The Ladies of the Landing(Charles E.J. Moulton) The Ladies of the Landing

A Western by Charles E.J. Moulton

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Twenty years it had hung there, the pendulum swinging back and forth, its brown oak wood by now old and dusty just like forgotten preachers, long forgotten by most, remembered by only a few. It seemed it was the only sound in the entire place and the only thing that kept it alive. The old clock ticked and tocked as it had done since 1833. Back when it was new. A gift from someone special.

Barnaby looked up from his whiskey glasses, from the dusty floorboards. From the empty sandy streets outside. From the swing doors. From the wooden tables. From the sheriff's office across the street.
His eyes didn't glance.
They stared.

"Six minutes," the only customer croaked. "He'll be here soon."

Barnaby looked down, away from the two girls on the landing, one of them smoking a pipe and the other chewing on a straw, both of them in scanty underwear, looking like Godesses, his own eyes now glancing at the toothless man by the table.

"Whatcha do to him anyway?" the girl with the pipe mused in a husky voice that sounded more male than female.

Barnaby wiped the counter and waited for a moment while thinking about the hullabaloo. His words seemed not to be wanting to form. They stuck in his mouth like fish to glue.
The toothless bum looked up at the two girls, upnodding them, grinning a rather fleshy grin. "He messed up," the bum said. Barnaby waited. What had he done?

"I think the cat got his tongue."

The girl with the straw laughed, taking out the hay she'd chewed on for ten minutes now. "The cat hasn't got it. I do."

"That's a straw," the girl with the pipe said.

"Barnie never says much," the other girl replied. "That's why his tongue is so thin."

"The guy's my nephew," Barnaby interrupted. He loved the girls, but their tough remarks got on his nerves.

A grass ball flew past the saloon on the dusty street and as the sheriff rode past the saloon on his horse, a cloud darkened the sun. It was high noon in Gloversville.

"Doggone," the bum croaked. "I'm glad my sister kicked me out."

"Why?" the straw-girl snapped.

"Family like that will make you happy to have friends."

"My brother and I have been fighting for years," Barnaby sighed, sounding like an empty gold mine, "and I tried to make amends by helping with his cattle, but I might have mislaid a few cows."

"How the heck do you mislay cows?" the pipe-girl sang.

"If there's a raging bull galloping in their direction, some of them will run," Barnaby shrugged. "These ladies run amok, if they want to."

"I'll be darned," the bum laughed, knocking back the second of three whiskeys lined up on his little table close to the bar.

There was more of that awkward silence in the saloon. The straw-girl smacked on her hay and winced. "So now the mackerel is gonna come here and shoot you?"

"Swift-moving and streamlined, if you ask me," the pipe-girl muttered. "Men like that are like sharks." She snapped with her teeth and both girls laughed.

"The cows ran down the street into the blacksmith's shop and killed one of the apprentices," Barnaby said. "My nephew. My brother's other son is coming to get me."

The toothless bum smacked with his lips, looking like he was hoping to sleep, waiting to hear the end of the story. "To do what?"

"I'm sending Josh to do to you what you have done to me. An eye for an eye. That's what my brother said."

Barnaby looked up at the clock.

"Two minutes."

"You better run, squirrel," the bum spat.

"I own this place," Barnaby said. "I go and it goes with me."

"I have some string in my bedroom, Barnie," the straw-girl giggled, "tie it to the porch and try to pull the saloon with you."

The pipe-girl nudged her friend. "It might work, ya know. This place is made of cheap wood."

"We like cheap stuff. That's why we work here."

"This is work?"

The laughter died out as soon as the saloon swing doors opened just to reveal a tall man in leather boots, a plaid shirt, a black vest and a very large hat. His filthy hands were tucked in the gun belt. His slow breathing revealed the lungs of a Tucker. It had to be Josh.

The ticking of the clock continued as the one indicator had not yet clicked into the full hour.

"You're early."

Twelve bongs later and the world was silent.

