Part 3

The next Sunday morning, Mason Noble entered church alone and took his usual seat; I had already taken mine, awaiting the entrance of Jezebel. I had anticipated the slight swing of her hips as she walked—and now that I had seen her in the all and all, well, her progress down the aisle was so much more delicious and I hardened visualizing her proud breasts and the tight little buds of her erect nipples and the soft curve of her belly. Usually, as she would file past me on her way out of church, she would glance my way and I would nod slightly. But that Sunday she wasn't there. So after the service as Mason exited his pew, I stepped out behind him.

"Mason, is Mrs. Noble well?"

He turned, surprised, and once we stepped out into the sunlight, I could see he looked older and more haggard than I remembered.

"She…she had a…bad stomach earlier this week. Fortunately, it wasn't the influenza but…I really don't know much about those things. I'm just going by what Dr. Martin said. I'll tell Mrs. Noble you asked about her." Mason then put on his hat and went to his small buggy, almost scampering like some vermin that was at home in the dark and ran from the light. He wanted to be gone.

As I waited outside for the rest of my family as they always sat close to the front, I saw Paul Martin exit and start the short walk to his home which also housed his surgery. I hurried to catch up with him.

"Paul," I called out and he stopped, his affable face breaking into a welcoming smile.

"Good, morning, Adam. Gorgeous day, isn't it." He looked up at the blue sky with a few clouds scudding across its breadth. "I think the weather may finally be turning." Paul was such a genial man whose compassion was legion. He treated the poor and the wealthy, the only difference being that he charged the wealthy.

"Yes, it does seem that this morning was a bit cooler. Paul…Mason Noble told me is wife had a stomach issue—so serious that she couldn't attend church and you know she's…devout; here every week. He says that it wasn't influenza."

"Yes, it wasn't. No fever or such so I'm guessing it was something else—something she consumed." Paul had ethics which was a shame because I knew I wouldn't get much from him about Jezebel.

"Guessing?'

"Well, that's what we doctors do—we actually just guess and hope for the best. That's all a diagnosis is."

"So you're saying that she just had…dyspepsia?" Paul knew I was skeptical, that I sensed Jezebel's "illness" was more serious than mere indigestion.

"Now, Adam, I made no specific diagnosis, just ruled out influenza. She'll be fine and that's all I'll say about her. If it were influenza, I'd quarantine their place. Mason Noble didn't carry a plague into the church. Don't worry about it."

"That's not what I'm worried about," I said, about to ask another question when my family walked up and Pa and Paul shook hands while Joe surveyed the churchyard for any pretty girls who were available. Hoss stood idly by with his hands in his pockets. I just wanted to get home. So after some conversation with Paul and with a few others, we finally headed back to the Ponderosa and I couldn't help but glance to my right as we passed the spot where I had earlier seen Jezebel bathing in the lake.

"Where're you goin'?" Hoss asked as I carried the food basket out of the kitchen. "You takin' someone on a picnic?"

"Dinner's in an hour," my father said. "When did this picnic come up and who is the lucky woman?"

"Yeah," Joe said grinning as he sat opposite Hoss at the round table, a checkerboard and pieces between them. "Who have you finally decided to court? Who's the 'unlucky woman'?"

"Maybe it's that new schoolmarm, you know, Joe, the one without a chin." Hoss chuckled. My brothers— and myself, I must admit-had eagerly anticipated the hiring of a new young and single school teacher, that is until we saw her. Hoss had said that our milk cow, Maybelle, had a prettier face and Joe replied that it explained why he'd seen Hoss smooching up the bovine the other day.

"Maybe it's Bolton's daughter," Joe offered, "she's got three chins! She's always smiling and fluttering her eyes," Joe said doing a burlesque imitation of Jane Bolton, "whenever she waits on Adam in her pa's store. She's been sweet on Adam for a long time now. Looks like she's finally won his heart. Hope there's enough food for the two of you—hell, she'll probably eat the basket as well if any food spills on it." Hoss roared at that.

"It's none of your goddamn business," I said as I placed the basket down to belt on my gun. "But just to keep you two from speculating, Mrs. Noble has been ill—a stomach malady—so I asked Hop Sing to make a light soup. He did and I'm also taking some of his almond wafers and a loaf of fresh bread. It's the least we can do as neighbors."

"Was she in church today?" my father asked.

"No," I said and picking up the basket, I left. I found I was excited at the prospect of seeing her, at seeing Jezebel in her home and to watch how she interacted with Mason. Would they hold hands and gaze lovingly at one another? I doubted it but I had to know for curiosity's sake. I also hoped Jezebel would receive me and that Mason wouldn't merely accept the basket on her behalf. Of course, manners would require that I be asked to sit for a while and be offered something to eat or drink but if Jezebel Noble was as ill as not to be able to come downstairs, well, I'd deal with it. But at least I would be within feet of her, near her. And so, with the basket tied onto my saddle, the soup secured in a lidded jar, and a small book of poetry I had tucked in as well, I took off for The Noble Pine.