Weeping Angel (43 page)

Frank had had to leave before talking with Amelia. Since she'd told him she'd be at the Moon Rock right after she finished dressing, he was waiting out her arrival by packing. As he put his possessions into boxes, he thought about hiring a carpenter to replace the charred wood on his porch. From the way the scene looked, he'd agreed with Dodge. A prank had gone awry, probably ignited by the older boys. At least the whole place hadn't gone up in smoke.

Taking a drink of his coffee, Frank thought of the other problem he still had to contend with: Pap O'Cleary. He would have to have a word with his friend. He hoped to hell things wouldn't come down to blows. Five minutes later, Frank found out.

Pap came through the saloon doors absently scratching the back of his bald head. He wore his black derby and a collarless shirt with deep wrist bands, but even that didn't discourage a beholder from staring at the nasty red welts peppered over his face and hands.

“Hey there, Pap,” Frank greeted jovially, even though his stomach suddenly felt as if he were riding in the bed of a bumpy wagon after an all-night drunk. “How you feeling?”

“Better, but all this itching is becoming a pain in my ass.”

“Well, you're not looking too bad anymore,” Frank lied.

Pap trudged to the bar, an irritated gait to his stride. “I've been wondering where the hell you've been. I
waited all yesterday for you to come over and tell me what happened at the picnic. If it weren't for Cobb, I wouldn't have found out a thing. Damn, I was going so nuts in that room, but I didn't dare show my face on the street. I still don't. I took the back way behind Gopher Road to get here.” His fingers clawed the length of his shirtsleeve. “Anyway, desperate as I was, when I saw Cobb from the window coming out of the woods, I hollered for him to come up and keep me company for a spell.”

Frank's mind spun. Cobb Weatherwax couldn't have known he and Amelia got married unless the mayor or the Rev told him. And those were two people who never crossed paths with Cobb.

Warming his coffee, Frank asked, “What did you find out?”

A sly grin lifted Pap's mouth, emphasizing the pock in the corner. “You old fox. Cobb told me you gave him twenty dollars to chase after Emmaline Shelby and leave Amelia alone. Now if that ain't smooth thinking. I owe you one, Frank.”

Pap slid the box of sporting equipment down the counter a bit so he could stand directly across from Frank. Frank didn't say a word, waiting for Pap to make a comment as to why he'd packed up his prize possessions. “Pour me a cup of that mud, Frank, and tell me every little detail about the picnic. What did she wear? Did she smell like flowers? What did she make for her supper?” Grinning broadly, he quizzed, “Did she ask about
me?”

Frank stalled for answers. He took a long minute to fill a cup and set it before Pap. As Pap slurped his hot coffee, he regarded the box over the cup's rim. “It's about time you cleaned up all that junk underneath the bar. Just because we're men doesn't mean we have to be slobs. I've told you before, an orderly run establishment will always get the most business.” Blowing on the steam, he said, “I think Amelia will
appreciate my neatness, don't you? And as soon as I'm looking more myself, I've decided to tell her my intentions. Hearts may be attracted, but affection's never known unless spoken. I've got it all planned out. You'll be my best man, of course, and I do believe Amelia favors Narcissa Dodge.” He paused, only to muse aloud. “You don't suppose that preacher will refuse to marry us since I kind of offended him with my language, and I didn't get down on my prayer bones and taffy up to the Lord that one Sunday when he invited me to?”

Frank became more uncomfortable by the second. “Pap, there's something you need to know.”

Pap only half listened. “I did offend him, didn't I? Well, hell, then I'll just take her down to Boise and we'll get hitched there. One church is as good as another when you ain't been in one since you got baptized.”

“Pap.”

Keeping his finger hooked through the handle of his cup, Pap declared, “Maybe we'll honeymoon in Boise while we're there. Don't worry, though, we won't be gone too long. I've got to keep my job. I'll be supporting a wife now, and I might even—”

“Pap.” The force of Frank's voice was like an anvil ringing in the ensuing silence.

Pap shot him a piqued look. “What is it, Frank?”

“Amelia and I got married yesterday.”

