminated in the orange light. “Mr. Jones,” he said. He shook the match, extinguishing the fire, and tossed it aside. “We met this afternoon, Mrs. Berry. I am a guest in your hotel.”
John Paul Jones. The man Rabbit and Finn had brought from the station that afternoon.
Raine’s heart was slow to stop hammering. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones. I didn’t recognize you. Why didn’t you answer me?”
“I didn’t? I thought I did.”
“Not the first time I called out.”
“I apologize, then. I did not hear you.”
Still wary, Raine started forward but not at the same pace she’d set earlier. “What were you doing crouching in the road?”
“Nursing a twisted ankle, I’m afraid.” He took a halting step in her direction and winced audibly.
“Stay where you are, Mr. Jones. Let me examine it.”
She drew closer but stopped with an arm’s length still separating them. “I could look at it more thoroughly if you would sit.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. If you would lend me your shoulder…”
Concern warred with caution. Caution won. “Just give me a moment. I’ll find something for you to sit on.” Raine stepped off the road and into the knee-high grass. She asked him questions while she searched. “What are you doing out here?”
“I suspect the same thing you are. I find an evening walk clears my mind.”
Raine found a fallen log by stubbing her toe on it. Swearing softly, she picked up the log and carried it over. “I promise you it will be better than the ground, and you won’t harm your clothes. They look very fine.” Raine waited as he gingerly put weight on the twisted ankle. She thought he sat awkwardly for a man in his thirties with such a slight injury. She was used to men shrugging off wounds that were infinitely more grievous in nature.
Apparently Mr. John Paul Jones did not have the constitution of his admiral namesake, who was alleged to have said, when the battle seemed lost, “I have not yet begun to fight.”
Raine did not mention this. Mr. Jones was a slim, fit man, narrow of face and shoulders, and had a rather delicate way of turning his hands when he spoke. He had a long nose and a carefully groomed mustache below it. His beard was neatly trimmed and the same sandy color as his hair. His height was imposing. His lanky arms and legs, the long torso, put Raine in mind of a locust, and his countenance for that brief moment it was illuminated by the match had been as unpleasantly humorless as one.
Once he was seated, Raine asked him to stretch his leg toward her. Only then did she hunker down. She placed her hands on either side of his ankle. “Can you rotate it?”
He did as she asked, wincing.
“I do not want to remove your boot,” she said. “Your ankle might swell. It doesn’t seem as if you’ve broken it.”
“There’s a mercy.”
“Some people say a sprain hurts more and takes longer to heal.”
“Well, that is not good news. I need to travel.”
Raine felt around the boot again, this time manipulating the foot. She heard him suck in his breath. “Truly, Mr. Jones, I think you will be able to continue your journey. You indicated that you would be staying at the Pennyroyal for upwards of a month. That is sufficient for your recuperation. You will experience little difficulty after that.”
“My new journey begins here, Mrs. Berry. I’m a surveyor for the government.”
“A surveyor. Well, that puts your injury in a different light.” She released his foot.
Mr. Jones held his knee and carefully rotated his left foot on his own.
“Hey, Mrs. Berry!”
Raine peered toward the sound of Finn’s voice. Finn and Rabbit were coming up the road from the direction of town. They had but a single silhouette because they were walking so closely together.
“I can’t begin to imagine what you boys are doing here,” she said. “You should be in bed.”
They stopped a few feet in front of her. “Hey, Mr. Jones,” Finn said.
“What happened?” asked Rabbit. “You get something stuck in your boot?”
They were not even subtle about ignoring her, Raine thought. She had an urge to knock their towheads together. “Boys?”
“Granny sent us to get Pap,” Rabbit told Raine. “He’s at the saloon. There was a package that came for Uriah today that never got claimed. Pap thought he might come across Eli or Clay at the Pennyroyal and pass it along.”
Finn nodded. “He didn’t want to ride out to the Burdick place if he could help it.”
Rabbit said, “But he hasn’t come back, so she sent us to get him.”
“So what are you doing out here?” She pointed toward town. “The Pennyroyal is that way. I don’t see your pap with you.”
“He wasn’t ready to leave,” said Finn. “Told us to go home and tell Granny he was staying put for a piece.”
