Chapter 29 – Mrs. Maverick

It took almost two hours to get to Sterling, but in spite of the fact that he hadn't slept last night Bret wasn't the least bit tired. He wasn't sure if he or Mary Alice was the most excited; he was positive that he was the most frightened. No matter the emotions he was feeling, he was convinced they were doing the right thing. Much later in his life, Bret Maverick would remember that he was so certain of that.

He drove the buggy with one hand and held Mary Alice's hand with the other. She smiled brightly the entire trip to Sterling, and he took comfort from that fact. He'd come close to breaking his little brother's heart and he was sure that Pappy would disown him at the very least, but her mere presence kept him externally calm.

Mary Alice had been right about one thing – Sterling was not much more than a hole in the wall. There was a saloon, and a livery, a telegraph office, a small café, and a bank. And at the very end of what passed as a street there was a small church. The sign outside read 'Sterling Baptist Church' and Bret pulled the buggy to a halt in front of it. "You alright?" he asked Mary Alice.

She nodded, and replied, "You still want to do this?"

He found his voice, and it sounded firm and strong, "Yes, Mary Alice, I do." He climbed down out of the buggy and walked around to help her out; she felt so lightweight in his arms. He glanced at the sign and saw the words 'Reverend Jackson Streeter, Pastor,' and led the girl by the hand up to the front door, which was unlocked. They entered, the boy on-the-verge of manhood in the lead; if was cool and dim inside. Bret hesitated a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then led his intended up the aisle. As they approached the small altar a man emerged from the shadows and looked towards them.

"Reverend Streeter?" Bret questioned.

"Yes, son, what can I do for you?" The voice was deep and resonant, belying the youth of the man standing in front of them.

"We came . . . . . we came to get married, sir. Will you do that for us?"

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Bart closed the gate to the corral when the buggy was out of sight. He'd never felt this sad and lonely, not since the day he realized what the words "Momma's gone" meant. While he was up he took care of the chores; the cow, the chickens, the horses, all got his full attention this morning. Anything to keep from going back to the house. Pappy was asleep; the rest of the place was silent and empty. No Mary Alice, with her funny-sounding girl giggle; no Bret, his brother and father all rolled up into one, who'd been there from the day he was born. He wanted to go with them, to be there when they got married, but he understood the rationale for staying put. He wasn't happy about it, but he understood.

At last he could delay it no longer, and he walked back inside the only place he'd ever known as home. It was cool inside, and still dimly lit, and he wandered into what had always been their bedroom. No more, he realized with a start – he'd have to trade rooms with Mary Alice. No more poker games when one of them couldn't sleep, or talks in the dark about where they were going when they left Texas, or immediate comfort when he woke from a nightmare. He didn't want it to, but his life was about to change drastically.

Without giving it more than a passing thought, he climbed into Bret's bed. How many times had he crawled in with his brother during a thunderstorm? Or after a bad dream? No more. The dynamic between the brothers was changing forever, and he was more miserable than he had ever thought possible. He scrambled under the covers and pulled them up to his chin. Slowly the tears made their way into the daylight, and he cried himself silently to sleep.

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"Certainly I can do that, Mr. – "

"Maverick. Bret Maverick. This is Mary Alice Tompkins. We'd like you to marry us, Pastor."

"Is there a reason for this marriage, Mr. Maverick?" Reverend Streeter asked.

Bret nodded. "We love each other and we wanna be together."

"No, I mean . . . . . . "

"Oh, no!" Mary Alice jumped in. "No, not that kind of reason."

"No, sir, we haven't . . . . . . I mean, we don't . . . . . . no!"

Reverend Streeter laughed. "Alright, sorry, I had to ask. No offense meant. How old are you two? Mr. Maverick?"

"Sixteen, Reverend."

"Miss Tompkins?"

"Fifteen, sir."

"Did you bring anyone with you?" He saw the confusion in their eyes. "As a witness, I mean?" Two heads shook 'no.' "Alright, then I'll ask my wife to witness the marriage, if that's alright with you two." He took three steps back the way he'd come and opened a door. "Emmaline, could you come here, please?" he called.

In just a moment a sweet-faced woman of about twenty-five came hurrying in. She smiled at the two visitors and looked at the Pastor. "Yes, Jackson?"

"Emmaline, Mr. Maverick and Miss Tompkins have come to be married. Would you be so kind to serve as a witness for them, please?"

Her smile grew even bigger if that was possible. "Certainly, my dear. You two come right over here while Jackson gets out his Bible. You stand here, Mr. Maverick," she moved Bret to the right, slightly, "and you here, Miss Tompkins."

Reverend Jackson reappeared, Bible in hand. "Are we ready?" he asked.

Bret looked at Mary Alice, and she smiled. He gripped her hand tightly and turned back to the Reverend. "We're ready."

