THE CONDEMNED
Book 1 – Rowen
*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content.
Chapter 8
Acceptance
Rowen
frowned. “I had to look at the drawing of that man’s face every day I was
incarcerated inside that jail cell. It’s him. Question is, does the sheriff
know it? Here.” He handed the borrowed rifle back to the man. “I gotta go see
if Melfry’s aware of it.”
“Come back
to the stables when you’re done telling him, and let me know what he said,”
Zwick ordered.
Giving a
nod at the man, Rowen hurried to find the sheriff.
Melfry was at
the jailhouse. He was standing behind his desk and studying some papers he’d
spread out when Rowen came through the door. The sheriff glanced up. “You need
something, Mr. Taylor?”
“That big
guy on the horse, he’s Ossie Chapman, isn’t he?”
Melfry
turned back to his papers. “Looks that way. I came back here to double-check.
So you think it’s him, too?”
“Count on
it,” Rowen agreed. “Question is, he’s heading for…where’d you send him?”
“Chamberlain.”
“Shouldn’t
somebody warn them?”
The sheriff
smiled. “I trust Marshall Loving will be able to handle things on that end. For
now, we just have to keep our eyes peeled in case Chapman and his gang return.”
He raised an eyebrow at Rowen. “How’d you know who he was?”
Glancing
over at the wall, Rowen noticed the wanted poster was missing. He pointed to
the bare spot. “You used to have his mug shot hanging there for me to look at
every day I was held here.”
That
elicited a chuckle from the lawman. “Well, I hope we’re both right. In the
meantime, I need to talk with a few people about providing backup in case he
does show up again. If he does, and I call him out by name, I’m certain he
won’t take kindly to being recognized.”
“Is that
why you didn’t call him by name? Because you weren’t positive it was him?”
Rowen questioned.
“That, and
the fact that I’d need a bit more firepower behind me if I let him know I was
on to him.” The man scratched the back of his head. “Oh, I noticed you holding
a rifle back there. Are you a pretty good marksman?”
“It was a
prop,” Rowen admitted. “Hamp made me take it while we backed you up.”
Pursing his
lips, the sheriff nodded. “Well, I appreciate the help. So I take it you don’t
know a sight from a hammer, eh?”
Rowen
chuckled. “I can point and pull the trigger. That’s pretty much my entire
knowledge about firearms.”
Melfry
answered with his own chuckle. “In a lot of cases, that’s all that’s required
of most people.” Reaching down, he gathered up the papers on his desk,
including what Rowen discovered was the missing wanted poster. Rolling them up
into a tube, the man tied it with a piece of twine. “Listen, I need to go
handle some business. Thanks again for your help. I might need it again.”
Rowen
stepped out of the doorway to let the man exit. Knowing he had no further
business here, he returned to the stables.
It was drawing near sunset when
Rowen finished cleaning out the stalls and laying out fresh hay for the horses boarded
there. Zwick exited his office as Rowen was re-racking the shovel and rake.
“Here.” The
owner held out his hand, palm up.
Rowen
stared at the two coins lying there, then gave the man a puzzled look. “What’s
that for?”
Zwick
chuckled. “It’s Saturday, son. Payday. Yeah, I know you haven’t been here a
full week, but it’s only right I pay you for the time you’ve worked. Here.”
Rowen took
the coins without hesitation. “What about tomorrow? Don’t I come in tomorrow?”
“It’s
Sunday. Day of rest.”
Rowen
raised a hand to indicate the animals in their stalls. Before he could speak, the
owner nodded.
“Don’t
worry. The horses will still get fed and watered. I come in before church
service and let them out into the pasture, throw out a bit of hay, and then
bring them back in later that afternoon. You…” The man pointed a finger at him.
“Go get yourself some clean clothes to wear. Wash up, and don’t drink up the
rest of your earnings at the saloon. I’ll see you Monday morning.”
Not waiting
for Rowen to say anything more, the man sauntered back toward the office, when
he stopped and turned around. “Oh. Thanks for watching my back. Now all we
gotta do is teach you how to load and shoot. Think you’re up to it?”
