MY FOOLISH HEART
MY FOOLISH HEART
We spent the next few days inside the house. There was no need for us to venture out now that poor Rocky was gone. The storm itself continued to rage for two more days, finally ending that Friday. It wouldn't have made a difference if I had had a horse; Lou would not have been able to stir, for the snow had fallen up against the sides of the house, blocking the door, reaching to just under the windowsills.
After that night Lou said nothing more about my confession. Instead we spent the days playing checkers and card games and reading aloud. We talked often, but never of serious subjects. She told me more about her friends and I relayed the funnier escapades Harry and I had indulged in during our career together. I grew closer to her than I had to anyone since Sara's death, and I think Lou was rather fond of me as well. It was difficult to keep the love from my eyes, as she made some reference to the Kid at every given opportunity. I knew she was trying to sway me from my affections, but I only loved her more as each day passed.
"Rafferty," she said one day, after I had finally beaten her at checkers."Can I ask you somethin'?"
"I did not cheat!" I retorted in reply.
She laughed. "That's not what I was goin' to ask you."
"Oh. Sorry. Go ahead."
"Why did you try to rob Cody and me that day?"
I wasn't expecting the question at that precise moment, although
I had been anticipating it for a while. I didn't relish the answer I had to
give her;
it was honest, but hardly flattering. I cleared my throat. "Ahem..."
"I'm sorry," she went on, "I just have to know.
We weren't carryin' anything valuable, just some letters that had to get to
Sacramento. Why us?
Why not some fancy stage or somethin'?"
"Ah, well, Lou, the honest truth is...the honest truth
is that you were there. I was bored and you two happened along. You seemed easy
targets, so
we made our move.
She stared at me, aghast. "You were *bored*?" she exclaimed.
"Um, yes."
"We looked like easy *targets*?"
"Well, I thought so." I bowed my head to fixate on the game board so as not to meet her eyes again. When I heard the first strangled noise I thought she was choking. My head flew up. She was *laughing*. The woman would never cease to amaze me. She was actually laughing. I was indignant. "I don't think it's very funny."
"I guess it ain't really," she replied with a sigh
as her laughter died away. "Just the thought of two grown men so bored
they decide to rob a
coupla Pony Express riders for the hell of it. God, you're a funny fella, Rafferty.
I guess I should stop bein' so surprised by the things that come
outta your mouth, but I always am."
I grinned wryly. "I'm flattered to know I keep you guessing."
"More than any man I've ever met."
"Well, that's something, at least."
Lou began fiddling with one of the game pieces. "Rafferty, the snow has stopped."
"Yes," I agreed, knowing where this conversation would lead.
"Once it melts a little bit more, and Harry comes back, I'd like to leave."
She looked up at me hopefully.
As if I could have refused her. "Of course."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Rafferty. I just pray I find the boys in time and that no harm's come to them."
I tried to assuage her fears. "I'm sure they're fine,
Lou. I've thought about it, and my best guess is that Cody didn't make it back
to your station
until nightfall, by which time the snow would have started. They probably had
to wait for the storm to blow over, and I would imagine they've all been snug
at home in the meantime."
Lou just shook her head and grinned. "You don't know the boys," was all she said.
She was right, of course: I didn't know the boys. These seven young men who would fight and die for her as gladly as I would have. I didn't know that they were willing to brave the snow and the cold to find her, to save her, to bring her back. I didn't know that with every moment that passed they were nearing my doorstep.
That same night I fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming variations of one
dream over and over: robbing a stage with Sara by my side, the wheels of the
vehicle screeching to a halt. Upon peering into the stage I was met by Lou's
eyes. In one dream she was a lady of leisure who screamed when she saw me; the
next time she was the driver of the stage and she shot at me, piercing my stomach
with her bullet; then she was a bride in a wedding dress with a man by her side,
a man who used Lou's knife to stab me in the chest. The man had a blurry face,
but I knew it was the Kid, a man whose face I had never seen.
I woke in the early hours of morning, my eyes opening abruptly in the faint darkness. I could hear birds singing and a strange, repetitive noise that I wasn't able to identify. I rose gingerly, carefully hopping on my still-sore ankle, and went to the window, drawing the curtains.
I easily found the source of the strange sound: it was the snow on the roof melting, dropping onto the tin tub underneath the eave, landing with a plop each time. The sun was shining brilliantly and everywhere I looked the snow was melting.
I heard Lou's footsteps and turned to find her standing in the doorway
with a bright smile. "Can you believe it?" she said, motioning outside.
"It's
already meltin'!"
"No, I can't believe it," I answered, my voice catching on the words.
"Do you think Harry might be back today?"
"I hope so," I lied.
Lou scampered off to Harry's room, where she had been sleeping. She came
back after a minute or two, fully dressed, still grinning for all she was
worth. "I just don't know if I can wait for him to get here! I hope he
won't mind too much that I'm takin' his horse."
"He won't mind," I said. "I'll make sure of it."
"Thank you, Rafferty." She was sincere, I could tell that much. "Come on, let's get some breakfast."
