and curious--and yet, growing up, they had
been inseparable. Chad would have wanted to be beside his brother.
The townspeople had visited her continuously, trying to
give her their condolences, until finally, she asked them to stay away. She
even asked that of Mrs. Beale, who had taken her into her home. Hearing
everyone’s words of sympathy was too difficult when she didn’t deserve them.
While her family was being destroyed, she hadn't done anything to save them. She
had stood there and watched, too scared to move. Later, while Chad was being
killed, she had hidden in the cellar. She should have picked up a rifle and
used it! Those killers hadn’t known she was hiding in the house. She could have
stopped them, could have saved Chad and Henry and Pa. But she didn't. She
didn’t!
And she could never forgive herself for that.
She didn’t deserve to live. Not when the others were dead.
So she lived for one thing only--to avenge their deaths. To see that justice
was done.
Ironically, despite her lofty plans for revenge, after
their deaths, she found it difficult to do the simplest daily tasks necessary
to get through each day--things like eating, or caring for the cattle or
horses. It was even a chore to think.
The town banker had told her he would take care of
everything for her. She needed time to heal, and not to worry about anything
else. Some semblance of logic told her it wasn’t a wise thing to do, but she
couldn’t face such mundane tasks. Not when she was alone, and her family’s
killers walked free, and she couldn’t even convince the law to go after them,
no matter how much she pleaded.
Now, she got out of the bath, dried herself and put on a
set of clothes she had held back from the laundry. She pulled the spindle-backed
wooden chair to the window and sat watching the rays of the setting sun cast a
glow like gold dust over the hills that surrounded the town.
She had no idea how much time had passed before she heard
the door latch click. The door opened a little way, then stopped. He was still
hidden from view. "Oh, sorry," he said.
"It’s all right, McLowry. You can come in. I’m
decent."
He entered the room then, looking so much like the man she
had met at the dance her heart lurched. The beard was gone, and his mustache had
been trimmed the way she remembered it. His golden hair was shining and soft
from its washing, and the cut freed the waves to spring back into place. He was
again her Greek god from Mount Olympus.
He shut the door behind him and faced her. The air in the
room seemed to thicken.
"Nice haircut, Jess," she said softly.
He ran his hand awkwardly over the sides and back.
"Thanks." At the dresser, he began to fiddle with the pockets of his
vest, checking for his tobacco pouch, cigarette paper, matches, the room key.
"I, uh, bet you’re hungry," he said, not looking
at her. "How about dinner?"
He didn’t have to ask twice.
Outside the hotel, perched on boardwalks on the steep,
narrow streets, sitting on low hanging window sills, and standing in doorways,
were people who had come to town for the hanging, along with bands of miners,
and women in low-cut frills and feathers. Women didn’t wear dresses like that
in Jackson City. Gabe hadn’t imagined they wore dresses like that anywhere. She
eyed the men, one by one, but none were the outlaws she sought.
In the restaurant, McLowry insisted on buying them both a
meal of what he called prime rib--a slab of steak so tender she could
practically cut it with her fork. With it they had boiled potatoes and carrots,
and chocolate cake with a thick coating of white icing for dessert. She was so
hungry, she didn’t say a word except how good the food was as it disappeared at
an embarrassingly fast pace from her plate. She glanced at McLowry to see if he
was horrified at the way she was wolfing her food, but he only nodded and gave
her a little lop-sided grin.
At the meal’s end their plates were taken away. McLowry
leaned back in the
been inseparable. Chad would have wanted to be beside his brother.
The townspeople had visited her continuously, trying to
give her their condolences, until finally, she asked them to stay away. She
even asked that of Mrs. Beale, who had taken her into her home. Hearing
everyone’s words of sympathy was too difficult when she didn’t deserve them.
While her family was being destroyed, she hadn't done anything to save them. She
had stood there and watched, too scared to move. Later, while Chad was being
killed, she had hidden in the cellar. She should have picked up a rifle and
used it! Those killers hadn’t known she was hiding in the house. She could have
stopped them, could have saved Chad and Henry and Pa. But she didn't. She
didn’t!
And she could never forgive herself for that.
She didn’t deserve to live. Not when the others were dead.
So she lived for one thing only--to avenge their deaths. To see that justice
was done.
Ironically, despite her lofty plans for revenge, after
their deaths, she found it difficult to do the simplest daily tasks necessary
to get through each day--things like eating, or caring for the cattle or
horses. It was even a chore to think.
The town banker had told her he would take care of
everything for her. She needed time to heal, and not to worry about anything
else. Some semblance of logic told her it wasn’t a wise thing to do, but she
couldn’t face such mundane tasks. Not when she was alone, and her family’s
killers walked free, and she couldn’t even convince the law to go after them,
no matter how much she pleaded.
Now, she got out of the bath, dried herself and put on a
set of clothes she had held back from the laundry. She pulled the spindle-backed
wooden chair to the window and sat watching the rays of the setting sun cast a
glow like gold dust over the hills that surrounded the town.
She had no idea how much time had passed before she heard
the door latch click. The door opened a little way, then stopped. He was still
hidden from view. "Oh, sorry," he said.
"It’s all right, McLowry. You can come in. I’m
decent."
He entered the room then, looking so much like the man she
had met at the dance her heart lurched. The beard was gone, and his mustache had
been trimmed the way she remembered it. His golden hair was shining and soft
from its washing, and the cut freed the waves to spring back into place. He was
again her Greek god from Mount Olympus.
He shut the door behind him and faced her. The air in the
room seemed to thicken.
"Nice haircut, Jess," she said softly.
He ran his hand awkwardly over the sides and back.
"Thanks." At the dresser, he began to fiddle with the pockets of his
vest, checking for his tobacco pouch, cigarette paper, matches, the room key.
"I, uh, bet you’re hungry," he said, not looking
at her. "How about dinner?"
He didn’t have to ask twice.
Outside the hotel, perched on boardwalks on the steep,
narrow streets, sitting on low hanging window sills, and standing in doorways,
were people who had come to town for the hanging, along with bands of miners,
and women in low-cut frills and feathers. Women didn’t wear dresses like that
in Jackson City. Gabe hadn’t imagined they wore dresses like that anywhere. She
eyed the men, one by one, but none were the outlaws she sought.
In the restaurant, McLowry insisted on buying them both a
meal of what he called prime rib--a slab of steak so tender she could
practically cut it with her fork. With it they had boiled potatoes and carrots,
and chocolate cake with a thick coating of white icing for dessert. She was so
hungry, she didn’t say a word except how good the food was as it disappeared at
an embarrassingly fast pace from her plate. She glanced at McLowry to see if he
was horrified at the way she was wolfing her food, but he only nodded and gave
her a little lop-sided grin.
At the meal’s end their plates were taken away. McLowry
leaned back in the
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