Redemption, Kansas

by James Reasoner

  “You’re forgetting one important thing . . . I’m not a fast gun.”

  “But you can use a gun,” said the judge. “You’ve proven that. Hell, maybe you’re not as fast on the draw as Wild Bill Hickok. We know that. You don’t have to be. This is a peaceful town now, and with Porter and Norris gone, it’ll stay that way. All you’ll have to do is keep things from getting out of hand at the saloon and maybe throw a troublesome bullwhacker or buffalo hunter in jail overnight to cool off. You can handle that without being a gunfighter.”

  What Dunaway said was probably true. Most frontier lawmen carried shotguns for a good reason. No matter how drunk or upset a man was, staring into the twin barrels of a Greener usually calmed him down in a hurry and made him come along peacefully. Gunslinging peace officers like Porter and Norris got all the notoriety, but actually they weren’t all that common.

  “What about the trail herds?”

  “They’ve already stopped coming through town,” said Fleming. “The men in charge know they’re not welcome here, so they avoid us now.”

  “Actually, that’s one thing we worried about when we considered offering you the job,” said Dunaway. “Whether or not you’d be able to tell your fellow Texans they’re not welcome in Redemption.”

  “But we figure you’re one of us now,” added Fleming.

  Bill bristled at the mayor’s smug comment. “Don’t be so sure of that,” he said. “I’ve thought all along that you’re making a mistake by keeping the cowboys out of town. The herds, sure, there’s no reason to have thousands of cattle tromping right up Main Street. But when they bed down nearby, the saloon and the other businesses in town would do well to let some of the men come in and spend money.”

  “And shoot up the town and cause riots,” said Fleming. “Haven’t you heard what they did to me when I tried to talk to them?”

  Bill spoke bluntly. “Yeah, and what I never did hear was whether you tried to charge them a toll or a special tax to come into town.”

  The mayor looked uncomfortable. “The council decided it was fair—”

  “No, the council decided it was a good way to gouge the trail bosses out of some extra cash.”

  Fleming’s usual affable expression vanished. “See here, young man—” he began.

  “Oh, let it go, Roy,” said Dunaway. “The boy’s smarter than you’re giving him credit for, and you might as well admit that we got greedy. And we paid the price for it, too. You got roughed up, the town got a bad name, and worst of all . . . that whole mess was what led us to bring Porter and Norris here.”

  Fleming continued to glare for a second, but then he shrugged and said, “I’m not admitting anything. But maybe if we had a Texan for a marshal, somebody who knows how to talk to those trail bosses, he might be able to come to some other sort of agreement with them.”

  Dunaway chuckled. “Now that’s not a bad idea, come to think of it. Maybe the town council should reconsider that no-Texans ordinance, especially if, like you said, we’ve got one for a marshal.”

  “We’re still getting ahead of ourselves,” said Bill. Using one finger, he pushed the tin star back across the counter toward the local men. “Before I give you an answer, I’ll have to think it over and talk to somebody.”

  Fleming and the judge looked at each other and nodded in understanding. “Of course,” Fleming said. “You ask Eden what she thinks. It’s a wise man who knows how to consider the counsel of a woman.”

  “I didn’t say it was her I had to talk to,” Bill protested.

  “No, you didn’t.” Fleming smiled, indicating that he knew good and well who Bill had meant. “You talk to whoever you need to. But don’t take too long making up your mind, Bill. Like I said, Redemption is a peaceful settlement now, but even peaceful settlements need somebody to keep them that way.”

  The men picked up the badge and left the store. Bill thought about the job they had offered him . . . and what Eden might say when she heard about it.

  They had spent a lot of evenings sitting together in the rocking chairs on the porch of the Monroe house, talking quietly about anything and everything. Bill had told her all about his life, which really hadn’t taken that long, and she had told him about her family and how she and her father had wound up in Redemption.

