Ruth Langan - The Courtship Of Izzy Mccree

Izzy watched his smooth, easy stride until her glance was caught by movement in the upper window of the saloon. A woman wearing what appeared to be nothing more than a chemise and petticoat stood in full view, watching her. Then she abruptly lowered the curtain and disappeared.

Izzy sat very straight and tall, wondering if the children had noticed the brazen display. But they were busy watching a group of children who had abandoned their game of hide-and-seek to walk closer and look over the newcomers.

“You here to trade goods?” a little boy called.

Aaron, Clement and Benjamin remained silent, refusing to even look at the boy.

“Uh-uh.” When her brothers refused to respond, Del chose to answer for all of them. “Our pa’s getting married today.”

“Why?” a little girl asked.

“So’s we’ll have a ma.” Del stood up in the back of the wagon and proudly tapped a hand on Izzy’s shoulder. “This is Miss McCree. She’s going to be our new ma.”

“Why would you want to take on that mangy litter of pups?” a bigger boy taunted.

His friends laughed.

“We aren’t pups,” Del shouted back. “These are my brothers. And I’m their little sister.”

That had the whole group of children laughing and pointing. “A girl? Liar. You ain’t no girl.”

“Am, too.”

“Well, if you are—” the bigger boy glanced at his friends for support “—you’re the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen.”

In a flash Aaron leapt from the wagon and grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt, lifting him off his feet. “You take that back, right now, or you’ll never be able to say another word.”

“Won’t,” the boy managed to say before Aaron turned him around and wrapped his arm around his throat. Without a word he began to squeeze.

“Aaron, stop,” Izzy shouted, but he ignored her and continued to shut off the boy’s air.

When the rest of the children moved in closer, Benjamin and Clement jumped down from the wagon and held them at bay, leaving the bigger boy alone to defend himself against this young giant.

“I…take it back,” the boy finally managed to croak.

“Say you’re sorry.” Aaron’s gaze was fixed on his little sister, whose eyes were filled with tears of shame.

“I’m…sorry.”

Aaron gave the boy a shove that sent him sprawling in the dirt. “Don’t you ever call my little sister names again. Or you’ll answer to me. Understand?”

The boy nodded, too frightened to speak.

When Aaron and his brothers returned to the wagon, the boy struggled to his feet and raced away to join his friends.

It had all happened in the space of a few seconds. And yet, Izzy realized, it had widened the chasm between Matthew’s children and these children here in town. Her heart turned over at the hunger she could read in the eyes of Benjamin, Clement and Del. As for Aaron, he looked as stiff, as unyielding as his father.

“Would you like me to talk to them?” she asked. “Maybe if I did, they would ask you to play.”

“No, ma’am.” Benjamin spoke for all of them. “We’re not welcome here. They call us trash.”

“But why?”

“’Cause our ma…”

Aaron shot him a look and he turned away with a shrug. “Just because.”

In the distance Izzy could make out the shouts and laughter of the children. And the cruel taunts aimed at the strangers in the wagon.

Some things, she thought with a rush of remembered pain, never changed.

She glanced at Del, whose tears trickled down her cheeks, making dirty streaks. In an effort to soothe, she drew her close. “Shh. Don’t cry, Del. They don’t mean anything by it. A lot of folks just don’t know how to treat strangers. So they say things that are hurtful.” She wiped the little girl’s tears with the hem of her skirt. “You’re so lucky to have big brothers to look out for you.”

Del sniffled. “Do you have a big brother, Miss McCree?”

Izzy shook her head. “No. But there were times when I surely wished I did.”

Aaron touched a hand to her sleeve. “You won’t tell Pa what I just did, will you?”

“But why not, Aaron? I should think he’d be proud that you stood up for Del.”

“No, ma’am. Pa doesn’t hold with fighting.”

“But…” She thought about the war that had divided this country and sent so many of its fine men to their graves. Could it be that Matthew Prescott had refused to fight? Or had he run away, as so many had, when faced with the horror of it all?

She nodded. “I don’t see any reason to mention what you did, Aaron.”

He gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Miss McCree.”

She glanced at the open door of the store and saw an old man with his hands tucked beneath a dirty apron, studying her with grave interest.

A tiny trickle of sweat made its way between her shoulder blades and down her back. What was taking Matthew so long?

She heard strangers’ voices. A woman’s, then a man’s. Both raised in anger. Glancing at the swinging doors of the saloon, she saw the woman from the upstairs window now standing beside a bewhiskered man who seemed to be pulling on his clothes. As Izzy watched, he tucked his shirt into the waistband of his pants, then slipped his suspenders over his shoulders. Matt helped him into his jacket and handed him a hat. He accompanied Matt outside, while the woman remained at the door, looking visibly annoyed.

As the two approached, the stranger stumbled and would have fallen if Matt hadn’t caught him and held him upright. With his hand beneath the man’s elbow, Matt paused beside the wagon.

“Aaron, help Miss McCree down.”

As she climbed down, the stranger, in a courtly gesture, doffed his hat and made a slight bow. “Miss McCree, I understand you’ve come to marry this fine gentleman. This is indeed an honor. I am the Reverend Jonathon Carstairs. At your service.”

She took a step back, evading the stench of his breath. The reverend was as drunk as a skunk. And as aromatic.

She glanced at Matt. “I think…”

“You’re right. Come along, children.” He caught her hand and dragged her along, all the while holding up the preacher, while the rest of the children scrambled out of the wagon and trailed behind. “The lady thinks we should get this over quickly.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Carstairs said as he coughed, hacked, then spat in the dirt. “The night looms ahead and I still have a great many…” He glanced at Izzy and the children before finishing lamely, “Hymns to sing.”

He climbed the steps and pushed open the door to the meeting hall. After fumbling through a drawer, he came up with a dog-eared book. Then a thought occurred. “You’ll need a witness.”

“What about the children?” Izzy asked.

“How old are you, boy?” the preacher asked Aaron.

“Almost fifteen,” he replied.

“To make it legal, we need an adult,” Reverend Carstairs announced.

Matt headed for the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Within minutes he returned with the man Izzy had seen in the general store. “Miss McCree, this is Webster Sutton. Web, this is Isabella McCree, my…intended.”

Now Izzy understood why Sutton had kept his hands hidden beneath his apron. His left hand was missing, and his shirtsleeve hung limply over a bony wrist.

Webster offered his right hand to Izzy, looking her up and down as he did. “Ma’am. Like I said, Matt, I can’t spare much time. The wife’s ailing. How do, Aaron, Benjamin, Clement, Del.”

Before the children could acknowledge his greeting, the preacher said abruptly, “Time’s a-wasting. Let’s get started.” He was leaning heavily on a wooden stand that held a hymnal, and he probably would have toppled forward without its support. “Did you two come here of your own free will?”