Chapter 32
Departure
The gathering of people who wanted to see Juliet Heatherstone off was small, but…illustrious. H. Jarvis Raymond smiled, amused. Barely five months weren’t much time to make friends, especially not for someone so secretive and unconventional as she, but count on Juliet that the few contacts she had made were special: the sheriff—even Juliet seemed to be surprised (and amazed) about the presence of the elderly man—who had patted her hand and had said for everyone around to hear that this was, fer sure, a special lady, and that he’d be hanged if he didn’t hope that she would return one day; the town’s doctor, who had embraced her and whispered into her ear; Juliet’s ludicrous landlady, Widow Hawkins, with an enormous frilly feathered hat and an equally enormous flower-patterned handkerchief that she wiped over her face time and again while she uttered a seemingly never-ending flow of “You don’t have to do this, child!”
There was a young woman Jarvis had never seen before, who turned out to be Juliet’s dressmaker: a shy, petite beauty with intelligent eyes and a smirk that spoke of a witty mind; and then the boy Jarvis had met the other day, Joseph or Johann or something, apparently the stage coach manager’s son, practically glued to Juliet’s side. She was far too friendly with the boy: didn’t even tell him to keep his filthy hands off her skirt. And Joe Goodman, of course. He had bid Juliet goodbye with a ridiculous hand-kiss and the words “I expect your cable on every Friday: don’t forget it.”
The editor of the town’s excuse for a newspaper didn’t look too happy, even though Juliet had replied rather tamely, “I promised I’d do it, didn’t I?” Well, he had every right to look sour, Jarvis thought, and nodded at Goodman, grinning broadly. Goodman didn’t return the grin, and Jarvis couldn’t blame him for that, either. The man had lost his star-writer, once again, and the article Juliet had written for him about the Big Event had been a farce. A worse farce than his own article would be; and thinking of that made Jarvis’ own features turn ill-humoured. He would return with what he wanted: Juliet and a great article about the Wild West. But his triumph wasn’t as thorough as he had planned it to be. Juliet had made him promise to change every detail that could point to Adam Cartwright or even Virginia City. Jarvis didn’t have a problem with changing names and places—he’d done that before and for much lesser causes than protecting a man—but he didn’t like to be managed.
However, Juliet obviously had no idea what his role in all that had been, and he was glad about that and didn’t want to change it. He hadn’t exactly covered himself with glory those past weeks, and even though he was confident that the end justified the means, he also knew that his end hadn’t been very noble to begin with. And ultimately, even though it probably couldn’t have been prevented anyway, his actions had led to the death of a man. If he was honest with himself, Jarvis was relieved that at least it wasn’t Adam Cartwright who lay in his grave now. The man was endlessly annoying—there was no question about that—and Jarvis had no desire to meet him ever again; but that didn’t mean Cartwright deserved to be dead. Losing Juliet was punishment enough for being an insufferable smart-ass. This thought brought the smile back to Jarvis’ face, and the original feeling that he owed Cartwright, the feeling that consequently had made him promise to Juliet he’d keep the rancher out of the Times, slowly made room for some pleasantly familiar self-satisfaction. My, he was such a philanthropist!
The assembly was rounded out by the attendance of a tall and scrawny old man in black clothes named Abediah Proudfoot, who smiled widely at Juliet with his nearly toothless mouth, and, nodding eagerly, assured her he would take care of the grave all right, and that he would find lupines, no matter what. At the other side of the street Jarvis saw the schoolmarm lurking—what was her name? Yes, Miss Jones, Abigail—and she appeared far more pleased than he had seen her looking at that barn dance, a week ago.
Suppressing a chuckle, Jarvis shook his head. He was sure Juliet had collected the town’s most bizarre specimens around herself. The only one missing was Adam Cartwright, but Jarvis couldn’t say he missed the man’s presence a bit. He was surprised that Cartwright hadn’t turned up, but then again—why should he? He had been defeated, and no one liked to have it rubbed in. No, in Cartwright’s stead, Jarvis would have stayed at home too. He wouldn’t have wanted to watch the victor taking his prize home either.
Jarvis handed Clem, the coach driver, Juliet’s red carpet bag. He had never met a lady who travelled with so little luggage, but, of course, there were things she had arranged to be sent to New York later. Later, when she had found a place to stay—which would not be his own apartment at the Upper Westside. For now. Politely but firmly Juliet had rejected his proposal. This wasn’t the end of the world for Jarvis, not as long as she followed him to New York and worked for the Times. She would soon find out that living and working in New York was different from what she was used to; and she would seek male protection before long. Of course, Jarvis would be there to offer what she was looking for. He had time.
Which reminded him…. He checked his pocket watch. The stage coach was due to leave in fifteen minutes, but all the passengers were already gathered; the luggage was loaded onto the roof.
“What do you say, old fellow,” Jarvis addressed the driver. “Shall we leave now? Everyone’s just waiting to start off.”
His words found consent among his fellow travelers, who, after an “Iffn y’all are all right with that” from Clem, entered the coach with a last goodbye to everybody around.
The sheriff shook his head, and smiled at Juliet. “Now, ain’t that fittin’? Ya came on an early coach, an’ yer leavin’ on an early one.”
Juliet gave him a distracted smile back, and then turned and glanced down the street.
“He won’t come.” Jarvis took her arm. “He isn’t interested. If he were, he’d be long here.”
Juliet drew her gaze from the street. She looked at Jarvis, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she bit her lip, lifted her chin, and then turned to say goodbye to her friends.
Impatiently, Jarvis watched her shaking hands with everyone, and when she finally was done she ruffled Jo-whatshisname’s hair and, after a short hesitation, kissed the boy’s forehead; hugged Mrs. Hawkins, and then hastily turned around and joined Jarvis who gallantly helped her into the coach.
Jarvis resisted the urge to rub his hands. It was done. He entered the coach, made himself comfortable on the window seat next to Juliet, closed the cabin-door, and smiled contentedly.
“Well now, let’s go home!”
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All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of
letting go and holding on. ~ Havelock Ellis
Enjoyed re-reading this. Thank you. I especially enjoy the way you put Adam’s thoughts into words. Please don’t forget to let us into the secret of what happened to Juliet in San Francisco!
I love your writing, will you write more stories, I have read them all over and over, and they always hold up.
I believe that Marlowr did what Poole is going to do! What a great subplot here!
How can a smart man be so stupid? “It’s not easy”, Adam would say. And “Because he is a *man*,” I would. 🙂
Juliet and San Francisco…that’s something I never revealed. Yet. I plan to do it, someday. Did forget about it, tbh. But I will come back to it. Cross my heart!
How can such a smart man be so stupid? What in the world did she do in SAN Francisco?