Sundown (16 page)

Wyeth Gentry settled his hand on his coffee tin and nervously tapped his fingers with impatience.  Wade Coffee was overdue for a report, which worried him because it was not like the deputy to miss a beat. 

Pushing back his chair, he stood to his feet.  He glanced over at the newest prisoner he had locked up the evening before.  The young man moaned incessantly, while grabbing hold of his broken arm.  He did not pity the wretched creature.  The way he saw it, any man who harmed a defenseless woman rightly got what he deserved.  Nevertheless, as the Sheriff of Sundown, it was his job to
see to his prisoners.  The kid would have to wait until
Doc Hiram got back from his trip to Denver.  He expected the old codger back soon, any day now.

“Crying’s not gonna make it feel any better son.”  He spoke up, while grabbing his hat he wandered toward the office door.  “That’ll teach you next time when you decide you want to slap around one of Belle’s girls.”

Wyeth passed a deliberate smirk and then stepped outside.  Locking the door behind him, he stepped aside as two young women crossed his path.

“Sheriff.”  One of the women smiled in greeting. 

He noticed her eyes spoke appreciation and a whole lot more, but as usual, he was all business and ignored the
feminine overtone. 

Instead, he nodded politely.  “Ladies.”

Looking up and down the idle thoroughfare, he searched for any sign of his deputy who was still nowhere in sight.  Where in the Hell was Wade Coffee?  He had sent his trusted partner out to check in on his daughter nearly two hours ago.  Already, the sun slanted in the early evening sky, casting a golden hue across the landscape, a signal it was nearly time for Lena to have supper on the table.  Something was definitely not right.

“Damn it.”  He swore, while tugging his hat down over his head to hide his
unease.  He stepped off the boardwalk and leaned over the hitching post where he quickly reached for the reigns of his mount.  The horse lifted its head as if the animal could sense an unnamed tension.  Shying away, the stallion reared its head, rolling back a pair of fraught eyes and whinnied, while wildly slashing its tail. 

Then he could hear it.  The faint sound of wagon wheels rumbling in the distance.  A cloud of dust infused the air, while a lone rider made headway toward town just behind a wagon with a woman driver in tow.

“Bella.”  He demanded.  A surge of fear gripped his chest as he mounted his horse and kneed his mount forward.  “What’s happened?”

Within minutes, Wyeth met up with his daughter’s rig.  Arabella let loose of the reigns, and quickly jumped down from the buckboard.  Rushing toward the back of the wagon, she vaulted in and leaned forward.  He could easily see the unconscious woman lying in the back of the wagon next to a young boy, and upon closer inspection, he realized it was Jenny Hanly.

“The baby?”  Wyeth asked, feeling the color drain from his own cheeks.  He had always recognized Miss Jenny was a special woman, and it burdened his heart to think she might lose the baby, or even worse. 

“Where’s Doc Hiram?”  Arabella insisted.

“Denver.”  His voice turned over hoarse not wanting to admit the inevitable.  “Take her to the house.”

Arabella paced the upstairs bedroom floor, listening to Lena’s calm voice as she softly hummed while stripping linens, and preparing makeshift birthing rags. 

The sound of heavy footsteps clamoring up the staircase drew her attention toward the bedroom door.  Her father nodded perfunctorily as he entered the room, and then set a steaming pot of water on a nearby nightstand. 
Sam,
who sat quietly next to his mother, caressed her ashen face.

Wyeth thoughtful, he looked a Sam and then at Lena. 

“Lena, would you take Sam downstairs and get the boy something to eat?”

Lena bid the sheriff’s request and left the room with the child in tow, leaving them alone.  Waiting until he was certain, the child was not within earshot, he turned his sober eyes on Arabella. 

“There’s only one thing that can be done.”

“What is it?”

“We need to take the baby.”

“What are you saying?”

“The night your mother died I witnessed the physician do a procedure to try and save the baby.”  He spoke
quietly. It was the first time she heard her father mention the long ago evening.  A frightful knot bulged in her chest as she vaguely recalled the nightmarish event.  She had been just a child, but she could still remember hearing her mother’s agonizing screams.  Clearing her throat, she prepared for the worst.

“Surgical?”  Arabella asked, feeling a sudden wave of nausea.  Touching her forehead, she wondered if she were catching some sort of influenza.

“An incision above the womb.”  He paused.  She found his voice strangely detached.  “Then we cauterize the wound to seal.”

Arabella winced.  “Are you sure?’

“There’s really no guarantee Miss Jenny or the baby will make it.  Your momma didn’t, she bled out and died right there, and the babe, it was already dead.”

Arabella turned away from her father.  She clutched at her upset stomach and fought back another wave of dizziness. 

“I should send for Parson Hanly.  He’s the only member of her family who can make a final decision.”

He nodded.  “I reckon so.”

Wyeth watched his daughter quit the room, leaving him alone
with Miss Jenny.  He stared long and hard at the unconscious woman.  Tugging on painful memories, he conceded his wife Elisabeth had been just as young and beautiful, and so full of life, yet cut down short in her prime.  He had loved her like no other.  When he had lost her that evening, he had lost himself. 

Feeling a lump threaten his throat, Wyeth swallowed hard and reached out to touch the woman’s hand.  Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she smiled.  He watched her lift a weak hand and reached out to him.

