Part 14

At the next stop, a small town called Cross Arrows, the Humphrey's debarked and the deputy sheriff took them to see the town doctor. Mrs. Humphrey had begun to cry again and I offered to help in escorting her as she was leaning heavily on her husband and he was struggling supporting her weight, but Mr. Humphrey said it wasn't necessary. He looked like a beaten man and I knew he would have a long, dark night of the soul considering what he should have done in the situation, how he could have saved his wife and also wondering if she truly forgave him for his inaction despite the fact that he would have been killed.

"There was nothing you could have done," I said to him. "They would have killed you and then who would your wife have?" He nodded and then went on to the town's doctor but he looked back once at me and I understood that it didn't matter what anyone else said—he had his shaky opinion of himself to deal with. I am always second-guessing myself as well so I understood his situation, a situation that all men face when they believe they have been less than they should—it's a type of hell that you never truly escape. Never.

Jezebel and I had to give statements to the sheriff and then we boarded a new stage for the next leg of our journey. There were two other passengers this stretch of our trip, an old man and a salesman who opened his showcase and tried to sell me a new pocket watch; apparently he had heard about the robbery. I declined. Since the salesman made no sale to any of us, he closed his case and closed his eyes and dozed. The old man had long since fallen asleep, his chaw-colored saliva escaping from one corner of his mouth.

"Jezzie, do you think I should have given my life to protect Mrs. Humphrey?" I quietly asked. She had been staring out the small coach window—she was actually being vigilant. Her whole body was tense and I knew she was afraid of being robbed again, especially now since we had nothing to give them except for the twenty dollars I had wrangled from the Cross Arrows Municipal Bank. There was still the handwritten receipt that Captain Hale of the Bayliss had written for the pelts and it was tucked in one of the leather folds; it finally convinced the manager that I was who I said I was. He had heard of the Ponderosa and the Cartwrights so he agreed to allow me to write a draft and have the twenty dollars. Actually, the bank manager remained dubious but since I had protested and appeared offended that he doubted my word as to whom I was, he relented and gave the teller orders to give me twenty dollars—but no more. Then he had looked us over once more, Jezebel standing quietly beside me, and went into his office but he had watched us through his glass wall.

The coach rocked on and I wondered, since Jezzie hadn't yet responded to my question, if she had heard me. I was about to ask again but then she turned to face me.

"No, Adam. That wouldn't have made sense. You'd be dead and they would have violated her anyway. What would it serve for you to throw your life away on some foolish idea of gallantry?"

"Well, you'd be rid of me for one thing and sometimes, well, I don't know that gallantry is necessarily foolish."

"I wouldn't want to be rid of you that way no matter what. If anyone is going to shoot you—I'd rather it were I." I smiled slightly. "Besides," she continued. "I shouldn't tell you this although you already think poor of me so I suppose it doesn't matter what you think anymore, but I'm relieved that it was she and not I that they took. I know it makes me look cold and heartless, but I…" She turned back to the window to keep her watch.

"It makes you human," I said to her small back, her hat still perched on her auburn hair. "And to be honest, I'm glad they took her and not you as well. Part of it is that I would be dead by now if they had and you, well, I can't bear to think about it." Jezebel turned her face to me but I couldn't read her expression. Then she smiled—it was barely a smile but it was one. She lightly touched my arm before she went back to gazing out the window and I sat back, surprisingly relieved and she seemed to have relaxed a bit as well—there was a drop of her shoulders and her whole body seemed to become softer. I decided right then that what I felt for Jezzie was love. My heart had betrayed me, damn miserable thing that it is.

After a dinner of beans and bacon and biscuits at a way station—a bad choice in my opinion since the old man was flatulent even in his sleep, we rode on through the night. This stage had a money box so there was someone riding shotgun but that had only made Jezebel more nervous; she couldn't eat, she said, having only picked at a biscuit. I had asked the station manager to wrap up two biscuits for her and he complied since he had seen how little she had eaten.

I was tired, worn-out, but I didn't want to sleep while Jezebel still sat, staring out into the darkness. She sat with her hands clutching her reticule in her lap.

"Jezebel," I said quietly, hoping not to wake up the old man—he had proved himself quite the talker at dinner, regaling all of us with his adventures—when he was younger, of course—"why don't you try to get some sleep."

She left off and turned to me. "I can't. What if they come back again or someone else. What if they're worse, just shoot us or…do worse."

