5
Sunday Lunch
And the next day was Sunday.
They attended church, of course. Slim would not for the world have missed an opportunity to be in Hope's presence. Jess would have given the world to be peacefully drinking a pot of strong coffee at home in the relay station, but figured that it would be as well to keep an eye on proceedings in case a religious atmosphere did not discourage courtship contests. In any case, he might, if things turned out really badly, need to enlist the Reverend Fitzwilliam's help in preventing a totally unsuitable marriage.
Mort turned up out of long experience of the fact that trouble could erupt in the most unlikely places. His cells had been full overnight of disheveled and battered young men, but he had released them all at dawn with an injunction to go home, clean up and present themselves sober and respectable at the service – or else. There really wasn't much else he could do, since it was impossible to apportion blame for the riot to any one individual. They could all just do penance in the form of the Reverend Fitzwilliam's sermon instead!
Thus it was partially Mort's fault that the church was packed to the walls and deadly enemies were forced into close proximity and potential, but unlikely, Christian amity. The Reverend Fitzwilliam took for his text the Book of Exodus, chapter twenty, verses one to seventeen. He dealt with each commandment in turn. He dwelt specifically and in detail on the tenth. He preached for ninety five minutes. The seats were getting unconscionably hard. So were the hearts and probably the immortal souls of some of his congregation.
Whatever the Reverend Fitzwilliam's intentions to reprove his flock into a state of brotherly love and mutual tolerance, he succeeded only in aggravating the situation to the extent that more fisticuffs almost broke out in the church itself. Every man, predictably, saw himself in the position of the one whose possessions (or putative possessions) were being coveted and not one of them saw themselves in the role of covetee.
Mort made it first to the door. He stood firm and authoritative, every inch of him radiating a commandment as clear as any of Moses' to the rest of the town to mind its manners and keep the peace. The fact that he had picked up his rifle from the porch might have had something to do with the degree of co-operation he achieved.
Jess, meanwhile, was struggling to get Slim's co-operation in returning home. This was despite Andy having joined them after being brought in to church by the parents of the school friend with whom he had just spent several days. Slim's bemused disregard for his brother's presence was causing Jess even more serious concern. It was utterly unlike Slim not to make Andy the first and most important motivation for his actions. Now, he seemed to be suggesting that Jess and the boy should ride home, while he stayed another night in Laramie. Jess was within an ace of slugging him again, when help came from an unexpected source.
"Ah, Slim, I'm glad to see you this morning." It was Mr. Mulholland, radiating an authority equal to if rather different from Mort's. "Could you get your books for the Stage Line in order and bring them to the bank on Wednesday morning, please? Mr. Greeves, the stage-line agent, is going to be passing through and says he hasn't time to stop at every relay station to go over the paperwork. He's asking everyone to bring the books in to Laramie so that he can go over them all in one place."
"Sure, I'll do it right away." Slim knew he had no option. Greeves was a notorious nitpicker and only too willing to find fault with the accounts of those who held the stage-line franchise.
Jess felt like turning back into the church and falling to his knees in fervent thanks to the Almighty for thus solving his problem – or at any rate, solving this part of the problem. But he was willing to say his prayers on horseback if it got Slim out of Laramie and back to the comparative safety and sanity of the ranch.
And so he did as they rode home together. The events of the last twelve hours had given not only his prayers but also his appetite a cutting edge. He hoped Jonesy had done them proud in the matter of lunch, because somehow the catering had been rather fancy and insubstantial of late. Slim might not be eating much, but Jess was always willing to mop up whatever extra there was.
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"Gee, Jess, what's goin' on with Slim?"
