The temperature fell below freezing during the night and stayed below freezing after the sun came up. The muddy streets of the morning before were now a frozen bumpy brown.
In a half-sleep, Ella rolled over in her new bed at the Sloans’ reaching for Hunter. Not finding him there, she remembered that he had left for High Ridge last night and wouldn’t be back till tonight.
Lying there alone, staring up at the ceiling, Ella listened for the sounds of the household coming awake. After a few minutes she heard the kitchen door open and close. That, she reasoned had to be William Sloan going out back to the outhouse.
She was just drifting off to sleep again when she was awakened by muffled coughing down the hall. Ree was awake and, by the length of time she kept on coughing, she probably wasn’t feeling too well this morning.
When the back door opened and closed again, Ella decided to get up herself. Only when she got out from underneath the comforter did she realize how cold it was. She put on a robe, but that wasn’t warm enough, so she put on her rain slicker on top of that and then hurried to the outhouse and hurried back.
Once she had a fire going in the stove, she brewed a fresh pot of coffee, got some eggs and bacon frying, and was slicing some bread when William Sloan limped into the kitchen.
He said nothing as he sat down at the kitchen table.
“Good morning,” said Ella politely.
Sloan barely nodded.
“Got some hot coffee, if you want it,” she offered.
He didn’t answer. He just got up, walked over to the stove, poured himself a cup, and then sat down.
Ella was deciding whether it was worth it or not to continue this one-sided conversation when Sloan quietly said, “The coffee’s good.”
“Thank you.”
She waited for Sloan to speak again, but he just sipped at his coffee and seemed to ignore her.
“How does Ree like her eggs—hard or runny?” she finally asked.
“Hard.”
“How about her bacon? Does she like it crispy?”
He nodded.
“Looks like winter’s come a little early,” Ella said, falling back on talk of the weather. “It sure is cold this morning, don’t you think?”
Sloan scowled, put down his coffee cup and, without answering her, limped out the back door.
Ella was more than a little irritated. It was one thing to be shy or quiet, quite another to be downright rude. The thought that she’d be sharing a house with that man all winter didn’t please her much. And right at that moment she couldn’t decide who she was madder at: William Sloan for being so unpleasant, or Hunter for leaving her alone here with Sloan.
The eggs were burning. Ella reached for the frying pan and burned her hand. Not caring who heard, she swore loudly and with great imagination. Finally getting the frying pan off the stove and the eggs and bacon onto a plate, Ella put it all, including toast and coffee on a breakfast tray and brought it into Ree’s bedroom.
“What happened out there?” Ree asked as Ella placed the tray down in front of her.
“Burned myself.”
“Is it bad?”
“No. I’m all right,” said Ella.
“Did William have his breakfast yet?”
The combination of her annoyance with Ree’s husband and the burned hand made her angrily flare out, “No! And he can make his own damned breakfast if he wants it!”
Ree started to laugh, but the laughter quickly dovetailed into a coughing fit. Ella tried to hand her a glass of water but Ree waved her away. Once the spasm subsided, Ree said in a hoarse whisper, “I warned you about my man. What did he do?”
“What did he do?” Ella repeated. “It’s what he doesn’t do! He won’t answer me when I talk to him with anything more than a single word or just a shake of the head. But he really got me mad when he walked out of the room without answering me at all!”
Ree knitted her brow. “That’s not like him,” she said suddenly worried. “He doesn’t talk much, like I said, but he usually doesn’t shut folks out like that. I wonder if he’s losing his hearing?” she said thoughtfully, trying to account for her husband’s behavior.
“He heard the rest of what I said,” Ella countered.
“Well, then I don’t know why he’d do that then. About the only time in recent years he’s snubbed someone like that was when Byron McCarthy, at the General Store, started talking to him about the weather.”
“The weather?” Ella blurted out. “That’s what I was talking about.”
Ree’s worried look was replaced by a calm seriousness. “When folks start talkin’ to William about the weather,” she explained, “he figures it’s because they ain’t got nothin’ else to say to him. He’s a proud man. Empty small talk—and—there ain’t nothin’ emptier than talkin’ about the weather—makes him feel as if folks are talkin’ down to him.”
“I wasn’t talking down to him,” Ella protested.
