Dust--Chapter 14, PG-13
Posted: Sat Sep 26, 2009 2:52 am
Disclaimer: Josef...not, to my eternal regret, mine.
Author's Note: Yes, this is the final chapter of the main story. But there is an epilogue to follow. Just so you know.
Lucky
Dust
Chapter 14
The early morning was overcast, and a chill wind swept down the street, seeking out the gaps between tall wooden storefronts, one-story adobe buildings, and the imposing new brick bank building. Sally pulled her new shawl around her for warmth. She felt a little guilty, but she couldn’t help giving the fine, soft wool an extra stroke. It was the nicest garment she’d ever had, and she loved the vivid red, white, and black colors the Indian weavers had used almost as much as the feel of it.
Josef had insisted on buying her a complete set of new clothing, over her protests that she could not accept any such thing from him. He had an insistent way about him, though, and the knowledge that she’d lost every cent she had, and every possession, too, had ultimately swayed her.
“Don’t forget, Mrs. Watkins, you saved my life, out there in the desert,” he’d said.
“I think we’re more than even on that score, Mr. Constantine,” she’d retorted, brushing aside the enigmatic look he gave her, and setting her mouth in a stubborn line.
He’d muttered something about reasons being less than pure, sometimes, and something else she couldn’t quite hear, about obstinate women. But in the end, she’d had to accept the new dress, and the shawl, and heaven help her, undergarments to match, along with a neat little trunk to stow her travel-stained old things in.
So here she was, in the bustling main street of Las Animas, waiting on the stage, all new from head to toe, with one exception. Even Slade, so taciturn now, had nodded in agreement when Josef told her, “No new hat, though. You wouldn’t look like Sally without that funny little poke bonnet.”
She wasn’t quite sure if it was the right style to go with the neat jacket and skirt of her new outfit, and wondered if the tired old thing looked silly above the high-necked, white linen shirtwaist she wore. She put a finger up to touch the weight of the cameo at her throat. She’d take that off and stow it safely, once the stage had rolled away from town, but this once, she wanted to wear it for Josef to see.
She also wasn’t sure what Jim was going to think of all this, and she already knew he wasn’t going to be hearing all the details of her adventure. After all, she owed Josef—and Slade—the honor of keeping their secret. Who would believe the truth, anyway?
Josef was looking down at her now, with and expression of mingled affection and exasperation. “Mrs. Watkins, are you sure you won’t reconsider? It should only be a matter of a few days—“
“We’d feel better if you allowed us to escort you the rest of the way,” Weston put in. Sally thought his blue eyes had become much more intense, since Josef had turned him.
She shook her head. “It’s best I go on. Jim will be waiting, you know.”
“Surely he’d prefer slower and safer?”
“Mr. Constantine, it’s a good day’s ride to Bent’s Fort, and another day back. And who knows how long they’ll keep you there wrapping things up? You might have to go with them to the camp. It could be weeks.” She cast her eyes up to the lowering clouds. “And then there’s the weather to consider.”
He quirked one side of his mouth. “There is that.”
Somehow, there was little left to say. The morning before, when they’d first come into town, they’d been driven by the need to find an authority to report to, about the Colonel’s camp. The local marshal had listened at first with skepticism, but as the story went on, his interest grew.
Josef managed to cast Weston’s part in the stage robbery as positively as he could, painting him as an innocent victim of coercion, who had joined the side of the angels as soon as he could. He spoke eloquently of Weston’s attempt to extricate himself from the endeavor, with his feigned drunkenness the night before. Since the marshal knew that the Dodge City stage hadn’t arrived on schedule, and in fact the party sent to investigate had yet to report back, the tale of these strangers gained in credulity. Still, stages had been late before, with lamed horses or broken axles, and it was not yet time for alarm.
Still, the marshal eventually reckoned, what seemed at first to be only a wild, unlikely tale, made more sense than he cared to acknowledge, and the whole matter seemed like something for the consideration of the commander over to Bent’s Fort. He had the authority to act, and the men to do it.
Sally had listened to all of this while watching the sunlight grow in strength through the window of the marshal’s office. She thought about Josef’s limited tolerance for sunshine, and guessed Slade might be even more sensitive.
When it seemed a plan had been reached, she touched Josef on the arm. “Mr. Constantine, I’m feeling—very faint.” And slumped to one side, hoping she wasn’t overdoing it. It was only half an act, anyway.
