A Place Called Harmony (21 page)

Clint Truman

Truman stood in the corner of the room and watched Granny Gigi’s breathing grow slower and slower. Every now and then it would be so long between breaths or her breathing would be so shallow he was sure she was dead.

She’d used her one bullet to save him. He had a Colt full and couldn’t save her. Momma Roma knelt by her bed, holding her mother’s hand and crying softly as she prayed. He understood how she felt. He’d been that helpless once. His Mary had died of a fever and his daughters were growing weaker by the hour. He’d decided to ride for the doctor one more time, hoping something could be done. He’d left, with their cries for him filling his ears. Only, when he returned with the doctor it was too late to save them, too late to hold them.

Clint closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. He hadn’t slept for two days and nights. Silently, he pushed his daughters’ deaths to the back of his mind and forced himself to think of them dancing in their summer dresses underneath the old cottonwood on his farm near Huntsville.

People circled past him, but he was barely aware of them.

Daisy and Annie had done all they knew to do. Everyone agreed that the kick from the musket she’d fired must have collapsed her lung. Maybe it broke something inside that started bleeding. Maybe her lungs were slowly filling with blood. Without a doctor no one could be sure.

Truman had heard Harmon Ely mutter something about how the next thing this town needed was a doctor. No one argued. They were all strong and young but unprepared for illness or accidents. From the looks of it, a cemetery might be needed soon.

The one thing that made the sickroom bearable for Clint was that Karrisa was in the room. She’d changed slightly in the two weeks he’d been gone. Her face was a bit fuller. She’d gained a few pounds, finally rounding out a bit, but it was more than that. She was one of them now. She talked easily with the women. His wife was growing stronger, getting over the birth. Her eyes were brighter and her hair no longer dull. He’d rushed home thinking only of being with her and there hadn’t been a moment he’d been alone with her. The need to kiss her again was a dull ache that never left now that she was so near.

She’d never be someone he could love, but he was glad she looked better. If Sheriff Lightstone could see her thriving out here, he’d think Clint was doing a good job of taking care of her. Clint didn’t want to think about what would have happened to her if he hadn’t been out by the prison gate that night. Would she have survived? Would he have?

The baby cried and Karrisa excused herself. Everyone in the room knew nothing could be done for the old woman. From now on it was just a waiting game. She might recover. She
might
, Clint reminded himself, wishing for the impossible.

The captain came in and suggested Clint go down and eat something. “It’s going to be a long night, Truman, and you’re no good to anyone if you fall over.”

Clint didn’t care about food, but he needed to do something besides measure the time passing between Granny Gigi’s breaths. He’d been around far too much death in his life. Sometimes he thought death planned to keep stomping him in the gut until finally he’d feel nothing, absolutely nothing.

He expected to find Karrisa in their room, but it was empty so he followed the captain’s orders and went down to the kitchen.

Patrick and his brother were there serving dinner to the two Roma boys and the one remaining driver from Buford’s livery. Harry Woolsey never had been much of a talker on the road, but because he was the only one willing to take McAllen’s questions, he was now reporting on every day of the journey.

Clint noticed Karrisa over in the shadows feeding the baby and listening. She had a blanket over her shoulder and the baby. The men probably didn’t even know what she was doing. He decided his wife was the most invisible person in every crowd.

Clint went over to her and blocked the men’s view of her with his broad shoulders. “May I see the baby, dear?”

He thought she would lift the tiny boy up to him, but when she simply raised the blanket the sight of the baby feeding almost buckled his knees. The baby’s cheeks were red, his eyes bright as he pressed against her creamy white breast.

Karrisa ran her finger gently along her son’s cheek. “I still haven’t thought of a name,” she whispered.

He trailed his finger where hers had caressed the warm tiny cheek. “My brother was a good man. He loved to watch things grow and sang louder than everyone in church. He was older than me, but he never said a mean word to me. The day he left home he had big tears in his eyes when he hugged me. Daniel died at nineteen fighting in a war he didn’t understand.”

“Daniel,” she whispered. “I like that name. We could call him Danny until he grows up, and then when he goes off to be a doctor, he’ll probably change it to Dan or maybe Daniel like his uncle, Daniel Truman.”

“Thank you, dear,” he said, knowing that she’d just given him a gift.

“You are welcome, Truman.” Her voice was soft, just for him. “Now eat your supper. We’ve a long night to wait out death’s calling.”

“You know it’s coming?”

She nodded. “I’ve seen it before. I was only sixteen but I remember sitting by my mother’s bed and watching her pass away a little at a time like the old woman is doing now.”

Clint knew she was right. He’d seen it also. Sometimes folks don’t die all at once, but a little bit at a time.

“Her name is Granny Gigi. That’s all I know about her,” he whispered. “Except she saved my life.”

He lifted the baby blanket and put it back on her shoulder. His scarred hand brushed against the side of her hair in almost a caress before he turned to join the others.

Patrick was busy trying to learn Italian in one night and managing to make the Roma boys smile.

Truman collected a bowl of stew from the stove and a slice of bread before sitting as far down the table as he could get from the others. He wanted a clear view of his wife sitting in the corner. She’d told him a bit more about herself tonight, but it hadn’t been a surprise. He would have guessed her mother, maybe both of her parents, were long dead. Also, it didn’t speak well of her father that she hadn’t wanted to use his name. If he was still alive, he didn’t mean anything to her.

