(A single mother trying to do her best by her daughter finds out that the Wild West was a little wilder than she previously imagined.
This story first appeared online in 2008 under the title "Her Day in Court." I restore the original title here.)
Caitlin Murphy’s heart pounded as she raced backstage, ignoring the applause coming from the main room of the saloon.
“Big crowd, Miss Caitlin. Mr. Sullivan will want you to do an encore.”
Caitlin looked up to see the puppy-dog eyes of Hank, the saloon’s janitor, who also doubled as the theater’s stagehand. Past middle age, Hank was as gentle as a child and on the simple side. Caitlin did not like playing the gentle soul for a fool, but she was desperate.
“If he comes looking for me, would you please tell him that I have a headache or something.” She would have said womanly troubles, only it would have embarrassed the stagehand so much he would not have been able to talk.
“Well, alright Miss Caitlin. But he’ll be awfully sore.”
“You’re a dear, dear man, Hank.” She went on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. No harm done, as she would not be staying in the saloon another night. “Oh, and if anyone else comes looking for me, I’m not receiving any callers.”
Without waiting for a response, Caitlin picked up her skirts and ran up the stairs. She slammed the door behind her, her eyes scanning her room frantically for Molly, her daughter.
The eight-year-old’s emerald eyes looked up from the book she was reading. Homer. In the original Greek. The surprise on her face faded in just a moment.
“Papa.”
Caitlin nodded. Somehow Molly always knew. “You know where the travel bags are. Get Momma’s out. We’re going on a trip. Maybe to San Francisco this time. I bet there are a lot of books there you haven’t read yet.”
Molly simply nodded, and began wrestling a carpetbag from the closet that was almost as large as she was. She was beaming again by the time she got her own bag out of the closet and onto the bed. “Oh! I may get to practice my Cantonese. That could be fun.”
“Good girl.” Caitlin ducked behind her dressing screen and willed her pulse to calm enough so she could change from her stage clothes to traveling clothes. Stupid. She was so stupid. Just because they had had a few months of relative security here in Cottonwood Falls, she shouldn’t have started hoping that David would have given up his hunt for Molly. David thought of Molly as his, and he always said he took care of what was his.
Caitlin struggled with a final hook on her dress and then went to the cashbox on the nightstand. Good. Enough to buy two tickets to anywhere. They might even be able to change trains once or twice to throw off the scent. If they had time. Caitlin stuffed a third of the money into a purse and then divided the rest among her garters and the front of her dress.
“Now then, a few final things for me and a note for Mr. Sullivan asking him to sent the rest when we’re–”
A knock at the door. “Miss Caitlin? Caitlin Murphy?”
Caitlin bit her bottom lip so hard she drew blood. No denying it now. No one in this town knew her by that surname. Maybe if she let Molly out the window, she could stall long enough for her daughter to get to safety. She didn’t think David had anyone in the street watching the alley.
The knock sounded again. “Miss Caitlin? I am very sorry to disturb you, but it’s most important that I speak with you. It’s about your daughter.”
Caitlin clenched her fist, about to smash the window when, Molly moved forward. Before Caitlin could react, her daughter opened the door. Caitlin was there in a shot to pull her daughter away, but the damage had been done.
The man standing in the doorway was the same one who had spooked her in the audience with the way he had been studying her. He was incredibly short, just shy of being a dwarf, and dressed in a very new, very expensive brown suit. A golden watch chain gleamed from his vest. Pudgy hands played with the brim of a bowler hat, which had uncovered dark brown hair neatly combed, parted on the right. The lamp in the room glistened off eyeglasses so thick that they obscured the color of the man’s eyes.
He ignored Caitlin completely at first, and instead offered Molly a profound bow. “Salve, puella bela.”
Molly laughed and gave a little curtsey. “Salve, magister animarum.”
The little man chuckled in turn and looked up at Caitlin, to find her Derringer aimed at his head. Caitlin watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Madam–”
“Your specs. Take them off.”
The short man’s Adam’s apple bobbed again. “My eyeglasses?”
The Derringer made a cold figure eight in the man’s forehead. “I’m not joking, mister. Take them off. Now.”
With a quick glance aside to Molly, the small man did as he had been ordered. He blinked up at Caitlin with watery eyes. Eyes that were a perfect chestnut brown.
Caitlin felt her legs relax, but she kept her gun fixed on the man. “State your name and your business. Quickly.”
“Smith. Mr. John Smith, esquire.”
It was Caitlin’s turn to be surprised. “You’re a lawyer?”
“Indeed. I’m here about your daughter, Miss Caitlin.”
Caitlin’s fingers tensed against the Derringer. “I told her father that he would never get his slimy–”
“You misunderstand me, Miss Caitlin. I am indeed here about Molly. But as her advocate. And yours. I, or should I say, certain parties who have contracted my services, want to ensure that you have the complete and legal custody of your daughter. In perpetuum.”
The Derringer trembled. To be free of David. To stop living on the run. It sounded too good to be true. “The girl’s father... I’m not sure he sets much store by courts or laws.” Caitlin studied the small man carefully before she continued. “He certainly doesn’t recognize the authority of any judge around here.”
