Sideways Heart
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The first time I saw him, I was sure he must be a ghost. The second time, I realized he wasn’t. In the last two years, since my parents died in that fire, there had been many men like this one: tall and dark-haired with piercing eyes and a face so handsome you’d think it belonged in an old oil painting.
It certainly didn’t belong to someone who looked as if he could do anything—even save someone’s life.
“Thank you.” His voice startled me. I jumped up from behind the desk and glanced around for my hat. When I found it, I put it back on and then went out into the room where he stood looking at our horses. “Did you want to go?”
He nodded and came over to us. One of the geldings snorted as he approached; the other whickered as if asking to be fed. “You’re not supposed to give them anything before they’ve been here awhile,” I said. I handed him some oats and then pulled another bag down from its hook. “They’ll get sick.”
I took the reins from his hand; one of the stallions tried to nibble on the bag as if it were a treat. “Here, take these and let them eat.”
The horse nickered, but after a few more seconds refused to budge. The young man gave up quickly and walked away toward the barn. He was dressed all in black and wore black cowboy boots that reached halfway up his shins. I thought about saying something else but instead went inside the house.
After putting the grain in their feed box, I opened the door leading into the kitchen, thinking I should offer him some food or drink, but I couldn’t seem to find anything good enough to serve to someone who had saved my life.
So, I went outside again and looked at the horses. They were both eating now, but when they heard me return to the door, they stopped and waited for me to open the gate. As soon as I did, they started munching again.
That night, we had dinner in our room. It consisted of cornbread made with honey, fried apples, boiled beans and gravy poured over everything. There were also biscuits and tea served, which we drank with sugar cubes sprinkled on top.
I felt a little guilty having such fine meals while he ate his simple meal on the floor. But the man didn’t say a word about my cooking. Instead, he asked me about our ranch and how often I came here. After dinner, we went through the routine of cleaning up after ourselves. Then, he helped me finish packing some things that were left undone.
We were leaving at dawn the next morning for New Orleans. When we got back to the bunkhouse later that evening, I told him to wait in the room and ran out into the kitchen. While the cook heated the water, I made coffee and put it in our tin pot, and then poured it into the cups he had brought for me.
I filled the kettle from the big stove in the corner and then returned to the room with it in time for him to sit on the bed. With no other furniture to speak of, there weren’t any chairs, so he sat on the floor leaning against the footboard. I put the hot cup between his hands and watched as he sipped slowly from it.
“So, you have never been to New Orleans?” he finally asked.
“No. This will be my first trip.” I picked up our cups and carried them into the bathroom.
When I finished washing the dishes, I took them back into our room and set them beside the bed. He hadn’t moved from the bed, but I noticed his gaze was fixed upon something on the wall across from the window.
It looked like a photograph. The image was of a woman, maybe thirty-five or forty years old, wearing a fancy dress. A man’s face peeked out from around her shoulder, smiling broadly as if happy about something. She appeared to be gazing at the camera, but I knew better.
The woman had just learned she had lost something valuable or important; I could tell by the look on her face. It was the same look I used to see on my mother’s face whenever anyone mentioned the plantation where we once lived.
“She looks sad,” the stranger observed.
“Yes, but she doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Why not? What do you mean?”
“It means she has no idea what happiness is.”
“Is that why you left home?” he asked.
I turned and looked at him over my shoulder. He stared directly at me; there was an intensity in those dark eyes of his.
“You know that’s not true.”
His mouth curved slightly upward in a smile, almost as though he were amused by my remark. He leaned closer to me. “Are you sure it isn’t?”
I wanted to deny it, but even though he was a strange man, I still found myself agreeing with him.
The following morning, our horses were saddled and ready to go; we rode them out of town. I glanced at the young man as he swung himself onto his horse. His hair fell to his shoulders and hung in two braids down either side of his neck. I couldn’t help but notice the muscles that rippled when he shifted his weight or leaned forward to pull back his right stirrup.