The ensuing flurry of activity ended with all three of them safely ensconced in Las Animas’ only hotel. Sally thought she’d never felt a bed so soft, and she couldn’t resist bouncing on it a few times, like she used to as a child. She’d hardly had time to do more, when there was a knock on the door, and a woman bearing a tray of food, a jug of blessedly hot water, and “Mr. Constantine thought you could do with a nightgown to rest in, so I brought one of mine. Nothing fancy, but it’s clean.”
She’d barely been able to stammer her thanks, and blushed so hard she thought her hair might turn red from it. He could be so relentless in his thoughtfulness. She’d protested the room—what would Jim say, if he heard she let another man pay for a hotel room for her? But as Josef had pointed out, so reasonably, she had nothing.
“Let me take care of you, Sally.”
So instead of the pokey little hole her stage ticket (and thank the Lord, she thought very sincerely, that she’d kept the little piece of paper in her petticoat pocket, safe through all this uproar) entitled her to, she was in a far nicer room, and by herself. But after a day and a night of rest and food, it was time to go. And if she found the idea of climbing aboard a stagecoach again, especially without her friends, daunting, she wasn’t going to let anyone know.
She was glad, though, that Josef and Slade had come out to see her on her way. She could tell Slade, at least, was uncomfortable even in the weak, cloudy daylight, but he was there.
Time was growing short. The stagecoach was already turning from the livery stable yard onto the street, and the passengers were readying themselves to depart. Sally had a last task, though, before leaving. She put a hand in the pocket of her skirt—the left hand one, not the right, which held her derringer, reloaded thoughtfully by her friends, and retrieved something.
“Mr. Constantine,” she said, as gravely and grandly as she could, “before I go, Mr. Weston asked me to undertake a small task for him.”
“Indeed?” His voice was flat, but the quirk of his eyebrows signaled his curiosity.
Sally stepped up, and took his hand, pulling it forward with a smile. A twist of her wrist turned his hand over, and she placed an object into it. “I believe this is yours.”
Josef closed his hand around the familiar weight. “My watch,” he said. “I wondered what had become of it.”
Sally nodded, satisfied. “Mr. Weston gave it to me, back in the Colonel’s jail. To give to you. I think he said, he wanted to see your face.”
Josef gave Weston a businesslike nod, and favored Sally with a genuine smile, his brown eyes warm. “Thank you,” he said, his features mobile with fleeting emotions. “This means, uh—“ he broke off, then said again, “thank you.”
And it was time for them to part. There was a brief busyness as her small trunk was stowed, then Sally made to step up. And pausing, turned back suddenly. With a movement that threw her bonnet back around her neck, forgetting dignity and propriety, she flung her arms around Josef’s neck, and going up on tiptoe, kissed him soundly on the cheek. She clung for a moment, and he was surprised into returning her embrace. Pulling back, she whispered, “Be well, Josef. And take care of Slade.”
“I will,” he answered. “That last ride—you weren’t asleep all the time, were you?”
Sally made a face of false contrition. “I figured you knew,” she replied. Dropping a hand shamelessly to her belly, she said, “And Mr. Constantine, I wanted you to know I intend to name my baby after you.”
He grimaced. “Please tell me you won’t inflict Josephine on a girl.”
Sally pretended to consider. “How about Constance?”
Josef sighed. “Better. Somewhat.” He paused. “You have those addresses I gave you safe?”
“Yes, and memorized as well.”
“Good. Let me know if it’s a Joseph or a Constance, Sally. I’ll be waiting to hear.”
Weston was hanging back a little, but he too received a hug and a kiss. Sally could only guess at the emotion glinting in his sharp blue eyes. “Slade,” she told him, wanting to say she knew he had some of her within him now, but not knowing how to put it, “be well.”
“I’ll try, Sally.”
“And keep an eye on Josef for me, will you?”
Slade laughed. “You bet.”
She felt something hitting her face, lightly, and looked up to the leaden sky, the fine mist drifting down to touch her lips, still cool from the contact with the vampires’ skin. “It’s raining,” she said.
Josef inhaled, smelling the coming snow behind the rain. The weather had turned, and winter would begin its inexorable advance. “Well, that’ll lay the dust,” he said inconsequentially, as Sally mounted the step into the stagecoach.