"My Dad always taught me to be one minute ahead of my time," the cowboy whispered in a low tone that had the girls tingle in places they didn't know existed. "That way, I'll always be able to shoot the other guy in the back."

"That's a very cowardly thing to do, Squirt," the toothless bum reprimanded.

"I'm facing the front, cowboy," Barnaby answered, "if you wanna shoot me because the cows escaped and accidentally killed your brother, go ahead. But don't expect to get wings for it. Your Dad is a runt and cowlicker. The angels like me."

The cowboy walked in, letting the dust dance in the incoming sunlight. His spurs clicked on the wooden floor, creating an interesting rhythm with the ticks of the clock.

The cowboy took out the gun from his belt, aiming it at Barnaby's head. "This is loaded."

"Oops," the bum whisked, gulping down his third whiskey.

Barnaby saw the man's grey three day beard and the one scar he had gotten over in Oklahoma City at the bar brawl.

"Didn't you want to send Josh?" Barnaby whispered.

Frederick Tucker, the brother Barnaby said he hated, slowly lowered his gun and lift his hat with the pipe. "My son got his intestines severely rearranged, but the doc gave him a week's rest. He should be all right."

"I'm happy I didn't cause too much trouble," Barnaby sighed, pouring up two whiskeys.

He raised his glass, waiting for Fred to lift his.

"You did," Fred spat, knocking back the drink. Barnaby drank, too, although carefully, waiting for his brother's next move.

"Sorry about the cows," Barnaby drawled, "but they just were too unruly. Four of them were constantly out of the herd. When that bull ran up, they went hog wild, pardon the pun."

"Real cowboys have tricks to repair that," Fred drooled.

"I'm not a real cowboy, Fred," Barnaby snapped, "I used to be twenty years ago before father died."

"Then what are you, sucker?"

"A brother that wants to make amends, Fred. I have nightmares. We used to be good friends."

"Why you hate him?" the pipe-girl swayed. "He does a good job of managing this saloon and he treats us girls good. Don't you now, honey cakes?"

Barnaby looked up at Louella. "You know I love you, baby."

"And you can have us both," the straw-girl smooched.

"I know, Susie. Thanks."

"Well, church bells are ringing," Fred cringed. "Bring in the mormons."

"Is this about me being the favorite?"

"The favorite?" Fred laughed. "Since when were you the favorite?" Fred gestured with his glass and Barnaby unwillingly poured him a second one.

"A third one will cost you." Barnaby cocked his head and arranged a few bottles, turning his back to his brother. "I got more money after Dad died. I got the nicer girls. I met the president."

"You never married."

"But I did sleep with more girls."

"I have the biggest cow herd in the west," Fred whispered. "So who cares? You were born a thief and a liar."

"So whatchoo on about?" Barnaby said, turning around. Now, the Colt Peacemaker was cocked again and ready to fire, aiming at Barnaby's head.

"Ah might jus' kill you anyway for being a yellow belly."

"The sheriff's office is next door and he's in," Barnaby said. "Hope you like bad boys, bars and beans."

"We have long fingernails," Louella said.

"And just because I ain't got teeth, don't mean I can't bite," the toothless bum said, flashing his flesh. The bum looked up at the ladies. "And I have been told my kisses are as sweet as honey."

"I like my man with teeth," the straw-girl sang. "But I love you anyway, Petie."

"You can always get some sweet lovin' in this old mouth, baby," the bum glissandoed. "And I will defend you, bartender."

"Thanks, Petie, but I gotta settle this on my own terms. What do you want, Fred?"

"You took her away from me."

"She left, Fred."

"I was gonna propose," Fred cried.

"How was I supposed to know?"

"I was buying a ring."

"I didn't know who you were dating, " Barnaby snapped. "She ripped me into her salon and made love to me."

"As if."

"I had no idea what was happening."

