Wilda's Outlaw (31 page)

****

The lumpy bed smelled like a pigsty, so Calder finally gave up sleeping. Foolish to snooze away what might be his last hours on this earth. Someone had thoughtfully sawed a small opening to serve as a window in the log jail. Not big enough for a man to crawl through, but it did reveal a patch of star-strewn black sky. Kansas might offer its share of torturous weather, but it also displayed the prettiest nights he’d seen anywhere. Maybe that’s because there was so blamed much sky. With no moon, the glittering stars were thick as lightning bugs on a hot summer night.

Put him in mind of when he was a kid and he and his brothers would sprawl on a pallet after dark pointing out pictures in the heavens and waiting for the glory of a shooting star. They lived in the Ozarks then and homesteads were few and far between. Sometimes after the supper dishes were done, Mama would join them, and he could smell the lye soap on her hands. Papa never had the patience for such folderol as stargazing. If a thing didn’t get something important accomplished, he couldn’t see doing it. A working man was Papa, and he expected his boys to be the same. But Calder was a dreamer, Papa said, and dreamers never done nothing but dream.

“You cain’t get nothing in this world by just wishing for it, boy,” he’d say, and put him to work behind the plow.

Calder soon learned that he could dream a lot behind that old horse and plow, not having anything too complicated to think about except gee and haw and keeping the rows straight.

Tears blurred the stars when he thought of Papa and his brothers, killed by bushwhackers all those years ago. His two brothers held out such promise, Papa always said. And he’d tell him how he ought to be more like them. Turned out they’d never had a chance to fulfill any of those promises. It was still a mystery to Calder why he’d been chosen of the three to live when he was clearly the worthless one of the bunch. Maybe that was why he kept trying to avenge their deaths. Just couldn’t get it out of his system, that guilt over him living when they hadn’t. Maybe, even trying to get himself killed. Surprise filled him up, like a long drink of cold water. If that were true, then he was purely a fool and always had been.

He thought of Wilda and how he wished he could have a life with her. Lying with her gentled his soul, till he didn’t hanker so bad to go out and kill those who’d destroyed his family. She put her soft hands on him, touched his body with those warm, moist lips, tamed him down to his toes, only to turn him into some sort of wild man. He’d never known anyone like her, never known life could be another way than what his had always been. But she was lost to him just like everyone else he’d ever loved.

Now, he was going to die before he could even fulfill that dream. He went back to the cot and lay down, breathing through his mouth to blot out the awful odor from the mattress. Finally he fell into a sleep haunted by bloody nightmares and coulda-beens.

When he awoke his belly was as empty as a church pew on a Saturday night. Maybe they were going to save some money and hang him before they had to feed him. Morning came and went with no breakfast, not even a cup of black coffee, and by noonday he still hadn’t seen that Sheriff Calumet. Some lanky deputy had come in a few minutes earlier. Rattling keys like he was all-important, he sat himself down, propped his worn boots up on the desk and leaned back without sparing his prisoners so much as a look.

“I could use a drink of water,” Calder told him, but the man paid him no mind.

The old man, who’d been sleeping when they tossed Calder in the common cell the night before, slouched on the edge of his cot, head in both hands, moaning. They’d probably let him out as soon as he could walk. The town drunk, no doubt. It was a wonder half the men who had to live in Hays didn’t carry that tag.

No matter what he did, his thoughts went back to Wilda. What had happened to her when they dragged her back to Fairhaven and her remittance man? Clearly, she didn’t want to marry the fellow, but it was probably best for her, especially if what they’d done together caused her to be with child. Having a husband sure beat being in Rachel’s position, or for that matter traipsing around the country with an outlaw whose only prospects were a life on the run. Best for her if they strung him up and put an end to all this nonsense anyway.

If Mama and Papa could see him now, they sure wouldn’t be proud, not even considering his reasons for what he was doing. Papa always said vengeance was a dead-end road, and it looked like he might be right. Besides, he and Baron and Deke had done very little good for the folks they’d set out to help. They couldn’t even ease Rachel’s troubles. He hadn’t been able to help her when all she wanted was to go home to her folks.

The front door flew open with a bang, the deputy jerked his boots off the desk and came to his feet. Calumet’s huge presence filled the tiny cubicle.