He was quiet all during our ride until we reached the river, where a small boat waited to carry us across. We tied our horses to a tree close to the shore; after taking off our hats and gloves, we went aboard and sat on opposite sides of the bow.
As soon as we left the safety of the bank behind, our skiff shot forward and headed toward the middle of the river. I kept looking ahead, searching for the sign that reads “Welcome to Louisiana,” but nothing appeared to signal the state boundary.
Our boat bumped against the sand bar and stopped. The man stood and offered me his hand. I let him help me up, noticing the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed when he gripped my fingers tightly. When he pulled me along, I saw our skiff rocking back and forth as if it were in motion. The waves were choppy and we were being tossed about like leaves in a windstorm.
Then, suddenly, it became silent. We were surrounded by thick green grass, swaying palm trees, and blue skies. The sky looked bluer than I remembered, making the water glisten beneath it. Birds were flying overhead, their wings beating quickly as they circled in the air.
The boat continued moving in this direction and we followed without asking where we were going because it seemed obvious it was somewhere far away from civilization.
Suddenly, everything came into view in a rush. First, a huge white church rose into the clear sky above us, then a large mansion that could only be called a palace, which was obviously a plantation home. It was beautiful, but there were signs of neglect everywhere: overgrown lawns, broken windows, and fences that needed fixing.
In one section, I spied on several men working under a tree while others worked in a nearby field, but most of them looked miserable. The workers wore dirty clothes; their heads were bowed as if they were tired or bored. They seemed to have no time to stop and rest or eat lunch.
I watched our skiff drift farther away. It was too bad so many people had to live this way. No wonder New Orleans is known for having a criminal element. It wasn’t hard to understand how some folks turned to crime if they were unhappy with their circumstances.
We reached our destination. The man led us through the front gates and we climbed out of our skiff. We walked around to the rear entrance of the big house. The man knocked and then waited for someone to open it before pushing past him and walking inside. He turned and waved to me. Then he disappeared.
I hurried after him and found him standing beside a tall staircase near a wide doorway leading to other rooms. Our footsteps echoed loudly as we approached him and he didn’t speak again until we reached the second-floor landing where he gestured toward another door. “Wait here.”
The room was dimly lit; only a few rays of sunshine penetrated the curtains that were drawn tightly shut. There was a narrow bed against the wall, but it was empty except for a pair of shoes. Near the headboard of the bed stood a mirror mounted on a small stand; a woman’s dress lay in a crumpled heap next to it.
When I entered the room, the door slammed shut behind me. My first thought was that the maid would come running to fetch her mistress, but it took almost a minute before I heard a woman cry out. She sounded desperate as she cried out repeatedly. A man laughed; then they both began speaking.
“Please—no more.”
She was begging for mercy.
I moved to the edge of the bed. Her dress was ripped halfway down the back, revealing pale, white skin with a deep red stain that was seeping through the torn fabric. It was a horrible sight to see; I felt myself shuddering.
Her hair was matted and tangled; sweat soaked the lower half of her face and ran down her body to pool between her legs. I wanted to go closer, to lift the torn dress away, but I couldn’t. The man was shouting at her to say yes while he slapped her repeatedly.
As I listened to the sounds of their conversation, I realized I recognized the voice of the man. It belonged to one of the men who had been at the saloon. He had said something about his wife being unfaithful, which made me suspect he was a husband abusing his wife. But why did he bring me here? Was he hoping to kill me or maybe even take my life?
I heard the woman cry out again, this time sounding louder. Then the man grabbed her neck with such force that I expected it to snap, but instead, he yanked her hair and forced her to look into the mirror.
“Look at yourself!” he demanded. “You’re nothing but a whore! You’ve been used by everyone. Now you can die just like all your friends.”
There was no mistaking the sound of a slap. His hand left a red mark on her cheek as she stared into the glass with her eyes full of fear.
“No,” she whispered, “don’t leave me alone.”
The man laughed and shook her roughly. “It will be better this way. I’ll make sure no one finds your body in time for funeral services. No one will ever know you are dead.”
