*Thank you Snowbird for helping me out with the back of the barbershop. You really saved me quite a bit of the dreaded writer's block. Yay!*
She felt an agitated awkwardness, which denied her the ability to simply remain upstairs, as Jake had asked her to do. Knowing he only wanted to spare her when the touchiest subject regarding Celina was broached Teresa had obliged him. Though inwardly she wanted to be present, if only to stand at Jake's side, she remained upstairs. Teresa could hear the soft murmurs of their hushed voices permeating the walls. It had begun. And the voice which rose with the striking plume of an erect fist was Michaela's. Teresa froze, stifling the rustle of her skirts, straining to hear the thick discussion. Yet, agonizingly the throng of voices was inaudible to Teresa's ears. With irritating tension searing in her shoulders, she paced between the door leading out towards the small hall, and the door at the back wall of their bedroom.
The back door was just one of many of Jake's little additions to the barbershop over the years. This door lead out onto a modest wood railed landing, with rough stairs that planked into the wall of the back of the barbershop. It enabled Teresa and the girls to reach their rooms unmolested during Jake's peak hours. Hours when men lined the bench under the window filling the downstairs with discussion and chortle from boorish anecdotes. Although Jake would put many a man in check should his daughter appear innocently within earshot. Hey! Clap yah mouth shut! My daughter's home. He'd menace waving his straight razor like a wand.
Teresa's nervous hand spirited the door open as quietly as she could manage. Turning back briefly to observe her sleeping angels cuddled close together for warmth, Teresa clasped the side of the ajar door. The skin of her forehead stretched as she leant her head on the edge, feeling the brisk night air tickle at her neck. Its refreshing caress beckoned her out onto the landing, tempting her with its assuaging prowess. Leaving the door open slightly, Teresa propped herself on elbow over the blooming rail of the wooden landing. Verdant vines of thick fat heart shaped leaves, spindled up the rails of the stairs, twisting like a boa scarf up the banisters all the way up the landing. Buried sporadically were the silken tissues of milk white moonflowers. The turning five points splayed open like the skirts of a bride, rounded stars plucked from the silvery surface of the moon–delicate as muslin and pure as alabaster porcelain. Soft and musky, the scent reminded her of the mingled aroma of the house, sweet night blooming jasmine and the jutting hued notes of gardenias.
Her hand reaching as though of its own accord, plucked the ivory carved comb from the back of her head. With one hand placing the comb inside the pocket hidden within the folds of her skirts, the other gently tussled and freed her sable locks from its braid. The midnight river fell in cascading ringlets and thick tight waves down her back and over her shoulders. This very act of releasing her plaited tresses served to release a small fraction of the stress she had been harboring in the depths of her mind. Jake and Michaela may win Mr. Bray over. This will all be over. My children will be safe and my husband will be at peace.
A swift breeze eddied itself around the landing were Teresa stood. It blew the silky darkness of her hair off her shoulders as she straightened. Closing her eyes, she could feel the tips of her lashes lightly brushing against the tops of her flushed cheeks. The delicate night gale felt as though it was washing away the stress and burden of these past days, making Teresa feel a dash of strength uncurling inside herself. Everything would be all right now. They would have that woman on the next train out of town. The council would see to that now. And yes, sadly it would mean the departure of Randall McCoy.
Teresa smiled as Randall came to mind. What had she done to deserve such a kindhearted friend? Why the man hardly knew them and yet—and yet. She paused looking up into the dark moonless pitch of the sky. In all the dramatics of insuring that the children were all right and worrying over Jake, she had forgotten. Jake had rushed them into the barbershop so quickly, and they had been virtually cut off from the flow of information. Randall hadn't returned! Surely, he would have come straight to the barbershop with news. Unless, he thought they had gone home to the house. In either event, the man should have materialized before sunset. Again, Teresa's mind raced at the unending possibilities, until a simple hope occurred to her. Perhaps he had come in with the other council members.
"Yes," she mumbled aloud as she began to back away from the rail. "Perhaps he is with the others downstairs."
"I highly doubt that," another voice made itself known directly behind Teresa's back. She spun around in the darkness. "Dead men don't walk."
