Dawn Comes Early
Page 29
At last a dark form stepped from the batwing doors of the Silver Moon Saloon, stopping her in her tracks. Her heart thudded and her mouth went dry, but she held her ground. This time she had a secret weapon.
Cactus Joe stood legs apart, gun in one hand and what looked like a sock in the other, probably holding stolen loot. As usual he was dressed in black with a patch over one eye and a pencil-thin mustache she now knew was false.
“Looky who’s here,” he drawled. “The writer who got away. Now you’re gonna help me get away. Escaping is a whole lot harder now that there’s a reward for my capture.”
“I thought you’d be pleased,” she said. “All that attention.”
“Rewards don’t make legends,” he said. “Once I’m captured I’ll be yesterday’s news.” He tilted his head. “I’m curious. How did you know you’d find me here?”
“Jesse James,” she said. “I read a book about him. That’s when I realized that the dates circled on your calendar corresponded to his robberies and other events in his life.”
Cactus Joe frowned. “Go on.”
“I first came to town on March twentieth. It just so happened that on that very same day in 1869, Jesse James stole fourteen thousand dollars from a bank in Kentucky. I can’t remember the exact dates of your other holdups, but I’m willing to bet they match Jesse’s.”
“Very good,” he said. “And today?”
“Today is April third,” she said. “Jesse James died fourteen years ago today. I didn’t think you’d let the day pass without doing something in remembrance.”
“I’m impressed,” Cactus Joe said.
“Thank you.”
“It’s all your fault, you know. Had you completed my book, I would have given up my life of crime for good.”
“It’s never too late.” She held up her hand so he could see the package. “I have something for you.”
She tossed the package through the air and it landed at his feet, stirring up a small cloud of dust.
He glanced down at it but made no move to pick it up. “Is this a trick?”
“Open it,” she said.
“It better not be a trick.” He stuffed the sock into his shirt but kept his hand on his six-shooter. He leaned over and picked up the package. He blew away the dust, and biting through the string with his teeth, he tore away the brown paper wrap.
He stared at the book in his hand with a wide grin. “Will you look at that?”
The title read Cactus Joe: Master of Disguise. She’d counted on his considerable ego to work in her favor and she wasn’t disappointed. He was so enamored with the book he failed to notice the marshal sneaking up behind him.
“Drop the gun and put your hands over your head,” Marshal Morris said, jabbing the serious end of his Peacemaker into Cactus Joe’s back.
Cactus Joe did as he was told. He dropped his weapon—but not the book.
Kate smiled. This was exactly how she wrote the scene at the end of the book. Fiction had turned into reality. “I spelled your name correctly,” she called. “Morris with two r’s.”
The marshal grinned. “Wait till the sheriff hears about this. Looks like I’ll be gittin’ a new assignment and you a handsome reward.”
She didn’t need any reward and didn’t feel right taking it. Maybe Aunt Bessie would know how to put the reward money to good use.
The marshal confiscated the bulging sock and gave Cactus Joe a shove. “Move!”
Cactus Joe’s outlaw days were over, but judging by the big smile on his swarthy face, he was too captivated by his book to care.
“Listen to this,” he said and proceeded to read out loud. “‘No man has ever gotten the best of Cactus Joe, certainly no lawman.’” He nodded in approval, ignoring the irony. “‘All he needs is a peg leg and parrot and he could easily pass as Long John Silver.’”
He laughed. “Yes, yes,” he boomed. “Even Robert Louis Stevenson couldn’t have said it better. I always wanted to be a pirate and rule the seven seas.”
“That’s too bad,” the marshal said. “’Cause the only thing you’re gonna rule is a seven-by-seven jail cell.”
Both prisoner and lawman disappeared into the marshal’s office and the door slammed shut, cutting off the sound of Cactus Joe’s guffaws.
Kate couldn’t help but laugh herself. Now for the rest of her plan . . .
Luke set his bellows down. “What is it, boy? What do you want?”