Rowen gave
him a wry grin. “I don’t have much choice if I plan to stay around, do I?”
That
comment got a surprised look from the older man, including a grunt before he
went back inside and closed the door behind him.
He went to
the mercantile, hoping it would still be open, but like most of the town,
everything shut down come dusk. All except for the saloon, which stayed open
until heaven knew when. Realizing he had no other choice but to head for the
inn, he went around the back way to take the rear entrance so his smelly
appearance wouldn’t put off the other boarders, or piss off Mrs. Mayflower to
the point where she’d put him out on the street.
The tub
she’d promised was there and half filled with water. He tested it. It was cold.
“But it’s clean,” he told himself. A large bar of soap and a rag sat on a
nearby stool.
Rowen
stripped and immersed himself in the tub. After days of not bathing, the cold
water was a welcome luxury despite its temperature. He allowed himself to lie
there, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds around him.
Almost
immediately, visions of his confrontation with Assemblyman General Campanelli
and the gaggle of armed officers came back to haunt him. He saw his friends and
cohorts shackled and on their knees, awaiting their turn on the conduit. Their
terrified expressions masked his own.
That was
replaced with the faces of his mother and sister, and his heart twisted with
the realization that they’d never know what happened to him. They’d never be
told why he wouldn’t be coming back home. Rowen felt the tears rolling down the
sides of his face and into his ears, and he angrily swiped at them.
“It won’t
do you any good to think of them now,” he berated himself. “What’s done is
done. I can never go back.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “My God, they haven’t
even been born yet!”
His stomach
cramped, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in a while. “I probably missed dinner.
Oh, well. It won’t be the first time, and probably not the last.”
As much as
he would have liked to spend more time in the water, he knew he had other
things to do before he could crash for the night. Using the bar of soap, which
he could tell was homemade and as big as his hand, he scrubbed himself down,
including his hair and beard. That done, he tackled his clothes, working the
suds into the stained fabric as best he could before rinsing them out.
Climbing
out, he discovered a towel draped over a rod near the door leading into the
inn. He used it to dry off, wrapped it around his waist, and gathered up his
wet things before going to his room.
He was
surprised to discover a pair of pants and a shirt lying folded on the bed.
There was also a note sitting on top of them.
These
aren’t much. Just some old clothes my husband used to wear. I figured they
might fit you.
The
note wasn’t signed, but he suspected he knew who his generous benefactor was.
Rowen
slipped on the pants. They were a bit big on him, but the length of rope
hanging in the belt loops helped to secure them above his hips. He was about to
try on the shirt when a knock came on the door.
“Mr.
Taylor? You in there?”
He opened
it to find Mrs. Mayflower standing in the hallway. “Good evening.”
“Good
evening to you, too. I thought I saw you sneaking around to the back. Oh. I see
you found the clothes I left for you.” It was clear her seeing him standing
there half naked embarrassed her, but he tried to remain as casual as possible
so she wouldn’t bolt.
“Yes, I
did. And I found the tub of water. Thank you so much. I tried to go by the
mercantile to see if I could buy something to wear tomorrow, but they were
already closed.” He flashed her a smile. “I was a bit late finishing up at the
stables.”
“Hamp kept
you late?” the older woman pressed.
“It
couldn’t be helped,” Rowen tried to explain, but the woman huffed angrily.
“So that’s
why you missed dinner.”
Once more,
Rowen attempted to apologize, but Mrs. Mayflower wouldn’t have it.
“Listen.
I’ll go have Clara fix you a plate and set it out for you. You wouldn’t mind
eating in the kitchen with the help, would you?”
“No, ma’am.
Not at all.”
“All righty
then.” She bobbed her head and waved a hand at him. “Put your shirt on and come
eat. I don’t want word getting out that I don’t feed my guests.”
Rowen watched the woman hurry away down the hall, then pulled on the shirt that was also too big for him, but fit no longer mattered. Promising himself that he’d spread out his wet clothes to dry when he returned, he left his room to seek out the kitchen.
TO BE CONTINUED
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