Severn leaned back in his chair on the porch outside Jenny Winn’s house and let a thin stream of smoke drift from his mouth. He took another puff at the long panatela and repeated the operation, sighing contentedly as he did so.
‘Padre,’ he announced, ‘I don’t reckon I’ve et that well in some considerable time.’
Father Malcolm smiled. ‘Jenny does roast a rather fine chicken,’ he observed. ‘Your friend seems to agree.’ He nodded towards Ray Poynton, who was dozing off in the wicker armchair they could see through the open window.
It was a beautiful warm summer night. Up in the velvet heavens the stars glistened and winked in their untold millions, seeming so close as to be almost within reach. From somewhere across the plaza came the soft chording of a Spanish guitar, and Severn identified the plaintive melody, saying the words as if to himself:
‘Eyes like the mornin’ star, cheeks like a rose,
Annie was a purty gal, Gawd-awmighty knows
Weep all yu little rains,
Wail winds, wail
All along, along, along the Colorado Trail...’
His voice tailed off, and he turned his head away from the old man for a moment. Father Malcolm let the silence lengthen for the space of a few heartbeats, then said quietly, ‘Who was she, my son?’
Severn did not reply for a while. Eventually, a match flared as he relit his cigar, and he said quietly:
‘Her name was Noreen. She was my wife.’
‘She’s dead?’
‘Yeah,’ came the soft reply. ‘She died nearly a year back. We — we would have had a daughter, they said — after.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the priest said. ‘I ought not to have asked.’
‘Nothin’ to be sorry about,’ Severn said. ‘It happens.’
‘Were there any other children?’
‘A boy. He’s goin’ on three.’
‘Who is caring for him?’
‘Some good friends. They’re like his second parents. I got a place up in Arizona. Purtiest country yu ever saw, padre. Good grass, plenty o’ water. Kind o’ country a man wants to spend all his life livin’ in.’
The old priest shook his head in the darkness. ‘Yet you left it to come here. I don’t understand, Don.’
‘It needed doin’,’ replied Severn, and Father Malcolm knew from the finality of his companion’s tone that Severn would not discuss it any further. That there were other reasons for Severn’s presence in San Jaime he had never doubted; the old man had lived long enough to know that men like Severn were rarely motivated by the usual venal reasons. Money, power, fame — none of these would persuade a man like Severn to leave a place he loved to plunge into danger and live with the ever-present imminence of death. It was enough that he was here, whatever his reasons.
‘It may be that you will want to talk about it again,’ the old man said softly. ‘If that time comes, I will be here.’
‘I’m thankin’ yu, padre’ Severn said, softly, ‘but it ain’t over-likely. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, an’ I’d be obliged if yu was to forget yu heard what I just said.’
‘It is already forgotten,’ Father Malcolm replied. ‘And now, I must go. No, don’t get up. Sit there and finish your cigar while I go and say goodnight to Jennifer. I’ll see you again tomorrow.’
Severn nodded. Truth to tell, he was feeling rested and relaxed for the first time since he had come to San Jaime. His shoulder was knitting well, and the fine feast which Jenny Winn had cooked for them had put him nicely at peace with the world. The other sadness was with him constantly, and he lived with it.
He heard the old man saying goodnight, and shortly afterwards nodded to the priest as Father Malcolm hurried off across the square towards the church. Jenny Winn came out on to the porch, a lacy Spanish shawl around her shoulders against the coming coolness of the night air.
She handed her guest a glass, and sat down in the chair which the priest had just vacated.
‘Brandy?’ hazarded Severn, sniffing the drink.
‘French brandy,’ she corrected, with a smile. ‘A very special bottle, which I keep for very special guests.’
That’s mighty kind o’ yu, ma’— sorry, Jenny,’ Severn said, sipping the golden liquid. ‘That’s prime liquor,’ he announced. ‘A man like me don’t get too many chances to drink anythin’ that good.’
‘Don …’ Jenny Winn’s voice was hesitant. ‘I ... I regret …I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing—’
‘—What I told the padre,’ finished Severn. ‘No matter, Jenny. I’d as lief not talk about it, all the same.’
