“I don’t know, Miss Prescott,” the boy dutifully answered, but something in his eyes alerted her that he did in fact know but was not saying.
Her mouth went dry. “Continue reading your history book, everyone,” Ernestine directed as she opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunlight.
The Doughtys were coming around the corner. Mrs. Doughty, always a severe woman, looked more severe than usual. She had her thin hands clasped in front of her and wore a drab gray dress and gray bonnet. “Miss Prescott, we need to have a word with you.”
“Certainly,” Ernestine said. “But your boy has been behaving himself of late.”
“It is not William we are here to discuss,” Mrs. Doughty said. “It is you.”
Panic welled up in Ernestine, but she smiled and said calmly, “Me? In what regard, Mrs. Doughty?”
“You know very well.”
Mr. Doughty shot his wife a look of disapproval, but only Ernestine noticed. “I am sure I have no idea.”
“Very well. I will speak plainly.” Mrs. Doughty paused. “A man was seen leaving your schoolhouse at an hour most folks consider ungodly.”
Ernestine grew so light-headed she thought she would swoon, but she did not let on. “Who saw this man leave?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
“What hour was it?”
“Before dawn, I was told,” Mrs. Doughty said, and sniffed. “Heaven knows what he was doing here.”
Mr. Doughty frowned. “Be civil, Abigail.”
“I have the children to think of,” Mrs. Doughty said. “A thing like this must be addressed.”
“What thing?” Ernestine went on the offensive. “For the life of me, I do not see what this has to do with me. In the first place, as you both well know, I seldom stay past dark. In the second place, did this informant of yours actually see this man leave by the door?” She had them there. Jeeter always snuck out by the window.
“Well, no,” Mrs. Doughty said. “But he was seen very near the schoolhouse.”
“So he could have just been passing by?” Ernestine pressed her.
With great reluctance Mrs. Doughty said, “I suppose.”
“Was this man seen in my company at any time?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“Then what are you suggesting?” Ernestine asked. “You know me, Abigail. Are you implying I am a loose woman?”
Mrs. Doughty became flustered. “No, no, I would never do that. I was merely bringing it to your attention.”
“For which I thank you. Hopefully, no one has spread this behind my back. A lady has her reputation to think of.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Doughty said. “Come along, Abigail. We have imposed on her enough.”
“I appreciate your coming to me,” Ernestine said, relieved she had nipped the rumor in the bud.
“I thought you should know,” Mrs. Doughty said. “Especially with the sheriff involved.”
Ernestine’s world spun and nearly crashed. “What was that?”
“The sheriff,” Mrs. Doughty said. “The person who told me also reported it to Sheriff Hinkle. No one from his office has been around?”
“No,” Ernestine said, struggling to come to grips with the implications of the stunning revelation. “Evidently the sheriff has more faith in my virtue than the person who is spreading loose tales about me.”
“I told you,” Mr. Doughty said sternly to his wife. “We should not have come here. Now I feel the fool.”
“It had to be done.”
They walked off arguing.
Ernestine gripped the doorjamb to keep from collapsing. Her legs had gone weak and her knees were threatening to buckle. She was deathly afraid, but not for herself. She could deal with the gossip. No, she was afraid for Jeeter. If the sheriff or a deputy caught him leaving the schoolhouse, there would be Hades to pay.
Ernestine needed to think. She needed to be alone. But the school day was hardly half over. Composing herself, she closed the door and returned to her desk. She picked up a pencil and, without seeing them, stared at a sheath of papers that needed to be graded.
Another dimension to her dilemma occurred to her. If she told Jeeter, he might take it into his head to make himself scarce. He would not tangle with the law if he could avoid it. He had told her once that one of the reasons he had lasted so long was that he never shot a lawman and in fact went out of his way to avoid them.
He might leave.
The thought seared Ernestine like a flaming sword. Her heart hammered in her chest and she had to take deep breaths. That must not happen. Jeeter meant a great deal to her, more than anyone, ever. She did not want to lose him.
Ernestine wavered. Maybe she should keep it to herself for the time being. Since the sheriff had not been around, odds were, she reasoned, that Jeeter and she could go on as they were doing.
Her eyes moistened at the injustice of it all. Life was so unfair. Here, she had finally found a man she cared for, and circumstances over which she had no control were conspiring to tear him away from her. She refused to let that happen. She would stand firm and do whatever was necessary to ensure that Jeeter and she enjoyed the happiness to which they were entitled.
Her decision made, Ernestine busied herself with her duties. But keeping silent did not sit well with her. It was the coward’s way out, and Ernestine was a firm believer in confronting problems head-on.
She was in the middle of the daily spelling lesson when a solution to her crisis hit her with the force of a thunderclap. She had just asked a student to spell the word myopic. He did, but she stood there, too overcome to tell him he had spelled it properly and could sit back down.
Did she dare? Ernestine wondered. The step was so bold, so brazen, as to dazzle her with her own shamelessness. Or was it shameless if the two people truly cared for one another?
The question sparked another: Did Jeeter Frost care for her as much as she cared for him?
Ernestine realized he had never once said how he felt. He had never once given voice to his feelings. For all she knew—she nearly gasped at the notion—she was a mere dalliance, a woman he kept coming to visit because she let him do things women should not let men do.
“Oh my!” Ernestine blurted.
“Miss Prescott? Are you all right?”
With a start, Ernestine saw that every child in the room was staring fixedly at her with concern writ on their youthful faces. “I fear I have a bit of a headache today, Sarah, but thank you for asking. Horace, you did fine. That is how you spell myopic.”
Myopic, Ernestine thought. How fitting, and how ironic. She must find out how Jeeter felt about her, and if she was a dalliance—if that was all she was to him—she would buy a knife or a straight razor and slit her wrists.
Chapter 15
Chester Luce had talked it over with Adolphina and they had decided that all the pistol duels would take place in the street. Safer for Coffin Varnish’s citizens, however few there were. They had also decided the duels would take place one hour after the permits were paid for, to have ample time to notify everyone.
“If we do this right,” Adolphina had said, “if we take sufficient precautions, the killings will go off without a hitch. The leather slappers will be happy with how smoothly everything goes. We will be happy with the money we are making. All will be well.”
But all was decidedly not well.
Chester was appalled when Paunch Stevens tried to jerk his six-shooter. “No, by God!” he bawled, and lunged at Stevens, grabbing his wrist.
“Not in here!” Win Curry yelled, whipping a shotgun from under the bar. “I will blow you in half!”
Sally Worth, incredibly enough, laughed.
Only Club Caine was calm and silent. He made no attempt to draw his Webley, although when Stevens went for his hardware, Caine swooped his hand to the Webley.