It hadn't taken Andy more than a few hours and an abnormally silent Sunday lunch to realise that the atmosphere of his home was not as he had left it just over a week ago. Over the following days, this became even more obvious. He was used to his elders wrangling and ribbing each other and horsing about and occasionally getting into fights. He'd never known Slim not to talk to Jess, not even about how they would carry out the next day's work. Jess seemed to be operating purely by habit and his brother was wrapped in a dream, barely answering when spoken to. Admittedly he was busy working on the books, which always required total concentration, but even so he never usually let it stop him relaxing with the rest of them in the evening. Now all he seemed to do was sit on the porch, gazing at the moon. Andy flirted for a moment with the idea that he might be have been bitten by a vampire bat or a werewolf, but Sherman common sense soon eclipsed this enticing fantasy.
"Jess!" Andy repeated. Goodness, the two of them seemed to be at it! "Slim? Not talking? What's up?"
Jess looked up from the gun he was cleaning. He considered Andy thoughtfully and decided he was old enough to face the facts of life. "He's in love."
"Oh!" Andy would have infinitely preferred the vampire or the werewolf alternative. He knew that both young men periodically disappeared on assignations with various young women, but regarded it very much like rain – a nuisance, but unavoidable. This was the first time that it had had any serious effect on daily life. "Is she pretty?"
"Everyone seems to think so," Jess admitted, stretching his generosity to acknowledge an attractiveness to which he himself was immune.
"Oh." Andy thought some more. "And fun?"
"If you like her kind of fun," Jess conceded.
"Huh! Take no notice, Andy," Jonesy intervened. "He's just actin' jealous because she ain't fallen head over heels for him. She's charmin'!"
"Can she cook?" Andy was nothing if not realistic. He also knew that with Slim, and particularly Jess, the old saying about the way to the heart was true.
"Ain't seen her do anything practical yet." Jess was struggling hard not to let his animosity show, because Andy deserved the right to make up his own mind.
"She's a very accomplished young woman," Jonesy corrected. "Sings like an angel. And dances like one too, so y' brother says. An' she can appreciate good cooking, that's for sure."
Like Slim, Andy regarded him with surprise. He'd known Jonesy all his life and could scarcely recall an occasion on which he had been so in favour of a member of the female sex.
"But Jess doesn't like her!" Andy knew his friend well enough to see through Jess's careful comments.
"He's just got his nose put out of joint, that's all!" Jonesy retorted roundly. "Ain't got the good taste of your brother and don't like it when someone comes along who's a cut above those saloon girls –"
"Jonesy!" Jess snapped. "That's enough." He knew Slim would not approve of discussing the relative merits of saloon girls and politely brought up young ladies with Andy.
"Well, you ain't doin' nuthin' to help him court her, that's for sure," Jonesy said with more partiality than tact.
Jess could have been pardoned for pointing out the fact that he had more or less kept his mouth shut on the subject, prevented Slim being lynched by his rivals on more than one occasion and done his best to make sure that he turned up to church looking like the model citizen he was. It was hard to be criticized by Jonesy, not just because Jess had a deep affection and respect for him, but because he had been relying on his shrewd counsel and knowledge of all things Sherman to help them out of this dilemma.
This was not to be.
Andy let the subject drop. He had sufficient explanation and was not, at this stage in his development, particularly interested in girls or romance or the desires and frustrations of his elders. Jonesy considered Jess had been sufficiently put in his place to ensure his silence on the subject for at least the next twenty four hours. Jess resigned himself to the fact that he was not going to have Jonesy's wisdom and support in saving Slim from the snares of Miss Hope Robinson.
Slim just sat on the porch, blissfully happy in anticipation of meetings to come and blissfully unaware of the emotions he was stirring up in his family. It was a kind of tribute to Hope's influence that she could lure Slim so far from his characteristic behaviour and the fact that this happened at all was at least partly due to his own generous and friendly nature, which was always ready to see the best in everyone – not least if they were pretty.
So life continued at the Sherman Stage Stop much as it usually did, except for a great deal of muttering over the accounts books, a great deal of upheaval and cleaning of the premises, an excess of cake-baking and a great deal of silence on the subject of eligible young ladies. But Jess was determined to leave no stone unturned, no bull unroped and no mustang unbroken. In other words, he made up his mind that in this situation a mere man needed to enlist some really professional help.