by Kay Stuart
“Yes, thank you. You can advise me on my students,” Royce said and saw Miss Ferguson’s pleased reaction to his words. Royce was glad when the woman left. He credited his discomfort around Miss Ferguson to his inexperience dealing with women. As a Territorial Marshal, he dealt almost entirely with men.
His living quarters came as a surprise. The long narrow room was divided down the center. The front room was furnished with secondhand pieces of furniture, a mismatched couch and chair, a round table and kerosene lamp and shelves for books. The backroom contained a cook stove, small square table, one chair and a rickety cupboard. In the corner was a single bed frame with mattress. All the comforts of home Royce thought depositing his valise on top of the bed.
* * * * *
Miss Ferguson’s house was built on a hill behind the Elementary School. As the sun dipped below the horizon Royce walked the short distance. Light shone through the open windows. A breeze fluttered plain white muslin curtains.
“Come in,” Miss Ferguson called when Royce stepped upon the front porch. In the kitchen at the back of the house three places were set at the table. The room was filled with the aroma of cooked food. “That brother of mine has not showed up,” she said with censure in her voice. “I don’t know what I am going to do about him. No sense of time,” she continued in high squeaky tones. “Younger brother,” Miss Ferguson said as if that made a difference. “Sit down.” With a wave of one hand she directed Royce to the chair at the end of the table. “Coffee,” she asked in a manner indicating she was trying to be sociable and found it difficult.
“Thank you,” Royce replied stiffly. Things were not getting off to a good start. He viewed the empty chair wishing he had declined Miss Ferguson’s invitation to dinner.
“Do you have any younger siblings,” Miss Ferguson asked placing a platter of steaks on the table. She added a bowl of cooked vegetables and mashed potatoes before she opened the oven door and took out a pan of biscuits.
“No ma’am,” Royce replied.
“Then you would not understand about younger brothers,” Miss Ferguson said. The woman had the habit of raising and lowering her shoulders while she talked and wrinkling up her nose in a prissy fashion. “Milton does his best. I have him to thank for the meat on my table. He does like to hunt and fish. A fulltime job is beyond his capabilities. Perhaps it is my fault. I am not strict enough. Then again our parents died when Milton was very young and I am afraid I spoiled him,” she made excuses.
“A common occurrence,” Royce said wondering why pebbles were crawling along his flesh. The last time he had this sensation he had a bunch of outlaws held up in a lineshack and was quickly running out of lead. He had been shot that day and left for dead.
“You met Elizabeth Gaines,” Miss Ferguson said changing the subject to Royce’s students. “She is very bright. On the other hand her younger sister Lydia is a poor student. I don’t think she is ready for the fifth grade though she is old enough. She is backwards you understand. Such a pity too, she can barely read and the child’s English is deplorable.” Miss Ferguson had taught Junction City’s school for twelve years. Over the next hour she elaborated on his students. Her comments about Lydia being backwards had galled Royce and he listened with only half an ear. It had been the woman’s tone of voice. As if she found pleasure in another’s misfortune. Plain looking herself, the woman might find the attractive Gaines sisters irritating and for one of them to be considered backwards some sort of distorted justice.
“I am sorry you did not meet my brother,” Miss Ferguson said wistfully as she stood on the front porch of her plain looking house. There were no frills or signs of luxury present in the parlor or kitchen.
Royce could tell Miss Ferguson put great store in her brother. Sisters often did he recalled. “I am sure we will meet another time,” Royce replied. He had the same crawling feeling up his spine when he looked at Miss Ferguson. As if his instincts were trying to tell him what his mind did not comprehend.
The night air was cool when Royce walked home under a canopy of stars. He let himself into the Secondary School building and climbed the narrow stairs. He would start teaching classes on Monday. Two more days to cram his head full of numbers and facts and hope no one realized how grossly inadequate he was at teaching.
* * * * *
Faith dashed through the front door of the Gaines’ home. Closing the door she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Mr. Cook was on her trail again! She had barely made it out of the general store without having to speak to the man. Faith placed her package on the table. Standing in front of the oval mirror hanging on the wall, she removed her hat and set it on top of her package before fluffing her hair with nervous fingertips.
