Crazy Woman Creek (3 page)

“He’s not used to a harness. I’ll just tie him to the back,” said Luke.

“Alright then. I'll be only a second." Olathe brushed a few wayward gray hairs from his forehead and then squatted again to give the strap one last tug. Soon he stood up and motioned with his hand to Luke that he was finished.

While Olathe watched them both with extraordinary interest, Luke finished tying his steed to the iron ring at the rear of the wagon and climbed aboard. Lenora continued to stare straight ahead, as stony as the Great Sphinx of Giza, while Luke sat down on the buckboard seat.

"Thanks, Olathe," he said as the stable owner handed him the reins.

Before Luke seated himself, Lenora scooted to the farthest edge of the buckboard seat and pivoted her legs at an angle to ensure no bodily contact. She scooted so far to the right that half of her thigh hung off the edge; she had to grip it with her right hand for balance. Even so, once Luke sat down there was no empty space between her hips and his.

Fear seized Lenora, with two thoughts crowding out all others. One, in a few minutes all of Buffalo would see her shamelessly parading down Main Street seated next to a man not her husband, and two, Deputy Davies was the manliest man she'd ever seen. She’d hardly noticed him in the sheriff’s office, where the distraction of her upsetting report had kept her focus on the sheriff. But now he was smashed against her, their hips closer than a litter of nursing piglets. His bigness overwhelmed her, a bigness exaggerated by his all-male trail overcoat, heavy denim pants, and rough ranch boots. Both realizations caused her heart to beat a little faster. She stared straight ahead, hoping stupidly that if she acted as if everything were perfectly normal, somehow, magically, to town folk she, the deputy, and the wagon would be invisible.

In a moment Luke was leading the single horse in a wide arc to exit through the high barn doorway. Lenora's heart pounded in her chest. What did this mean? Why was the deputy pursuing her? How would she survive the ride through the two blocks of town?

"You aren't going to pull this thing down the middle of Main Street?" Lenora sat frozen faced, only her lips moved. She didn't dare to turn and look at Luke.

"Do you know a better route?" Luke responded, calm as a Louisiana swamp on a sultry August afternoon.

"People will talk!" whispered Lenora, her hand still one with the buckboard seat.

"Can't disagree with you there," Luke said, tilting his head a little closer to hers but keeping his eyes on his task. The wide brim of his hat brushed the face-framing brim of hers. "But then, I've learned that people will talk no matter what you do, good or bad, so you might as well just go on doin' what you're doin.'"

And he did. As they pulled onto Main Street, a hundred pairs of eyes, or so it seemed to Lenora, fastened onto her horse and wagon. Her Morgan had never clippety-clopped so loudly or moved as funeral slow as it did now while they jostled and creaked over the frozen ruts of Wyoming mud. Lenora kept her eyes fixed on the Morgan's back side as if a big brown pooping behind was the most mesmerizing thing on earth. Though they passed the hardware store, the millinery, the tobacconist, the bank, the town’s six saloons, a dentist-barber shop, the doctor’s office, and other trading establishments, Lenora never saw anything but the pooper and the people, shoppers and clumps of laughing soldiers from nearby Fort McKinney, all of whom she was sure were taking note of the rolling spectacle. She desperately wished she had chosen a poke bonnet to hide behind today instead of her open-face kiss-me-quick. She refused to look at Luke. Doing so might make the whole scene real, or worse, make it appear to townspeople that she knew him.

She must be dreaming. This was not happening!

They were nearly at the edge of town and approaching French Creek when out of the side of her eye Lenora saw with horror that three elderly lady members of the Johnson Ebenezer Christian Church, her church, had paused from their shopping chores to watch Lenora roll by. Despite her partial vision, Lenora could see the startled looks on all three faces.