  During those times, the promise of the kisses they had shared in moments of desperation had grown into something deeper and stronger, an understanding that they intended to face the future together, whatever it might bring.

  Bill had never thought that future would include the town council offering him the job of marshal, but there it was anyway. Life had a habit of not waiting very long before it threw even more changes at a fella.

  The rest of the day seemed even longer than usual before Bill could close the store and head back to the Monroe house. He still didn’t think of it as “home,” despite all the time he had spent there during the past month. He supposed if he asked Eden to marry him, and she said yes, the place really would be home. Since her father was in poor health, he wouldn’t expect her to leave him to take care of himself.

  Bill didn’t use a cane anymore. Sometimes his leg still got tired and achy, but the cane didn’t help all that much. He didn’t wear an apron while he was in the store, either, and whenever he left to walk back to the Monroe house, he strapped on his gun belt and settled the flat-crowned brown Stetson on his head. People he passed on the streets gave him friendly nods now, even though anybody could tell just by looking at him that he was one of those wild Texas cowboys.

  But he wouldn’t be with a badge pinned to his shirt.

  He wasn’t cut out to be a merchant. He knew that and always had. Helping out at the mercantile was just that . . . helping out. He’d assumed that maybe someday he would have a spread of his own down in Texas, and he still might. But for now, he found the idea of being a lawman surprisingly appealing. It was a job where every day would be a little different, and while it held the prospect of danger, it promised excitement as well.

  Sometimes life didn’t require a plan. Sometimes a man just stumbled into what he was meant to do. Maybe that was what had happened here in Redemption.

  Eden was sitting on the porch when he reached the house. At first he thought she was just enjoying the evening air before going in to supper, but then he realized she was waiting for him. She said, “I heard that Mayor Fleming and Judge Dunaway came into the store this afternoon.”

  Gossip sure got around town fast, thought Bill. He climbed the steps to the porch, thumbed his hat to the back of his head, and nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “Nothing unusual in that, I reckon. Both of them have been in the store plenty of times.”

  “But usually not together,” said Eden. “And not looking like they had town business on their minds.”

  Bill wasn’t quite sure how anybody could have figured that out just by looking at the two men, but there was no denying Eden had the right idea in her head. He took his hat off and sat down in the chair beside hers.

  “They offered me a job,” he said straight out. He wasn’t the sort to hem and haw about a thing, especially if it was important. “They want me to be the marshal.”

  “But you’re not a lawman.”

  “Reckon they think after what happened, I’m the closest thing to it in these parts.”

  “You defended the town, that’s true.”

  Eden sounded calm. That was worrisome in a way, he thought. When she was in tight control of herself this way, he couldn’t tell how she really felt.

  “What did you tell them?” she went on.

  “That I had to think about it.” He looked over at her in the fading light. “And that I had to talk to you.”

  “It’s your decision, Bill.”

  He shook his head as he leaned forward in the rocking chair. “Not completely. You know how I feel about you, Eden—”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “We haven’t exactly had a normal courtship.”

  Bill thought about ev
erything that had happened, all the blood and death, and said slowly, “No, I reckon we haven’t.”

  She smiled. “I’d like for something to be normal about it.”

  He realized she was talking about the fact he hadn’t asked her father for her hand in marriage, as he should. Well, if that was what he needed to do, he thought, he could take care of that right now. He came to his feet and asked, “Is your pa inside?”

  “He is.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  She stopped him with a word. “Bill.” He paused and looked at her. “It really is up to you, what you decide about the marshal’s job. I have to admit, though, I can’t really see you spending the rest of your life behind a store counter.”

  Bill felt relief go through him when she said that. He’d been worried that she would be adamantly opposed to the idea of him being a lawman. If she had been, he wasn’t sure what he would have done.

  Now all he had to do was convince her father.

  He went into the house and found Perry Monroe sitting in the parlor, reading the most recent issue of the town’s weekly newspaper, the Redemption Star. Monroe still tired easily these days, but other than that he seemed to be back to his old self. He glanced over the paper at Bill and said, “I hear Roy Fleming and Kermit Dunaway came to see you this afternoon.”

