Crimson Palace (3 page)

"Well, I’ll be on my way then. If you need me for anything, anything at all, come and get me. Anytime, do you hear?"

"Yes, sir, I will," she replied as he walked down the steps and into the night.

Shinonn went to the kitchen, stoked the fire and set the kettle on to boil. Making a pot of good, strong tea for herself, she sat at the table through the night, listening for sounds from her mother’s room, drinking cup after cup of the brew. And she thought.

At about eight the next morning she saw the sheriff enter his office. Checking to make sure her mother was still sleeping, she headed down the street to his office.

Sheriff Higgins was uncomfortable under the steady gaze of Sean Flannery’s daughter. He realized full well that, although she was still a young girl, Shinonn was level headed and deserved a true accounting of the previous night’s tragedy.

"Tell me the truth, Sheriff Higgins. Was my father murdered in cold blood or not? Did that gambler shoot him down?"

"The truth isn’t quite as simple as all that, Shinonn. Yes, Lincoln Bradley did kill your father, but there were more than a dozen witnesses, all friends of your father’s, I might add, who swear that he shot in self-defense."

"But I never once saw my father draw a gun on anyone, not in my whole life."

"Ah, Shinonn, it wasn’t the Sean you loved who pulled that gun. It was the whiskey that did it. I’m not one to put a man down for his habits, but last night your father got himself into a mean drunk."

He hesitated for a moment, hating to force the girl to see the ugly side of her father.

"Sheriff Higgins, I’m not blind to my da’s drinking ways like my mum is. I know my father drank more than he should. I’ve seen it more times than I’d like to remember. Now go on and tell me what happened."

"Lincoln Bradley, Sean and a few other men had been playing poker most of the night. Apparently your dad was doing fairly well, and had built quite a stack of chips. Then Sean got cocky and started raising the pots higher and higher. It wasn’t long before his pile of chips started disappearing. Instead of pulling back and playing it close to the vest, he just kept making wilder and wilder bets.

"When that Bradley fellow tried to call it a night, Sean started hollering that they were all going to stay there until he’d won his money back. There didn’t seem like much anybody could do about it without making Sean even angrier, so the game went on.

"After awhile it was down to just the two of them, Sean and Lincoln Bradley. Sean had lost just about all his money but he insisted on playing one more hand. Mr. Bradley dealt the cards for five card stud. Your dad drew two queens, then a third one. I guess he figured he had a winning hand, even though the gambler had the makings of a Royal Flush showing. Sean was so sure, in fact, that he wanted to put his blacksmith shop and the stable up as collateral for his raise.

"To his credit, Mr. Bradley refused, said he wouldn’t take a family’s source of income, not for any bet.

Well, Sean just went into a rage. He stood up, throwing the table at Lincoln. Then he grabbed a chair and tried to crash it down on the man’s head. Still Lincoln refused to fight. All he’d do was fend off your father’s blows.

"Then Sean grabbed the pistol that George Hobbs keeps on the bar to quiet things down when they get too wild. Sean was so drunk he was stumbling around, waving the gun all over the room.

"He got off two rounds. Both missed Mr. Bradley, but one of them almost hit George behind the bar.

Right about then the gambler grabbed Pete Morrow’s pistol right out of his holster and aimed it at your father. He says he aimed low, figuring if he shot Sean in the leg that would stop him. But just as he fired, your dad stumbled. Instead of taking the bullet in the leg, he got it square in the heart. He died almost instantly."

Trudging home from the sheriff’s office, her heart felt as heavy as her da’s anvil. As hard as her life had been, Shinonn had never faced a more difficult task than the one ahead of her. All her life she had done everything she could to shield her delicate mother from life’s pain. Even as a small child she had understood that Rose’s constitution was as fragile as a butterfly’s wing. Dang! She’d do just about anything to keep from having to tell her mother the details of Sean’s death.

Squaring her shoulders, Shinonn entered her mother’s bedroom.

"It’s to work with your father already, is it? I wish I’d been awake to bid him good-bye."

Shinonn’s heart sank. Could her mother have actually forgotten Doc Miller’s visit last night?

