Andrew Keatley's Story

The morning started like any other. Siblings, separated by a scant few years, were up before the sun was and at opposite ends of the family farm. Even though acreage separated them, they could tell you in an instant what the other was doing. For everything was routine on the Keatley homestead.

Rebecca, dressed in a faded muslin gown with her honey blond hair tied back beneath a flap of cloth was holding an old wooden bucket against her hip, her hand dipping in to draw feed from its depths before using nimble fingers to scatter it across the ground by the chickens in a wide spread so that they all got their fair share. Her next step would be the goats then the dairy cows and pigs before her path would take her back inside their pueblo-style home which they shared with their aging parents. A quick clean up would be necessary before she was redressed and on her way into town.

Her brother, Andrew, would be taking a much wider arch around the farm seeing as how he would be working the land all day. Their meat stores were low so he’d probably butcher a hog. The crops needed tending and since they were one of the few self-sustaining farms in the area, everything they had relied on the well being of their land. Whatever excess they felt comfortable selling would be sold to either neighbors or at the last resort, to one of the shops in town. The General Store always had first crack at the produce that the family canned since Rebecca started working there a year or so back.

The Keatley family looked after those that lent them a helping hand.

---

Later in the afternoon, as the rain was beating steadily against anyone fool enough to be walking around in it, Andrew Keatley was strolling down Main with a mission in mind. It wasn’t a very thought out plan, mind you, but a mission nonetheless and words seemed to fail him the moment he stepped inside the Twister.

Keen eyes darted about the room, searching for the reason for his business before dropping sharply to the ground as his hand reached up to snatch the hat off his head. His other hand swept up to fix his hair and gaze lifted once more to scan the tavern. A few patrons had lingered, not bothering to head home during the rainstorm and they chatted idly amongst themselves. Word of a hanging hit Andrew’s ears and though he had been taught not to eavesdrop, he couldn’t help but pick up on the details anyway.

“….Lit up the night sky, it did. Heard the undertaker ‘ad to pry ‘is body from ‘er grasp. Wouldn’t let it go, like if she still clung to ‘im than ‘e’d still cling to life. Y’know?” The older man shook his head, kicking back another shot before continuing on. “S’not right. Not at all. Can’t nobody do nuthin’ though.” The gentleman’s head swiveled around as if making sure the coast was clear and his voice dipped lower, whispering conspiratorially.

“Ain’t nobody in their right mind mess with him.”

All of the men at the bar nodded their heads sagely and Andrew stepped up to a clear section of the counter, still gazing around for something in particular. Clearing his throat, he rested his hat upon the bar.

---

Further down Main Street, Rebecca Keatley was staring out the window at the fat raindrops as they splattered against the window. No one was in the General Store, which was no surprise considering the weather but it also meant that she had nothing to do but watch as the raindrops raced each other across the clear glass. Every time it was right versus left and for some reason, left always seemed to win. Or they’d merge as raindrops tended to do, ruining the race all together in some sort of tie.

Blowing out a sudden breath, her forced exhalation blew the hair out of her face as she turned; arms crossed, and studied the store. Owned by Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, it had started out as a trading post back when the town was first settled and steadily grown into the free for all general store that it was now. Quite larger than most of Trinity’s other stores, they had knocked out the walls of three adjoining storefronts to make room for their merchandise. The far side held more generalized goods- household items, tools, ropes, some clothing, etc while the area near the register counter held foodstuffs. Everything from canned and jarred goods to basic necessities and even a few ‘exotic’ items shipped in from out east.

Jack of all trades, Master of none. A good phrase to fit the mishmash of items available in the General Store but everything was neat and orderly. All the accounts and ledgers were up to date and that left….

Nothing.

Boredom found its way easily to the young clerk and it was all she could do to keep awake until suddenly, she recalled a task that she could complete. It wasn’t much but some of her customers pre-ordered items to be shipped to their house or picked up on a weekly basis. She’d just have to get those orders ready until something else attracted her attention.

She could hear the storm howling through the slats in the side of the building. She was digging around in a store room, rummaging for one thing and then another so she could set up for the evening rush. ‘Rush’, of course, was occasionally an overstatement. The Twister was not a whore house, or a place where openly drunken behavior was acceptable. So they tended to cater to a more respectable evening crowd, where men came with their wives, played poker for copper coins and buttons, and just sat around to talk about town business and the occasional local scandal.

Lydia liked working this place. She liked that her papa trusted her enough to handle the accounting and the run-of-the-mill business aspect that came with having a place like this. She knew Doc was needed elsewhere, most of the time, lending a healing hand the way the Lord had indicated he should. She knew he was needed to settle private matters too, as was expected of a town sheriff.

