Between the Rivers

by Natalie Jayne

GIDEON shuffled along the boardwalk, one misfit in a rowdy pack of siblings. Ember and Lee relentlessly poked and prodded each other in good-natured torture whilst Fort attempted to act as a buffer between them. Aspen watched tolerantly; it would take someone who knew him well to realize he was enjoying their antics. The entire lot proceeded through town, oblivious to the amusement they caused others.

  Having failed in every other way to achieve control, Fort finally trapped the twins in a headlock.

  “You’d better take your half of this, Aspen,” he said, switching Ember from one custody to the other, which improved the boy’s situation not at all.

  “Remember to meet back here. Uncle James is counting on our help at the store,” Aspen reminded his brothers.

  Ember may have been held captive, and taken it docilely at that, but he knew an opportunity to squirm out of a fix when he saw one and wasn’t afraid to try it– or much of anything else for that matter.

  “I could go with Fort,” he offered hopefully.

  “Pa would have my head if I let you out of this appointment,” Aspen countered.

  “Aw, Aspen, it’s just a stuffy business meeting.”

  “Don’t you ‘Aw, Aspen’ me. Pa wants you to learn more about our shipping services. And don’t even think about trying to sweet talk your way out of it. That may work with your dimwit brothers here, but not me.”

  The dimwits were prepared to accost their accuser when a sweet young woman interrupted them mid-harassment.

  “Why Gideon Fletcher!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

  All horseplay ceased. Four heads turned, first to Sally Calder and then to Gideon.

  Why’d she have to go an’ show up now?

  Gideon could feel the Rivers ogling, their unspoken wisecracks loud in his ears, and he cursed himself for not pummeling every last one of them.

  “Miss Calder,” he said formally, touching his faded hat brim.

  “It’s Sally,” she amended, not unkindly. “Even with the ‘miss’ it still sounds like my mother. Walk me to Reed’s?”

  “Go on,” Aspen said. “I have to drag Ember to our meeting. You can meet Fort back here. I’m sure he won’t mind the chance to visit Mary Lynn.”

  “I am not sparking her!” Fort objected, punching Aspen’s arm, but his bright red face suggested he might be a liar.

  “Go on,” Aspen repeated, wincing dramatically and shying away. Over Ember’s head he added, “And see you keep Miss Calder out of trouble.”

  It was a subtle reminder of Gideon’s promise to be a good prisoner and not cause trouble. It was that or a jail cell, but the promise had been made and bound him as surely as any shackles.

  Least a-runnin’ loose we got a chance-a seein’ to our own business.

  Of course, had Gideon known what this day held, he might have opted to stay in the hotel and bolt the door. As it was, he walked silently alongside Sally.

  “Did you enjoy the picnic yesterday?” she asked, saving Gideon from his awkwardness.

  “Reckon. How’s that fellah a-yourn?”

  “Billy has, how did you put it? ‘Woke up some’. He works for Mr. Reed at the harness shop. That’s why I asked you to accompany me, so you could meet him. I just know you’ll like each other right off.”

  They proceeded down the moderately busy street, Sally pointing out businesses and people, giving some little detail or tidbit of gossip on each. Gideon scanned the street and the movement around him, ears only half listening.

  Blast Aspen Rivers! How easy it would have been to walk away at that very moment. And why not? What was Aspen to him anyway?

  You ain’t gonna do it, boyo.

  But I could.

  Yep, but you done did gived your word.

  Gideon cursed himself once again for a blue basted fool.

  “Who’s a fool?” Sally asked.

  “Huh? What?” Gideon stammered, not realizing he had spoken aloud.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been prattling haven’t I? Mother says I should work on that, but I’m incurable.”

  “Not at all, miss,” Gideon assured her. “I’m the fool for not givin’ my a-tention to such a nice girl.”

  It was true, she hadn’t prattled, what little Gideon had heard was plain friendly talk, even humorous.

  The harness shop was an impressive structure. Made from properly milled lumber, it stood slightly apart from the other buildings as if too good for common company. A wide porch skirted the frontage and currently held a young man pushing a broom. By the looks of it, he was more interested in Chase Rydel moving on than in moving dirt— though it would be easy to confuse the two.

