That Damned Smile
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The next day, Mary was at the ranch house again. She was dressed in a gray suit with a white blouse and a dark blue cape. It was late morning when she entered the kitchen where Kate waited for her to report. The cook greeted her with an encouraging smile before turning back to the stove. “How are you today?”
“Fine.” Mary nodded as she sat down across from Kate who continued stirring the gravy on the stove.
Mary’s eyes roved over the room. Everything looked so clean and well-kept—the polished wood floors gleamed like mirrors; the table was set with a lace cloth; even the old stove had been scrubbed until it shone. It made her wonder if there were any other rooms besides this one that could pass for a mansion.
Kate served them both ham sandwiches with fresh lettuce leaves and cucumbers. As they ate their lunch, Mary told Kate about the new plan she’d devised. After lunch, they went upstairs together where Mary planned to take a nap while waiting for Jim to return home from town.
She didn’t realize how tired she actually felt until she reached the top of the stairs. A strong sense of déjà vu washed over her. This was not the first time she’d walked up these stairs alone or with Jim. She paused and glanced around, thinking that perhaps he’d returned early from his trip to town. But the hallways were empty except for herself.
As soon as Mary lay down on the bed, sleep came upon her almost instantly. When she woke, she stretched out on the bed, her mind still fuzzy. There were no sounds coming from downstairs. Thinking Jim might be gone to the barn already, Mary climbed off the bed and headed for the front door.
Instead of leaving through the front door, she turned toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. She opened the door to Jim’s bedroom and found him sleeping peacefully on his side. His breathing was soft and slow.
He was wearing nothing but a pair of cotton drawers. For a moment, she thought about waking him up to say good night but then decided against it since he hadn’t asked her to stay.
It wasn’t until later that evening after dinner that Mary learned what happened to Jim. She stood in the doorway watching Jim talk with Tom, Ben, and another man. They seemed to be arguing about something important. She listened intently trying to make out what they were saying. At last, Jim gave in to their demands and left the house with them.
“Where is he going?” Mary wondered aloud.
Jim’s mother answered without looking away from her sewing machine. “He’ll probably go see the mayor discuss some kind of business,” she said absently. Then she resumed sewing.
After finishing supper, Mary went outside to walk along the fence line. The wind blew gently against her face, lifting strands of hair off her forehead. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin. What would happen now?
Would she have to leave the ranch? Could she really leave everything behind and start all over again somewhere else? If she did, would she ever find a place that could compare to this ranch? And what would Jim think of her if he knew that she was contemplating such a drastic decision?
Suddenly, Mary heard footsteps approaching her. She opened her eyes to discover Tom standing beside her. Her heart skipped a beat when he smiled and brushed aside the hair stuck to her cheeks. “You’re beautiful tonight,” he whispered softly as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come inside and join us.”
When he tried to pull her inside, Mary stepped back and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But I can’t.”
Tom’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why not?”
“I have to meet Jim—”
“What do you mean?” Tom demanded angrily. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that you’re here to marry my son!”
“No, I haven’t,” she replied evenly. “And I don’t want to forget that either. But I also need to know more about your son’s background before we get married. I must admit that I don’t understand why Jim has never mentioned anything about his father.”
“Your husband is dead,” Tom spat out bitterly.
Her heart sank at those words. No! Not Jim too. How many times had she prayed that God would keep him safe? Now it appeared that she had lost her chance.
“So am I,” she whispered. “Jim will never marry me now.”
The next morning, Mary met Jim at the stable where he was saddling his horse. He rode up on the bay gelding that was part of his dowry. While Jim worked on the saddle, Mary watched the men working on the hay wagon.
It was hard to believe that Jim would be marrying one of the women who used to help him with the chores. She remembered Jim telling her once that there weren’t any other eligible young ladies around the area so he was forced to settle for someone like Mary. Well, Mary was sure glad he chose her.
Just then Jim called out to her. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?” he asked.
Mary looked back and saw him waving to her. With a smile, she ran to him. As she approached, he swung himself into the saddle and started riding away. She caught up with him quickly. “Wait!” she cried out.
Instead of slowing down, Jim sped up the pace. “How far are we going?”
“To the mayor’s office.”
“Then let’s hurry!”
They galloped across the open plains. After riding for an hour, Jim finally stopped. Turning around, Mary gasped at the sight of the town spread out below her. She couldn’t even imagine how large the town must look from above. “Wow,” she exclaimed. “This place is huge.”
