A Promise Kept

"Here, we ain't really got the room for a proper dinin' room. What we thought was, we put a door between the hotel and the place next door, an' you do the meals for the hotel guests. You get the passin' trade for meals as well, and you'll have your store. What do you say?"

"Let me see iffen I got this right. A door between the hotel an' next door. Mary and me, we start the restaurant, an' besides that, we cook the meals for the hotel guests. And we start our store there as well. Have I got that right?"

Clancy nodded. "That's exactly right. Like I say, what do you think? The buildin' is goin' to waste at the moment, 'cause we ain't had time to do more'n get the hotel trade built up. The railroad depot bein' just across the street helps, helps a lot, because we're the first place folks see when they get off the train. Iffen there's somewhere to eat, an' somewhere for folk to buy a few things they need, I think it can only be good for both of us."

I sat back, thinking. It looked like a good deal, the more I thought about it. I looked across at Mary, eyebrows raised, and she nodded.

"Yes," she said.

"One thing, Mr. Clancy. Livin' accomodations?"

He grinned, wry. "Sorry; should have mentioned that. There's a little two room cabin back of the store. We own that, too. You could live there."

I took a deep breath. "Mr. Clancy, I think we got us the makings of a deal!" I grinned. "And the name's Jack," I said, sticking my hand out.

"Michael. Mick to you. There's a lot to do, but I think tomorrow is soon enough to think about it. You folk get yourselves a good night's sleep. Your wife looks like she's fallin' asleep now. Guess it's been the travellin'. Come and have breakfast with me and Helen and we'll have us a dicker."

"We'll do that. I got some ideas, an' sleepin' on them will let me get them straight. We'll bid you goodnight, and see in the mornin'."

In room five, after we'd cleaned ourselves up and climbed into bed, I leaned on my elbow and looked down at Mary, warm, naked, curled against me.

"Tired, sweetheart?"

She grinned. "A little, but not so much that I'm gonna let you go to sleep without you lovin' me."

"Good," I said, and reached for her.

Our lovemaking was hot, loving, a giving of each of us to the other, with a feeling of arrival, of being where we were meant to be.

Mick Clancy let us have the store rent-free, for a year, to see whether the four of us could work well together. We could, and we did. I borrowed a buggy and went to see Mr. Caslow, and dickered with him for some lumber to make the store fixings, and I dickered with Mr. Eldersen for some supplies to start off our store. Both of them bein' men who knew me, I got a good bargain, because there was trust between us.

Mary and me scrubbed that store from floor to ceiling. Mick Clancy an' me put a door between the store and the hotel, and I set my kitchen up just the way I wanted. We got the tables and chairs from a failed saloon, and cleaned them up. With clean tablecloths, nobody could see the beer stains and cigar burns.

I borrowed the buggy again, helped Mary in, took a deep breath, and went to see Hannah Gilroy about getting some ham and eggs for the restaurant. Except she wasn't Gilroy no more, but Shaughnessy. She'd wasted no more time getting wed than Mary and me had, once she'd made her mind up. I took to Brendan Shaughnessy straight away. Hannah? She came straight to me and hugged me, and then turned to Mary.

"He said you were lovely," she said. "He didn't have the poetry to do you justice. You're beautiful, girl, not just lovely." She held her arms out and Mary didn't hesitate, and the two of them hugged each other, tears streaming down both faces. Brendan and me looked at each other and shrugged. Women! What man could ever truly understand them?

Epilogue

That's pretty much the end of my tale, 'cept for a couple of things. John Edmund Riley was born nine months to the day after Mary and me was wed, named for his Pa, me, and Mary's Grandpa on her mama's side. Fifteen months later, his sister, Emma Mary Helen Hannah Riley was born, and those names was Mary's choices, not mine, Emma for my Ma, and Mary for hers, but I didn't argue. We're doing well. Mick and Helen's hotel has been enlarged. Twice. And what was once our store and restaurant is now purely for eating. We opened a bigger store on the other side of the street, half a block from the depot, where we could unload stuff straight from a railroad car. I still cook occasionally, because I enjoy it, but most of the cooking in the restaurant is done by a young Frenchman and his wife who came to me looking for employment. There's no way I can cook as well as Gaston Dupree, but he tells me I'm good. For an Irish-American.

One other little thing remains to be told. I was going home from the telegraph office after confirming an order for dry goods, and passing one of the saloons, when a figure lurched out behind me. First I knew was the familiar, unwelcome voice.

"Riley! Jack Riley, you bastard. Turn round, I knows it's you."

I turned, and there he was, Billy Esdon, disheveled, red-eyed, a little the worse for wear. He stood, swaying a little, glaring at me, fumbling a pistol from inside his coat and pointing it at me.

"Hello, Billy," I said, calm as I could manage.

"It's all your fault, you bastard. You're to blame!" His voice was loud, a touch of hysteria there.

"What's my fault, Billy?" I said, tryin' to stay calm, but I didn't feel calm, not with that gun pointed at me. Drunk as he was, at six feet range he wasn't going to miss.

"Everything," he screamed. "After you left, Uncle Will fired me, and Mama threw me out."

"Why'd she do that, Billy?" I could guess.

"What does it matter?" he said, almost calmly. "It's all your fault, and I'm going to kill you."

I tensed, and moved to get closer to him.

"Stop there," he screamed, and I froze. He seemed to steady, staring me in the eye, and the pistol moved to point at my head. His thumb drew back the hammer and I braced myself, ready to dive. Or to die.

The gunshot was deafening and I had a moment of terrified confusion, wondering why I hadn't felt anything, but then I realized a hole had appeared in Billy's forehead. There was an expression of acute surprise on his face and then he crumpled. I whirled around.

Ten feet away was Tom Johnson, our town marshal, a smoking pistol in his hand, which he lowered, holstering the pistol. He came to stand beside me and we looked down at Billy's body, as people appeared from everywhere and came to gape at us.

"Know him, Jack? Billy? Met him before?"

I nodded. "When I worked for Caslow Lumber, as a cook, a while back, before I went back East to get married."

"Have trouble with him before?"

I nodded again. "Aye, Tom." I sighed. "Billy and me, we have a history." I glanced at the marshal. "Did you have to kill him?"

"Better this way, Jack. He was wanted for rape and murder. After Caslow fired him, he went mad." Tom nodded towards home. "Get yourself off home to Mary and the children, Jack. Nothing for you to do here."

"I will, Tom, I will." I gave him a wry smile. "Thanks for saving my life."

He smiled, his own smile wry, a little sad. "Just doin' my job, Jack, same as you."

Mary was doing some mending when I got home, raising her lips to mine when I bent to kiss her.

"Did I hear a gunshot, Jack?"

"You did, sweetheart. Tom Johnson caught up with someone who was wanted for rape and murder. The law won."

She nodded, unconcerned. "Just as it should be."

"Children in bed?"

"And sound asleep." She looked up me and smiled, wide, inviting. "Early night tonight?" she said, radiating innocence.

"Yes!"

And that's it, folks. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did enjoy it, tell your friends. If you didn't like it, tell me, but tell me why you didn't, as well. Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome, and if you ask a question, give me an address to reply to!