Annie Atkin

I’d eat an entire yard of lace before admitting it out loud, but the bonnets in the front window of Hoffsteder’s General Store are some of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen. The center one, made of straw plaited with emerald velvet, sports a wide brim, one side turned up, and spills ribbons and silk flowers down the back. An actual stuffed bird perches atop it, looking so real I half expect it to burst into song. 

Ma’s always going on about how emerald sets off the green in my pond-water eyes, and for once, I’m curious. Pa’s in my ear, too, quick with his usual there’s gold in them ponds retort. He’d probably tell me I don’t need a fancy hat to be pretty, but we both know he’s a liar. My slow grin dies as fast as he did. 

“You coming, or what?” Cole stands in the doorway, squinting past the late-morning sun. My younger brother is the spit of Ma, all big, brown eyes and wavy golden hair. Too bad all that pretty got wasted on a boy, and here I’m stuck looking like Pa.

My thumb and forefinger shove into the corners of my eyes, pinching back tears before they can even think of spilling out. “You need me to hold your hand?” I call, voice gruff enough to hide the waver Pa’s memory always puts there.

Cole scowls and disappears inside. With a quick swat at my cheeks to be sure they’re dry, I follow. The air inside the general store is warm but welcoming, spiced as it is with the odd mixture of leather, herbs, coffee beans, and old pine shelving. There’s an off-key humming coming from the back room beyond the counter—Mrs. Hoffsteder taking inventory, no doubt—and my brother’s clomping footsteps as he explores each corner and crevice of the over-stuffed store.

Those damn hats catch me again as I pass, causing me to hesitate. Beside them, the plate glass window throws a distorted reflection, making my small eyes smaller, my sharp nose sharper, stretching my face rounder. I know I’m more plain than homely, but damn if those carnival features don’t make me want to remedy them fast. I glance around the dim store, but my brother is nowhere in sight amongst all the boxes and shelves. With careful fingers, I reach out and stroke the bird’s silky tail feather.

“What are you doing?” Cole’s voice comes from right behind me, making me jump and snatch my hand back. Lord, but the pest sure can be quiet when he puts his mind to it.

“Nothing.”

He smirks. “You’d look mighty fine in that hat.” He props his hand on one jutted hip and bats his long eyelashes at me before strutting grotesquely down the crammed aisle. 

“Knock it off.” 

“Oh, Miss Maggie,” Cole says, his voice high and breathy, “you look so stylish!”  

As he spins back toward me, his bony elbow clips a stack of rope, nearly sending the whole display to the floor. I catch the edge and push it back into place. “Quit or you’ll get us thrown out.”

“You should try it on.”

“Let’s just get the barbed wire and go.”

Cole steps in front of me before I can flee. “Aw, come on, Maggie, I was just teasin’. Try it on.”

“We can’t afford it anyway,” I hiss. The narrow walkways crowd me, despite us being the only patrons in the store. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not done looking.” His voice cracks as he whines. 

A frustrated sigh gets trapped in my throat. It’s one of our favorite activities, something we’ve done together since he first started toddling around. Seems every time we come to town, Hoffsteder’s has a whole mess of new and interesting artifacts for sale, and Cole and I like to see which of us can find the most exotic item. I usually win, but Cole says that’s only ‘cause I’ve been at it longer.

“Well, hurry up and look.” My gaze snags on the rolls of barbed wire stacked along the back wall. The single gold eagle in my pocket weighs heavy, like it’s reminding me why we’re here. 

Cole’s already darted away. I let him have his fun while I weave my way around a crate of books and squeeze between two barrels of flour to the back of the store. The barbed wire is rolled tight enough the pointy bits aren’t much of a concern, but I’m still careful as I lift the heavy roll into my arms.

“Don’t prick yourself,” Cole says at my side, startling me again.

“Quit doing that!”

“Want me to carry it?” He holds out his scrawny arms.

“I’ve got it, just get out of my way.” 

He drops his arms and steps aside. “Think I can get some licorice, too?” He follows so close behind me, I can feel his toes brushing the backs of my feet.

“We’ve only got enough for essentials.”

“Maybe we can put it on credit?”

Our credit is stretched so thin already, my stomach is more tangled than the wire in my arms as I add a ten-pound sack each of rice and flour to our order at the counter. Fortunately, I get little more than a raised eyebrow from Hoffsteder himself as I hand over the ten-dollar piece. Last time we came in, he gave me a good long lecture about how credit’s only worth something if we’re good for it. Once the harvest comes in and the pigs go to market, we’ll be able to pay off our debts but for now, I grin sheepishly and thank him for his kindness one more time before kicking Cole out the door ahead of me. 

With the supplies in hand, the only thing left for us to do is retrieve our elder brother. We load our farm wagon hitched in front of the general store, then I turn toward the seedier part of Bluff City. 

