Nan Ryan (30 page)

“Oh, no!” Helen exclaimed, standing before the empty shelf where the extra sacks of flour were kept. “We’re out of flour.”

“Want me to go borrow some from Jolly? I know the shortcut by myself. He showed me.”

“No. No, that won’t be necessary. I guess I’ll just put off my baking for a day or two. Come on, let’s go.”

Back outside, the mooing of the milk cow and the echoing ring of the ax hitting wood carried on the still evening air.

Helen stopped and, her brow knitting, said to Charlie, “Would you like to take old Bessie to the pasture?”

She didn’t have to ask twice. Charlie raced away from her, heading for the cow pen, shouting Bessie’s name. Helen waited a minute, took a deep breath, and headed down to where Kurt was chopping wood.

She paused a few feet away, studied him. Lines of weariness showed on his dark, handsome face. Drenched with sweat, he looked as if he were about to drop in his tracks and she had no doubt he was. What, she wondered, was he trying to prove?

Kurt became aware of her presence. He stopped the rhythmic swinging of the ax, lowered it slowly to the ground, leaned the handle against his leg. He lifted an arm, wiped the sweat from his eyes, and looked at her.

“Captain, I asked you to work hard. I didn’t ask you to kill yourself,” Helen said, moving closer. “You don’t have to do everything at once.”

“There’s so much to be done,” he said. He looked directly at her, then away. “I want to get everything finished before … before …” He fell silent, shrugged wide shoulders.

“Before you leave?”

“Yes. Before we leave.”

Chapter Thirty-four

“T
ell the truth. You think she’ll like it?”

Kurt gazed unblinkingly at the dazzling emerald cut stone, gave a low, long whistle, and said, “She’ll love it. Any woman would.”

Coop grinned, pleased. He took back the small velvet box, admired the glittering diamond for the thousandth time, snapped the box shut, and shoved it into his breast pocket.

Kurt Northway sat across the scarred desk from Sheriff Cooper at the county jail on Main. It was Friday, so Coop had been surprised when he’d looked up to see Kurt coming through the front door.

“You get your days mixed up?” he’d said, rising to shake hands with Kurt.

“No, but you know women. Last night Hel … Mrs. Courtney discovered she was out of flour.” Smiling, Kurt shrugged. “Couldn’t wait until Saturday. Had to have the flour today.”

“Guess I’ll soon be getting used to that kind of whimsical behavior,” Coop had said, his face turning beet red.

And that was when he had pulled the tiny velvet box out of his pocket and showed Kurt the diamond engagement ring he’d bought for Em Ellicott.

“When is the big day?” Kurt asked now.

Sprawled comfortably in a barrel-backed chair, he took the cigar Coop offered, lit it, slowly puffed it to life.

“That’s up to Em,” said Coop. “I’m afraid she’ll want to make a big fuss … fancy church wedding and all. I suppose it’ll take time to make all the arrangements.”

Kurt nodded, drew on his newly lit cigar, and wished Coop every happiness. The two men smoked their cigars and drank strong black coffee, relaxing, enjoying each other’s company. But the visit had to be a brief one. Coop was due in Mobile for a court hearing at one
P.M.

The two men walked out onto the wooden sidewalk together, stood for a minute in the hot sunshine. They glanced across the street.

“You be careful, you hear?” Coop said without turning to look at Kurt. “The town appears to be full of troublemakers this morning.”

His gaze resting on several rough-looking men lining the sidewalk outside the Red Rose Saloon, Kurt said, “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’m used to their jibes and insults.” He turned, put out his hand, and shook with Coop. “Believe me, Sheriff, nothing they say or do can get to me.” He smiled easily. “I’m one peace-loving son of a gun.”

Coop nodded and smiled too. “Give my best to Helen and come ‘round to visit next time you’re in town.”

“Will do.”

Kurt stayed where he was as Coop mounted his big chestnut gelding and rode out of town. He drew on the burned-down stub of his cigar, then flicked it away into the street. He pulled his hat brim low over his eyes, stuck his thumbs into the waistband of his dark trousers, gave them a decisive yank upward, and stepped down off the wooden sidewalk.

Unhurriedly he crossed the dusty street. He stepped up onto the sidewalk just outside the batwing double doors of the Red Rose Saloon.

“Excuse me … pardon … sorry …” he said, making his way through the groups of men loitering on the boardwalk.