The lawyer smiled and replaced his eyeglasses. “Trust me, Madam. He will recognize the jurisdiction of this court. Or the penalties will be far more severe than a fine or a night in jail.”
Trust. So easy to ask for, so hard to give. Molly’s father had asked Caitlin to trust him. And then he had shown his true colors. Literally. Oh, there was something compelling about this Mr. Smith, but Caitlin had learned long ago to put no stock in the words men said in the upstairs rooms of saloons.
A tug at Caitlin’s skirt. “Momma.”
Caitlin pressed her daughter against her hip. “Yes, my heart. What do you think of Mr. Smith’s offer?”
“I think we should go with him.”
Caitlin sighed and looked down into her daughter’s shining eyes. Still, Molly had a skill at reading people far beyond Caitlin’s own. She had never been wrong before. The Derringer disappeared back into Caitlin’s dress.
“Alright, Mr. Smith. We’re already packed. Where’s this court of yours, and how long will it take to get there?”
Smith took out his pocket watch and opened it. The device looked impossibly large in his small hand, and Caitlin had never so many dials and hands on a watch before. “Just a moment or two, Madam. If you would take my hand, and Molly yours.”
Well, she should probably shake on the deal, even if she still had her doubts. Why that meant the man couldn’t answer a simple question, she didn’t know. But Caitlin grasped Smith’s right hand and made sure Molly had her left. Her girl was staring up at the ceiling, almost as if she were trying to see something above the roof in the night sky beyond.
A faint tingle ran up Caitlin’s spine, and her eyes went wide. “What–”
She didn’t have time to finish. Smith did something with his watch, and it felt like a trapdoor opened under Caitlin. Her stomach sickened as if she were falling, falling, falling. Only the trapdoor had opened above her. She was surrounded by a million spinning stars. And she cursed all men and all lawyers under her breath.
The falling sensation stopped suddenly in a cool burst of blue light. It took Caitlin’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit chamber. The black of the walls was so intense that it hurt the eyes to look at them for too long. The room was so high that Caitlin could not see the ceiling. Directly in front of her was a rounded podium at least twice her height, at which sat three robed and hooded figures.
(To be continued...)
Oh, very well done. I love it! I knew I would enjoy your writing right here:
"I bet there are a lot of books there you haven't read yet." Such a seemingly throw away line, but it tells me oodles about this woman, her child, and their relationship.
Thank you for adding to the supply of quality fiction on Steemit, and if you would like to meet some other creatives here, stop by The Isle of Write Discord server and give me a shout. I'm @Just Jess (jrhughes) on there ;)
I've resteemed and you have a new follower. Can't wait to read the rest of this!
LOL I'm glad I'm improving as a writer. It took me 9 paragraphs to hook you!
Seriously, I'm so very glad you enjoyed the story enough to stick it out to the end. And thank you for the invitation. I'm still figuring out how Steemit works best for me; Discord will likely be the next step, but it may take me a while.
I'll be re-presenting some of my older stories here, but expect new content too, as I get around to finishing it. I even have a few ideas for a serial story or three...
Again, thank you so much!
Haha! It didn't really take nine paragraphs to hook me. I've just been recently burned by something that started out pretty great then halfway through the first page it was like a child took over the writing... Just the author totally threw in the towel or something.
That was such a great line, I knew then I wouldn't see a similar display from you ;)
As for navigating Steemit, it can be a hassle, and a lot of the Discord activity (ours included) is there to sort of shortcut the process. Steemit is a place you only succeed by followership, but it's set up so that it's ridiculously hard to engage people on more than the most passing level.
Joining a place like the Isle lets you share your work and yourself enough that people actually want to follow your blog. And not just because they hope you'll follow back, but because they truly have found content they enjoy. Which means fewer "dead followers" and more engaged upvoters ;)
Any time you feel ready to stop by, give me a holler in the Pub or tell Thunder God I sent you and you'll be warmly welcomed.
Hi @haikufictiondju. A Treasure Hunter from the Isle of Write found this story to be a gem worthy of curating and, if you accept, publication in our upcoming anthology series.
This post explains our curation project and what this means for you! A 5 SBD reward should appear in your wallet momentarily. Please navigate to the The Isle of Write on Discord and type @TreasureHunter into any chat to inform us of your arrival. As soon as possible an Isle Treasure Hunter will contact you to answer any questions you may have and verify if you would like to be included in the publication.
Congratulations, and thank you for sharing your talent with the Steemit Fiction community!
art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics
I appreciate this so very much. However, I'm not sure that this story is eligible for the curation project as its appearance on Steemit is not its first appearance. It is a re-presentation of something I first had published several years ago at the (no longer updated) website www.spacewesterns.com.
If...reprints (for lack of a better word) are acceptable for the curation project, I'm happy to take part...
Absolutely! As long as it's on Steemit "first" to be curated...There must be a better way to say that, lol. So first as in before the anthologies, but not first time ever.
Quite a nice little tale you got going here.
Glad you're enjoying it!