True to the Law (21 page)

“Don’t you want us to walk you home?” asked Jenny.

Tru shook her head and waved them off. “No. It’s all right. Go on. This is never a short conversation.” She waited for them to walk away before she turned and retraced her steps to the church. There, she asked to be excused from joining the pastor and his wife for dinner. She wasn’t feeling well, she told him. No, nothing distressing, and nothing that required the attention of Dr. Kent. A headache, she explained, one that was sitting directly behind her eyes. She merely needed to take a powder and rest.

Unlike Jenny Phillips, Pastor Robbins never suspected the lie.

* * *

Tru worked all week, but she ate dinner at the hotel only on Monday and Thursday. Cobb was there on Monday, seated at a table with the land agent and his wife. Ted Rush came in later and took up the empty chair. She noticed that the dining room was more crowded than usual at this particular hour and realized people were coming in specifically to meet the man their mayor had appointed marshal. She didn’t know why she was surprised that word had spread through Bitter Springs so quickly. She should have been used to it by now.

By Thursday the dining room accommodated only the usual guests and a few new arrivals coming off the four-thirty train from Omaha. Cobb was absent, and Tru did not inquire about it.

Renee offered the information without being asked. “The marshal is taking his meal at the jail tonight.”

Tru thought how easily Cobb had slipped into that role in Renee’s mind. He was no longer Mr. Bridger.
The marshal
.

“Mrs. Sterling sent Walt down to the office with two trays. One for him and one for that fella that stepped off the train as drunk as two Indians.”

“Renee!”

“As drunk as an Irishman then,” Renee said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just an expression. I guess they say something different where you’re from.”

“If they do, they don’t say it in my hearing.”

Renee put her pert nose in the air and affected frosty accents. “Well, pardon me.”

Tru sighed. “You’re telling me Mr. Bridger has already arrested someone?”

“I was trying to, but you didn’t let me get that far, now did you?”

Tru wisely did not interrupt.

“The way I heard it from Walt, who was at the station posting letters when the train came, this fella—I think his name is Westin, Westover, something like that—staggers off the train and falls flat on his face. Broke his nose on the platform. Must have been a sight. Mr. Collins sent Walt for Marshal Bridger. There was a little scuffle when the marshal got there. Apparently Mr. W. was feeling pugnacious.” She paused. “That’s a word, isn’t it?”

Tru nodded. “It’s a word. It means combative.”

“Right. I got that sense from when Walt said it, and he got it straight from the marshal. Imagine Bitter Springs having a marshal who talks like that. Dan Sugar never did, I can tell you. I can’t say about Mrs. Sterling’s husband.”

Tru had reason to wonder about the wheels she had set in motion. There was no applying the brakes now. Cobb had a small circle of acquaintances as a gambler, but now the entire town was embracing him as their lawman. “So this gentleman and Mr. Bridger fought?”

“That’s right, only I don’t know that I’d call him a gentleman.” Renee’s voice dropped to a confidential whisper. “And here’s another thing: seems strange that our marshal hasn’t taken to wearing a gun, but Walt said he wasn’t strapped. Didn’t see the need, is what he told Walt. I suppose he was right because Walt said he dodged those swinging fists just fine and landed a blow that drove that man straight to his knees. Made him puke, too.” Renee finally heard herself. “Sorry, Miss Morrow. I probably could have left that last part out.”

“It’s all right,” said Tru.

“Anyway, Walt helped Marshal Bridger toss that fella in the back of the station buckboard and took him straightaway to jail. It’s been a long time since we’ve had someone use the facilities. Mrs. Sterling was glad, I can tell you. Mr.—” Renee paused again, her brow furrowing. She snapped her fingers as it came to her, and her face cleared. “Westerman,” she said triumphantly. “That’s his name. Westerman. He was supposed to stay at the Pennyroyal so there’s no one here who’s unhappy about him sleeping off his drunk in jail. Mrs. Sterling’s going to charge him for the meal, too. Usually that comes out of the marshal’s budget, but she doesn’t cotton to the idea of the town paying for it, especially since it saved her from cleaning up after Mr. Westerman.” Renee wrinkled her nose in distaste. “What she meant by that was that it saved her from ordering me to do the cleaning up, and that’s a fact.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

Renee nodded and gestured to Tru’s plate. “Are you finished? Doesn’t look to me like you ate even half. Do you want me to fetch you something else? There’s some stew left from last night that’d be fine to heat up.”