He dragged her back to the bed and threw her onto it. He straddled her hips as he leaned forward. For a moment I thought he might strike her again, but she suddenly screamed in pain and struggled beneath him.
He grabbed her arms and then her throat with both hands and squeezed until her eyes rolled back and she stopped struggling. I heard a choking sound followed by two short coughs. It must have been from when she inhaled some of the water that had spilled into her lungs. Then, after he pulled the dress away, I saw blood oozing from her nose and mouth. Blood covered half of her chest as well.
Then he began talking. “I don’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re alive.”
He let her fall onto the bed and sat next to her. He lifted her head to kiss her once on either side of her mouth. Then he spoke in a low voice filled with anger. “How dare you disobey me! I told you what would happen if you didn’t obey me. This is exactly what I meant.”
His tone changed as he continued to speak. “Now I’m going to enjoy making love to you while I tell you how much you disgust me.”
I didn’t move, but my heart pounded with dread as I looked over at him. What should I do? Should I try to find help? Could I call out to someone else in the house?
I couldn’t decide if there was any hope. If anyone found us in this room together, we’d surely die. And I knew the best chance was if I waited for him to finish and then I could run out of the room. But I hesitated. Why did he want to kill me? Did he think I was an undercover agent sent by the law to arrest him?
My heart jumped when he grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under her head. I watched him remove his belt and then throw it aside. As I tried to remain calm, I heard him unbutton the front of his trousers. I couldn’t bear to watch as he pulled them down and then stepped free of them. But I kept watching as he climbed onto the bed and straddled her waist.
“This will hurt a bit,” he warned.
He grabbed her ankles and spread her legs apart so that they were wide open, exposing her sex. Then he gripped the sides of her hips and pushed himself into her with one quick thrust.
“Oh, God,” she groaned, but then cried out as he slammed his hips against hers. I was horrified; this couldn’t be happening to such a gentlewoman. She was trying to hold her breath but failed miserably when he started thrusting hard enough to tear the flesh from the bone.
I stood still with my back pressed against the door as the sounds of his heavy breathing came from the opposite end of the room. It seemed he didn’t intend to stop until he killed her. Then I heard a sharp thud followed by another one. The man fell off his victim and landed on the floor next to me. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, which must mean she was dead.
The man sat up and turned toward me. His chest heaved as he took deep breaths. “Damn you, why didn’t you run?”
I swallowed, unsure of what to say. I knew there wasn’t any point in saying anything now. But then I remembered that the lawman had mentioned a witness being outside. That must have been me because it sounded like someone had seen me enter the room. Maybe I could get away if I ran out of the house?
I took a step forward but stumbled over my own feet as I tried to stand. My knees felt weak as my mind worked through what to do next. I could hear his breathing coming from across the room and wondered if he would pursue me or simply wait for me to return with help.
I reached the door and tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. There was no key. I had to reach him before he realized that there had been a witness.
I tried to force myself to walk faster, but my foot slipped on some wood chips left behind by the horses as they passed by. I went down hard with a loud cry of surprise and pain. As I tried to sit up, I realized he had come around the bed and was standing over me. I thought about trying to fight him again, but my leg gave way beneath me and I lost my balance.
With both hands, I clutched at his shoulders and pushed with all my might as I struggled to crawl backward, away from him. I was certain he would kill me, but I managed to pull myself free from him, although he grabbed at me. I finally got onto my feet and ran toward the door, hoping the sound of his footsteps was only temporary.
But I tripped as my foot hit something on the ground, and then I saw a small box lying in the grass just inches from his boot. With my hand wrapped around the box’s handle, I pulled myself upright and limped quickly out of the barn and down the stairs to the front porch. Then I stopped.
Should I go to the sheriff? No, that wouldn’t work. They probably knew about our meeting days ago since I’d already met with him once in Denver. He could only warn me of the dangers and not take action.
