by J. R. Biery
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Hattie used the strong lye soap solution to wash the walls and floor boards, shuddering again about what might have been as she straightened the covers, remade the crib, and then went ahead and changed the sheets on both beds. Even though she was the only one on them, she shuddered at the sight of the bed and it was the only thing she could do to change the way it looked. Finally, she laid her father’s rifle across the bed, left the pistol on the dresser as she worked.
She had insisted that Rubye rest and even though she wanted to refuse, James had made sure that she obeyed and layed down. James sat in the kitchen, drinking the hot, over-boiled coffee, his guns ready. The fish still soaked in a bowl of salted water, the uneaten meal still sat in pots on the cooled stove. Hattie didn’t dare speculate on his state of mind. Finished in the bedroom, she picked up the pistol and moved it and the rifle to the dining room table.
She used the work, grateful to have it to keep her mind away from what was happening in town. J.D. was once again sleeping on the cot mattress in the living area. Hattie checked him, thrilled that he still slept. All the drama and his first experience with evil had exhausted him.
She fetched a new bucket of water, then stared at the dining room chairs where the older couple had been tied. For several minutes, she struggled with the knots on the leather thongs and finally freed the last one. She scrubbed the chairs too, horrified to realize it was blood on the top rung of the tall ladder back where James had been tied.
Nervously, she laid the rawhide strips on the table, pushing aside more plates and silverware. She set the bucket beside the damp chair seat and again attacked the floor, mopping and scrubbing the dark red stains away. She rinsed the floor in long sweeps out the door and across the porch. Satisfied that all the blood was up, she went back to carefully smooth the floor, using a pail of clean water and a flat piece of sandstone to sand where bullets had gouged the wood, careful that there would be no splinters for Jackie’s’ tender hands and knees as he moved from his swimming squirm to an actual crawl. Finished in the living room, she again moved the guns back to her bed and used the same method to smooth out and polish the bullet gouges in the bedroom floor.
Knees and back aching, hands red, Hattie was glad when J.D. began his waking fuss. She used the few minutes it would take him to become an angry complainer to clean up any water and grit and return broom, mop, sandstone and pail to the kitchen. She noticed James was sitting in front of the table playing with the rawhide strips, his hand over his face. Like her, he was reliving the raid. Unlike her, he wasn’t worrying about the men entering Star, she knew if he were he would be busy, too.
It was Rubye who woke them both from their thoughts. “Isn’t anyone going to take care of this little boy?” She held the baby, who had quit immediately when she bent to pick him up. Hattie hurried forward to take the wet boy to change and feed. As she left, she noticed Rubye wrapping an arm around James and bending to kiss his forehead. She was relieved to see him look up and smile before wrapping an arm around her.
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It was three o’clock when they arrived in the Mexican end of town. Jackson was relieved that both Hank and Tony were both waiting for them there. “Are you all right, Tony?”
He doffed his hat, and Jackson saw a white bandage. “Better, thanks to Hank showing up.”
“You were right, he was tied up at the Eastman spread,” Hank said.
“They said they were going to bring Maria back, and …”
Jackson felt his own chest tighten as he relived the minutes before the gunfire at the ranch. He looked over his shoulder at the wagon, “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“That’s what Hank said,” he rode up and lifted the tarp anyway, then grinned.
The street seemed deserted as they drew up at the jail, but soon curious onlookers began to gather, drawn by the wagon full of bodies.
The sheriff stepped out of the cool dark of the saloon and then ducked back in. From the corner of his eye, Jackson caught the motion. Stepping down, he motioned his men to join him inside the thick adobe walls of the jail, even as a gun fired from the window of the store across the street. Cliff returned fire and a dark half-breed fell from the window to the ground.
The sheriff shouted over at them even as onlookers scattered. “Throw down your guns, Jackson, and you and your men will be given a fair trial.”
“Go to hell, Tate. Throw out your gun and badge, because we intend to see you hang. The rest of your “deputies” should do the same. Texas Rangers will be on the next stage.”
“Too bad you’re not as clever as you think, Jackson. When Seth showed me the telegram, I sent an order to ignore it. That stage will be empty.”
Jackson looked around the small room at the determined faces of the four men with him. Cliff reached over to the gun case and pulled out a shotgun and shells. “Guess, we’ll have to wait and see who’s right, unless you want to step out and surrender,” he called.
It seemed to take forever for the hands to reach three-thirty and sweep past. When the stage pulled up, Jackson realized he was holding his breath. The driver stepped down, luggage was unloaded, horses changed, and a couple stepped aboard, then the stage took off.
“Jackson, looks like you lose. I’ve got you surrounded. Come out,” Tate racked his shotgun.
“Stay put, Jackson,” a voice called from the saloon shadows, “Tate…” but before he could complete the order, the sheriff twirled and fired the shotgun at the shadows. The ranger rolled and fired and a second ranger sent bullets through the fat target.
