Chapter Nine

On the Right Path

The late afternoon sun hung like a wax ball in the sky, slowly dipping toward the horizon, not quite ready to set. The stretch of ground between the church and the school yard was barely discernible from the same property that just a short six hours before Pastor Stiles was winding up a long winded speech on the gratification of selfless donation. Woody smiled as the robust little man bussed from table to table making sure everything was ready for the evening's festivities. Off to the side, a hastily constructed dance floor was being ringed by multi-colored Chinese lanterns that Mrs. Walcott and Dr. Macy were busy arguing on the proper place to hang. Woody had no doubts that come nightfall the scene would be as enchanting as the indomitable Mrs. Walcott could possibly make it.

Nigel stood guard over a table heaving with the strain of dozens of baskets and boxes. Woody noticed Nigel and Bug with their heads locked conspiringly together as Nigel pointed out a big wicker basket with yellow ribbons and white flowers decorating it. The silver threads of Nigel's brocade waistcoat...sparkled as he laughed at something Bug said. Despite being a dandy Woody couldn't help but like him.

For his first few days in town Woody considered Nigel his prime suspect in the smuggling case. It didn't take long for him to take Nigel off his short-list. Outside of being a strange bird, the Englishman proved to be very cooperative. He didn't even bat an eye when Woody requested a tour of his ranch. The two day trip didn't give Woody anymore insight on the man. Even so, Woody was totally convinced Nigel wasn't involved and even went so far as to ask the Englishman for his help.

On the ride back into town Woody asked him everything he knew about the area and he wasn't disappointed. Nigel proved to be a fount of knowledge. He verified that there was something going on other than some mysterious deaths. On a lark Nigel batted around the name of Carl Jeffers. He had been both Max and Malden's deputy for a short time before he left to try his luck in the gold mines of Sutter's Mill. According to Nigel it wasn't a big surprise. Jeffers was always looking for a quick buck. Nigel figured he had disappeared into those hills of gold like so many men, never to bother with the dust and cattle of Texas again. Only Nigel could have sworn he saw him, few weeks before Woody arrived, when he escorted Mrs. Walcott and her lawyer to the capital. Nigel went on to say it was hard to mistake a man like Jeffers. After a childhood bout with yellow fever, he looked like he was at death's door...a veritable skeleton.

Woody brushed away his reflections and reminded himself he was off duty.

This wasn't Woody's first box meal auction. Not in the least. Growing up such fundraisers was very common, but that was a lifetime and a half a country ago. He was sure the concept was still the same here in Texas by the sight of the brightly decorated baskets. For days, the town's women cooked a prepared these special meals, packaged them up in attractive packages to be sold to the highest bidder. The winner not only had an excellent meal...but ate it in the charming company of the cook. Each box was outlandishly decorated hoping to stand out from the offering next to it. It was suppose to be a secret whose box lunch a gent would be bidding on. It wasn't unheard of the lady in question to make sure her man knew just what meal he should have any business bidding on. Some women were more coy about the clues...some were more direct. He'd seen notes slapped on top of baskets that would spell out woman's husband's name with a not so gentle hint that they'd better pony up the cash or sleep outside that night.

Woody was sure Nigel knew which basket belonged to which lady and briefly wondered if he could be bribed.

He approached the table just as Nigel pointed out the same brightly beribboned basket to Matt Seeley. By Nigel's sly smile Woody could smell a lively bidding war in the makings.

"Townsend..." Woody said holding his hand out. The smells of savory meats and homemade pastries that wafted up from the bounty were enough make Woody's mouth water.

"Marshal," Nigel drawled. "I hope you're hungry. We have some delightful selections here I'm sure."

Woody motioned to the popular yellow beribboned basket and Nigel shook his head. "It one may end up out of your price range..."

Woody chuckled and picked up a pink frilly basket at the front of the table. There was the unmistakably smell of gingerbread inside. Nigel carefully took it out of his hands and put it back in its spot. "No fair peeking Marshal. The dinner is supposed to be as big of a surprise as the lady."

