Nothing Left To Do But Smile Smile Smile
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“I’m going to go get something to eat,” said the sheriff. “You two can talk.”
He left us alone in his office, and that was fine by me because we’d been talking for a while now. I wasn’t used to it. It made me feel exposed like my body had become the subject of some strange experiment. And yet I couldn’t stop looking at her face, and then I would catch myself thinking about what he’d done with his fingers. The whole thing made my head spin.
“It’s not right,” she whispered when the sheriff walked out the door. She stood up from the desk. Her eyes were wide and dark with emotion as they met mine. “What are we doing here?”
I didn’t know how to answer. My mind raced through possible responses: We’re here because you hired me. No, I’m here because I need work. We’re here because there is nothing else to do but smile smile smile. I shook my head. How could I tell her any of those things? Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded paper. “You might want to see this before we leave town.”
She took the note from me and read it quickly. Then she looked up at me with an expression of disbelief on her face. “That’s all it says?”
The words felt awkward and foreign coming out of my mouth. They sounded so much better inside my head. I nodded.
“Well, it must be important.” She unfolded the note again. “This is a real letter. It’s written in cursive.”
“Yes, it’s a letter.”
She glanced down at the note and then back up at me. “Why did you give me a fake letter?”
I didn’t know what to say. Was I supposed to lie to her? I hadn’t lied yet. So why start now? “I wanted to see if you were honest.”
Her eyebrows lifted. She cocked her head to the side and studied me. I knew she was trying to figure out who I really was. I wondered if she thought I was a fraud, or maybe even a murderer—maybe that’s why she’d given me her gun. That’s one way to find out what kind of man I am.
But she finally seemed satisfied with my explanation and nodded once. “Okay,” she said, putting away the letter. “Let’s go.”
When I followed her out of the office, I saw the sheriff walking toward the saloon. He had a glass of whiskey in his hand and his hat tilted over his eyes. His shoulders slumped as he walked, and I wondered if he had ever slept in his own bed since he became sheriff. Or had he simply spent most of his nights sleeping in front of saloons?
“Sheriff!” I yelled. “We’re leaving.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said without turning around. “You got your money.”
I waited until he turned and noticed us standing there. “I’m sorry about this morning,” I told him. “I don’t have to pay you anything.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t charge you for the bullets.”
And that was it. Just like that, we were free to leave town, and I felt no guilt over what we’d done. If the law could turn a blind eye to our actions, then so could I.
The next day, I rode with her to the train station and watched as she boarded the train. She sat alone in one of the rear cars, her hands resting on her lap, her head bent forward. It made me sad to watch her because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know where I should look or how I could act.
My only comfort was that I’d saved her life. I’d found her before she could be killed by the man who’d shot the sheriff. I’d stopped him in time. Maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad about what happened between us. I had done her a favor. I’d done the right thing.
I watched the train pull away and slowly disappear behind the hills, and soon the only sign of it was the smoke rising from the engine. It lingered for a long time, curling up toward the sky, and I hoped it would reach her before she died.
I wished I could send her back home to her family, but I knew that wouldn’t happen. I remembered the sheriff telling me there was no place for her in his world. There was no place for her anywhere anymore unless she decided to move west. And I didn’t think she would.
As the train disappeared into the distance, I leaned against my horse and stared after it. The hills grew taller and taller, their slopes more barren than any I had seen before. I wondered if she was thinking about me as she traveled across the plains. I wondered if she still cared about me and regretted what we had done. I wondered if she would come back someday.
***
“Where are we going?” Lark asked as the stagecoach rumbled along the dusty road.
“Just riding,” I answered. “Enjoying the scenery.”
He looked at me skeptically and shook his head. “There isn’t much to see out here.”
“It’s a beautiful country,” I said. “Look.”
I pointed ahead of us. A few miles off the road, we came upon a small creek that ran through the valley. We’d gone over a hill and passed another ranch, and I could see that there was water flowing near its barn. I thought about how much work went into getting just a little bit of water, and I wondered if they had enough to last them all year.
A few minutes later, we arrived at a farmhouse. I recognized it as the place I’d been hired to protect. It was surrounded by a tall fence, and I saw several horses grazing on some grassy patches beyond the paddock.
Lark dismounted and led the team while I climbed down from the coach. When I stepped onto the porch, the woman who answered the door seemed surprised to see us. She was middle-aged and had a pretty face, but she wore her hair in an old-fashioned bun that hung over both sides of her forehead and framed her sharp nose and thin lips.
Her eyes twinkled when she smiled, and she had a nice smile too. I guessed her age to be somewhere between forty and fifty, and I wondered if she was married or if she lived alone.