Tru shook her head. She had spent more time pushing dumplings through the chicken and gravy than she had eating them. “I’m not especially hungry tonight.”

“Cil said you weren’t here last night or the night before. Are you sickening for something?”

“No, at least I don’t think so. I don’t seem to have much of an appetite.”

Renee picked up the plate and swept away the utensils. “You know what’s good for that? Dessert. Baked apples tonight.”

“It’s tempting.”

“See? I’ll bring you a dish when I come back with the teapot. That will set your appetite straight.”

Tru hoped she was right.

* * *

Cobb looked up from his book as the door to his office opened. He dropped his chair onto all four legs, swung his feet off the desk, and greeted Jefferson Collins.

“Don’t trouble yourself to get up on my account,” Collins said.

Rabbit and Finn squeezed past their grandfather when he was slow to move out of the doorway. “Hey, Marshal,” they said as one.

“Hey, boys.”

Collins addressed his grandsons. “You two have a seat over there on that bench. I’d be obliged if you’d leave some space between you. Say, arm’s length. Pretend you’re bookends.”

Cobb suppressed a grin as the boys hung their heads and dragged their feet on their way to sitting down. Wanted posters, most of them several years old, were tacked to the wall above the bench. It was no accident, Cobb thought, that Mr. Collins had pointed Rabbit and Finn in the direction of those posters. There were chairs in the room that they could have had, but the wanted notices would keep the boys occupied at least long enough for Collins to state his business.

“Bookends,” Mr. Collins said, critically eyeing the distance between his grandsons. “Or I’ll ask the marshal to put you in the same cell and see what comes of that.” He turned to face Cobb. “They’ve been fussing with each other since school let out. I had to get them out of reach of their granny’s broom before she took to whacking them or me with it.” He scratched his chin as he looked thoughtfully in the direction of the door that led back to the cells. “I don’t suppose you’d consider locking
her
up for the night. It would give me considerable peace of mind.”

One corner of Cobb’s mouth lifted. “And it would give me considerable grief. No, thank you. I’m a great admirer of your wife.”

The station agent snorted, but he was grinning.

“Is this just a social call?” asked Cobb. “Or is there something I can do for you?”

“Mostly social. Thought I’d ask after that Westerman fellow, see how he’s coming along. You dropped him pretty hard. ’Course he dropped his own self harder before you got there. I don’t think I ever saw a man go down like he was felled. He didn’t even put out a hand to save himself.” He glanced toward the rear door again. “So how’s he doing?”

Cobb put a finger to his lips. “Listen.”

Collins cupped his ear so it captured noise coming from the back. Mere moments passed before he heard what sounded like the swarming of hundreds of angry bees. The buzzing stopped abruptly. A few heartbeats later, it began again. “Sounds like someone’s poking a hive back there.”

Cobb laid his hand over his book. “That’s what I thought. It’s been going on for hours. Mrs. Sterling sent food, but I couldn’t rouse him long enough to eat it.”

“Won’t hurt him to have it cold,” said Mr. Collins. “Better that he sleeps it off, I suppose.”

“Dr. Kent came by and looked him over, set his nose, and gave me a poultice for his eyes. I can’t get him to keep it on. Mr. Westerman is going to have two shiners.”

“Serves him right. He didn’t do me any favors falling on the platform. I have to file a report with the railroad.”

“Someone cares about what happened?” asked Cobb, surprised.