“I’m sure you weren’t,” Ree replied softly. “But William’s been kinda sensitive since he got crippled years back. He’s not the man he used to be, and knowin’ that and livin’ with it hasn’t been easy for him.”
“I imagine,” ventured Ella, “that it hasn’t been easy for you either.”
With the cup of coffee from her breakfast tray in hand, Ree leaned back on her pillows and sipped at the hot, black brew before speaking. But even before Ree spoke, Ella sensed what the old woman was about to say. She could see it in Ree’s soft expression, in the color of her cheeks, and in the far-away look in her eyes. Ella knew that look very well. She had seen it on her own face many times when she looked in her hotel room mirror when Hunter was away. It was a look of deep melancholy mixed with love for a man who wasn’t there.
“You should have seen the way folks looked at him when he walked down the street in the old days,” said Ree in an airy whisper. “He was a wonderful man. The name William Sloan meant something then. If a cowboy started throwin’ his weight around a little too much, it wouldn’t be long before the word would get out that Sloan was on the way to straighten that cowboy out. And let me tell you, he straightened out some pretty crooked fellers. Yeah, he was a hard, tough man. To everyone else he was Sloan, the fighter ... and sometimes, the killer. But to me, he was William, my lover. And yeah, you’re right, things have been tough these last years, but there were plenty of times when I was no bargain and he stuck by me. I figure I ought to stick by him now, during his hard times.”
Ella smiled. “You’re not sticking with him because you owe him,” she stated. “You stay with him because you love him.”
“Maybe so,” Ree laughed lightly. “But don’t you tell him that!”
“Your food is getting cold,” said Ella realizing that she’d kept Ree from eating all this time.
“Don’t really want any breakfast, coffee’s just fine, thanks.”
“As long as I’m supposed to be looking after you,” Ella insisted, “you’re gonna eat three square meals ... and you’re gonna get up out of that bed every day and get a little exercise and fresh air.”
“Takin’ charge, are you?”
“That’s right. And you’re gonna be up and around by Christmas.”
“Is that a promise?” joked Ree.
“It’s a goal.”
“Fair enough,” conceded the old woman with good humor. “I’ll try not to be a bothersome patient. But,” she added seriously, “I’d like you to try and understand William and not be too hard on him even though I know he can be the devil to live with.”
“I’ll try,” promised Ella. “But right now I’m gonna heat up your breakfast.” With that she picked up the breakfast tray and walked to the door. Before she left, Ella turned around and suddenly asked, “It’s none of my business, but what happened to your husband?”
“I don’t mind tellin’ you,” said Ree easily. “Fact is most anybody who goes back more than five years can tell you what happened to William … they all know the story ...
“He was sheriff here. Had been for a long, long time. Some thought too long a time. It was true he wasn’t quite as fast with a gun as he once was, and he sure wasn’t much in a fist fight anymore, but he made up for all of that with a lifetime’s worth of savvy.
“Well, election time came around and a buncha folks decided to back a raw, young kid for sheriff. Hell, I even forget his name now. As I recall though, he looked like the genuine article—tall, broad-shouldered, fast with a gun, and he was even, most people said, a good-natured, friendly feller. Fact is, when he stood next to William, he made my husband look like an old sheepherder. So when the votes were counted, William was out of a job. But that was okay, after all, that’s what elections are for, and that was their privilege.
“But then, not long afterwards, three hard men rode into town. They did some heavy drinkin’ at Chappee King’s place, and beat up a few ranch hands. The new sheriff never did anything to stop ’em. Feelin’ their oats, the three strangers went a little further ... they killed a man. Well, the new sheriff had no choice but to investigate. So he asked the three men what happened. They said it was a fair fight. That was enough for the new sheriff even though the feller that got killed never drew his gun.
“Those three hardcases musta figured they could get away with anything in Lost Creek once they found they could get away with murder. So they got plenty liquored up and started paintin’ the town red ... red with blood.
“They started by killin’ two men in a back alley for the pennies in their pockets. But nobody knew about that ’til after they broke into the gun shop, helping themselves to some new weapons, and shooting up Chappee King’s Saloon and the Lost Creek Cafe ... killing another three people.