“Ever thing going okay?” the sheriff asked, hanging his dusty hat on a peg and sliding into the vacated chair that groaned under his weight.

The deputy, crowded against the barred door of the cell, bobbed his head. “No sound out of either of them. I was fixin’ to turn ole Ed loose, seeing as how he can walk. That other’n just stands there staring through the bars like a dumbfounded hound. Reckon he don’t care much for his prospects.”

“I sent a wire up to Topeka. They’ll get a judge down here in a few days, I reckon, and we’ll get this boy tried and hung. You had dinner?”

“Nor breakfast either,” the deputy said.

“Me, too,” Calder added. “I could use a drink of water. You gonna starve me to death, save the hangman’s fee?”

Calumet acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “You go on over to Betty Lou’s and fetch us all something to eat. ’Cept for Ed, there. Turn him loose. His old lady can feed him.” He gestured toward the cell, and Calder’s breath caught.

What if he busted out when the deputy opened the door? All he had to do was shove his way past the skinny fella and run. That fat old fart of a sheriff couldn’t move fast enough to catch him. Probably shoot him down in the street, though. With that distinct possibility lurking in the back of his mind, he stepped back against the wall and meekly allowed his cellmate to leave without a fuss. No sense dying before he absolutely had to. Besides, he was hoping this Betty Lou person would send over some hot biscuits and butter.

At long last she did.

A cup of steaming coffee black as tar and a plate with a slice of ham, two buttered biscuits and a bowl of something that resembled paste but turned out to be oatmeal. She made good biscuits, but her oatmeal could use some work. He ate it first so the rest of the meal could take away the taste and feel of the stuff slithering down his throat in lumps. The coffee was good and he drank it greedily.

****

Smith returned from the dry goods store with some britches, a chambray shirt, men’s underdrawers and a pair of brogans. “I got boy’s sizes that looked about right. If something don’t fit we can trade it for another. Sorry about the drawers. I didn’t…I mean, I couldn’t…” He flushed and turned away. “I’ll leave ye be to change.”

The thought of his big, blackened hands fumbling around through women’s unmentionables made her laugh. That she could still do so filled her with hope.

What he called britches fit good over the drawers, but the shirt was too tight over the corset, and gaped open between the buttons.

“You sure look funny.” Tyra tugged down the hem of the shirt, but there was no improvement. “Why don’t you take off that hateful corset? I haven’t worn one since we got here,” she bragged. “I’ll unlace it if you want.”

“Well, I suppose so.”

“It sure feels good to be free of the thing.”

“You don’t think it’s wicked?”

Tyra cupped her small breasts with both hands. “Well, it may be. Reckon that’s why it feels so good to be free of the nasty thing?” She flicked a nipple with one thumb and grinned.

“Tyra Duncan, shame on you.”

The child only giggled.

“What you two up to in there?” Smith said from where he waited with his back turned.

“Just finishing up,” Wilda told him, and unbuttoned her shirt.

“Hooray for you.” Tyra danced up and down.

Together they removed the corset and she re-buttoned the shirt. Her nipples stood out against the fabric. She cupped her breasts, regarded the results for a moment. Maybe she ought to bind them. Though not overly large, they did fill the front of the shirt rather well.

Running both palms down over her chest, she shivered and thought of Calder. His hands, his mouth, his body, touching her, kissing her, making love to her. She had to find him, set him free so they could be together. Forever.

Tyra, who stood behind her, said, “Ready?” and she jumped.

Smith said he thought it best to wait till dark to ride into Hays. That meant staying in Victoria until evening.

So nothing would look out of sorts, he kept the blacksmith shop open until dusk fell and street fires were lit. Wilda and Tyra remained out of sight. He’d brought each a bowl of stew at mid-afternoon, and that evening came into the back carrying two steaming plates piled high with food. Easily enough for the three of them.

“Told ’em I had lots of work to do and wanted to bring supper over here for me and my helper, and I was blamed hungry so they’d better give me plenty.”

Together, they ate the savory offering of beans thick with bits of ham, cornbread, fried potatoes and a chunk of apple cobbler fragrant with cinnamon.

She was beginning to like most of the food in this strange country, but couldn’t quite understand the attraction of cornbread. She gave hers to Smith. “It’s not exactly pease pudding,” she told him with a laugh.