  Bill chuckled and shook his head. “One thing about a little town, everybody knows everybody else’s business, don’t they?”

  “Oh, people still manage to keep a few secrets, I suppose. For instance, I don’t know what those two wanted.”

  “They didn’t come to buy supplies,” said Bill.

  Monroe lowered the paper. “Then why were they there?”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Monroe, there’s something I have to ask you first.” Bill drew in a deep breath. His heart was pounding almost as hard as if he were facing a gunfight. “I plan to ask your daughter to marry me, sir, and I’d like your blessing.”

  Monroe stared stonily at him for a long moment that seemed even longer than it really was. Finally, he said, “Well, I can’t say as I’m surprised. I can’t say that I’m all that happy about it, either.” He held up a hand to forestall any protest Bill might make. “You’re a brave, decent young man, no doubt about that. You risked your life to help us, more than once. But you’re still a Texan.”

  Bill kept a tight rein on the sudden surge of anger he felt, but it wasn’t easy. “Yes, sir, I am,” he said. “I always will be. But, Mr. Monroe . . . you’re wrong about us. You can’t judge all Texans, or even all cowboys, by a few troublemakers. Just like I wouldn’t say every Kansan is like Frank Porter or Zach Norris.”

  Monroe rattled his newspaper in curt disgust. “You’d better not,” he said. He glared at Bill a moment longer before he nodded. “I’ll give you my blessing,” he said with obvious reluctance. “I know it’s what Eden wants, and Lord knows I’ve always tried to see to it that the girl’s happy. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you. If you don’t treat her right, I don’t care where you’re from, you’ll answer to me, by God.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” Bill assured him. He couldn’t stop the grin that broke out on his face. “Thank you, Mr. Monroe. You won’t be sorry about this.”

  “I hope not,” said the old man with a sigh. “It’s a hard thing for a man to give up his daughter to another man. I wish . . . I wish Eden’s mother were here . . .”

  He looked away, and Bill quickly left the parlor so Monroe could be alone with his emotions.

  When he stepped onto the porch, Eden was standing at the railing, gazing out at the night. She turned toward him, her blond hair shining palely in the shadows. With a hint of her usual mischievousness in her voice, she said, “Now, was there something you wanted to ask me, Bill?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He started to get down on one knee, the way fellas did in storybooks.

  “Oh, don’t do that,” she said quickly. “You’ve got a bad leg. It isn’t necessary.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, then . . . Eden Monroe, you’d make me the happiest cowboy who ever rode out of Texas if you’d marry up with me. Will you do it? Will you be my wife?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes.”

  And as she came into his arms and he kissed her, Bill thought about how he had expected a lot of things to happen when he threw in with Hob and started on the long trail north to the railhead.

  This wasn’t one of them.

  But at this moment he was happier than he had ever been before in his life, and he figured things were just going to get better from here on out.

  After that he stopped thinking for a while and concentrated on kissing his future wife.

  The future wife of the marshal of Redemption . . .

  Chapter 24

  Since he was a politician, Mayor Fleming wanted a public swearing-in ceremony, with a lot of hoopla and the town band playing and maybe some red, white, and blue bunting hung from the false fronts of the buildings on Main Street.

  Bill didn’t waste any time turning thumbs down on that suggestion.

  “I’d just as soon not make a big show out of it,” he told the mayor.

  “But you want everybody to know that you’re the new marshal,” argued Fleming. “It’ll be good for the town to know we have a lawman again.”

  “Word’ll get around quick enough. I plan to make regular rounds, so it won’t be long before most folks have seen me wearing the badge.”

  Fleming sighed and shook his head in obvious disappointment. Clearly, he couldn’t comprehend the idea of anybody passing up an opportunity to make a speech.

