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March 16, 1874
March roared in like a lion--a wet, angry lion--and days turned into weeks with Hank still locked behind bars. With the passage of time, he grew increasingly irritable and depressed, and a moody listlessness seemed to have permanently replaced the determined spirit that had always characterized the man with whom I had fallen in love. The high winds and dark, gloomy skies mirrored Hank's inner agitation and contributed to my sense of foreboding as I spent long hours unsuccessfully trying to interest him in games of cards or chess and in tidbits from the newspapers. Despite the fact that he had asked me to marry him, I felt him withdrawing more and more deeply inside of himself, to a place from which I was gradually becoming excluded. At the end of a school day, in mid-month, I gathered my things together and slipped into my hooded cloak, dreading the walk to the livery in the cold steady rain that had been falling on and off for several weeks. I had carefully banked the coals in the stove and begun to extinguish the lamps when the door at the front of the school opened. "Miss McShane?" "Yes?" My eyes moved over the tall, slender young man with shiny, pale blond hair falling well past his shoulders. "May I help you?" "I'm Zachary Lawson." Even though I was momentarily disconcerted by his unexpected arrival in Colorado Springs, I had known instantly that the man standing in front of me was Hank's son. Zach's mouth was slightly fuller and his face less angular, his eyes more blue-violet than cornflower, and his hair was straight and much lighter in color than his father's, but their features were more alike than I had ever expected them to be. "Zach." I dropped my books back onto the desk and went to him, my hands outstretched to clasp his own. "I'm so glad that you're here." "I read in the Denver newspaper that Pa was arrested for murder." His face troubled, his eyes anxiously searched mine. "The sheriff has the wrong man behind bars," I reassured him quietly. "Your father was with me--several miles outside of town--until well after the time when Cole Walker died." "Then my Pa's...okay?" He let his breath out slowly, relaxing muscles that were tensed to receive bad news. "They beat Hank rather badly when they arrested him, but physically he's healing. Emotionally, it's an entirely different story." I sighed. "No one likes losing their freedom, but he seems to be finding it even more difficult to cope with than most people do." "The paper didn't say when Pa would be going to trial, so I didn't know if...if he..." His gaze darted to the floor and back to meet mine. "I came straight here from the train." "The Circuit Court Judge won't be back for another month." I felt my heart twist as I realized that until I had said that he was "behind bars" Zach hadn't known whether his father was dead or alive. "Hank will be in jail for at least that long--unless we can convince Sheriff Simon that he's innocent." "Any hope of that?" "I wish that I could give you a different answer, but I honestly don't think so." I led him over to the stove to dry out and get warm. "Daniel Simon and your father have had bad blood between them from the minute that Daniel arrived in town. He's made up his mind that Hank is guilty, and so far nothing has been enough to convince him otherwise." "Pa should've sent me a telegram. Should've told me what was going on." "I wanted him to," I admitted. "I thought that you had every right to know. But he felt that it would upset you too much while you were preparing to take your final exams. That you had worked too hard to let anything interfere with your ability to graduate." "He's all the family I've got." "Sometimes I think he forgets that you're not a little boy any more." I smiled slightly. "Perhaps all parents are like that...I know that Daddy still thinks of me as being about 12 years old." "Could be he didn't want me around." "You probably know even better than I do how difficult it is for Hank to ask--but he needs you, Zach." I laid my hand on his arm. "And to be quite frank, so do I. I've been feeling awfully alone in this." "He sent me a letter about a month ago, saying the two of you were gonna get married. Are you stickin' by him?" Zach's quiet voice held no hint of a challenge, and yet I knew that one had been issued. "Or does him being in jail change things?" "I love your father--nothing will ever change that." I felt my cheeks grow warm at confessing my feelings for Hank to his nearly-grown son. "And wherever we live, it will always be your home as well as ours. I truly mean that." "Not many