“Thank God,” Smith rumbled, and polished off the offering. “Ye about ready?” He wiped his hands on the sides of his pants. He’d removed the leather apron earlier and donned a shirt he called linsey-woolsey.

She liked the feel of hers better. Not quite so coarse.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted. “But, yes, I’m ready. We have to get him out of there, Smith. I don’t want him to hang, and especially not because of me.”

He placed the empty plates near the anvil and rose. “I’ll saddle the horses and bring ’em round back. No sense in making a public exit for these flap-mouths to talk about later when the sheriff’s men come looking.”

“Did anyone come today searching for us?”

“Not to me, they didn’t. But you never know if they did or didn’t. No one said anything over to Betty Lou’s, so probably not.”

“Oh, goodness, what if Prescott is dead? What if I-I killed him?”

Smith stopped and stared at her. “You think you might’ve?”

“I don’t know. I-I vomited on him, and he—”

The smithy roared. “You upchucked on him? I don’t think that’s a killing action, child.”

“But he fell. He was drunk and he fell, and when I left he was laying there on the floor, not moving or moaning or anything.”

“Passed out, most likely. That’s the way of drunks. He may not even remember any of what went on.”

“That would be wonderful. Do you think maybe they haven’t missed me yet?”

“That could very well be. But it’s still best if we leave out the back way. Sneak off like thieves in the night. I’m packing up my stuff on an extra horse. I sure hope Calder’s mount is handy when we get there. Time will tell.”

“You sound like you’re looking forward to this.”

“I am, little lady. I am indeed. I ain’t done nothing so exciting since I fought at Manassas, and that was a pure agitating experience that set my old heart to pounding. I want to feel that once more before I check out. A fella can get to where he likes such as that. Now, don’t you worry none. This is gonna go smooth as glass. I guarantee it.”

He went to get the horses and she waited, not sure at all that she believed his guarantee. Anything could happen to get them all in a lot of trouble. Still, she would not back down, would do her part to see Calder set free. It was entirely her fault he was in jail, and she intended to make that right somehow.

Chapter Eighteen

After dismounting beneath a grove of trees, Smith handed Wilda the reins. “You two wait here with the horses. We don’t come back by dawn, you hightail it out of here. Understand? No need you getting caught up in this. That boy’d be purely put out if I led you into trouble.”

“I want to help. It’s my fault he’s there.”

“I can care for the horses,” Tyra said. “That way she can go with you.”

He stared at both of them, shaking his head. “No sense arguing, little lady. She ain’t going with me and that’s that. I grew up with sisters and I know how fractious you can get, but I ain’t having none of it. I get one of you hurt and Josh, uh, whoever he is, will have my head. And who could blame him. Now, you two stay here and hold the horses. Can’t have them roaming around or maybe causing trouble. Anyone comes along the trail, you sit tight and keep these animals quiet.”

“I don’t understand why we don’t ride in and take the horses, break him out and ride off.”

Smith raised his shoulders and sighed. Squinted at Wilda. “If we can’t get out without being seen, we’re dead. We go hoorahing out of that place we’ll be run down and shot. Gotta get clean away so’s they don’t know till we’ve put a lot of miles behind us. We’ll be out on foot, gal. You keep watch and you stay where I’ve put you, the both of you. You got that?”

The sound of the shotgun pulled from its leather scabbard punctuated his words. She probably ought to stop arguing before he decided to shoot her and be done with it. Before she could nod in acquiescence, he was gone, leaving her in the blanket wool darkness to deal with Tyra, four nervous horses and her fear.

Enclosed in a shadowy world beneath the grove of trees, she clung to Tyra’s hand and listened to Smith’s footfalls until she could hear nothing but the wind. The horses, as if they too were frightened of what might dwell in the unknown night, crowded around her. Velvety noses rubbed at her arms and they made soft sounds down in their throats. As anxious perhaps, as she was.

The lights of Hays City glowed against the dark horizon. Surely aware of his fate, Calder waited there. Did he pray for rescue or had he fallen into despair? She could scarcely wait to see him, touch him, feel his arms around her. It didn’t matter where they would go or what they would do. Not as long as he was safe.