Something Like Love

  He made love to her like a warrior going off to war in the morning; completely, totally, tenderly. He whispered endearments he’d never whispered to another woman, and she did things with him she’d never do with any other man but Neil. Dawn was lightening the sky before they let each other sleep.

  But Neil didn’t sleep long. He watched the dawn break up the shadows and held his wife close. Eventually, he got up and left her sleeping.

  When he stepped out onto the porch, Two Shafts was sitting there. “Morning, brother.”

  “Mornin’,” Neil replied.

  The hush of the dawn settled for a moment, then Shafts said, “Came to see if you’d changed your mind.”

  Neil’s desire to ride away and leave today’s court proceedings behind was strong, but his feelings for Olivia were stronger. “I haven’t.”

  “She mean that much to you?”

  “Yep.”

  Shafts, sitting on the lip of the porch, turned and studied his brother, then turned back and faced the prairie. “Sitting here thinking about the first time we met.”

  Neil smiled. Both he and Shafts had been at the Indian school. They’d known each other in passing, but that had been all. Neither had had any idea they were related until one day their father had shown up to visit; upon seeing him, both boys had run to him, crying, “Da! Da!” To this day, Neil could still see the surprise not only on their faces but also on the face of his father. He’d come to see Neil and had had no idea his Comanche son was at the school as well. The boys were ten and had been together ever since. In fact, it was the headmaster of the school who’d christened them the Terrible Twins. “We’ve been together a long time.”

  “That we have, and had a good run, too.”

  “Yes, we did.”

  They both floated in their memories, then Neil asked, “You heading home?”

  Shafts nodded. “No sense in Parker trying to put the whole family in prison.”

  Neil agreed. “Tee already gone?”

  “Yeah. You know how she hates good-byes.”

  He did. “I told Olivia if I’m sentenced, I’d take off for Mexico, but I won’t. I’ll go ahead and serve my time, because I know she’ll be waiting.”

  “She’s a special woman.”

  “That she is.”

  Shafts stood. The brothers embraced. They held each other tight for a long, silent moment, then parted.

  Neil said, “I’ll have Chase wire Wildhorse with the verdict.”

  “Okay.” Then Shafts said firmly, “If you need me, you know how to find me.”

  “I do.” Neil felt as if his heart was breaking.

  Shafts’s voice was soft. “May the Spirits guard your soul, brother.”

  “And yours, too.”

  Neil stood silent as Shafts mounted his horse and rode away.

  Chapter 16

  Olivia awakened at seven o’clock. After such a short sleep, her well-loved body was sated and satisfied, but overall she felt terrible, and her mind was foggy and disoriented. Noticing that she was in bed alone, she listened for sounds in the house but heard none. Throwing back the sheet, she hurried into the kitchen, hoping that Neil hadn’t changed his mind and was gone.

  He was in the chair on the back porch, looking out at the prairie. At the sound of her approach, he turned and smiled. “Mornin’, Mrs. July.”

  “Morning, Neil.” She walked over and put her arms around him. She kissed his cheek. She didn’t tell him she thought he’d ridden out. Instead she asked, “How about some coffee?”

  He covered her hand with his. “Sounds good, but I can put it on, you go and get washed up. They’ll be coming for me in an hour or so.”

  Olivia’s lip tightened. The day was here. “Okay. Be back shortly.” She went in and left him to sit alone.

  Neil watched the wind play in the grasses and saw a hawk slowly circling in the sky. He studied it for a moment. The predator was looking for prey. Parker would be circling over Neil in much the same fashion in a few hours, and admittedly, he was afraid, not of imprisonment—he’d been held captive in so many forms over the course of his thirty-eight-year life that the prospect didn’t worry him much—but of having to live without Olivia.

  Chase and Wildhorse came for him at eight-thirty. Both men wore sober looks and met Olivia’s eyes with a sadness that equaled her own.

  Neil said, “Mornin’. I was hoping Parker had come down with the pox.”

  Chase shook his head. “No. He got in late last night.”

