The Yellow Rose (20 page)

Clay blinked with surprise, and for a moment, he could not speak.

“Well, that’s what I’ve been talking about.” Suddenly, a thought flashed through Clay’s mind.
She’s telling me she’s going to marry Kern.
A rush of anger and disappointment filled him, and he could not think of a single thing to say.

Jerusalem reached out and put her hand on the back of his neck. He was taken by surprise, for she was not overly prone to show her affection in this way. “Who was it you were thinking of marrying?” he asked cautiously, aware of the warmth and strength of her hand on his bare neck.

“You.”

Clay reacted strongly. His torso twisted around, and he said, “Me? I thought it was Kern.”

“That’s because you don’t know anything about women, Clay Taliferro. But I’m going to ask you three questions, and I want you to answer them honestly.”

Clay nodded. He could not imagine what the questions were. “Sure, Jerusalem, just ask.”

“One. Do you love me?”

“I do.”

“Two. Will you stay with me forever and not run off and leave me?”

Instantly, Clay knew she was thinking of Jake and how she had had to raise her family alone. He knew she had desires for a man to fill her loneliness, and yet she had been cut off from her man. “I won’t never leave you. I promise.”

Jerusalem hesitated, then said, “The third one may be the hardest of all.” She hesitated, then said quietly, “Will you stop running from God?”

Clay sat very still. He did not answer at once, and he knew what she was asking. He realized he had been running from God most of his adult life, and he also knew that she longed for his well-being in every way. He had watched her since she had found God in her own life, and now he took a deep breath and said, “Yes, Jerusalem—I’ll stop running.”

A joy came into Jerusalem’s eyes then. She reached out for him, and he turned to meet her. Her arms went around his neck, and she pulled him close. Clay held her tightly as her soft lips responded to his kiss. And in his arms was a sweetness and a richness that filled all the empty places he’d ever felt. At that moment, he was aware of what life’s treasure really was.

It was here in his arms, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her for the rest of his days.

He lifted his lips, and her eyes were filled with tears, but he knew they were tears of happiness. “You know, by himself a man don’t have much purpose. He’s just like the wind blowing, with no idea where it’s going.

But when a man finds his woman, he sees himself, and he knows what he is. And that’s what I’m feeling right now, Jerusalem.”

The two sat there silently, for both of them were too full of emotion to speak. But finally Jerusalem said, “We’ll get married and love each other all of our lives. And whichever of us dies first, the other one will hold their hand. And then the one that goes first will wait on the other side until the homecoming.”

Clay smiled and said, “Well, when will it be? Gettin’ married, I mean.”

“Today’s fine with me.”

Clay stared at her in shock, then suddenly laughed. “Why, woman, we can’t get married today!”

“Why can’t we?”

Clay grinned and said, “That’s right. Why can’t we?”

Jerusalem got to her feet. “You go get the preacher and bring him to the house. Go by the Golden Lady and tell Julie to come. All the children are home, so we’ll get married at noon, and we’ll leave at one o’clock on our honeymoon.”

“Honeymoon? Where will we go?”

“Some place where we’ll be alone, and you can tell me over and over again how much you love me and how you’ll never leave me.”

Clay suddenly grabbed her and began to dance around. His laughter filled the silence, and his horse stared white-eyed at him. Clay kissed Jerusalem, then ran and jumped on his mount, jerked him around, and kicked him into a dead run. He jerked his hat off and was yelling like a wild Comanche, leaving a trail of dust as he headed toward town to find the preacher.

Jerusalem watched him, laughter welling up from deep within her.

She watched until all she could see was the cloud of dust that the hooves of his horse stirred up. Finally, she turned to the river and stared at it for a long time. She reached over, picked up a rock, and tossed it out into the river. She watched as the circles spread out, and then she looked up and said, “Lord, take care of my man. Stay on his trail like a blue tick hound hot on the trail of a fat coon. Run him up a tree and keep him there until he gives up and loves You with all of his heart.”

Turning, she went and got on her horse. She took the reins, and then for one moment she sat in the saddle silently. Then Jerusalem laughed and said aloud, “They’re in for quite a surprise when I get there and tell them Clay and I are getting married today. I hope they like it.” She kicked the horse into a gallop and leaned over, urging him to greater speed. As she did, she did what many women had done. “Jerusalem Taliferro,” she spoke the name aloud. “Mrs. Clayton Taliferro. That does sound good.” Then she began to prepare in her mind the little speech that she would give to her children about their new pa.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

J
erusalem stirred herself, moving under the cover for warmth. She stretched luxuriously and slowly came out of a sleep as sound as any she had ever had. She sighed and turned over. When she opened her eyes, she found Clay propped up on one elbow, looking at her and smiling.

