A Claim of Her Own (26 page)
When Bill spun her away, Mattie smiled up at him. “I’d forgotten. You aren’t a bad dancer.”
“You aren’t a bad dancer yourself, Miss O’Keefe.” He grinned and whirled her around the floor. When the pace slowed a bit, he leaned close. “Thought I should tell you I may not be in town that much longer. I wanted to remind you that you can count on Aron, should you need an extra gun.”
Mattie leaned back in his arms and looked up at him with a little frown. “In case you haven’t noticed, he doesn’t
carry
a gun.”
Bill smiled. “I didn’t mean that exactly literally,” he said. “What I meant was—”
“It’s all right,” Mattie interrupted him. “Let’s just enjoy the dance.”
When the song ended, Bill bowed and stepped off the dance floor. “Now, don’t you forget what I said about Aron. If he’s got your back, you don’t have any worries.” He winked, then touched the brim of his hat. “You look real pretty tonight, Mattie. I’ll enjoy the memory.” He headed off up the street toward the Number 10, a hovel that, for some reason, Bill had favored almost exclusively since arriving in Deadwood.
The word of God is quick and powerful, and sharper than
any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul
and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner
of the thoughts and intents of the heart.
Hebrews 4:12
I
t was nearly midnight. Aunt Lou was out on the dance floor laughing and having a wonderful time as miner after miner bowed and nearly fought over the next dance. Little Eva was asleep in her room over the store, and Freddie was finishing the pig roast cleanup out back, chopping up the carcass for Aunt Lou, who wanted every morsel for flavoring beans. And Tom English and Swede were dancing. With a happy sigh, Mattie plopped down on one of the benches beside the front door of the store, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.
Justice, who’d been curled up at her feet, moved and gave a little puppy growl just as a now-familiar male voice said, “I expect you’ve about danced your feet off tonight.” When Mattie opened her eyes, Aron Gallagher was offering her a mug of root beer. He nodded at Justice. “Call your dog off, ma’am, so he doesn’t take off my hand.”
As she took a sip of root beer, Mattie glanced down at the pup and laughed. She patted him on the head while she said, “It’s all right, Justice, but you are a good boy to take note of strangers that way.” With a sigh, Justice settled between them. Mattie nodded toward the dance floor. “I’ve never had a dance card quite so full.” She held her feet out in front of her. “My feet are still there, but I can’t say as I really feel ’em anymore.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Gallagher said. “I was hoping you’d grant one more dance.” He paused. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
“Of course not,” Mattie said, and motioned for him to join her.
Gallagher sat quietly for a long time, sipping his own root beer and watching the dancers. Finally he spoke up. “You and Bill had a nice waltz or two.”
“We did,” Mattie said. “He always was a good dancer. And a gentleman. At least to me.”
Gallagher glanced her way. “I was helping some men haul the remains of the speaking podium away when I saw him. He said you two had a talk about—things. Me being one of them.”
“You were mentioned,” Mattie said. “In the context of ‘watching my back’ and ‘an extra gun.’ ” She sighed. “Bill’s thinking of leaving town, and he seemed to feel a need to appoint a guardian to take over for him.”
“So he told me. I would imagine that annoyed you.”
Mattie shrugged. “Not really. It did confuse me a bit.”
“Why?”
“Well—and don’t take this as an insult—if I did need protecting I’d want someone who was a gunman first and a gambler second— not the other way around.”
Gallagher chuckled softly. “Well said. And reassuring in a way. Obviously my past doesn’t show, which makes it less likely some drunken fool will draw on me someday just to see how fast I am.” He paused. “Especially since I don’t even shoot my own game anymore.”
Mattie shifted her weight so she was turned more toward him. He met her gaze evenly.
He used to be a gunslinger? A good enough
one to earn Wild Bill’s respect?
Mattie forced what she hoped was a matter-of-fact tone into her voice even as she allowed a little smile. “I take it you’re a good shot.”
“I was. When I had to be.” He reached down to pet Justice. “Bill seemed to think you might need someone around like that. I’m happy to oblige—in your case—but I do hope you won’t make my past common knowledge.”
“You don’t have to worry about me expecting you to take up arms on my behalf,” Mattie said. “I know Bill meant well, but he shouldn’t have said anything. I think I’ve proven I can take care of myself.”
Gallagher nodded. “I should also admit that, once he brought your name up, I asked Bill about you . . . and your . . . story.” With a final pat to Justice’s head, he leaned back. “I was hoping he’d be able to shed some light on what I did or said that made you dislike me so much.”
“I don’t—” When Gallagher looked her in the eye, Mattie broke off. Shrugged.
“I’m only asking because if it’s something I can fix, I’d like to. First, because it would make things easier and less awkward when we’re with our mutual friends, and second,” he said, forcing a grin, “because it’d make it more likely that I’ll get
my
chance to dance with the prettiest girl in town tonight.” He flashed a smile that brought the dimple back to his cheek and crinkled the corners of his eyes.
All right,
Mattie thought.
So you have a certain charm.
And try as she might, Mattie realized she was softening a little toward the preacher. Especially now—when he’d opened up about his past. She gave a little shrug. “It’s not you personally. It’s every preacher I’ve ever known. They all acted the part pretty well during the day, but then when the sun came down they’d come to me. To my faro table at the place in Abilene where I worked. As a dealer.” She lifted her chin. “Not as
anything
else.”
He waved his hand, batting the revelation aside as if it were no more than a bothersome fly. “I believe you. Please go on. About the preachers you’ve known.”
“They’d show up to gamble and they were just like all the other customers. No difference.” She took a deep breath. “I knew one who could roll Scripture off his tongue like he’d memorized the whole book. He never treated me badly. But with the upstairs girls?” She shuddered. “My employer finally banned him from the place.”