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"Ah an' I'm tellin' you there ain't no precedence concernin' any o' this!" Loren struck his blunt gnarled finger into the thin leather of the charters sheathed cover. The action caused it to nearly topple over off his lap and onto the floor. In a sporadic jumble, his comical hands latched on, though he avoided every eye in the room. Even through his outburst, Loren had the presence of mind to lay the charter next to him on the bench in front of the shaded window front.
"Loren, we don't need precedence in this case any longer," Michaela held her head high as she gently shook it in Loren's direction. She paced closer to him from her spot in the center of the shop. "There are witnesses to the danger Ms. Marrow has proven herself to be."
"Ahhhh, Robert E. says he didn't see anything," Loren spoke up through grinning teeth though he wasn't in anyway smiling.
"That's not what I said!" Robert E. exclaimed in a huff. He pushed himself out of Jake's barber chair and turned to address all the faces in the room. "I said I heard her tawkin' mean tah thah girls! I SAWAH that horse back right intah that pony! She wanted tah hurt Lucy!"
"But yah didn't see her do it!" Loren struck his finger in the air. "Yah didn't see her pull them reins back…Did yah?"
Frustrated, Robert E. smashed his lips into a straight sealed line. He knew what he must answer and it turned his heart having to say the words. As his eyes collided with Jake's determined set, he relented. "I didn't see her. I just sawah the horse backin' and the pony kickin'… I jus was thinkin' tah get Lucy outta harms way."
"That's good enough for me," Hank chimed in from his corner by the stairs. He had leaned into that cozy crook with his leg bent up and his foot secured to the wall. "Where do I sign tah get that woman outta here?"
"Oh no," Loren rubbed his finger under his nose before wagging it in the air in Jake's direction. "There's still the matter of your wife strikin' the poor girl right in the eye."
"Now wait just a minute!" Jake's voice boomed throughout the room. Everyone winced as they cast a momentary glance towards the stairs second floor landing. Until this moment, Jake had been leaning against the mirrored hutch, which contained all his tonics, creams, and razors, with his arms crossed at his chest. However this sudden accusation, though true, was about to be twisted out of context by his misguided friend. Jake shot up to his feet and came towering over Loren, with his brow sloped in anger.
But Loren, completely unimpressed, interrupted. "Now now! Don't say it ain't true! I saw the bruise with my own two eyes. Even saw the bandage on your wife's hand. Besides…she told me herself. Your wife struck her. Struck her for bein' too friendly with the girls…and other things too int-o-mite to say."
"Loren! Jake!" Michaela attempted to step between them. "We'll get nothing accomplished if you don't stop this volley of accusations and …well…gossip!"
"Gossip!" Loren protested standing with his chest ruffled and brushing Jake aside.
"I never."
"You never go a day without it," Hank quipped quickly sliding in the insult. "We know." He tucked a tussled wave of gleaming blond behind his ear with a smirk.
Jake feeling his temper bubbling over took ground over Loren once more. "Yes, Teresa hit her! She had good reason for it too!"
"Jake!" Michaela stumbled trying to regain some semblance of structure. "Calm yourself before you–"
"That woman you hired is crazier than a loon!" Jake went on ignoring Michaela's plea. "That Sunday after church—"
Hank pushed himself away from the wall, intrigued by this new and explicit narrative. Feeling uncomfortable and not sure if he wanted to know this, Robert E. unconsciously wiped at the back of his neck with his hand as he backed up behind Michaela. She inhaled watching Jake's pained expression, feeling very sad for him and Teresa.
"She came into my shop and…and…she kissed me. Ter-Teresa walked in and saw."
"So she hit her!" Loren practically spit, his eyes near to bulging.
"Are you gonna let me finish!" Jake's hands sliced at the air stopping short of Loren's chest. Once again, the company shuddered before stealing a glance at the square alcove leading to the bedrooms upstairs.
"Loren please!" Michaela admonished him. She'd never seen Jake thus. Had never heard him speak this way and she was going to make sure he had his chance.
"All Teresa did was ask her why. That's all…Then Cel—that woman. She said something about the girls. Something I couldn't hear. And yes. Teresa hit her." Jake swallowed nodding his head back as he softened his stance on Loren.
"Well," the old shopkeeper looked down, deep in thought.
