Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)

one as her sewing place. No problem there. He’d just find another spot for Eula’s sewing stuff. Maybe outside in the storehouse. Alex trotted by the oak tree and turned the animal’s head to the left. His mind drifted back to the sleeping arrangements. Having two women with beds on the same floor just might not work. He sensed that Laura’s passion for him was growing. It wouldn’t be too much longer before she screamed out her nighttime feelings for him. Suppose her moans woke Eula Mae? No, he’d have to come up with something different. He spotted the little stream, dismounted, and led the horse to water’s edge. As the stallion drank his fill, Alex reached into the saddlebag. He fumbled underneath the wrapped doll he’d just bought for his new daughter and pulled out the pistol he always carried to Clarksville. Laura had asked him to let her handle things. Two days, she said. Two days and she’d make sure the husband wouldn’t bother them anymore. One week and he’d be out of Lawnover for good. Alex snapped open the bullet chamber. One. Two. Three, four, five, six. Fully loaded. “Just in case.” He spoke out loud with only a horse to hear him.
     
     
    John leaned against the tree trunk, mindful of the time. The sun said about forty-five minutes ’til setting. His pocket watch told him it was half past six. There was enough time to sort it all out, but when he started to put his mind to it, his belly told him no. He rechecked the bullets in his pistol. Yep. Six of them. One for McNaughton, that was for damn sure. One for Annala…His head started its throbbing again, and his eyes their watering. He knew what had to be done. The Good Lord knew what was right. No man could be expected to have his wife dirtied the way McNaughton had ruined his Annalaura. It would pleasure John no end to put a bullet straight between McNaughton’s eyes. Yes, he wanted the man to look him full in the face when he pulled the trigger—so the farmer could see just who was delivering what he had coming. But when it came to the part about who he had to shoot next, John couldn’t order it out in his head. Another mile and he’d be at the turnoff to the barn where his family lived. Cleveland would still be there. His boy was only twelve. He’d acted like a man, and for that John was proud, but in God’s truth, the boy was not yet full grown. Should he shoot Cleveland after McNaughton? Or before? The cramp rolled up so fast from his belly that it forced John to his knees, and four minutes of dry heaving. When the knives in his gut finally quit their chopping, he took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. “Let me just lean here for a minute.” He guessed he was asking permission of the Lord. The Lord’s answer must have been yes, because he still had thirty minutes before he had to lay in wait in the shadows of McNaughton’s barn.
     
     
    The gray whinnied his satisfaction, but Alex was in no hurry to remount. He was still mulling over who was going to sleep where. Eula’s pantry might make a tidy little room for Laura and his baby. “My baby. My very own little girl.” Alex rummaged the saddlebag again and pulled out the parcel the shopkeeper had wrapped. He lowered himself under the tree and undid the string. He looked at the porcelain-faced doll he’d bought for his daughter. Daughter. Every time the word entered his head, he felt like pinching himself. Yes, he was going to have his child and Laura with him tomorrow. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift into that place of happiness that only came when he thought of her—Laura. “One more week and it’s all over.” The words whispered out of his mouth so soft, even the horse couldn’t have heard. “One more…” The caw of a hawk jolted him out of his dreaminess. One more week was a hell of a long time to wait for John Welles to get his ass out of town. Alex felt around the ground for the pistol he’d laid under the tree. Laura had pleaded so. Yes, she was certain she could get John Welles gone from Lawnover. Alex picked up his pistol and stroked the barrel. “That would surely be best.” His words were loud enough for horse or man to hear if they cared to listen. “That would keep Ben Roy, and all those other afraid-to-spit farmers, quiet.” He tucked the gun into the back of his britches’ waistband. “But if that nigger lays another hand to Laura, he’s dead, planting season or no.” Alex placed the doll back into her wrapping paper.