  The sweeper turned, spotted Sally and then, in one fluid motion, landed a fist square in Rydel’s gut. Gideon couldn’t hear what Rydel had said to earn the blow, but chances were he had insulted Sally as a means to get at Billy Nevans. Well, it had worked. Gideon would have bet a year’s supply of peaches Rydel hadn’t expected resulting irritation to be quite so well aimed. Naturally, Rydel hadn’t come alone and his pal joined the ball, pinning Billy’s arms.

  “Help him!” Sally pleaded, her voice shrill with urgency. “Oh, please help him!”

  Gideon didn’t need telling, he was already running. His shoulder caught Rydel in the side, sending them both crashing into the front of the harness shop. It was root hog or die after that. Gideon didn’t pay much heed to what he did, just so he did it harder and faster than Rydel. Blows got through, but adrenalin was on Gideon’s side. Pent up frustration dusted itself off and lent a hand too, adding a wildness to his efforts that did Rydel no good at all.

  And then, once again, they were pulled apart. The fight had drifted to the street by then and, from up on the porch, a grey-haired man scowled down at the brawlers. He ran to pudgy in the middle and wore a polish smeared apron over a tailored suit. From his perch, he summarily ordered Rydel and his friend taken home. They went, they had no option given the men holding them, but they did not go happily.

  “I told you, I will not tolerate fighting,” the shopkeeper snapped at Billy.

  “Mr. Reed, please,” Sally tried to explain.

  “I warned him,” Reed interrupted, marginally less roughly, but with no amount of give.

  Sally tucked her arm through Billy’s and Gideon realized her new beau was about to lose his job. Two cents might be all Gideon had, but it was high time he put it in.

  “Weren’t his fault, sir,” he spoke up.

  Reed scrutinized the young man still pinned between two brawny citizens: dirty, tousled and clearly guilty as sin.

  “Come here, boy,” he ordered briskly, like a man who expects to be disobeyed and yet would be appalled if he actually were.

  Gideon was released and, trying hard for meek, took himself to the foot of the harness shop stairs.

  “What’s your part in this?” Reed demanded.

  Well, don’t he have a grouch on.

  Reed’s countenance suggested this was a permanent condition. And then it dawned on Gideon: this was the disgruntled man from the courtroom. He had best be quick.

  “I’m Gideon Fletcher, sir. Ain’t Billy’s fault—”

  “How would you know?” Reed interrupted the very explanation he sought.

  Gideon reined in his first few responses. The goal was to fetch Billy out of the fire, telling Reed he was a complete idiot really would not help.

  “Rydel don’t take to me much, sir. He comed at me,” Gideon said, abandoning the truth as something Reed would never believe anyway. “I ain’t one for a-turnin’ t’other cheek, but Billy were only a-gettin’ ‘em off-a me, sir. Weren’t him as started nothin’, sir.”

  Gideon thought that last sir might have been overdoing things and crossed his fingers no one had paid much attention to how this whole thing started.

  The storeowner turned to Billy. “Is this true?”

  Gideon willed the clerk to say yes. Perhaps he read Gideon correctly, perhaps he was savvy enough to rub one
wit against another, whatever the reason Billy agreed.

  “Very well,” Reed said, as if the effort taxed his reserves. “Clean up and get back to work. Mr. Fletcher, you had best be on your way.”

  Gideon picked up his hat, gave Sally the barest fraction of a wink, and walked away. At a trough down the street he stopped to splash water on his face. As if this were the cue his body had been waiting for, his knuckles instantly burned and his left cheek took up the refrain.

  Now ya done it.

  Me? You done charged in there.

  Din’t hear you a-makin’ no protests.

  Blood was hard evidence to hide. Oh well, he had never been very good at doing what he was told anyway. Why start now? Besides, he had things to do and not much time.

  The town saloon was a mid-sized place with poker tables and made-up girls. More importantly, it had a man most folks overlooked, never thought of, tended to forget was even there. It was amazing how many people did not exist and even more amazing how much they heard whilst nobody saw them hearing it. There were times and places Gideon himself was one of these living ghosts, blending into the background of other people’s minds so completely they said and did things right in front of him they would never say in front of an older man– sometimes things they would never say in front of a sheriff.

  When Gideon went to the back door of that saloon, the Chinaman who answered was as hospitable as Gideon could have hoped. One cup of tea later, he whistled under his breath, content with his accomplishment and pleased with his own efficiency. Now all he had to do was get back to the Rivers before they began to wonder.

