Chapter 21—TRUE CONFESSIONS
Morning broke in misty pastel hues as the rising sun began penetrating the remaining cloud cover. Condensation dripped from the eaves and fogged the windows. Slim, Marilyn and Sheriff Corey stood on the front porch, gauging road conditions. The consensus was that if the morning eastbound stage showed up on time, or close to time, then the road between the ranch and town was negotiable by wagon.
"How's it possible to be so tired and so awake at the same time?" Slim remarked, swallowing the dregs of his latest cup of coffee. "I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin at the next loud noise."
"You and me both," Mort sympathized. "If a gun was to go off right now I'd probably wet my britches and shoot everyone in sight before I knew what I was doing. Although, me and the boys… we did manage to catch us a few winks out in the barn."
"It's the coffee," Marilyn said. "Or rather, the caffeine in it. Maybe you ought to lay off the joe for a while, Slim… get a nap while you can. You look like you've been trampled in a stampede."
Slim didn't need to consult a mirror to agree the woman wasn't too far off with her description. His eyeballs felt like they could pop right out of his skull from the pressure of the headache behind them. Neck, shoulders, back… everything ached.
"Seriously… you need to rest," she continued. "You're not invincible… and you're not some young pup, either."
"Thanks for that vote of confidence… but I can't… the stage… all these kids…"
"The stage won't get here for another four hours, earliest… and you can't count on it being on time. Go out to the barn, where it's quiet," Marilyn urged. "I'll stay until Daisy can take over."
"She's got a point, Slim," the sheriff said. "Emmett and I need to get on back to town but I'm sure the Jacksons won't mind covering for you."
"You'll need two rigs to haul off all those prisoners… you're welcome to…"
Marilyn drew herself up. "And where, exactly, do you propose they should be hauled off to? The jail isn't equipped to house three young females… and one of them in a delicate condition."
Mort took a step back, eyes wide. "You mean… expecting, like… a baby?"
"No… kittens," Marilyn said scornfully.
"Oh… uh… well, Slim…" the sheriff stuttered. "That does present a problem. Might have to leave 'em here until I can make some other arrangements."
"I'm not equipped to house 'em, either," Slim retorted. "What do you expect me to do with 'em… or those boys?"
"One can't be moved," Marilyn reiterated. "Not yet… not unless you intend to take him straight to the undertaker."
Slim groaned in frustration.
Sheriff Corey leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, mentally recusing himself from this battle of wills. He liked Marilyn Bartlett well enough—admired her, even. She was the consummate pioneer helpmeet… prepared to deal with all eventualities without going to pieces. In fact, very much like his own beloved late wife Edith and Slim's late mother Mary Grace—all cut from the same bolt of cloth. They always get their way in the end… you'd think Slim would've figured that out by now.
"You got any better ideas?" Slim challenged.
Marilyn pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Actually… I do. I can take them home with me. Billy Sol and Emmy and the babies just got their own place so we have spare rooms at the moment." The Bartlett domicile was a rabbit warren of extensions tacked on as needs arose.
"You serious? All of 'em?" Slim looked askance.
"No. Just the girls… they're sisters, you know. The eldest can't walk and the other two won't leave her."
"Gar won't go for it."
"You let me worry about my husband."
"What about the boys? I'm not running a damned rest home here."
"You've got a bunkhouse… use it. Put a lock on the door."
"Fine… but who's gonna stand guard?"
"Andy can. Or Jess," Marilyn insisted.
"Jess won't be doing anything for a while," Slim countered.
"He can still handle a gun from a chair, can't he?"
"I suppose so."
"It'll just be for a few days… a week at most, until they're fit to be taken to town."
Mort cut in. "I'd go along with that… and see to it you're both reimbursed for their keep and any doctorin' needed."
"Well… maybe…" Slim was still shaking his head with doubt.
"Good. That's settled, then," Marilyn stated.
The sheriff cleared his throat. "Not entirely, I'm afraid. There's still the matter of those other four kids."
Slim stared back. "The ones claiming to be relatives, you mean? They have to go back, too. Sooner the better."
"Have you talked to them yet, Slim?" This from Marilyn.
