After all, the more badmen and shootists who flock to Coffin Varnish, the fewer shootings Dodge and other cities and towns must contend with. Brave Coffin Varnish is doing the rest of us a favor by drawing to herself all those who make our streets unsafe. Instead of condemning her, might it not be better to praise her civic leaders for having the courage to do what no one else ever has? Instead of demanding they cease and desist, might it not be wiser to let them continue in their admittedly bizarre but nonetheless beneficial practice? Wise or folly, my fellow citizens, which is it?
Lafferty thought that last a nice touch.
His newfound fame was a tonic he could not get enough of. Strangers bought him drinks and plied him with questions. He had been there. He had seen the aftermath with his own eyes. He basked in his fledgling fame, intoxicated by the attention paid to him, by the praise.
Lafferty did not mind that another celebrity was created. Club Caine was treated with respect bordering on awe. When Club entered the Long Branch, a hush fell. Whispers broke out. Fingers pointed. Lafferty went over and offered to buy Club a drink. Within moments they were surrounded by men anxious to bask in the glow of greatness.
Lafferty ate it up.
The only sour note came later that night as Lafferty was strolling down Front Street.
“I hope you are proud of yourself.” Seamus Glickman stepped out of the shadows, a folded newspaper in his hand. He threw it in the dirt at Lafferty’s feet. “Take that to the outhouse. It is all it is good for.”
“You sound mad,” Lafferty said.
“You have no idea what you have done.”
“I am making the most of it, I admit,” Lafferty said. “But your worries are unfounded. The situation is temporary. Someone will put a stop to it before too long. Sheriff Hinkle, if no one else.”
“You better hope someone does,” Seamus said. “Or I will drag you to Coffin Varnish, pay their fee, and see if you can shoot as well as you write.”
“Your joke is in poor taste,” Lafferty said.
Seamus bent toward him and poked him in the chest. “Who said I was joking?” he grimly growled. Then, pivoting on a boot heel, he stalked off.
Chapter 17
Jeeter Frost was happy. He could not remember the last time he was happy. Truly, really, feel-it-in-his-heart happy. He kept wanting to pinch himself to see if he was awake.
Amazing, the difference a woman made, Jeeter mused. He breathed deep of the dry earthy smell of the prairie. In the gathering twilight he and the gruella were moving shadows. He rose in the stirrups but could not see the schoolhouse. Soon, he told himself. Be patient.
But it was hard to be patient when Jeeter spent every minute away from Ernestine thinking about her, missing her, wishing he was with her. He had never felt this way about anyone except maybe his mother when he was small, and that had not been the same.
There was a word for how Jeeter felt. A word he never expected to apply to him. A word others experienced but never him. Until now.
Jeeter was in love. There. He admitted it. But admitting it did not make him feel any more comfortable about it. He was happy, yes, but he was uneasy as well. Because when you cared for someone, when you wanted them as much as he wanted Ernestine, you put yourself at risk. The risk it might not last. The risk that you might lose them.
Never in his life had Jeeter been so scared of anything as he was of losing Ernestine. Part of his fear stemmed from his astonishment that a fine lady like her cared for a worthless husk like him. Another part stemmed from the fact that she had not made her own feelings plain. All the hours they had been together, all the intimate moments they shared, and not once had she come right out and revealed her feelings. He took it for granted she liked him as much as he liked her, but what if he was wrong? he asked himself. What if it was one-sided?
Jeeter decided enough was enough. Tonight he would ask her. Tonight he would find out the truth. It made him nervous. It could be he would spoil everything. It could be she was not ready to commit herself.
“God, why is life so mixed up sometimes?” Jeeter asked the gruella. He spied a white shape in the distance, and a swarm of butterflies took wing in his stomach.
The lamp was in the window, her signal it was safe.
Jeeter came to the back of the schoolhouse and reined up. He let the reins dangle, not the least worried about the gruella wandering off. It never did. That horse was the one constant in his life, the only thing besides himself that he had depended on all these years.
At Jeeter’s light knock Ernestine opened the door. Where previous nights she had drawn him into her arms and warmly kissed him, tonight she stepped to one side and said formally, “Welcome, Mr. Frost. Come in and have a seat, won’t you?”
The swarm multiplied into a legion. Jeeter’s legs felt rubbery as he moved past her, his spurs jingling. “Is something the matter, ma’am?”
“What could be the matter?” Ernestine rejoined. “I just want to talk.”
Jeeter went all the way to her desk, faced her, and leaned against it with his arms across his chest. He should say something but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.
Her hands clasped in front of her, Ernestine came slowly down the aisle. “I have been doing some thinking,” she said softly. “Some serious thinking about you and me.”
Oh no, Jeeter thought.
“I feel I have been remiss in a certain respect,” Ernestine said. “I have let things get out of hand.”
Jeeter found his voice although it did not sound like him. “In what way?”
Ernestine stopped, her head bowed. “I have let you take liberties. Liberties no one has ever taken with me.”
“Do you regret those liberties?” Jeeter asked, his voice much calmer than he felt. His happiness, his future, rested on her answer.
“I do.”
The room spun, and Jeeter reached behind him to brace himself. His throat had become so dry he had to swallow several times before he could say, “I am right sorry to hear that, Ernestine.”
“You can’t blame me. A woman has her reputation to think of. If our trysts were to become common knowledge, I would lose my job. The stigma would follow me wherever I went.”
“I am a stigma now?” Jeeter was not sure what that meant, but it did not sound flattering.
“You can’t help it,” Ernestine said. “Your past has caught up with you.”
“Oh,” was all Jeeter could think of to say.
“Please understand. A woman in my position must stay above reproach. The slightest suggestion of impropriety and my life is in shambles. I do not want that. I do not want that at all.”
“I wouldn’t want that for you, either,” Jeeter admitted. Invisible hands had hold of his chest and were squeezing, and the cozy schoolhouse with its comfortable glow had become cold and sterile.
“You can see what I am leading up to, can’t you?” Ernestine asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jeeter said, devastated. He had to get out of there before he made a spectacle of himself.
“Haven’t you something you would like to say?”
Jeeter had never suspected she could be so heartless. To cast him aside, and then want him to speak. She might as well bury a knife in him and be done with it. “Not especially, ma’am, no.”