As they headed toward the center of town, she spotted the mayor’s house among others. When they reached the front door of the mayor’s home, they dismounted the horses and handed them to the guards posted by the gate.
Inside the house, Mayor Sullivan greeted them warmly. He led them through the living room and showed them the main hallway that stretched from one end of the building to the other. In the middle of the hall, she noticed a stairway leading upward. The ceiling of the corridor was high enough to allow two or three people to stand side-by-side comfortably.
Mayor Sullivan explained that the entire town was laid out in the same fashion, each block separated from the others by wide streets and alleys. On the opposite side of the hallway, the mayor pointed to the rear entrance of the house. “That leads directly to the basement where you’ll find most of the city’s records stored.”
In addition to being the mayor, he was also the judge of the court. This gave him ample opportunity to use his law degree. But more importantly, it allowed him to dispense justice fairly. That was something that was sorely lacking in other towns in the west.
He ushered them down the stairs and told them to follow him to the office of the marshal. They walked past the sheriff’s desk and into the small chamber. The walls were decorated with weapons, photographs of various outlaws who were hanged for their crimes, and framed portraits of some of the town’s prominent citizens.
One of the portraits caught Mary’s attention immediately. It was a black-and-white picture of an elderly man dressed in a suit and wearing a bowler hat. His face was lined and deeply tanned from years of exposure to the sun. The resemblance between this old man and Jim was remarkable. “Who’s that?” she asked.
“My grandfather,” Jim replied proudly. “He helped build this town.”
She nodded in response and thought of all the time she’d spent in the marshal’s office helping her brother Frank with his cases. Of course, Jim didn’t realize that she knew exactly what went on behind the closed doors of the sheriff’s office.
She hadn’t been able to stop herself from listening in on their conversations. At least now she understood why the marshals often seemed angry when dealing with criminals. There was no excuse for such behavior. And while she felt sorry for these men, she couldn’t help but feel relieved that Jim wasn’t as easily angered as his predecessors.
The marshal turned to Jim and said, “You can take over the duties of the marshal until we decide otherwise. You have my word that I’ll do everything possible to make this transition smooth.”
“Thank you, Marshal,” Jim replied. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he said with a wink. Then he motioned to Mary. “And you are…?”
“Miss Mary Covington,” she answered.
“Welcome to town, Miss Mary,” the marshal said. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
When the marshal left, Mary followed Jim to the office. As they entered, he smiled broadly. “Let’s get busy, shall we?”
Jim sat down at his desk and pulled out the paperwork that had been waiting there for several weeks. While he sorted through the files, Mary stood near the window overlooking Main Street. She could see the telegraph office next to the saloon. A few minutes later, a telegram arrived.
“What does this say?” she asked.
With a chuckle, Jim read aloud: “Marshal’s office—Please come to the telegraph office as soon as possible.”
Mary frowned. “Why would he send us another message? We’ve already talked about this before.”
“Well, if it ain’t too much trouble…”
“Yes, of course.”
After leaving the marshal’s office, they rode back to the telegraph office and met the clerk.
“Here,” he said, handing over the telegram. “Your friend Mr. Grant sent me another message. Said he wants you both here at once.”
Jim glanced at Mary. She shrugged her shoulders. What else could she tell him? They returned to the marshal’s office. He took the telegram and quickly scanned it. “Come along then.”
They climbed aboard the stagecoach and set off toward Fort Worth. Along the way, the coach stopped in front of the bank. With a wave of his hand, he indicated for Mary to step inside. After a brief conversation, he hurried back to the carriage and urged her to hurry.
“This is strange,” she muttered. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that Jim mentioned the bank was robbed last night?”
“Maybe it wasn’t,” Jim said, trying to calm her down. “But you know how banks work. If there’s even a hint that someone might be after the money, then the bank will close early for fear of robbers. Maybe Mr. Grant was simply taking precautions.”
“Or maybe he doesn’t trust the bank anymore,” she countered. “And who can blame him? Let’s not forget that a lot of the townspeople lost money during the recent train robbery.”
Ahead of them, the stagecoach slowed and turned onto the main street leading up to the bank. Several horsemen appeared riding fast across the open fields. Their horses’ hooves thundered like thunder as they galloped closer. In the distance, a group of riders surrounded a lone rider.