Homer had been pacing back and forth for the last half hour or so. Now he scratched the floor by the door, cocked his head, and whimpered.
“You want to go out, eh? I guess that means it’s safe.” The gunfire he’d heard earlier had brought back more painful memories. It was during one of Cactus Joe’s robberies that Kate first came to town. Memories of her flashed through his mind. He recalled how she felt in his arms as he whirled her about the dance floor, the feel of her lips on his. It seemed like only yesterday that he had carried her to his workbench, yet it seemed like a million years ago.
They say time healed all wounds, but it had been eight months since she left and it still hurt. It didn’t seem possible that anything could hurt so much without an actual wound. If anything, the pain in his chest had grown worse, not better. It was all he could do to get through each day, let alone the long, lonely nights. Going to Boston had been a mistake. It only gave him false hope.
He could take iron and pound it into any shape he desired, but changing a woman’s heart—that he couldn’t do. No matter how much he wanted to he couldn’t make Kate come back. Couldn’t make her love him like he loved her.
Homer gave an impatient bark and Luke pulled off his leather apron and tossed it aside. He knew from experience that any reprieve from his painful memories would be short-lived. Might as well enjoy it while he could.
He donned a shirt, wiped his hands on a towel, and mopped his forehead. His gaze fell on the dictionary Michael had given him, now dog-eared from use. Each morning Luke picked out a word to memorize, hoping beyond hope that if Kate ever did come back he would be ready.
Today’s word was interminable, meaning never-ending. Like his loneliness. Like the love he felt for Kate. Like the awful hurt that wouldn’t go away.
He opened the door a crack and, seeing Mr. Green across the way, walked outside.
“Any news?” Luke called.
“Cactus Joe is in jail,” Mr. Green called back.
That was a surprise. Maybe the marshal wasn’t as incompetent as everyone thought. Or maybe the reward money had done what it was supposed to do. Luke glanced down at Homer. “You knew that, didn’t you?”
Ears pricked, Homer cocked his head, tail sweeping back and forth.
“Come on, we’ll take a walk. It’ll do us both good.” He reached inside to pluck his hat from a hook and placed it on his head. The monsoon winds of summer were still a couple of months away, but a rain shower had passed through the night before. It was what Uncle Murphy called a six incher—one drop every six inches—but even a little moisture was better than none.
Luke started one way, but Homer refused to follow.
Luke turned and faced his dog, hands on his waist. “What’s wrong with you?”
Homer walked a few steps in the other direction and sat, waiting for Luke to follow.
Luke scratched his head. “We always go this way. Why do you want to walk through town?”
“Woof!”
Luke shrugged. “I guess that’s reason enough.”
Word of Cactus Joe’s capture began to spread, and Postmaster Parker ran up and down shouting the news. Fortunately, Parker held no ill feelings toward Luke or his uncle. The three of them had actually shared a good belly laugh over the whole affair.
Doors of the various businesses sprang open and shopkeepers and proprietors stepped outside to make sure they’d heard the news right.
“Are you sure?” Harry the barber called. “Cactus Joe is in jail?”
“Heard it with me own two ears,” Parker called back.
Curious, he stopped at the next post and smoothed down the edges of the flyer so he could read it. “I don’t aim on going anywhere either.”
Shaking his head, he continued walking. A similar handbill hung from every post and every window and every door. His feet slowed. No, it couldn’t be Kate’s writing. She would use some decorative word. Besides, that wasn’t how you spelled anywear, was it? Kate would never misspell a word.
He turned the corner and stopped. Was that . . . ? It looked like . . . No, it couldn’t be. His eyes were playing tricks on him. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d chased many a woman down the streets of Boston thinking it was Kate, only to find it was someone else.
Next to him Homer barked and wagged his tail.
He stared at Homer. “Are you sure?”
“Woof!”
Luke didn’t need any more convincing. He bolted forward. “Kate!”
