Copyright Sharon K. West 2007. All Rights Reserved. You may not reprint this short story without permission.
Kenny Cantrell knew a lot about fixin' fences and shoein' horses, but he didn't know much about womenfolk. He stood with his hat in his hands, just turning it round and round by the brim and glancing now and then up the dirt street. The stagecoach was due any time now in Goat Run. His plan was simple. He'd say, "Howdy, Ma'am," then grab aholt of her suitcase and take her on down to Doc Winters who also performed marriages whenever there was a woman willin' to take on one of the ornery excuses for a man in these parts.
Ol' Kenny took matters into his own hands last spring and answered an ad he found in one of the tattered newspapers lying around the town barbershop. He was glad the woman was still willin' even though she had a mighty far piece to travel. Violy was her name. Violy Henshaw. Kind of pretty, he thought. Hope her face matches. He slicked his black hair back and dusted off the back of his brown britches. His shirt was clean two days ago. Good enough for a hitchin'. The smell of dust on the wind heralded the stagecoach's arrival before Kenny could even see it. Then he heard the driver's "yah" and knew it was comin' round the bend.
"Whoa, Bill!" the driver yelled, when the stage came to the general store's porch where Kenny stood. The lead horse Bill pranced and shook his head but quickly settled down. A cloud of dust caught up.
Kenny started to shake a bit. He didn't expect that but his nerves kicked up like ol' Lightning busting out of his stall. His breathing came quick as well.
The driver climbed down, put an old crate on the ground in front of the side door, and jerked the door handle open. Two old men and a drifter climbed out. Kenny stepped forward. A small foot in a dusty brown shoe emerged first, followed by the rest of Violy. Her plain dark blue dress and bonnet spoke of a simple woman, not one to show herself off, at least not like the ones up the street at Miss Mable's. Violy smiled.
"Uh, you Miss Violy?" Kenny asked.
"I am, Sir," Violy answered.
"Howdy, Ma'am. I'm Kenny." Pleasure came over his face and his eyes locked onto her suitcase which the driver had set beside her. He leaned down to grab aholt it when a small voice inside the stagecoach said, "Momma?"
Kenny stopped in mid-stoop. He sucked in his breath. Rising slowly, he discovered three other voices in there could have said, "Momma?" as well. But they didn't. Wide-eyed and grim, three boys and a girl trailed out of the coach, stair steps with a two-year-old on the bottom, and stood behind Violy's skirts.
Kenny stared. His plan evaporated like a mud puddle in the middle of the dusty street of Goat Run.
"I meant to tell you, Sir, 'bout the children and all, but well . . .I'm sorry I didn't," Violy said. Her lips sought for more words but nothing came out. Violy's eyes filled up and her lower lip trembled.
Kenny heard the distinct sound of a stomach growling. The two-year-old tugged at Violy's dress. Kenny's face puckered up like his old cow, Molly's, rear just after a dump. More from politeness than commitment, without a word, he took aholt of her suitcase, and she and the children followed him on to Doc Winter's. A pebble lodged in the toe of his shoe soon begged for attention, but he paid it no mind. Seems like I've picked up more'n one pebble, he thought, and glanced behind him at the children.
Doc Winter's ceremony was short and sweet, so's nobody had time to change their minds. Then the new family arrived at Kenny's cabin in the woods before dark. Violy settled into the kitchen and even managed to whip up some decent vittles seeing as how she didn't know where things were. Kenny and the children sopped up every drop of gravy on their plates with the last of the biscuits.
Kenny pushed his plate to the center of the table and looked at the children. Bedtime. He had kinda looked forward to this part of today . . .before the children . . .before his plan had blown away.
Violy fixed them a mat in the corner of the cabin and the little ones soon drifted off. Kenny eyed the bed in the next room. Violy's shadow fell across it as she pulled her dress over her head and slipped into her nightgown.
Kenny blew out the kerosene light on the table, but in the darkness, the sound of the children breathing seemed louder than before. He watched their innocent, angelic faces in the moonlight that streamed across them from the window while he pulled off his shoes and set them beside the fireplace. Then he remembered the pebble that had lodged in one earlier. He shook the shoe. Nothing. He felt around inside. Nothing. Musta gotten out all by itself, he thought. Well . . . maybe these other four pebbles won't trouble me none either. Then his thoughts turned toward Violy. His mood lightened. He strode across the room into the bedroom and shut the door.
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Copyright 2008 Sharon K. West. All rights reserved.