"The sheriff in Cross Arrows is out hunting them down and we're quite a distance from where the…hold-up took place. Well," I said slouching down and pulling down the brim of my hat, "I'm going to try to catch a little sleep. We should be in Cheyenne tomorrow afternoon." I crossed my arms and was soon asleep but something woke me—a sound or a bump in the road and I felt a weight on my shoulder. I looked over and Jezebel's head was resting on my shoulder, her hat in her lap. I sat up slightly and she woke in a panic, asking if something was wrong.

"Shhhhh," I said, "nothing's wrong. Here, just get more comfortable." I put one arm around her and she pulled away slightly and then, as exhausted as she was, she dropped her head on my chest and was soon asleep again; my heart swelled with love for her. I bent my head and kissed her soft hair, sighed and closed my eyes and the rocking motion of the coach soon put me to sleep as well and the next thing I knew, the sun was coming in the coach widow; Jezebel hadn't pulled down the shade.

The salesman was awake, still clutching his case to his chest as he had while he slept and the old man was chewing tobacco.

"You two been sleepin' good and long," the old man said. He leaned out the window and spat. At least he was considerate enough to make the effort not to have any blowback. Jezebel moved slightly and then quickly sat up. "Have a good sleep, ma'am?" he asked smiling and showing his brown teeth. He bent down and picked up her hat that had slipped off her lap.

Jezebel took the hat, looked at me and then back to the man and smiled. "Thank you. And yes, I did sleep well. It wasn't the most comfortable night, but…" She touched her hair as if to arrange it but stopped. Then she pinned on her hat and moved away from me closer to the window.

"Any of you know how much longer to Cheyenne?" the salesman asked. He looked physically uncomfortable. "I can't ever get used to traveling in the stages. You'd think the rail line would have accounted for all the possible travel out west by now but no. All they care about is building cattle cars and flat cars for lumber and such. I get tired traveling in this medieval manner."

"If things are the same as the last time I was this way," I said, "There should be another stop for breakfast and then we should get to Cheyenne this afternoon."

"Good. I need to make some sales and take some orders. It's hard for a man to make a living out here." He held his case even closer as if one of us was going to rip it from his grasp. The old man chuckled at the salesman's complaints but Jezebel was lost in her own thoughts and wouldn't let anyone in—especially me.

We caught the train for Carson City two hours after we arrived in Cheyenne. Jezebel and I only had time for lunch and despite her having slept most of the night, she looked worn-out. She was paler than normal and I had urged her to eat. The food wasn't bad—not fancy but filling—and I tried to tempt her with dessert but she would have none of it. She ate a few bites of the stew and dipped a slice of brown bread into the savory stew and ate it but that was all.

All the way to Carson City, I was filled with regret for having taken Jezebel from the security of her marriage to Lom Caswell, shattered her security for my own selfish reasons. As I said before, it would be easy to hide behind the fact that what Jezebel had done was illegal and immoral but that would be a joke. I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. I reached out and touched her arm. She looked at me—surprised.

"Jezebel, I…if I could undo what I've done, I would. I don't expect you to ever forgive me and I'll have to live with that. I wish I had left you there with Lom—but I…I think…it's hard for me to separate my feelings but I wanted you. If I hadn't, well, I'm not above looking the other way if a crime is victimless. You were happy and I ruined it and for that I'm sorry." Well, I had said it but it didn't make me feel any better. And I suddenly felt it had been a mistake to confess.

Her eyes narrowed. "Now you're saying it was a mistake? Now you're sorry and full of regret?" She laughed. "A bit, late don't you think?" She looked uneasy. "But my life was far from blissful—I was always worried, always uneasy. New Orleans is far from Nevada but yet I woke up every morning wondering if someone from my past would recognize me, would point at me and claim I was a fraud. I had planned what I would say. 'No, you're mistaken. I'm not the woman you're talking about.' But then I stupidly gave Lom my real name—my real first name. I should have called myself something else. After all, how many Jezebels are there? Such an unfortunate name—Jezebel. No one would have believed my denial."

I waited and after a few heartbeats, she continued. "Lom's Aunt Handy detested me. She asked me once if I had worked as a whore, said that she recognized one, that I had the smell of one. It's difficult living with someone who hates you but then Lom was such a fool for me. I always wanted to tell him that I wasn't worth his love, that I…that he deserved a woman who truly loved him in the way a woman should love a man but I never did." Jezebel turned to me. "You see, Adam, I was duplicitous and I believe that there's a hell for people like me. And as far as Mason, I should have divorced him instead of running away—or killed him."

She turned to look straight ahead again and I had to smile. Jezebel was as crafty as I was. I understood her. It was understanding myself that still eluded me.