Authors: Florence Osmund
“I don’t know, but he seemed to know an awful lot about guns. Do you want me to ask him if he’d take a look at them for you?”
“Would you?”
The following weekend, Marie accompanied Ted to Stone Guns and Ammo. On the way, she mentioned her father’s business. Ted said he didn’t know him.
Barry greeted Marie with a smile and a quick run of his fingers through his hair. But the gleam in his eyes quickly faded when he saw Ted. He examined the display of guns in its entirety. “Hmm. Nice collection.”
“Whatever you can tell me about them would be helpful,” Ted said.
Barry picked up the first one. “This one is a Philadelphia-style derringer. Not the real McCoy, but still a good piece. Probably 44-caliber. My guess it’s from around 1850 or ‘60.”
“Do you know what it’s worth?” Ted asked.
He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know exactly what you could get for a piece like this, but I would think at least a hundred bucks, maybe more. This one here is also a copy of a Colt. Pretty sure it’s 32-cal. Nice engraving on the nickel. Worth less than the first one. Maybe half a yard.”
“Half a yard?” Marie asked.
“Fifty bucks.” When he picked up the next one, Barry’s eyes grew large. “Now this one is interesting. Colt 44. Dates back to probably 1860s or ‘70s. Original ivory grip. Looks Mexican to me. If you could find the right buyer, you may be able to get a couple hundred for this one.”
“No kidding. Did you hear that, Marie?”
Marie heard Ted say her name but was preoccupied with the familiar-looking car that had pulled into the parking lot and was now parked in the shadow of a large shade tree. Thinking it could be Richard, she didn’t understand how he could possibly have known where she was. She hadn’t told anyone where she and Ted were going this afternoon, not even Karen. Had he followed them? She turned back toward Ted and Barry and half-listened to the rest of their conversation.
“This one is an Army Colt that was probably turned in after the war and refurbished. You can find a lot of these. I have two of ‘em myself. And this is another one of the same. See this engraving? The eagle and snake? That’s how I know it’s Mexican.”
The last gun was a Smith & Wesson “lemon-squeezer,” the gold gilt finish worn but with little pitting. “Why do they call it a lemon-squeezer?” Marie asked.
“See this safety? You have to squeeze the grip in order to release the safety and fire the gun. Like so.”
“You’ve been a great help, Barry. I appreciate it.”
“Tell you what. I’ll give you a hundred clams for the ivory-grip Colt.”
Ted’s face lit up. “Hundred twenty-five and it’s yours.”
“Deal.”
Barry paid Ted, and as soon as Ted turned to leave, Barry shot Marie an eyebrow flash, smoothed the ends of his mustache, and said, “See ya ‘round.”
Marie tried to get a better look at the man in the parked Auburn in the far corner of the parking lot, but his face was hidden by his fedora, similar to ones Richard owned. She watched the road behind them in the passenger side mirror of Ted’s car, but there was no sign of the Auburn.
Marie’s second Thanksgiving at the Brookses’ felt a lot like she was just another family member. She flew in a day ahead and helped Claire in the kitchen all afternoon, in an environment that was so much more comfortable than the year before.
This morning, she joined Jonathan for an early morning ride before the big meal. Gregory, Gloria, Rachael, and Ben were expected late afternoon.
“So tell me, Marie, why haven’t you filed for divorce from that illustrious husband of yours?” her father asked.
They reached an open section of the trail where the sun shone brightly on their faces. She squinted, partially from the sunlight, partially because she didn’t have a good answer for her father. She told him about her confrontation with Richard in Karen’s shop.
“But you and Cavanaugh decided filing for divorce was best, right?”
She turned to meet his gaze. “We did.”
“And?”
“He wasn’t sure a judge would grant me the divorce based on his felony conviction because I had already left Richard when he was arrested, and that was my only chance of getting a divorce. He said it would depend on the judge, and Richard knows judges.”
“Family court judges?”
