The Amen Trail

by Sharon Sala

  “Why is that?” Orville asked.

  Myron laughed again. “Because it’s whispered in our family that great-great-grandfather Dupree, on my fraternal grandmother’s side, was a privateer.”

  Fannie chuckled. “Don’t you mean a pirate?”

  Myron’s eyes twinkled in appreciation of her forthright manner.

  “Why yes, Fannie, I suppose that I do.”

  Then he laughed again, and this time Fannie felt it all the way to her toes, while Orville frowned.

  “I see nothing humorous about thievery,” he muttered.

  “Of course you don’t,” Fannie stated, and set the bowl of cobbler at her father’s place. “Enjoy,” she added, and handed him a spoon.

  Then she gave Myron his cobbler, laid the spoon neatly beside the bowl and stifled a giggle when he winked.

  Myron quickly scooped up the first bite and then moaned in ecstasy as the tastes exploded on his tongue.

  “Absolutely delicious,” he said, chewing and talking at the same time.

  Fannie ignored the faux pas in manners to bask in her moment of glory.

  “Thank you, Mr…” She stopped, blushed, and corrected herself. “Thank you, Myron. I’m pleased you enjoy it.”

  Orville was decidedly uncomfortable with their constant byplay of flirtatious remarks, and tapped his spoon against his cup to infer his displeasure.

  Fannie glared at her father, yet maintained a cordial tone to her voice. “Is there something you need?”

  “I would like some more cream on my cobbler,” Orville said.

  “Here, man, serve yourself,” Myron said, and shoved the cream pitcher toward Orville’s bowl. Then he waved his spoon at Fannie. “Aren’t you having any? It’s quite good, you know.”

  “Why yes, thank you, I believe I will,” Fannie said, secretly enjoying being the center of attention, and left her father to add his own cream.

  Orville sputtered and snuffed about, muttering beneath his breath, and shoved the cream pitcher away without adding any to his dessert.

  Fannie had just seated herself and was chewing her first bite when a knock sounded on the door. Almost instantly, she realized it was probably Harley, and suffered first a moment of panic, before reality set in. The meal that she’d just shared with Myron had been more fun than she’d ever had with Harley in their two years of courtship.

  When the knock sounded again, she arched an eyebrow at Orville.

  “Father? Are you going to answer the door… or shall I?”

  Orville shoved his bowl aside and stood up. “You know who it is,” he said cryptically.

  “Was that a question or a statement?” Fannie asked.

  Orville tossed down his napkin and stomped out of the room.

  Myron swallowed the bite he was chewing then laid down his spoon.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Fannie shrugged. “Not from my perspective.”

  “Then who’s at the door?”

  “Well, since it is Wednesday, it’s most likely Harley. It’s the only day other than at church on Sunday that I ever see him. The rest of the time I believe he is frequenting your place… and your women.”

  Myron’s face reddened. He wasn’t aware that Fannie knew of Harley’s rather public indiscretions.

  “They’re not actually my women. They consider themselves self-employed and I’m sorry,” he said, and laid his hand over Fannie’s clenched fist.

  “Why?” she said. “It’s certainly not your fault he doesn’t really care for me.”

  Myron frowned. “That’s not the first time you’ve implied that.

  “It wasn’t an implication, it was the truth,” Fannie said.

  Myron leaned back, fixing Fannie with a curious look.

  “Do you care for him?” he asked.

  Fannie didn’t answer.

  Myron persisted.

  “You’re promised to him, aren’t you?”

  “My father introduced us. My father is the one who brought up Harley’s intentions. My father is the one who set a date. If the preacher hadn’t died, I would already be a married woman.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Myron said.

  “I don’t know what I feel, but I know what I want,” she snapped, and then stood up and walked away from the table.

  Myron followed her to the back door, and when she would have gone outside, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

  Fannie froze. It was the first time she’d ever been touched so intimately by any man other than her father. She should have been reminding him of his boldness, but instead she was surprised to discover how much she liked it.

  “Fannie…”

  “What?”

  “What do you want? Tell me.”

  She turned, and the words spilled out before she thought.

  “I want what every woman wants. I want a husband who loves me. I want children, and in the years to come, grandchildren.” Then her voice softened until it was barely a whisper. “I don’t want to grow old and die alone.”

  Myron knew just how she felt. It was an echo of his own sentiments.

  “Fannie, dear… I—”

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  They both turned. The anger in the question was impossible to ignore as was the indignation on Harley Charles’s face.

  “Fannie! I would like to know why you think this behavior is acceptable.”

  “What behavior?” Fannie asked. “We just finished a meal. Everyone eats. Would you care for some food? There are plenty of leftovers.”

  Harley doubled up his fists.

  “I don’t want to eat. I want to know why my fiancé is keeping company with another man.”

  Fannie put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said. “I’ll tell you after you tell me.”

  Harley frowned. “Tell you what?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you why Myron was having supper with us, if you’ll explain your behavior with a certain woman at Mr. Griggs’ saloon.”

  Harley’s face turned three shades of red before he went pale. He stared first at Myron, then at Orville, who’d just entered the room before meeting Fannie’s gaze.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputtered.