The closer he got, the more beautiful she looked. The best part of all, she held a sign that read, “I’m here to stay.”
He stopped a few feet in front of her, stopped short of taking her into his arms. Was he dreaming? Was this a mirage? A figment of his imagination? If he reached out to her, would she vanish like she had so many times before?
She searched his face. “Is that you?” she whispered.
Even now, even as she spoke, he was afraid to believe she was real. “It’s me.”
She dropped her sign and threw her shoulders back as he had seen her do whenever she had something important on her mind. “I love you, Luke Adams. I loved you since the first day we met, but my contumacious heart kept me from knowing my own mind.”
His quick intake of breath sounded like a gasp. He cleared the distance between them, taking her hands in his. She was real. He could feel the softness of her flesh, smell the sweetness of her fragrance. He’d look up contumacious later, but he sure didn’t need no dictionary to define the word love. Nor had a word ever filled him with more joy.
“Does . . . does that mean you trust that I’m not gonna walk away or desert you?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. Even now, with the sweet-sounding word love still ringing in his ears, he was afraid to believe any of this was real.
She moistened her lips and looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. “I don’t know, Luke. I’m trying. All I know is that I’m going to cherish every day we have together, no matter how many or how few.”
Her honesty touched him, though it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He’d made a promise to be there for her, always—and he would die before breaking that vow. In return he wanted to know she trusted him, trusted in their future together.
The fact that she couldn’t or wouldn’t near broke his heart. Still, she was here and that was a start. He still had work to do—they both did—but a lot of good stuff could be forged from this thing called love. With God’s help, maybe even trust.
This time he swept her in his arms and much to his delight she locked herself in his embrace—as if never to let him go.
Kate had dreamt about this moment for weeks and imagined every possible scenario. What if he had married Miss Chase? Or no longer wanted anything to do with her?
What if Luke had never been to Boston? What if a stranger had written those handbills? What if God had another plan for her altogether that did not involve Luke? There had been no end to what she imagined could go wrong. But the moment he took her in his arms all her worries vanished.
“I love you, Kate Tenney,” he whispered. “And I swear I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not unless you’re by my side.”
She stared up at him and the tenderness of his expression took her breath away. “Oh, Luke, I love you and want you and . . .” There was so much she wanted to say that words floated out like bubbles in the wind, but none could adequately express how she felt. “And fancy you and . . .”
She would have said more—a lot more—but his lips got in the way, searing a path all the way to her soul. At that moment, she was willing to believe anything—even that love could last a lifetime.
He pulled away, but only slightly. “Can you substantiate your declarations?” he asked.
“Substan—” She threw back her head and laughed. “Why, Luke Adams, I do believe you’ve been hanging around Webster.”
As if to agree, Homer barked, but neither one paid him the least bit of attention.
Brandon and the brave, true, and kindhearted Miss Hattie were joined together in holy matrimony. The author joins her many faithful readers in wishing this young, deserving couple much good fortune and wedded bliss. Long may they live!
Reading Group Guide
In a desert land he found him, in a barren and howling waste. He shielded him and cared for him; he guarded him as the apple of his eye. —Deuteronomy 32:10(NIV)
1. In the Bible God used the desert to test Moses. In what ways did the desert test Kate? Describe your personal desert.
2. Change is as constant today as it was back in the 1800s. Every change brings new challenges. Uncle Sam gave up his blacksmith shop when the Montgomery Ward mail-order catalog made much of his work obsolete. Eleanor Walker braced herself for the changes that would affect her cattle business. What changes, good or bad, are you facing in your personal life? At work? In your hometown?
3. Do you face your problems head-on like the windmill faces the wind as described in Longfellow’s poem? Or do you tend to ignore or turn your back on problems?
4. Did you find yourself personally relating to any of the characters? If so, who and why?
5. Ruckus’s faith had a positive effect on Kate. Name someone whose faith you admire. How did this affect your faith and/or relationship to God?