"No. Don't see any need to. Don't know 'em. We don't have any nieces or nephews and that's that."
"You should at least hear them out," Marilyn insisted, with Mort's head nodding in agreement. "There's got to be an explanation."
Slim glared at both of them, then shrugged. "All right… I'll listen… but they're going back with you."
"Fair enough," Mort said. "I've got to do something about 'em, anyway… now that I've received an official complaint."
"What complaint? What're you talking about?"
"Wire came in from Pennsylvania, police inquiring about underage runaways… place called Kurts Town or something like that. Didn't you tell me once your Pa hailed from thereabouts? Pinkertons're on the case, too. One of 'em's in town right now lookin' for 'em."
"I don't need this," Slim moaned.
"Mort… take this man out to the barn and out of my way," Marilyn ordered. "I'm going inside to start breakfast. I'll call you when it's ready."
Daisy fought back a panic attack as she crossed the parlor on her way to the washroom, pausing to regard Jess and Ben conked out in the rockers, snoring with heads on chests. The bodies on the couch and sofa must still be among the living or they would've been removed. It hadn't been just a bad dream after all. In the kitchen she found her neighbor industriously rolling out a batch of biscuit dough while that red-haired girl sliced bacon and ham. Frying pans were heating on the stove and two coffeepots gurgled on back burners.
"My goodness… you're still here, Marilyn?"
"Good morning to you, too, Daisy. Did you get enough rest?"
"I did, thank you. Fit as a fiddle. I can take over now. You should be home with your own family."
"I will… as soon as we get this crowd tidied up and fed."
"Where are all the… other… everyone else?"
"The girls are in Slim and Jess' bedroom—we put the camp cot in there. Andy and Mike in Mike's room. The other men slept in the barn. Slim went off just a little while ago…"
"What happened after I went to bed?"
"Sit down and have a cup of coffee first."
"No… I'd rather work while I listen."
"As you wish. You can punch out biscuits while I start the bacon."
"I'll be right back after I wash up."
The telling took some time. Daisy's mouth fell open when Marilyn got to the part about Slim's and Andy's relatives.
"So it's true? Mister Jackson mentioned it but I assumed he was mistaken…"
"Slim hasn't accepted it yet," Marilyn admitted with an apologetic glance at Max.
Max spoke up with confidence. "I'm sure he will after he hears how this all came up."
"I suppose stranger things have happened," Daisy acknowledged. "I do know their father was quite a bit older than their mother, so it's possible he could've had a previous family."
"Our folks were shocked to find out there was a second one," Max said matter-of-factly.
"I don't understand why they didn't write first, before sending you on such a long journey," Daisy put forth delicately. "Or why they sent you at all… surely an adult representative…?"
Max grinned. "The thing is, Aunt Daisy… may I call you that? The thing is, they had nothing to do with our being here. There's a legal issue having to do with inheritance and property that they wanted to address first."
"Then why…?"
"We took matters into our own hands."
"You don't mean…?"
"It was Ben's idea. We blackmailed him into taking us along. It's been a jolly good adventure so far… except for being shot at. Could've done without that part."
"Your folks must be out of their heads with worry… not knowing where you are and if you're safe." Daisy was appalled.
"Oh… they know now. We wired home after a few days. There'll be hell to pay… but we found what we came for. That is, if we can convince Uncle Slim and Uncle Andy."
With food holding in the warming ovens, Max went around to rouse everyone and organize visits to the washhouse. Breakfast was served in shifts—at the table for those who could walk unaided and on trays for those who couldn't. As always quick to rebound, Jess was alert though sore. Seated at the table, surrounded by adolescent faces, he voiced his bewilderment.
"Where'd all these young 'uns come from?" The only face that seemed familiar was the plain and rather stout brown-haired girl with her bound foot elevated on the ottoman.
"All shall be revealed… when breakfast is over," Marilyn assured him before stepping out on the porch to ring the triangle.
Aside from Slim who was sawing logs in the straw in an empty stall, the barn crew under Andy's direction had been busy with morning chores. They were more than ready for breakfast when summoned and the parlor table cleared for the next seating.