The two groups converged upon each other in front of the bank. Mary gasped and gripped the seat tightly as the horsemen drew nearer. She watched in horror as one of the horsemen raised his gun and fired at the lone rider. It wasn’t long before the lone rider fell to the ground.
His lifeless body hit the dusty road hard enough to leave an indentation. One of the horsemen dismounted and ran around to the side of the fallen man. He reached into his saddlebag and removed a revolver.
As they approached the scene, Jim ordered the driver to turn off the trail and proceed slowly down the center of Main Street. He signaled the driver to halt the coach right outside the bank. Without warning, four riders charged out of the darkness. At the sound of their approaching hoofbeats, all hell broke loose on Main Street.
One rider held his gun and pointed at Mary. Another aimed his rifle at Jim. A third man rushed to the side door of the bank. He opened the door and disappeared inside. A fourth rider stepped forward from the crowd and grabbed Jim by the shoulder.
Before she realized what was happening, Mary found herself being pushed toward the open side door. When she tried to protest, she was shoved against the wall beside the door. Her heart raced. This was exactly what happened when she was kidnapped by the outlaws!
The gunman pressed a pistol to Jim’s chest. “Get inside,” he demanded.
While Jim obeyed, Mary struggled to free herself from the gunman’s grasp but failed miserably. All she managed to do was draw more attention to herself. The gunman finally let go of her arm and took aim at Jim.
“Stop!” Mary cried. “You’ll kill him!”
“Shut up,” he barked. “I’m only going to shoot your husband.”
“Don’t hurt him,” she pleaded with him. “Just take whatever you want.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he motioned to his accomplices to join him. Two men came over and joined the gunman. Then he shouted to the others in the street. “Clear the area, everyone!”
It seemed to Mary that half of Fort Worth had gathered in the square. Men, women, children—they were all there to watch. Most of them wore wide-brimmed hats or bonnets to shield themselves from the summer sun.
Others carried parasols and umbrellas to protect themselves from the blazing rays. As they moved through the crowds, people scattered in every direction. Only those who stood near the bank remained standing.
Once the gunmen cleared the street, Jim jumped down from the stagecoach. Mary followed. As she neared the doorway, the gunman turned to her again. “Wait here.”
She hesitated. Where would he expect her to wait? And why did he think she’d run away if Jim hadn’t done so already? But it wouldn’t matter anyway. No matter where she went, these men would find her. They’d never give up until they captured both of them.
When he finished talking to his companions, the gunman strode back to the coach and pulled aside the curtains. “Inside, please,” he said. “We’re closing for the day.”
Mary stepped inside the coach and closed the door behind her. Once Jim entered, too, the gunman slammed shut the side window and locked the door. He handed his gun to another man who brought it along with several other weapons.
The gunman then led Jim and Mary into the rear compartment and placed them both face down on the floor. After he checked to make sure they weren’t carrying any weapons, he left the coach and headed to the front.
From the front of the building, the gunman waved to the other gunmen. They responded by drawing pistols and firing at anyone nearby. Bullets whizzed past Mary’s head. With nowhere to hide, she felt helpless as the bullets whistled overhead.
Jim’s screams pierced the air. Each time he yelled, blood spurted from his chest. Mary screamed and fought harder than ever. She kicked, clawed, punched, and bit. Finally, she succeeded in breaking free. Hurriedly, she crawled toward Jim.
Blood soaked the front of his shirt and dripped onto the carpeted floor. Through the bullet holes, she saw the gunman point his gun at Jim’s head. It looked like he was about to pull the trigger.
With a quick twist of his wrist, the gunman threw the hammer of his revolver back. At the same time, he raised his foot high enough to kick Jim squarely in the jaw. The blow sent Jim sprawling across the floor. His hands fluttered feebly above his face as he rolled to the far side of the compartment.
At last, Mary could see Jim’s body clearly. One bullet hole gaped beneath his chin while another penetrated his lower ribs. Yet another bullet had ripped through his right hand. As the gunman stepped out of the coach, he holstered his weapon and picked up the reins of one of the horses. Then he climbed aboard the carriage and drove off without saying a word to either Mary or Jim.
As soon as the driver departed, Mary ran to Jim. While she tended to his wounds, she couldn’t help wondering how many times he’d been shot before today. Why wasn’t he dead?