  Gideon saw no sign of Fort or Lee. Assuming they had missed each other, he began to hunt around. He peered through the windows of what may have been an assay office, and then a tailor’s, a bathhouse, and finally an office whose function was beyond guessing. Eventually, he found himself right back at the saloon, only this time addressing the front door like a proper customer. Not that he planned to buy, but at least now there would be no need to watch for the law.

  An unsteady sample of humanity stumbled into Gideon, reeking of sweat and radiating alcohol. Grimy clothes hung, puckered, and drooped upon a capacious frame and matted hair clung to a balding skull. Pushing the man off, Gideon scanned for the boys. A meaty hand grabbed his sleeve.

  “Whereya goin’? Have-a drink, son,” the drunkard’s breath represented the very definition of foul.

  “Ain’t your son,” Gideon said, yanking free, but the man immediately latched onto him again.

  “Aw, c’mon, you’re man’nough walk inhere. You’re man’nough drink.” The walking beer keg dragged Gideon to the bar and bellowed, “Whiskey!”

  Gideon was uncomfortably aware of his absent handgun— he didn’t even have his knife thanks to Amos Rivers. At current rate, he might well be wanting both.

  The barman moseyed over and refilled the man’s shot glass.

  “Why don’t you leave the kid be?” he suggested, his contempt for the intellectually incapacitated evident.

  The spooney gripped the barman’s wrist.

  “An-a milk forthe babe,” he growled, followed by an explosion of barley induced laughter, thick with conceit for his own cleverness.

  Gideon had no tolerance for heavy drinkers. There was having a dram, and then there was this– slobbering drunk and it wasn’t even noontime. Part of him felt disgusted, part nervous. Both parts were outmaneuvered by the ever present anger which reached out, snatched the drunkard’s glass and tossed back the cheap whiskey.

  “You drink the milk,” Gideon said, thunking the shot glass down on the bar.

  The harsh laughter stopped. “‘Nother.”

  “Forget it,” the barkeeper replied.

  “Another!” the fat man growled.

  He pushed the drink at Gideon, who picked it up, threw the whiskey in the man’s face and followed with the glass. Half blinded and in a stupored fury, the drunkard swung. Gideon ducked just as Lee and Fort burst into the saloon.

  “Hey! Leave him alone!” Lee yelled.

  The boys elbowed between Gideon and his dance partner and then, somehow, the whole thing turned into a general brawl with all present taking an energetic role in the ruckus. Chairs broke, tables tumbled, windows cracked and glasses shattered.

  A loud bang froze the bedlam. All eyes turned to Sheriff Luke Gandy and the gun in his hand.

  “Fun’s over. Who started it?”

  Without any apparent motion, the focus of attention shifted to the two Rivers and their spare.

  “Fort?” Gandy prompted.

  “Ain’t his fault!” Gideon rounded on the lawman before anyone else could speak up. With the toe of his boot he nudged the drunk laid out on the floor. “This lousy son—”

  “Gov!” Fort interrupted.

  “Well, he is an’ were ‘im as started it!”

  “Pick him up, will you?” Gandy directed. “We’ll sort this out at the jail.”

  Fort obliged and Lee fell in behind, plucking Gideon along by a shirtsleeve.

  “You just gonna let ‘im ‘rest you?” Gideon whispered incredulously.

  Lee tightened his grip and told Gideon to hush.

  “Put him in the first cell, Fort,” Gandy said, fetching the keys from his desk. “You boys can take the other one.”

  “What for?” Gideon objected.

  Why? Because Gandy had acted as uncle, friend, shepherd and all around nudge and annoyance to the Rivers for years. Stepping in when they stepped out was well understood arrangement with their father.

  Herding Gideon ahead of him, Lee did as directed. The sheriff then locked the first cell, but not theirs.

  “You three stay put,” Gandy instructed, heading for the door. “I’m going to have a talk with Hank.”

  “Who’s Hank?” Gideon said, after the sheriff left.

  “He owns the saloon,” Lee answered.

  Gideon took hold of the door, but Fort leaned against the bars, pulling them— and escape— out of Gideon’s grasp.

  “Luke said to stay put,” Fort scolded.

  “He ain’t even locked it!”

  “Because we aren’t going to budge,” Lee sided with his brother. “Sit down. Luke will sort this out.”