“Did you get my thread,” Lydia asked. A quiet child of eleven years, Lydia sat in the parlor working on her embroidery.
“One skein of lavender embroidery thread,” Faith said. She was smiling when she crossed the room and sat down in the overstuffed chair across from Lydia.
“Must I go to school,” Lydia asked woefully. They had gone over this subject twice that morning.
“I am afraid so, Dear,” Faith replied. “You know Mr. Hargadon looks nice. You might like going to school.”
Lydia sighed deeply trying not to let the tears that stung her eyes flow down her cheeks. “I don’t like school,” she said simply.
“I know,” Faith replied. “I will make you a promise. If you have trouble with Mr. Hargadon I will speak with him. See if something can’t be worked out.”
“You said that about Miss Ferguson,” Lydia reminded with a catch in her voice. Faith had talked with Miss Ferguson and failed miserably.
“I know,” Faith replied. “Miss Ferguson is a mean old hag,” she said vehemently.
“Oh,” Lydia said startled by Faith’s comment. Her brown eyes opened wide with shock. She had never heard Faith speak uncharitable about a person before.
“Don’t you worry,” Faith exclaimed. “If Mr. Hargadon is unreasonable I will ask father to let you study at home.”
“He won’t you know,” Lydia replied sadly.
“He might if I can come up with a good enough reason. I will think on it. In the meantime you will have to start school on Monday.” Faith handed her youngest sister a skein of lavender embroidery thread. “Is this the color you want,” she asked hoping to distract Lydia. Her sister was such a sweet child it angered Faith each time she thought of Miss Ferguson’s unfair treatment.
“Yes, thank you,” Lydia said graciously.
The knock on the front door startled both sisters. They were not expecting company. Any unexpected intrusion was usually for their father and meant bad news. As minister Mr. Gaines was called on in times of sorrow and tragedy.
Faith opened the door and was shocked to find Mr. Cook standing on her front porch. Merciful heavens, she thought. Her first instinct was to slam the door shut in the man’s face.
“Miss Gaines,” Mr. Cook said, belatedly removing his hat. “You left a package on the counter. I told Mr. Morse I would bring it by.” The man looked hopefully beyond Faith into the room beyond.
“Thank you,” Faith said snatching the package from the man’s hand. She closed the front door before Mr. Cook could say another word. A moment later Faith was laughing. She looked at the cards of buttons she was holding in one hand. Earlier she had seen Mrs. Jordan selecting the buttons. The elderly woman must have forgotten and left them lying on the counter. Mr. Cook either by pretence or by mistake believed they were hers and followed her home.
The man was becoming a pest!
* * * * *
Saturday afternoon Royce locked the schoolhouse door before venturing towards the shopping district of Junction City. A cool breeze blew out of the north. A sure sign winter was on its way. He walked along the main road greeting people. When he glanced through the front window the Barber Shop was full of ranchers and cowhands. Every spot along the hitching rails in front of the town’s businesses was taken. The
re was standing room only in the general store and Royce decided to wait to do his shopping. The livery stable was doing a brisk business.
Royce stopped to gossip with the young man shoeing a team of mules. The man worked slowly but methodical. “You’re the new schoolteacher,” Job Randall said. His forearms were budging with muscles. His shock of brown hair hung long on the collar of his faded work shirt. He was medium height with blue eyes. This was the reason Royce had stopped to pass the time of day.
“Yes Sir,” Royce replied showing interest in the man’s work.
“I ain’t never heard of a man teaching school,” Job replied as he dipped hot metal into a bucket of water. “Miss Ferguson,” he stopped and looked at Royce as if he was trying to remember what they were talking about. “Miss Ferguson,” he repeated. “She is my idea of a schoolteacher,” Job continued picking up his thoughts on the matter.
Middle aged and lumpy with a sourpuss face, Royce could almost hear Job say. Miss Ferguson was Royce’s idea of a schoolteacher as well. “You live around here long,” Royce asked casually.
“Me,” Job replied. His face scrunched up in thought. He pursed his lips wrinkling up his nose in the process. Job was not a handsome looking man. His front teeth were big and crooked. His eyebrows were bushy. “Let me see,” he said. “I don’t rightly know. I was born in Sweet Water. Why do you want to know?”