“I don’t know. Crooked judges.”
He stopped his horse. Marie followed suit. “What are you afraid of, sweetheart?”
A cold breeze swept in from the north, causing her to shiver. She took her time answering. “I don’t know, Dad. I want to be divorced from him. I really do. It would make things so much easier.”
“Let me ask you something. How many times have you relived that time, that horrific moment in time, when he pushed you down the stairs?”
Marie took in a gulp. “Just about every day. I have nightmares about it, and sometimes I even have flashbacks during the daytime.” She hadn’t shared that with anyone else, even Karen. She thought she should have been over that trauma by now and didn’t want anyone to think she was weak, or worse yet, losing her mind. After all, the incident had occurred two and a half years earlier.
“Well, I’m no shrink, but it may be that you’re re-experiencing that episode, maybe unconsciously, every time you think about divorcing Richard, and that scares you into doing nothing. Do you think that could be happening?”
“Could be. When I wake up from the nightmare, I usually feel the same things, physically I mean, that I did when it happened. My heart is pounding. I feel sick to my stomach. I’m sweating.”
“I’ll always be there for you, Marie. I think you know that. But you do realize this is something you have to face yourself, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, I told you before, my advice is to go through with the divorce, but you have to feel comfortable with it too. And I know you’ve said you don’t care what people think, but…”
“What’s making you feel so strongly about this?”
“As we both know, I’m not in any position to give moral advice, but I will anyway. Wouldn’t you feel much better if you weren’t married and Richard was completely out of your life before you start seeing other men?”
“Yes, of course I would.” She thought about her father’s rationale. “But here’s the thing. First of all, as I’ve said before, the judge may not grant the divorce. But secondly, I’m not sure a divorce would get Richard out of my life anyway.”
“And you’re not willing to take the chance?”
“I guess not.” She looked at him. “So what does that say about me?”
Jonathan let his gaze linger on Marie’s face before he responded. “I think you’re being overly cautious. But I must admit, I’m also being somewhat of a protective father. I would like to see him completely out of your life so you can go on, and doing nothing just insures he’s still in your life. And maybe that’s what he’s banking on.”
Marie shook her head but didn’t say anything.
When they reached the far corner of his property, Jonathan stopped his horse and turned to face his daughter. “I’m not an educated man, but I do know a little something about fear. When I was eight, maybe nine years old, my mother asked me to walk to the next door neighbor’s house to borrow a cup of sugar she needed for whatever she was baking. Now where I lived, the next door neighbor’s house was at least a mile down the road.” He paused as though thinking about a related memory, perhaps a fond one.
“Anyway, so I walked down this dirt road, kicking a stone, like kids do, when out of the bushes jumped Eddie Sheets, the neighborhood bully.” He chuckled. “We used to call him Dirty Sheets behind his back. Well, he had a piece of two-by-four in his hand, and he was a few years older than me, and much bigger. And did I mention he was white?”
Marie shook her head and smiled at the boyish smirk her father wore.
“He said to me, ‘Hey, nigger. How’d you like the shit beat out of you?’ I was thinking that was a pretty stupid question, but I wasn’t about to tell him that, so I just stood there for a few seconds and then kept on walking. Well, it was late in the day, the sun was low in the sky, and I could see his shadow on the ground coming up on me.
“I don’t know where I got the courage, but I turned around, faced him head on, and shouted at the top of my lungs, ‘Get the hell out of here, Dirty Sheets, you good-for-nothing fucking ass-wipe cracker,’ excuse my language, ‘before I stick this knife in you and twist it until your guts come spilling out of your white honky body!’ And I reached into my pocket and took a step toward him.”
“Good heavens, Dad!”
“Like I said, I don’t know what came over me, and at such a young age too. Well, it scared him but good. That little white boy disappeared into the bushes from whence he came in about two seconds flat, and he never bothered any of us again.”
