any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul
and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner
of the thoughts and intents of the heart.
Hebrews 4:12
It was nearly midnight. Aunt Lou was out on the dance floor laughing and having a wonderful time as miner after miner bowed and nearly fought over the next dance. Little Eva was asleep in her room over the store, and Freddie was finishing the pig roast cleanup out back, chopping up the carcass for Aunt Lou, who wanted every morsel for flavoring beans. And Tom English and Swede were dancing. With a happy sigh, Mattie plopped down on one of the benches beside the front door of the store, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.
Justice, who’d been curled up at her feet, moved and gave a little puppy growl just as a now-familiar male voice said, “I expect you’ve about danced your feet off tonight.” When Mattie opened her eyes, Aron Gallagher was offering her a mug of root beer. He nodded at Justice. “Call your dog off, ma’am, so he doesn’t take off my hand.”
As she took a sip of root beer, Mattie glanced down at the pup and laughed. She patted him on the head while she said, “It’s all right, Justice, but you are a good boy to take note of strangers that way.” With a sigh, Justice settled between them. Mattie nodded toward the dance floor. “I’ve never had a dance card quite so full.” She held her feet out in front of her. “My feet are still there, but I can’t say as I really feel ’em anymore.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Gallagher said. “I was hoping you’d grant one more dance.” He paused. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
“Of course not,” Mattie said, and motioned for him to join her.
Gallagher sat quietly for a long time, sipping his own root beer and watching the dancers. Finally he spoke up. “You and Bill had a nice waltz or two.”
“We did,” Mattie said. “He always was a good dancer. And a gentleman. At least to me.”
Gallagher glanced her way. “I was helping some men haul the remains of the speaking podium away when I saw him. He said you two had a talk about—things. Me being one of them.”
“You were mentioned,” Mattie said. “In the context of ‘watching my back’ and ‘an extra gun.’ ” She sighed. “Bill’s thinking of leaving town, and he seemed to feel a need to appoint a guardian to take over for him.”
“So he told me. I would imagine that annoyed you.”
Mattie shrugged. “Not really. It did confuse me a bit.”
“Why?”
“Well—and don’t take this as an insult—if I did need protecting I’d want someone who was a gunman first and a gambler second— not the other way around.”
Gallagher chuckled softly. “Well said. And reassuring in a way. Obviously my past doesn’t show, which makes it less likely some drunken fool will draw on me someday just to see how fast I am.” He paused. “Especially since I don’t even shoot my own game anymore.”
Mattie shifted her weight so she was turned more toward him. He met her gaze evenly. He used to be a gunslinger? A good enough one to earn Wild Bill’s respect? Mattie forced what she hoped was a matter-of-fact tone into her voice even as she allowed a little smile. “I take it you’re a good shot.”
“I was. When I had to be.” He reached down to pet Justice. “Bill seemed to think you might need someone around like that. I’m happy to oblige—in your case—but I do hope you won’t make my past common knowledge.”
“You don’t have to worry about me expecting you to take up arms on my behalf,” Mattie said. “I know Bill meant well, but he shouldn’t have said anything. I think I’ve proven I can take care of myself.”
Gallagher nodded. “I should also admit that, once he brought your name up, I asked Bill about you … and your … story.” With a final pat to Justice’s head, he leaned back. “I was hoping he’d be able to shed some light on what I did or said that made you dislike me so much.”
“I don’t—” When Gallagher looked her in the eye, Mattie broke off. Shrugged.
“I’m only asking because if it’s something I can fix, I’d like to. First, because it would make things easier and less awkward when we’re with our mutual friends, and second,” he said, forcing a grin, “because it’d make it more likely that I’ll get my chance to dance with the prettiest girl in town tonight.” He flashed a smile that brought the dimple back to his cheek and crinkled the corners of his eyes.
All right, Mattie thought. So you have a certain charm. And try as she might, Mattie realized she was softening a little toward the preacher. Especially now—when he’d opened up about his past. She gave a little shrug. “It’s not you personally. It’s every preacher I’ve ever known. They all acted the part pretty well during the day, but then when the sun came down they’d come to me. To my faro table at the place in Abilene where I worked. As a dealer.” She lifted her chin. “Not as anything else.”