women would be willin' to take in their husband's byblow." His gaze held mine, watching for any sign of ambivalence. "I have no idea what other women would do--nor do I particularly care," I said levelly. "All that matters to me is that you're Hank's son. I don't expect you to ever come to think of me as a replacement for your mother or Ruby--I'm only ten years older than you are--but I would like for the three of us to become a family. And I would like for you and your father to have an opportunity to spend time together--to make up for some of the years apart." "Pa did the best he could by me." Zach's tone was slightly defensive. "I know." I nodded, beginning to feel a bond with this sensitive young man who shared my understanding of the caring heart hidden behind Hank's hardened exterior. "He told me about you the first time that we ever had dinner together, and it was obvious to me then that it was difficult for him to have you living that far away. That he loved you enough to want to give you an opportunity to develop your talent...as well as a much better life than you could have ever had growing up in a saloon." "Wish you'd shown up and married Pa a long time ago." Zach grinned. "So do I." I returned his smile, realizing that I had somehow passed a test. "Where are your things? At the Gold Nugget?" "I left my trunk at the station with Horace. I didn't know where I would end up spendin' the night." "We can get you a room at the hotel--or you're welcome to come out and stay with me," I offered quietly. "My house has a spare bedroom." "Much obliged for the offer." He brushed too-long bangs back out of his eyes as he turned to go. "Guess I need to talk to Pa before I decide." "Wait. I'll walk over with you. I was just about to leave." Zach watched while I put out the last two lamps, then carried my books as we began to pick our way through the mud toward the center of town. Suddenly anxious about what Hank's reaction would be to his son seeing him locked behind bars, I decided that it would be better for them both if I could find a way to warn him. "I could use something hot to drink, and you must be hungry after spending three hours on the train." I recalled my brother's ravenous appetite at age eighteen. "Why don't we stop at Grace's before we go over to the jail?" During the past year Sully and Robert E had transformed what had once been an outdoor cafe into a restaurant with the ability to serve customers year-round. A long, low bungalow-style building had been added to the site, and even though most residents of the town still sought out the tables in the courtyard on any day when there was even a hint of warmth from the sun, I was grateful for the cozy heat from the stoves inside. Sighing with relief at getting out of the driving wind and rain, I turned as Grace bustled in from the kitchen, wiping her wet hands on her apron. "This is the only place in all of Colorado Springs where I ever thaw out and get warm," I groused. "Then you oughta come around more often." The welcoming smile on her face belied her gentle fussing. "I haven't seen you for at least a week." "I haven't had much of an appetite," I admitted. "Zach!" She suddenly recognized the tall male at my side. "I can't even remember the last time I saw you... You've shot up about a foot taller since then! Welcome home." "Thank you. It feels good to be back." "What can I get for you two?" "For me, coffee--but Zach's interested in hearing what's on the menu." "I've got meatloaf, chicken pot pie, and ham and beans." She ticked off the day's offerings on her fingers. "Served with bread and two vegetables. And if you're in the mood for dessert, there's pumpkin pie or dried apple cake." "I'd like the meatloaf and cake, please." He sat down at one of the tables. "I won't be hungry for awhile yet, so if you don't mind, I'll go on ahead and take Hank some coffee." I looked at Grace meaningfully over the boy's head as I filled two mugs. Catching my eye she nodded slightly, understanding my silent plea to keep him occupied for awhile so that I could talk privately with his father. "I was hopin' somebody would come along to keep me company while my cornbread was in the oven, and I had a few minutes to catch my breath." She turned her warm smile on the boy. "After Zach gets through with his supper, I'll send Hank's meal on over there with him. That way he'll get his fried green tomatoes while they're good and hot. I swear that man could just about eat his weight in fried green tomatoes." 	