"Any suggestions?"

Nigel's smile broadened. He looked over his shoulder before he picked out a plain brown paper bag from the back of the table. The only decoration it had was a handful of red colored Indian paintbrush that had obviously been tied to the fold at the last minute. "A certain bar keep asked me to bid for it since he's open tonight...but with all these baskets to choose from I may have a hard time keeping them straight..."

Woody slapped his new friend on the back and melted back into the growing crowd. He may consider himself off duty but it didn't hurt to keep his eyes open. Over the last few weeks he had met and talked to most of the people he saw. What he found was a hard working community...that were delighted to have someone in town that seemed to be concerned about the rash of unsolved murders. It filled his heart with something odd to have people call out his name in greeting and warm his palm with a handshake. He could see why people called this place home.

He stood back and watched Sheriff Malden scan the crowd himself. Like Woody, he was a head taller then most of the men there. It was easy to keep an eye on him and Woody didn't trust the sheriff as far as he could see him. For the last few days Woody had been watching the man closer. Two weeks of asking about the sheriff's pending retirement hadn't shed any light on what he planned for his life after the badge. Tom Malden played his cards close to his vest but there were rumors of a windfall of some sort. It took money to retire. He had to have some somewhere. There were no signs of arms at the jailhouse or his small place just outside of town. He was debating on making another ride past there in the morning when Pastor Stiles yelled for everyone's attention.

Jordan brushed her hand over Lily's handy work and felt like she had stepped back in time. When was the last time she had her hair dressed like this?

"Don't," Lily scolded. "I'm not done yet." Jordan sat still as Lily pinned a handful of spicily scented four-o-clock blossoms in the tumble of curls that fell from the back of her head. "There" she smiled. "Perfect."

Jordan stood up and looked at herself in the full length mirror that stood in the corner of Walcott's store. Jordan turned left and right, much like she did the first time she tried on the lavender silk dress. The gown was haute couture a half a dozen years ago. Now it probably would get laughed out of the ballrooms she once worn it at. It still fit her perfectly, but the color accented the swan like neck and broad shoulders that weren't as milky-white as they once were. Her hair was longer and not as formally coiled as she used to wear it. Jordan could still see the same girl that once wore this dress. Jordan Cavanaugh, the young granddaughter of one of Boston's Grand Dames, was there but the face reflected back had been though so much. There was no mistaking the maturity that was now there. Jordan had to smile. She liked what she saw.

Lily smiled at Jordan's reflection. "You're going to cause quite a stir."

Jordan laughed trying to pull up the neckline of her dress...to no avail. "I don't want to cause a stir. I just want him to see I'm not... I'm just looking like this to prove a point..."

Lily swung away to grab her shawl. "I'm sure Marshal Hoyt will get a definite point," she teased. "Along with half the other men in town."

"LILY!" Jordan's outrage mellowed into laughter as they stumbled, arm and arm, out onto the sidewalk. They were so wrapped up in the sheer enjoyment of each other's company on an extraordinary day that they didn't notice a pair of strangers tying up their rides out side of the saloon.

Kevin Cahill looked over his partner's shoulder. "Blessed Mother Mary, isn't that the Cavanaugh girl?" he whispered in his thick Celtic accent.

The emancipated man next to him turned slightly and spit out a trail of tobacco juice. With a jaundice eye, he watched Jordan and Lily rushed their way past the storefronts toward the gathering in the church yard.

"She's the spitting image of her mother..." Kevin continued.

"So she is," Carl smiled. "...so she is..."

Woody decided that when Rev. Stiles wasn't ranting about the sins of the world his distinctive voice was actually quite entertaining to listen to. Add Nigel's witty side dialogue and the auction was progressing along quite successfully.

"Going once...going twice...SOLD! To Mr. Vijay for $10! "

Woody, along with everyone else that had been getting caught up in the last feverish bidding war, clapped as a beaming Bug fetched his yellow beribboned dinner from Nigel's out stretched fingers. Dejected but not at all ready to surrender, Matt and Jeffery slipped back into the crowd conceding that they'd end up eating a plate at the table Lois had set up to feed the gentlemen that were out bid.

