25
Jason was at home and halfway through
his dinner—Jenny had made him pork chops and mashed potatoes—when
the wind kicked up again. You’re off duty,
he told himself. Don’t worry about it. Just stay
tucked up in here and let Rafe deal with it.
He’d had a full day. There had been the
killing, of course. He still wasn’t quite over it. After Abe had
come down from the livery and collected Welk’s body for transport
to Prescott, he had gone through his files and finally found some
old paper on Ezra Welk. Welk had been quite a piece of work, having
already been responsible for the deaths of seven people by the date
of the poster, which was January, 1866. How many more had he killed
since then? Jason hadn’t touched his pistol since,
though.
In addition to all the racket the boys
were making putting up their damn water tank, there’d been the
official swearing in of Rafe—he was still nervous about that—the
divesting of Ward’s house of his things, and all the normal stuff,
plus bidding good-bye to Wash Keogh and being a pall bearer at a
funeral, most of which he didn’t understand.
Ward’s place had been the worst of it.
He’d been putting it off, but finally decided he couldn’t delay any
longer. All that Ward had to show for his life was currently
contained in a small wooden crate, out in Jason’s living
room.
But no. A little piece of Ward still
lived in his heart, and Jenny’s, and in the core of practically
everybody else in town. He would be sorely missed for a long
time.
And he was glad that the Davis funeral
had gone all right. At least, the Cohens seemed happy. Judith
Strong as well. It was good that now there was another Jew in town.
Rachael, at least, would have another Jewish woman to talk to. He
knew that she’d been ostracized by most of the other women in town
for a long time, and he’d felt awfully sorry for her.
The Reverend Bean: Now there was a
whole different kettle of fish. He’d made no attempt to secure land
for a church, as Father Micah had done right off the bat (even if
it hadn’t turned out too well), and had just about the same as
disappeared. Jason hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him in
days.
He shrugged and took a piece of dried
apple pie from Jenny. It looked pretty good, too. He barely
registered the hunk of prickly pear cactus that flew past the
kitchen window.
But Jenny said, “Jason, what’s the
matter? You’ve been mopin’ ever since you set foot over the
threshold.”
The wind began to rattle the chairs and
table outside.
He looked up from his pie. “Oh,
nothin’. Just work, I guess. Well, that, and cleaning out Ward’s
house.”
She slowly shook her head. “No, there’s
something else. Is that business with Ezra Welk troubling
you?”
He shook his head.
“Then have you been thinkin’ about
leavin’ again?”
The next gust had hail in it. A few
pellets dinged the window. A lot more pelted the side of the
house.
“I’m always thinkin’ about
it.”
“More than usual, I’d venture,” she
said, crossing her arms over her bosom. “What’s got you goin’ this
time?”
“Oh, all right.” He set his fork down
and leaned back in his chair. “Abe. The town’s got Abe, now, or
they’ll have him in a few days. And he’s a whole lot better at this
than I am. And they’ve got Rafe. And I don’t want to be here. I
wanna be back East, back where there are books and schools, and I’m
not in charge of who gets which land, or what’s official in the
newspaper, or what to do when a million Apache ride up on the town.
Where they don’t even have Apache and never heard of a dust
storm!”
The wind was really howling,
now.
Jenny huffed out a little sigh. “You
don’t wanna be where I am?”
“That’s just it! Jen, you could come
back East with me! Think about the dress
shops and the shoe stores and the grocery stores where you can just
go in and buy food, and not have to raise it yourself. Think about
all those boys and men who are out there, just hungry for wives!
Think about—”
She held up her hand, silencing him.
“That’s just it, Jason.” There was a crash as something glass
collided with the back of the house. Probably the lantern he kept
out back.
He glanced out the window, then back at
Jenny again. “What’s just it?”
“Rafe asked me to marry him.” She just
said it out and let it lay there.
“What?!”
“You heard me.”
“When did this happen?” He was suddenly
as mad as a rabid badger, and ready to beat the living tar out of
something or someone, Deputy Rafe Lynch in particular.
“While you’ve been busy doing all your
official marshal things,” she said calmly, “he’s been courtin’ me.
