One Bright Morning (25 page)

Suddenly Maggie sat up and Jubal saw her
eyes get big with fright. He was on his feet in a flash, his rifle
at his shoulder.

“
What is it?” he
hissed.

“
Don’t you see him? That man
on the horse?”

Maggie was squinting very hard and pointing
at Four Toes, who had by now reached the perimeter of their
camp.

Jubal exhaled a deep breath and lowered his
rifle. “That’s Four Toes.” He tried to keep the exasperation out of
his voice.

Maggie felt incredibly foolish. “Oh, my
land,” she breathed. “I’m sorry. I don’t see too good at night, I
guess.”

“‘
Pears to me you don’t see
too good at any time, Mrs. Bright,” Jubal growled. They were
definitely going to pick up some eyeglasses on their way through El
Paso, he decided.

Maggie’s shoulders sagged. “I suppose not,”
she said unhappily, as though her bad eyesight were something she
had some control over.

“
My aunt used to tell me I
didn’t eat enough carrots. She said my eyes would get better if I’d
only eat more carrots. I finally ate so many carrots my skin turned
yellow,” Maggie confessed. She sounded very sad.

Jubal had a sudden vivid image in his mind
of little Maggie Bright—or whatever her name had been then—cowering
under the vicious tongue of a hateful aunt and stuffing carrots
into her mouth in a vain attempt to improve her eyesight, and his
insides clenched. He was sorry he hadn’t tried harder to curb his
annoyance. She had just scared him, is all. It wasn’t her
fault.

“
I’m sorry, Mrs. Bright.
It’s not your fault your eyes are bad.”

Maggie peered up at him. He
seemed so tall standing beside her holding his rifle pointed to the
ground and looking down at her.
He is
tall, I guess
, thought Maggie. She
remembered how his legs had dangled over the end of her
bed.

Jubal sat down next to her again and Maggie
sighed. She thought it must be nice to be a man and not be scared
of anything.

“
Did you really turn
yellow?” Jubal asked. His voice held a smile and Maggie relaxed
some.

“
Actually, it was more of an
orangey-yellow color,” she said. “My aunt thought I had the yellow
jaundice and called in Dr. Willis. She was real mad when he said it
was too many carrots.” Maggie shook her head. “I just couldn’t ever
do anything to please that woman.”

Jubal’s frown was back. He decided he
disliked Maggie’s aunt a great deal.

“
Well, it doesn’t sound to
me as though she’s worth pleasing,” he growled. “She sounds like a
witch to me.”

When Maggie turned to face Jubal again, her
heart held a combination of surprise and pleasure. Nobody had ever
said that to her flat out that way.

“
Do you really think so, Mr.
Green? I always figured she was mean to me because I did everything
wrong.” She sounded just a little bit afraid to hear his answer, as
if she were worried he’d tell her the truth this time, that she
really was inept and incompetent.

“
Of course I think so.
Sounds to me as though she resented having to take care of you, so
she made your life miserable for it. As if you had anything to do
with your parents dying.” Jubal sounded really crabby about it,
too. He’d like to have a word or three with that stupid aunt of
hers. He’d set her straight in a hurry.

Maggie’s eyes opened wide. “Why, what an
interesting thing to say, Mr. Green!” She didn’t notice the puzzled
frown on his face when he whipped it around to stare at her.

Could he be right? Kenny always used to tell
her that you should love your family, no matter what. And, although
Maggie had tried to, she had been singularly unsuccessful in the
attempt. It had never occurred to her until Jubal said what he said
that maybe Kenny had been wrong. This would definitely take some
thinking about. In the mean time, his assessment certainly cheered
her up.

“
I think you might just be
right, Mr. Green. Thank you.”

Jubal’s eyebrows drew together. Maggie
always seemed to be either apologizing to him or thanking him, and
he never seemed to be able to figure out just why.

Four Toes approached the fire before Jubal
could ask Maggie why she was thanking him.

“
It’s real quiet out there,”
Four Toes told them.

“
Good.”

“
There aren’t any no-goods
lurking tonight, Mr. Smith?” asked Maggie with a twinkle for Four
Toes.

Jubal noted that twinkle and frowned. She
never twinkled at him.