Dealing with matters involving the Lucky Sevens was something else entirely, something her papa didn’t even like talking about with her. It was disheartening, really, to see how tired Doc would be at the end of a long day, knowing that there wasn’t much of anything the lot of them could do when it came to dealing with the Gentleman. If he killed a man, it went uncontested. If he burned down a homestead?

Her hands knotted into fists in the polishing cloth she held in her hand. With an irritated sigh, she scooped up the stack of mugs that she was preparing to carry out to the bar, and gracefully rose to her feet. Years of balancing various odds and ends had given her an edge in this particular task. However, her concentration was so fixed that she didn’t even notice the young man at the counter until after she’d dumped all of the mugs in a clattering mess on the well-worn surface.

She flickered her eyes up to the newcomer, almost unable to recognize him when his face was clean, and his shirt, on. Not to mention the fact that he was damp all over.

“Andrew Keatley!” she said, suddenly exuberant. Her eyes shone when she smiled at him, her pleasure obvious at the surprise of his company. “Come in a long way. I hope the storm didn’t bother you too much. Where’s Rebecca? How’s Missus Keatley?” She shot off her list of questions as she began to set up the mugs.

From behind her, Doc stepped out of the doorway that lead upwards to the second landing. His tall, thick frame halted in its motion when he caught sight of Andrew at the counter. His eyes, narrowed at first, suddenly crinkled at the corners as a secretive smile formed beneath a bushy moustache. He tossed the lad a wink, then shifted to remove his duster before rolling his sleeves and walking to the opposite end of the bar.

Everyone, no matter how strong or brave, social or arrogant they may seem to the rest of the town, has a secret. Something that flips their personality in a way that makes the brows of nearby folks raise up in inquiry at the transformation. For Andrew Keatley, that secret was his affection for the girl standing before him, saying his name excitedly as if he were a ray of sunshine in the otherwise stormy grey day.

Many adjectives were used to describe the Keatley boy but never had the words shy or timid been upon that list. Yet, as he stood there across from the Doc’s daughter with the questions flying at him about his family, Andrew couldn’t help but just stand there and grin dumbly at her. Staring perhaps a bit too long so that the silence following her queries became a bit awkward and it was only then that he caught himself, pulling himself out of his reverie.

“Oh, ah….” Rather eloquent, eh? He caught himself from stuttering like a fool and raised a hand to smooth back his deep brown hair once more- a nervous gesture which was rarely seen by anyone but family. “Becca’s at the store working a’day and Mama’s at the house…” His eyes wandered briefly to see if anyone was paying them any mind and it was then that he noticed the good Doc standing there with his eyes a’twinklin and a knowing wink was tossed in his direction.

Had Andrew not been so overly tan from years of working under the hot Texan sun, one might’ve seen the red hue that fought to color his cheeks but instead of a full on blush it simply looked like he was starting to get a bit warm. Returning a grin towards Doc McAllister, he made a motion as if to tip his hat towards the man before realizing that the hat was firmly grasped in his hand. Playing off the sudden movement, he simply skimmed a hand through his hair for the third time in just as many minutes.

“And ‘ello, Doc!. Nice to see ya, today. Outside of….” He trailed off again, not wanting to make mention of the fact that the poor man had to come to the Keatley house at least once a week to check upon his mother.

Andrew cleared his throat and tried to restart a conversation with Lydia, his intention for trekking all the way into town to begin with. He had it all planned out. Sweet talk her, perhaps even convince her to go on a picnic with him but those ideas fizzled the moment that the rain drops started falling from the sky. What was he supposed to do now?

“How ‘bout you, Lydia? How’s things?” He looked around the tavern as a few more lost souls trickled in to take their seats, giving him an audience he didn’t exactly need at the moment.

“I was thinkin’ maybe….” The words seemed hard to conjure and for a moment, Andrew simply stared at the fair-faced Lydia. Thoughts were the easy part. He’d tuck her short soft hair behind her ear and tell her things like how she was the prettiest girl this side of the Mississippi river. Ask if he could call upon her. Instead, he stumbled upon his intentions and whatever he had wanted to ask was lost as he changed to safer topics.

“I was thinkin’ maybe about having some of your famous plum pie?”

