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The Journey

One: The Incident

"Well, according to this, there's not going to be an inquest." Mr. Fairfax folded the paper and placed it to the side of his plate. "This rag is becoming nothing more than a scandal sheet by putting that story on the front page! It's not fit for reading at the breakfast table. What was Bill Raleigh thinking? Cartwright's arrest for murder was on an inside page yesterday; at least that showed some judgment." Mr. Fairfax violently buttered his toast which took the brunt of his disgust. He took a bite and then sipped his coffee, liking the mixed flavors. Once he swallowed, he considered again the scandalous deaths of two people, both involving Adam Cartwright—and a possible third.

"It's news, Eliot, and people buy the paper for that reason. That's why Bill made it the headline this morning. Let me see it now, dear." She put out her hand.

"You don't need to read this trash. The gist is this, Judge Milburn decided there wouldn't be an inquest as there were so many witnesses—the hoi polloi who lusted after that young woman and wanted to lynch Adam Cartwright. Seems they all heard Sheriff Sanders confess he never meant to shoot Miss Terry but meant to kill Adam Cartwright instead. I warrant Ben is glad Sanders wasn't a good shot but to trade a young woman's life for his son's…a father wants his child alive but what a terrible thing.

"And I never approved of Jesse Sanders; he was too seedy to represent Virginia City-always looked like he needed a shave and then there was that perverse edge he had, the way his eyes shifted about as if he was up to no good. Always squinting, looking sideways at people, especially women. That's why I didn't vote for him and this just proves I was right. Both times I went to see him about matters, important matters, he was playing cards with his two deputies—barely paid me any attention, just kept dealing cards as if I was of no importance. And what sheriff needs two deputies anyway? One!" he said, raising his index finger, "One deputy is all a good sheriff needs. More than that is a burden on taxpayers and implies ineptness. We didn't pay him to play cards all day or to sniff after a young girl at night!" Mr. Fairfax had worked himself up to a respectable fury. "And now that Sanders is dead, we'll have to find another sheriff and hopefully one who won't lust after trollops as he did."

"Now, Eliot, I well understand your frustration with the matter. And it does seem that for a sheriff, he had terrible aim. I mean he out and out missed his target from what I heard—twice."

Mr. Fairfax harrumphed. "Yes, well, it's fortunate he was a bad shot as far as the Cartwrights are concerned, but your observation proves my point; Jessie Sanders was a bad sheriff. Why what if young Cartwright had been the killer? He would have gotten clean away!

"I tell you, Charlotte, out here things are so different from back east that I'm still not used to them. You wouldn't think people would be so different but they are." Mr. Fairfax delicately wiped his mouth after finishing up his coffee; he didn't want to disturb his carefully waxed moustache.

"I suppose it is true; such violence." Mrs. Fairfax gazed at the pale blue wall above her husband's head, musing. "Eliot, you had that issue with Samuel Dirkin a while ago, didn't you? Something about the business accounts he handled coming up short?"

"Yes. At least three of them. Why?" His wife bringing up young Samuel Durkin was making for an even more unusual morning. What did Dirkin's inability to make his account books balance have to do with anything?

"It's just that yesterday, Mrs. Riggins, when she called on me, said that her husband had seen Samuel with…well, a few days ago he had seen him with Miss Terry and apparently, Miss Terry was dismissive, wouldn't give Mr. Dirkin the time of day. Mrs. Riggins said that Samuel pled with Miss Terry, rather pathetically from what her husband told her. I was thinking maybe the missing money from Mr. Dirkins' accounts had something to do with his association with Miss Terry."

"Oh," Mr. Fairfax said, looking puzzled. "Well, it's possible, I suppose." Suddenly, the import of the matter dawned. "Damn possible! You know I can't have a man working with money if he's that vulnerable. I had assumed they had just been honest mistakes—you know, when a customer comes in to inquire about their account or move some money, you have to chat with them, inquire about their families and discuss their business. It's easy to forget to record a transaction if something else comes up. But he is on probation until the audit is finished although, if he makes another mistake like that, he's fired." Mr. Fairfax's brow furrowed. "You know, Charlotte, I did notice that his mind has been elsewhere lately… Good heavens! I hope his name won't be mentioned as one of her suitors in any follow-up article! I can't have that for the bank." He sighed and stood, pulling down his weskit. "I'm too old for all this mess. I need to leave for the bank now; there's going to be gossip but at least I can keep things orderly there." He walked to where his wife sat, the folded paper under his arm, and bending down, kissed his wife's proffered cheek.

"Are you taking the paper to work, dear?"

"What? Oh, no. Going to put it in the rubbish bin where it belongs."

"But I'd like to look at the advertisements and the society notices. And it does include other news, I hope."