"So could I." I flashed her a look of gratitude as I juggled the mugs of steaming hot coffee. "Send some along for me--and a piece of that cake, too." I opened the door to the jail, then set both cups down so that I could remove my wet cloak. Daniel was sitting at his desk, and he quickly got up and walked around to block my pathway. "Hank don't wanna see you," he reported bluntly. "What do you mean?" I frowned. "Just what I said. Hank claims he don't want you comin' around here no more." "Then he'll have to tell me that for himself." I pushed past the sheriff and went to stand in front of Hank's cell. He was lying on the bunk, his back to me, and I noticed that he was wearing the same clothing that he had had on for the past three days. His hair was dark with oil at the scalp--its length a tangled mess--and he was curled into himself, his injured arm cradled protectively at the elbow with the opposite palm. The floor around his bed was littered with cigarette butts and ashes, some of which had fallen onto the congealed grease that covered the barely touched pork chop and potatoes from his noon meal, and steamed cabbage added its pungent aroma to the rank mix of stale sweat and urine, almost making me gag. "Hank." I grasped the bars in my hands and called his name. He didn't answer, and I wearily leaned my forehead against the grilled barrier that separated us. "I realize that this is extremely difficult for you, but it hasn't exactly been a picnic for me either. I'm tired--and I'm almost as angry and frustrated that you're in here for no reason as you are. Hopefully, it will all be over soon." "It's already over," he said flatly, turning over on the thin mattress to face me. "Least it is for you." "What is that supposed to mean?" "I'm sayin' I want you to stop comin' here--to leave me alone." "You don't mean that." I shook my head. "You were right back at the start." He lit another cigarette, pushing his greasy hair out of his face. "Never woulda worked between me'n'you. We musta been crazy to ever think it might." "Hank, don't." "Ya know that half the town's bettin' on whether or not I'll get under yer skirt--watchin' to see if I can make the Ice Princess melt?" His voice was as hard as steel. "They're wrong about you--you got plenty of fire...but the price for a man warmin' hisself at it is somethin' higher'n I'm willin' to pay." "Stop it!" I ordered sharply. "I won't let you do this. I won't allow you to drive me away, no matter how hard you try." "Hell, give me a bottle of good whiskey and a willin' whore in my bed, and I'm happy. What would I want with a wife? Once the lamp's out, one woman's the same as another. I oughta know." "If there is one thing that I'm absolutely sure of it's that you love me just as much as I love you." I felt my heart beating wildly as I glared at him. "You love me, Hank. You know damned well that you do!" "Five dollars buys the only kinda love I want or need," he corrected me drily. "I never been the marryin' kind." "Exactly what kind are you?" I growled, suddenly angry. "Are you the gutless kind who doesn't care enough about himself or the people who love him to do anything but lie around in a pigsty, rotting in his own filth and self-pity, while he waits for the hangman? Or are you the bullheaded kind who would rather die alone, dirty, and feeling sorry for himself than to let anyone close enough to know that he's hurting inside?" "Maybe I'm both." He turned his back on me again. "Listen to me," I demanded, my eyes filling with tears. "That morning when you came to my house and told me that you had to leave Colorado, you asked me to wait--you swore that we would still have a future together. You've said that you need me--that you want me more than you've ever wanted anything else in your life. I believed you when you said those words, and I believe in you now. If you love me, get your ass up and start fighting for the life that you promised me the two of us would share!" "It ain't gonna happen. So go home. Get outta here and forget about me. About us." "Is that what you're planning to tell your son?" I asked levelly. "Tell him anything you want--by that time it won't matter." "It's not my job to tell him. It's yours. And you had better decide exactly what it is that you're going to say...because a few minutes from now he'll walk through that door, and you'll have to face him." "Zach's here?" He sat up on the bunk, crushing the cigarette out with his boot. "I left him over at the Cafe." I nodded. "Grace was filling him up with meatloaf and cake, trying to stall him for long enough to let me get word to you that he had come in on the afternoon train." "Only reason he'd come now is if he found out." "He stumbled across the news in the Denver Post." With the memory of the pain and sense of