"You mentioned it at home, Barnaby, and father couldn't take us screaming at each other. He started yelling like crazy. So crazy that he dropped dead out of a heart attack."

"It wasn't my fault, Fred. Lucia left for South America. We never saw her again. She toyed with us."

Fred and Barnaby took a few steps away from each other. The ticking of the clock continued as both of them faced opposite ways.

"I knew it," Petie, the bum, cheered, standing up, his pants falling to the floor, "it's always a woman. This ain't a man's world.  It's a woman's world."

"I'll drink to that," Susie said, picking up a bottle of wine from her feet.

Louella, the pipe-lady, filled up her pipe with new tobacco. "See how powerful we are?"

"Yep," Petie said, pulling up his pants, heading for Susie.

"No way, Petie," Susie, the straw-girl said. "You know how it ended last time."

The saloon doors swung open again and an elegantly dressed man in black walked, his silver star glittering in the sun. "What's going on in here?"

The man took a few steps forward to the middle of the saloon, causing everyone to wait and wonder. It was the authority, the stance and the masculinity, but it also his sense of faith. He gestured toward the ladies on the landing. "I have some tobacco for you, Louella."

"Why, thank you, Sheriff Henderson."

"And you, Susie, have my heart!"

Susie blew him a kiss.

Barnaby sighed a sigh of relief. Maybe he would survive this after all.

"You two on about this gal again? What was her name?"

"Lucia," Fred sneered.

"Sancta Lucia dell mare lucica."

"What?" the bum wondered.

"It's a song, Petie."

"Oh."

The sheriff's horse neighed outside.

"See? Even the horse is pissed off. The whole town hears you once a week ranting about some chick that fooled you twenty years ago to go to South America."

"She left me the clock."

"It was my clock, Barnaby. Lucia gave it to me."

"And you left it with me because it brought back bad memories."

"I regretted doing that."

"Hey, hey, hey, hey," the sheriff said picking up his gun. "This is loaded."

The sheriff strolled around the bar, whisking up dust, looking like a master, getting flirty looks from the girls.
He put the gun back in the holster and pointed at Louella and Susie with hisf.
"Why'd you think men fight over women?"

Petie thought for a minute. It looked like he really made an effort to come up with something. Something really smart. His face lit up. "They're purty."

The girls laughed. "Good boy."

"Yes, they are," the Sheriff agreed.

"And they smell good."

The sheriff nodded, giggling.
"They sure do."

"And sound nice, especially with straws and pipes in their mouths," Petie added.

"Or other things," Louella said.

"Like lollipops," Susie filled in.

"Or chocolate truffles."

"Guys," the Sheriff continued, taking a few steps up the stairs, looking like a man aiming to reach the level of the ladies on the landing. "Women give birth. Women are mothers. We all come from ..."

There was a pause and now the ticking clock did not sound ominous. It had an air of hope.

"... women. We all found hope in the arms of our mothers and hope we find it in the love of our life's women."

The looks of the ladies on the landing were now heartfelt, saccharine, warm, loving, embracing and filled with a breath and beauty. The Sheriff needed only say one word and the three would vanish into a bedroom.

"They'll come a time," the Sheriff drawled, "beyond wars and famine and all humane hatred, when mankind will see that its only saving grace is to be more like women, creatures that bring more honesty to the world. Sometimes, they are fierce, demanding, dominant, usurping, gargantuanly angry, but all that aims to make us humble. Women are the light of the world."

He gestured up toward the ladies, who felt as if they were stars on a Vaudeville stage. He blew them a kiss. They applauded. So did Petie as his pants fell down to the floor again.

The Sheriff quickly ran down the stairs, now with the decisive step of the law, pointing at both brothers. "Look at Susie and Louella. They don't scream at each other over other men. They kiss them. So embrace and make up."

"You expect me to kiss my brother?"

"I expect you to stop dropping in here and disturbing the peace."

Fred sneered. "This is ridiculous."