Slim's two-hour nap hadn't done much to improve his appearance or disposition. As soon as the men were done eating, he announced a meeting would be forthcoming.
"Not just yet," Daisy briskly contradicted. "The injured require attention first. Then we'll talk about what's to be done."
The stage finally arrived, though running twenty minutes late. Mose reported the road passable, if mucky. It was decided that Emmett would ride on ahead, detouring by Bartlett's place.
"Pass the word… no talking to anyone about what happened here or there," Mort advised. "The last thing we want is a lynch mob getting riled up."
"Yes, sir."
"And if anyone in town asks, I'm… uh… on a case for another jurisdiction."
"You mean if anyone like maybe a Pinkerton agent…" Emmett smirked.
Marilyn put in her own request. "Tell Garland I'll be along directly with three houseguests who don't need to know about the bodies in the coolhouse."
"Yes, m'am."
Avery would be the next one to leave, with the surviving livery mounts. No one would pay attention to a stable owner leading three generic haltered horses into town. For all anyone knew they were recent acquisitions. Their tack would later be discreetly returned in the Sherman wagon.
"Soon's you get there," Slim said, addressing Avery, "would you go by Young Doc's and ask him to come right away? Tell him… I don't know… tell him Daisy's ailing."
"What I should tell 'im she be ailin' wif, suh?"
"Make something up… use your own judgment," Slim said. Avery nodded his assent.
Slim led the parade out to the barn—the only other venue in which to assemble as the parlor was otherwise engaged by rustlers under the watchful eye of Orrie. Mort and Marilyn had offered to remain in the house as well but Slim insisted they be included as, of necessity, they'd be involved in future events. With Daisy and Marilyn installed on a footlocker and everyone else standing or seated on the floor, Slim focused on Max and Ben.
"First of all, who are you people and why are you here?"
The cousins in turn looked to Maxine to carry the ball. Despite her flighty ways, the summa cum laude graduate had also carried away top prizes in declamation.
"I'll try to be as succinct as possible. Whether or not you're aware, your father—Matthew Schirrman—was married before he met your mother. His first wife died in childbirth and he left his three children in the care of his spinster sister, Charlotte. For reasons too long to go into just yet, he left Kutztown and wasn't able to return. The children—your siblings and our parents—were told he'd died. They grew up believing that. Altogether there are fifteen of us grandchildren… we are your nieces and nephews."
"You have proof?" Slim interrupted impolitely.
"We do. Irrefutable. Not here, of course… it's all back in Pennsylvania. May I proceed?"
"Go on."
"Several weeks ago Charlotte—we called her Gramma Charlie—passed on. When our folks were cleaning out the attic, they found a trunk containing letters written to her by your father—our grandfather. Over a hundred, dated between 1825 and 1863. His marriage to your mother is mentioned, along with birth announcements—including yours and Andrew's. They detail the move west and all the places you've lived, right up to settling in Laramie and subsequent events… which is how we were able to locate you. We assume he must have died in 1863."
Max paused to gauge what effect her narrative was having. Poleaxed would be the mildest interpretation she could put on Slim's and Andy's expressions. The hushed atmosphere in the barn could've been cut with a knife.
"Surely your mother must've known all along. Did she never say anything to you?"
As Slim gave only a single negative nod, Max continued. "Any questions so far?"
"I don't understand…" Slim began, his voice faint and raspy. "Why didn't they… your people… try to get in touch with us right away?"
"Ah. Miz Bartlett asked that earlier. My guess is that our folks are worried about legal complications. Gramma's estate was divided equally among the three children… before anyone knew of your existence. I imagine you can see the problem."
"They can quit worrying. We don't want anything from them," Slim stated flatly.
"It was a considerable estate. Your shares could prove significant."
"No. Speaking for myself, I have no intention of pursuing that." He turned to his brother. "What about you?"
"Me?" Andy squawked. "No… I don't want to, either… although…"
"Although what?" Slim sounded almost angry. "We don't know these people. They owe us nothing and we sure don't owe them."
Andy looked uncertain. "They're family, Slim… brothers and sisters. I'd kinda like to get to know 'em. Wouldn't you?"