rejection that I had seen in Zach's eyes fresh in my mind, I saw no reason to soften my criticism. "I should never have listened to you. I should have sent Zach a telegram whether you wanted me to or not. Anything would have been better than to be reading a newspaper and discover that your own father had been arrested for murder nearly a month earlier and no one had even bothered to let you know. As it is, you've left him thinking that maybe you didn't want him around--left him wondering whether you meant to go to your grave without even giving him a chance to say goodbye." Cursing softly under his breath, he stood up, unbuttoning the soiled shirt and dropping it to the floor. "Hey, Simon!" he shouted, his tone urgent. "Get me some warm water in here! And a bar of soap!" "If you weren't stinkin' up my jail so bad, I'd tell ya to forget it 'til you learn the right way to ask for what you want," Daniel grumbled, as he went to check the temperature of the water in the kettle that was already heating on the stove. "My kid's on his way over." Hank's voice held an unexpected hint of an apology, as he picked up old newspapers and smoothed his blanket in a quick attempt to tidy his cell. Daniel brought a towel and soap, and then passed a broom through the bars when he noticed Hank's efforts. "You sweep, and I'll get them dirty dishes and empty the chamber pot when I come back with hot water." When the sheriff returned he was carrying our forgotten mugs of coffee, along with the metal pitcher. "These might still be drinkable." "Thank you." I sipped from mine, finding the coffee still warm. Daniel opened the cell to give Hank the water for bathing and to remove the offending items, then hesitated. "Go on in." He glanced at me, motioning with his head to the door. "If you two are gonna fight like cats and dogs, no sense in me and the rest of the town havin' to listen to every single word of it." Although I was locked into a l2 by l2 foot cubicle with him, Hank completely ignored my presence. Grabbing his brush off of the shelf, he yanked it roughly through the snarls, gathering his long locks back in one fist. Separating out a strand of hair at his nape, he wrapped it around the queue several times, tucked the end through the loop that he had created and then pulled it tight. I sat on the bed and watched as he soaped and rinsed his face, neck, arms, and upper body. There were only faint traces of yellow bruises left to mar his skin, and he no longer had to wear the sling that had allowed his dislocated shoulder to heal properly, but to my critical eye he looked thinner and in dire need of fresh air and exercise. After a rapid brushing of his teeth, he pulled a clean shirt from the stack of seven that I made sure were brought to him each week by the Gold Nugget's laundress and tucked the tails inside the loose waistband of his trousers. His beard had filled in during the weeks that he had been confined, and despite the fact that his hair needed washing very badly, he again looked like the man who I had never managed to make myself forget from the very first time that I saw him. Finally he had no choice but to look at me, and I got to my feet, setting both mugs of coffee on the shelf. Despite the fact that his jaw was set hard in determination, the conflicting feelings that warred within him had darkened his eyes to a stormy, midnight blue. "Whatever it is that's going on with you--whatever this is that's eating you up inside--if you take it out on Zach, I will never forgive you for it for as long as I live. Your son has been hurt more than enough. You've deprived him of the chance to be with you through this--to know what was happening and to make his own choices. When he got off of that train he wasn't sure whether to look for you behind the bar, in a jail cell, or in the graveyard...so he came to me." I turned my back so that Hank couldn't see the tears that threatened to choke me. "If you have this need in your right now to lash out at somebody--to push them as far away as you possibly can--then let it be me. Not Zach. You do ANYTHING to make that boy feel that you don't want him or need him...then you're nothing but pure dirt--and you can go to hell at the end of a rope for all that I care!" There was at least a minute of silence that stretched out between us before I felt Hank's warmth as he came up behind me. I held my breath-- waiting--until he wrapped his arms just below my breasts, bending his head so that his lips brushed my hair. "I got plenty of money to get you'n'Zach resettled and hold you both for a few years somewheres else. I want you to take it and go. Leave Colorado." "After