V.
It does go easier than Hoss thought, but not quite as easy as Adam expected.
Amazingly, it is Carole who proves to be harder to win over than her father when Adam calls on them the next morning, as the girl doesn't think it proper behavior to "indulge in frivolous entertainment" while Joe lies sick. "I'm surprised you even ask, Adam. You are his brother! Shouldn't you be at his side?"
But Adam hasn't acquired a reputation of being more persuasive with his tongue than with a gun for nothing.
"Joe is on the mend at last," he says. It's no lie, no exaggeration, as Dr. Martin has declared Joe out of immediate danger the night before: Joe's moans and head-tossing were indeed the first signs of recuperation.
He gives her his most innocent smile as he continues, "And he wouldn't mind me taking you out. Actually, he would expect me to take you to the play," which, of course, is a l—an exaggeration. Adam pauses briefly, then sets his jaw and plows on. "Tonight is the last performance of the play Joe chose for you, and I know he would be heartbroken to hear you never saw it." For a moment Adam is appalled by his own ruthless deviousness, but he will make amends later, if necessary. And what does a little deceitfulness weigh in comparison to a man's life?
In the end it's half Adam's silver tongue, half Carole's prospect of having her heart's desire satisfied that does the trick.
Her last concern, "But Father will never allow it" is not unfounded, but Adam lives up to his reputation again.
Horace Miller accepts Adam's apology readily and in return even offers one for his outburst on the previous day. "I think we both misunderstood each other," he says. "I am only concerned about my daughter. And your brother, of course."
There's nothing left of the raging bull of yesterday, Miller is all friend-of-the-family, amiable and forthcoming. Sickeningly jovial. "I know you're a good man, Adam. I know that you mean well. You and I, we were only…worrying for our loved ones; neither of us really meant what he said."
He's so compliant, so ready to smooth things with Adam, to prove how reasonable a man he is, that he doesn't even notice how Adam wheedles out of him the permission to take Carole out to the theatre before it is too late to withdraw it.
And so Adam calls at the Millers' again, dressed in a suit borrowed from Paul Martin and a revolver belt hidden under the slightly too loose jacket, half a day and lots of preparations later. Tickets had had to be bought, streets walked, bushes examined, hiding places sorted out, words slipped subtly, that Adam would take Carole out that very evening.
Carole looks sublime in her pale yellow evening dress—Joe is a lucky boy. First thing she does, despite her obvious excitement about finally going to the theatre, is inquire after Joe's condition. She's delighted to hear he's improved more, has been briefly awake a couple of times and managed to drink some beef broth, despite being only half-lucid. She suggests they go to see Joe after the theatre, which Adam answers with a raised eyebrow and, "That would hardly be appropriate, don't you think? Your father would kill me if I allowed that."
The girl bows her head. "Gracious, yes. How silly of me."
"No," he says. "Not silly. Endearing. Joe's to be envied."
Then he offers her his arm, and they leave the house, walking slowly down the dusky road towards the town's center.
Hoss is nowhere to be seen, as arranged. He's lurking somewhere between the houses, gun at the ready, scanning the bushes that line the street for any suspicious movement.
Despite the cool exterior he tries to display, Adam feels his skin crawling. Paul's suit is unusually warm, and something in the air makes the little hairs on the back of his neck stand. He squints into the bushes, listens into the dimness.
Nothing.
He wonders where Hoss is, if he can see how jittery Adam really is or if Hoss lets himself be fooled by his brother's tightly composed features.
The street has never seemed so quiet, so abandoned. Not a single breeze moves the bushes, not one cart clatters past them, not one dog barks anywhere.
Where's Hoss? Shouldn't Adam be able to hear his brother? Hoss can't be moving so silently, can he?
"Are you absolutely certain Joe wouldn't mind me going to the theatre with you?"
Adam almost jumps as Carole jolts his arm. She's asked the same question a million times already; and Adam doesn't know if she does it because she's so concerned about it or because she doesn't know anything else to say to him.
He should pay her more attention, should try and make conversation, as is expected of a man who's taking a girl out. She deserves that much. He's asking enough of her already. She might not be in danger of bodily harm, but—why did it not occur to him earlier? He must have been blinded by his righteous anger about the injustice done to Will Kettler—this all might turn into a very unpleasant experience for her. But there's no other way, it's too late to turn back, and considering everything, the benefits outweigh the risks. Oh, he will have to make amends.
He smiles at her. "I'm confident he doesn't. I told you: he wanted you to see this particular play. Once he's better you can go and tell him all about it; he'll love to hear it."
"Yes, I'll do that," she smiles.
For his life he can't come up with something to say to that. Or anything at all. His mind is empty but for the one thought: where? Where could a shooter possibly hide?
They walk on in uncomfortable silence.
Adam tries to refrain from too obviously glancing around. But he listens, listens… Through the jacket pocket he discreetly removes the strap that secures his revolver in the holster.
Carole gives him a shy side glance, which he answers with a weak smile—he is distracted, and he is aware it isn't very polite, he isn't very polite, and were this a true rendezvous he would never act like this. But it isn't a true rendezvous, not even a true substitute rendezvous, and… But Carole doesn't know this is just a ruse, does she?
He turns his head to her, smiles. He will make a serious attempt at polite conversation, no matter what—but then he hears a crunch.
He stops; and the world narrows down to a small bubble. All he sees is the hard-packed sand before him, all he hears is the soft rustling of leaves, and his own thundering heartbeat.
He disengages Carole's hand from his arm, pushes her gently to the left, and slowly steps right, removing himself from her close vicinity and presenting the lurker in the bushes a clear target.
"Adam, is everything all right?" The girl closes the space between them, and frowns, bewildered, as he moves away from her again. "Adam?"
"No, actually—" More rustling makes him turn his head back to the bushes—and a cat emerges from them, stopping briefly and giving them a curious glance before it stalks past them and disappears between the wood stacks at the other side of the street.
An explosive breath escapes Adam; then he gives Carole a sheepish half-smile.
Her scolding frown melts like ice in the summer. She claps her hands to her mouth, her eyes widen, and then she laughs. "You should have seen your face!"
Her giggles are almost as infectious as Joe's, and Adam can't help but laugh, too. It's mostly because she laughs, a little embarrassment, and something that eases the tension from his shoulders.
"Apparently Father is right after all, saying that the theatre had a bad influence on people. Even you are different tonight, Adam," Carole says, as they finally stop laughing. Her tone is light, but then she frowns and continues far more seriously, "I just don't understand why it frightens him so."
Adam stares at her. "It frightens him?" And suddenly everything falls into place. As if he's just gotten the one missing part, the one gear that completes the machine. The wheels are turning, one gear meshes with the next, smoothly, without obstruction; and Adam knows.
"Carole, I'm really sorry, but I think we better—"
An earsplitting crack interrupts him, a hard push at his back makes him stumble, fall to his knees and then keel over, headfirst into the dirt. Pain explodes in his back, takes away his breath. Blackness claws at him, from all sides, and all sound fades into nothing. The last thing he is hears is Carole's shriek. "Adam! No! No, no, no, no! Not again!"
Then the world stops.
ooOoo