Took me to lunch at the café three times, sweet-talked me on the
porch, showed me how to check when my mare needs shoeing, and went
to visit my kitten with me at the Milchers.”
“You’re marryin’ somebody because he
went to visit your cat?!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, calm
down!”
“No!” He shoved back his chair with a
scrape that would have been deafening, but for the storm raging
outside. “I won’t! Jennifer Fury, have you lost your mind? Have you
forgotten that he’s wanted for murder? For murders? Plural?”
“I don’t care. Love doesn’t read wanted
posters, Jason.”
“Well, I do. And I’m gonna put a stop
to this right now.” He ripped the napkin from his collar and
started for the front door.
“Jason? Hadn’t you better wait ’til the
storm calms down some?”
Past the front window, out in the
street, a small saguaro surrounded by swirling dust moved west, end
over end, giving him pause. My only sister,
marrying a criminal! he thought. The world’s
coming to an end.
Something on the front porch went
bang, but he couldn’t bring himself to look
down. Sweet-talked her on the front porch! They probably kissed,
too! Dear God, what would his father think?
What would his father think. Jason
slumped into a chair. Was that what had him all het up? Worrying
about the opinion of a dead man? He hadn’t realized it until just
then. He figured he’d better calm down and think this over
rationally.
He sat there in the dark for a long
time, listening to the storm’s thuds and howls, until finally Jenny
came in, bearing a fresh cup of coffee and his untouched desert.
She placed them before him.
“Just in case you weren’t full up,” she
said.
He muttered, “Thanks.” Then he looked
up at Jenny, really looked at her. She was no longer the
fifteen-year-old kid who had started the journey west. She was a
woman, fully grown, and able to make her own
decisions.
“When you plan on making it official?”
he asked her.
“Three weeks come Saturday,” she said
as calmly as if he’d never objected. “Rafe wanted to ask you first.
Isn’t that cute? Anyway, guess I kinda jumped the gun. Pretend like
you don’t know, okay?”
Jason just looked at her. How could he
feign ignorance? But then he reminded himself of the mental
breakthrough he’d just had, and slowly nodded while he picked up
his coffee. “’Kay.”
“Just leave your dishes in the sink.
I’m going to bed, all right?”
“Yeah. ’Night.”
She smiled at him, then bent and kissed
his forehead. “I knew you’d get used to it.” And then she was
gone.
Jason put down his coffee and rolled
himself a cigarette. Lighting it and listening to the storm
outside, he thought, It was on purpose. She did it
on purpose, just to keep me here. The bitch! And then he
scolded himself for calling his sister names. She was right. Love
didn’t read—or reason, either. It just happened. She couldn’t help
it, and likely, neither could Rafe.
He set the cigarette, half-smoked, in
the ashtray and picked up his pie plate. Jenny had done it
again—the pie was great. And then he started to think about his
stomach. What would he eat with Jenny gone? At least, he assumed
she’d be gone, with a home of her own.
Now, there was another good reason to
be angry with Rafe: He was liable for starving the marshal to
death!
He heaved a sigh, inaudible over the
storm. His old life was over with, that was all there was to it. He
couldn’t go back East now. Leaving Jenny alone in Rafe’s hands was
out of the question, although leaving her with Matt MacDonald would
have been far worse. Thank God she was over that!
He found himself smiling, imagining how
MacDonald would react when he heard that Jenny was not only
marrying another man, but his deputy! And then he wondered whether
Abe had ever made it back to the Double M to talk to
Matt.
None of his business, he told himself.
That was county stuff, or territorial stuff, but not anything to do
with Fury. He’d just wait and see, and that was all there was to
it.
He felt himself relax and give in. He
couldn’t control everything any more than Solomon could stop being
a Jew, or Jenny could stop being a girl. All he could do was go
along and hope for the best.
Hope for the best, that was it. He set
aside his pie plate and clasped his hands over his chest, slumping
down in the chair. He suddenly felt too tired to make the short
walk back to his room, and he let his lids drift
closed.
Tomorrow would bring new problems and
new surprises, but he was too tired to worry about them now. As he
drifted off to sleep, he was thinking that tomorrow would be just
another normal day in Fury.
Whatever that was.