“What are you doing?” Jerusalem asked. She reached out and touched his chest, leaving her hand there, feeling his strength and taking in the look of his eyes.

“Well,” Clay said, the corners of his mouth twitching, “I’m thinking of taking advantage of you.”

Jerusalem laughed, reached out, and pulled him to her. He nudged over and held her tightly. “You can’t do it,” she whispered in a demure voice

“Why can’t I?”

“Because a woman has to be unwilling for a man to take advantage of her.” She kissed him, but he pulled his head back and ran his hand down her back, which always drove her crazy. “The next woman I marry,” he said, “is gonna be shy. It does purely discombobulate a man to find out he’s married a woman with no shame.”

“I really don’t have any shame.” She put herself against him and hugged him. When he moved his head back to stare at her again, she said, “I’ve got to get up and fix biscuits.”

Clay grinned broadly. “I didn’t marry you to fix biscuits.”

He held her tightly, knowing that she loved to be held. He had found this out four months earlier at the very beginning of their marriage. At night she had to be touching him, even if it was just lightly with her hand on his shoulder or her toes against his feet. She loved to be held as she went to sleep, and now he teased her, as he often did. “You know,” he said, his face only inches from hers, “the Bible says that all those old fellows in the Bible had several wives. Maybe that’s what I ought to do. I could have one wife to make the biscuits, one wife might wash my clothes, and one wife to do this.” He kissed her again, and she held on to him.

Jerusalem’s first marriage had never brought her much joy, for Jake had been a rough, careless man seeking his own gratification. Clay had surprised her, for tough as he was on the outside, she discovered from the beginning that he had a deeply tender and sentimental side. Usually, he was careful to keep this concealed from others, but Jerusalem had discovered a genuine tenderness in him. He had taken her to New Orleans for their honeymoon, and she knew she would treasure those memories forever. It had shocked her how he had stirred her from the first, arousing a passion she had never dreamed of. Now she held him and said, “I guess the biscuits will wait . . .”

Moriah was watching her mother closely as Jerusalem took the biscuits out of the oven. “You just look beautiful, Ma. Marriage agrees with you.”

Jerusalem shot a glance at her daughter and saw that she was somewhat wistful. “I guess it does. Clay’s made me very happy.”

“Well, you’ve made him happy, too. Is Kern Herendeen still mad at you for refusing to marry him?”

“Yes, he is. At Clay, too.”

“I’m glad you didn’t marry him. I didn’t like him.”

“I’m glad, too. You know, Moriah, I nearly made a terrible mistake.

At times I really thought of marrying him.” She put the pan of biscuits down on the table and looked up and saw a look of concern on Moriah’s face. “What is it?” Jerusalem asked.

“I hope I’m as happy with Len as you are with Clay.”

“I hope you are, too.”

“Ma, I want to ask you. How can you be sure you’ve got the one person in the whole world that’s just the right one for you?”

“I think God has to do that. There’s too many ways for a woman to make a mistake, but when God puts a couple together, it will be right.”

Moriah busied herself setting the table, but Jerusalem could tell something was troubling her. Jerusalem put her hand on her daughter’s arm and looked at her. “Something’s bothering you. What is it? You can tell me.”

“Well, I’m so . . . so
ignorant
, Ma.”

“Ignorant! About what?”

Color came into Moriah’s face. “You know. About—well, about intimate things.”

Jerusalem said gently, “It’s better to be ignorant than experienced.” As she looked at the girl, she remembered how shy and ignorant she herself had been when she had married Jake. She made a quick decision and said, “After the men have had breakfast and leave, we’ll talk. Marriage is always a shock for a pure young girl. It was for me. But I’m going to tell you what to expect. If you and Len love each other, you’ll find out eventually how to love. But maybe I can make it a little bit easier . . .”

“Be careful with this hoss, Devoe. He’s a good one.”

“I’m always careful,” Devoe Crutchfield said. He was a young man of twenty-five, strongly built with big, bulky muscles from his blacksmithing trade. He had flaming red hair, mild blue eyes, and a teasing manner. “Haven’t seen much of you the last four months, Clay. What you been doin’?”

Clay turned swiftly and stared at Devoe. He knew the blacksmith was teasing him about staying close to home during the early days of his marriage. “You watch yourself, Devoe. I might be forced to shoot the next feller that tries to tease me.”