"Da’s not at work, Mum. Don’t you remember what the doctor told you when he came here last night?"

"Don’t be foolish, girl. Doc Miller most certainly was not here last night. You must have been dreaming.

Why in the world would he have come to our house?"

"Mum, Da died last night. I’ve just come from the sheriff and he told me how it happened."

Rose’s hand shot out, striking Shinonn a sharp blow.

"I won’t be hearing such talk! You may be angry with your da for his drinkin’, but you won’t be bringing any bad luck to him with your sharp tongue. Don’t you ever speak such evil about him again, do you hear?"

Shinonn stood before her mother, eyes swimming with unshed tears. Rose had never so much as lifted a hand against her daughter before. As the girl stood rooted in shock, her mother spun around and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The slammed door snapped Shinonn out of her state of shock. Instinctively she understood that Rose could never face life without the Sean she had fallen in love with so many years before. Just as she had never allowed herself to see the dark side of her husband, she simply refused to accept his loss. If she denied his death strongly enough, then she would never have to face the truth.

***

In typical Patrick Flannery fashion, Shinonn’s brother came stomping into the house just as she was ladling up the evening’s stew. She was only mildly surprised to see him, knowing that one of his cronies would have relayed the news of their father’s death to him, and that her brother liked nothing more than to get smack dab in the middle of a good fight.

"Stop foolin’ with that food, girl, and tell me if what they said about Da is true," he demanded hotly.

"Quiet, Patty! Mum will hear you. She’s more upset about Da than you can even imagine. She won’t hear a word about it without flying into a rage."

"Well, tell me what happened," he continued in a somewhat subdued voice. "They say he was shot by some tin-horn gambler. I’d like to get my hands on the bastard who murdered him.

"Da wasn’t murdered, Pat. The man shot him in self defense. Everyone in the bar said so."

"They’re all a bunch of damned liars! Da never even carried a gun. They aren’t foolin’ me with their lies!

They was all paid to say that, more than likely."

"That’s not true! They were Da’s friends. No, it was just that he’d had way too much to drink and he got crazy mad when the gambler wouldn’t take the stable and blacksmith shop as collateral on a bet. Da would have lost the bet, Pat. We would have lost everything!"

"That’s a load of crap, and you know it!"

"It was an accident, Patrick, nothing more. You’ve just got to let it go at that."

"Maybe you’re fool enough to believe that bunch of slop, but I’m not. Our father was murdered in cold blood and if that poor excuse of a sheriff won’t do nothing about it, I will!"

"Patrick, use your head! Just what do you intend to do, go out and shoot down an innocent man? You’ll end up at the end of a rope yourself and a fat lot of good that’ll do either Mum or me. We need you here.

"I can’t take care of everything by myself! Please, Patrick, just forget the gambler and stay here and help me!"

"You’re crazier than Mum if you think I won’t avenge my father’s murder!" he shouted as he slammed out of the house.

"You’re nothing but a lazy, good-for-nothing fool, Patrick Flannery!" she yelled angrily at his departing back. But her anger changed nothing. Pat was a hot-headed child in a grown man’s body. Good sense would never sway him when his mind was set. Shinonn finally came to the realization that if Rose and she were to survive, it would be only by her own hard work and perseverance.

***

Sean Flannery was buried early the next morning in the sun-baked cemetery a mile outside of town.

Sheriff Higgins was kind enough to help Shinonn with the arrangements and had suggested the early hour because of the persistent heat.

She was surprised at how many of the townspeople came out to the cemetery that morning to pay their last respects to the blacksmith. But in all fairness, she had to admit that her father, though not a good breadwinner or reliable parent, had been well liked. Of course, his old drinking buddies could be relied upon to say a final farewell.

Conspicuously missing from the mourners, though, were the wife and son of the deceased. Shinonn was conscious of the whispers behind her back as they all gathered around the plain wooden coffin. How could she explain that her mother was not at her husband’s funeral because she refused to believe he was dead? Surely everyone in the village would think Rose had taken complete leave of her senses!

The reason behind Patrick’s absence, on the other hand, was no secret. He had made quite a display the previous day of his intent to avenge his father’s "murder". Despite Sheriff Higgins’ advice to stay home and tend to the family’s needs, he had made a big show of heading west to track down his father’s killer.