He waved his hand, batting the revelation aside as if it were no more than a bothersome fly. “I believe you. Please go on. About the preachers you’ve known.”
“They’d show up to gamble and they were just like all the other customers. No difference.” She took a deep breath. “I knew one who could roll Scripture off his tongue like he’d memorized the whole book. He never treated me badly. But with the upstairs girls?” She shuddered. “My employer finally banned him from the place.”
Gallagher’s voice was gentle as he said, “I don’t suppose it’d do much good to tell you that if that’s the only kind of preacher you’ve ever met … you don’t know my kind.”
“Hmpf.” Mattie gave a little chortle. “That’s exactly what Aunt Lou said when I told her I didn’t like … uh … trust you.”
“She did?”
With a nod, she went on. “She says you give away the money you collect on Sunday. And you do all kinds of good things you don’t want anyone to know about. To hear Aunt Lou tell it, you’re a saint.”
“Well”—Gallagher stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back—“I guess that just goes to show that on occasion even someone as wise as Aunt Lou can be wrong.” He folded his arms across his torso. “I’m probably the biggest sinner in Deadwood. The only difference between me and anyone else in town is—” He broke off.
“What?”
He thought for a moment before saying, “You read the Bible much?”
She shook her head. “Never had a reason.” Justice got up and headed off toward the back lot. “I’d better make sure he doesn’t wander off,” Mattie said, and moved to follow him. Together they walked around the building to the back of the store, where they could just see Justice meandering about in the golden light shining through the back window.
As the two of them stood watching the dog, Gallagher said, “I never read the Bible, either. Not for most of my life, anyway. But you know about Jesus, right? The crucifixion and the three crosses on the hill—how He died with a criminal on either side of Him.”
“Everyone knows that story.”
He nodded. “One of the criminals made fun of Jesus and one defended Him—said Jesus didn’t deserve to die, and asked Jesus to remember him.” Gallagher paused. Cleared his throat and murmured, “The way I see it, every man is one of those or the other. I’m the one who doesn’t have a thing to offer and just hopes Jesus will remember him.” He broke off and apologized, “But here I am sermonizing again.”
Mattie forced a joke. “Well, I’d rather listen to you sermonize than go back out there and have to dance with the rest of Deadwood.” She opened the back door to the store. “Let’s see if we can find something to eat. It feels like a year ago since the pig roast.” She called Justice to follow them inside. In a few minutes they were seated at Swede’s small table. Mattie left the door open, and as the street music filtered in, Justice sprawled across the threshold and fell asleep. “So,” Mattie said, prying the lid off a tin of biscuits and starting fresh coffee. “Finish the sermon, Preacher.”
Ta
king a deep breath, Gallagher began. “There was a toothless old codger who used to come to the jail—”
“Jail?”
He nodded. “He never once preached. All he did was sit outside the cell and read to us. At first we all made fun of him. But he kept coming. And at some point I started looking forward to his visits. And then I started listening. I thought Jesus had to be the craziest person who ever walked the face of the earth. But eventually I started to see it different. And finally, I decided what the h—” He broke off and gave an embarrassed little laugh before continuing. “I decided I didn’t have anything to lose. Why not throw myself at Jesus like that man on the cross and see what happened.”
“What happened?” Mattie reached for a biscuit and took a bite while she waited for the answer.
“Nothing at first. Nothing I could feel, anyway. But the next time Jerry came to read to us, the Bible made more sense. Somewhere along in there I started wanting to be a better man. So I asked God to help me with that.” He moistened his lips and glanced her way, almost as if he were nervous about what he was about to say. “I was in jail for a long time, Mattie. I had plenty of time to listen while Jerry read. When I walked out of that place I was a different man. I couldn’t go back to the other life.”
“And you wanted to be a preacher.”
