| |
* * *
1883 Stiff’s Point, Nevada
Lucille Jordan walked through Nevada’s dry summer heat wondering what she was doing here. The fingers of her right hand fidgeted with the rolled-up newspaper she was carrying, her left hand clinging tightly to a small brown sack.
Her lips pressed firmly together; she could feel the rough skin scraping against her upper and lower lips. She blinked rapidly then pushed the small sack into her purse as if anxious to be rid of it and unrolled the newspaper. She frowned at the headline running across both pages: Marshal Decker Hot on Beauty Bandits’ Trail. The article said he was closing in on at least one of the bandits, but that could have been exaggerated. Papers were always exaggerating headlines to sell more copies.
Her choices were limited: stay or go. But if she were to go, where to? California? New York? At twenty, she felt she had all options open to her, but going farther west or east mattered little one way or the other. What did matter was the people she’d left behind in Elmwood, Missouri, the one place she’d ever really felt at home, and the one place she could never return. The only family she had were her friends, and they were all there. Summer, Betty, Leonard... She quickly pushed his image away. The last person she needed to think about right now was Leonard Overton.
She rolled the three-week-old newspaper back up and moved towards a trash bin, realizing only when she was within a foot of it that it was already full, a waterfall of garbage cascading all around it. Insects buzzed about, and she thought she saw some sort of worm crawling amidst the foul-smelling mess. She was starting to hate it here.
Stiff’s Point was not particularly good at taking care of itself. Its residents were either too drunk to care or too sober to worry about garbage when they didn’t know how they were going to survive the summer. If her stagecoach hadn’t broken down here, she never would have stayed as long as she had. A month was far longer than anyplace she’d been in since leaving Elmwood last winter, but this place was so out of the way that she’d felt safe here—at first. No way could Marshal Decker track her here. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
She dipped what used to be her pale hand—now colored a light golden brown by the summer sun—into her purse and withdrew the brown sack, at the same time stuffing the rolled-up newspaper into it. It didn’t fit all the way, part of it sticking out of her purse like a tower. She reached into the sack and pulled out a piece of penny candy, nibbling on it with white, even teeth she was lucky to have when everyone else’s teeth around her seemed to be falling out of their head.
It was sweet on her tongue, the sugar turning to syrup in the heat of her mouth and moving around her gums before sliding down her throat. The clouds in her head suddenly parted, and she breathed deeply into her lungs, inhaling the warm, fresh air carried to her nostrils by the wind.
Lucy wiped her lips with the back of her hand, carefully pushing a strand of her dark red hair behind her ear. Her slim body walked quickly down Main Street, her green eyes darting left and right before finally settling on the road in front of her. She felt safe and exposed all at the same time. The feeling unsettled her, yet there was little she could do about it. The sugar only helped so much; its effects never lasted long enough, and she had only three pieces of penny candy left in her bag now. When it was gone, she would not get any more. Candy was a luxury here, and she couldn’t afford to draw any more attention to herself than she already had.
Her purse slapped gently against her side as she slowed her feet and forced her body into a stroll rather than a half-sprint. Even meandering along the pathway, she could still close the space between one end of town and the other fairly quickly. Growing up, her father had always said her legs were too long—like a spider’s legs. She’d thought that a creepy thing to say and had never shaken that image; it could still make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
A man with more brawn than brains crossed her path without warning, not seeing her, and she ran right into him, falling back on her butt as he ignored her and continued to walk on. She knew better than to make a fuss. That man was a regular troublemaker. The scars running up along his cheeks and neck assured her that Jim Boulder was always ready for a fight, no matter who it might be with—man, woman, or child.
Her clothes were already too clean, and her money already too plentiful for a town such as this, to blend in with the townspeople. She kept what she had well-hidden, but that didn’t mean people hadn’t noticed. In a town with less than four hundred people in it, they noticed everything. And Jim was just the type of man who might get drunk and decide to go looking for whatever she had. If he—or anyone else in this town—knew how much money she really had, she’d be dead by now.
An elderly man’s voice sounded behind her. “Don’t mind Jim. He’s had a bad morning.”
Lucy looked over to see Mr. Haskell, the man who ran the general store, smiling kindly at her. He had gray hair and tiny round glasses that were too small for his face. Whenever he moved them back up the bridge of his nose, she could see deep red indents where they stuck too tightly. He was one of the few people in this town that were worth knowing.
“Jim Boulder has a bad morning every day,” she said, brushing herself off as she stood back up.
Her candy was still in its sack, thank the Lord, but her newspaper had fallen out and that awful headline blared back at her. Would Marshal Decker never stop chasing her? At least the paper hadn’t used her name. She knew that was only because, despite all his gumption for going after her, the marshal was still uncertain she was the woman he wanted. She supposed that tiny doubt of uncertainty was all she had going in her favor.
Were she to tell him she’d had nothing to do with those train robberies the Beauty Bandits had been pulling for the last year, he would never have believed her. But had she confessed to everything, she thought he was just as unlikely to believe her. So where did that leave her? She was still trying to figure that out.
Mr. Haskell made a noise like a fireplace bellow blowing air onto hot, red flames and held his index finger straight up in the air next to his head. “I’ve got something for you,” he said and disappeared into his store. It was a small shop for a small town, and other than the saloons and brothels, the only one that seemed to be doing any business.