He headed directly for Jake’s General Store, ignoring the slurs and insults and vulgar names he was called. He passed the open door of Skeeter’s Barbershop. Several men were inside. Jim Logan, the biggest of Niles Loveless’s minions, yanked off his covering barber’s cape, got up out of the chair, and walked outside. Half a dozen cronies followed.

Deaf to the hoots and heckles directed at him, Kurt continued on his way. But when he was only a few steps from Jake’s General Store, he heard Helen’s name followed by a shout of laughter.

Abruptly he stopped.

His forest-green eyes narrowing with rage, his jaw clenching tightly, Kurt turned and walked slowly back up the sidewalk. Jim Logan and the others watched him come.

Kurt reached the big ugly man and stopped directly before him.

His voice low, unemotional, Kurt said, “I admire wit and humor—same as the rest of you gentlemen.” He pointedly looked from one grinning face to another. “Perhaps you’ll share your jest with me.”

“Why not?” replied Jim Logan with a smirk. “I said, it looks like Will Courtney died fighting the North just so his hot-blooded little widow could take herself a Yankee lover.”

Kurt’s right fist slammed into the surprised man’s foul mouth with such ferocity Logan flew ten feet across the wooden sidewalk and slammed hard into the front wall of the barbershop. Stunned, Logan dabbed at the bright-red blood streaming from his left nostril. He called Kurt every conceivable name, then bellowed like a bull and came after him, screaming and swinging wildly.

Kurt moved just in time to dodge a mean roundhouse punch that would have taken his head off. Then he swiftly moved in, tagged Logan on the chin, and followed up with a hard one-two punch to the stomach. His breath momentarily lost, the big man bent forward gasping and clutching his belly. Kurt seized the opportunity, clipping Logan with an undercut to the chin that knocked his head back.

It was a violent, bloody, no-holds-barred fight. Kurt was outweighed by fifty pounds, but he was as tall as Logan and his reach matched that of his opponent’s. His lean body was well muscled and hardened from the war and hard work. The two were evenly matched in pugilistic skills. But Kurt had one big advantage.

He was livid.

Fury flashed from his narrowed green eyes, surged through his blood, and guided his swinging fists. A man who’d been tightly coiled for far too long, Kurt slipped the choking bonds of reason and restraint. All his carefully reined-in anger and hatred and sorrow and passion poured out in a rash, ruthless assault on this despicable brute who dared sully Helen Courtney’s good name.

The curious quickly spilled out of the saloons and businesses to watch the savage fight. Niles Loveless heard the commotion from down the street. He stepped outside his office in time to see Jim Logan hit Kurt so hard, blood spurted and Kurt flew backward out into the street. Logan followed, but Kurt was up in the wink of an eye and slamming into Logan so fiercely, the horses tied up at the hitchrail shied and whinnied. One broke loose and trotted down the street. Raider reared up on hind legs and put up a terrible racket as the two men rolled around on the ground beneath him.

“Kill the dirty Yankee bastard,” somebody shouted. “Kill him, kill him!” others took up the chorus.

Most of the growing crowd was thoroughly enjoying the brutal, bloody fight. Not wanting to see it end, they even cheered when Kurt struggled to his feet. They roared when he landed a punch to Logan’s ribs. They whistled when Logan quickly rallied and tagged Kurt with a bloody-knuckled fist to the chin. They stomped when Kurt came right back with a mean right cross. They cheered when big Jim Logan caught Kurt in a clench and delivered several damaging kidney punches.

The two men fought on and on, standing toe to toe until they were both so bruised and bloodied and beaten they could barely lift their tired arms. Jim Logan, spitting teeth and blood, finally sank to his knees, his eyes rolling back in his head. Gasping, still calling Kurt names, he knelt on the sidewalk.

Kurt remained unsteadily on his feet. His clothes were in tatters. His face, chest, arms, and hands were covered with dirt and blood. His right eye was swollen completely shut, his left was open, and a gash just below his eyebrow was dripping blood.

But he was still livid.

He reached down and dragged Logan to his feet so he could hit him again. Logan moaned in agony and tears streamed down his cheeks. Seeing that their crony was in trouble, a couple of big men came out of the crowd and grabbed Kurt’s arms. Harry Boyd and Russ Carter held Kurt immobile while Logan, getting a second wind, stepped in and landed blow after punishing blow to Kurt’s unprotected face and stomach.

Watching, Niles Loveless smiled with satisfaction. The arrogant Yankee was getting his face rearranged and nobody deserved it more. Maybe now he would have the good sense to get out of Alabama.

Niles’s selfish pleasure was not shared by everyone.

