Saved by the Bullet

by Preston Shires

  The sheriff now looked up at Teddy with both eyes, warily. Mrs. Coleman could stand it no longer and told the master that if he expected dinner to be served on time, he’d better rouse himself, because she wasn’t going on her errands until he’d removed himself from the kitchen.

  * * *

  Sheriff Coleman appeared at my shop as scheduled. He stood in front of the press, arms crossed, and asked me about the theft.

  I thought I’d better save that topic for later so as to give Teddy more time to rummage through the sheriff’s paperwork.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ve dealt with many thefts as sheriff. What’s most often stolen?”

  “Money,” he said curtly. I suppose his response would have been monosyllabic if it had been possible.

  “Money,” I repeated. “I suppose that is the easiest thing to get away with. If anyone finds you with it, you can just claim it was your own all along. Now if you take a horse, well, for one it’s hard to conceal, and even if you hide it in your house, you can’t keep it there for long. Think of what would become of the parlor. And then each horse is unique, so someone’s liable to recognize…”

  “Miss Furlough, what’s missing?”

  “What’s missing?” I repeated. It was a good question. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a spelling bee and are anxious for your turn because you know all the words on the list you were given to study. It’s so exciting. Then, you get up in front of the whole class and the teacher says, “Addy, how do you spell “expelled.” Suddenly you feel the blood drain out of your head and into all ten of your toes. “Expelled,” you repeat. “E” you say, then “x,” and then the word “spell” occupies that void in your head. Somehow, you know it’s not “exspelled” but that’s all you’ve got in the noggin, and so you must forge ahead. That’s how I felt standing in front of schoolmaster Coleman.

  “What’s missing?” he said again.

  Now, I knew I had taken something from the printing press and put it in the stove, but I couldn’t think of what. “The printing press,” I said slowly, my voice rising at the word ‘press’ as if I’d formulated a question rather than a statement.

  The sheriff turned around. “Looks like they didn’t get too far with it.”

  “No, they only took part of it.”

  “Which part.”

  “Well,” I said honestly, “I can’t see it now.”

  The sheriff looked at me over his shoulder. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but I’ll leave you to play alone.”

  As he moved toward the door he unmasked the printing press and I saw what was missing, if that can be said. “The handle!” I cried out. “It’s the handle. It was there last time I was in here and now it’s gone.”

  He went to the printing press and examined it. “Whoever stole the handle took the bother to unbolt it, then put the bolt back in so that they could reattach it later on.”

  “You mean they’re coming back for the whole thing?” I asked.

  He glanced around the room, opened Teddy’s trunk, shuffled around his belongings, and then shut it. Then he marched into the kitchen, and in no more time than it takes to say ‘kitchen stove,’ reappeared with handle in hand.

  “Oh,” I said. “I suppose someone pulled a prank on me.”

  I think his eyes had a scowling in them as he slowly walked past me, glaring steadily at me. I grabbed his arm and said, “I knew you could solve the mystery.” I said this as sweetly as I could.

  He looked down at my hand on his arm and said, “Miss Furlough, I’m a married man.”

  I was shocked and embarrassed that he would say such a thing, even flummoxed, though I could see in his demeanor that he meant it as a joke. Normally, I would have brushed the comment aside with a laugh and a joke of my own, except Prudence had entered the office.

  Removing my hand quickly, I said, “Of course you are, Sheriff. And don’t forget it.”

  He looked at Prudence seriously and then back at me with the word mischievous written all over his forehead, cheeks, and chin, and said, “Oh, I’m reminded of it every day. It’s you I’m worried about.” Upon this comment, he bid good day to Prudence and left.

  Prudence stood as a statue, but not like Aphrodite with cupid on a shoulder, but rather as the matronly Hera bringing judgment. “I’m sure your father shan’t approve of your suspicious behavior, Addy.” Having said this, she too exited.

  * * *

  I sat alone in my office awaiting Teddy and brooding over Prudence. She was such a pest, but I figured I could outsmart her. I hadn’t yet come to a conclusion as to how, when Teddy came bounding into the office.

