The Vaquero

Jane’s black taffeta dress rustled like Aspen leaves in the fall. She was aware of eyes on her.  “…Mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away,” the deep timbre of the pastor’s voice washed over her.  She looked up at the snowcapped mountains behind the cemetery, the preacher’s voice receding again.  A warm breeze carrying the smell of spring sage reminded her of the day she first set eyes on Samuel Monroe. She was in her study, grading eighth grade final examinations, and had gone to the window to watch the lamplighter’s as she sometimes did.  He rode by on a palomino mustang. She felt an energy, presence around him even from that distance. She didn’t believe she was infatuated. She told herself not to think about him. Her brothers would never approve. Besides, he had no idea she existed. Jane was aware of people moving towards their horses and conveyances.  She placed a bouquet of Lupine on Sam’s casket and walked to her carriage. She looked at the vaqueros mounting their horses, they nodded to her and headed towards the saloon. She remembered where they had first met. She walked down Virginia Street to John Cumberland’s to pick up the shoes she had ordered and there he was. Her heart raced and throat tightened but she managed to smile at him. He was polite, simply said “Ma’am.” How she saved that, re-played it again and again. She pretended to shop so that she could watch him. She heard him say he just came off the Jackson Creek range as he set his boots on the counter for repair.  She liked his hands. After he left she quickly picked up her order and followed him down the street, stopping to look at the shop fronts. He entered the saloon and she continued home. How would she meet him again? Perhaps she could send a calling card. That would be too forward, they hadn’t really met, not properly.  She looked through the stage window admiring spring in the high desert. Her east coast friends did not understand this country. To them it was desolate, formidable in its stark contrasts. She smiled seeing a herd of antelope run not far off along the stage. Forsaken, she thought, to those without eyes to see. That summer she first saw Samuel, she made a habit of watching the lamplighters each night. She learned he came into town the second and last Friday of every month.  The Liberty Hotel was hosting a dance every night of the Fair–residents and out of town guests welcome. Jane had spent the warm nights attending high society dinners and balls, usually held at an estate or mansion. She wandered through these a ghost, her thoughts circling Samuel. The smallest details kept alive by turning them in her mind. Determined to attend the public dance, her brother Alexander agreed to escort her.  The carriage jostled through a wide washout left by melting snow. She was thirty nine, very young looking. She gave her age as twenty nine. It didn’t matter now that she had lost Samuel. She would teach. She supposed they would expect her to attend dinners and social functions soon. She would go through the motions, do what was required. A local orchestra and vocal quartet played the night she was introduced. The ballroom was decorated with flowers and streamers, punch and refreshments were served. Jane had asked her brother to introduce her. Alexander hadn’t asked any questions–how she knew his name even–he immediately liked the looks of Samuel.

“I am Alexander Morgan and this is my sister Jane.” Alex reached his hand out.

“Pleased to meet you, Sam Monroe.” Alex and Jane both smiled. Jane was waiting, hoping. Sam was a gentleman.

“Ma’am can I ask for this dance?” Jane blushed and giggled and held her hand out for him to take.

The wind had picked up knocking the carriage from side to side. Dust devils formed in the distance, touching down and spilling their dirt in big clouds, then gathering up again into funnels. Samuel had asked for one more dance later in the evening and then Alex suggested he and Jane head home. Jane went through the evening in her head, savoring the moments close to Samuel, touching his hand. He had asked other ladies to dance. That was perfectly reasonable. More than two or three dances with one person gave people ideas. Now that they had met she could send him a calling card. Close to its rough past, Nevada was casual. Her rank liked to imagine themselves at the greatest heights of sophistication and propriety. Jane found it stifling.  She had sent the calling card and waited for a response. It was possible he didn’t receive it. It was also possible he didn’t know the etiquette in responding. Jane began pacing her room at night unable to sleep. Her thoughts narrowed on a few details and encounters– closing, focusing until there was little else. Her carriage turned onto Virginia Street now. That winter she had become a shadow of herself. Her family worried she was consumptive. She had lost weight and didn’t seem to take joy in her teaching. It was the second Friday of the month in May. She remembers it clearly. She went to the street and waited for him to pass. He went to the saloon as usual. She doesn’t remember what time he left, but she can see him walking out, so handsome. She shocked herself walking up to him. “Hi Samuel.” He smiled, but there was no register. He didn’t remember her. Jane shocked herself again. She kissed him. He was a gentleman. He didn’t tear her away forcefully. He held her, arms straight out and said, “Excuse me ma’am.” Jane was embarrassed, angry. She took the Bowie knife she had brought with her and stabbed him in the heart. He slumped in the street and she ran. She heard shouts after she turned a corner. She ran to her house and up to her study. In the morning, the front page headline of the Gazette read: Beloved Vaquero Stabbed to Death. The article stated they had no idea who killed him or why. He was liked by everyone. It was a mystery they would be investigating. The carriage stopped in front of her house. She got out and looked at the dark, quiet house and made her way up to her study.