“No one cares. Still, I’m required to file a report. Unusual circumstances. That’s what they call it, and the reason they want to know is because he was liquored up. Temperance women make a lot of noise about these things. The story will get out, mark my words, and the railroad likes to have the details before the ladies organize a protest at every station from New York to Sacramento.”

Cobb whistled softly.

Collins nodded. “Yep. That about sums it up.” He looked over at his grandsons and saw they were still quietly occupied. “I guess you changed your mind about that letter.”

“What letter?” asked Cobb.

“The one you wanted to send but didn’t want to get there fast. You can tell me it’s none of my business because that’s true right enough, but curiosity’s a powerful thing. I was wondering if you took my suggestion after all and decided to put off writing it.”

Cobb set
Nat Church and the Ambush at Broken Bow
on the desk and sat up straighter. “I
did
write the letter. In fact, I went to the station the day after we spoke to post it. You weren’t there. I gave it to Mrs. Collins. She assured me she would give it to you.”

The station agent’s eyebrows came together over his spectacles. Frowning deeply, he rocked back and forth from toe to heel, heel to toe.

“Mr. Collins?”

“You remember me saying I was going to put your letter on a westbound train?”

“I remember.”

“Well, I never got the letter and Mrs. Collins wouldn’t have known to do that. What about your handwriting? Was it difficult to read?”

“Sure was,” Finn said, casting that aside over his shoulder.

Cobb and Collins exchanged glances. Simultaneously, their heads turned toward Finn.

“Finn?” Collins asked. “Turn around and tell me what you know about it.”

Finn spun on his knees and then dropped into a sitting position. Almost immediately, his legs began to swing under the bench. “Granny couldn’t make heads or tails of what he wrote. She said it was on account of not having her reading glasses, but I think she was just saying that because when I offered to get them, she asked me to read the address to her instead.” He shrugged. “So I did.”

“
You
could read it?” his grandfather asked.

“Sure. I seen it before.”

“Saw. You
saw
it before.”

“Uh-huh. Like I said.” Finn looked to Cobb to confirm the truth of it. “Ain’t that right, Marshal? Even Miss Morrow said you didn’t practice making your letters enough.”

Sighing, Cobb nodded in the station agent’s direction. “He’s telling you the truth. I stopped by the school one afternoon. That’s where Finn saw my slate work.”

“He brought sand tarts,” said Finn. “But I don’t think Miss Morrow liked the interruption. Leastways, I figure that’s why he ain’t come around again.”

It was second nature for Collins to correct Finn. “Why he
hasn’t
come around again.”

“Uh-huh.”

Collins knuckled his jaw. “So you read the address to your grandmother?”

“Yes, sir. Pretty sure I got it right. Chicago doesn’t look like any other word that I know.”

“And that’s all you did? Read it to her?”

Finn nodded. “She wanted me to cross out what Mr. Bridger wrote and put the address down in proper script, but there wasn’t enough room on the envelope for me. I still make my letters kinda big.”

Cobb felt a little of the pressure that was building in his chest begin to ease.

“Granny said she couldn’t see to do it herself,” said Finn. “That’s why she asked Rabbit. It was real important to her that Mr. Bridger’s letter have a proper send-off, but she said she would have done it for anyone because it was the right thing to do.”

Some of that pressure returned and settled uncomfortably close to his heart. He could feel it pounding. “Rabbit helped his grandmother?”

“Sure he did. I heard Pap tell you all about her broom.”

“A powerful motivator.”

“If you’re talkin’ about her swing, you got that right.”

Jefferson Collins stopped knuckling his chin and made a circling motion with his finger while he looked at Finn. His grandson dutifully rose to his knees, turned around, and made a credible show of studying the posters.

Collins looked at Cobb and rolled his eyes in Finn’s direction.

Understanding the offer that was inherent in the gesture, Cobb shook his head. “They can stay. We wouldn’t know half of what we do if Finn didn’t keep his ear to the ground.”