  “Whew,” he exclaimed. “That was close! I don’t think the sheriff saw me but he was coming back when I was coming back. That means we would have met face to face and he would have caught me red-handed with this,” he said, landing a small wooden box on the table and dropping on it a leather ledger.

  I put the ledger to the side and lifted the lid to the box. Full of letters. “Teddy, you were just to bring back one address, not his lifetime collection of correspondence. And his ledger! You think he’s not going to miss this?”

  “I had a lot to atone for, considering the amount of my winnings,” he answered.

  The two of us sifted through the letters and found Mrs. Lincoln’s, Mrs. Martha Lincoln’s to be precise. The contents I already knew, just as Mr. Brown had indicated. The address I did not, and I copied it down in my notebook.

  Mrs. Lincoln lived in Saint Joseph, far but not too far down river. It would take, considering stops along the way, roughly three days to travel down there, see her, and return upstream.

  I sat back in the chair imagining my story. George Lincoln had a caring mother...a woman with an intelligent skull, we’d say, but he made his own choice to ignore the goodly role she played before him. He shunned honest work and fair dealings. He, ‘hurling defiance toward the vault of heaven,’ as Milton would have it, boycotted the church door, so that his conscience could harden to his increasingly evil deeds. He embraced the Deluder, who heightened poor George’s thirst for more evil by placing a bottle of whiskey before him. He dreamed dark dreams, he swallowed dark whiskey, and went into the night to the Friend cabin.

  On the other hand, I imagined good old Peter Cartwright, a thorough ruffian who answered the call to Christ at age sixteen. An example of virtue, a man of God who brought back many a soul from the brink of perdition.

  I could see the words floating into my gazette and taking shape before the eyes of my readers.

  “Sis, Sis,” Teddy called me out of my reverie. “I know you’ve got a plan, but what is it?”

  “A plan?”

  “Yes, to get the good sheriff’s things back to him, ‘cause I don’t know who he’s gonna call on to report a theft.”

  I sat up. “Yes, you’re right Teddy. Let me take care of that. Just put my basket on the table while I go in the kitchen.”

  When we met back in the main room, I dropped the ledger and box in my basket and then placed the cherry pie on top of them.

  My actions were mechanical, and my brother noted my distraction; so, I told him of the incident with Sheriff Coleman and Prudence’s reaction. He assured me Father would think nothing of Prudence’s gibberish and that he, as a true brother, would defend my honor.

  I feigned to be at peace on the topic and changed the subject by announcing, “I think the sheriff and his family deserves a cherry pie out of gratitude for having found the handle to my press.”

  Teddy glanced at the press and saw the handle laying on top of it.

  “Yes,” I said. “You’ll need to screw it back in, and I’ll tell Mrs. Coleman that you’re the last one I had seen with it. She may well infer that you played a prank on me by hiding it in the woodstove, but I see no reason to disabuse her of this.”

  Teddy attempted to object to taking the blame, but I reminded him of his need of atonement and he acquiesced.

  * * *

  I knew
Teddy wanted to hear how I planned on getting the purloined box and ledger back on the sheriff’s desk, so I let him know that unleashing a cherry pie in a house full of kids would cause all sorts of confusion that Mrs. Coleman would have to attend to, allowing me to slip over to his desk and deposit the missing items.

  He still thought the sheriff might take his eyes off the pie long enough to see my sleight of hand, but I reassured him that our lawman would, by late afternoon, be with Mr. Brown and other notables attending the Brownville Hotel Company meeting.

  Approaching the Coleman household after the hotel meeting had commenced, I found several little Colemans outside. Of course, they asked what I had in the basket and I uncovered the treasure.

  “I’m sure mother would love you to have some,” I said, knowing full well that mother would prefer they eat it after their meal.

  The children formed an enthusiastic train marching behind me. I felt like Cicero on campaign, soliciting votes with an army of devoted clients following him about the streets of ancient Rome.