  Wildhorse said, “We have to put the bracelets on you.”

  Neil stood. The marshal fastened the iron restraints around Neil’s extended wrists, then keyed the circlets shut.

  Chase said to Olivia, “You should probably get over to Sophie’s as soon as you can. People are already lining up to get in.”

  She nodded, but her eyes were on her husband. Not caring about propriety, she walked over to him and held him tight. “I love you,” she whispered fiercely.

  He smiled, kissed her, then stepped back. “Let’s go,” he said to the lawmen.

  Olivia fought back tears as they put him in the buggy and drove away.

  There were so many people on Main Street that it looked like the circus had come to town. Vendors hawking popcorn and lemonade, competed for customers with Cyclone reporters selling yesterday’s headline edition, and with a man selling badly drawn portraits of Neil on postcards. There was also a woman touting her “authentic” Seminole turbans and ear ornaments, and an ice cream stand courtesy of Malloy Mercantile. As the former mayor, Olivia was pleased to see all the visitors—their presence would undoubtedly swell the town coffers—but as Neil’s wife, she was appalled at the crass display.

  As she made her way down the crowded walk, she nodded at those she knew and ignored the rubes who pointed and stared.

  “That’s the woman,” she heard one woman whisper.

  Another voice explained, “No, she’s not the mayor anymore. The town fired her after the marriage.”

  As word spread that July’s woman was heading to the hotel for the trial, a ripple of excitement moved through the crowds.

  People wanted autographs. “No.”

  Photographers yelled for her to stop so they could take her picture for the papers back east. “No.”

  Dressed in her best bustled ensemble, hat, and gloves, Olivia kept her eyes and steps focused ahead.

  A tired-looking White man in a travel-crumpled suit rushed up, saying, “Mrs. July. I’m from Harper’s Weekly, would you grant us an exclusive interview?”

  “No.”

  Another man. “Mrs. July. I’m from Bloomingdale Brothers in New York. We’d like your approval for a line of Neil July firearms we plan to sell—”

  “No.”

  By the time she reached the door where the Blake brothers stood guarding the entrance, she felt like she’d run a Lakota gauntlet.

  “Morning, Olivia,” Jackson said grimly. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

  The line of people waiting to get in seemed to stretch to Topeka. “Unbelievable.”

  Griffin said, “You can go on in and get a seat. Doors will be opening in a few minutes. They’ll bring Neil in right after.”

  “Thanks.”

  Griffin opened the glass-paneled door, and she stepped through. The quiet assaulted her. After the din outside, it was as if she’d stepped into the hush of a cathedral. Sophie was there, looking very solemn, and she gave Olivia a strong hug.

  “How you doing?”

  “Trying to remain hopeful.”

  “That and a good set of prayers will get you through.”

  Olivia nodded.

  “Do you want to go up and see your parents first?”

  “No.” She had enough on her plate right now. The last thing she needed was her father glaring at her.

  “Then go on in. Good luck, Olivia.”

  She nodded and moved on.

  The room had been set up with rows upon rows of wooden chairs divided by a
n aisle. In front of the first row of seats were two tables, one positioned on each side of the aisle. Facing the two tables was a lone table. She figured the lone one was where Judge Parker would preside.

  Because she had no idea which of the tables Neil would be sitting at, she didn’t know where to sit. While contemplating that dilemma, she heard footsteps and looked up at the bald, bearded Black man entering the room. She’d never seen him before, but from his well-made suit, highly polished shoes, and air of authority, she assumed he would be playing some role in the drama to come.

  “Good morning,” he said to her. “Are the doors opening already?” He looked down at the watch chained to his watch pocket.

  “No. The sheriffs let me in early.”

  “I see.”

  On the frontmost desk he began placing writing paper and pens, then some books—one of which was the Bible.

  Olivia asked, “I don’t mean to disturb you, but do you know which table Neil July will be sitting at?”

  The man stopped. “Why?”

  “I’m his wife, Olivia Sterling July.”