“Cole Shelton.”  Her voice was soft and full of an enamored emotion meant only for her deceased husband. “You’ve come to take me with you.”

“No, my love.”  Wyeth swallowed hard and whispered back.  He convinced himself it was the least he could do to make her believe, to help give her spiritual strength for what she was about to endure.  “You’re going to stay and raise the baby.”

Mustering his last nerve, Wyeth leaned over and sought Miss Jenny’s lips.  The kiss lasted but a mere second, but the feel of her parched lips melding with his startled his fragile senses.  As he pulled away, he gazed into her glazed-over, honey-brown eyes, and for a breathless moment, she held a weak smile before falling back into a feverish stupor.

“Lena already sent for the Parson …” Arabella spoke up as she entered the room.  He did not need to look back to see his daughter had witnessed the intimate display of affection.  Rather than immediately give in to his
embarrassment, he took a moment, then stood to his feet, before turning to face her.

“She’ll need a heavy dose of laudanum.”  Wyeth murmured.    “I keep necessaries downstairs.”

Arabella watched her father quickly escape the room. 

She wanted tell herself what she had just witnessed was only a figment of her imagination, but she knew better.  Curbing pitiful smile, she swallowed the hopelessness in her throat. 

Was it too late for either of them?

“Bella?” 

Arabella looked up from her anguish and found Parson Hanly staring at her in the doorway his eyes wide with fear.

“I had a visit with Jenny this week.” He spoke up his apprehensive gaze darted toward the bed.  “She told me she was fine and she had a few weeks to go.”

Arabella shook her head. 

“Don’t beat yourself up over it.  Nobody could have known.  What matters is now you are here by her side.”

Jude nodded his head and wandered over to Jenny’s bedside.  The woman lie deathly still and barely made a sound as he reached for her hand.  He took a seat on the bedside and then regrettably shook his head once again.

“If Jenny doesn’t make it …”

Arabella knew exactly what Jude alluded.  She stood to her feet and rushed to his side, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Of course she’s going to make it.  And Bray will do no such thing.”  She clipped, feeling her lips thin with anger.  “He of all people knew better than to leave Jenny alone.”

“Doesn’t matter.”  The Parson returned.  “I am the cause of our brother’s death.  If Jenny should pass then he will see an ultimate betrayal.”

“I found the laudanum, and a straight razor.”

Arabella and Jude both looked up and found the sheriff standing behind them.  His dark and pensive gaze settled on Arabella and then on the Parson, whom he scrutinized closely before handing Arabella a bottle of painkiller.

“It’s time.”  Wyeth urged.  Looking at the unconscious Jenny with a grim tilt to his mouth, he rolled up his sleeves.  “God willing.”

Jude Hanly took a deep breath and exhaled. 

It had been a long and agonizing evening, but he was thankful Jenny and the baby pulled through.  He lifted his eyes and paused, listening to the strain of a lively piano while staring up at a second-story building’s elaborate iron-wrought tier.  

She was there and he knew it. 

Imagine his surprise when Luke had shown up at the Parsonage, pounding on his door before exiting Sundown.  His warning had been brief and to the point.  Something was going down at the bordello, and that something involved the very reason he and his brother remained estranged. 

A reluctant smile crossed his lips.  He had to see for himself.  It had been a months since he had stepped inside a sporting establishment, yet here he was about to do the unthinkable.  The moment he overtook the boardwalk and pushed aside the flapping doors, he immediately inhaled the familiar scent of smoke and spirits, while the sound of clinking glasses and masculine laughter coupled with feminine charm assailed his senses.

Crossing the floor, he watched carefully as he made his way toward the end of a mahogany stained bar.  Covertly tugging down on his hat, he scrunched his shoulders and leaned forward while watching the raucous merriment before him.  At one time, he would have joined in on the
liveliness, but unfortunate circumstance and time had changed him.

“Come to save some souls, Parson?”

Jude tensed. 

He knew someone would eventually recognize him but he had not thought it would happen so soon.  He turned his head and found a handsome woman with billowing auburn hair standing beside him.  Nearly as tall as he, the older woman bowed her head with a surreptitious greeting and tapped the bar with a one long and neatly manicured fingernail. 

“Whiskey, Hammond.”

Jude motioned his head in greeting.  Everyone in town knew Belle whether they wanted to or not, and he was certain she knew of him.  The evening Madame held an air of indifference about her, suggesting she did not give a damn about anything other than making money although now he managed to pique her interest with his sudden appearance in such an ungodly establishment. 

The barkeep named Hammond quickly slid a glass of whiskey across the bar, and with expert practice, Belle reached out and grabbed the sloshing amber drink before it toppled over the counter.

“Thirsty, Parson?”

“There was a time.”  Jude nearly smiled.  “No, thank you.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she downed the shot glass. 

“So what brings you here?”

Jude looked down at the counter.  “Looking for someone.”

Belle passed him a knowing look and then leaned forward, touching his arm she pointed toward a nearby rostrum.

“Careful now.”  She forced a smile through black eyes, which glittered with misled assumption and an apparent disdain.  “I believe God’s time is more valuable than one measly second with the likes of any one of those girls.”

Jude followed her lead and squared his attention on a bevy of beautiful women.  On further inspection, he narrowed his eyes and unwittingly swore beneath his breath.  Sitting on a patron’s knee was the one person in the entire world he knew had the power to destroy his unwavering faith.