“No, I’ve never wanted to be a preacher. It scares me nearly spitless every time I climb up on that box.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because there’s nobody else in Deadwood willing. Everyone’s trying to get rich, thinking it’ll make ’em happy. When all money does is help them cover over the real problem.”
“The real problem.” Mattie frowned. Most of her problems would be solved quite well by money. Then why don’t you cash out the gold and solve them? She wouldn’t think about that now.
“Humans were created for a life beyond this one. For a relationship with God. Some of us murder, some of us lie, some of us are pretty good people who only do little things that are wrong. But every wrong breaks the relationship we were meant to have with God, and we end up trying to fill the resulting emptiness with other things. Here in Deadwood, it’s gold. Women. Whiskey. But the emptiness won’t go away unless we ask the man on the cross to bridge the gap for us.” He broke off and sat back. “Whew. I’ve been talking for at least an hour. Why didn’t you tell me to shut up a long time ago? I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s all right,” Mattie said. “I asked for a sermon this time.”
“How’d I do?”
“Not bad. To be honest, I’ve never heard anyone talk about religion like that before.”
“To be honest, I never had anyone listen like you before. You didn’t heckle once.”
Mattie laughed.
Gallagher nodded toward the front of the store and the street where the dance was still in full swing. “So what d’ya say, Miss O’Keefe? Mind taking a spin with a varmint-turned-preacher?”
Mattie didn’t mind. Ordering Justice to stay, she closed him into the storeroom and followed Gallagher back outside. At some point—maybe it was the second or third dance, she wasn’t sure— Mattie began to think that Wild Bill and Aunt Lou were right about Aron Gallagher. He could be trusted. He was a decent man. For all her blustering and claiming she could take care of herself, she also realized it never hurt to have a good man on your side. And if that good man turned out to be a saint who knew how to use a gun, so much the better.
She began to sing again. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it until one morning in mid-July when she looked up and saw that the McKays had stopped their own mining to listen. When she broke off, Hugh called out, “Please, Matt. Bless us with another.” And so she did, and little by little Mattie began to realize that grief and fear were beginning to loosen their grip on her. Oh, she still slept with Bessie II nearby, and she was grateful for Justice and what he would become, but she stopped slipping her pistol into her pocket every morning on the claim, and when Aron Gallagher climbed the gulch one day to see how she was, she let down her guard and allowed herself to enjoy his company.
Gallagher climbed the gulch every few days after that. Through him, Mattie learned the news. Charlie Utter and a partner had established a pony express between Deadwood and Fort Laramie. The plan was for it to make weekly trips. The Lawrence County Commission had voted a reward of twenty-five dollars for every Indian brought in, dead or alive. Tom English was doing a brisk business while Swede was freighting. Later in the month the –Pioneer published an extra with the “full details of the butchery of General Custer and his forces.” Mattie learned all of it through Aron Gallagher or Freddie, although the latter had begun to hunt more than he checked on Mattie. And that was all right. Aron was good company.
It was July 20 before Mattie ventured into Deadwood again. At Garth and Company she found Tom English bent over the newspaper he’d spread out on the counter with a worried expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”
With a sigh, he shook his head and stood up. He pointed to the article he’d been reading. “General Merritt’s left Fort Robinson down in Nebraska. He’s headed to meet up with General Crook and march north. With Terry’s troop coming from the east, and Gibbon’s forces from the west, they’re trying to surround Crazy Horse and the rest of the marauding Sioux with a three-pronged attack.” He paused. “There’s talk of forming a militia to protect the camp. Captain Jack Crawford’s got up three companies plus cavalry. They’re calling themselves Custer’s Minutemen.”
“Well, nobody’s going to expect you to join them, I hope,” Mattie said.
English shook his head. “No. But I would if I thought it would keep the Sidney-Deadwood trail safe.”
“You think Swede’s in danger? I thought it sounded like all the trouble was to the north of us.”
“After reading this”—he tapped the paper with his hook—“I don’t know what to think. It doesn’t seem like a very well-planned campaign, and from what I’ve heard, Sheridan has nothing but contempt for the Sioux. Which means he’s probably underestimating them.”