“No reason,” Royce said his tone friendly, “Just something to say.”
Job gave him a wide toothy grin. “My pa got shot for asking the wrong question,” the man volunteered. “He asked a Pill Pusher why he had snakeheads in a bucket of brine. The Pill Pusher shot my pa dead then was hanged by a mob of angry citizens.” Royce smiled wondering at the truth of the tale. He had met dozens of men like Job Randall. A little slow in their thinking but hardworking. The majority were also notorious liars.
Royce stayed and watched Job Randall fit iron shoes on a mule before moving on. He wanted to appear aimless in his wanderings. Conscious of the fact as a new man in town he was probably being watched. Strangers were mostly viewed with suspicion in western communities. In the case of Junction City he had reason to believe his being watched was not idle curiosity. If Dean had been murdered because he was a Territorial Marshal the killer would expect another Marshal to arrive in town.
Standing at the north end of the dusty road was the First Baptist Church. Next to the white painted building was a cemetery. Granite and wooden headstones were laid out in neat rows. The earliest marker was closest to the church and dated July 10th 1836. That year had been a bad one for infants. Ten graves marked the passing of children in the summer of 1836. Royce was standing over the grave of Dean when a shadow fell across the wooden marker. Turning, he saw an angel looking at him. She was dressed in brown. Her pale yellow hair glowed in the sunshine as she looked at him with the corners of pink lips turning up slightly. He had met three Gaines sisters already this one could only be Faith.
“Mr. Hargadon,” Faith said. Her voice sounded like music.
“Miss Gaines,” Royce greeted.
“Have we met,” Faith asked perplexed by his greeting.
“I’ve met three of your sisters. There can be no mistake you are Faith Gaines,” Royce replied and was rewarded with a smile. A sparkle came into the young woman’s brown eyes. They were flecked with gold and Royce tried to remember which of her younger sisters had tints of gold in her eyes.
“Yes,” Faith answered in acknowledgement. She and her sisters did look alike. “I saw you out the back window. It is a chilly day and wondered if you wanted to come in for a cup of coffee.”
“Yes, thank you,” Royce replied. Whatever he had expected it was not an invitation to come in out of the cold by Faith Gaines.
“Did you know Mr. Dean,” Faith asked looking at the plain wooden marker.
“Mr. Dean,” Royce replied. Not committing to a yes or no answer.
“The poor man was murdered,” Faith declared. “My father found him.” Faith took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning her attention back to Royce. The gold flecks in her eyes were more pronounced. She pressed her lips into a straight line their color deepening to red. “I knew him a little,” Faith continued when Royce did not comment. “We talked a few times. Casual hellos you understand. Our days are numbered on this earth,” she continued in soft tones. “Father says every death has a purpose. Yet, it is sad when a young man’s life is taken from him.”
“Every death has a purpose,” Royce repeated thoughtfully. Not sure he understood the reasoning behind Faith’s statement.
“I am a Minister’s daughter,” Faith explained, her features softening. “We may never know the events Mr. Dean’s death has set in motion. We seldom know these things. Still the ripples were sent out. Father says it is like when a stone is tossed into the creek. Circles spread out changing the surface of the water. A death is like that. Ripples pass through our lives altering events even if we don’t see them or realize changes are happening.” She laughed softly. “Enough of my preaching,” Faith declared self consciously. She rubbed her hands over the long sleeves of her brown dress. The weather was cool.
Royce walked beside Faith across the cemetery wondering if his days were nearing an end. He was on the same trail that led Marshal Dean to his death. The Barlow Gang was ruthless killers. He could not recall the number of people killed by Barlow and his men. The outlaw must be stopped and it was now his job to stop him. Whether Faith Gaines was aware of it or not Marshal Dean had indicated she held a key to unraveling the mystery behind Barlow’s identity.
“The weather is turning cold. I love winter,” Faith said with a charming laugh. “That is until winter actually arrives,” she admitted ruefully. “When cold winds blow in the cracks around the windows and under the doors I wish it was warm once again. Father says we humans are never satisfied with what we have today and always want what we expect from tomorrow. Perhaps he is right.”
“If humans were satisfied,” Royce stopped abruptly. He had been about to say his job would be simpler. As a teacher that statement would not be true. “With what they have there would be less violence in the world,” Royce substituted hoping Faith had not noticed his hesitation.