  Fannie frowned. “You mean you don’t know that you’ve been paying money to a woman for her favors? Somehow I find that ridiculous. Now you’re going to try and tell me that you’ve been doing it all in your sleep… that you’re sleepwalking when you visit Griggs’ saloon?”

  “No, that’s not what I was saying at all,” Harley shouted, and then doubled up his fists and started for Myron. “It’s all your fault. You’ve been talking out of turn and—”

  Fannie threw the pitcher of clotted cream in Harley’s face, which succeeded in stopping him dead in his tracks.

  “You have ignored my feelings, and because I was raised to be a lady, I let it slide. You treat your horse better than you treat me, but because I was raised not to question men’s decisions, I pretended not to know. But you, Sir, do not insult my intelligence. No one had to tell me what you’re doing. I have eyes, and despite what you obviously believe, I also have feelings. I do not wish to be your fiancé anymore and since you never bothered to give me a ring, then I have nothing to fling back in your face but my words. Get out, Harley. I don’t want to see you again.”

  Orville’s heart fluttered. He also had visions of dying dreams. If there was no marriage, then his plans for Henrietta Lewis were over.

  “Fannie! You can’t be serious!” Orville cried.

  Harley blanched. Visions of owning Widow Taggert’s land began to fade.

  “No, Fannie, you can’t,” Harley muttered, and reached for Fannie’s arm.

  “Get out,” she said.

  Harley grabbed her.

  Myron grabbed Harley.

  “Turn her loose,” Myron said.

  Harley sneered. “What is this? Surely you’
re not trying to pretend that you care for her, too?”

  Fannie’s face flushed with embarrassment. Pretend? Dear God, how much more humiliated could she be?

  “I don’t have to pretend,” Myron said. “She’s a fine figure of a woman and a man would be proud to call her his wife.”

  “Wife?” Harley said, and then laughed as he looked at Orville. “How much did you pay him? More than me, I’d say for him to be so vehement.”

  Fannie gasped. Paid? No, it could not be.

  “Father! Please say this isn’t so.”

  Orville couldn’t meet her gaze.

  Fannie would have turned and fled the room had Myron not stopped her intent.

  “No,” he said, and then softened his voice. “Please. Stay.”

  Fannie sat down with a thump and covered her face with her hands.

  Harley turned his anger and disappointment into rage as he struck out at Myron.

  Myron took a step back, ducked the swing and then hit Harley square in the nose with his fist. Blood spurted. Harley grabbed his nose.

  “Oh! Oh! You boke by dose.”

  “Yes, I expect I did,” Myron said. “Now apologize to Miss Smithson.”

  Harley glared at Fannie. “Frr whud?”

  Myron hit him again, this time in the mouth.

  Harley screeched and then spit two teeth out in his hand.

  “Oh! Oh! You boke by teed.”

  “And I shall next break your balls if you do not apologize to Miss Smithson at once.”

  Harley moaned and clutched his private parts.

  “Bannie… I’b zorry,” he mumbled, then spit out another tooth before turning on Orville. “Id’s ober, bud ju dodn’t get jur bunny back.”

  Orville frowned. “Bunny? What bunny?”

  Harley started backing out of the room, still holding his balls.

  “Bunny, ju owd coot. Bunny. Wun towsend dowwers. Webember?”

  Myron stared at Orville as if he’d suddenly grown horns.

  “You paid this slimy bastard money to humiliate your daughter?”

  Orville moaned. “It wasn’t like that,” he mumbled. “I only wanted what was best for—”

  Suddenly a shot rang out, then bits of plaster from the ceiling began falling down upon their faces.

  Harley dropped to his knees and began praying for mercy while Orville stared at Fannie as if she’d just lost her mind.

  “Daughter! Put that shotgun down before—”

  She aimed it in Harley’s face. “Get out.”

  He started to get to his feet when she shoved the gun barrel up against his nose.

  “No,” she muttered. “Crawl.”

  Harley couldn’t believe this was happening. Only an hour ago he’d been thinking about bedding sweet Lola, and now he might never be able to get it up again. Not only that, but his looks had definitely been damaged. He didn’t want to think about what that might mean.

  “Now!” Fannie suddenly screamed, and cocked the hammer back on the shotgun.

  “Doh, pease,” Harley begged, and began crawling out of the kitchen on all fours.

  Fannie turned the gun on Orville.

  “Daughter! Put that down this—”

  She shot, missing his head by mere inches. The buckshot hit the wall to Orville’s right, blasting a hole clear through into the next room.

  Orville watched in horror as Fannie reached into the cupboard for more ammunition, at which time, he bolted and ran.

  Fannie was so angry she was shaking. There was plaster in her chicken and a piece of wood in what was left of her cobbler. The hole in the wall was about the same size as the one she’d put in the ceiling, and she wondered who she could hire to fix it then wondered why she cared. She’d just alienated her father, kicked her fiancé out of her life, and humiliated herself in front of the only man who’d shown true interest in her life.

  “Have mercy,” she said.

  “Fannie… give me the gun.”

  Fannie jumped. She’d forgotten that Myron was still here.

  “Are you still here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aren’t you going to run away, too?”