He watched, with his new fledgling silent at his elbow, until she was quite out of sight in the gray morning.
Author's Note: Yes, this is the final chapter of the main story. But there is an epilogue to follow. Just so you know.
Lucky
Dust
Chapter 14
The early morning was overcast, and a chill wind swept down the street, seeking out the gaps between tall wooden storefronts, one-story adobe buildings, and the imposing new brick bank building. Sally pulled her new shawl around her for warmth. She felt a little guilty, but she couldn’t help giving the fine, soft wool an extra stroke. It was the nicest garment she’d ever had, and she loved the vivid red, white, and black colors the Indian weavers had used almost as much as the feel of it.
Josef had insisted on buying her a complete set of new clothing, over her protests that she could not accept any such thing from him. He had an insistent way about him, though, and the knowledge that she’d lost every cent she had, and every possession, too, had ultimately swayed her.
“Don’t forget, Mrs. Watkins, you saved my life, out there in the desert,” he’d said.
“I think we’re more than even on that score, Mr. Constantine,” she’d retorted, brushing aside the enigmatic look he gave her, and setting her mouth in a stubborn line.
He’d muttered something about reasons being less than pure, sometimes, and something else she couldn’t quite hear, about obstinate women. But in the end, she’d had to accept the new dress, and the shawl, and heaven help her, undergarments to match, along with a neat little trunk to stow her travel-stained old things in.
So here she was, in the bustling main street of Las Animas, waiting on the stage, all new from head to toe, with one exception. Even Slade, so taciturn now, had nodded in agreement when Josef told her, “No new hat, though. You wouldn’t look like Sally without that funny little poke bonnet.”
She wasn’t quite sure if it was the right style to go with the neat jacket and skirt of her new outfit, and wondered if the tired old thing looked silly above the high-necked, white linen shirtwaist she wore. She put a finger up to touch the weight of the cameo at her throat. She’d take that off and stow it safely, once the stage had rolled away from town, but this once, she wanted to wear it for Josef to see.
She also wasn’t sure what Jim was going to think of all this, and she already knew he wasn’t going to be hearing all the details of her adventure. After all, she owed Josef—and Slade—the honor of keeping their secret. Who would believe the truth, anyway?
Josef was looking down at her now, with and expression of mingled affection and exasperation. “Mrs. Watkins, are you sure you won’t reconsider? It should only be a matter of a few days—“
“We’d feel better if you allowed us to escort you the rest of the way,” Weston put in. Sally thought his blue eyes had become much more intense, since Josef had turned him.
She shook her head. “It’s best I go on. Jim will be waiting, you know.”
“Surely he’d prefer slower and safer?”
“Mr. Constantine, it’s a good day’s ride to Bent’s Fort, and another day back. And who knows how long they’ll keep you there wrapping things up? You might have to go with them to the camp. It could be weeks.” She cast her eyes up to the lowering clouds. “And then there’s the weather to consider.”
He quirked one side of his mouth. “There is that.”
Somehow, there was little left to say. The morning before, when they’d first come into town, they’d been driven by the need to find an authority to report to, about the Colonel’s camp. The local marshal had listened at first with skepticism, but as the story went on, his interest grew.
Josef managed to cast Weston’s part in the stage robbery as positively as he could, painting him as an innocent victim of coercion, who had joined the side of the angels as soon as he could. He spoke eloquently of Weston’s attempt to extricate himself from the endeavor, with his feigned drunkenness the night before. Since the marshal knew that the Dodge City stage hadn’t arrived on schedule, and in fact the party sent to investigate had yet to report back, the tale of these strangers gained in credulity. Still, stages had been late before, with lamed horses or broken axles, and it was not yet time for alarm.
Still, the marshal eventually reckoned, what seemed at first to be only a wild, unlikely tale, made more sense than he cared to acknowledge, and the whole matter seemed like something for the consideration of the commander over to Bent’s Fort. He had the authority to act, and the men to do it.
Sally had listened to all of this while watching the sunlight grow in strength through the window of the marshal’s office. She thought about Josef’s limited tolerance for sunshine, and guessed Slade might be even more sensitive.
When it seemed a plan had been reached, she touched Josef on the arm. “Mr. Constantine, I’m feeling—very faint.” And slumped to one side, hoping she wasn’t overdoing it. It was only half an act, anyway.
