The stagecoach rolled to a stop, belching a small volcano’s eruption of dust high into the air which then cascaded in a dirty mist onto the numerous onlookers.
Julie Weber was the first to disembark. As she placed her foot onto the step, a man wearing a badge reached out his hand, and she took it to steady her descent.
“Welcome to
“Thank you.”
“I’m Marshal Hickok. I’m guessing you’re Miss Weber, the new school teacher.”
Julie nodded. “That’s right.”
“Come with me, Miss Weber. Let’s get through this crowd.”
Wriggling through the throng, Julie followed Hickok until they stepped up onto the sidewalk. Several men in the crowd caught the pieces of luggage that the driver threw from the top of the coach. “Those are mine,” she said, pointing.
When all the baggage had been unloaded, the driver yelled to Hickok, “Marshal, can I talk to you a minute?”
Hickok turned to Julie. “Will you excuse me?”
“Of course.”
Hickok stepped off the sidewalk and through the crowd to the side of the coach where the driver had climbed down and stood on the street.
Julie took in the town. This was the raw West, and everything showed it: the dusty street, the austere wooden buildings, and the bizarre excitement of townspeople over the arrival of a stagecoach.
She glanced at a dusty young man sitting on the edge of the sidewalk. He was staring ahead blankly, his mind seemingly far from the hubbub of the crowd. His scraggly hair fell in dirty strands from beneath an oversized cowboy hat.
The other passengers had already disembarked, and the crowd had broken into smaller groups, gathering around the newly-arrived travelers. After a time, however, the crowd began to disperse. Splintering into threesomes, couples, and individuals, they headed off in various directions.
The driver of the stagecoach climbed up and once again took his seat. He snapped the reins and the coach jerked
ahead, kicking up a dust cloud that relentlessly pursued the vehicle even as the coach turned a corner and disappeared.
Julie watched the few men left standing in the street. Marshal Hickok was nowhere in sight. As long minutes passed, she told herself to remain patient. Surely the Marshal had not forgotten her. Or had he? Perhaps he had been called away on urgent business.
Julie’s trip had been long and hard. She was eager to get settled, to wash up, and to change into more comfortable clothes. Furthermore, she felt irritated she had traveled by stagecoach in the first place! The hardship of the journey was a lesson she would not soon forget. ‘In the future, I travel only by train!’
Before long, even the few men in the street had meandered off. Now she was completely alone with her three suitcases and a hat box.
Julie shifted her weight onto one leg and placed her hand on her hip. Unconsciously, she began tapping the ball of her foot on the wooden-plank sidewalk. She lowered her eyelids and scanned the entire length of the street, first left then right.
Finally she drew a deep breath in through her nose and then exhaled through her mouth. ‘Okay, that’s it. I don’t care if he comes back or not!’
She glanced around. The only other living entity she saw was the dusty young man sitting on the sidewalk edge.
“Excuse me, young man.”
She waited a moment. The young man held a small tree branch that he struck on the street in an erratic rhythm that told Julie his mind was still far adrift.
“Excuse me, young man.” Her tone was sharp.
She saw the young man turn his head slightly, as if the firmness of her voice had finally penetrated the fog of an aimless mind. He turned and looked at her. His blank expression told her he had heard the words but he had not applied them to himself. He turned his head even further to see whether or not someone else was present.
Julie stood as patiently as she could until the young man finally asked, “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes I’m talking to you.”
The young man sat erect. Then, like the uncoiling of a compressed spring, he leapt up onto the sidewalk. He took off his hat and held it by the brim at his waist. In a rich alto voice, he said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Julie’s jaw dropped. “Why, you’re a girl!”
“I’m Charli Benton, ma’am. And I can ride and shoot better than any boy around. And that’s with a pistol or a rifle. Makes no nevermind to me!” The girl put her hat back on and drew the six-shooter from her holster. Effortlessly, she twirled it vertically and then horizontally. In a quick circular motion she brought her arm back to her side and twirled the gun into the holster.
Not knowing quite what to think, Julie finally said, “That’s very impressive.”
“Aw, that ain’t nothing.”
“Forgive me for calling you a young man.”