I could ask someone to call the law on me. If they knew who I was, maybe they’d let me leave town without fear of prosecution. But I couldn’t risk getting caught in another trap, even if it meant going to jail.
A plan formed in my head. I’d steal one of his horses and ride north until I found a road. Once on the highway, I could catch a stagecoach and travel to New Mexico. Or I could cross the border and make for Arizona instead. It would be dangerous, but I needed to put some distance between myself and this place.
I went back inside, retrieved a rifle from the wall rack, and then searched the kitchen drawers for bullets. After reloading the weapon, I made sure it was pointed in the direction of the street and walked to the front door.
When I glanced back over my shoulder to check for signs of pursuit, I saw him standing near the window with a pistol in his hand.
***
As soon as I reached the main street, I headed straight for the nearest saloon, which happened to be the Blue Bonnet Saloon. In less than three minutes, I had entered the establishment, tossed the rifle behind a barrel, and then ordered a whiskey to steady my nerves.
There were two men sitting at the bar when I stepped into the saloon. I recognized them as deputies, and they both looked surprised to see me. Then they looked at each other with raised eyebrows and exchanged quick nods. I assumed that must mean he hadn’t told anyone about my visit to the ranch and was glad he hadn’t shared any details.
“Well, well,” said one of the deputies. “Who do we have here?” He wore a wide grin as he approached me.
The other deputy was right behind him as he handed me an old-fashioned silver flask as though he had expected me to stay longer and drink it in private. But I refused the whiskey as I placed a ten-dollar gold piece on the bar in front of them. It should buy me enough drinks to forget about the day’s events.
One of the deputies laughed as he pocketed my coin, then turned toward the bartender as though to give me a refill. The other deputy stood silently beside me as I took a seat near a group of cowboys drinking coffee. I was too nervous to eat lunch, so I was glad to find some food to soak up the whiskey as I waited for the deputies to leave.
After a few more rounds, I regained enough composure to feel comfortable walking alone down the dark street. When I reached my room at the boarding house, I found that no one was there to greet me.
“Where is everyone?” I whispered as I unlocked the door and slowly entered my room. My body shook from the alcohol as I took off my hat and coat.
I dropped the weapons in a heap at the foot of the bed, along with my clothes. For a moment, I stood motionless, wondering what my next move should be. Should I wait for him to return? Was that how he planned to kill me? Would he show up tomorrow morning as though nothing had happened? What if I never saw him again?
I didn’t like any of my choices, but my options left me feeling helpless. And with nowhere else to go, I decided to spend the night in my room to regain my strength before trying to figure out my next step.
I fell asleep almost instantly despite the noise outside of my room. A single lamp was burning in the corner, which was lit by the rising moon. It wasn’t until after midnight when I finally heard voices downstairs and felt my heart leap with relief. At least someone was awake at the inn, and it sounded as if the person on the opposite side of the building was talking to her.
For a second, I thought she might have come back to get rid of our unwanted guests, but then realized it was just one woman. She had been whispering something, but it was difficult to hear the words above the sounds of snoring and low conversation coming from other rooms.
She must have gone to the next floor. But why would she want to talk to anyone else? Maybe someone at the sheriff’s office had asked her to investigate the ranch and wanted to share information.
But if that was true, the deputies would’ve known about it. I didn’t think that meant anything good to me, and the only reason I had come here in the first place was to avoid any kind of investigation. So if it was bad news about the situation here, then I was already trapped in a deadly game.
The voice on the other end of the line grew louder until it became clear that the woman on the next floor was telling her something about the death of Deputy Cogburn.
“You’d better start looking for another position.” Her voice was hushed as she spoke quietly. “We are going to have a hard time explaining that one away.”
I jumped out of bed, grabbed a pistol from under the mattress, and then hurried across the hallway and down the stairs. It was a short flight of steps, but by the time I got to the bottom, my legs felt like rubber. I couldn’t tell where I was going and tripped on the last step.
Then there was a loud bang and a shot rang out in the quiet night.
The End