The Sheriff pulled out his gun and pointed it at Frederick's head. "I know you threatened to kill your brother more than one time, Sucker, and if you ever do, I'll have you hanged. Is that clear?"

Fred looked down, clenching his fists.

"Is that clear, Tucker?"

Fred took a few steps away from the posse, bowed dramatically. "As a bell, boss. I shall never return."

Fred lept out, jumped on his horse and rode off. The assembled people in the saloon remained there for quite a while, not being able to say much.
The Sheriff flirted with the ladies, the bartender wiped his bar and Susie gave Petie some string with which he could tie his pants up. Actually, Susie did it and Petie looked like a schoolboy approached by his loving mother. No one could really let go what had happened.

There were other customers, the pianist arrived and by three o'clock, it was a full house. Petie had left and was now begging for money in the streets. The girls disappeared into their bedrooms for half hours at a time between drinks and Barnaby, well, he didn't know how to deal with Fred's sudden disappearance.

The sun had not yet set when he left Louella to manage the bar while he rode off to search for Fred.
There had been a different look on his face as he left. In spite of Fred actually pointing a gun at him, something in him had awoken. An old feeling. As if all these words hatred and love in one high noon had suddenly made his brother understand what all this was about. It seemed crazy to search for him, but this was a chance to repair things or was it not?
He had expected to find him at home, paces away from the local blacksmith, but Fred sat in the setting sun dangling his feet from a stone just feet above the river.

Barnaby had not seen his brother so introspective in years, so he carefully tied his horse to a pole next to Fred's horse and came and sat down next to his him. Fred saw Barnaby. How could he not? But said nothing at first. He whisked out a flask of something alcoholic and passed it to Barnaby. Barnaby willingly drank and gave it back.

The two did not speak for several minutes, but when Fred spoke, his voice was solemn and thoughtful.

"The Sheriff's words made me think," he began. "I have a wife and two kids. I have enough money. I can even buy my family a treat or two. But for some reason, I hated you for being happy. My hatred became my life. I wasted energy. I realized I hated myself. I guess it's time to forget the past."

Barnaby wondered what to say. He was touched by these thoughts. This was the old Frederick he had played with as a boy. The happy one that loved dogs and pork and sunsets and guitar music.

"I lost Lucia and I blamed it on you, but she had decided to leave long before you slept with her."

Barnaby nodded. "We thought we could change the world. Mom said it should be clear that a woman who did what she did for a living could not be redeemed to live a normal life."

The next question seemed obvious, but it hung in the air like a weird balloon waiting to pop.

"When did you fall in love with her?" Fred's gaze was open now. The first inquisitive gaze he had produced in years. As if some barrier had been broken.

Barnaby smiled, his face lightning up like a torch. "On my 18th birthday." He laughed. "I had saved up money to spend on a lady and... she ..."

Barnaby chuckled.

"What?" Fred laughed.

"She flabbergasted me. We danced all night. We had such fun. And I got really angry that you had done the same with her."

Both men sighed, embracing each other. "Love tore us apart and love brought us back together."

The river seemed murkier now in the setting sun. Like the river of time. Somewhere along the way, they would find themselves fighting over Lucia at the base of that river.

"Women are extraordinary."

"So they are," Fred answered, putting his hand on his brother's lap. "Speaking of extraordinary, my wife is cooking an extraordinary meal tomorrow and we are having some guests over. Care to come?"

Barnaby nodded, shaking his brother's hand. "When?"

"Six o'clock."

"Til then."

"Til then."

Both men stood up, mounted their horses, waved and left.

It was hard to say which one of the brothers was most surprised about these developments. It would only suffice to say that they did fight again, not over women and not over cows, but over smaller things such as steaks or brandishing or whiskey tastings.

Barnaby married Susie, twenty years his junior, and had children. She started sewing clothes for children in Gloversville.  Susie was never quite accepted in the community, but that didn't matter. She had found love and that was all that mattered.

Every lady of every kind of landing would deserve to find true love.

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