you're free I will live anywhere that you want to--but until then where I belong is here with you." I fought to keep him from hearing the quaver in my voice. "I wouldn't be the first or the last man to swing from a rope for somethin' he didn't do," he argued quietly. "Come close to dyin' enough times to know I can walk to the gallows like a man, long as you and my kid won't be standin' there watchin'. That and the thought of losin' one of you is the only thing I know of that scares the hell outta me." "They're not going to hang you." I turned again to face him and reached up to stroke his bearded cheek. "Caitlyn..." His voice was ragged with feeling. "You can't keep on pretendin'--" "Stop." I laid my fingers on his lips. "There's a line in the Bible--in the Book of Ruth--that says, 'Whither thou goest I will go; whither thou lodgest, I will lodge.' I'm staying with you until the very end, Hank. Whether that end comes when you're 98 years old or a month from now, I'll be there, loving you with my whole heart for every single minute that God gives us. Don't ask me to go...because I can't." With a soft groan he pulled me up hard against him, rocking back and forth, his hand pressing my head to his chest. His touch sent a burst of heat flickering along my nerve endings, and I pulled away, stretching upward to cup his nape and bring his mouth down for a kiss. His lips parted--firm, warm, and demanding--making me forget everything except the feel of his body close to mine. "Why won't you say it?" I whispered, repeating the same words that he had spoken to me on that Saturday night when we had both first admitted to emotions that had been lying unacknowledged between us for so many long, wasted months. "I love you," he breathed, as his mouth claimed mine again. When he finally released me, I was trembling from the passion that had flared between us as well as the after-effects of a fight that I had never expected to have. "You got a visitor, Lawson," Daniel announced, his keys jingling loudly as he walked toward the cell. I stepped away from Hank, both of us watching as the sheriff unlocked the door and allowed Zach to enter. Father and son stood there awkwardly, looking at each other without speaking or touching, until I firmly nudged Hank in the back. He reached out to shake Zach's hand, then suddenly changed his mind, wrapping his arms around the tall youth's shoulders and giving him a strong, warm hug. "Thanks for comin'." Hank's voice sounded suspiciously husky. "I woulda been here a lot sooner, if you'd told me what was goin' on." "Didn't wanna worry you." "You're my Pa." Although softly spoken, Zach's words lay heavily in the air--and there was no mistaking the meaning or the depth of emotion that they carried. "What about school?" "Soon as I read what happened, I talked to the headmaster, and they let me try takin' my exams early. See if I could pass 'em, if I skipped the rest of the term. I got my diploma yesterday." "I was plannin' to be there to watch you graduate." Disappointment flickered across Hank's face. "Was gonna ask Cait to come to Denver with me, an' after it was over, take the three of us to one of them fancy restaurants. Maybe go see a play, if one's in town." "We can still do that when you get outta here." "Oughta be gettin' a diploma with the rest of yer class--you worked damned hard to earn the right." "I don't mind missin' the ceremony," Zach reassured him quietly. "Messed this up, same way I been messin' things up yer whole life." "You're not in jail because you wanna be." Silence stretched out between the two of them, then Hank sighed. "I know I ain't been the best Pa... Never been there for ya like I shoulda been... But I'm real proud of you, son. I oughta said that more'n I have--made sure you always knew." Zach met his gaze, then nodded slightly before glancing away--unsure of how his next words would be received. "I wanted to tell you I've come back home to stay...if that's all right with you." "It's more'n all right. It's what I hoped you'd wanna do." Hank's blue eyes looked glassy with unshed tears. "Hotel ain't much more of a home than the saloon was, but I'll build us something better soon as I can." "I've already told Zach that he can move in with me, if he wants to," I admitted. "Starting now." "Town's gonna talk." Hank glanced at me in surprise. "Even the ones who know you'n'me are serious will have somethin' to say 'bout him stayin' there, considerin' he's grown." "If Zach wants to come and live with me, I could use his company and his help with the chores," I confessed softly. "And at this point, I'm long past caring what people here think." |
