Blood Wedding

4

After everyone had finally gone home, Fargo went back to the Watkins house. He had slept in the spare room the previous night, but he didn’t want to disturb anyone now. He could sleep just as well in the barn or outside. He’d spent many a night in less pleasant circumstances.

But there was lantern light shining through a window in the house, and Fargo was curious. He thought that Abby and her father might be talking about Jed’s funeral, so he decided to join them.

Fargo went inside the house and heard talking from the kitchen. Fargo walked to the room and looked through the door. Lem hadn’t gone to bed after all. He was sitting there not far from the table where Jed’s body lay covered with a sheet, and there were two other men with him. Fargo recognized them, having met them before the dance. They were Cass Ellis and Bob Tabor, two of Lem’s friends. Ellis was holding a bottle of whiskey, and it was evident from their red faces that they’d been passing it around.

“Come on in, Fargo,” Lem said. “We’re just sitting up with the body. You want a drink?”

“Might as well,” Fargo said.

Ellis extended his arm, and Fargo took the bottle. He took a swallow, and tears came to his eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the bottle back to Ellis.

“A little raw, ain’t it?” Ellis said. “But it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Fargo nodded and looked at the sheet-covered body on the table. He knew that sitting up was the custom in some parts of the country. He didn’t know the reason for it, unless there were places where you had to keep the animals away. There were no animals likely to get into the Watkins’ kitchen, so maybe it was just a matter of respect.

“We washed him while you were gone,” Lem said. “Dressed him nice and put wet soda cloths on his face and hands. They’ll keep his color looking natural. Couldn’t do much with that wound, though.”

Fargo thought about the wound. He wanted to take another look at it, so he walked to the table and lifted the sheet. Jed’s head, what was left of it, was supported on a stained pillow. There was another cloth over Jed’s face. Fargo lifted that one off, too.

It appeared to Fargo that the bullet had entered the back of Jed’s head and pretty much removed it, though Jed’s face was hardly altered. Fargo replaced the cloth and lowered the sheet.

“Gonna bury him tomorrow,” Tabor said. He had pale blue eyes and a fringe of white hair around his bald head. “Cass here will make him a good strong coffin in the morning, and we’ll bury him in the churchyard in the afternoon. Put him in a real grave, six foot long, six foot deep and four foot wide, not like the ones you dug down in the river bottom.”

Fargo didn’t think Tabor really knew what kind of graves had been dug for the outlaws, but he was right. Nobody had paid much attention to doing it right. The graves were deep enough to keep animals off the bodies, and that was about all.

“Jed was a fine fella,” Ellis said, flexing the fingers of his big hands. “We’ll put him facin’ the east, all right and proper, the way it should be. Him and Abby would’ve made a fine couple, Lem. You’d have had some good-lookin’ grandchildren, for certain and sure.”

Lem didn’t reply. Instead he reached out his hand, and Ellis passed him the bottle.

“How’s Abby taking it?” Fargo asked.

Lem drank from the bottle. When he could talk again, he said, “About as well as you could expect. She’s trying to get some sleep, but I don’t know if she’ll manage it. You might as well have a try, too. We’ll stay here all night, but there’s no need for you to do it.”

Fargo had thought of offering, but he was glad to be relieved of the responsibility. He’d liked and respected Jed, but now that his friend was dead, he didn’t see the need in losing sleep over the matter. He’d do what he could to see that Jed’s killer was brought to justice, however. He owed him that much.

“I think I’ll go on to bed, then,” Fargo said. “Abby asked me earlier if I’d stay around for a few days and help out around the place, and I might be doing that.”

“That’s mighty kind of you,” Lem said. “We could use some help around here, now that Jed’s gone.”

“She’s not worried so much about help as she is about what the Murray gang might do.”

“They’ve killed Jed,” Tabor said. “What else could they want around here?”

“More revenge,” Fargo told him. “It looks like somebody killed Paul Murray tonight.”

“Shit,” Ellis said.

“That seems to be pretty much the general opinion,” Fargo said.