“The weather’s been fine since the freighters left Deadwood this last time,” Mattie reminded him. “I bet they’re at least halfway to Sidney. Surely that’s far enough south to be out of danger.” Tom didn’t look any less worried, so Mattie tried harder. “Even if the Sioux were inclined to attack a freight train, don’t you think they’d be after the ones headed this way so they could cause as much damage as possible? I mean, what’s the point in going after empty wagons?”
“Everything you’re saying is logical,” Tom said. “But you and I both know that no matter the color of their skin, men aren’t logical when they’re fighting for their survival. And if I were Sioux, I’d be desperate and more than willing to attack anything that represented the whites whose presence was threatening my way of life.”
“All right,” Mattie said. “I see your point. But don’t forget how long Swede has been freighting with Mr. Tallent as the wagon master and how smart they both are. If there’s trouble on the trail, they’ll lay over in Sidney until things quiet down.” She forced a laugh. “Or maybe raise their own militia down there and blast their way back home. I could see Swede doing something like that.”
Tom didn’t laugh. “I wish they’d get that telegraph strung. Freddie’s so worried he can hardly sleep.”
“From what I can see, Freddie isn’t the only one who isn’t sleeping for worry,” Mattie said. “You know … the whole camp depends on those supplies. Maybe you should organize some men to guard the trail going south.” She walked over to the paper calendar hanging on one wall. “She left on Friday after the Fourth …” She looked back at Tom. “How long does it take with empty wagons? About a month?”
“Twenty-two or three days if they make twelve miles a day. But that assumes no rain and a smooth, dry trail.”
“So …” Mattie turned back to the calendar. “Let’s say it didn’t rain. That means she’ll land in Sidney … Saturda
y. The twenty-ninth. With two days to load they all head back north on the thirty-first.” She dropped her arm. “You have plenty of time to make your case and gather a troop to ride with you. You could meet the train on its way back. Shoot, if you hurry you could provide an escort for nearly the entire way. Am I right?”
“You are, but—” He looked around him at the store.
“If you don’t mind my closing up one day a week so I can work my claim and keep anyone from challenging its status as an active operation, I’ll mind the store.” What are you saying? Right when you’re finding good color … and enjoying having time to yourself… . Part of her wanted to pull the words out of the air and stuff them back inside. But it was too late.
Tom was smiling. “You’d do that?”
The look on his face … Ah well. It wasn’t like her gold was going anywhere. She was likely going to be here for the winter anyway. What was a month more or less. “Of course I would. The McKays would watch over things for me, and as long as I can work it a day a week I’ve ‘shown interest’—right?”
Tom nodded. “We could ask Freddie to sleep up there— if you aren’t comfortable with making arrangements with the McKays.”
“Freddie would want to go with you, and I think you should let him. He’s a good shot. There’s no reason to leave him here worrying.”
“You’ve got a point.” Tom looked back down at the newspaper and murmured, “I just wish I knew she was all right.”
“You’ve become quite fond of Swede.”
He hesitated before answering. “I admire her” was all he said.
“So do I,” Mattie said. “But I’m not climbing on my trusty steed and going out to rescue her.”
“If I do this, don’t you dare describe it that way to Swede. Ever. She’s not the kind of woman who wants a man to come running to the rescue.”
Mattie smiled. “You might be surprised, Mr. English. You just might be surprised.”
It happened on his way back toward Deadwood. Jonas had camped early and just gotten a fire going, glad for the peace and quiet. Needing time to think about what to do next. Weeks of combing these gulches and mining camps for some trace of Mattie O’Keefe and nothing. He was sick of it. Sick of the filth and the stink. Sick of half-rotten food and drunken miners. Sick of the hysteria about what Crazy Horse did or didn’t do and what Spotted Tail did or might do. And, interestingly enough, Jonas realized he was just about out of anger. In fact, if it weren’t for the three thousand dollars he was missing since Mattie ran off, he would just pack it up and head home.
A Claim of Her Own Page 18