*  *  *

Amelia walked down Divine Street, her presence flushing the vibrant goldfinches from the magenta cosmos that grew alongside the road. Honeybees buzzed in the red-eyed phlox. Freshly cut alfalfa filled the summer afternoon with the smell of warm hay as the sun baked the cut green plants brown.

A lunch basket, packed with plenty of extra to be shared, dangled in the crook of her arm while she held her music bag in her other hand. She hummed a
happy tune, her eyes merry. She thought about last night . . . about this morning . . . about Frank.

A giggle slipped past her lips.

He made noises in his sleep.

Not snores, but deep breathing sounds. Man sounds.

The bulk of his shoulder had pinned her hair down, and she'd been trapped in one position all night. When she'd opened her eyes to the hues of a tawny sunrise, she'd found his gaze on her. Waking with a bona fide husband was far better than waking with the plumpness of her pillow snuggled up to her chest.

She wished she could have made him a proper breakfast, but they'd slept through that meal. She'd been so rushed when they did wake up, that she'd barely had time to pack a lunch for them. She wondered which hooligan had set the outhouse on fire, and hoped the damage to their saloon was minimal. It felt funny to consider the Moon Rock as partly hers, but it dawned on her they would be merging their assets. She brought the house into the marriage as well as a savings account on the brink of emptiness. She didn't know how she was going to tell him about that; she'd adamantly denied having financial trouble to him in the past. It wouldn't do to start their union with the admission of a lie, so right now she put the bank out of her mind.

It felt so good to be married! To make plans for the coming seasons, knowing Frank would be there to share them with her. In preparation for fall, they'd stuff the woodshed to its roof, laying in a supply of coal. Frank could put up the storm doors and windows, and clean the flues and chimneys. She'd stock the cellar with enough food to last until the return of spring.

And this Thanksgiving she'd stuff a turkey hen and bake two kinds of pies, pumpkin and apple. They'd share a cozy pallet in front of the blazing fireplace in
the coming crisp autumn nights. And when winter arrived, they'd watch the lacy flakes fall and make snowmen in the yard.

Her soft laugh rippled through the sweet smelling air. She was so in love, she couldn't keep her feelings inside.

“What you laughin' at, Miz Marshall?”

Amelia started and swung her head around. With her heartbeat thumping, she declared, “Why, Mr. Weatherwax, you gave me a fright.”

“Didn't mean to, ma'am.”

“Where did you come from?”

He pointed to the field of high weeds directly across from the laundry shop on Dodge Street.

“What were you doing there?”

“Watching for Miz Shelby.”

“Oh.” Her brows knit down. “Why?”

“Because I like watching her.”

Amelia kept up her light pace, the composer busts in her bag jouncing together. “Does she know you like watching her?”

“I reckon.” Resting the butt of his Kentucky rifle in the crook of his arm, Cobb tilted the moth-eaten brim of his hat to shield the sun from his eyes. “When I asked her if she could ever go after a man like me, she said yes. With a scissors.”

She was momentarily speechless in her surprise. Cobb, for some impulsive reason, had taken a liking to the laundress. If there hadn't been the breach between her and Emmaline lately, Amelia would have been delighted and encouraged Cobb. He was a fine man, and despite his rustic way of life, he had a God-given talent for playing music from memory.

“I tried giving her a beaver skin, but she didn't want it.”

His discouraged voice weighed upon her. “In matters of the heart, Mr. Weatherwax, one must pursue a
partner without haste.” Of course the advice didn't pertain to her and Frank. Some romances were just too passionate to be tamped down. “Are you sure you desire Miss Shelby's attentions?”

“As sure as I am about anything else.”

“Then might I suggest, Miss Shelby must be won first and won romantically. A box of candy is preferable to a beaver skin during courtship.”

Cobb's soft steps slowed as he pondered her recommendation. Amelia immersed herself in her own thoughts, wondering how Emmaline would take the news about her and Frank. She wouldn't offer her congratulations, that's for sure; she'd be downright envious. Biting her lip, Amelia also wondered how the other ladies in town had reacted when Narcissa told them. She hadn't planned on making any kind of formal announcement, leaving the matter up for public notice. The wedding ring on her finger said it all.

“What was it you was laughing at, Miz Marshall?”