Rabbit heaved a sigh as long in suffering as any that had ever come from his pap. “But Granny told us not to come back without him, so you see we are ridin’ the longhorns of a pretty big dilemma.”
“That’s a steer that’s gone loco,” Finn said helpfully. “I didn’t know what it meant until Rabbit explained.”
Raine pressed a fist to her lips and cleared her throat. “Thank you, F
inn. I hadn’t realized.” When she was certain the bubble of laughter was thoroughly suppressed, she said, “That does not quite explain what you’re doing out here.”
“On our way to the graveyard,” said Rabbit.
“He’s says I’m too scared to go,” said Finn, “but I’m not. I’ve been there before.”
“Not at night,” Rabbit said.
Raine saw where this was headed. She clapped her hands together. “Boys. We have an injured man here. Mr. Jones twisted his ankle. I was going to assist him, but I think the two of you will make a pair of excellent crutches.” She turned to Mr. Jones. “Are you ready to get up?”
“Eager,” he said, his tone as dry as dust. As soon as he started to push up on the log, the boys jumped in to assist. They quickly inserted themselves under his arms and heaved. He hopped on his right foot until he was able to steady himself using the boys’ shoulders.
Their progress was slow but steady. When they reached the Pennyroyal, Raine went into the saloon by herself and asked Jem and Jessop Davis to assist Mr. Jones to his room. She directed everyone to use the hotel’s entrance, and told Rabbit and Finn they could lead the way. They dashed ahead in their usual fashion while the Davis brothers and Mr. Jones set a less frantic pace. Raine stayed behind.
Walt stopped filling a glass from the tapped keg when he saw Raine’s reflection in the mirror. She was approaching the bar and had not yet tried to catch his eye. He finished what he was doing, set out the beer for Jefferson Collins, and waited for her to wind her way through the maze of tables.
“Something wrong?” he asked. “Thought you were going to take a night off. Charlie and me are doing pretty well on our own.”
“I’m sure you are, but I need your help with something else. Let me come around the bar.” She eyed Mr. Collins and his drink before she went. “You stay right there,” she told him.
He grinned. “I have no other plans.”
“We’ll talk about that.” She rounded the long bar and waved Walt over to where she was standing. She unwound the scarf from her head and removed her gloves. “Will you take a box of salts to Mr. Jones? He injured his ankle and will appreciate soothing it in a salt bath.”
“Sure. That won’t take but a couple of minutes.”
She laid a hand on his forearm. “Take a basin, too. Jem and Jessop helped him up to his room.”
“So that’s where they went. I never saw you talking to them. You should have taken Jake, too. He hardly knows what to do with himself.”
Raine smiled, understanding. She unbuttoned her coat and gave it to Walt to put in the back room along with her gloves and scarf. “His brothers will be back any minute. Thank you, Walt. I’ll wait here and help Charlie until you return. Oh, and send Rabbit and Finn down right away.”
“Rabbit and Finn?” Walt’s eyebrows climbed toward his receding hairline. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Raine stepped aside to let him pass and then went straight to Jeff Collins. She waited until he set his beer down before she took it away. She held up a finger to stall his protest. “I could have taken it right out of your hand,” she said. “I probably should have. Mrs. Collins sent the boys to fetch you and you sent them back. That’s the kind of cross-purposes that would make boys with a lick of good sense scratch their heads. We both know that Rabbit and Finn don’t have half a lick between them.”
The station agent peered at Raine over the rim of his spectacles. “How deep is the hole they dug for themselves this time?”
“Oh, they’re fine,” she said, waving aside that concern. “There’s no hole. In fact, they were helpful and they could not have arrived at a more opportune moment, but they came upon me on the road leading out to the graveyard.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Mr. Collins, what I was doing there is hardly your concern. That Rabbit and Finn were there is the point.”
He shrugged. “Boys go to a graveyard when they want to scare themselves stupid.”
“Mr. Collins.”
He sighed. “I come here for a few moments’ respite, Mrs. Berry. And the beer is good, too. May I please have my glass back?”
She slid it in front of him. “You are a fraud. Rabbit and Finn are you through and through.”
“Where are the boys now?”
“Upstairs at the moment. Walt is sending them down before they bedevil Mr. Jones.” She told him what happened and her story conveniently ended at the same time he finished his beer. The boys appeared a few moments after that, and Mr. Collins was persuaded he had to make the best of it. Raine watched him go to his grandsons. It struck her that he didn’t take them by the collar to lead them out. Instead, he took them under his wing.