He could never prevail against his wife, so Eliot Fairfax had learned to concede early and save himself time. "Here, dear," he said, handing her the Territorial Enterprise. "Sometimes I wish I'd never accepted this job in this God-forsaken town! We should return to the east."

"Yes, Eliot," Mrs. Fairfax said patiently. "Have a good day at the bank and remember to talk to young Mr. Dirkin," taking the paper from him. She watched her husband leave the dining room.

Mrs. Fairfax unfolded it and saw the headline: Love Triangle ends in Multiple Murders. "Well," she thought, a slight thrill running through her, "that certainly catches the eye." Mrs. Fairfax read the article with great interest; she was certain all her friends would want to discuss the matter at the guild meeting that evening. They were even considering taking up the cause of temperance and closing the saloons which would eliminate such women as the Terry sisters.

Larger cities have their share of scandalous stories involving those in positions of power but it seems that our small burg now has its own, the murder of a scarlet woman and the ill-fated sister who raised her, and the mortal shooting of Virginia City's sheriff, Jesse Sanders by Adam Cartwright, the scion of the most wealthy and influential family in Nevada.

As stated in yesterday's article on the arrest of Adam Cartwright, he had accompanied Miss Sue Ellen Terry, a barmaid by profession, home after hosting her at the Ponderosa. While they were embracing on her front porch, a shot rang out and Miss Terry was the unfortunate victim. Adam Cartwright, holding her limp body, shot into the darkness at the killer and then, left her body to the gathering crowd of denizens in whose company, she expired. One townsman was quoted as saying that her cold-blooded murder was "bound to happen by the way she flouted morality." According to those interviewed, Miss Terry was generous with her favors to many men of means and the young and handsome Mr. Adam Cartwright, also a man of means, was her latest conquest.

Since Cartwright had fired his gun at the killer, he was wrongly accused of her murder, backed up by "Dixie" Mason, no known occupation, who claimed that Adam Cartwright stated that if he could not have Miss Terry, no one could. This statement was later found to be false, created by Mr. Mason in an effort to receive free drinks. Sheriff Sanders had summarily arrested Mr. Cartwright but, this reporter later found out, arranged for him to escape, thereby hoping to kill him as he escaped jail. This ruse did not succeed as Sheriff Sanders missed the escaping prisoner.

Adam Cartwright went to the house on K Street where the Terry sisters lived and found Amelia Terry's body in an upstairs bedroom. Ben Cartwright summarily arrived to interview the deceased woman and found his son kneeling beside the corpse. Ben Cartwright, upon direction of his son, arranged to have Sheriff Sanders meet with Adam Cartwright at the Sheriff's rented room. An angry group of citizens along with Ben Cartwright and his other two sons, arrived at the boarding house only to hear a gunshot. Upon entering the room, all present heard Sheriff Sander's dying confession that he had missed killing Adam Cartwright the previous night, instead inadvertently killing Miss Terry. The motive was that he wanted to be rid of any competition for Miss Terry's attention and affection.

After speaking with those who heard the "deathbed" confession, Circuit Judge Aloysius Milburn, who is in Virginia City hearing court cases, has decided no inquest will be necessary. As for the strangulation of Miss Amelia Terry, it is assumed but unproven, that she died by Jesse Sanders' hand. A missive from her to him was found in one of his pockets citing a time for an assignation. As to the purpose of the meeting, it can only be a source of speculation. Judge Milburn has not yet decided if the murder of Miss Amelia Terry will be investigated further.

Adam Cartwright has been released from legal custody, per Judge Milburn, but the conjecture is that it is due more to Ben Cartwright's influence or perhaps the lack of an acting sheriff. What is known is that Amelia Terry's killer is still undetermined and that both Ben and Adam Cartwright were in the house on K Street.

According to reliable sources, Miss Amelia Terry moved to Virginia City, still in its nascent stage, about 15 years ago and supported herself and her orphaned younger sister, Sue Ellen Terry, by working in what is now, the Bucket of Blood. Sue Ellen was raised in the back room of the saloon due to the generosity of the then owner, Mr. Nathan Barchfield. An unknown admirer of Miss Amelia Terry's purchased the small house at the end of K Street for her and had promised marriage, or so Miss Terry had always claimed. But the marriage never occurred. It is no wonder then, that Miss Sue Ellen Terry also became a bar maid and hoped to secure a bright future by consorting with many men in the hopes of finding a wealthy husband, the most recent candidate being Adam Cartwright.

And, although neither participant agreed to be interviewed, it has since been discovered that John Henry, the owner of Silver King Mining Ventures, and Adam Cartwright had dueled over a slight to Miss Sue Ellen Terry's reputation. Neither duelist was harmed and no charges will be pressed despite dueling being illegal.