“Aw, I wish I was a boy. Nobody pays attention to no girl.”
Julie blinked several times. She was about to speak when Charli stepped forward.
“You need help with these?” Without waiting for Julie to answer, Charli picked up two of the suitcases. “Where ya staying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, there’s only two choices. The Merchant’s. It’s nice. But the better deal is Spencer’s Boarding House. Nothing fancy, but old lady Spencer keeps the place clean, and it comes with three squares a day. It costs about half as much.”
“Okay, I’ll take the boarding house.”
“You won’t regret it, ma’am.”
“Call me Julie. I’m Julie Weber. I’m going to teach school here.”
“Oh, so you’re the new teacher. Yeah, old lady
“She quit?”
“Quit; retired. Same thing.”
“What have the school children been doing for the past month without a teacher?”
“Nothing.”
“You mean they haven’t been attending school?”
“Nah. Kids around here only attend school anyway ‘cause their folks want them out of their hair. Till they get old enough to do chores.”
“Well, we’ll have to see about that!”
“Got big ideas, huh? Well, you’ll see how it is. Right now, let’s get you over to old lady Spencer’s.”
As Julie and Charli crossed the street, they passed an elderly man crossing in the opposite direction.
He tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, Miss. Hello Charli.”
Charli said, “Hello Mr. Barnes.”
As soon as the man was out of earshot, Charli muttered, “That’s old man Barnes. He runs the stage depot. He’s a son-of-a-bitch. Why the other day—”
Julie stopped abruptly. “Now wait just a minute, young lady! As a teacher, I can stand your double negatives until you’re taught, or until you choose to speak, proper English. As a woman, I’m appalled at the disrespect you show your own womanhood. But as a Christian, I absolutely will not tolerate disrespect for God with your profanity! Do you understand?”
In a reflex reaction, Charli dropped a suitcase and raised her arm and shoulder as if fending off one of many violent blows of the past.
Witnessing the girl’s involuntary display of vulnerability, Julie was filled with compassion. Before she could speak, however, Charli tilted her head and opened her eyes, glaring at Julie. The girl hesitated only a moment before she threw the other suitcase to the ground. Then she began to stomp off.
“Wait. Don’t go.”
The girl’s walk evolved into her characteristic swagger that propelled her along without the slightest hesitation.
Julie’s heart felt the fall of each of Charli’s steps as she watched Charli walk away. She had offended the girl and she felt stinging remorse. But there was something more. Feeling herself choke up, finally she said, “Charli, I need a friend.”
Charli turned her head, listening with an ear over her shoulder. After a few more steps, she stopped and closed her eyes. Julie’s words had settled on a sensitive part of her heart that she had ignored for too long. When she turned around, she looked Julie in the eye. “You want to be my friend?”
“Yes.”
“Then take back what you said.”
“I can’t, Charli.”
“Why not?”
“Because friends tell each other the truth. But I take back the way I said it…and I take back my self-righteous attitude. I had no right to judge you.”
Charli stood perfectly still, pondering the strange woman before her. She had never heard anyone speak the way this woman spoke. Although she could not claim she understood everything the woman said, the woman’s tone and facial expression appeared unquestionably genuine. The woman had touched an emotionally tender part of her core. Still, she was wary of the possibility of another tongue-lashing. “I don’t let nobody boss me around.”
“Charli, I propose an agreement.”
“Agreement?”
“I’ll agree never to talk down to you again. In exchange, I would like you to agree to refrain from profanity.”
“You mean stop cussin’?”
“Yes.”
Charli thought for several moments. Deep within, she knew she too needed a friend: someone with whom she could share confused feelings that churned inside a troubled heart; someone she could trust. “I spose I could stop cussin’.”
Julie stepped forward and held out her hand. “Friends?”
Charli stood looking at the woman’s graceful hand with perfectly manicured fingernails. After a moment, Charli rubbed her own dirty sun-browned hand on her shirt. Then she reached out and the two shook. “I guess it’ll be alright.”
VIII.
Spencer’s Boarding House sat on a corner on the east side of town. The house was a freshly-painted two-story building with a front yard bordered by a white picket fence.