Devoe grinned, not worried in the least. “Well, I figure I might try that marriage bit myself sometime.” He ran his hand down the stallion’s back, and he looked at Clay with interest. “I was surprised that Herendeen didn’t kick up a fuss when you beat him out with Jerusalem.”

“He didn’t have no chance a’tall.” Clay grinned. “I’m downright irresistible.”

“Yeah, I bet. When I get ready to go a courtin’, you can give me lessons on how to charm the ladies. I’ll have this hoss ready in an hour.”

“All right, Devoe.”

Clay left the stable and headed for the Golden Lady Saloon, but he heard a muffled voice calling his name. “Clay! Clay Taliferro!”

Clay stopped and turned to his right. There in the window was a man’s face framed, his hands holding on to the bars.
Who could be calling me from the jail?
Clay wondered. He moved over closer, directly opposite the window.

“It’s me, Quaid Shafter. Lordy, it’s good to see you, Clay.”

“Quaid, is that you?”

Quaid Shafter’s face was battered. He had a large scab on his forehead, and his one eye was purple and almost puffed shut. His smile was infectious, however, and Clay thought instantly of how much he resembled his father, Jed Shafter. Jed had been a good friend to Clay during his time in the mountains, and he had fond memories of the man. Quaid, his son, had come just after Clay had left. “What are you doin’ in jail, Quaid?”

“I’ve been arrested. Can’t you see?” He grinned. “I was disturbing the peace.”

Clay laughed. “That’s hard to do in this part of the world. You didn’t shoot a lawyer or somethin’?”

“Why, no. Don’t matter if you shoot a lawyer now and then. Too many of them anyway. No, I had a little trouble at the Golden Lady. I’d appreciate it,” he said, “if you could get me out of here, Clay.”

“I’ll see what the sheriff says.”

“I’ll wait for you right here,” Quaid said, smiling.

Walking straight to the front door, Clay entered the office and found Sheriff Joel Bench sitting in a chair, tilted back against the wall. “Howdy, Clay. What’s goin’ on?”

“You got an old friend of mine in there.”

“You mean Shafter? If he’s your friend, I feel sorry for you.”

“He said he was disturbin’ the peace.”

Sheriff Bench brought his chair down and spread his elbows on the desk. “Disturbin’ the peace? That’s a nice way of puttin’ it! He wrecked the Golden Lady Saloon. Frisco said it’ll cost at least a hundred dollars, maybe two, to fix all the damage he did. But I’m fining him twenty-five dollars. He laid out four men and punched me in the ear before I buffaloed him. He can either pay it or squat in a cell for a couple of months.”

Clay shook his head. “I’ll pay the fine, Sheriff, and I’ll settle with Frisco.”

Bench stared at Clay and demanded, “Why would you do that? He ain’t your kin, is he?”

“No, but his pa was—a real good friend. Jed kept some Cheyenne from lifting my scalp once. He’s dead now, and I never could make it up to him. I guess maybe I can help his boy out.”

“Well, all right. Never mind the fine, Clay. Just settle with Frisco.

Shafter ain’t got a dime. He lost his money, his hoss, and his gun. Don’t own nothin’ but the clothes he’s standin’ with, and they were pretty tore up in the fracas. I’ll get him.”

Clay waited as Bench disappeared into the bowels of the jail, wondering if he was doing the right thing. When Quaid Shafter came out, his clothes seemed to be hanging on by a few threads.

“I appreciate this, Clay. I knew the good Lord wouldn’t let me stay in this pitiful old jail.”

“The Lord ain’t got nothin’ to do with it, Shafter,” Sheriff Bench said sourly. “Clay vouches for you, so you can go. The next time,” he warned, “you cut your wolf loose, I won’t be so charitable.”

“Thanks for the bed.” Shafter grinned. “I slept like a baby. You ready, Clay?”

“I guess so.” The two left the office, and Shafter seemed to be totally unashamed of what he had done at the Golden Lady Saloon. He was taller than Clay and weighed possibly one eighty-five, a lean, muscular man with a V-shaped face. He had a wide mouth and deep-set, light blue eyes that looked very pale against his tanned features. The most striking feature was his hair, which was pure silver. It had been that way since he was sixteen years old, which was when Clay had first met him. It was glossy and had a wave, and he wore it down long enough to come over his collar. As Clay glanced at him, he thought,
It’s funny how that silver hair makes his face seem younger.
“Reckon you could eat somethin’, Quaid?”