Page 94 of West Wind

“It was, I know it. She asked that reporter if he read poetry… and there was a poet named Shelley. My mama used to read poems to me.” Sarah Jane licked her lips. “You’re the kinda man who would do that.”

He turned his coldest stare on the young woman, but she remained undaunted. “The kinda man who would do what?”

She chewed her bottom lip. “Help a lady in distress. I’ll swan, this is the most romantic⁠—”

“Dammit, Withers.” Shelley tossed the dregs that remained in his cup onto the fire and dropped the paper at his side as nonchalantly as he could. “Your wife’s got one hell of an imagination, don’t she?”

Billy looked up. He’d begun to chop off his hair and drop it to the ground, fine red clumps falling at his feet. “That she does. She was the one who had such grand notions about California. We was gonna get rich and live in a big house with a rose bush out by the front porch.”

Sarah Jane burst into tears. “It’s not my fault,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just want to go home and have my baby.”

Billy dropped the knife and ran nearer the fire to take his young wife in his arms. “I’m sorry, honey. I wasn’t accusin’ you, I promise I wasn’t.” He rocked her back and forth in his arms until her sobbing ceased. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Billy’s smooth cheeks, then kissed him on the mouth.

“I never did like that mustache much.” She smiled. “I apologize, Mister Shelley. Sometimes I do let my imagination run away with me.”

He shrugged. “Wild imaginings, girl. A bounty hunter and an opera singer. That’s the most ridiculous idea I ever heard.”

Withers laughed, but his wife smiled smugly. “Would you like to keep the paper, Mister Shelley? I’ve already read it from front to back. Twice.”

He shrugged again, as if it made no difference. “I suppose if you’re done with it I might pass a little time looking at the articles.” He turned away and began to saddle his horse.

“You’re not leavin’, are you?” she asked, breaking away from her husband, carrying the newspaper in her hands.

“I better get a few more miles down the road. Got a long way to go.” He took the newspaper from her and stashed it in his saddlebag.

“Where did you say you were headed?” she asked.

“Mexico, I suppose.” He looked down at her swollen belly and frowned. “When are you due?”

“I got three more months,” she said. “I know, I look further along than that. Gonna be a big baby, I reckon.”

Shelley hunched in the dirt by the fire and drew a map, pointing out the Truckee River Pass through the Sierra Nevada and directing the young couple to the Filmore farm.

“They can fix you up with some water to cross the desert with,” Shelley said sternly. “Don’t you be lettin’ that little girl drink any of the water from the Humboldt River, you hear me?”

The young man nodded.

“You tell the Filmores that I sent you, and they’ll take good care…” It came to him in a flash. They would tell the Filmores that Shelley had sent them, and the first thing Mary Beth would ask about was Annie. Then Sarah Jane would know for certain that her suspicions were correct.

He turned tired eyes to her. “I had a sister named Sarah.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died a long time ago. She was a dreamer, like you. Her head was filled with visions of castles and princes, wild imaginings and romantic fancy.” His voice was low, sadder than he’d intended it to be. “I do what I do because a savage outlaw shot her. It was senseless and unnecessary. She didn’t have to die.”

He looked up at the young girl who’d managed to pry from him, without even trying, the simple revelation that he’d never told anyone. Sarah Jane’s eyes filled with tears.

“Not again, darlin’.”

She wiped away her tears and tried to smile. It was a poor effort. “I’m sorry. It’s just so sad.”

“It happened a very long time ago.”

She frowned at him. “Not your sister. I… well, that’s very sad, too, but…” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, uncertainty on her soft face. “Mexico is very far away,” she said simply, and left it at that.

Shelley left them standing there. Even without the coffee to dye his hair. Bill Withers was a changed man. They assured Shelley that before light he’d have brown hair.

When he glanced over his shoulder, Sarah Jane waved wildly. Withers draped his arm around her shoulders. They had a hard trip ahead of them, but he had the feeling they’d be all right. Little Sarah Jane would see to that.