“Murray’ll come after his boy,” Tabor said. “He won’t want him lying buried in some marsh with no marker. What’re you gonna do, Lem?”

“Bury Jed,” Lem said. “Then we’ll see.”

Murray’ll burn your house and barn,” Ellis said. “Kill you if he gets the chance.”

“We’ll just have to see that he doesn’t get the chance,” Fargo said. “That’s one reason I’m staying around.”

“What’s the other reason?” Lem asked.

“To find out who killed Jed.”

“Hell, we all know who did it. It was Murray’s gang.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Fargo said.

Fargo had had a rough night. First there had been the fighting and then the grave digging. It was well after midnight, and he was bone tired when he lay down on the feather bed to try to get some sleep. He sank into the mattress and was just about to drift off when he heard soft footsteps outside his door, which then slowly swung open.

Fargo looked over in that direction and saw Abby’s dark silhouette outlined by the faint lantern light from the kitchen. She entered the room and closed the door behind her.

“Fargo?” she said. “Are you sleeping?”

“Well, I was trying. But I hadn’t quite made it yet.”

“I didn’t mean to bother you, but I wanted to talk a minute. If you don’t mind.”

Fargo sighed, but not loud enough for her to hear him. She probably needed to talk about Jed, and he could understand that.

“I don’t mind,” he said. “Let me get up and light the lantern.”

It was quite dark in the room, which had only a small window through which the chalky moon shone faintly.

“We don’t need the lantern,” Abby said. “I’ll just sit over here in the chair.”

There was a hard-backed wooden chair near the wash-stand, and Fargo watched as Abby walked over and sat down. He couldn’t see her very well, but her blond hair shone palely in the dim light. Fargo couldn’t think of anything to say that would soothe her, so he just lay in the bed and waited for her to have her say.

After a few seconds she said, “I guess you think I need to talk about Jed.”

“I don’t blame you,” Fargo said. “You must want to know a little about him, maybe, things a man wouldn’t tell you himself. He was a good man, and a brave one. There was a time once when we were on the trail together . . .”

“I didn’t come here for that. I didn’t really need to talk. That was just an excuse.”

If she hadn’t come to hear about Jed, there must be something else that was worrying her, Fargo thought, and then he remembered that he hadn’t told her for sure that he’d stay around for a while.

“I’ve decided to stay here for a few days if that’s what you came to find out,” he said. He didn’t mention his suspicions about Jed’s death.

“Good. I was hoping you’d stay. But that’s not why I came, either.”

Fargo couldn’t think of anything else left unsettled between them, so he said, “Why did you come, then?”

“I don’t want to say.”

Fargo thought, not for the first time, and, he was sure, not for the last, that he would never understand women. He liked them. He enjoyed their company, and over the years he had enjoyed the company of more of them than he could count without using a paper and pencil to keep track. But he could never figure out how their minds worked. Abby had come to his room for a reason, but now that she was there, she wouldn’t tell him what it was. He wasn’t surprised. A man would have come right out and said what it was that he wanted, but a woman wouldn’t always do that. Sometimes she had to be coaxed.

“You can go ahead and tell me,” Fargo said. If it’s a secret, I can keep one about as well as anybody I know.”

“That’s right. It’s a secret. Nobody must ever know.”

“Except me.”

“Except you. And me, of course. We’ll both know.”

Her voice wasn’t quite right. It had a skittish, trembly quality to it that Fargo hadn’t heard before.

“Are you afraid of something?” he asked.

“Just of myself.”

Fargo didn’t know what she meant by that, and he didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure she could explain even if she tried. But she surprised him.

“I’m afraid of myself because of what I want,” she said.

“We all want things. Nothing to be afraid of there.”

“You don’t understand, do you?”

She was right about that. Fargo couldn’t figure it out, though he was beginning to get a pretty good idea. However, he didn’t want to tell her what it was. If she wanted what he thought, she was going to have to say it herself.

“You’ll have to tell me,” he said.

