Phoebe's Valentine

by Duncan, Alice

  For some time Phoebe, her brain aboil with indignation and worry, had been wondering what was to become of them now. Oh, she had no doubt that this creature driving the wagon would see them safely to Santa Fe. She meant now, this evening, in Big Spring, Texas. Her resources were so strained she feared she daren’t pay for overnight lodgings in a hotel.

  As she took in her surroundings, though, it didn’t look as though that was going to be a problem. She harbored the glum suspicion Big Spring didn’t boast such an accommodation.

  Jack, of course, said nothing. Perhaps he’d never been taught it was polite to assuage a lady’s worries about such matters.

  At last she spoke, although she resented the necessity. “Are there accommodations to be found in this place or will we continue to camp?” She didn’t want to ask Jack Valentine a single other thing as long as she lived.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him stare at her, an odd expression on his face. It annoyed her and she turned to give him a glacial look.

  “Well, I don’t know what delights Big Spring, Texas, has to offer the weary traveler, Mr. Valentine!”

  With a sigh, he said, “No, I don’t expect you do.”

  They were interrupted by their other traveling companions, who rode up from the direction of the town. William had a rapturous smile on his face and looked about as excited as Phoebe had ever seen him.

  “Oh, Aunt Phoebe, it’s just like I imagined it would be!”

  Surprised, she said, “It is?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s rough as anything, just like the dime novels say. And they’re havin’ a hangin’ this afternoon. The gallows is set up in the middle of the town, and they’re gonna have a big party afterwards.”

  Phoebe’s mouth dropped open and she didn’t trust herself to speak for a moment. One glance at the two grinning men flanking William decided her upon a course of silence. A peek at the dreadful man seated beside her made her glad of her decision. He watched her as though he were just waiting for her to say something so he could pounce on it and humiliate her. She stared straight ahead and tried not to look at anybody.

  Jack cleared his throat, thereby drawing her attention. “You won’t need to pay for accommodations, Miss Honeycutt. The ladies in the town will be so happy to see you I’m sure they’ll all offer to put the three of you up.”

  Her voice was as dry as Texas dust when she said, “There are ladies in Big Spring?”

  It was William who answered her. “Durn tootin’ there are, Aunt Phoebe. I mean, there sure are. Two ladies already asked if we’d like to stay with them. I told ‘em that you’d be along presently and you could decide.”

  The briefest of pauses preceded, “Thank you very much, William.”

  “There. You see? Nothing to worry about at all.”

  Phoebe scanned Jack’s face incredulously and decided he wasn’t, for once, making sport of her. He really believed his extraordinary statement. A hanging, a party to celebrate it, and any number of perfect strangers willing to take them in. Nothing to worry about. Oh, my.

  She felt a little numb as the wagon rumbled into Big Spring proper. Proper? Ha! Phoebe’s gaze scanned the dusty, rag tag little village and she couldn’t suppress her sigh.

  “Not much like Georgia, is it?”

  Pinning Jack with a sharp look, Phoebe decided he wasn’t being mean. “No, it certainly isn’t.”

  “These people are pretty rugged. They came here to make a better life for themselves in a place where land is cheap and they can be their own bosses.”

  “This is a better life?”

  Jack’s glinting smile penetrated almost as sharply as the hot sun overhead. “Makes you kind of wonder, doesn’t it?”

  They were riding through the town square by this time. The gallows had been set up, just as William told them, smack in the middle of the square. A bedraggled wooden building which had been painted once upon a time and which now sported gay bunting stood right behind the gallows. Phoebe guessed the building to be the town hall or some other official place. At last she managed to say, “Yes, it certainly does.”

  A small swarm of people milled about, and they all stared at Jack and Phoebe as they rode past. When she looked behind, Phoebe realized they had attracted a split tail of citizens, trotting along in two lines after the wagon, flanking the dust poofing up behind them like smoke from a steam engine.

  “Better prepare yourself, Miss Honeycutt,” Jack told her dryly. Then he drew the mules to a stop, and Phoebe didn’t have time to wonder what he meant because a herd of women dashed up to the wagon.

  “Oh, my dear, welcome to Big Spring!”

