William Johnstone - Thunder of Eagles

Billy had come down the alley a few times, thinking about calling up to Kathleen, but always before he had lost his nerve before climbing the fence. Kathleen did not know, nor did he ever want her to know. He would come, look up toward her room whether it was lighted or not, and feel closer to her.

Tonight, just standing in the alley wasn’t enough, so he climbed the fence and moved into her garden. It was not his intention to let her know he was here tonight, but as he started to leave, she stepped out onto the balcony and, because the moon was so bright, he was forced to remain, very quietly, in the shadow cast by the tree.

“Señorita Garrison, you should have a coat,” a maid’s voice called from inside the room. “You will catch your death out there in the cold.”

“It is not so cold, Maria,” Kathleen replied. She wrapped her arms about herself. “Oh, the moon is glorious tonight. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

“Yes, I have,” Billy answered, though speaking too quietly to be heard. “You are more beautiful than the moon, the sun, or all the stars.”

“Maria, have you ever been in love?” Kathleen asked.

“Si, señorita. Everyone has been in love,” Maria answered, still from inside Kathleen’s room.

“Yes,” Kathleen said. “Everyone has been in love, haven’t they? Why, then, did it become my fate to love someone who’s very name is an abhorrence to my father? If only I could be a Smith, or a Jones, or even a Gonzales.”

“Señorita, no, you cannot say such a thing,” Maria said. “That would be denying your father.”

“I would gladly deny my father if Billy would deny his,” Kathleen said.

“You cannot ask someone to deny who he is, señorita.”

“You don’t understand, Maria,” Kathleen said. “I’m not asking him to deny who he is, only to deny his name. If he were a Miller or a Kelly, he would still be Billy. What is the old saying? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet?”

“I have never heard that saying, señorita.”

“Trust me, it is a famous saying,” Kathleen said. She giggled. “I just don’t know who said it.”

“Your bed is turned down, señorita,” Maria said. “I am going now. Good night.”

“Good night, Maria,” Kathleen said.

Billy waited until he was sure that the maid was gone. Then he called up to the balcony.

“For your love, Kathleen, I will call myself by any name you choose.”

“What?” Kathleen gasped. “My God, Billy, what are you doing out here hiding in the dark?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I’m not frightened of you, don’t you understand? I’m frightened for you. If my father finds you here—or your brothers, I don’t know what would happen.”

“I’m not afraid of your father or my brothers,” Billy said. “The only thing I fear is losing you.”

“Billy, go now, please,” Kathleen said. “I think I hear my father coming up the stairs.”

“I’m not going until you tell me you love me.”

“I do, I do love you. Now, please, go. Go quickly.”

“Kathleen?” Billy heard Garrison call from within the house. “Kathleen, are you up here?”

“Good night, Kathleen,” Billy called. Moving quickly, he darted through the moon-splashed garden, then climbed over the fence.

Kathleen watched him until he reached the fence, then breathed a sigh of relief that he was gone before her father appeared.

“I thought I heard voices. Were you talking to someone out here?” Garrison asked, as he came onto the balcony.

“I was talking to the moon, Papa,” Kathleen said, pointing to it. “Have you ever seen it more beautiful? It is huge, and golden.”

“Yes, it’s what they call a harvest moon,” Garrison said. He chuckled. “You know, I proposed to your mother under such a moon.”

Her father suspected nothing, and Kathleen was relieved.

“Why, Papa,” Kathleen said, laughing. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.”

“I said I proposed to your mother under such a moon,” Garrison said. “I didn’t say I stood out on the balcony talking to it.”

“Is it true you met Mama while you were a cadet at West Point?”

“Yes, that’s true,” Garrison said. “Her father owned a livery stable near there.”

“Mama was a Northern girl, but you were a Southerner, from Virginia.”

“That’s true.”

“Grandpa could not have been too happy with you when you resigned your commission in the Union Army so you could fight for the South.”

“Whew,” Garrison said, shaking his head and chuckling. “That’s putting it lightly. From the day I resigned my commission, your grandfather never had another thing to do with me.”

“And yet, you and Mama loved each other and your marriage was strong.”

“Yes, it was very strong, until the day she died,” Garrison said. Then, suddenly, he realized where Kathleen was going with this conversation. “No, it’s nothing like that,” he said. “It’s nothing at all like the situation between you and the Clinton boy.”

“Yes it is, Papa. It’s exactly like that,” Kathleen insisted.

“No. Your mother and I were already married when the war split up our family. And it was the war, Kathleen—the war, something that was far bigger than any of us.”

“Papa, didn’t you tell me that you and the Clintons were at war?”

Garrison shook his head. “It’s not the same thing,” he said again. He shivered. “It’s getting cool. I think I’m going to bed. I would recommend that you do the same thing.”

“Yes, Papa.” Kathleen kissed her father on the cheek. “I love you, Papa,” she said. She thought, but did not verbalize, no matter what happens .

Chapter Eighteen

The next day, Falcon was visiting Titus Calhoun’s office, playing a game of checkers with the marshal, when Sheriff Belmond and Ike Clinton came in.

“Calhoun, I hear a few of my boys may have gotten drunk and a little out of hand yesterday,” Clinton said.

“They were a lot out of hand,” Calhoun replied.

“And you’ve got them in jail, do you?”

“I do.”

“Well, no harm done,” Clinton said. “I’m willing to pay for any damage they may have done to the newspaper office.”

Falcon looked up at him. “How did you know it was a newspaper office?”

“I guess word just got around,” Clinton replied.

“Or you sent them in town to tear up the newspaper office,” Falcon suggested.

“Are you saying I’m behind this?” Clinton demanded.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Falcon replied. “I think you put them up to it because you didn’t like Mr. Denham’s article.”

“That ain’t true,” Ike said. “More’n likely, the boys read it and was pissed off by what they read.”

“Really?” Calhoun said. “They read it and were pissed off because they didn’t like what they read? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Clinton said.

“That’s interesting,” the marshal replied. He pulled open one of the desk drawers and took out a paper. “This is their arrest form,” he said. “Here is where they signed.” He pointed to the bottom of the page.

“What is all this about? What do I care about the arrest form, or where they signed?”

“Look at their signatures,” Calhoun said.

Clinton looked at the form.

“If you notice, all four men made their mark where they were supposed to sign,” Calhoun said. “Not one of them can read or write, Mr. Clinton. Yet you insist they tore up the newspaper office because they didn’t like what they read.”

“I don’t know,” Clinton said, clearly agitated. “Maybe somebody told them about the article.”