  When I arrived in the Coleman’s villa, I discovered they had yet to section off the home into rooms, and I realized now how palatial my collection of Cincinnati homes must appear to the average Brownvillian. The so-called kitchen was on one end of the room, a stove sat in the middle with a desk next to it, which was followed by a series of mattresses against a wall, the children’s dormitory. The parental chamber could only be up in the loft.

  Mrs. Coleman thanked me for the pie, whereupon the children immediately assailed her for a piece. Like the good citizen that I am, I had ample opportunity to return Sheriff Coleman’s property.

  I made it home in time to catch Prudence writing a letter. I suspected it to be her missive to my father because she covered its contents with her left hand as soon as I walked into the bedroom.

  “Writing to your beau?” I asked.

  She sat up straight and cast an indignant eye upon me. I thought I heard the front door open, but Prudence would not be distracted. “You know I have no suitor.”

  “And you haven’t fancied any young pioneer?”

  “I would certainly be cautious of anyone connected with Brownville. Their gunplay, their gambling, their carousing, their drinking, their dancing.”

  A solid knock rang out from the front of the house, definitely someone was there. We both jumped at the sound.

  I went to answer the call, and whom should I find but Cameron.

  “Well, well, my dear, I take it you’re alone?”

  “There is...” I began, but he cut me off with a wink.

  “Yes, yes, there is no time like the present. Let me hold your hand, my dear, while I tell you disturbing news.”

  I looked at him with my sideways glance, letting him understand I knew he was up to something nefarious.

  “I was just downtown with the boys, jabbering about this and that, and the conversation invariably turned to the subject of women. And, of course, I objected that discussing ladies when they are not present is ungentlemanly, but the others put me on notice that the women in question may not appreciate hearing what things we had to say about them. ‘Give me an example,’ I said. And do you know that a certain gentleman mentioned the name of Miss Withers? I objected again, pointing out that I understood her to be a dear friend of my beloved.” Cameron paused and pointed an ear to the bedchamber and detected some movement as my guest apparently applied her own ear to the door separating the two rooms. I distinctly heard the door creak.

  “Oh!” I said, playing along. “And shall I ask what was said of her? I hope they said nothing untoward, or if they did that you defended her honor.”

  “I surely would. Any friend of yours is as good as a blood relative to me.”

  “Go on,” I urged.

  “Well, wouldn’t you know it, this certain gentleman said, and I quote, that ‘the young companion of Miss Furlough possesses the keenest and purest eyes of the Territory and that they reflect a brilliance of mind only matched by her natural beauty.’”

  We stood still for a moment, and I could hear breaths of air being drawn on the opposite side of the bedroom door. I whispered in his ear, “One of those boys wouldn’t have been Teddy would it have? And he wouldn’t have told you about my trials with a certain Miss Straightlace would he have?” I received an affirmative nod.

  “And who might this young man be?” I said out loud.

  “Oh, he’s not old but neither is he young. He’s a man of business, established, and quite unfettered. I would say, if I were a woman, a catch if ever there were one.”

  “Oh Cameron, keep me not in suspense,” said I, feeling a bit Shakespearean.

  “Why, my dear Addy, it was the druggist Mr. Whitt.”

  The bedroom door burst open and Miss Straightlace tumbled to the floor. “Oh,” she gasped getting up. “I stumbled. I thought I heard voices. How embarrassing. You won’t tell...umm. You won’t tell me I’m not maladroit, clumsy, will you?” She straightened herself up. “I’m Miss Prudence Withers,” she said, extending her hand.

  Cameron, playing the part of European nobility, his heels locked against each other, his body erect and at attention, took it gently and kissed it. “I’ve heard but praise about you, Miss Withers.”

  “Ohhh,” she said, turning away with flushed cheeks and downcast eyes. “I’m sure I’ve made no impression whatsoever.”

  I won’t bore you with the back and forth between my gentleman and the princess, but in the end, before announcing his departure for places unknown, Cameron warmed her to the thought that she had impressed our society.