A gun fired from the second story of the saloon brought answering fire from the rangers and the shooter pitched to the floor. Outside, fire was exchanged from Thompson’s store and the stables with the cowboys inside the jail. When the smoke cleared, two wounded men were herded into the jail and Jackson met the rangers in the street.
“We got off at Red Rim, and rode in ahead of the stage. Knew when we got the second wire you needed our help.” He nodded at Cliff, “Of course your man there had told us you were having trouble up this way. Told us he would wire us if anything else happened. Texas is so big, seems every town is having trouble between cattlemen and squatters these days. Sorry, we didn’t come up sooner.”
Jackson waited for him to pause. “Glad you arrived in time, it might have been another blood-bath here.”
“Yeah, looks like you had one somewhere else, judging by that dead wood in your wagon.”
“They showed up at my place after we left this morning. I wired you about all they did Sunday.”
“One of the reasons we had to come. Men who shoot animals that way, tend to be the most dangerous.”
“Today, they tied up our cook, yahooed our women, and held a gun on my infant son.”
“Sounds like you were lucky to get back in time. This crew has made a bad name for themselves. Two of the three in the buggy are wanted for rape and murder from Kansas, Missouri, and now Texas.”
“My wife had a gun under the pillow.”
“Guess that explains the low aim on a couple of them.”
“Yeah, I finished them by shooting them in the head. My men took care of the other two. If you want to charge us, we’ll stand trial for it. But we didn’t have a choice and I’d personally like to do it all again, maybe starting with those so-called deputies we have in jail,” Jackson said.
The yells and protests inside the jail grew silent and the ranger grinned. “Reckon we’d better take this evidence and those birds back with us to Austin. We’ve got a judge there who will make quick work of them. What name do I have to wire any reward to?”
“Jackson Harper. I’ll share it with my men if there is one.”
“Yeah, as wide a swatch as these boys cut, it might amount to a pretty penny. We’ll throw in Tate and the one in the saloon, since Rangers can’t collect bounties.”
Jackson nodded and started walking up the street toward the bank. “I’d like that, but while you’re her
e, there’s some shady dealings coming through from the city council and the tax assessor. I’d like you to check it out. I can’t believe it’s legal.”
“Might be legal, just not be right.” The Ranger told him in undertones as they walked to the bank. “We might be able to convince them it’s not legal, get it changed anyway. Just follow my lead. What’s the assessor’s name?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In the small bedroom, Hattie helped Rubye into one of Donna’s dresses, a simple one made up in ivory linen.
“It’s not right, my wearing Mrs. Harper’s dress.”
Hattie laughed. “Thanks to you, I’m Mrs. Harper now. Admit it, I will be sewing until I die and I still won’t get all Donna’s clothes cut down to fit me. This dress fits you perfectly, it looks lovely, and even if I could get it altered, I would probably never wear it. You’re the bride today, this is my and Donna’s gift to you.”
Rubye blushed, the high collared dress with its high puff sleeves flattered and softened her tall, angular build. She looked young, with her hair piled in a soft knot on top of her head, yellow rose buds tucked in amid the dark strands.
Hattie stood on tiptoe and kissed her soft cheek. “You’re still young and beautiful. God willing this time next year we’ll be watching our babies play together and J.D. will be the big boy, toddling around between them.”
“I’m afraid I’m too old.”
“How old?”
“Thirty-three. James is forty-two.”
Hattie grinned at her. “God’s blessings, let’s hurry before you get one day older.”
Finally Rubye laughed. In the garden, the cowhands were already gathering. James wore his dark church suit and a starched stiff white shirt that resembled Jackson’s. His face glowed red. He was obviously fortified by spirits.
Hattie took the baby from his grandfather and quickly freshened him up as well. By the time she returned, the ‘I do’s’ were being said. Smiling, she watched as Rubye and James exchanged smiles and then kissed to the delight of everyone. She and Jackson hugged the beaming newlyweds, then Hattie left the baby with Jackson as she brought out a perfectly glazed white cake to add to the temporary table loaded with fried chicken, vegetables and food the neighbors had brought.
Later, over slices of cake, she and Jackson broached the arrangement that they had worked out that morning during their quiet pillow talk.
“We need your help, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd. I have eighty-seven head of cattle on my small ranch, you know, southeast of this ranch.”
Jackson took over, “We need someone living there, taking care of the house and the animals. We would share the profit on all cattle sold, in times of drought, share the water. We still need help, at the house, during the day for the main meals. James you know I would still want to hire you for trail drives and rodeos to be camp cook. Of course if either of the gals were to have a baby, we would want you both to move back so we could help each other. It’s your place as long as you want it.”
The new couple sat before them speechless. Before the tears forming in their eyes could spill, Hattie laughed. “You’re good friends; we know you’ll be good neighbors.”