Amelia glanced at Cobb, unable to contain her smile. “Why, I was laughing because I'm in love.”

She would have told him she'd gotten married if it hadn't been for the fact they'd arrived at the Moon Rock. That in itself wasn't cause enough for her to refrain from telling him. But the argument Frank and Pap were having inside was. Their raised voices carried to the boardwalk, loud enough to make Amelia stop just shy of the bat-wing doors, reluctant to enter the saloon.

“You want to hit me,” Frank asked, spacing the words evenly. “Go ahead. I guess I deserve it.”

“I don't want to hit you, I want to kill you!” Pap shouted. “You damn sidewinder! You stole my girl! You went and married her right out from under me!”

“If I hadn't married her, her reputation in this town would have been shot to hell.”

“I'm going to shoot you to hell, you son of a bitch!” Pap rallied. “I'm going to make you buzzard bait—if'n the buzzards could even stomach you!”

Amelia put her hand over her mouth and took a step forward.

“No, Miz Marshall,” Cobb said, touching her arm. “I don't think you ought to go in there.”

Frank explained, “I didn't plan on marrying her away from you, Pap. When I took Amelia to that picnic, something happened, and the boys saw what they thought was us in a compromising position—”

“Compromising position?!” Pap barked in a wail. A glass broke, the shards tinkling like icy slivers. “You snake in the grass bastard!”

“I didn't touch her in any untoward ways—”

“But you touched her!” Another glass flew and shattered.

“Yes, Pap. I did.”

“You must have touched her in a way that made them boys think something was going on!”

“What those boys told their mothers got blown out of proportion. It looked real bad for Amelia and I . . . hell, I thought the best thing to do was to marry her. Save her reputation and her dignity. I would have . . .”

But Amelia didn't hear the rest; a sob of humiliation choked her.

“You've kissed her, haven't you?” Pap's question was wrapped in a painful groan.

“Yes, Pap, I have.”

The saloon rocked with a heavy-handed sound—the smack of a fist connecting with a jaw. Another blow shook the wall. Then Frank staggered through the seam in the double doors rubbing his chin. Rather than going to him, Amelia jumped back. He didn't see her; his gaze was leveled on Pap as he backed into the street. Pap stood in the wide doorway, his eyes spitting
nails. He may not have been as tall or as big as Frank, but he packed quite a wallop in his compact body.

“Give me your best hit, Pap.” Frank put his hands up, giving Pap a direct target of his gut. “It'll make you feel better.”

Pap took the challenge and charged like a locoweed-fed bull, headfirst, at Frank. Pap's derby fell off in his sprint, the crown wobbling in the dirt. As soon as he made contact with Frank's shirtfront, both men fell to the ground in a tangle of black trouser legs coated in dust. Frank made no real attempt to thwart Pap's jabs, taking his punches with hardly a grunt.

One-Eye Otis and several of his lunch customers from the Chuckwagon came out to see what was going on, crowding for a spot with the best view of the tussle.

It became apparent no one was going to put a stop to the pair rolling in the dirt. Amelia, despite her emotions being in turmoil, couldn't just stand there and let them fight.

She'd barely left the boardwalk, disregarding the pressure of Cobb's hand on her arm, when the blast of the stage horn broke her stride. A faded green coach with Wells Fargo emblazoned on its elegantly curved flank came rocketing down the street. The plume of airborne dirt behind its four big-dished wheels showered the water in the horse troughs and sent Hamlet squealing for cover.

The veteran reinsman perched on the box was eighty-two-year-old Casper Bean—a man known for his navigational mishaps. On more than one occasion, he'd cut the corner on Holy Road so tight, the side of the coach clipped the awning post off the roof to the office of the
Weeping Angel Gazette.

Amelia quickly retreated, as did those around her. The only fools not scrambling to get away were the duo fighting in the middle of the street.

“It's Crazy Casper!” someone hollered over the thunderous hooves beating the ground. “Get on out of the way!”

Frank and Pap froze long enough to lift their heads and see the hulking rig descending on them with furor. They shot to their feet and ran for the boardwalk just as Casper flicked his long whip over the horses' ears. The tip cracked like lightning but didn't lay a scratch on the animals.