Well, Andrew may have had his secrets, but Lydia wasn’t like most girls, who thrived on the latest tidbit of gossip that the elder ladies liked to toss around when they came in to call on her father. Sometimes she listened, most times she didn’t, and as a result, the young lady remained blissfully unaware of many of the unimportant pieces of information that floated around town. When Andrew had walked in that door, specifically to call on her…

Well, she knew that the tittering elders sitting in the back of the room would have a field day chatting about it over evening coffee and poker cards. For seemingly no reason at all, the girl’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she tried to draw attention away from that by lifting her hand and drawing the back of it over her brow. In fact, the room was quite cool. Desert rains frequently brought the temperature down so that one might be comfortable tossing a shawl about their shoulders.

“So good to know that the family’s holding up.” Lydia said softly, her tone genuine and innocent, with only the slightest hint of concern. No man or woman in this town took pity well, and she made sure never to dish it out in large quantities. People could hold their own in Fort Trinity. They didn’t need the whispered sympathies of a girl like her. She was about to continue, but Andrew’s eyes, and his attention, had drawn to someone behind her.

Turning to acknowledge them, she saw her father standing there. The look on her papa’s face was unlike anything she’d seen in a long time. He looked more like a boy who was fixing to stir up some trouble, and for whatever reason, it distressed her that he was looking at Andrew the way he was.

”…how’s things?”

“Mm?” She turned her attention back to Andrew, ignoring the soft chuckling of her father as he disappeared back into his private studies. “Oh! Things are well. I find myself getting busier all the time, between helping Papa with his work and keeping this place from falling to pieces.” She leaned her elbows on the bar counter, drawing just a little closer to him and looking up at the young man through her lashes.

“Mighty nice to have someone come visit me though, makes me feel pretty special.”

Her heart had started to stutter. She was no stranger to what these sorts of feelings were, the flustered behavior, the anxious flutter of her heart in her chest…the way her skin kept flushing warm whenever she met his eyes. She’d not experienced them personally, not that many times, and certainly not with anyone she’d particularly like to be serious with, but she knew from books that girls often got this way when they were fond of someone.

She looked about ready to say something, perhaps even adventure further on that train of thought, but Andrew’s request brought her up short. She blinked, as if to clear her thoughts, and abruptly looked up to gaze at him straight on.

“I..of course!” she said, smiling to cover up her confusion. “Just give me a moment. I happened to make some fresh this morning.”

Without waiting to listen for his response, she turned around quick enough that her skirts swished about her ankles, and disappeared back into the kitchen. She was surprised to find that she wasn’t alone.

Doc stood there, with a plum skewered on a fork, his large frame leaning on the countertop as he gazed at her with that self-same twinkle in his eye.

“That boy,” he began, his voice a deep rumble in his chest. “…is making eyes at you.”

She blushed, which contradicted the words that spilled out of her mouth. “He is not! He came for pie!” Her pie, but still. “Andrew’s just come to see how things are going, more than likely to bring Becca something.”

Doc chewed that plum, chewed and chewed until that mischievous grin broke out on his face again.

“You sure about that?”

No, but the obstinate look that made her features stern and hard was amusing enough. She definitely had her father in her, but her mother’s stubbornness was eager to shine through in moments like this. “Why on earth would a man like Andrew Keately take an interest in a girl like me?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders, straightening before coming over to put an arm around hers. “I could give you lots of reasons, Miss McCallister, but I think your best course of action would be to ask the young man himself. Throw him a rope. He’s floundering out there.”

Lydia’s lip twitched, turning her body so she could rest her forehead against his chest.

“Do you like him, Papa?”

He laughed. “Every father’s hope for his daughter is for her to find an honorable, hard-working young man who’ll take care of her and take care of his family.” He nodded to the doorway that divided the kitchen from the back of the bar. “That young man is about the finest cut of human being this side of the Mississippi. You’d be wont to lose him.”

He turned her around though, after setting down his empty fork on the counter. “But you make sure you like him plenty well before giving him hope. Nothing hurts a man more than the games some women like to play.” He kissed her forehead.

“But you’re an angel. He’s made a good choice. Go give him his pie.”

Lydia’s face was pinched with thought. She leaned her head back, going up on tip-toe to kiss her father’s cheek before stepping around him and going to the pie-tin. She cut a slice, disappeared down to the ice box to get a little bit of cream and sugar, then dressed up the plate before making her way to the door. Doc was already gone, perhaps off to his office to mull over bills. She was on her own now.

Suppose I should just let things happen naturally, she thought to herself, putting on a smile and leaning against the door with her shoulder so she could step out and greet Andrew with a smile. Setting the plate down on the counter, she gave him a utensil before leaning her elbows on the counter next to him.

“Pie must be pretty good if that’s what drew you all the way out here. You sure there isn’t somethin’ else on your mind?” she asked quietly.

So much for subtlety.