  In spite of the fact that I had fallen from grace before Miss Straightlace’s eyes, she seemed more upbeat and effervescent that evening. True to her nature, she warned me about being too informal with a gentleman, especially one of doubtful references. Then, oddly, she gave me sundry other bits of advice that only a woman of a romantic disposition might give.

  * * *

  The following morning, Thursday, June twenty-fifth, I rose before Prudence and, after dressing in the bathroom, went out into the parlor where I, with Gunshy periodically swiping at my pen, wrote a half dozen short letters to family and friends. I wanted to have a little breakfast to start the day, but I could hear my guest perambulating about the bedroom, and I wanted to venture out on my own.

  “Prudence, dear, I’m going into town to the Post Office. Here,” I said before she could react, “let me take your envelopes with mine.” And I gathered them up from the nightstand, and put them with mine in my basket filled with all my writing paraphernalia. “I’ll meet you down at the Nebraska House, we’ll have breakfast there with Kitty.”

  My movements were too quick for her to mount a protest. I hurried down Water Street to Mary’s millinery. I knew the Post Office would not be open as yet, but I held hopes that Mary might be in. She was, though not officially open for business as of yet.

  “Come on in,” she welcomed me. “I’ve just got a few things to set out and maybe we’ll have time to chat before the emigrants come rolling in.”

  As Mary went about her business, I opened Prudence’s mail and found what I was looking for. The address indicated her parents, but included in the envelope was not only a letter to them but also a sealed note with instructions written on the outside as follows: To the Attention of Mr. Furlough.

  I dug into my basket, extracted a fresh piece of stationary, wrote an encouraging word to my father, sealed it, and inscribed on the outside To the Attention of Mr. Furlough. After putting it back into its original envelope with Prudence’s letter to her parents, I had a good conversation with Mary. She seemed increasingly perplexed about her relationship with Teddy, and I had to confess that if she were ill at ease, she shouldn’t press the courtship. Though I didn’t want to cause Teddy any heartache, I knew he was resilient, and, to be honest, I never thought their comportments perfectly matched.

  As I stepped out into the street, I couldn’t decide whether it had been hotter inside Mary’
s shop or out in the open. If there had been a breeze, perhaps the sweltering humidity would not have been so heavy. The atmosphere slowed my pace but did not slacken my determination.

  I located Mr. Brown not too far off and left my post with him, then I made my way over to the hotel, where I found Prudence, dressed in yellow. Kitty served her at the table and Stewart sat opposite Prudence.

  “Going picnicking today?” I asked.

  “I would like to be ready if such an occasion arose.”

  I studied her and noticed she had put up her hair nicely, and she averted her eyes from mine. I sat down next to her.

  “How’s your gazette coming along?” asked Stewart to initiate conversation.

  “Splendidly, I believe. I’m to have my first edition out soon, but tomorrow I hope to gather more information on the Friend murders.”

  “How’s that?” asked Prudence.

  “I’m heading down to Saint Joseph where the mother of George Lincoln lives. I hope to interview her.”

  Stewart passed me the plate with pancakes and I took one. Things tend to taste so much better when you don’t have to make them yourself.

  “Do you have someone to accompany you?” he asked. “If you could hold off for a week, I think Kitty and I could give you an escort. Saint Joseph is not Brownville, you know. I’ll be back from the Big Blue River Settlement soon enough.”

  “Very kind, Stewart, but I’m sure I can make it on my own.”

  “Fiddlesticks,” said Prudence. “Jonathan and I are born travelers, so you needn’t worry yourself about her Mr. Winslow.” She fell silent momentarily, then announced, “We’ll have to pack carpet-bags. You just leave that to me, Addy. And we’ll need some supplies, medicines so we won’t be inconvenienced by illness. I must press on.” She stood up, fluffed out her dress and straightened her hair before donning her bonnet. I thought of offering her earrings, but she exited before anyone could make any suggestions.

  Stewart politely rose in deference to Prudence. Then he looked suspiciously over at the hotel desk where stood a thin man of doubtful hygiene. “That’s the hostler from Nemaha City. A ne’er-do-well,” he told me softly.