"One brother… Christopher, Ben's and Tabbie's father," Max cut in. "Two sisters… Theodora, my mother, and Louise, Eddie's mother. As to your second question, why are we here? Ben should take the floor on that one."
Max stepped back and Ben stood up. "First of all, I don't know why parents think they can hide things like this from children. Ours did… but I found out anyway and decided to do something about it. Coming here was my idea. I was planning to go on my own but the girls insisted on coming with."
"So what you're saying is… you four ran away from home?"
"That's about the size of it." Ben shrugged. "I take full responsibility for whatever trouble this's brought down on you. I'm really sorry."
The sheriff took over. "I have to inform you that the police are looking for you… and your family has engaged the Pinkerton Agency. I'm afraid you'll have to come back to town with me so we can get this mess straightened out."
"Yes, sir. We'll go quietly… won't we, Max?"
Max tossed her head. "You can if you want to. Not me. We've traveled all this way to find our kin and I, for one, don't intend going anywhere until we've got to know one another."
"I'm with her, Slim," Andy said loudly. "You're always talking about the importance of family. Now that we know we aren't the only ones, I want to find out more. I'd like to go to Pennsylvania and meet 'em."
"That's not gonna happen." The older brother flushed, his hands knotted into fists.
"You don't have the right to stop me. Like it or not, they're as much my kin as yours." Andy didn't need to raise his voice—the defiance on his face underscored his determination.
In the strained silence that descended upon the group, Slim struggled to mask the defensive posture that automatically arose whenever he was confronted by a repugnant truth… especially when he wasn't in possession of all the facts. Why is this so hard to accept? Why am I so angry with these kids? None of this is their fault… it's Pa's, for letting it happen… and Ma's, for conspiring to keep it a secret. I'm angry at them, for having died without ever telling us about this whole other family. I'm angry with Andy, for having grown up and no longer needing me…
Expectant faces were now trained on him, waiting for him to respond. The pressure was smothering.
"I need some time to think about this. Please excuse me." Slim abruptly turned and walked away out of the barn.
Daisy stood then, wringing her hands in her apron. "Someone should go after him…"
Andy shrugged. "Not me. I'm not his favorite brother at the moment."
"I'll go…" Jess said, detaching himself from the audience. I know better'n anyone what he's feelin' right now…
The group broke up then, with Andy and the cousins returning to the house while Daisy, Mort and Marilyn stayed behind.
Slim'd walked past the corral to the pasture across the road. He was leaning against the fence with his arms folded across the top rail, watching the horses graze. He didn't turn his head when his partner came up beside him and tried to imitate his stance—which didn't work so well with a stiff, sore shoulder in a sling.
"Can we talk about this, pard?"
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Everyone else seems to have an opinion. Might as well hear yours."
Might as well grab this ornery ole bull by the horns… "Ain't no way around it… them kids are your kinfolk. Kinda a big coincidence, ain't it? You havin' a trunk fulla letters an' journals in your attic… just like them? You gonna tell 'em about that? It ain't been that long ago we talked about it."
"And I told you why I didn't care about getting in contact with them."
"I think that girl is tellin' the truth… that your brother an' sisters didn't know about the letters."
"What difference does that make?"
"Can't fault 'em for somethin' weren't none a their doin'."
"Maybe… but they sure as heck didn't bust a gut looking for us once they did know, so what're you getting at?"
"Look at it this way… wouldn't you worry if you inherited a buncha land an' then found out it weren't all yours like you thought?"
"I suppose so."
"If they'd known your Pa was still alive all them years, betcha they woulda tried to find 'im."
"Possibly."
"Come on, Slim… you know you woulda wanted to… just like I did when I found out my brother might still be alive. Remember… you're the one pushed me to go lookin' for 'im."
"I know."
"I went because he was my brother… not on account a the money."
"I know that, too."
"Puttin' aside your personal feelin's, what about Andy?"
"What about him?"
"Well… you told me the reason you kept all your Ma's journals was so he could know somethin' about his people when he's older. Seems pretty clear he wants to get to know 'em now. You tryin' to ride roughshod over what he wants… what he believes is right… that's just plumb wrong an' you know it."
Slim did know it… and that he'd already lost an argument he was too tired to fight.