“Come in, come in,” she said. “I’ll get some ice tea.”
Lark and I followed her inside and took seats in front of the fireplace. After she served us, she joined us, sitting beside me on the sofa. “I’m Mrs. Gentry,” she told us. “Welcome to my home.”
She offered her hand to each of us. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “I’m happy to see that you’re both safe.”
“How is Mr. Gentry?” I asked.
Her smile faded. “Mr. Gentry died in an accident two years ago.”
I glanced at Lark to see how he reacted to the news. He nodded solemnly.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “But we brought you a letter,” I told her. “We found it near the body of a man who had killed your husband.”
Mrs. Gentry’s eyebrows lifted and her face brightened. “I’ll take it now,” she said. She stood up and walked to a desk, then took a key ring from the drawer and unlocked a large wooden box. Opening it, she took out the envelope and handed it to me. I read it quickly and handed it back to her. “Did you open this?” I asked.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The sheriff did.”
“What does it say?” Lark asked.
“Nothing good,” she replied. “It says the man who shot your sheriff will be coming here. He won’t stop until he kills the rest of us.”
“Who wrote the letter?” I asked.
“My nephew,” she said. “He’s been trying to kill you since you left.”
I looked up at Lark and he gave me a reassuring nod. “Why?” I asked the woman. “Does he hate you because you were his uncle’s wife? Did something happen to him?”
She shook her head and looked at me with sad eyes. “You don’t understand,” she said. “He didn’t care about his father. He hated the fact that he was my husband’s brother. That’s why he wanted to kill me. But I guess he got angry when he learned about his father’s death—and the money my husband earned from it.”
I sat there stunned for a moment, and then I turned toward Lark. “That must have taken some courage,” I said. “To write such a letter, knowing that someone would find it and know what you intended to do.”
“Not really,” he said. “It was easy. If he knew we’d come after him, he wouldn’t have written it.”
I glanced at Mrs. Gentry and saw that she was smiling again. “So you intend to kill him?” I asked.
“Yes, but not before we make sure he’s dead,” Lark said.
“Then we’ll leave tomorrow night,” I said.
Mrs. Gentry nodded and then smiled at Lark. “Good,” she said. “I hope you enjoy our hospitality.” She patted my knee and then went to stand in front of the fireplace again. I watched her and wondered if she was as strong as Lark. Or if she had any other qualities that made her a worthy adversary.
***
The next morning, we left town early, leaving the sheriff to take care of matters while we rode away on horseback. The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky, and I hoped it stayed that way. There hadn’t been much wind during the night so I decided not to wear my hat. Instead, I tied it under the seat of the coach.
We had stopped last night at a farmhouse to spend the night, and I thought that was probably where the outlaws would be hiding.
“Where are we going to meet the gang?” I asked Lark.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I just wanted to get away from here first.”
“Do you think they’ll come after us?” I asked.
“Probably,” he answered. “And if they do, I’ll kill them all.”
“I’m glad you’re with me,” I said, squeezing his arm.
“Me too,” he responded. “But I wish I could have killed the other one. His name was Tom.”
“Tom?” I repeated. “Who’s Tom?”
“The outlaw who shot my sheriff,” Lark said. “His name was Tom.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, I’m guessing the sheriff had a gun on him that day.”
“I know,” he said. “And I want to shoot him again.”
“That might take some time,” I replied.
“I know,” he said. “But I’d like to try.”
Lark was quiet for a moment and then he looked over at me. “What happened to the sheriff?” I asked.
“They buried him yesterday,” Lark said. “I couldn’t stand to watch.” He paused and then added, “I’m sorry about your husband, Miss Harper.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And I’m sorry for your loss also.” Then I looked at Lark and asked, “Will you tell me the rest of the story?”
“Of course,” he said. “But later, when we get to a safe place.”
“All right,” I agreed. “Let’s keep moving.”
We traveled westward along the main road for a few miles and then turned south, following a trail that led through an open field, then passed between two hills. The ground was flat and grassy, and we found it easy to ride for hours without having to dismount and lead the horses.
I kept glancing over to the side and looking at Lark, wondering how many outlaws were out there watching us, and hoping none of them had guns. We rode for almost three more days and reached a small mining camp just after dark. I recognized the name of the town because it had been mentioned in newspapers and magazines before. It was called Tombstone.
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked Lark as we rode into town.
“Because this is where we’ll find them,” he said. “And I don’t want to go anywhere else until we do.”
“If we’re lucky, we may even find their hideout,” Mrs. Gentry said. “I’ve heard they live down there.”
“How far is it?” I asked.