  “It’s such a rare treat to have a stranger come to visit.”

  “You must be exhausted, dear. Come in and have a glass of water.”

  “You must be pure tuckered, and I’ll wager you need a bath. Come on in, dear.”

  “You must come to the dance tonight!”

  Phoebe managed to cast one startled glance at Jack, found him grinning from ear to ear, then felt herself being tugged out of the wagon. Panic-stricken, she managed to whisper, “But what about Sarah?” only to hear Jack’s, “I’ll take care of Sarah, Miss Honeycutt.”

  And then Phoebe found herself being patted and hugged by what seemed to be a sea of leather-faced females. It took several minutes to get her bearings and when she did, she discovered herself inside a rude cabin, seated at an even ruder table on a splintery chair. Then suddenly she was alone, as her captors, to a woman, stood back with their hands on their hips and stared at her, big smiles creasing their faces. Slowly, Phoebe began to sort them out.

  The largest, a tall, brawny woman whose frizzy hair showed an interesting combination of red and gray and whose dress probably had been blue once, clasped red, work-roughened hands in front of her apron and beamed at her.

  “I reckon you’re a mite surprised at the greetin’ y’all got in Big Spring, ain’t ya?”

  Phoebe first had it in her spinning brain to declare that she certainly was and she didn’t appreciate it one bit, but the woman’s expression stopped her. She looked pleased and her tired hazel eyes were bright as stars. Instead of protesting, Phoebe gulped and said a tiny, “Indeed.”

  The one word provoked a laugh out of her companions and the former redhead said, “I reckon we just about scared ya to death, but we’s so starved for new folk hereabouts—especially new womenfolk—that we wanted to get ya to ourselves afore the menfolk saw ye.”

  A chorus of nods and affirmative noises greeted her words.

  Then the woman stuck out her hand and said, “Carrie Potter, Miss.”

  Phoebe shook the big, knobby hand and murmured, “Phoebe Honeycutt, Miss Potter.”

  Carrie gave a bellow of laughter and said, “It’s Mrs. Potter, Miss Honeycutt, although you probably think any feller’d got to be plumb crazy to wed up with the likes of me.”

  Before Phoebe could voice the protesting lie struggling to be born in the back of her throat, Carrie said, “I didn’t always look like I do now, sweetie. But the war done wore me out, what with my Grover gone to fight and me all alone.”

  Carrie’s words stunned Phoebe for a moment. Good Lord, the woman sounded as though she’d gone through exactly the same ordeal as Phoebe had. She didn’t have a chance to say anything because Carrie spoke again.

  “Besides, women are scarcer’n hens’ teeth in these parts, y’see. Specially after the war, when all the men was dead or crippled or done gone west, the only place some of us could find a man was out here, so here we air. We’s all married ladies.”

  The practicality of Carrie’s declaration stunned Phoebe for a moment. She didn’t have an opportunity to respond because the other ladies came forward to introduce themselves.

  “Wilma Rice, Miss Honeycutt,” said a small woman who couldn’t have been more than twenty but whose face looked as worn as the table at which Phoebe sat. She shook hands and nodded, unable to smile quite yet.

  “Margaret Devine,”
said another woman, a little older than Wilma, but not quite as weather-beaten. “Folks call me Maggie.”

  “Maggie,” Phoebe murmured. Her startled emotions had begun to settle down now that she realized these women had only friendship in mind. It occurred to her all at once that if she were consigned to the Purgatory of Big Spring, Texas, she might be as eager for a newcomer’s company as these women were.

  “Fay Hawkins,” the fourth woman told her. She gave Phoebe a little curtsy, and a smile began to tug at the corners of Phoebe’s mouth.

  “How do you do, Fay?” Her voice seemed to be getting stronger, too.

  “And I’m Hilda Fetterman,” spoke the last woman in a heavy German accent.

  “Phoebe Honeycutt, Mrs. Fetterman,” Phoebe announced much more firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

  “The pleasure is ours, Miss Phoebe,” Carrie told her stoutly. “And it’s a pure rare one, too.”

  The five women grinned at her for another second before Carrie, obviously the leader of the pack, said, “Well, let’s just see here now. I reckon you can stay at my place, Phoebe. And that little gal of yours, too. The boy can bunk at the Fettermans. They’ve got a couple lads just his age.”