Life had become as cozy and domestic as if we were a married couple. We
rose in the mornings and fixed breakfast, did what little chores could be
done around the house, and then entertained ourselves as best we could. It had
only been a week, but I had grown used to this life.
"Read me another one of those sonnets," Lou said to me after lunch that day. She curled into a ball on the sofa, handing me my book. "I rather like this Mr Shakespeare of yours."
"A sonnet?" I took the book from her and turned away, my back to her. I surreptitiously withdrew a piece of paper from my pocket and slipped it in between its pages. Then I turned back to her and opened the book. "All right, how about this one?"
Lengthy though the years may be
in love's eyes they pass too soon
It's no more the herald of a winter's eve
than it's the coming of a warm summer June
Before I loved you the days crept by
and I only prayed for each moment to pass
Now a day can pass in a sigh
clinging to moments that hardly last
Let love stop time and time smile on love
and let lovers spend their days
Drinking long draughts of the purest love
in the eyes of their true love's gaze
O, if time were so kind to love by and by
What amazements would young lovers try.
I stopped, looking at her expectantly. Her eyes were soft, thoughtful.
"That was lovely," she said. "It was different from the other
ones you've
read to me."
I flushed. "Yes, a bit. Not as good, I suppose."
"Sure it was. I liked it. It was sad, though. He must have been sad when he wrote it."
"Perhaps he was. Perhaps he had to say goodbye to the woman he loves. I know I've often wished that time had a tail so we could grab it and slow it down."
Lou smiled at me. "You're a smart man, Rafferty. I'd love to understand half the things you understand."
I laughed self-consciously. "Oh, I'm not all that smart," I protested.
"I've no head for figures. If you sat me down with my sums I'd be tearing
my
hair out."
"I don't mean smart that way. You...you understand things. You understand why Shakespeare wrote that poem --"
"I'm only guessing, Lou," I protested.
She shook her head. "No, you understand. I can see it in your eyes. You know what this poem is about, what he was feelin' when he wrote it. You're smart that way. You see deep into things."
"Not too bad for a thief and a rogue, eh?"
"Not too bad," she teased.
I rubbed my side through the flannel shirt I wore.
"How's it feelin'?"
"Not too bad. It's healing well."
"Do you think we --"
We heard a scuffle on the roof. The blast of a gun shattered her words,
cutting them off sharply. Lou and I both shot to our feet, staring in the
direction the sound had come from. Without realizing I was doing it, I moved
to stand in front of Lou, pushing her behind me as I looked out.
"Stay still," I instructed her. "Let me find out what's going on."
Then we heard a voice. A loud, angry, demanding voice. "Send her out!"
"Kid!" Lou gasped. "That's the Kid!"
My heart stopped, struggled to start again. Lou darted out from behind me and ran to the door, throwing it open. "Just a minute, boys! I'm comin'! I'm all right! I'm fine!"
Her friends were cleverly hidden. Only upon closer inspection did I see just where they had positioned themselves. We heard footsteps running above us on the roof and then a young man with a bandanna tied around his head leapt from the roof, landing on the ground in the softening snow. He landed on his feet in front of Lou, as lithe as a cat.
I stepped up behind Lou, trying to coax the rush of adrenaline back from my veins. I handed her the coat she had left on the couch. "Here you go," I whispered, touching her arm to let her know I was there. Suddenly a tall, lanky man jumped from his hiding place, his hat flying off his head. He pointed his gun at me. "Don't you touch her!" he roared. "You stay away from her!" And then he shot.
He was an ace marksman. I looked down to see the blood before I actually
felt the pain. That was how quick he was. I put my hand to my chest and
slumped against the doorframe. I heard Lou's scream. "No! Kid, no!"
She rushed to my side, pushing the man in the bandanna away as he reached for
her.
My knees gave way and I landed on the cold, wet ground. Lou dropped to her knees beside me, looking into my eyes, her hands on my shoulders. I felt strange, as if my mind was floating away from me. My eyes swam in and out of focus. "Lou...is this what it feels like to get shot, Lou?"
Her reply was muffled. I saw her mouth moving, her lips curling to form thewords, but I didn't hear anything.
"Was that the Kid, Lou?" I murmured drowsily. "That man
who shot me?" Ididn't wait for a reply. "And...the other one...the
one with the
kerchief...he's...Ike, right?" The words were coming slower now. I had
to concentrate harder. I saw figures running towards Lou, circling around her.
It was becoming harder and harder to see. My hand felt wet, sticky with my blood. Then I heard her sobs. Her voice seemed far, far away. I could hardly make out the words. It sounded as if she was saying, "You fools. Why didn't you listen to me? I said I was fine!"
"But, Lou!" protested a voice.
Everything was growing darker. I felt another pair of hands touching my chest. "It hurts, Lou," I whispered.
"I know, Rafferty, I'm sorry," she wept.
"I'm sorry for...all of this..sorry."
"Oh, God...Rafferty, don't."
"Lou?"
"Yes?"
"I...wrote...that poem."
"I know, Rafferty, I know."
"Lou?"
"Yes, Rafferty?"
"You've been...a hell of a lot of...trouble, Lou."
I closed my eyes.