Main Street is lined with reputable businesses: the general store, a tidy hotel, the surgeon’s office. At the end of the dusty road just past the bank, the church stands tall, keeping a watchful eye on Bluff City. The jailhouse squats across from the Gazette building, and behind that, all hell is liable to break loose any given night. Cathouses compete for the drunks stumbling out of the Bell and Iron Saloon—those who wouldn’t rather take their pick of the ladies offering themselves alongside the beverages within. Drinking, dicing, cards, or whores—whatever a person’s vice, the aptly-named Defiance Row will provide. And that’s where I’m sure to find Jonah.

Bile coats the back of my throat. I’m no stranger to unpleasant work, though, so I square my shoulders and start walking.

The stench of tobacco smoke and spilled whiskey tumbles through the entrance to the Bell and Iron. Outside, the early autumn sun still sits high above the town rooflines, but inside, it’s dark and dank as the sins being committed.

“Welp,” Cole says, “Jonah ain’t gonna rescue himself.”

“Isn’t.” I snag his collar before he can move through the door. “And I told you to wait with the wagon.”

He scowls but shuffles back to make room for me. With one last gulp of fresh air, I enter the saloon. 

It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. Gas lights do little beyond reflecting off the clouds of smoke leaking from the lips of about every man in here. A few women drift between the tables, flouncy dresses drooping down their shoulders. Their squawking laughter rises above the general buzz of conversation and the hearty plunking of a battered piano in the back corner. 

“Something I can do for you, pet?” Sidney Ritter leans over the bar, tan skin tinged gold by the closest lamp. He’s not a bad guy, considering, and one of Jonah’s oldest friends, but the way he looks at me leaves my skin feeling all creepy-crawly. 

Rather than engage, I return to searching for my brother. There, in the middle of the room: he sits at a table with three cowboys I vaguely recognize from past summers. He’s leaning back in his chair, eyes on his game—though the eyes of just about every woman in here keep falling on him. Both my brothers: too pretty for their own good.

“Jonah.” I push my way over to him. “Time to go, come on.”

He doesn’t even look up from the cards in his hand, but one of the cowboys does. His pale, bloodshot gaze travels as much of my body as he can see without ducking under the table. For once, I wish I’d put on a dress—in this sin-steeped room, trousers don’t leave enough to the imagination. “Don’t be too hasty,” the man says.

This gets Jonah’s attention. “That’s my sister.”

His voice is hard enough to make the cowboy’s gaze drop to his cards without another word. I wait, but Jonah doesn’t look at me or move to rise. “Jonah?”

“I’m not done here.” He scratches at his chin, his eyes back on his hand. 

Della prowls past me, bumping her hip into mine. “Knew you’d show up.”

“What choice did I have?” Maybe I’m too curt with my best friend, but I’m less comfortable on her turf than she is on mine. I just want to grab my brother and return home.

“Go on, Maggie,” Jonah says as if he’s read my mind. “I’ll be along shortly.” He tosses a few coins into the center pot already piled with banknotes, gold eagles, and a few odds and ends. “Call.”

“Don’t you waste any more money—” I look at the pile again. “Is that Pa’s pocket watch?” 

It gleams in the low light, half-buried beneath a few bills and a dented flask. Blood rages in my ears, churning like the ice-chunked Missouri in dead winter. 

Jonah folds his cards into one hand and finally gives me his full attention. “It is. Now leave me in peace so I can win it back.”

My hands tremble with the urge to throttle him and I shake my head. My gaze catches on a familiar form at the bar, blond hair visible over the top of a soiled dove’s tousled head.

“Dammit, Cole,” I mutter. To Jonah, I say, “You better win, or don’t bother coming home.”

Jonah mutters something, too low for me to hear. Probably for the best to let him think he’s gotten the last word, anyhow. I’m already winding my way back to the bar, where Sidney is pouring my little brother a glass of whiskey. 

“We’re not paying for that,” I say as Cole reaches for the drink.

“First one’s on the house,” Sidney says with a grin. The low light catches in the creases of his forehead, giving him a predatory look as he eyes my brother.

Cole beams and gulps down half, and we both watch as he struggles not to grimace before a coughing fit gets the better of him. 

“He’s still a child,” I say.

“Am not!” Cole gasps. “Be fourteen come May,” he assures the girl, who’s managed to hang onto his arm throughout his conniption. 

“As it’s only September, you’re a lot closer to thirteen, now get back outside.” 

His nostrils flare and his gaze is like the barbed wire we just purchased as he lifts the glass again.

“Don’t you do it,” I warn.

He throws back what’s left of the whiskey and slams the glass on the counter. This time, his face contorts, but he manages a grotesque sort of smirk as he coughs. Dignity intact—I assume—he pushes off the stool to his feet. 

The girl’s hands fall away from his arm as he turns toward the door. “Come back and visit me,” she says with a wink, making him blush so deeply it’s obvious even in the muted light. 