Just outside Jake’s General Store, the Livingston sisters watched, appalled and horrified.

“Dear me, this is terrible. Papa wouldn’t have approved,” said Caroline, shaking her head.

“It isn’t right,” echoed Celeste. “I don’t care if the young man is a Yankee, this isn’t right!”

“No, it isn’t right,” said Jake Autry, stepping up behind the sisters, a look of disgust on his face. “Not right at all.”

The sisters nodded their agreement. “We’ve been unfair to Helen Courtney,” lamented Caroline.

“And to the young man,” added Celeste.

The grinning pair holding Kurt’s arms abruptly released him. Kurt stood there swaying, fighting the waves of nausea and blackness washing over him. He was unsure of his surroundings, didn’t know where he was.

Strange faces swam crazily before him and loud raucous laughter echoed in his aching head. Profanity was shouted at him from all around in a thunderous verbal attack meant to penetrate even the deep fog enveloping him.

Finally a jokester stepped up to him, kicked his weak legs out from under him, and Kurt crashed to the sidewalk with a groan of pain.

From his post outside his office, Niles Loveless gave an almost imperceptible nod to the gathering. At once Kurt was jerked up off the sidewalk by a couple of laughing men. They lifted him up into the saddle astride his tethered sorrel stallion. Neighing, his eyes wild, Raider started backing away as soon as he felt Kurt’s weight. He was jerked back by several men yanking hard on the bridle. Laughing, the men looped the reins over the stallion’s head and wrapped them around the saddle horn.

A tobacco planter then pulled off his straw hat, slapped the stallion on the rump, and a gambler drew his pistol and fired into the air as the big sorrel galloped out of town.

The faithful Raider set out at once for the farm. Kurt swayed dizzily in the saddle, barely aware of his surroundings. Weak from the loss of blood, hurting so badly he could hardly draw a breath, Kurt sagged forward to lean low over Raider’s neck. Kurt clung to the stallion’s long mane while lights flashed behind his eyes. He struggled to hang on as his blood dripped down the stallion’s sleek withers.

The intelligent Raider, worried about his injured master, raced all the way back to the farm in a swift ground-eating gallop. Winded, lathered, he began to whinny loudly as soon as he exited the tree-bordered lane leading to the Burke farm. Helen and Charlie, outdoors in the garden gathering ripe yellow squash, heard the furious neighing. They paused and looked at each other, puzzled.

“Wonder who that could be?” Helen said.

Charlie’s eyes grew round. “The man with the big black dog?”

“No. No, I don’t think …” Helen rose to her feet, shaded her eyes with her hand. “It’s … why, that’s Raider. Raider’s back and your father’s—” She spotted the wet red blood dripping down Raider’s sleek neck. Her eyes climbed to the man on his back. “Kurt!” Helen screamed. “Kurt! Kurt! No … noooo … oh, dear God, no!”

Helen was running then, tearing off her sunbonnet and work gloves as she went. She raced to meet the galloping stallion. Charlie, terrified, followed her, asking what was wrong. Helen gasped in horror when she reached Raider and the badly beaten Kurt.

“Charlie, go to Jolly’s!” She shouted frantically. “Take the shortcut through the woods. Tell Jolly to get Dr. Ledet!”

Stunned, frightened, Charlie stood there staring at his limp, bloodied father. Rooted to the spot, tears filling his wide eyes, he couldn’t move.

“Quick!” Helen screamed, and Charlie flew into action.

Trembling, Helen gently touched Kurt’s badly beaten face. “Kurt, can you hear me? It’s Helen.”

“Helen,” he rasped, blood gurgling from his lips.

Fighting to control the sobs tearing at her tight throat, Helen said, “It’s all right. You’re home now. You’re home, Kurt. We’ll take care of you.”

Her knees shaking so badly she could hardly stand, Helen grabbed Raider’s bridle. Speaking softly to the winded stallion, she led him into the yard, around the house, and to the front gallery. Wondering how she could manage to get Kurt off the horse, up the front steps, and into the house, she gave a little sob of gratitude when the tired thoroughbred climbed the porch steps as if he knew exactly what was needed.

“Thank you, Raider, thank you,” she murmured as he clomped right up to the front door. Helen started to reach up for Kurt, but Raider whinnied, then helpfully kneeled down on his two front forelegs.

Grateful, Helen was able to get her arms around Kurt’s waist and pull him free of the saddle. She waited then while Raider rose fully to all four feet, turned, and moved out of the way.