Just then, the buckboard slipped into a deep rut, which caused the forward part of the wagon to dip
suddenly and lurch to a stop. Lenora slid to the right, grabbing wildly for the front of the wagon with both hands to keep from being thrown off the seat, but failed. Her shiny beaded reticule slid off her lap with a whoosh and her with it. Embarrassed, she picked up her bag and righted herself. With a gloved hand she swiped at dirt from the wagon floor that had soiled her skirt, not so much because it was soiled, but to avoid looking in the direction of the all-too observant church ladies.

"Take my arm," said Luke.

Lenora looked down at the bag on her lap and pretended she had not heard him.

"Take my arm," he repeated, more urgently now. "It will give you some balance."

Hesitantly, and still fixing her eyes on the horse's fascinating rump, Lenora obeyed and slid her arm into his. But she held her arm stiffly, so that her elbow formed a rigid triangle to protect her from jostling against him, as effective as a cattle prod and every bit as friendly.

Finally, blessedly, they were beyond the stares of the curious people of Buffalo. About a half mile beyond the edge of town, Lenora wordlessly removed her arm from Luke’s, never leaving the safety of the far edge of the buckboard seat. Then, for the first time, she turned to face him.

“Why did you tell Mr. Olathe you were accompanying me home?” Her tone was fraught with annoyance.

"I wanted to spare you.”

“Spare me?" said Lenora, so flummoxed she hardly felt the cold.

"Yes, spare you."

"What are you talking about? Do you have any idea of the trouble your foolish act has created for me?"

Luke took his eyes off the horses and looked directly at Lenora. "I told Olathe I was accompanying you home ma’am because, considering your circumstances, it seemed the wisest thing to say."

"I fail to comprehend such wisdom, sir.” Lenora was deeply engaged now, emboldened by the privacy afforded by an empty prairie. She returned his eye contact without a trace of self-consciousness. “Your actions have only added to my distress. You have increased my burdens during a very difficult situation.”

Luke raised his eyebrows.

“It is incomprehensible to me that you think you have somehow acted wisely on my behalf," she continued.

The clatter and creak of the buckboard rolling over rough ground filled the taut silence. The reins squeaked rhythmically as the horse’s shoulders pulled against the leather while the curb chain at its mouth jangled each time he turned his head.

Luke took a while to answer, and when he did, his tone was sober. Again he turned directly toward Lenora, so that their faces were only inches apart.

“It seems, Mrs.
Rose, that you are unhappy to be seen by the citizens of Buffalo riding with me through town like a free and law-abiding citizen who has gone to the sheriff for help.”

Lenora opened her mouth to object but Luke cut her off.

“So,” he said, looking intently into her puzzled green eyes, “if you prefer, I’ll turn this wagon around right now, and go back and lock you up for the murder of your husband.”

Lenora shut her eyes and took a deep breath to steady herself. It took her a few seconds to respond. “I didn’t kill my husband, Deputy Davies. I love my husband. I would never do anything to harm him. Never.” Her voice cracked as she started to cry. She pulled her hands through the slits in her cloak to retrieve her wet hanky from her bag. She fumbled under the cloak a few seconds, found the hanky, and dabbed her eyes.

“That may be true. But there’s going to be a lot of people in this town who will have their doubts if your husband doesn’t come home soon.” Or if we don’t find him and his horse rotting at the bottom of some steep ravine. The ragged, flesh-tearing crags of
the canyon southwest of town rose in Luke’s mind.

Lenora nodded in understanding, her eyes fixed on her hands, which now sat motionless on her lap.

“You haven’t helped things any by not going to the sheriff sooner,” said Luke, more gently now.

Lenora nodded again, too distraught to speak, tears spilling faster down her reddened cheeks. She turned her soiled hanky over and over, trying to find a clean corner to wipe her eyes. The only dry spots left were the pink crocheted roses on the edges.

“Here,” said Luke, pulling a faded red handkerchief from his coat pocket. “Use mine. It’s clean.”

Lenora took his hanky, shook out the folds, and blew her nose. “Thank you,” she said, her voice quavering.

“How long you and Mr. Rose been married, Mrs. Rose?”

“Four years.”