  Myron grinned. “Not unless you shoot at me, too.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Myron took a slow step toward her and when she didn’t turn the shotgun on him, he carefully removed it from her hands.

  “Well now, Miss Fannie, I have to say that this was probably the most memorable evening I’ve ever spent in my life.”

  She moaned and covered her face.

  “I’m so ashamed.”

  “Yeah, I don’t blame you,” Myron said. “You have one hell of a father. But you know you’re going to have to learn to forgive him one of these days.”

  “Why?” Fannie said.

  Myron set the gun aside and then took her by the shoulders.

  “Because we can’t have our children’s grandfather barred from our door just because he is an ass.”

  Fannie gasped. “What?”

  Myron felt his apple cobbler churning low in his gut. He knew this was fast, but something told him that Fannie Smithson was too precious to let go.

  “I know this is hasty, but I truly admire you, Fannie, and I would be honored if you would consider being my wife.”

  Fannie gawked. “Have you lost your mind? Today was the first time we’ve ever spoken to each other and you think I’m so desperate that I’ll agree to something so outrageous?”

  Myron sighed. “I suppose I have lost my mind, but it’s all your fault for being so audacious. I think it was right about the time you mentioned wanting to work in the saloon playing poker, that I fell for you.”

  Fannie blushed. “I am a fool.”

  Myron cupped her cheek.

  “No. The fools are Harley Charles and your father for not seeing what a handsome woman you really are. And just for the record, I don’t want your damned dowry. I don’t need your father’s money. I have plenty of my own. What I don’t have is you. I’ll wait for as long as you wish, but please, Fannie dear, please consider being my wife.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “As a man can be.”

  “You truly consider me handsome?”

  “Truly.”

  “I swear if you’re making jest of me in any way and I find out about it later, I will shoot you dead.”

  He started to grin. “I believe you and I swear that I’m true.”

  Fannie put her fingers against her lips, trying to stifle the urge to cry.

  Myron lifted her hands away from her mouth and clutched them against his chest.

  “So… Fannie… what do you say?”

  “I say we’re both crazy,” she whispered.

  He nodded. “Two of a kind. Perfect match, wouldn’t you say?”

  She sighed. “Yes. I say, yes.”

  His fingers tightened as his heart leaped.

  “Are you saying that you’ll be mine?”

  “Yes, but just remember…”

  He swooped her up into his arms and swung her off her feet.

  “I know, I know,” he said, as he started to laugh. “If I’m lying, you’ll shoot me dead.”

  “Where you stand.”

  “Right,” Myron said. “Now all we need to do is find a preacher.”

  Fannie frowned. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I’ll find one before the week is out,” Myron promised. “So you’d better start sewing your wedding dress. I don’t want to wait any longer than necessary.”

  “Truly?” Fannie asked.

  “Yes, Fannie, dear. Truly. And if I can’t find a preacher, I’ll scare the hell out of your father, and have him marry us himself.”

  Fannie started to grin. She would never have imagined when she woke up this morning that, by night she would have ended her betrothal to Harley, pointed a gun at her father, and promised to marry the man who ran the saloon.

  All in all, it had been a very good day.r />
  THE FRAGILITY OF WOMAN

  They’d been riding in the stagecoach for hours and the dust boiling into the coach beneath the limp green curtains was thick in the air. Every breath Letty took smelled of dirt, and when she gritted her teeth, which was often, she could feel the fine grind of it between her teeth. Added to that, she needed to pee worse than she’d ever needed to go in her life—even worse than she’d needed to go at Forney’s way station. Being the only female on board made it difficult to ask for consideration. Determined to bear up and not call attention to herself, her intentions were changed when the front and back wheel on the right side of the coach abruptly rolled in and out of a hub-deep rut. It threw her up into the air and then back down so hard that she physically moaned from the pain. It was all she could do not to wet her bloomers. She had to speak up. Desperate, she grabbed Eulis by the arm.

  “Tell the driver to stop.”

  Eulis had been dozing when the stagecoach rolled in and out of the rut, and he was still rubbing the side of his head from the impact of hitting it against the door when Letty grabbed him.

  Boston Jones was still riding up top with Shorty and Big Will, and Morris Field, the salesman, had been asleep on the opposite seat when they’d hit the big rut, at which point, he had fallen into the floor. Disoriented by waking up face down with a bloody nose, he reacted instinctively and grabbed onto the first thing he could feel. Unfortunately, it was Letty’s leg—middle-way between her ankle and knee—and with a grip that was both unexpected and painful.

  Startled, Letty screeched and kicked out in reflex. It was unfortunate that the first thing she connected with was the salesman’s already bloody nose.

  His scream overpowered her weak shriek as he rolled over onto his back with both hands clasped to his face.

  “God… Goddab it woban!”

  To her credit, Letty felt awful. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Lord knew it wasn’t as if she’d never had a man’s hand on her leg before. She pulled a handkerchief out of her bosom and stuffed it up against the salesman’s nose.

  “Here,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you startled me.”

  “Bercy,” he moaned, and stuffed two ends of the handkerchief up his nostrils in an effort to cease the flow of blood.