  “I got news for ya. We’re on the wrong side-a that door for that kind-a thinkin’,” Gideon complained, plopping onto a narrow cot.

  He scowled at Fort but the man stayed put, arms folded over his broad chest, a rock that would not be moved. Lee settled beside Gideon and relaxed against the stone wall, one leg drawn up and eyes closed. Gideon gaped from one to the other.

  Crazy. That’s what they are, both of ‘em. Flat off their mental trail.

  Ya got that right.

  When the sheriff returned, he handed over a bucket of water and a clean towel.

  “What’s your side of things?” he asked.

  “We were looking for Gov,” Lee explained, dabbing at his wounds. “I put my head into the saloon and saw that drunk swinging at him, so I jumped in. Then Fort let loose and, next thing you know, the whole place is fighting. I only wanted to stop him, Luke, I didn't mean no harm.”

  “You actually saw Gideon get hit?” Gandy asked.

  “Sure, well he swung and Gov ducked.”

  Fort nodded his agreement and winced as he bathed a bruised hand. Gandy turned to the one participant who had yet to say anything.

  “What’s your story?” the lawman asked.

  “Nothin’,” Gideon said.

  “That’s more than you had yesterday.” Gandy gestured to Gideon’s bruised eye. “He do that?”

  Gideon wanted to nail the meddlesome drunkard, to get even with him for starting this mess. It would be so simple. One word, one neat and tidy lie would see the man firmly on the wrong side of the law.

  “Well?” said the sheriff.

  “No,” said Gideon.

  “Who did?” Fort wondered, ears pricked.

  “Hold on,” Gandy said, following his own li
ne of questioning. “He did swing at you though. What for?”

  Why did people expect reasons? There wasn’t any kind of explanation for a drunk, no matter how you turned it. They were stupidity given momentum by the contents of a bottle. Gideon leapt to his feet and kicked the adjoining wall.

  “‘Cause he’s a drunk!”

  “Easy, Gov. Luke’s trying to help,” Lee soothed.

  Gideon threw himself back on the cot and they could get no more out of him. Fort shrugged an apology at Gandy, who nodded his understanding. They couldn’t force Gideon to be reasonable.

  Within an hour, Rivers arrived to claim his sons. To Gideon’s eye he did not seem terribly upset.

  “You want Gideon?”

  “No, Sheriff Gandy, I have my part in this. Aspen will be along for him.”

  Left alone in the cell, Gideon’s agile imagination made for interesting company. He began to think about sticks. Short ones and long ones and how, if you hadn’t seen the long sticks, how would you know if you had, in fact, drawn a short one instead?

  “Hey, Sheriff,” he called, “what’d ya tell Aspen?”

  “Haven’t seen him yet, but don’t you worry. I’m sure he knows all about it and will be along directly. That water works a mite better if you use it.”

  Gandy knew darn well he was winding Gideon up, it was one of the perks of the job. Besides, the boy was a Rivers now and Luke figured that gave him some latitude.

  Wadda ya fig’r it is what has us on the dodge lately?

  In’erferin’ do-gooders.

  Gideon longed for– there was no sense thinking about what he longed for. It was gone. Not having much else to do, he took the advice of scrubbing up. The bleeding had stopped, his shirtsleeve had done some good there. Nearly finished, a familiar voice drifted to his ears. Gideon very deliberately took his time drying his hands before looking up. Aspen stood, square and stolid, before the bars.

  “What happened?” he asked quietly.

  “Ask the sheriff,” Gideon shrugged.

  “I’m asking you.”

  The words hung in the air, light as a feather, yet somehow all the more demanding for that.

  “A fight,” Gideon answered without answering.

  “How did it start?”

  Gideon’s reticence burst like a dam under pressure and he pointed at the snoring drunkard one cell over.

  “It started with him a-hasslin’ me. Your kinfolk done stepped in an’ then ever’body were a-swingin’ at somebody.”

  As far as Gideon was concerned, that should have been an end to the issue and the conversation. They hit you, you hit them– problem solved.

  “Why was he hassling you?” said Aspen, patiently digging away.

  “How should I know?” Gideon tumbled headfirst over the edge of frustration. “I din’t ask his blasted intentions!”

  Aspen shook his head, picked up his hat, and pointed to Gandy’s cell keys as he left.