After wrapping his bandages around his chest and covering the rest of him with a blanket, Mary sat back and watched him sleep. How long could he possibly survive this way?
***
“What are you doing?” Edna asked.
“Cleaning my room,” Mary replied. “Now will you stop asking me questions? I can answer none of them.”
Edna laughed. “That’s not funny.”
“Sorry.”
A few minutes later, Mary returned to Jim’s bedroom. Her eyes lingered on his face, which still bore the marks of the gunshot wound. This close, she could smell the metallic scent of blood mixed with sweat. She wanted to cry.
How long could Jim live? Would he die tonight? Or perhaps tomorrow morning when the daylight faded? If she didn’t know better, she might have thought that someone had taken the time to sew up each bullet hole.
But the truth was obvious: Jim had bled freely throughout the night. In fact, the sight of him now made her wonder what kind of man he really was. Was he strong enough to survive such injuries? Or did he just seem that way because he always managed to get through everything?
Her gaze drifted to Jim’s right hand. What must it feel like to lose an arm? Did he even realize he’d lost part of himself? Had he ever tried using it since losing it? Perhaps it hurt so much he refused to do anything but lie there. That might explain why he slept all day and stayed awake all night.
For some reason, Mary found herself standing near the bed. When she realized what she was doing, she quickly moved farther away. A sudden urge overcame her to reach over and touch Jim’s shoulder. For once, she would let go of her fears and simply be with him. Just for a moment.
She turned away and glanced at the clock on the wall. Four o’clock! Even though she knew the sun wouldn’t rise again until early morning, she felt compelled to stay awake. Maybe if she kept watching Jim, she could find something to give her hope.
But instead of finding relief, she only found more questions. Where were his parents? How could he live alone for so long? And where exactly was he going?
It was impossible to tell time inside the coach, especially during the middle of the night. Mary guessed that Jim probably spent most of his days sitting beside the fireplace reading by lamplight. He seemed to prefer reading rather than talking.
Mary decided to try reading next to Jim’s bedside. Soon, she found herself immersed in the story. Before she knew it, the book slipped from her fingers and landed on the carpet between Jim’s legs.
She bent down to pick it up. On closer inspection, she discovered that the pages had stuck together. So she opened the cover and shook out the pages. Nothing happened. The book remained bound together.
Why hadn’t she noticed before?
When she stood up again, Jim stirred. She turned away and pretended to look at the book lying on top of his lap.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered.
He sounded groggy and confused. “I came to talk to you.”
His voice sounded stronger than it had earlier. With every passing hour, she expected him to recover faster. However, he never spoke about any pain. Nor did he complain of discomfort. Instead, he lay quietly staring straight ahead.
“Where is your family?” Mary asked after a few moments of silence. “Did they come to visit?”
Jim blinked several times. “My mother died years ago… My father left us when I was very young.”
“And who took care of you?”
“Some of the townspeople helped me. They raised money for food and clothing.” His tone became bitter. “But then one of them got greedy and robbed me blind. He ended up getting hanged for his crime.”
The memory brought back painful memories of her own childhood. She wondered how different Jim’s life might have been if he’d been born into a wealthy family instead of being forced to work at a mining camp. But maybe things weren’t so bad for Jim.
After all, he had a good job—one that paid well. Plus he owned his own home. It was possible that he actually lived a richer lifestyle than many of the people who worked in town.
“Do you want to hear a story?” Jim asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, my dad told me about this old blacksmith named Burt who lived in a little shack outside of town. One day Burt went out walking in the woods behind his house. While he was crossing a stream, he saw two boys playing along the bank. He called them and offered to buy their lunch. Then he invited them to eat at his house instead.
“They accepted and said they wanted to see the blacksmith’s shop afterward. As soon as they entered Burt’s home, he gave them a tour. Each boy admired Burt’s tools, which were neatly displayed on shelves. The youngest of the pair reached up and picked up a hammer. Suddenly, he swung it hard against the wall and knocked the entire shelf off the wall.
“‘Don’t ever do that,’ yelled Burt. ‘That will destroy your eyes!’
“Burt handed each boy a piece of coal to keep him occupied while he cleaned up the mess. Finally finished, Burt fixed the wall with a new shelf and invited the boys to join him for supper.”
After Jim’s tale, Mary looked at his hands resting on his chest. Would he ever be able to use them again? Could he play his guitar? Or would he forever regret losing part of himself?
The End