“Everyone was lookin’ for the new sheriff. But they couldn’t find him, because the young feller had visions of growin’ up into an old feller, so he’d dropped the shiny new badge on his desk and skedaddled.
“Folks were used to someone protectin’ them, so they came to William—the same folks who had said he was too old for the job—and they asked him to stand up against those three hardcases. He never hesitated. The fact is William would have faced those three men whether he was asked to or not. You don’t protect a town your whole life long and then sit idly by and let a pack of wolves tear it down. So he put on his guns that night and did what he felt he had to do.
“The three hardcases were in the bank by then. It was a wonder they hadn’t robbed it hours earlier and left town. As it happened, there was quite a bit of money in the vault and it would’ve been easy pickin’s if they hadn’t spent most of the night drinkin’ liquor and smashin’ windows ... not to mention killin’ all those people for no good reason. After it was all over, most folks figured that they probably tried robbing the bank as an afterthought. And why not? They’d gotten away with everything else.
“But they didn’t get away with robbin’ that bank.
“They came out the front door of the Lost Creek First National with better than eighteen thousand dollars ... and they were pretty damn sure they were gonna keep that money ’til, from the middle of the dark street, they heard William cock his six-guns and tell them to throw down their weapons.
“William knew they’d do no such thing, but a lawman has his code, so he had to give them their chance to surrender. Those fellers had gotten a taste for killing. For some folks, it must be that killin’ comes easy after you’ve had a little practice—and those three hardcases had had plenty of practice that night—so they opened fire, shootin’ into the darkness, hopin’ to kill William in their first hail of bullets.
“Only they didn’t ...
“William dove to the ground as soon as he heard the cylinders turn in their Colts. The bullets flew over his head and then he opened fire.
“He killed the first one with a bullet square in the chest. The second hardcase went down with a slug in the belly. He only wounded the third one in the shoulder ... but William didn’t know that. The way that third feller spun around when he was hit made William think he’d hit him in the face.
“So William, he got up and started walkin’ toward the bank. That’s when it happened. That’s when the third feller, lyin’ flat on the boardwalk in front of the bank, picked up a shotgun he’d looted from the gun shop, leveled it at William and pulled the trigger.
“The blast knocked William’s legs right out from under him. The pain must’ve been something awful. But there he was lyin’ there with his legs all mangled, and he wouldn’t quit. Not William. He stayed conscious just long enough to put two bullets in that last hardcase’s lungs. Then, when the job was finished, he passed out.
“You’d think the town would be grateful. You’d think they’d put up a statue of William in the town square. At the least, you’d think they’d give him back his job. You’d think that and you’d be wrong ...
“Even with William lyin’ in bed, not knowin’ how bad he was hurt, they rushed out and hired a new sheriff—and not just to fill in; this was a permanent appointment by the town council.
“Doc Russell told me back then that, in time, there was a chance William might walk again without limping too bad. A lotta the muscle was blown away by that shotgun blast, but with luck and a lotta work, what was lefta the muscles could maybe do the job.
“I’ll always believe, ’til the day I die, that William would’ve come out of this a whole lot healthier if his old job would’ve been waitin’ for him. A man needs somethin’ to live for and Lost Creek just turned around and told him they had no more use for him and they did it right after he’d saved their hides.
“William never did the work Doc Russell prescribed for his legs. The muscles he had left withered away. He limps somethin’ awful now and I know he’s in pain. But if I know William, the pain that hurts worst is that Lost Creek turned its back on him. He deserved better than that. But during these last five years he’s never once uttered a bitter word. Trouble is, he hasn’t uttered too many sweet ones, either. It’s all bottled up inside him, festering, makin’ him sick at heart that he’s fallen from the man he once was ... to a man that folks pity.”
“Ella had been standing in the doorway, not moving, barely breathing, during the whole of Ree’s story. And now that Ree was finished, Ella didn’t know what to say.
The old woman seemed weary. It was hard to tell if her exhaustion came from the effort of telling the story, or simply from remembering it all. Even so, Ree managed a wan smile and said, “When you bring back my breakfast, bring back a bottla whisky with it, too,”
“For medicinal purposes?”
“No. For gettin’ drunk,” said Ree.
Ella nodded. “I’ll bring two glasses,” she said.