Four Toes chuckled. “Don’t seem to be.” He
flung himself down on the log next to Jubal and stretched out his
booted feet toward the fire. “It sure is cold, though.”

“
Yeah,” agreed Maggie.
“Spring seems to be coming on a little slow this year.”

“
It’ll come,” said
Jubal.

“
I hope it comes soon,”
Maggie said. “I’d purely love to be warm during the
day.”

# # #

The next day, Jubal wondered if Maggie
herself might be some kind of witch, as he drove the wagon across
the desert in weather that just seemed to get hotter and hotter all
day long until it beat down upon them as though it were trying to
give them a foretaste of hell. By the time they had to stop for a
rest or melt through the wooden slats of the wagon, poor little
Annie was mewling pitifully under the shade her mama had rigged up
for her out of a quilt, Maggie was sopping wet with perspiration
beneath her straw hat, and Jubal’s leather gloves were in peril of
sliding off his hands, his skin was sweating so much.

Four Toes and Dan were feeling the heat,
too.

“
Criminy,” grumbled Dan. “I
never knew it to get so blamed hot so blamed fast.”

Jubal was surprised that, in
spite of the misery engendered by the heat, his muscles didn’t feel
as sore today as they had the day before.
Maybe that’s why people put hot rags on sore
muscles
, he mused. Still, he didn’t try to
talk until he had grunted his way down from the wagon.

“
Sure you have, Danny,” he
said when he touched ground. “It’s like this every year and every
year you say the same thing.”

Dan grinned and wiped his dripping brow. “I
guess that’s so.”

Jubal eyed him with some amusement. “I
thought Indians were supposed to know everything there is to know
about the weather.”

Dan chuckled. “I guess my instincts got
polluted living with whites, Jubal.”

Jubal only laughed. His laughter died when
he saw Four Toes reach up and help Maggie get down from the wagon.
Jubal wished he could do that. His arm was too weak to lift and
support her weight, though. He’d probably drop her, and he didn’t
suspect that would make a very good impression. He’d already done
too many stupid things around Maggie Bright; he wasn’t about to
risk dropping her.

They had stopped by the banks of Turkey
Creek, and the animals were already drinking deeply. Maggie carried
her miserable daughter over to the creek, too, and Jubal watched
her squat down beside the water and comfort her baby with the cool
water. He noticed, too, that she took care of Annie before she gave
a thought to herself. Now that, he thought, is the way mothers are
supposed to be.

“
You know,” said Dan,
scanning the pitiless sky above them. “It might not be a bad idea
to rest here until evening and then do our traveling. The moon’s
full tonight, and it might be easier on Mrs. Bright and Annie. Not
to mention us.”

“
You think so?”

Dan shrugged, “We’ve done it before.”

Jubal frowned as he thought about that.
“Yeah,” he said at last. “We’ve done it before. But we didn’t have
any women with us then.”

“
Can’t be any rougher on
them at night than it will be to travel through this blamed heat,”
said Four Toes, who had just dumped a hatful of water over his
steaming head.

“
Mrs. Bright’s not just any
woman, Jubal,” said Dan. “She won’t be scared.”

Jubal peered again at the riverbank. Maggie
was now scrubbing her own face with the refreshing water while
Annie sat on the bank, splashed her feet, and laughed.

“
Yeah,” Jubal said. “I guess
you’re right.”

# # #

Prometheus Mulrooney had been venting his
frustrated rage on Ferrett and Pelch ever since their journey
began.

“
Nothing satisfies him, Mr.
Pelch,” said Ferrett in a miserable whisper. His mousy features
looked even more pinched than usual.

“
That’s true, Mr. Ferrett,”
agreed Pelch. “He’s in a rare state, all right.”

“
It’s been, ‘do this, do
that; no, you did that wrong,’ ever since we left New York,” sighed
Ferrett.

“
Aye,” said Pelch. “Nothing
a body can do will satisfy that devil.”

“
And, oh, Mr. Pelch, the
names he calls me,” whispered Ferrett, shame vibrating in his
squeaky voice. “A true man would never stand for it.” He shook his
head sadly as he brewed a pot of tea for Mulrooney.

Pelch cast a sympathetic glance at Ferrett.
“Well, you know, Mr. Ferrett, it’s as you told me. Once you hire on
with Mr. Mulrooney, you’re there for life unless he takes pity upon
you and fires you.”