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Somebody was shaking him, urgently. Through a fog he heard something and slowly realized it was his name. "Bart, Bart, son, wake up. Bart, it's Pappy, wake up. Bartley, wake up."

"Huh?"

"Bart, wake up. That's it, open your eyes. Look at me. It's your father. Bart, where's your brother? Bartley, where's Bret?"

Beauregard had gotten up for a drink of water and wandered around the house for some reason. The boys' door wasn't closed and he looked in the room as he had on many other occasions and saw that only one bed was occupied. Somehow he failed to believe that Bart was up and doing chores while Bret slept, and just to prove himself right he pulled the covers down on the body in the bed. That's when he discovered Bart sleeping in his brother's bed and began trying to wake the boy up.

In desperation, Pappy grabbed his youngest by the shoulders and shook him awake. "Bartley Jamison, wake up and answer me. Where's your brother?"

Bart attempted to rub the sleep out of his eyes and finally understood enough to mumble an answer of sorts. "Gone, Pappy. Bret's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" Beauregard was finally wide awake himself, and let go of Bart. He hurried as fast as he could, back out of the room and down the hall. Without knocking, he opened Mary Alice's door and discovered her bed totally empty. They were gone, just as he'd feared. He rushed back to the boys' room and tried again with his youngest.

"Bart, where did they go? Where are Bret and Mary Alice?"

"Went . . . . married . . . . ." Bart mumbled, and Beau pulled him upright in bed. His eyes flew open and he looked right into his father's, which had gone coal black.

"WHERE ARE THEY?" Pappy practically shouted, and he could feel Bart tremble.

His son's mouth opened but it took a minute for any kind of sound to come out. When it finally did, it was little more than a squeak. "Sterling. They went to Sterling."

"WHY?" Beauregard was at the end of his rope when he heard the words he most feared.

"To get married."

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". . . . . I now pronounce you man and wife." The two teenagers stood there in shock. "You can kiss your bride, son," Reverend Streeter told Bret, who gathered his 'wife' into his arms and did just that. When they separated the Preacher and his wife congratulated them, Emmaline hugging both the bride and groom. "It'll take me just a minute to fill out this paper," he told Bret, who reached into his pocket for his wallet.

"No, no, put that away. You don't have to do that," the Reverend protested as Bret tried to give him money for performing the ceremony.

"Yes, sir, please take this," Bret insisted. Reluctantly the Preacher did so.

"I need your full name, son," Jackson Streeter told Bret.

"Breton Joseph Maverick," came the reply.

"And yours, too, Mrs. Maverick."

"Mary Alice Tompkins Maverick," the new bride answered.

Reverend Streeter filled out the marriage certificate, signed it and had the newly married couple sign it. Then Emmaline Streeter signed as a witness, and he presented it to Bret. "Here's your official document. Good luck to the two of you, and may God Bless you and your marriage."

"Thank you, Reverend," Bret replied as he shook the Pastor's hand. "Mrs. Streeter."

The Reverend put his arm around his wife as they watched the new groom help the new bride into the buggy. "What do you think, Emmaline?"

"I think they're in love, Jackson."

"I hope it lasts."

"From your lips to God's ears," his wife answered.

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Beauregard let go of his son's shoulders and staggered backward. " . . . . . . To get married," he repeated in a whisper. "When?"

"This mornin'. About seven. What time is it?"

"What?" Beau asked. "Uh, sometime after twelve," he pronounced. It was too late. If they'd left for Sterling around seven o'clock, they were long since married. "Why? Why, Bart?" Beauregard sank down on Bart's bed and sat there, practically limp.

Bart sat up in Bret's bed, staring at his father. Beauregard had a look on his face that his son had never seen before. It was a mixture of desperation, sadness, and despair. "Pappy? Are you alright?"

"Yes," came the whispered reply. Then he cleared his throat and shook his head, and the look changed to one of resignation and anger. "Yes," he answered again, "I'm fine. Why didn't you tell me, boy?"

"I . . . . uh, I . . . . I couldn't."

The look softened somewhat, and so did the voice. "I ain't blamin' you, son. It ain't your fault."

The breath that Bart had been holding came out in a rush. Before he could say anything else a horse whinnied outside, and Beauregard practically launched himself off the bed and out of the room. Bart scrambled out of bed to follow him, fearful of what Pappy might do if it was Bret and Mary Alice. Beau grabbed the door and pulled it open and then gave a grunt when he realized it wasn't his son, but rather his brother. "Bentley," he practically spit out. "What is it?"

Ben climbed down off his horse and tied her to the hitching rail. He recognized the look on Beau's face. It was a look that had withered many a man who'd been intent on accusing the older gambler of doing something 'unethical.' The fact that it was spread across the face of his brother right now told him all he needed to know. "Where'd they go?"

"Sterling," came the reply, in a voice that had alarmed those not frightened enough by the look.

"Why?" Ben had heard the voice and seen the face before, but not in a long time.

"To get married."