  Hilda Fetterman nodded with great vigor. “Yah, yah. My boys be glad for the company.”

  “Thank you,” Phoebe murmured.

  “Pshaw,” said Carrie. “Think nothin’ of it. And you couldn’t have come at a better time, neither.”

  “No?”

  “Nope. Why, everybody from miles and miles will be comin’ in to town today fer the dance.”

  “A dance? How nice.”

  “Yup. A hangin’ and a dance. Don’t get them two events every day in the year, I’ll tell ya.”

  Phoebe swallowed hard. “No. I don’t expect you do.”

  A little commotion at the door revealed Sarah, looking sleepy and slightly dazed, in the arms of Jack Valentine. Phoebe was too rattled to frown at him.

  “Brought you something,” he said with that beautiful, lazy smile of his.

  She could barely hear her own breathless, “Thank you,” over the sudden thundering of her heart.

  Chapter Eight

  By the time Phoebe and Sarah emerged from the clutches of their friendly captors, they were both clean as a whistle and decked out in fresh clothes. They were also so full of good food Phoebe was afraid she’d pop.

  “Nonsense, child, you’re skinny as a rail. I know you ain’t been eatin’ right.”

  Phoebe guessed Carrie was correct. Nevertheless, she wasn’t altogether sure it was a good idea to make up for years of deprivation in this one afternoon.

  Finally Sarah said, “I think I’m gonna throw up,” and Carrie took pity and let them rise from the table.

  After her bath, Phoebe decided to dispense with her bandages, at least for today.

  Carrie agreed. “You won’t be doin’ no work tonight. Nothin’ ain’t gonna hurt them hands.”

  The other women had departed the Potter home earlier, in order to “set out the spread.” Now Phoebe, Carrie, and Sarah moseyed out of the cabin to join them. In spite of her overstuffed condition, Phoebe looked around with interest.

  Big Spring was barely a dot on the wide Texas plains. Still, it was pleasant to be among company again, even the relatively uncivilized company afforded by the tiny town. Phoebe was also in the throes of a most remarkable sense of well being, one she couldn’t account for by any logical reasoning.

  Gazing at Phoebe with a critical eye, Carrie said, “I reckon you’ll do for now, but I’m gonna see you eat good tonight after the hangin’, too.”

  Phoebe couldn’t quite repress her shudder, and Carrie chuckled. “I ‘spect that sounds mighty crude to a proper lady like you, Phoebe, but out here on the frontier, we got to take our entertainment when we can. The galoot bein’ hung’s a hoss thief, and folks expect he’s done worse’n that in his career. He ain’t no loss to humanity. ‘Sides, havin’ a hangin’ gives ever’body an excuse to come to town and have us a shindig. I ‘spect we might just oughter thank him for that.”

  “They’re hanging him for stealing a horse?” Phoebe could hardly believe her ears.

  But Carrie only looked at her indulgently and said, “Out in these parts, you steal a man’s hoss, you’ve stole his life, sweetie.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t realized that.”

  “I didn’t expect you had.”

  Suddenly Phoebe felt a hard tug on her hand. When she looked down, it was to spy Sarah peering at her in excitement. “What is it, Sarah, darlin’?”

  “Look, Aunt Phoebe! That must be the man they’re gonna hang!” Sarah pointed to the bunting-draped building. Sure enough, a man was being led outside, his hands tied in front of him with rope, his expression a poignant combination of defiance and terror.

  “Goodness gracious, he can’t be more than eighteen years old!”

  “Sixteen,” Carrie said stolidly.

  “Sixteen.” Phoebe’s horrified whisper was carried away on a puff of dust.

  “Look! There’s Jack!”

  Sarah jerked away from Phoebe and darted across the road. When Phoebe glanced over, she saw Jack and William with Pete and Antelope among a group of several other large, rough-looking men.

  “Sarah!” she cried without much enthusiasm.

  “Aw, let her be, Phoebe. She can’t come to no harm with them fellers. I know they look like tough customers, but they’s just fambly men. That there’s my Grover.” Carrie indicated a robust man with long side whiskers and a bushy mustache who sent a wave their way.