Instead of explaining, Abby got up out of the chair and came to stand by the bed. Fargo’s eyes had gotten used to the faint light in the room, and he could see that she was wearing a flimsy cotton gown that came down below her ankles. She bent over, grabbed the bottom of the gown, pulled it straight up over her head, and tossed it in the general direction of the chair she’d been sitting in. Now she was wearing nothing at all.

“Now do you know what I want?” she asked.

Fargo didn’t say anything, and he wasn’t surprised. Her desire was a natural reaction to what had happened, he figured. Jed had been killed, and Abby was still alive. But maybe she needed to prove it to herself.

“You think I’m terrible, don’t you,” she said.

It wasn’t a question, and Fargo continued to keep quiet. The next thing he knew, Abby had crawled under the thin sheet that covered him. Her hip and shoulder touched him. They were hot as a smithy’s fire.

“I don’t care if you do think I’m terrible,” she said. “I need you, and I need you now.”

Fargo could have played the noble, grieving friend and shoved her out of the bed. But he didn’t. He understood her need, and he felt something a little like it himself. He didn’t think Jed would mind. Oh, if he’d been alive, he’d have minded. He’d have fought Fargo with his fists or with pistols or with whatever came to hand. But he wasn’t alive, and Fargo was. So was Abby. Fargo pulled her to him.

“Oh,” she said, feeling his stiff rod as the long length of it pressed against her stomach. “You don’t wear anything to sleep in.”

“Just a waste, when you’re in a soft bed,” Fargo said.

And the bed was soft. It was so soft that it seemed about to swallow them up, and in doing so it forced them even closer together. Abby’s body was feverishly hot, and she hugged Fargo to her, rubbing her belly against his stiffness.

“That’s what I need,” she said. “I need it now, Fargo. I don’t think I can wait.”

Fargo rolled over on his back, pulling her on top of him. She was so much smaller than he that he hardly felt her weight.

“I won’t break,” she said, seeming to know what he was thinking. “Please. Help me.”

Fargo was willing. He took her hips in his hands and lifted her, then settled her against the tip of his throbbing erection. He could feel the crisp hairs of her sex, and she rubbed herself vigorously against him. She was slick and hot and ready, and Fargo held her still long enough to locate the stop he was looking for. Then he slid her down onto his rock-hard pole and pinned her there for a moment.

“Ah,” she said. “Ah, ah, ah.”

She tried to begin wiggling, but eager as she was, Fargo wasn’t ready to turn her loose, and not just because he enjoyed having his penis encased by her honeyed heat. He said, “Your father and a couple of his friends are sitting up in the kitchen.”

“Ah. I, ah, know. It doesn’t matter. Please.”

“We might make noise.”

“They, ah, they’ll be drunk by, ah, now. Please, Fargo. Please. I can’t wait.”

Fargo hoped she was right about the men being drunk. He didn’t want Lem to catch him with Abby. Lem might get the idea that Fargo was being disrespectful of the dead.

But it was really too late to worry about that. Abby was rubbing her breasts against him, and their tips ground against him like red-hot rubies. He released her hips.

She went into motion: side to side, up and down, round and round. Her need was to great and she was moving so rapidly that Fargo had no chance of matching her energy. He just had to let her go, and in only a minute or two she buried her face against his chest to keep from crying out as her body shuddered with wave after wave of pleasure.

After a while her breathing slowed, and she lay still against him and gathered her strength.

“I know that wasn’t much good for you,” she said at last.

“It was good,” Fargo said. “I just didn’t get to finish.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But you didn’t have any letdown. I can still feel you inside me. It feels good, Fargo. If you can wait a minute, we’ll do it again. For you, this time.”

Fargo said he could wait, but it didn’t take even a minute. He felt her nipples growing hard against him, and the sensation made him grow a bit as well.

“My God,” Abby said. “I didn’t know it could get any bigger. Oh, my.”

She moved tentatively, drawing herself up so far that only the tip of his shaft remained inside her. She twirled slightly, then lowered herself very, very slowly, allowing Fargo to feel the sensation along the entire length of himself.

“Ah,” she said. “Ah. That’s good. That’s good.”