Lily was blushing as deeply as the rose color of the dress she was wearing. She waited patiently for Bug to hand the good reverend the hefty sum. Seeing the pretty school teacher, Woody scrutinized the crowd once more looking for Jordan. He knew she was there. He had heard her talk about it. Woody saw blondes and brunettes and a handful of redheads. But no long-locked chestnut-colored crowns. He was beginning to think that maybe she changed her mind when he saw her.

He saw her step from behind the bandstand to congratulate Bug. If he hadn't spent a good portion of the morning church service studying the gentle curve of her jaw line he would have had to look twice to realize it was the same woman he once confused with a dust-plain hooker.

There was only one word that came to his mind to describe her: Stunning. The feminine cut of her dress showed delicate curves he would have never guessed existed...unless he hadn't of just seen them with his very own eyes. Her hair, the same hair that he had dreamt about running his fingers through, was piled in loose curls that looked like they threaten to tumble down her back if he did just that.

Woody would have been content to just stand there and daydream if it weren't for the sharp whistle that came from the display table. He looked over at Nigel who was standing there with a bemused look on his face.

"Lord Townsend," Rev. Stiles said irritably. "There was no reason for such an outburst. Now where was I...? Yes. I have a starting bid of fifty cents from Mr. McCoy..."

Woody raised his hand when he saw the bidding had opened on Jordan's brown bag. "One dollar!"

"Do I hear one fifty..." the good reverend inquired.

"One fifty!" Woody yelled out.

"Marshal, do you realize you just out bid yourself," Stiles asked. There were a few chuckles as Woody ran his finger around the tight neck of his good shirt. "I do admit it smells like some mighty fine chicken in here...so I'll take the bid. Do I hear two?"

The crowd was silent.

"Going once...going twice..."

"Five dollars!" Jordan's voice started another little wave of chuckles...only there were a few murmurs as well.

Jordan swallowed hard. It was one thing to get all dressed up and prove you could look like a lady. It was another to actually put up with it.

From the moment she and Lily stepped foot in the church yard Jordan fielded a bounty of comments and looks. When one of the solders from the fort asked her for a dance or two smelling like a wet horse Jordan suggested that he go find a more suitable partner in the stables. It was that moment Jordan realized she couldn't go back. She was like a fish out of water trying to remember her life as a young lady dancing the night away in satins and silks. She was a country doctor who was more comfortable in her serviceable dark skirts and doing her job. Realizing her mistake, she hid behind the bandstand, hoping to slip away the second she could shake Lily. Unfortunately she forgot about her bloody picnic bag until Nigel's whistle. All she wanted to do was get it back and go hide in her father's office and eat fried chicken and sugar cookies until she was sick. Alone.

"Miss Cavanaugh, you participation in this fundraiser has already been noted with your generous donation of a fine meal," Rev. Stiles chastised. "There is no need for you to bid also."

"Are you saying my money's not good enough Reverend?" Jordan's fists were lost in the flounce of silk that covered her hips. Not that Woody and every other red-blooded man in sight noticed. The bow of her arms made her breasts lift precariously over the neckline of her gown. Woody bit back a moan.

Stiles harrumphed and searched for an excuse. "It's not that my child...it's just not very...seemly for a young lady to..."

"Let her bid Parson," Nigel said looking at his nails. "It's all for the church fund after all..."

"V...Very well. Five dollars."

"Ten!" Woody had worked his way through the crowd so that he was close enough to smell the flower that hung in back of her ear. "I intend to win," he whispered for her ears only.

"Twenty!" Jordan raised her hand in a counter bid. The murmur in the crowd suddenly buzzed louder that the laughter. "After all it's YOUR money," Jordan smirked back.

"...Going once..."