Under the trees the sun had not burnt moisture off the grass. Faith stopped on the back porch and on a crochet matt wiped dampness from her shoes. Faith’s rapt expression touched Royce’s heart. She was truly a beautiful woman. But, it was not her beauty that fascinated him the most. It was his feeling of contentment in her presence. He had never felt this way around a woman before.
He followed Faith into the kitchen. Mrs. Gaines was standing in front of the stove stirring the contents of a pan. “Mr. Hargadon,” she greeted. She was a soft spoken woman. Her golden hair was untouched by gray. Her eyes were cherry brown like Valerie and shone warmly. Her cameo complexion was like Elizabeth.
“I see where your daughters get their beauty,” Royce said without first stopping to think. Heat surged into his face. “I beg your pardon,” he stuttered.
“Please don’t apologize,” Mrs. Gaines said her voice soft and husky. “That was the nicest compliment I’ve received in years. Vanity doesn’t hurt when received in small doses,” she went on to explain.
“No ma’am,” Royce replied remembering belatedly to remove his hat. It was not often he was in the presence of genteel ladies. He glanced through the doorway into a dining room and wondered if his manners were up to being entertained by Miss Gaines. He was more accustomed to saloon women and shady ladies. That is when he was around women at all. Not many women rode the back trails or consorted with outlaws. He breathed a sigh of relief when Mrs. Gaines set a cup and saucer on the kitchen table.
“We don’t stand on ceremony,” Mrs. Gaines declared. “I learnt as a child that sitting around the kitchen table is friendlier.” The smile in Mrs. Gaines eyes was sympathetic. She had noticed Royce was uncomfortable in their presence.
“Yes ma’am,” Royce agreed a
nd gulped for air. “I am more accustomed to children,” he lied and felt heat rise in his face. He was lying to a Minister’s wife. Even for a good cause he wondered if he was condemning his soul on judgment day. He had never worried over the future. Feeling somehow his doing so now had something to do with Faith Gaines.
Royce waited until Faith was seated before pulling out his chair. His green eyes looked troubled. Was he about to make another blunder. Faith apparently was not conscious of his growing discomfort.
“Cream and sugar,” Mrs. Gaines asked standing at Royce’s elbow.
Royce was startled by her question until he realized she had poured his coffee. His suffering intensified when he noted the amused look in Mrs. Gaines eyes. “Black is fine,” he croaked. He was going to have to pull his wits together if he was going to learn anything from Miss Gaines.
“Hello,” Elizabeth greeted from the open doorway leading into the dining room.
Royce’s cup clattered against his sauce as he hastily stood. “Elizabeth isn’t it,” he asked and wondered if he was being too informal. Yet, Elizabeth was one of his students. He could hardly be expected to call her Miss Gaines.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said as she came into the room. She had not expected to find Mr. Hargadon in the Gaines’ kitchen. Certainly not sitting across the table from her sister Faith and gave Faith a questioning look.
“I found Mr. Hargadon looking over our cemetery,” Faith explained.
“I was taking a walk and Miss Gaines was nice enough to invite me in to warm up,” Royce said. After all it was a plausible explanation. The school was on the other end of town and the weather was chilly.
Elizabeth said no more on the matter. “How do you find Junction City,” she asked coming to the table and pulling out a chair. “It must be lonely not knowing anyone.”
“A person gets use to moving around,” Royce replied. Hoping his answer did not raise suspicion. Just how often did teachers change positions? “I am often assigned difficult schools,” he elaborated. “When problems are resolved I move on to another school. Not that trouble is expected in Junction City. I was between assignments and Mr. Hervey asked me to come here.” In a way Royce was not lying. As Territorial Marshal he was called on to resolve difficult situations. Mr. Hervey the District School Superintendent had agreed to his being sent to Junction City. Royce had never had difficulty lying before. Now he found each untruth tasted bitter in his mouth. Satan is the father of all lies he recalled hearing and shifted uncomfortably on his chair. Royce drained his cup and stood. He would wait until another time to question Miss Faith Gaines. He was being entangled in too many deceptions. Anyone of which might prove fatal in the future.