  Bill had gone to the bank to give the mayor his decision the morning after Fleming and Dunaway had come to the store to offer him the marshal’s job. After they had settled the question of whether or not there would be a public swearing-in ceremony, he asked, “When do you want me to start?”

  “Right away,” said Fleming as he stood up from the desk in his office. He opened a drawer and took out a ring of keys that he handed to Bill. “Here are the keys to the marshal’s office, as well as the cells in the jail. We’ll go down there right now and pick up Kermit along the way. He can swear you in . . . if you’re sure about the ceremony.”

  “I’m sure,” Bill said with a nod.

  The mayor put on his hat and led Bill out of the bank, calling out to the teller that he would be back shortly. A couple of customers were in the bank, and Bill saw them watching curiously as he and Fleming left. The gossip would be flying in a matter of minutes, he figured.

  When they stopped at Kermit Dunaway’s law office, the justice of the peace greeted them with a pleased grin. “The future Mrs. Harvey must have given her approval to our proposition,” he said.

  “Nobody said anything about a future Mrs. Harvey,” Bill pointed out.

  “You didn’t have to, my boy, you didn’t have to.” Dunaway put one of his usual unlit cigars in his mouth. “When’s the swearing-in ceremony?”

  “There’s not going to be a ceremony,” Fleming said as if he still couldn’t believe it.

  Dunaway’s bushy, reddish-gray eyebrows rose in surprise. “No speeches? No brass band?”

  Bill reined in the impatience he felt. “Look, I just want to get started, all right? Is there anything wrong with that?”

  Dunaway held up a hand, palm out, and shook his head as he said, “No, no, of course not. A very commendable attitude, I must say.”

  “Come with us, Kermit, and you can administer the oath of office,” said Fleming.

  “Let me get my hat.”

  When the three of them reached the marshal’s office, Bill used one of the keys on the ring to unlock the door. As he swung it open, a musty odor drifted out. The office had been closed up for a couple of weeks.

  “You’ll want to air the place out,” Fleming commented.

  Bill nodded. “Yeah. I’ll need to get rid of the smell of skunk.”

&nbs
p; Quite a few people had noticed the three men walking toward the marshal’s office. As he and Fleming and Dunaway went inside, Bill glanced over his shoulder and saw a small crowd gathering in the street and talking in low voices. He closed the door until they got the official business taken care of.

  He had asked Eden if she wanted to come along this morning, but she’d declined. This was his business, she had told him, and anyway, she needed to be at the store to help her father, now that Bill wasn’t going to be around to lend a hand at the mercantile anymore.

  The windows on either side of the door in the marshal’s office didn’t have curtains on them, so plenty of light made its way inside. Bill stood just inside the door and looked around.

  The front room wasn’t very big. A dust-covered desk and chair were to his left, in front of a gun rack on the rear wall. A couple of ladder-back chairs sat in front of the desk. That side of the room also had a filing cabinet in it.

  To his immediate right as he stood near the door was an old, worn divan. A man could probably sleep on it if he wanted to, but he’d have to be careful of broken springs poking him. A potbellied, cast-iron stove sat in the right rear corner, cold now since there hadn’t been a fire in it for a couple of weeks. On top of the stove was a coffeepot. A small table and a couple more chairs completed the furnishings in the office.

  Directly in front of Bill, in the middle of the rear wall, was the door leading into the part of the building that housed the jail. The cell block door was thick and heavy and had a small, barred window set into it at eye level. Bill walked over to the door and slipped one of the remaining keys into the lock. It opened with the second key he tried.

  He swung the door out and stepped into the cell block, which was more shadowy than the front room because the barred windows in it were smaller. There were two cells on each side of a short corridor that ended in a blank stone wall. The doors and dividing walls of the cells were formed of cross-hatched iron bars.

  It looked like all the other jails Bill had seen, which admittedly weren’t that many.

  “Four cells has always been plenty,” said Fleming. “Most of the time you won’t have anybody locked up.”