In spite of trying to spend all their money on booze and painted ladies, the men in Stiff’s Point still had to eat, and they still needed shoes on their feet. Some of them even had wives who wanted new hats or flour for baking. Mr. Haskell could supply them with that and a lot more. When he returned, he held out a fresh newspaper to her.
“Last week’s edition,” he said smiling. “A man passing through left it here with me this morning, and I knew you’d want to see it. It’s from Missouri. Didn’t you say that’s where you’re from?”
She nodded, biting her lip. She’d let that information slip from her tongue one day a week or so ago in a moment of weakness, when she’d been overwhelmed with sadness at the loss of her friends back home.
His brown eyes twinkled with the joy that only comes with giving other people gifts, and the excitement with which Lucille took it only enhanced his glow. It spread to his face and crept up the corners of his mouth, causing his smile to widen that much more. It didn’t matter that his teeth were crooked and some were missing, all that mattered was that he hadn’t forgotten her request for a newspaper should one come his way.
“Thank you,” she said, opening it to the first page.
Because Stiff’s Point was so small and in the middle of nowhere, it rarely got newspapers the day they were printed. They came to the town old and already gone-through, in roundabout ways such as passing travelers who left them behind or once-weekly mail carriers who did the brighter people of Stiff’s Point a courtesy and brought one by every now and again.
Her jaw dropped open when she saw the newest headline: Decker Says Beauty Bandit Hiding In Nevada! She couldn’t believe it. There was no way he could have tracked her here, not unless God was giving him inhuman powers. Then again, maybe that’s just what was happening. Was it possible that God had forsaken her? She’d done a lot of questionable things in her day, but she’d always thought of God as being on her side. Stealing from the rich to give to the poor couldn’t be a sin. At least, that’s what she’d always told herself. Now though, she didn’t know what to think.
She quickly scanned the rest of the article and allowed for the possibility that the headline was true, that Decker was close by. That he would have her in handcuffs shortly. And then what?
“Everything all right, Jenny?” Mr. Haskell asked, using the phony name she’d given him upon her arrival to the town.
“Yes, thank you,” she said and smiled reassuringly at him before hurrying back towards the boardinghouse where she’d been staying. It wasn’t until she reached the front door that she realized Jim Boulder was following behind her, leering at her.
“Hi, pretty,” he said with an ugly smile. She frowned and went into the boardinghouse, shutting and locking the door behind her even though she was supposed to keep it unlocked during the daylight hours.
In her room, she began flipping through the rest of the paper, looking for anything that might indicate how close Decker actually was to catching her and what he intended to do with her once caught. There was nothing else of particular interest or help though, except more claims that Decker knew who all three members of the Beauty Bandits were and that each would have their turn with him.
She scoffed at that. Whatever he might say, she doubted very much that Marshal Decker knew who all the members of the Beauty Bandits were, even if he may have accidentally been right about her. There was certainly nothing linking her to the crimes of which the Beauty Bandits stood accused... except perhaps the pile of money she kept hidden beneath a loose floorboard in her room. It was the only money she had left from the last few trains robberies—her emergency fund. They each had one. The rest of the money they’d given away to those less fortunate.
Lucy bit her bottom lip and let out a heavy sigh, absently turning through the last couple of pages of the paper, but they were nothing but ads. One ad, in particular, caught her eye though—Wanted: Mail Order Bride.
There were always these sorts of ads in the paper, but this one, in particular, being from Missouri, made her look twice. Her breath ran out of her chest when she saw who had posted it—Deputy Leonard Overton.
“No, it can’t be,” she muttered to herself. Surely it must have been a different deputy. A man by the same name, nothing more. But then the name of Elmwood jumped out at her as she read the finer details, and she knew there was no way around it. It was him.
The thought that Leonard had posted such an ad at first burned up her insides. He wanted to marry a stranger? A woman whom he’d have nothing in common with, who could have been dangerous or arrogant or even...
Her thoughts quieted as a new realization dawned on her. He wanted a bride, and she needed a way out of this mess. She’d thought Elmwood far too dangerous for her, but now that Decker was closing in on Nevada, it seemed far more dangerous for her here than it did back home. He’d already looked for her in Elmwood, what were the odds he’d go back?
Besides, married to a sheriff’s deputy, who would ever think to question her? Even Decker would not be so bold as to do such a thing. If he did, he’d never hear the end of it from the people of Elmwood or from his superiors. It would be an embarrassment to him to accuse a deputy’s wife of crimes which he could never prove. If only she were married to Leonard...
She moved from her bed to her desk and quickly withdrew pen and paper, writing at a fierce speed so that her writing became almost unintelligible and she had to start over. This time, she went slowly, taking her time with her words, and when she was through, she sealed it up in an envelope.
She would have to send it from the next town over, as the post office here was little more than a joke. Things came in, but they rarely went out. At least the neighboring town, which was several miles off and almost as tiny, had a decent post office with express mail. That might not be fast enough though.
She would start her journey, and once in a big enough town, she would send Leonard a telegraph as well. She did not want any other woman beating her to the finish line and marrying him before she could. Her letter might not reach him in time even if sent by express post. Leonard would be thrilled to receive her reply. If he knew she was coming for him, she was certain he would wait.
* * *