He had vowed he would follow the gambler all the way to California’s gold camps if that’s what it took to get his revenge.

His young friends thought Patrick’s actions heroic; he was doing just what they would if it had been their own father who had been killed. But Shinonn saw through her brother’s bravado. He had always looked only for adventure, searching for a good fight. She knew this was only an excuse for him to do what he liked best, to jump right in the middle of a brawl. She had seen the light in his eyes when he’d heard that Lincoln Bradley was on his way to California’s gold country.

Well, let him go. He would have been nothing but a millstone around her neck anyway. As far as she was concerned, she had had enough of trying to rely on men. From here on out she would depend on no one but herself.

After the brief graveside service, Shinonn returned to the house to change from her Sunday dress.

"Child, what in the world are you all dressed up for?" her mother asked as Shinonn came up the steps.

Rose sat on the creaky old rocker in the shade of the porch.

"There was a special morning worship service, Mum. I didn’t wake you because it was held so early. I thought you needed your sleep more."

It was a small lie, but Shinonn was not comfortable with it. As the years passed, however, she would learn to tell such lies with ease.

As one week followed another, with Rose continuing to live with her delusions, Shinonn found the lies easier and easier. Not only did Rose refuse to believe her husband had died, she also deluded herself into believing that Patrick had not run off like the irresponsible son that he was. Each day she spent hours sitting on the porch, waiting for her son and her husband to return.

As the years passed Rose gradually sank deeper and deeper into her own imagined world. Unable to share her mother’s world, Shinonn tended to Rose’s needs - fed her, washed her, led her out to the porch rocker each morning - all the while chatting away as if all was well. But she knew in her heart that her mother would never return to her. Most of the time Rose appeared totally unaware of her daughter’s presence.

***

The one bright spot in this otherwise bleak period of Shinonn’s life occurred in the week following Sean Flannery’s funeral. It was nearly seven o’clock in the evening and once again she was late fixing dinner for her mother. Rose, complaining of a headache due to the late meal, had retired to her bed while Shinonn did best to put together something for their supper.

She was definitely out of sorts. She had been spending even more time than usual at the stable, trying to keep the business going. Her mother, instead of being understanding, found even more reasons for her countless complaints. As Shinonn was going through the cupboards, hauling out flour, beans, and bacon, she heard a knock at the front door.

"Just what I need", she thought, "visitors. They couldn’t be bothered with us before, now all of a sudden they want to see how the "poor pitiful orphan and widow" are getting along. Well, I’ve no time for them now or ever", she thought crossly as she wiped her hands on her apron and went to unlatch the door.

Standing on the porch, hat in hand, was Grady Hobbs, the saloon keeper’s son. Grady, at eighteen, was already larger than most men. Well over six feet and burly as an ox, he always seemed embarrassed by his size. Shinonn knew him to be a kind person, but a bit on the shy side.

"Grady, I thought you were one of the old biddies come to snoop. Come on in and set while I fix up something to eat. Have you had your supper yet?"

"Yep, a couple hours ago. It wasn’t for anything like that that I come over, Shinonn. I come to speak to Rose about your dad’s blacksmith shop. I was wondering if she had anyone in mind to work it. Do you think she might let me try?"

"I didn’t know you was a blacksmith, Grady. I always figured you for working in the saloon with your pa."

"I hate the saloon - always have. There’s nothing more disgusting than a bunch of lazy good-for-nothings with nothing better to do than to sit around a bar and drink all day. Oh, I’m sorry, Shinonn. I don’t know what I was thinkin’ of, talking’ like that. I mean with your father being killed there and all."

Shinonn watched in fascination as a crimson glow swiftly spread from Grady’s neck to his face, finally settling brightly on his ears.

"Don’t worry about it, Grady. I know what my father was. I loved him with all my heart, but my da was a weak man when it came to drinking and cards. It don’t have nothing to do with you or your daddy."

"Well, I don’t want to make things worse for you. I was just thinking that if you don’t have anyone who can buy Sean’s tools, maybe I could work in his shop. You know, sort of work for you and your ma.