“You got kin around here?”

“No. We came out here to homestead. Alone. Both of our families are
back East, in New York.”

“What’s your pa do?”

“He manages a mill. A fabric mill. On the side he deals in international fabrics, beautiful imports from all around the world.”

Luke nodded. “You happy homesteading?”

“Yes. Very. This is our grand adventure.”

“You like living in the Territory? Never wanted to sell the ranch and head
back East?”

“No, never. Why do you ask all these questions about our personal lives, Deputy Davies?”

“Just trying to get a full picture of your husband. Piece clues together. Motives. He’s not here to explain his actions.”

“I see.”

“Who’s watching your little ones today, while you came to town?”

Lenora grimaced silently and then put both hands over her face, tears streaming again. After a few seconds she removed her hands and wiped both eyes.

“I’m sorry to upset you, Mrs. Rose.”

“I know you mean no harm,” she said, after taking a gulp of air. “The good Lord has not seen fit to give us children.” She said this softly, as if confessing to a terrible sin.

Poor woman. No husband, no kinfolk. No children. With this sad revelation hanging in the air between them, Luke decided to delay his interrogation out of respect for her feelings. They rode a few minutes without talking, each looking straight ahead, listening to the rhythmic rattle of the wheels on ragged dirt road.

“Now,” he said, turning to face her, “ready to talk?”

She nodded.

“Tell me what happened. After he left the ranch, what did you do?”

Lenora took another deep breath and began. “I waited. It was after dark, like I told you, and drizzling too—it rained all night—so I stayed in the house and waited.”

“You didn’t search in any of your outbuildings? The barn?”

“No. Not that night. But the next morning when I woke up, Sunday, and he still wasn’t home, I looked everywhere. The barn, the pens, the privy. When I realized he wasn’t anywhere near the house, I saddled Beast—”

“Beast?”

Lenora pointed toward her Morgan. “That one’s Beast. James took Beauty when he left.”

Luke gave her a blank look.

“From a fairy tale I read in French class,” she explained.

“I see.”

“Then, when I didn’t find him near the ranch, I saddled Beast and went farther out. Almost to the border of our property. I tried to follow his tracks, but the rain from the night before made it difficult. I was out looking for him for hours.”

“Did you get help from any of the neighbors?”

Lenora paused before she answered and looked down at her lap. “I figured I could cover a lot of ground by myself.”

Luke nodded to show he was listening, and after he’d heard enough, they rode in silence a while. The wagon wheels turned slowly to the clip clop of the tired horse in front, straining to pull the load by himself, echoed by Luke’s horse clip clopping in the rear.

Wheels were slowly turning elsewhere. She didn’t go to her neighbors. Luke was certain any rancher in the area would have put aside his Sunday plans to help her, had she asked. She took two days to go to the sheriff. Two whole days. Enough time to hide a body, even for a woman. And what about Beauty? Where was James’ horse? Mrs. Rose might find it difficult to bury a horse, though Luke had heard of equally amazing criminal feats accomplished by women.

“Mrs. Rose, I’m sure you’ve heard the saying, ‘There’s strength in numbers.’ Didn’t it occur to you that if more people were searching for your husband than just yourself that he might be found faster?”

“Deputy Davies,” Lenora said, straightening her posture, “My husband is no ordinary horseman. James excels at horsemanship. He can take care of himself and Beauty.”

“You said he left in the dark.”

“He did.”

“Even a good rider can stumble in the dark, especially if the moon is hidden by rain clouds.”

“But why would I jump to the conclusion that he was injured and in need of a search party? I wouldn’t insult my husband’s abilities.”

“Then you figured he had ridden off on purpose? With no plan to return?”

A flash in her eyes told Luke he had scored.

“How, sir,” said Lenora, effecting a more formal tone than she had earlier, “am I to know what my husband was thinking when he left? As I told Sheriff Morris, I am not privy to my husband’s
thoughts, and if he cares not to share them with me, I am left to deduce what I will.”