'I believe it, Marshal. But it doesn't change anything. I want you to believe that.'
_It's too soon to be discussing this_, Frank thought. _I made a mistake coming over here. The boy is too filled with grief._
'I know that mother left you a small percentage of the company, Marshal. I will honor her wishes. I won't contest it.'
'I didn't ask her for any part of the company, Conrad.'
'I believe that, too.'
'You want me to leave you alone?'
'I don't care, Marshal. You have a right to be here.'
'I loved her very much. I never stopped loving her.' Conrad had nothing to say about that.
'Did Malone say when the' -- Frank started to say 'body' but he couldn't bring himself to form the word -- 'when people can stop by here to pay their respects?'
'In a few hours.'
Frank stood up and snagged his hat off the rack. 'I'll leave you alone for a time.'
Conrad met Frank's eyes for the first time since Frank entered the waiting room. 'I appreciate that, Marshal.'
'Well, maybe I'll see you in a few hours.'
'All right.'
Frank was glad to leave the stuffy and strange-smelling waiting room of the funeral parlor. He had never liked those places. He stood on the boardwalk and took several deep breaths of fresh air, then looked up and down the street.
_Another town I'll soon put behind me_, Frank thought. _In a few months they will have forgotten all about me, at least for the most part. The town's residents will settle back into a regular way of life ... and I'll do what I do best -- drift._
_No_, Frank amended. _Not just drift. I have a big job to do. I'll find the men responsible for your death, Viv. I promise you that. If it takes the rest of whatever life I have left, I'll do it._
The news of Vivian Browning's death spread quickly through the town. People spoke in hushed, sorrowful tones to Frank as he walked back to his office. At his desk he wrote out a letter of resignation, effective when Jerry was able to return to work ... which, according to Doc Bracken, would be in a couple of days. He dated and signed the notice, then sealed it in an envelope.
He checked on the prisoners, then walked over to his house and began packing up his possessions, leaving out a clean shirt, britches, socks, and longhandles. He went over to the livery and checked on his packhorse. The animal was glad to see him, perhaps sensing they would soon be again on the trail.
Frank stored his packed up possessions in the livery storeroom and then walked over to the cafe for a cup of coffee and perhaps a bite to eat. Angle took one look at Frank's expression and brought two cups and the coffeepot over to his table and joined him.
She touched his hand. 'I'm sorry, Frank.'
'I have to think it was for the best, Angie. Better than her starving to death. It was just her time to follow the light.'
'That's beautiful, Frank. Follow the light. Frank? How is her son taking it?'
'He's all right. He's tougher than he looks.'
'And you?'
'Getting ready to pull out. Just as soon as Jerry is on his feet.'
'That quick?'
'Yes. I have things to do.'
'I don't have to ask what those things are. Is that what Mrs. Browning would want?'
'It's what I want.'
She lowered her eyes from his cold stare. She struggled to suppress a shiver. Looking into his eyes that day was like looking into a cold, musty grave. Years back, Angie had surprised a big puma feasting on a fresh kill. The puma did not attack, but the eyes were the same as Frank's -- cold and deadly. Angie backed away quickly and left the puma alone to eat.
Frank drank his coffee, declined the offer of food, and walked over to Willis's General Store. There he bought bacon, beans, flour, and coffee. He bought a new jacket for the trail, for his old one was patched and worn. He took everything back to the office. There, he sat and waited.
* * * *
Frank did not return to the funeral parlor to view Vivian's body. He respected her wish that he not have that image in his brain.
The next morning, Jerry came limping into the office about ten o'clock.
'You supposed to be up, Jer?'
'Doc said it was all right long as I don't try to run any foot races. Mrs. Browning's body is being loaded into the wagon now, Frank, for transport to the rails.'