When Julie and Charli arrived at the front gate, an attractive woman in her late thirties was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch. After looking up, the woman placed a ribbon between the pages of the book she had been reading and laid the book aside. Then she stood up and smoothed the front of her dress with her hands.
As Julie and Charli opened the gate and started up the short walk, the woman said, “Hello Charli. Who is this with you?”
“This is my friend, Julie Weber. She’s the new school teacher.”
“Hello Miss Weber. I’m Faye Spencer. Are you looking for a room?”
“Yes I am. Your boarding house comes highly recommended.” Julie smiled and glanced at Charli.
“You’re in luck, Miss Weber. The best room I have was vacated just last week.” Faye turned and called out, “Andy. Will you come out here, please?”
A boy of about ten years old opened the screen door and walked out onto the porch. As he continued down the few steps and out onto the sidewalk, Julie noticed the boy walked with a slight limp. A younger girl walked out of the house behind the boy.
“Miss Weber, this is my son, Andy, and my daughter, Amie. Children, say hello to Miss Weber. She’s the new school teacher.”
The little girl curtsied and the boy said, “Hello Miss Weber.” He stepped forward and took the suitcase and hatbox from Julie.
“She’s going into the big room, Andy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come with me,” Faye said. “I’ll show you the house and then you can get settled into your room.”
As Julie stepped onto the porch, she noticed the book Faye had been reading was the Bible. “Oh, are you a Christian, Miss Spencer?”
“I’m struggling with it. I want to believe, but when I honestly examine my feelings I’m not sure I always do. Do all Christians feel that way?”
“I’ve never found a good answer to that question, Miss Spencer. The best I can do is to ask you a question: Do you believe the sun is going to come up tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“Does the sun’s rising depend on how you feel about it, or can you rely on the sun to come up regardless of what you feel?”
“I can rely on the sun regardless of what I feel.”
“That’s right, Miss Spencer. Each day dawns simply because the sun is what it is. In the same way, we know Jesus Christ is who He is. In other words, instead of relying on feelings that change as easily as wind scatters the leaves, we keep on relying upon Him.
“As we continue to hear and read the Gospel, our thoughts and actions, as well as our feelings, align more and more with the truth of His Word.”
Faye smiled. Then she noticed everyone had stopped and was watching her. “Oh, look at me! Where are my manners? Let’s get you settled. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
“I always have time to talk of our Lord, Miss Spencer.”
“Call me Faye.”
“Alright Faye, but you must call me Julie.”
IX.
In 1873,
The youthful Gary Blanchard was the teller at the bank. He was a rather short fellow with chestnut-brown hair and blue eyes. A personable lad, he took great pleasure in serving the small number of customers who regularly conducted business at the bank.
Blanchard was up at dawn as usual. He lived with his parents and was responsible for the early-morning and evening chores on the small farm just outside of town.
As Blanchard spread feed on the ground, the chickens clucked vigorously amid perfectly placed pecks upon those of lower order. Then he walked into the small barn and milked the family’s only cow, which had calved in the early spring.
As the sun climbed higher in the east, it lit the sky into an azure and pink tincture that promised a winsome spring day.
Done with the morning chores, Blanchard entered the house and washed his face and hands. Then he changed into his work suit. Finally, he combed his hair, paying particular attention to the unruly strands of a front cowlick.
He walked into the outer room and kissed his mother on the cheek.
“Let me look at you, son.”
He obliged by standing erect and slightly lifting his heels off the floor, hoping to compensate for an embarrassingly insufficient stature.
“You’re a handsome boy.”
He turned to his father who was seated at the table. “See ya later, Pop.”
“Have a good day, son.”
When Blanchard arrived at the bank, he spent the first forty-five minutes dusting counters, emptying trash, and sweeping and mopping the floor.
By
Through the window in the door, he noticed several men running along the street. He opened the door and stepped outside. He had never witnessed such commotion!
He heard someone yell, “Fire!”
He looked in the direction of the livery stable. A mammoth undulating mass of smoke rose above angry flames that blazed against the sky that had promised such a lovely day.
Suddenly, he felt the point of a gun in his back!
TO BE CONTINUED