Charles Dawson stared glumly at his son-in-law, his grandson, and Harriett, his daughter’s replacement. Yesterday had been exhausting for him, the blow-up with Irene, the aftermath of the shoot-out at the ranch, then the visit by the Ranger and Jackson to inspect the property appraisals. As he listened to them talk, he wondered if Jackson already knew that the council was set to meet tonight, the agenda was the rewriting of the tax laws. Rates would go back to previous levels. The ranger had as much as threatened Charles, his implication that Dawson was behind all the problems in the region might be pursued if the council didn’t act. The truth was, Charlie felt guilty for all that had happened. He had let greed and the prospect of gaining additional property lead him to fall for Tate’s offer of help. All the violence, theft, and damaged lives were his fault.
In the series of hugs and kisses, J.D. leaned forward and shared wet kisses with Rubye insisting she and James kiss his pony and little cowboy as well.
Suddenly Charles felt his fear and resentment slip away as he noticed the little cowboy doll. On the carefully pieced back of the cowboy’s vest, appeared a vivid, embroidered bluebird. He rose and walked over to shake hands with James and Rubye, leaning to kiss the blushing bride on the cheek.
“Jackson, you think you and Hattie could manage more acres while Irene and I are back east.”
“Charlie, maybe, if you want to give us the same option we just offered James and Rubye, fifty-fifty share in the profits. I’m sorry we can’t manage the bank as well.”
“Hopefully, it won’t be for that long. Jim Smith will be in charge of the bank while I’m away. But I’ll be back every three or four months to check on the ranch, the bank and visit my grandson.
Jackson walked his father-in-law to his buggy. “You were lucky Charlie; Tate’s dying left no one to point the finger at you or Irene.”
Charles scowled again then turned to stare up at the tall man. “I think so, although I’ll always feel guilty for my part in things. My real luck was when Donna chose you at church that day. She told me you were all she’d ever need to be happy. I know you did that for her, made her happy.”
AFTERWORD
(One Year Later)
Hattie held onto Jackson’s strong arm, Greta Jane a tiny bundle in her arm. J.D. trudged up the hill in his new boots, hanging onto his daddy’s hand and talking all the way in his own language. Behind them, James Boyd walked with an arm around Ruybe, his son little James cradled in her arms and supported by his hand under the boy’s back. Finally, they reached the crest of the little hill above the ranch, the one she had come to on that rainy evening so long ago.
Hank and Cliff waited at the top of the hill, each man held one of the beautiful carved crosses that James had made and brought out for the occasion. He had waited for the day that Hattie had a name for the smaller cross. It had taken awhile.
The preacher trailed up the hill behind them, the good book clasped in his hand. “I guess you know this is not the usual way things are done, but then I should know not to expect anything usual from the Harper’s.”
Jackson glared at the man, and he stopped his grumbling.
Hattie handed the baby girl, named for her and Jackson’s mothers, into her daddy’s arms. As usual, J.D. insisted that his Daddy kneel down so he could see his baby sister.
Hattie smiled at the older couple who meant so much to her, to all of them. She was so grateful that they had agreed to return to the ranch until both babies were born and she and Rubye could both be back on their feet. Hattie had been afraid it was her fault, that she couldn’t give birth to a healthy child, and that she might lose this baby too. But her daughter was strong and healthy, just as Jackie had been. She was surprised that Rubye was just as worried, fretting that she was too old. Both were grateful when she and James also had a strong, healthy boy. Two months and she knew they would soon leave, but she didn’t know if she would be able to stand it.
She walked over to Hank and took the larger cross, the one with Thomas Matthew Stoddard, his years of birth and death chiseled below the beautifully carved name. James had painted both crosses white, and then painted black inside the chiseled letters and numbers. Proudly she positioned the cross at the head of her father’s grave, but after pushing hard, she accepted Hank’s help in getting it deep enough to stand straight. Then she took the smaller cross from Cliff and was able to get it deep enough on her own.
She let her fingers trail across the incised letters, Thomas James Stoddard, the single date, 1872. She had known he deserved to go into the next world with a name and the blessings of the lord, now at last he would. Gratefully she walked over and swept J.D. into her arms, leaned into the tall body of her husband as he rose and circled her back. Together they all listened to the words and prayers of benediction.
A sudden gust of wind blew, tugging at
her bonnet and Hattie curved so that the new baby was sheltered in her embrace as well. For a brief moment she felt the brush of wings, smiled as she felt Donna’s love surround them all. As she looked down, she saw Jackie’s old bonnet framing Greta’s face, its tiny bluebird vivid with the promise of happiness.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.R.Biery is a retired teacher who loves to write fiction. When I was little, my mother was always telling me to “close that book and come here, right now.” She wanted to convince me to stop wasting time reading and would add, “You know those books are all lies.”
As a writer, I am always making up stories. I find the lies of fiction help me find structure and truth in all the confusion of real life.
DEAR READER
I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it and are so inclined, I would appreciate a kind review at
https://www.amazon.com/review/create-review?ie=UTF8&asin=B00JC6DOLK&channel=detail-glance&nodeID=283155&ref_=cm_cr_dp_no_rvw_e&store=books
If you find errors or things that I should change, please send me suggestions at [email protected]