“What is wrong with you?” I say. She doesn’t respond with more than a searing glare before charging back into the haze.

“Kid’s got to grow up sometime, Maggie,” Sidney says, as if I’m the unreasonable one. “Little whiskey won’t kill him.”

I almost tell him to parent his own children and stay out of my brother’s upbringing. It’s a sad matter of truth that Jonah and men like Sidney are all Cole’s got anymore in the way of father figures, so I bite my tongue and take my leave.

The sun is waiting to blind me soon as I step outside, a reprimand for where I’ve been. Fresh air—laced as it is with horse manure and soot from the blacksmith’s down the way—chases the stale breath from my lungs, washing me clean.

I find Cole slumped against the side of our wagon. Jonah’s horse, Ace, is tied behind it. They both watch me approach, a glower squinting Cole’s brown eyes. “Quit treating me like a baby.”

“Quit acting like one.” I give Pa’s old mare, Marigold, a pat on the neck, then lean beside my brother.

He kicks a clod of dirt. “I don’t feel good,” he mutters. 

No shit. His face is flushed and eyes slightly unfocused when I lean forward to tell him I told him so. “I’m sure Jonah will be able to help,” I say instead. 

“Is he coming soon?”

“Who knows?” He used to be dependable, but he’s gotten reckless since we lost Pa. When a cattle train ends in town and all the freshly-paid cowboys descend on the Bell and Iron’s poker tables, Jonah can’t resist a game. I think again of Pa’s pocket watch buried with other worthless valuables and my rage reignites. 

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Jonah strolls around the corner, a carefree whistle on his lips. Cole straightens and pushes his light hair from his face, as if the casual motion might hide the fact he’s been drinking. 

“Well?” I say. “Did you win?”

In response, Jonah breaks into a grin and holds up a sack of coins. 

“Whoa!” Cole takes it and starts counting.

I’m still looking at Jonah. “And the watch?”

“Oh ye of little faith.” He pulls the watch from his pocket, dangling it by its chain. I snatch it before he can tuck it back out of sight.

“You don’t deserve this.” My thumb rubs at a fingerprint on the brushed silver surface.

“I’m the oldest. Should be mine.”

“I’m the most responsible.” 

When Jonah lunges for the watch, I drop it down the front of my shirt.

“Oh, very mature, Margaret.”

“There’s over fifty dollars here!” Cole says, his glossy eyes wide. Before Jonah can respond, I take those winnings, too.

“Take it,” Jonah says, as if I needed permission. “I won it for the farm, after all.”

He can justify his recklessness all he wants. I’m still not ready to forgive him for risking Pa’s heirloom.

Jonah waits until we’re on the road home to ask for it back. 

“So you can gamble it away again?” I say. “Not a chance.”

“It’s not like we’ve got extra cash lying around. It helps sweeten the pot.”

I pluck a ten-dollar gold eagle from the winnings and pass it across to Jonah. “Save this for the next time your friends come to Bluff City.”

His hand closes around the coin and my fingers and he leans close enough for me to smell stale tobacco clinging to his shirt. “It ain’t gambling if I know I’ll win.”

“Isn’t. Shit, you’re as bad as him.” I jerk my head behind us at Cole, dangling his legs off the back of the wagon.

“You have a dirty mouth, young lady.” Jonah’s dark eyes crinkle at the edges as he smirks.

“You can’t guarantee a win every time,” I fire back.  

“Not every time, no, but only ‘cause that would be suspicious.”

When I raise an eyebrow at him, he winks.

“Jonah Bennett! You cheat?”

“It’s only cheating if I get caught. And before you start lecturing, Pa taught me that.” 

He looks at me, a smug challenge in his eyes, but I believe it. Pa was a good man—a great man—but his scruples could be a bit shifty. Ma blames the war. Pa never talked about it, so I guess we’ll never know for sure.

“I like to think he’s laughing every time I bet his pocket watch on a stacked hand,” Jonah adds.

The wagon bumps and jostles over the ruts in the dirt path leading to our home from the main road. 

“Neither of you will be laughing if you’re caught.”

Jonah waves his hand. “I don’t do it all that often, and only with drifters. It’s not like I’m taking advantage of townsfolk.”

I wonder at his need to clarify. I glance at him, but a retching sound pulls both our heads around. Cole clings to the buckboard’s side, face gray-pale and sheened with sweat. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles.

“Sidney gave him whiskey,” I tell Jonah, who laughs.

“Good ol’ Sid!” He vaults over the bench to join Cole and slaps him on the back. I shake my head at the both of them. 

Jonah’s right: at twenty-one, he’s the oldest by three years, and in a lot of ways he’s stepped into our father’s shoes just fine. But when it comes to keeping my brothers out of trouble, somehow that task has fallen to me.

Lord, what a task it is.