6. Kate thinks she can free herself from the past by avoiding love. For that reason the Last Chance Ranch seems like the perfect solution. How does holding on to the past keep her from realizing God’s plan for her? Do you ever find yourself holding on to unpleasant memories or hurts? What is keeping you from letting go?
7. On the surface Kate and Luke seem like an unlikely couple. Kate is a college-educated woman and Luke is a fine craftsman with little schooling. Name someone in your life who is a complete opposite. What blessings does this person bring to your life?
8. Aunt Bessie said that God gave love a language of its own and it’s a language known by every heart. What does the phrase “language of love” mean to you?
9. Ruckus accused Kate of chasing the wind. It was his way of saying she was going after the wrong things in life. The same could be said for Cactus Joe and Miss Walker. Have you ever chased the wind? If so, who or what made you realize you were going down the wrong path?
10. One of Kate’s survival tools is her habit of pretending everything that happens to her is a scene from a book. List the different ways that Luke, Aunt Bessie, Ruckus, and Eleanor Walker cope with their problems. Which character best depicts your coping style?
11. Kate’s lack of faith in men caused her to reject love. Aunt Bessie’s lack of faith in her husband almost broke up her marriage. What areas of your life could use more faith? Do you lack faith in yourself? Your loved ones? The future? God?
12. Kate was treated as an outcast by her neighbors and schoolmates. How much influence do you think this had on her wanting the ranch?
13. Kate viewed the world through the grief of a child rather than the grace of a woman. What childhood memories color your world? Are the memories mostly good or bad?
14. Kate longed for permanence in her life and was afraid to trust. For this reason she resisted taking a chance on love. Do you think it’s possible to trust anyone without first putting your trust in God? Why or why not?
15. Why do you think it was necessary for Kate to visit her mother’s grave before going back to Arizona? Was there ever a time that you had to confront the past b
efore you could embrace the future?
Dear Reader ,
Save me, save me.
Bang, bang, bang.
Curses, foiled again!
Your Victorian ancestor may have had one shocking vice up her leg-o’-mutton sleeve—or tucked in her apron. Like millions of others she probably read dime novels—lots and lots of dime novels—similar to the ones Kate Tenney wrote.
The first dime novel, Malaeska, the Indian Wife of the White Hunter, was published in 1860 and quickly sold sixty-five thousand copies. That book started a craze that would remain popular until 1915. Melodramatic? You bet, but that was part of the fun. The stories were lurid—the purple prose outrageous—but readers couldn’t seem to get enough.
A series of events led to the proliferation of dime novels. Mandatory education resulted in more literacy, and the invention of the steam printing press lowered the cost of printing. Railroads made distribution easier and books more accessible. Sales of dime novels surged during the Civil War. Confederates and Union soldiers were on opposing sides politically, but both camps shared the same passion for pirates, mountain men, adventurers, and detectives.
These formulaic stories ranged between thirty-five to fifty-five thousand words. The small four-by-six-inch, one-hundred-page format could be conveniently carried in pocket or purse. Most dime novels, like the popular Deadwood Dick’s Doom; or Calamity Jane’s Last Adventure, had two titles, probably to persuade readers that the story was too big and exciting for only one.
Though the lurid cover art and violent stories were severely criticized by moralists as having a bad influence on youth—and corrupting the delicate brains of women—the stories actually reinforced the values of patriotism, courage, and self-reliance. This, however, didn’t stop critics from blaming them for everything from childish pranks to violent crimes and the women’s rights movement. One man even had his wife committed for reading them.
Books based on real people such as Buffalo Bill, Kit Carson, and Jesse James were especially popular, though the stories were purely fiction. The good guys battled evil and no bad deed was left unpunished. Chaste damsels in distress needed rescuing and dashing heroes were only too happy to oblige. By today’s standards the books were racist, but they reflected the times. They also helped to establish a new social order where males were judged by deeds rather than social status. For this reason the western hero became the symbol of the ideal man.