“That’s quite a story. Sounds to me like you took quite a chance standing up to him.”
“Looking back, I did, and it was quite foolish. People were lynched for less. But I told you that story to make a point. If your fear is keeping you from doing what you want to do, or in my case what I needed to do, you must confront it. Otherwise, the Dirty Sheets of the world will control what you do instead of you controlling your own actions. I used to think I was powerless over that boy, and so did every other little nigger boy in our neighborhood. But after that episode, I discovered I wasn’t. I only thought I was.
“You can’t back away from your fears. If you do, you sabotage your own future. You have to be stronger than your fears. Remember that. I’ll bet you half my ranch that Richard lives and breathes that philosophy.”
“Oh yes. He does that. By the way, what’s a cracker?”
Jonathan let out a nervous laugh. “You never heard that expression?” Marie shook her head. “The word cracker comes from plantation owners cracking a whip on the backs of slaves.”
Marie closed her eyes while she rode toward the main barn, trying to get that image out of her head.
They weren’t in the house more than five minutes when Rachael bounded into the living room. “We’re here!”
“We can see that, Rachael. Come here. Sit down by me,” Claire said.
When Marie came out of the kitchen, Rachael shot her a wide smile. “Don’t go anywhere,” she squealed. She brushed her hair to the side to expose her new earrings. “Are these crazy or what?”
“They’re crazy, alright.”
Marie excused herself to change her clothes and then joined Claire and Rachael in the kitchen, where they were preparing turkey sandwiches for the evening meal. Rachael was unusually excited.
“So spill the beans, missy,” Claire said to Rachael. “Tell us girls what you’re so excited about.”
“Oh, nothing.”
Marie gave Rachael a “you can’t fool us young lady” look.
“Okay. So there’s this boy in school.” Rachael’s eyes lit up brighter than Marie had ever seen before. “He’s so crazy. A little bit of a freak, but not bad.”
“A freak?” Marie asked.
“He’s different. That’s all. Anyway, he asked me out…well, not really out, just to go ice skating.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. There’s no school, and his dad is going to drop us off at Depot Pond to skate.”
“And what does your dad think about this?” Rachael was one month shy of fourteen, and Marie was pretty sure Ben wouldn’t allow her to date.
“He’s hip about it. As long as it’s not really a date date.”
“What’s his name, hon?” Claire asked.
“Craig Dungan.”
Claire’s expression made Marie wonder if she knew the boy. St. Charles was a small town, and the Brookses were pretty well connected.
“Well, I’m very happy for you, Rachael. I’ll be here through Sunday. Will you call me to let me know how it went?” Marie asked.
Rachael giggled. “Sure. It’ll be such a kick.”
“Rachael, would you mind setting the table for me?” Claire asked. “Everything you need is on the buffet.”
Marie turned toward Claire as soon as Rachael left the room. “You looked concerned when she mentioned the boy’s name.”
“I am. There’s only one Dungan in town. There are three boys, and the older two are always in trouble. In fact, the oldest one, I think his name is Jake, broke into one of our barns last year and stole two very expensive saddles.”
“You’re kidding. So they caught him?”
“The sheriff found the saddles in the back of his pickup truck, but in the end we couldn’t prove he stole them. The middle boy has been in trouble with the law too. Caught vandalizing school property. Both boys are school drop-outs. If Jonathan finds out Rachael is seeing their younger brother, he’ll have a fit.”
“Who’ll have a fit?” Ben asked from the doorway to the kitchen.
“Um…Jonathan.”
He walked closer to Claire and lowered his voice. “I overheard your conversation. Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything…well, maybe I was. When I heard Rachael’s name, I couldn’t turn away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Claire. Is there anything else I should know about this family?”
“Well, there’s one more thing. Pat Dungan, the boys’ mother, used to go to our church until one Sunday her husband, I don’t remember his name, came in during the service, yanked her out of her seat, and practically dragged her out of the church. We haven’t seen her since.”