  He could not hide his surprise, it seemed, and for the next few, silent seconds he studied her. Then he gathered himself and said very formally, “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. July. My name is George Winston—Judge Parker’s private bailiff.”

  It was Olivia’s turn to be surprised. “Pleased to meet you as well.”

  “The July party will be using the table to your right.”

  “Thank you.” She took a seat in the first row and settled in.

  Winston went on with his duties. When he finished, he directed a polite nod her way and exited the room.

  Olivia tried not to let her worries and fears over Neil’s fate rise and torment her, but it was next to impossible. Judge Parker was by all indications a very harsh jurist, and Neil was guilty of some very serious crimes. She just wanted the whole thing over and done with so she and Neil would know the next step.

  Ten minutes later, the doors were opened and the spectators surged in. Griffin came in and hollered at folks to stop pushing, but they streamed by him like locusts. The first two rows were reserved for families, dignitaries, and the press. Olivia couldn’t imagine what kind of dignitaries were expected or why they would be interested. Her answer came a few moments later when a gaggle of White men in good suits began to fill the row opposite her. They were soon joined by men wearing the uniform of the United States Army. She could hear the suits introducing themselves to the uniforms. The railroads and the army. Olivia closed her eyes and sent up a quick plea to heaven.

  Then her own crew of dignitaries arrived: Cara Lee, the Two Spinsters, the Reverend and Sybil Whitfield, Asa, Sophie, and some of her campaign supporters. They all sat in her row. When she spied the Olivia Roses pinned to their blouses and lapels, her lip trembled with emotion. Cara Lee, seated beside Olivia, gave her a hug and whispered, “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

  By now, the courtroom was nearly filled to capacity. There were a few seats here and there, but only a few. Olivia spotted her parents seated in chairs about halfway back. Both looked serious; both nodded. Beside her father sat Horatio Butler. The look of satisfaction glowing in his eyes made Olivia wish for Teresa and her Colts, to put the fear of God in him. Instead, Olivia looked away.

  Speaking of Teresa, a dark-skinned woman dressed in one of the most stunning bustled ensembles Olivia had ever seen entered, then began looking around, as if for a place to sit. The black dress, with its cinched waist jacket and jet buttons, was as fashionable as the woman’s ostrich-feather-trimmed hat. Her face was coyly hidden behind the short sweep of a frothy veil. With all the commotion, Olivia wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed her, but Olivia certainly did. The woman made her way down the aisle, and when her eye caught Olivia’s, she winked.

  Olivia’s eyes widened. Teresa? Olivia surveyed the woman again. It most certainly was! Neil’s sister looked nothing like herself, which was probably the reason for her transformation, but what a transformation she’d made. No one would associate this elegant and feminine lady with the two-fisted, Colt-carrying, smelly woman she’d been when Olivia had first met her. This version had polish, panache, and style. When Teresa took a seat near the back of the room, the stunned Olivia sat back down.

  Cara asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” Olivia said. “I’m fine.” And she was, knowing Teresa had risked her own freedom to come and support her brother.

  Then, through the side door the bailiff had used earlier, came two more well-dressed White men. Their arrival was met with catcalls and hisses from the partisan crowd. They took seats at the table opposite Neil’s designated table and set their expensive-looking black satchels on the tabletop. Olivia felt safe in assuming the new men were the railroad lawyers. The derision they received was not unexpected; folks out west hated the railroads for their perceived greed, the livestock the trains perpetually ran over and killed, and all the smoke and noise the trains brought to towns. Folks knew the trains were necessary, but they didn’t have to like the entity behind them.

  Next to enter was the handcuffed Neil. He was escorted in by Chase and Wildhorse, and behind them walked the Preacher. Many in the room broke out in cheers and applause. Neil smiled in response. To many people, Neil and his brother were folk heroes. They, like other outlaws on the High Plains, represented all those who wanted to thumb their noses at the civilization slowly transforming the west.

  Neil threw Olivia a wink before he sat down, then he and Preacher put their heads together for a discussion. Olivia leaned over to Cara and asked quietly, “What’s the Preacher doing?”

