The undertaker looked at the wad of money and licked his lips. “I think, uh, one hundred and fifty dollars should cover ever ything.”
“Yes, I should hope so,” Jenny said, counting out the money.
“Yes, ma’am. Leave everything to me. I’ll take care of all the details.”
“How soon can we do this?”
“Oh, I’m quite sure we can arrange it for you as early as tomorrow.”
“Today would be better, but if it is to be tomorrow, then that will have to do.”
“Where are you staying, madam?”
“I am staying at the Dunn Hotel.”
“I will get word to you when the arrangements have been made.”
“Thank you.”
The only people present for the church service the next morning were Jenny, the preacher, and the mortician. The preacher knew nothing about Nate McCoy, so instead of preaching a funeral service, he merely reread the sermon he had given the previous Sunday.
An additional person was present for the graveside committal. The gravedigger stood off at a respectful distance, leaning on his spade and smoking a pipe as he waited for the opportunity to close the grave so he could draw his fee, then go have a drink.
The committal service was short, consisting only of a single prayer, during which the preacher called him Ned, instead of Nate. The moment the preacher said amen, the gravedigger sauntered over and he and the mortician lowered the pine box into the ground.
As she walked away from the open grave, Jenny could hear the
Leaving the cemetery, Jenny went directly to the railroad depot. “What time is the next train?” she asked the ticket agent.
“The next train to where, madam?” the ticket agent replied with a long-suffering sigh.
“I don’t care where it is going as long as it is the next train.”
“The southbound is due in about half an hour.”
“I want a ticket on that train.”
“Where to, madam?”
“Where is it going?”
“Pueblo, Salt Creek, Walsenburg . . .”
“Pueblo,” Jenny said.
“Yes, ma’am.” The ticket agent made out the ticket, stamped it with a rubber stamp, then handed it to her.
“That will be eight dollars.”
“Thank you.” Jenny handed him the money.
When the train rolled into the depot twenty-six minutes later, Jenny boarded it and found an empty seat, purposely choosing not to sit by the window. She had no wish for a last look at the town where all her fears had culminated. Though she would never admit it, even to herself, it was also where she’d gained freedom from a marriage that never should have been.
CHAPTER FOUR
The thirty-three children of Jenny’s fifth grade class were gathered for a photo in front of the steps leading up to the school. Students in the first row sat on the ground with their hands folded across their laps. Those in the second row sat on a long, low bench, and the third and fourth rows were standing on ascending steps.
“Now, if the teacher would just sit beside her class.” The photographer had a long mustache that curled up at each end. His camera, a big box affair, was sitting on a tripod in front of the class.
Jenny sat on a chair alongside the class, her hands folded across her lap just as she had instructed the children.
“Now, nobody move until I say so.” The photographer put his hand on the shutter latch. “See the honey up in the tree, I wish you would bring some to me,” he said in a monotone voice. “There. Now you can move.”
“I can move,” one of the boys on the front row exclaimed, and he pulled the hair of the girl beside him.
“Ouch!”
“Danny,” Jenny scolded. “All right, children, school is dismissed. Don’t forget your homework.”
“Yea!” one of the boys shouted and the class, which had been so motionless a moment earlier, scattered like leaves before a wind.
Jenny picked up her chair and carried it back into her classroom. The principal and the superintendent of schools were waiting for her.
“Mr. Gray, Mr. Twitty?” she said, obviously surprised to see them.
“Miss McCoy, or should I say Mrs. McCoy?” The expression on Twitty’s face was grim.
“I’m not married.” Jenny paused for a moment. “I’m a widow.”
“You were married to Nate McCoy, were you not?” Twitty asked.
“Yes, I was.”
“It has come to our attention that Nate McCoy was a gambler of, let us say, questionable ethics. And, while you were married, you followed him from gambling den to gambling den. Is that correct?”
Jenny looked down. “Yes,” she said quietly.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. McCoy. The school board has asked for your dismissal.”
“On what grounds?” Jenny asked.
“Moral turpitude.”
“What? But I . . .”
“Please take your things and leave,” Mr. Gray said.
“My class?”
“They are no longer your class. We have already hired a replacement teacher,” Mr. Twitty informed her.
“Can’t I at least finish the year? We’ve only one month to go. For the children’s sake, don’t you think it would be better for them to keep the same teacher until the end of the year?”
“Good-bye, Mrs. McCoy,” Gray said coldly.
Jenny fought hard to keep the tears from welling up in her eyes. She stood and turned away from them, determined not to let them see her cry. She walked into the cloakroom, removed her coat, and left the schoolroom. There was nothing else she wanted to take from there.
The sign out front of the store read RAFFERTY’S GROCERY. One of three, it stood at the very edge of town. Michael Santelli stepped into the little store, and a bell attached to the top of the door announced his entry.
“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” Mr. Rafferty asked. Mrs. Rafferty looked up from sweeping the floor and smiled.
Santelli took a quick glance around. Seeing nobody else in the store, he pulled his gun and pointed it at the shopkeeper. “You can give me all your money. That’s what you can do for me.”
“Yes, sir,” Rafferty said nervously. “Just don’t be getting trigger happy there.” He opened his cash drawer, took out thirty dollars, and handed it across the counter.
Santelli counted it quickly, then looked up at Rafferty, his face twisted in anger. “What is this?” he demanded.
“You said give you all my money. That’s what I did. This is all the money I have.”
