Trouble was, the period that followed just melted into a never-ending stretch of nighttime. Before the snows came, you could count on at least one concerned citizen of Belle dropping by; mostly to nag Ma that life without a grown man in the house was too heavy a burden for the little woman with a young boy no bigger than a grasshopper to support. She should come to town – they’d advised – where folks could look in on her from time to time. But Ma dug her feet in the land and wouldn’t hear tell of giving up on her dream. Davey shook the gloom from his shoulders. He’d heard his father say time and again that feeling sorry for yourself was a sure sign of a lazy man.
He pulled the mat, inch by inch; even sat on the floor so his legs could help in the effort, until she finally rested closer to the hearth. Racing to his mother’s bedroom, he grabbed a feather pillow and a wool blanket off the bed. He lifted her head, pulling the wet strands of loosened blonde hair so hard it made her skin pinch. He waited for her face to screw up from the sudden pain, but it didn’t. Janelle lay motionless, and her son was at odds as to how to help her without disobeying the rules.
Bernie Drysdale steered his horse to the left and headed into Belle, a small town in Wyoming. The frigid cold had settled into his bones and he needed to lay low for a few months. The town looked peaceful enough, but he preferred to spend winters on ranches or homesteads. He’d not lucked out on either of those locations and the snowy trails of Wyoming had become his only companion far too long into the season.
It was Saturday and he supposed this was as busy as the place got. He walked into the saloon and leaned against the bar.
“What can I get you, cowboy?” the bartender asked.
“Whiskey. I need something to thaw my gullet. Mighty cold spell we’re having.”
“Yep. Business is slow these days; most folks are hibernating at home. The name’s Thaddeus and I run this place.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Bernie. “But, sorry to say, you won’t get rich off me. Don’t drink much, but I like the company. It gets lonely sitting by a campfire alone.”
“Yep, not too much company roaming the trails these days.” The man slid the cloth from around his neck into his hand, and wiped the shiny surface. To Bernie’s way of thinking, an unnecessary task, for the counter shone brighter than his boots after the shoeshine boy finished with them. Thaddeus stuck close by, so Bernie chatted on.
“Looking for a place to hole up for the rest of the winter. Got any ideas?”
“Ranchers hereabouts pretty much got all the hands the bunkhouse will hold. Only so much work to be done while the snow flies.”
Thaddeus began shining the clean tumblers. Bernie tipped his shot glass and downed the whiskey. He felt the warmth descend and the stress shift to a calmer place. This was where a man went astray. He’d watched his old man become a drunk, liking the feeling of the poison liquor sliding through his gullet, and discovering all too soon the hold alcohol had on an unsuspecting man. It had birthed another addict and the illusion of the initial calm became his battleground. The shame of it drove Bernie from his Texan home at a young age. He’d never regretted leaving. God’s green earth stretched out before him, bringing new adventures every day. He’d met both bad and good men roaming the countryside but today Bernie was ready to meet up with the latter kind.
“Do you know a place where I can rent a room?”
“Ruth Winslow don’t take men into her boarding house, so looks like you’re stuck with me. But not to worry, there’s not much chance of this place getting too rowdy on a Tuesday night with a storm blowing in.”
“Saw those dark clouds earlier. I’ll take my horse to the livery and be right back. Looking forward to a soft mattress and a pillow under my head.”
“Need me to send up some company?” Thaddeus asked.
Bernie shook his head. “Nope, but I might stop at the bath house to scrub some layers off.”
The establishment provided hot sudsy water, clean towels and even a woman to clean your back – if you wished to hire her services. Bernie declined. He’d watched his father brag about his women conquests while his wife served his sorry backside supper dutifully every night. Bernie vowed he’d never turn out like his father and so far, he’d kept to the strict guidelines of proper behavior his mother had taught him. Although the road was lonely, and at times he’d been tempted to indulge, he knew a man could walk clear of temptation if he wanted to. Just took a strong mind and determination.
At the livery, old Patrick Johnson, who insisted to be called Paps, rambled on, non-stop. The fellow had apparently been here since the beginning of time and figured Bernie needed