Gallagher’s voice was gentle as he said, “I don’t suppose it’d do much good to tell you that if that’s the only kind of preacher you’ve ever met . . . you don’t know
my
kind.”
“Hmpf.”
Mattie gave a little chortle. “That’s exactly what Aunt Lou said when I told her I didn’t like . . . uh . . . trust you.”
“She did?”
With a nod, she went on. “She says you give away the money you collect on Sunday. And you do all kinds of good things you don’t want anyone to know about. To hear Aunt Lou tell it, you’re a saint.”
“Well”—Gallagher stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back—“I guess that just goes to show that on occasion even someone as wise as Aunt Lou can be wrong.” He folded his arms across his torso. “I’m probably the biggest sinner in Deadwood. The only difference between me and anyone else in town is—” He broke off.
“What?”
He thought for a moment before saying, “You read the Bible much?”
She shook her head. “Never had a reason.” Justice got up and headed off toward the back lot. “I’d better make sure he doesn’t wander off,” Mattie said, and moved to follow him. Together they walked around the building to the back of the store, where they could just see Justice meandering about in the golden light shining through the back window.
As the two of them stood watching the dog, Gallagher said, “I never read the Bible, either. Not for most of my life, anyway. But you know about Jesus, right? The crucifixion and the three crosses on the hill—how He died with a criminal on either side of Him.”
“Everyone knows that story.”
He nodded. “One of the criminals made fun of Jesus and one defended Him—said Jesus didn’t deserve to die, and asked Jesus to remember him.” Gallagher paused. Cleared his throat and murmured, “The way I see it, every man is one of those or the other.
I’m
the one who doesn’t have a thing to offer and just hopes Jesus will remember him.” He broke off and apologized, “But here I am sermonizing again.”
Mattie forced a joke. “Well, I’d rather listen to you sermonize than go back out there and have to dance with the rest of Deadwood.” She opened the back door to the store. “Let’s see if we can find something to eat. It feels like a year ago since the pig roast.” She called Justice to follow them inside. In a few minutes they were seated at Swede’s small table. Mattie left the door open, and as the street music filtered in, Justice sprawled across the threshold and fell asleep. “So,” Mattie said, prying the lid off a tin of biscuits and starting fresh coffee. “Finish the sermon, Preacher.”
Taking a deep breath, Gallagher began. “There was a toothless old codger who used to come to the jail—”
“Jail?”
He nodded. “He never once preached. All he did was sit outside the cell and read to us. At first we all made fun of him. But he kept coming. And at some point I started looking forward to his visits. And then I started listening. I thought Jesus had to be the craziest person who ever walked the face of the earth. But eventually I started to see it different. And finally, I decided what the h—” He broke off and gave an embarrassed little laugh before continuing. “I decided I didn’t have anything to lose. Why not throw myself at Jesus like that man on the cross and see what happened.”
“What happened?” Mattie reached for a biscuit and took a bite while she waited for the answer.
“Nothing at first. Nothing I could feel, anyway. But the next time Jerry came to read to us, the Bible made more sense. Somewhere along in there I started wanting to be a better man. So I asked God to help me with that.” He moistened his lips and glanced her way, almost as if he were nervous about what he was about to say. “I was in jail for a long time, Mattie. I had plenty of time to listen while Jerry read. When I walked out of that place I was a different man. I couldn’t go back to the other life.”
“And you wanted to be a preacher.”
“No, I’ve never wanted to be a preacher. It scares me nearly spitless every time I climb up on that box.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because there’s nobody else in Deadwood willing. Everyone’s trying to get rich, thinking it’ll make ’em happy. When all money does is help them cover over the real problem.”
“The real problem.” Mattie frowned. Most of her problems would be solved quite well by money.
Then why don’t you cash out
the gold and solve them?
She wouldn’t think about that now.
“Humans were created for a life beyond this one. For a relationship with God. Some of us murder, some of us lie, some of us are pretty good people who only do little things that are wrong. But every wrong breaks the relationship we were meant to have with God, and we end up trying to fill the resulting emptiness with other things. Here in Deadwood, it’s gold. Women. Whiskey. But the emptiness won’t go away unless we ask the man on the cross to bridge the gap for us.” He broke off and sat back. “Whew. I’ve been talking for at least an hour. Why didn’t you tell me to shut up a long time ago? I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s all right,” Mattie said. “I
asked
for a sermon this time.”
“How’d I do?”
“Not bad. To be honest, I’ve never heard anyone talk about religion like that before.”
“To be honest, I never had anyone
listen
like you before. You didn’t heckle once.”
Mattie laughed.
Gallagher nodded toward the front of the store and the street where the dance was still in full swing. “So what d’ya say, Miss O’Keefe? Mind taking a spin with a varmint-turned-preacher?”
Mattie didn’t mind. Ordering Justice to stay, she closed him into the storeroom and followed Gallagher back outside. At some point—maybe it was the second or third dance, she wasn’t sure— Mattie began to think that Wild Bill and Aunt Lou were right about Aron Gallagher. He could be trusted. He was a decent man. For all her blustering and claiming she could take care of herself, she also realized it never hurt to have a good man on your side. And if that good man turned out to be a saint who knew how to use a gun, so much the better.
She began to sing again. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it until one morning in mid-July when she looked up and saw that the McKays had stopped their own mining to listen. When she broke off, Hugh called out, “Please, Matt. Bless us with another.” And so she did, and little by little Mattie began to realize that grief and fear were beginning to loosen their grip on her. Oh, she still slept with Bessie II nearby, and she was grateful for Justice and what he would become, but she stopped slipping her pistol into her pocket every morning on the claim, and when Aron Gallagher climbed the gulch one day to see how she was, she let down her guard and allowed herself to enjoy his company.