Ferrett heaved a heart-felt, from-the-gut
sigh. “That’s so, all right. I wish he’d take pity on me and fire
me.”

Pelch’s sigh was every bit as heart-rending
as Ferrett’s had been. “And me,” he said. “And me.”

Both men stood in the cooking compartment of
Mulrooney’s specially-hired train as the engine chugged them toward
Santa Fe in the wild New Mexico Territory. Their shoulders were
stooped with the burdens of their lives and their eyes held the
weary dullness a man’s eyes will assume when he has been abused and
humiliated for so long that he has lost hope.

Both men’s lusterless eyes seemed to fasten
upon the box of rat poison on the shelf, and both men’s brains
seemed to jump to the same startled thought at the same instant.
They suddenly straightened up, gasped, and turned to face each
other. Then, as one, they returned their now-bright eyes to the
innocuous-looking blue box.

“
Oh, my goodness, Mr.
Pelch.” Ferrett’s voice sounded as though it had been squeezed out
of his mouth like juice from a lemon.

“
Oh, dear, Mr. Ferrett,”
breathed Pelch. His whisper was low-pitched and
throbbing.

“
Do we dare?” murmured
Ferrett.

“
I don’t know,” admitted
Pelch.

They looked at one another again.

Then Ferrett said, “We’d be doing the world
a favor, Mr. Pelch.”

“
That’s so, Mr. Ferrett,”
agreed Pelch.

After what seemed like hours, Ferrett lifted
a trembling hand to the box of rat poison. He brought the box down
and set it on the counter as though he held the weight of the
universe in his hand.

“
Would it be murder, Mr.
Pelch?” he asked, his voice as trembly as his fingers had
been.

“
I don’t think so, Mr.
Ferrett,” whispered Pelch. “I think ‘execution’ is a better word.
That’s the word they use when they hang criminals.”

Ferrett nodded. “He is a criminal,” he said,
a little more firmly.

“
Aye, that he is,” agreed
Pelch.

Suddenly Pelch lifted the lid of the teapot
and Ferrett opened the box of rat poison. He reached for a spoon
and ladled in as much of the poison as he dared. Then he stirred
boiling water into the poisoned tea until all of the powder was
dissolved.

Pelch put the lid back on the teapot and
gulped a deep breath. Ferrett replaced the poison box on the shelf
and turned resolutely to Pelch.

“
I’ve never killed anybody
before, Mr. Pelch,” he said. His eyes looked frightened once
more.

“
Nor me neither, Mr.
Ferrett,” Pelch said, and his voice quavered slightly.

Ferrett picked up the tray.

“
Well, here we go,” he
said.

“
Yes,” agreed Pelch. He
opened the door for Ferrett. “Here we go.”

Prometheus Mulrooney was pacing around his
carriage like a sulky bear.

“
What in blazes were you two
fools doing in there for so long?” he roared as the door opened and
Ferrett and Pelch entered. Both men were trembling.

“
Sorry, sir,” squeaked
Ferrett. He put the tray down on Mulrooney’s table, as was
customary.

“
Idiots,” muttered Mulrooney
sourly.

“
Yes, sir,” whispered Pelch
in a strained voice.

Mulrooney walked over to the tea table and
sat down in a chair that barely contained his bulk. His heavy
buttocks slopped over the edges obscenely. He picked up the pot and
poured himself a cup of tea. Then, as was his practice, he ladled
in three heaping spoons of sugar and poured in a good dollop of
heavy cream. He was stirring the mixture savagely when a knock came
upon the door.

Mulrooney’s eyes got buggy as he jerked his
head up and stared at the door. His florid countenance deepened
until it was eggplant-purple, and veins throbbed in his fleshy
face.

Ferrett and Pelch looked at each other as if
to say maybe they wouldn’t need the poison. Maybe their boss would
suffer a fatal stroke and save the two of them the vile necessity
of committing murder.

But Mulrooney didn’t die. Instead, he
stopped stirring his tea and roared, “What?”

The door trembled open and another
frightened, quaking man entered. He clutched in his shaking fingers
a piece of paper which he held out toward Mulrooney. The paper
rustled and shivered in his unsteady grip.