Fargo agreed, but didn’t say so. He lay back and let her work, slowly at first and then faster and faster as she grew more and more excited. Soon she was practically bouncing on him, and he put his hands to the curve of her hips to keep her from flying off.

“Hurry, Fargo,” she said. “Hurry, I’m going off again!”

This time Fargo wasn’t going to let her finish without him. He slowed her down so that he could match her eager thrusting, moving with her until he could feel the pent-up flow ready to burst its dam.

“Now,” he said, releasing her hips, and she gyrated like a snake on a griddle.

“Ah, yes, ah!” she said. “Oh, oh, oh!”

As she reached the height of her passion, Fargo exploded inside her, gushing hot bursts, one after the other like cannon fire. Her own climax shook her, and every time he shot, she moaned with satisfaction.

This time she made no attempt to smother her voice, but Fargo was too far gone to care. If the entire Murray gang had burst into the room at that moment, he wouldn’t have been able to do a thing to save himself.

When they were both spent, Abby rolled off him and they lay almost enveloped in the soft mattress.

“I know you think I’m awful,” she said after a few minutes. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“I did,” Fargo said, and she hit him on the shoulder.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, I never thought I’d be doing . . . that . . . with a man I hardly know. I didn’t do it with Jed until months after we met. And he’s the only other one.”

She started to cry softly, and Fargo said, “Jed would understand. It’s nothing for you to worry yourself about.”

“I hope you’re right. But even if he wouldn’t, I needed it. I just didn’t know how much. Thank you, Fargo.”

“I’m the one who should be doing the thanking.”

Abby got out of the bed and slipped her nightgown back over her head.

“You don’t owe me any thanks.” She was back in control of herself now. She seemed almost like a different person, more remote than any time since Fargo had met her. “I won’t be back for another visit. I hope you understand.”

“I think I do,” Fargo said. “But if you change your mind, don’t forget where I am.”

He thought he saw her smile, but in the darkness he couldn’t quite be sure.

“I won’t forget,” she said.

Fargo was asleep and dreaming, swallowed up in the softness of the mattress.

He was a child again, almost a young man, and he was surrounded by death. He was the only one left, the only one who could avenge them, and he swore that he’d do it if it took him the rest of his life. It seemed so real, the screaming, the crashing of glass as—

The crashing of glass was real, and Fargo jerked awake to see the burning torch that lay on the floor by the bed. It had come in through the broken window, and the screaming in his dream became the whooping and hollering of the Murray gang.

He heard gunfire, but by that time he was snuffing out the torch with a quilt that hung on a frame near the wash-stand. When the fire was out, he pulled on his pants and buckled on his own pistol.

Someone was beating on his door. He opened it to see Abby standing there. She was holding a lamp and still wore her nightgown.

“It’s the Murrays,” she said.

Fargo had figured that out. He asked about Lem.

“He and the others are stumbling around in the kitchen. They won’t be much help.”

“Any damage?”

“Somebody threw a torch in the kitchen window. It didn’t do any damage.”

“They might be going for the barn. I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”

“Be careful,” Abby said.

Fargo left her there and went out on the porch. Sure enough, the Murray gang had moved on to the barn. Fargo could see them moving around in the torchlight. Several of them were off their horses, piling something that looked like it might be hay around the building. Fargo figured they’d set the hay afire if they got the chance.

The barn was too far away for Fargo to hit anybody with a pistol shot unless he got lucky, but he thought he could distract them, maybe even chase them away. Not that he had much hope of that, but he fired the Colt three times.

Nobody fell, but three men turned and looked back toward the house. One of them dropped the torch he was holding and pulled a rifle from a saddle holster. The moon had gone down, and Fargo could have been nothing more than a dark blot to the man, but the Trailsman nevertheless thought it was time for him to find some cover.

There was nowhere to hide, however. When Fargo turned, he saw someone standing by the porch of the house. It wasn’t anyone from inside. There was a muzzle flash, a crash of sound, and something kicked Fargo like the biggest mule in the world.

Then everything went black.