‘I understand,’ she said softly. She leaned back in her chair, and let the night silence envelope them. Severn sensed the faint, tantalizing perfume in her hair. She was very beautiful in the starlight.
‘Don,’ she said, finally breaking the long silence. ‘Why do you do it?’
‘Live by the gun, yu mean?’ he said harshly.
‘Well — no, not exactly, but if you put it like that …’
‘That’s the way to put it, Jenny. I’m a gunfighter. It probably looks like I make my living that way to yu.’
‘No, no, Don’, she protested, ‘that’s not at all what I meant. I meant — what can it possibly be that makes a man with a young son, with his own ranch, with friends who respect him, with a whole life ahead of him, take up the cause of a little town in the middle of nowhere, whose fate cannot be of the slightest concern to him, one way or the other?’
‘I heard some wise gent once remarked that “no man is an island”, Jenny,’ the Marshal replied.
‘Oh, you are fencing with me,’ she pouted. ‘And I would so truly like to know. Don, if I were a man and had all the things you have left behind you, I would never ever leave them. What is your son’s name?’
‘James,’ he replied. ‘Jim.’
‘After one of his grandparents?’
Severn grinned faintly in the darkness. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘After a feller I knowed once. In the past.’
‘Was he a good man, Don?’
‘I’d like to think so,’ Severn replied.
‘Oh, I wish I could see your son,’ she said, feelingly. ‘I always wanted children so much. But my husband - died - so young. We were both so young, so full of hope! I sometimes think ... oh, but I must be boring you with my silly talk!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do forgive me, please.’
‘Yu ain’t a bit borin’,’ he reassured her. ‘Go on with what yu was savin’ — yu sometimes think, what?’
‘That ... that I’d ... well, give anything to start again, to raise a family, to be part of a community. Somewhere, to belong to something. To someone.’
‘There must be plenty o’ men who’d be proud to have yu as their wife, Jenny,’ Severn said softly. ‘How come yu’ve never married again?’
‘Oh, I’ve had proposals,’ she said. ‘But I’ve never met anyone that I could really care for — until now.’
‘Jenny—’ began Severn, but she rose quickly, and placed her fingertips on his lips, stilling the words.
‘Forgive me, please, Don,’ she said, softly. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Perhaps it was the wine.’
‘Mebbe it was,’ Severn nodded. He struck another match for the cigar, and she saw that his face was set in bitter lines. ‘Leave it at that. The road I’ve taken is for a man on his own.’
‘Oh, Don,’ she sighed. ‘What is it about yourself that you will not tell anyone?’ She looked into his eyes, her own dark gaze level and frank. ‘You must be honest with me, Don. Especially with me.’
Severn got up and walked over to the rail at the edge of the porch. He was surprised to find his hands trembling slightly.
‘I got a job to do, Jenny. That’s all yu need to know.’
‘And when the job is over ...?’ Her voice was as level as his, but it contained the slightest of hints that her breathing was a little faster.
‘Then I’ll be movin’ on,’ he said. There was absolutely no expression in his voice.
‘Oh, Don!’ she said, stamping her tiny foot in exasperation. ‘Men are such fools! You have no need to light this town’s battles. You have already done more for San Jaime than any ten others. You cannot fight the Cullanes alone - they are too powerful, too ruthless! You — we could — go away. Back to Arizona. Forget all this. In time you would forget. I could make you forget!’
He turned and she was in his arms, her lips warm on his own, her dark eyes closed.
‘There,’ she said, quietly, pulling away. ‘Don’t say anything.’ She touched his lips with her fingers again. ‘Don’t speak and spoil it. Just think about it. Think about us.’ Her soft hair brushed his face as she swiftly touched her lips to his forehead and then fleet-footedly slipped into the house.
Severn stood like stone for perhaps a minute, maybe two. Then he tossed the half-smoked cigar away, and searched in his pockets for the makin’s. He deliberately rolled a quirly and lit it, dragging the smoke down deep in one long, satisfying pull. The faint gleam of the cigarette revealed a frown of concentration upon his features. He stood there in the darkness for a long time, silent, watching the slow and endless movement of the stars.