The ensuing flurry of activity ended with all three of them safely ensconced in Las Animas’ only hotel. Sally thought she’d never felt a bed so soft, and she couldn’t resist bouncing on it a few times, like she used to as a child. She’d hardly had time to do more, when there was a knock on the door, and a woman bearing a tray of food, a jug of blessedly hot water, and “Mr. Constantine thought you could do with a nightgown to rest in, so I brought one of mine. Nothing fancy, but it’s clean.”
She’d barely been able to stammer her thanks, and blushed so hard she thought her hair might turn red from it. He could be so relentless in his thoughtfulness. She’d protested the room—what would Jim say, if he heard she let another man pay for a hotel room for her? But as Josef had pointed out, so reasonably, she had nothing.
“Let me take care of you, Sally.”
So instead of the pokey little hole her stage ticket (and thank the Lord, she thought very sincerely, that she’d kept the little piece of paper in her petticoat pocket, safe through all this uproar) entitled her to, she was in a far nicer room, and by herself. But after a day and a night of rest and food, it was time to go. And if she found the idea of climbing aboard a stagecoach again, especially without her friends, daunting, she wasn’t going to let anyone know.
She was glad, though, that Josef and Slade had come out to see her on her way. She could tell Slade, at least, was uncomfortable even in the weak, cloudy daylight, but he was there.
Time was growing short. The stagecoach was already turning from the livery stable yard onto the street, and the passengers were readying themselves to depart. Sally had a last task, though, before leaving. She put a hand in the pocket of her skirt—the left hand one, not the right, which held her derringer, reloaded thoughtfully by her friends, and retrieved something.
“Mr. Constantine,” she said, as gravely and grandly as she could, “before I go, Mr. Weston asked me to undertake a small task for him.”
“Indeed?” His voice was flat, but the quirk of his eyebrows signaled his curiosity.
Sally stepped up, and took his hand, pulling it forward with a smile. A twist of her wrist turned his hand over, and she placed an object into it. “I believe this is yours.”
Josef closed his hand around the familiar weight. “My watch,” he said. “I wondered what had become of it.”
Sally nodded, satisfied. “Mr. Weston gave it to me, back in the Colonel’s jail. To give to you. I think he said, he wanted to see your face.”
Josef gave Weston a businesslike nod, and favored Sally with a genuine smile, his brown eyes warm. “Thank you,” he said, his features mobile with fleeting emotions. “This means, uh—“ he broke off, then said again, “thank you.”
And it was time for them to part. There was a brief busyness as her small trunk was stowed, then Sally made to step up. And pausing, turned back suddenly. With a movement that threw her bonnet back around her neck, forgetting dignity and propriety, she flung her arms around Josef’s neck, and going up on tiptoe, kissed him soundly on the cheek. She clung for a moment, and he was surprised into returning her embrace. Pulling back, she whispered, “Be well, Josef. And take care of Slade.”
“I will,” he answered. “That last ride—you weren’t asleep all the time, were you?”
Sally made a face of false contrition. “I figured you knew,” she replied. Dropping a hand shamelessly to her belly, she said, “And Mr. Constantine, I wanted you to know I intend to name my baby after you.”
He grimaced. “Please tell me you won’t inflict Josephine on a girl.”
Sally pretended to consider. “How about Constance?”
Josef sighed. “Better. Somewhat.” He paused. “You have those addresses I gave you safe?”
“Yes, and memorized as well.”
“Good. Let me know if it’s a Joseph or a Constance, Sally. I’ll be waiting to hear.”
Weston was hanging back a little, but he too received a hug and a kiss. Sally could only guess at the emotion glinting in his sharp blue eyes. “Slade,” she told him, wanting to say she knew he had some of her within him now, but not knowing how to put it, “be well.”
“I’ll try, Sally.”
“And keep an eye on Josef for me, will you?”
Slade laughed. “You bet.”
She felt something hitting her face, lightly, and looked up to the leaden sky, the fine mist drifting down to touch her lips, still cool from the contact with the vampires’ skin. “It’s raining,” she said.
Josef inhaled, smelling the coming snow behind the rain. The weather had turned, and winter would begin its inexorable advance. “Well, that’ll lay the dust,” he said inconsequentially, as Sally mounted the step into the stagecoach.
He watched, with his new fledgling silent at his elbow, until she was quite out of sight in the gray morning.
I am in awe of your talent. I love this story and can't wait for the epilogue... 