  Cara whispered back, “He’s Neil’s lawyer.”

  Olivia was very surprised by the response. “Is he a lawyer?”

  Cara shrugged.

  Olivia sent up another prayer. She thought Neil looked calm, though, and she had to applaud his strength; had it been her on trial, Olivia knew she’d be as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers.

  Bailiff George Winston entered then, and the crowd quieted. “All rise for the Honorable Judge Isaac Charles Parker.”

  The room filled with the sound of chair scraping and the noises of folks moving around. Then the judge walked in; an average-looking man, midforties in age, with a long, flowing chinlock and neatly cut hair. “Have a seat, everybody,” he called out.

  People seated themselves and waited to see what would happen next.

  Parker said, “From this moment on, this is a courtroom, and anyone who disrupts these proceedings will be escorted out.”

  He took his seat. “Now, before me today are three cases—The Union Pacific v. Neil July; the United States Government, specifically the Army v. Neil July, and the State of Kansas v. Neil July.”

  He then looked out at Neil. “Not real happy seeing you here, July. Not happy at all.”

  Neil didn’t respond.

  “Who’s representing the prosecution?” Parker asked.

  The two men stood and gave their names as Wendell Peck and Arthur Cambridge.

  “From back east?”

  Peck, who was apparently the main spokesman, said, “Yes. Our firm is based in New York City.”

  Parker turned his attention to Neil. “Where’s your lawyer, July?”

  The Preacher stood up. “Here, sir. Vance Bigelow.”

  “Preacher?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Since when did you start practicing law?”

  “Since ’62, sir. Got my certificate at the University of Edinburgh.”

  The railroad lawyers looked as stunned as the judge, who looked as stunned as Olivia and everyone else in the chairs.

  “Edinburgh, Scotland?” Parker asked.

  “Yes, sir. My mother is from there. The laws here wouldn’t let me attend law school, so I studied for the bar in Scotland.”

  Parker asked, “Why didn’t I ever know this before?”

  “Never came up.”

  One of th
e lawyers stood and said, “Your Honor, we protest. First of all, how do we know he’s telling the truth, and secondly, may we remind the court that a man like him is patently forbidden by law to participate in these proceedings.”

  The crowd hailed down catcalls like rain.

  Parker banged his gavel. “Quiet! Quiet!”

  The crowd complied, but a low grumble of disapproval remained.

  Parker studied Peck, with his sparse hair and bulbous nose. “I’m assuming you’re saying that because of his race?”

  Peck nodded.

  Bailiff Winston leaned down and whispered something to the judge. Parker listened, nodded, and Winston stepped back. “My bailiff reminds me of something I find quite relevant. Are you familiar with the name John S. Rock?”

  Peck was not.

  “Well, Mr. John S. Rock is a lawyer from Boston. He was admitted to practice before the bar of the United States Supreme Court in February of eighteen and sixty-five.”

  Peck asked, “And how is that relevant, Your Honor?”

  “Mr. John S. Rock is a colored man, Mr. Peck. If it’s good enough for the Supreme Court of these United States, it’s good enough for me.”

  The crowd applauded. Olivia had never heard of Mr. Rock. She was glad Bailiff Winston had, though.

  “Quiet!”

  The crowd complied.

  Parker said to Peck, “So, shall we get this show on the road, or do you have other objections you want to raise? As for Mr. Bigelow’s veracity, the court will take him at his word. Present your case, Mr. Peck.”

  Peck didn’t look pleased.

  For the next two hours, Neil’s crimes were put on stage. Peck brought out a large map of the United States, which he displayed on a wooden tripod. On the map he placed pins in all the places Neil had robbed trains in the past five years. There were close to fifty, and Olivia was appalled.

  Peck had dates of the robberies, the times they’d been committed, and how much loot Neil and his gang had gotten away with. The total reached into the tens of thousands. He then trotted out witnesses, army payroll masters, and railroad presidents who all testified to the havoc caused by the defendant, Neil July.