"Loren," Jake's voice was soft now. He dug his hands into the high pocket slits of his slacks. "Even with the things being said tah her that morning about me and …that woman…And what she saw…My wife never doubted me." Jake turned to Michaela, whose thin sandy brown brows were bent sympathetically over her soil and leaf colored eyes. "Ain't that right Dr. Mike?"
"Yes," she nearly whispered. "Yes, that's right."
"Uh yah know," Hank clumsily altered. "I'd jus' like tah say, I didn't beat her up, like she says. I jus' roughed her up, for messin' with the little soldier. Jus' thought I'd clear that up."
"Think that goes without sayin' Hank," Jake cast a grateful look in Hank's direction, the corners of his mouth fighting to remain neutral.
"I think she stole one of my good whiskey jugs too," he leaned forward casting his hands up as if physically throwing the extra bit of information out into the room.
The room remained silent on the matter. Although, Jake pitched a sidelong glance at Hank before sharing a knowing stare with Michaela. Turning back to face Loren, and expecting to find a face laden with defiance, Jake witnessed a strange glimmer of doubt. There was a tinge of fear in the depths of Loren's creased eyes. A hue of uncertainty in the way he pressed his chin down into his throat. Some veil of hurt in the self-conscious way his hands ran down from his chest, over his round stomach, and tugged at the hem of his dove gray vest. Jake narrowed his eyes at the man he'd known practically his entire life. There was a slight touché to his stance, as if there were more to it than loosing the bulge in his money belt.
"What're you not tellin' us Loren?" the left half of Jake's mouth scrunched up cynically. "You ain't on her side…are yah?"
The room hushed. Even the walls seemed to press forward with curiosity, as everyone strained to hear what Loren had to say. The elderly man sheepishly drew his wrinkled gaze up to meet the eye of the man before him. They were once very much the same, Loren thought, no longer seeing the same Jake Slicker. There was a time they created mischief, and saw the world from the behind the same line. When Jake became a father, he'd thought to fill another role in Jake's life rather than friend. Confidant was supposed to be his new title. Who knew how to be a father better than Loren Bray did? But somehow he'd missed that beat; walked down a different road and someone completely unexpected filled the role of grandfather, confidant, and friend. However, now seeing the fear in Jake's eyes and the desperation in his countenance, he felt a release within him. He was no longer thinking about what should have… could have been. Profit was the farthest thing from his mind.
Loren detached from his connection with Jake, looking at the others nearly holding their breaths. What he had to say was for Jake's ears only, and it could wait.
"Oh, go ahead and call a vote," Loren shrunk as he retreated from Jake's shadow towards the bench.
With his brow furrowing with confusion, Jake continued to stare at Loren. What had happen here? He'd never seen Loren give in so easily. Somewhere in the distance, he was sure, he heard Michaela call the vote to have Celina leave town. Positive he heard Hank's exulting yes ring out over Robert E.'s and Michaela's similar yet much more modest agreements.
"Jake?" Michaela gingerly pressed, sensing the shift between the two friends. "Loren?"
"Yeah, of course," Jake reluctantly moved away from Loren to stand akimbo in front of the mirrored hutch. Loren merely nodded.
"So who's gonna carry this out?" Robert E. urged, suddenly feeling the lateness of the hour.
"I'll do it," Hank grinned impishly.
"I think perhaps it'll have to be done with better tact than you could offer," Michaela sighed, believing she would be the one to draw the short stick.
Only Jake spoke up. "No…I should be the one to do it."
In a fog, Jake watched them go, feeling a little shaken and not as relieved at he thought he'd be. As Loren past, Jake felt sadness at the wounded look occupying his face. Closing the door behind them, he sensed an ominous foreboding. Shoulders heavy, Jake slowly climbed the short wooden stairs. His boot heels clomped down on each hallow step resonating exhaustion and tension. The only thing holding Jake together was the promise that he would soon curl up close to the only comfort he had in the world. His family. Hand sliding soporifically up the rail only to fall limply against his thigh as he reached the landing, Jake exhaled gruffly. All he could think of was burying his face in his wife's black satin hair. Of his daughter's nestling in the safe crook of his arm as they slept. Dreamily, his fingers wrapped around the heavy brass knob of the door, feeling the coolness of the metal in his palm. Jake opened the door…