  “How—how nice.” Phoebe decided Carrie was right about her niece’s welfare. Besides, she didn’t intend to march up to that gaggle of alarming strangers and grab Sarah back, especially since Antelope smiled as the little girl dashed up, and then lifted her high in the sky, much to Sarah’s giggling appreciation.

  She didn’t realize how loud her sigh sounded until Carrie chuckled and said, “Ain’t like life back home, air it, dearie?”

  After a swift glance at her companion to assess her mood and meaning, Phoebe murmured, “No, it certainly isn’t.”

  She peered again at the boy being led to the gallows and wondered if Big Spring boasted a pair of iron handcuffs, or if they just always used rope to bind a hangee’s hands. Perhaps they considered rope to be more humane than iron. She shuddered in spite of herself.

  “From the south, ain’t ye?”

  “Yes. Georgia.”

  Carrie shook her head. “Ain’t much left of Georgy, I hear tell.”

  “No. There’s not.”

  A sweep of her hand and a nod of her head accompanied Carrie’s, “That’s why most o’ these folks is here, I reckon, ‘cause they ain’t no homes left there.”

  “These people are all from Georgia?”

  “Not just Georgia. But lots o’ folks come west from the after the war. Tons of ‘em from Kansas and Mizoo. Figgered it was easier to start over from scratch than try to fix up what was left over from the conflict.”

  Unwanted and unbidden, memories of her own black years spent trying to fix up what was left over swarmed through Phoebe’s mind, feeding on her tender nerves like hungry locusts. She nodded. “I guess these folks are smart at that.”

  A crowd had begun to gather around the gallows and Phoebe suddenly realized she and Carrie stood at its forefront. She didn’t want to be there. She wanted to hide out in the back, but there was no way to escape now except by pushing her way through the throng.

  I shall just close my eyes, she told herself. Then she nearly screamed when she heard, “Everything all right, Miss Honeycutt?” at her back.

  Whirling around, she discovered Jack Valentine immediately behind her. Antelope held Sarah in his strong arms so she could see better, and William stood next to Jack on an overturned wooden crate. Both children looked decidedly eager to watch the young criminal in bonds meet his end.

  “Everything is just fine, thank you,” she said firmly, and t
urned toward the gallows once more.

  Fine. Oh, yes, everything is just fine. Just perfectly dandy. I’ve got a villain in front of me, a villain in back of me, a swarm of unwashed bodies surrounding me, and nowhere to hide. And now I have to watch a young boy die.

  A caress of warm breath on her neck just below her ear made her senses tremble and skip. “Just shut your eyes, Miss Honeycutt. When the sheriff pulls the lever, just shut your eyes. You probably don’t want to watch this.”

  She didn’t dare turn around to glare at him because she knew her cheeks now burned bright red. Not only that, but he put his hands on her shoulders just then, gave them a little squeeze, and she was afraid for a moment she was going to faint dead away. She had to take several deep, calming breaths before she managed a small, “Thank you.”

  The crowd buzzed when the young criminal was led up the steps to the scaffold. Two men accompanied him. One wore some sort of badge on the lapel of his jacket; it looked as though it had been cut out of an old tin can. The other held a Bible, and Phoebe assumed him to be the town’s preacher. The assumption brought a flood of questions to her mind.

  Feeling barely strong enough to inquire, she posed one of her questions to Carrie. “What denomination is he?”

  “Huh?” Carrie stared at Phoebe as though she’d just spoken in a foreign language.

  “The minister.” Phoebe discarded polite manners and pointed. “Him. What church does he belong to?”

  Carrie gave a crack of laughter. “Church? Why, Lord bless you, dearie, that ain’t no preacher. That’s Calvin Stowe, the barkeep at the Wellspring.” She gestured toward the only prosperous-looking building on the bedraggled street. “He does do a fair job o’ preachin’ on Sunday mornings, all right, but he keeps it short out o’ courtesy. ‘Sides, he don’t want God to cut into his drinkin’ business.”

  “Oh.”

  All at once Carrie nudged her and hissed, “Quiet now; Calvin’s gonna say somethin’.”