Kellen followed the direction of Raine’s gaze and understood the reason for her smile. “They’re something, aren’t they?”
She nodded absently before she came back to herself. Her head swiveled around. “You’re still here?”
He raised a single eyebrow.
“Of course you are. It was a ridiculous question.”
“I’m heartily glad to learn you know it.”
She gave him a narrow look, darts at the ready. “What I meant,” she said, carefully enunciating each word, “is that you were not here when I came in and elicited the help of two of the Davis brothers.”
“Perhaps it’s only that you didn’t see me.”
“You weren’t here.”
“Well, I won’t flatter myself that you noticed my absence.”
“Good for you.”
His slim smile was like a warning shot. “I went back to my room for a few minutes. There was a commotion in the hallway. When I heard Rabbit and Finn, I decided to stay where I was until it passed.”
“Probably wise.”
“I thought so.” He leaned an elbow against the bar. “Could I get a beer?”
She nodded and poured him one. Jessop Davis appeared at the bar, and she gave him a beer and two more for his brothers. “Compliments of the house,” she told him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Berry, but Jake didn’t do anything.”
“He waited for you and Jem. That certainly was a hardship for him.”
Jessop grinned, swept three beers off the bar, and went back to the table where his brothers were waiting.
“They were part of the commotion?” asked Kellen when Jessop was gone.
“Since you have to ask, I imagine they were the quiet part.”
“What happened?”
Raine shook her head. Charlie was coming toward her from behind the bar, and Dick Faber was approaching the front of it. “Can we speak later?” she asked under her breath.
He nodded. “Just so you know, Eli and Clay left when Mr. Collins brought the crate. Apparently Uriah’s been talking about it. They decided he would want to have it right away.”
“All right.”
Kellen thought she looked relieved. Satisfied with that, he took his beer and left.
Kellen expected to hear about the previous night’s commotion at breakfast. When a shadow crossed Kellen’s newspaper, he looked up in anticipation of seeing Raine. He masked his annoyance when he saw it was one of the Pennyroyal’s new guests.
“Mr. Coltrane, is it?” Mr. Jones asked.
“Yes. You’re Jones?”
“John Paul Jones.”
“I saw you at dinner yesterday.”
“My first evening here. May I join you?”
Kellen wondered why Jones did not respond to any of the things that he was doing that kept others away. The paper was not a deterrent. Neither was the fact that Kellen avoided the pleasantries that everyone else offered when Mr. Jones entered the room. Kellen had actually shifted in his chair to give the newcomer a better view of his shoulder than his profile. Most telling, he had deliberately shown no curiosity when others remarked on Mr. Jones’s limp.
Yet here the man was, standing at his table, holding on to the edge for balance and support with the tips of his precisely clipp
ed fingernails.
“Please,” said Kellen. He folded the paper and laid it beside his plate. “Sit. Do you need help?”
“No. I can manage.” He pulled out a chair and eased himself into it. “A minor inconvenience.”
Kellen did not inquire. He raised his hand and got Emily Ransom’s attention. She came close to scalding Howard Wheeler when she missed his cup as she hurried over. “Not an emergency, Miss Ransom,” said Kellen. “I want the hotcakes and more coffee.”
“No eggs for you?” she asked, carefully filling his cup. “Mrs. Sterling will make them any way you like.”
“Just the hotcakes.”
“Bacon?”
“The hotcakes.”
“Fried potatoes?”
“Hotcakes.”
Emily sighed. She could not hope to extend their exchange by suggesting toast and jam. “You, Mr. Jones?”
“All of that,” he said. “Scramble the eggs, and ask the cook to keep them on the wet side. I do not care for dry eggs. Also, I would like toast. Two slices. And blackberry preserves, if you have them.”
“Certainly, Mr. Jones.” Emily poured a cup of coffee for him, and then hovered just long enough that Kellen gave her a nudge in the direction of the kitchen.
“What a silly girl,” Mr. Jones said, watching her go. “I don’t suppose she can help it.”
“She enjoys herself. There’s no harm.”
Mr. Jones added cream to his coffee. “You don’t find all that fluttering wearing on the nerves?”