“A mile or so,” she said. “It’s in the middle of the desert, so you can’t see it from the hilltops.” She paused and then added, “You’ll probably need to stay with me tonight.”
I glanced up to the top of the nearest hill, which was only a short distance away. “I suppose so,” I said. “But will you let me ride with Lark? I want to be close by in case they show themselves.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Gentry said. “Just remember to keep your hands hidden.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t reach for anything unless it’s an invitation.”
“Good,” she replied. “Now let’s get back to the inn and settle in for the night.”
***
Our room at the Golden Goose Inn was on the second floor, overlooking the street below. Our door was locked and bolted shut, and I felt a little safer knowing we weren’t alone on the floor above. The room was small but clean and comfortable. I had a hard time sleeping that night, thinking about all the things that could happen that evening, and what I would do if the outlaws showed up.
Lark and I left the inn early the next morning and walked through a deserted town. No one seemed to be in sight and no one was selling any goods on the streets. Most of the shops were closed except for a few that still sold provisions, liquor, and supplies.
“I wonder if anyone lives here anymore,” I said.
“I doubt it,” he said. “I think most of them moved away when the mine closed.”
We passed a saloon and paused outside the doors for a moment. The bar was long and wide and made of wood, with a tin ceiling and a wooden countertop. A sign hanging above the bar read, “No firearms allowed.”
Inside the saloon were several tables covered with green cloths, each holding a single bottle of whiskey and glass waiting to be filled. There was another table set aside for dice games and poker, but there were no one playing cards that afternoon.
“Looks like a regular old-fashioned saloon,” I said.
“It has a nice atmosphere,” Lark said. “But I never saw a gambler here.” He paused and then added, “And I’m not surprised.” He looked at me and then said, “I think this is why people come to Tombstone.”
“To gamble?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “The town has a lot of history and I’m sure that’s part of it. But gambling is also a big draw—and for good reason. The stakes are high.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, let’s say someone wins a big pot of money and wants to keep it quiet,” he explained. “So they play a game of chance and win some cash, then leave town before anyone notices.”
“But wouldn’t everyone notice?” I asked. “That’s a lot of money.”
“People who know the truth usually don’t care,” Lark said. “They just want to enjoy their winnings.”
“And the ones who don’t know?” I asked.
“Are the ones who should worry,” he said. “Those are the ones who might want to stop them from leaving town.”
I thought about the men who had robbed us and wondered if they would have cared if I had shown up with a fortune in my purse. They would probably think I was crazy anyway, or assume I’d won it playing dice and poker. But if they really knew what I had done for a living, how could they not realize I was dangerous?
“What about you?” I asked. “Did you ever gamble?”
“Never,” he said. “My dad didn’t approve of gambling, and I always hated losing. Besides, I don’t have much luck, and that’s something I can’t afford.”
“Then why did you join the army?” I asked.
“Because it was the only way I could get out of this town,” he said. “I didn’t want to live among those who gamble and drink.”
“Why not?” I asked. “If you’re going to fight for your country, why not spend some of your free time enjoying yourself? That’s what I’ve been doing.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe because I’m too honest for my own good. My father told me not to gamble or drink, and I guess that’s what kept me out of trouble. And maybe someday I’ll find a woman who cares about that kind of thing.”
“You mean someone like me?” I asked.
He nodded and smiled. “Someone like you.”
“Do you believe in fate?” I asked him.
“Of course,” he said. “Otherwise how else would things turn out?”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “How do things turn out?”
“Life doesn’t always go the way we plan,” he said. “Sometimes life surprises us with unexpected events and twists that take us off our courses. But if we stay true to ourselves, then eventually everything works out.”
“That sounds like a pretty good philosophy,” I said.
We stopped for lunch and sat down on two stools at an open window table. Outside, a large man wearing a black hat and a gray jacket was walking down the street toward us.
“Who’s that?” I asked Lark as he watched the stranger approach.
“Somebody I used to know,” he said.
“Used to know? What does that mean?”
“Let’s just say I haven’t seen him in a while.”
Lark paid for our meals and we left the saloon and headed back toward his house. We walked past the livery stable and turned right into a narrow alley between buildings. It was dark and deserted, except for two rusted metal carts and a few pieces of scrap metal strewn across the dirt ground.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“This is where I lived when I first came to Tombstone,” he said. “Back then, my room was upstairs on the second floor.”
“So where are we now?” I asked.
“Just follow me and you’ll see.”
As we continued to walk, I noticed that the houses were getting larger and more elaborate. Each one had a porch and several doors, including one that appeared to be made of wood. A few of the houses even featured balconies. Then we passed a house that was so tall I couldn’t see the top of it. It was painted white and looked like a palace standing there alone.
The End