Patrick spotted him and headed straight toward him. “Truman,” McAllen said, “I’ve been waiting to ask you one question.”

“Can it wait till I’m finished eating, because your questions usually make me so mad I can’t eat for cussing?”

“This one is simple.” Patrick looked serious. “Shelly and I tied up that outlaw these Roma boys caught during the raid. Now what do you want us to do with him? There’s not a lawman for over a hundred miles and we don’t have a jail, much less a cell. Since he was caught during the raid on our supply wagons, I’m thinking there will be no doubt of his guilt, but the captain says there will have to be a trial and we haven’t got enough men for that. You bringing him into our town kind of makes him all our problem now. So we’ve got to think of something to do.”

“I guess you’ll have to shoot him,” Truman said between bites.

Patrick jerked as if slapped by Truman’s answer. “We can’t just shoot him.”

“You’re right. Too much noise. We’ll have to knife him in his sleep.”

“No.” Patrick took another step backward. “We can’t do that.”

“Right again, McAllen. Way too much blood to have to clean up. I guess we could choke him. That wouldn’t make any noise or leave any blood. Only, wait to do it until he’s close to his grave. A dead body always seems heavier than a live one.” Truman took another bite. “It’s like the blood cools down and turns to lead once a man dies. So, my advice is to choke him within a few feet of the grave.”

Patrick paled a few shades. “You’re joking?”

“Of course I’m joking,” Truman snapped, half mad that McAllen had even believed him for a minute. “I’ll take him back to Dallas when I return the wagons.”

Clint didn’t like the idea but he’d figured out while he’d been upstairs waiting that four wagons had to go back. Even if Momma Roma could drive the fourth one, it wouldn’t be safe to send the one driver, two half-grown boys, and a tiny woman out alone. Much as he hated the thought, he’d be returning to Dallas.

“How about you and Shelly go out and feed the outlaw? One of you can hold a gun on him while he eats and the other can try to talk him to death. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll kill himself to get a little peace and quiet.” When Shelly grinned, Clint added, “I’ll let you two figure out which one does which job.”

Patrick shook his head and walked away saying, “I’m sorry I even thought I missed you, Truman.”

Clint laughed and realized how good it felt. Every nerve had been twisted into knots for two weeks. Now finally, even amid all the mess they were in, it felt so good to be home.

Momma Roma came in before he finished eating. Everyone hovered around her, wanting to ease her load. She talked in her broken English about how her mother had insisted on coming to America.

Clint leaned forward and touched her hand. “This is all my fault,” he began. “If I could have hired more men to guard the wagons, or if I’d figured out Jack West wasn’t to be trusted.” He didn’t add that he should have at least left Dollar Holt in too bad a shape to follow him, or maybe he could have warned the sheriff in Dallas about Dollar’s threat. “I should have been more aware of someone behind me. One blow to the head and I was no help. Your mother got hurt saving my life. I should have . . .”

Momma Roma pulled her hand out from under his and slapped his fingers. “No. No,” she shouted. “My mother, she not saving you, she was’a saving all. We could never have’a fought them off without you. Don’t you see? You were our one’a chance. She use her one’a bullet so you could be free’a to fight.”

Clint understood. She was right. The grandmother had saved them all that night. He nodded and suggested she try to eat something.

Karrisa handed him Danny and sat down on the other side of the tiny woman. They talked in Italian, his wife’s voice comforting and Momma Roma’s heartbreaking—even though he couldn’t understand the words.

As he rocked the baby on one arm, Clint watched Karrisa comforting first the mother and then her sons. They all knew sorrow waited at the door, and soon it would be time to let it in.

Carrying the baby, Clint walked out on the porch and stepped over the old yellow dog. All the people arriving hadn’t affected Davy’s sleep at all. The sun had set without him noticing and the air was warm tonight, hinting of spring. Harmon Ely had painted the population sign again: P
OPULATION 14.

“Someone else come?” Clint asked.

Harmon Ely shook his head. “Damned if I didn’t count myself twice. We got four men counting me, three wives, one stray half-grown girl, and, counting your son, five boys. Seems to me we’re a little heavy on boys.”

“Tell McAllen to only have daughters.” Clint smiled. He’d like to be around when that conversation happened.

Ely went back to his painting.

Truman tucked the blanket around little Danny. “You’re getting heavy, son,” he said in a low voice, and swore the baby smiled at him. “Did you take good care of your mother while I was gone? You need to work on making her smile. I have a feeling she hasn’t done near enough of that lately.”

Harmon Ely muttered something about everyone in the place going crazy. He picked up his paint bucket and went back inside.

Clint didn’t care. He’d just as soon talk to Danny alone. Somehow knowing the little boy had his brother’s name eased a sorrow that had followed him for years.

After a while, Karrisa stepped out on the porch and took the rocker next to him. She didn’t reach for the baby or say a word. They just sat side by side as he rocked Danny to sleep.

Finally, in the stillness, he said, “I’d planned on kissing you first thing when I got back. Would you have had any objection to that, dear?”

“No,” she whispered back.

He waited awhile, trying to figure out how to put his words in order. “I worry,” he began, thinking he’d already started wrong. “I fear that my interest in holding you again might frighten you. I need to assure you that I would never hurt you or do something that you wanted no part of.” His words were too formal, but he wanted everything completely clear. She owed him the effort to be a partner in this adventure, but nothing more.