Woody watched with amusement as Jordan fished his twenty dollar gold piece out of the little jet bag she had tied around her gloved wrist.

"Fifty!"

The only smile that could be seen after Woody's last bid was Nigel's. The Englishman took Rev. Stiles momentary speechlessness as his sign to step in

"...going-once-twice-sold. Congratulations Marshal, I think you just bought the most expensive dinner this side of San Francisco. Do enjoy it. The fine pastor here is obviously overwhelmed by your generosity and will probably have your name engraved on the bell."

Nigel held out his hand as Woody counted out the bills which left a serious dent in his money clip. He then dropped the bag in Woody's numb hand and held up the next basket to be bid on.

Before they could blink to crowd turned its attention to the next bid leaving Jordan and Woody standing there with the oil soaked brown paper between them.

"The pastor's right. It smells like chicken."

"Fresh this morning..." Jordan added rocking on her feet looking like she wanted to be any place other than where she was.

"I can't wait to try it...shall we?" Woody held out his arm. Jordan just stared at it. "I promise...since I'm in the company of a beautiful lady I can pretend to be a gentleman...please...I just spend a month's pay on this dinner don't make me look like a fool..."

"It's too late for that," Jordan suggested and reluctantly linked her arm with his. Jordan couldn't help but draw in her inner Bostonian debutante and stick her nose haughtily in the air as they walked past the stinky cavalryman and his compatriots.

The sun was mellowing to a burnt orange color as they found a spot on the schoolhouse porch. Lily and Bug were inside the open door eating at her desk. Lily asked if they would like to join them. Much to Bug's relief Woody said no. "The sunset is too pretty to waste."

To Jordan's amazement Woody was not only a gentleman for dinner, but entertaining as well. She was taken back when he spread his handkerchief over the floorboards for her to sit on and delighted when he told her chicken and biscuits were worth every penny he spent. Time slipped past them. Lily and Bug left the school house as the first strains of music drifted up from the bandstand.

As they lingered over the last sips of lemonade in Mason jars and sugar cookies, Jordan found herself laughing as Woody described his life back on the farm in Wisconsin. Watching him describe some of the lighter points of his childhood, Jordan saw glimpses of the charming boy this hard man must have been. "Why did you ever leave?"

"I wasn't a son." he stated simply. "My brother and I were just the poor relations. When the war started, I went to fight. When it ended...when it ended, I saw there was nothing left for me there. I had to find my own way."

Jordan knew the war changed many people. Before the war she was living in Boston with nothing more demanding that learning needlepoint and going to dances. After the war, all she wanted to do was come home...to Tyler...and be a doctor. "I believe a person's direction in life is not left up to chance. They may lose their way or follow false signs. A person can only be happy when they are on the right path. Mine is being a doctor. I'm glad you found yours, Marshal..."

Woody looked into her eyes and realized he was completely lost. He knew from that moment on, now matter where he went, his life would never be the same again.

There was a deep profound feeling of sadness in that. A woman like Miss Jordan Cavanaugh...No, Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh of Tyler, Texas was so far out of his league he could only dream.

Even though, he needed to touch her just once. He had to take the risk. With darkness of dusk falling around them and the solitude of the empty school house in back of them, Woody leaned in and brushed his lips gently against hers. Her lips were softer than he expected for a woman so prickly. He tilted his head slightly and brushed them again. Jordan's posture stiffened but she didn't back away. He could tell she didn't have much practice in the art of kissing.

Reluctantly, he leaned back, fully expecting her to at least slap him silly if not chew him up and spit him out with that caustic tongue of hers. But she must have left it at home with her men's clothes. Her eyelashes took a long second to flutter open.

"You forget yourself. I should make you apologize for that Marshal Hoyt," she said slightly breathlessly.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I just got caught up...the evening and all. I'm very sorry." Woody stammered.

"I said, I should," Jordan said standing up brushing nonexistent crumbs from her skirts. She was halfway back to the party when she heard his laugh. She touched her fingertips to her lips and smiled.

Yes, she proved her point...