so many goddamn gossips in this world. Are you sure that’s the man who sent the message?”
“No, but he’s the only one to come around after you since you put on that badge.”
Nick took some of the edge from his voice when he asked, “What else did he say?”
“Not much more than that. All he kept asking was where to find you.”
Backing away from the bar, Nick placed his hand upon the gnarled grip of his pistol and said, “Then I suppose I shouldn’t disappoint him.”
Catherine turned to face him, but didn’t move any closer. “Or you could just let him go. He didn’t even recognize you when he saw you, so he’ll probably just leave if I don’t give him anything else better to do.”
“Or he might not leave,” Nick said. “Or…I might want to hear what he’s got to say.”
“Why in the hell would you want to hear what he’s got to say? You just told me that he’s probably on the wrong side of the law. That’s not the life you lead anymore. You promised me that.”
“What I promised was to take care of you the best way I know how. I’ve had a badge pinned to me for a little while, but I was earning money another way for most of my life before that and I’ll remind you that the money back then was a whole lot more than any deputy’s salary.”
“No good can come from this, Nick!” Catherine said as she pounded the bar with her fist. “Everything’s been going so well since you decided to stay here with me. The Tin Pan’s prosperous. You’re a respected man in your own field and now folks even respect you as a lawman even though all you do is make the rounds every so often. You’re a part of this town, Nick.”
“I’m a part of you,” he said as he stepped up to her and held both of her hands in his. “But that might not be such a good thing.”
Catherine recoiled as if she’d been slapped in the face. “How could you say that?”
“Because there’s parts of who I am that will never fade. They’ll never go away and I’ll never be able to wash them off, no matter what I do, what I say or what I pin onto my shirt. Those things will become part of you too, and you don’t deserve that kind of stain upon your soul.”
Although she’d been fighting him at first, Catherine pulled her hands out of Nick’s grasp so she could take hold of his face and make certain he didn’t look away. “Knowing you is the best thing that has ever happened to me and if that brings some ghosts along with it, then so be it. I’ll go wherever you want me to go if you’ll have me.”
“I know, Catherine.” Nick gently eased out of her grasp. He let his hands linger on her for a few moments before taking them away as well. “But you shouldn’t have to give up so much. You don’t deserve that kind of life.”
“And you do?”
Nick knew the answer to that and so did she.
Neither of them wanted to say it out loud.
FOUR
The following day, Nick had plenty of work to do. Even though nobody had died, he was still short a few coffins after the outbreak of fever during the previous winter. His father had always taught him to prepare for the future and that meant spending the good times preparing for the worst. Because he was a coffin maker and undertaker, most folks’ best times just happened to be his worst.
Nick had been raised watching grave markers spread across one hillside or another. His father had taught him how to build coffins and he’d picked up the rest of the undertaker’s trade from a few others over the years. Most of his days were now spent at or near Ocean’s cemetery, tending the grounds, caring for the folks who were there to serve their time beneath it.
Nick’s workshop was a small shack filled with fresh pieces of lumber and the tools of his trade. It smelled of cedar, oak, varnish and wood chips, which always brought a smile to his face. That smile wasn’t there at the moment, however. The stacks of empty coffins outside the shack were only growing taller, and each wooden box was the culmination of a few days’ work that had yet to bear fruit.
The cemetery grounds were immaculate and every marker was cleaned off. In fact, several of the markers looked better now than when Nick had first carved them. He spent much of his quiet time making the letters more ornate or putting a brighter smile upon a cherub’s face. Unfortunately, the dead couldn’t express their appreciation by putting money in Nick’s pockets.
Even though it was a beautiful morning, Nick didn’t spend much of it in the tranquility of his own personal boot hill. There was other work to be done, and most of that was in his parlor.
Nick decided to walk into town. Even though Rasa or Kazys could have used the exercise, there was no reason to bother saddling up either of his horses. It wasn’t a long walk, but Nick took his time. There was nobody waiting for him when he got there.
His parlor was dusty and had some cobwebs growing in the upper corners like moss spreading over the surface of a log. After sweeping them away, Nick rolled up his sleeves and got to work cleaning the rest of the place. He wiped off the display cases, straightened the chairs and arranged the Bibles in neat piles. When he was done, Nick stood at the front door so he could admire his handiwork.
“You should have sent word you were doing all this cleaning,” Catherine said from just outside the door. “I would have helped.”
Nick jumped and reflexively reached for his gun. Fortunately, he wasn’t wearing his holster, or he might have cleared leather before realizing who was there. “Jesus, Catherine,” he said. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
Grinning at the fact that she was the only one who could catch him off guard so easily, Catherine gave him a peck on the cheek and walked around him. There was a basket dangling from one of her arms and a bottle in each hand. “Sorry about that,” she said, walking to the display cases where Bibles and invitation samples were kept. “I would have knocked, but I thought that might startle you more.”
“What’s this?”
“Lunch. What does it look like?”
“How did you know I’d be here?”
“You usually stop by here on Wednesdays.” Glancing at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she asked, “Don’t you know your own habits, Mister Graves?”
Nick had to stop and think for a moment before he realized that she was right. “I guess not. You haven’t brought me lunch for a long time.”
“Well, I can’t be waiting around for you every day, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t mind doing so every now and then. I can’t stay long, though.” The farmers will be wanting lunch soon.
Digging through the mix of sandwiches and fruit in the basket, Nick selected one of each and said, “I’ll take whatever I can get.”
“You seem to be in a better mood. Did someone die?”
Considering how well she kept a straight face, Nick might have been the only man alive to know that she was kidding. “No. Nobody died, but I’m considering shooting someone just so I can get back in business.”
She waved that off and picked out a sandwich for herself. “Nonsense. The Tin Pan’s doing great. Even though the new bar brings in a few dregs, it’s turned out to be a good investment. We can afford to wait around for the next funeral.” Snapping her fingers excitedly, she added, “Missus Nordstrom looks fairly pale. We might be in for some prosperous times yet.”
Nick shook his head and took a bite of an apple. “That’s terrible.”
“I know,” Catherine replied with a crinkle of her nose. “I’m a devil.”
They ate for a few more minutes without saying much of anything. It was good to savor the quiet times. Being in an undertaker’s parlor didn’t put a dent in either of them. They simply ate their lunch and then cleaned up when they were done.
After packing the remnants into the basket, Catherine said, “By the way, that man came by the restaurant for breakfast.”