As Lydia disappeared into the back room to retrieve his pie, it took all of Andrew’s willpower not to adopt a look of consternation and toss his hat around in a fit.

“Mighty nice to have someone come visit me though, makes me feel pretty special.”

Had he been quick-witted or a smooth-talker like some of the other men in this town he would’ve thought of something worthwhile. A compliment upon her pretty eyes or her smooth skin or those rosebud lips or the way she tucked that lock of hair behind her ear and how sometimes he wanted to do it for her.

A quick shake of his head dislodged the train of thought that he was on and he set himself right, trying to regroup before she emerged once more. A tittering sound, though light and slightly muffled, could be heard behind him he didn’t turn to eye its source. He knew that the little old ladies in the back corner were probably getting a good show with his poor performance here and that made his sun-kissed skin ratchet up to another shade of red.

The door swung back open, capturing his attention again and he sat up a little straighter in his seat. For her. That slow grin stretched its way back across his lips again at the sight of her and he already had a whopping bite of her pie stuffed in his mouth when her softly spoken words almost made him choke to death.

”…You sure there isn’t somethin’ else on your mind?”

A chunk of crust got stuck in his gullet and as he tried to dislodge it, he made a fist and thumped it onto his chest a few times until it finally slid down his throat. Silence drifted over the room for a moment until a chortle broke through followed by a question from one of the men at the bar.

“You all right there, Dusty?” Another loud guffaw, quieted only when Andrew held up a hand and waved it to signal he was fine.

“Reckon I’ll be breathing normally again here soon enough…” He tried to save face and conversation finally resumed around them, allowing the young farmhand to settle his gaze back upon Lydia.

“You do make a mighty fine plum pie, Lydia…” Andrew trailed off, casting his eyes at his pie for a moment before a sly grin tugged at his lips. “But I did come to see the cook, herself.”

He paused for a moment, then two, to gauge her reaction before more words tumbled out of his mouth. Better to get them out in the open before he seized up again and high tailed it out of there.

“Was wondering if perhaps you wanted to go on a ride with me here, soon. A picnic.” The storm raged outside and he amended his request.

“Well, not today, of course. With the rain and all.” His lips clamped shut then to prevent anything more idiotic to pour out of them.

“You reckon I can’t ride in the rain?” Lydia teased, removing a kerchief from one of the pockets of her dress. She handed it over to him, gently laying a finger against the corner of her own mouth. “Y’got something on yourself. No need to save it for later, plenty more where that came from.”

She spoke in a low tone, keeping it between him and her. Never was it her intent to embarrass the poor young man in front of the other patrons. Still, in spite of her confidence, she couldn’t help the slight blush that colored her cheeks.

“But, to answer your question, I think a ride and a picnic would be lovely, and I’m flattered you came out all this way just to ask me.”

---

In the back room, where Doc had fashioned an office of sorts, the man had left his window open a crack to allow for a small draft, simply to exchange the air in the stifling room. His kerosene lantern sat on the corner of his desk, flickering at the lowest it could to help preserve oil, and he was passing the time reading over a few books of the medicinal kind. Other things lay strewn on his desk, reports and statements scribbled over papers in the crude chicken scratch of someone unpracticed with a fountain pen. He’d memorized them and cast them aside, eager to take his mind off the dismal happenings outside of town.

Lightning flashed, the thunder following like a cacophonous drum roll, sending a familiar shiver of pleasure down the man’s spine. He loved the sounds of a storm. Reminded him of his days on the battlefield, when he was a younger man and far too naïve for his own good.

Something lingered after the thunder faded. At first, he thought his ears were ringing, but as he stood, walking closer to the window to get a better sense of what he was hearing, he recognized the sound of a panicked woman’s screams.

The man grit his teeth, grabbing for his duster and swinging it over his shoulders before grabbing his hat off a hook and shoving it onto his head. His double-barrel was next, resting comfortably against the wall. Without so much as blinking he swung it up into his arms and burst out of his office, coming out behind the bar and immediately making his way towards the front without so much as looking back.

Startled, Lydia looked towards her father with wide eyes. “Papa?”

“Stay inside.” He instructed gruffly, the door to the saloon swinging shut behind him as he stepped out into the torrential downpour. Rain and darkness obscured his vision, but he went to his horse, mounting it without bothering with a saddle, and pulled it around with the reins held firmly in his hand.

The horse trotted through the mud, bringing him closer and closer to the place where the screams had originated from. What he saw emerging from the library had him pulling up short, his eyes widening beneath the brim of his hat.

What the hell was a Red Man doing so far away from the reservation?

“You’re a long way from home!” he bellowed, trying to be heard over the sound of the storm.