Mrs. Fairfax stared at the paper. She knew she should fell sadness over the death of a young woman who wasn't even the intended victim. But she didn't. Her sympathies were for Ben Cartwright as he and his family would be the subject of gossip for weeks to come; a wealthy young man had been wrongly arrested for the murder of a young woman of ill repute who had rejected his advances. A scandal was always far more titillating when it involved a reputable person, there was a greater distance to fall. But this was no Greek tragedy, Charlotte acknowledged, but she had enough experience to know that if the murderer had been an unsavory character on the margins of society, the article would more than likely be relegated to the last page, if reported at all and any conversation would be brief and perfunctory. Since Ben Cartwright was one of the wealthiest men in the territory, many people would delight in the confirmation of his eldest son's relationship with such a woman as Sue Ellen Terry. Poor Ben. He couldn't even deny it.

Mrs. Swan, the cook, came to the edge of the portieres. "Mrs. Fairfax, I need your signature for the butter and egg bill. Mr. Cranston is waiting at the back door. I'll need some more sweet butter this week since I've to bake the cookies for the church bazaar. And you did ask…"

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Swan." Mrs. Fairfax re-folded the newspaper and placed it and her napkin on the table before she rose, sighing deeply. Those foolish young men, John Henry and Adam Cartwright; they had dueled over an insult to that Terry woman's honor. Women like that had no honor and what type of man would think they did? But Mrs. Fairfax knew the duel really had nothing to do with Sue Ellen's besmirched honor—it had to do with their honor, their masculine pride which was such a useless thing.

~ 0 ~

None of us spoke on the ride home from Virginia City. It could have been because it was so late or actually, very early. Or it could have been because the whole incident was so overwhelming there was too much to say. So, silence prevailed except for the sound of striking horse hooves kicking up bits of the precious Ponderosa soil.

No sooner had we put away our horses, all the hands were out on the property by then, when Hop Sing, his face set in his expression of perpetual worry, tried to offer us food but all any of us wanted, except for Hoss, was sleep; he opted for a platter of flapjacks and then to sleep until supper.

"Yeah," Joe snipped, "all that snoring probably works up an appetite."

Once inside my room, I pulled the drapes, stripped and crawled under the sheets, not even bothering to wash. I had barely slept in almost three days and desperately longed for it, but images swirled behind my burning eyes, reminding me of the time I spent in a sweat lodge and took peyote, something the Utes traded for horses and wives with the Bannocks. Once home from college, Chaytan or Gray Hawk, a childhood friend, asked me to participate in a sweat. I felt proud to be included as outsiders rarely were, but as the Good Book warns, "Pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall." In the sweat lodge, after chewing a peyote "button", I not only began to "taste" words and colors but the steam from the rocks swirled and twisted like a perverted rainbow. Eerie chants echoed in my ears along with ululations of multitudinous voices from both within and without my head. Spirits floated above me but when one flew into my mouth like a wisp of black smoke, I panicked and only Chaytan and the Bannock shaman kept me from pulling out my tongue to expel it. That night didn't expand my universe or put me in touch with a mystical spirit guide, only enforced my fear of losing touch with reality and tonight was just as horrible as that experience had been as images filled my mind, fiercely poking me awake every time I felt my grip on consciousness slipping.

Ovid's words danced through my head—I could almost see them written on the back of my eyelids:

Sleep, rest of things, O pleasing Deity,

Peace of the soul, which cares dost crucify,

Weary bodies refresh and mollify.

I almost laughed at how ridiculously overeducated I was—and how useless all that goddam education was when it came to living.

Sue Ellen's death still didn't seem real—she had been warm, vital and alive in my arms and then—a second later, she was dead. Life hinges on each second. I've seen death before—Inger, Hoss' mother, a ranch hand who broke his neck after being thrown from a horse. Unfortunately, I've even killed a few men myself and I hoped the Almighty isn't taking out his disgust with me by killing Sue Ellen; seems like unfair retribution.

Sue Ellen had just told me how important it was that my family approved of her. I knew they never would because, well, as Browning wrote, Sue Ellen was "my moon, my everybody's moon, which everybody looks on and calls his." I told you I was overeducated. But in that moment, despite her unsavory reputation, she had an childlike innocence about her. Looking at that sweet face I almost, right then and there, asked her to marry me even though I knew we didn't love each other. The night before, as we stood on her porch. she had called me "dear." The endearment and the underlying sentiment seemed forced, but many marriages are built on less. And then a shot pierced the calm and Sue Ellen gasped before going limp in my embrace. The sound was from my right. I saw a movement so pulled my gun, Sue Ellen still draped over my other arm, and shot into the darkness. But the killer ran off and people, hearing the shots came running towards us, Old Dixie being the first to arrive as I gently lay Sue Ellen's body on the porch boards. But before I could step away to pursue the shooter, Amelia came out of the house and seeing her sister's lifeless body, stopped. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"You shot her," she barely managed to say and then our eyes locked. "Why? Now she's dead!" I swear there was a note of relief in her voice.