The Gun Fight

smile trying her lips. “What is it, mother?” she asked.

Her mother smiled nervously, then glanced toward Agatha for help.

“Louisa,” said her aunt.

“Yes, Aunt Agatha.”

“I am going to ask you a question to which I expect an honest answer.” Agatha Winston leaned forward, her beak-like nose aiming at Louisa like a spear point, her black eyes searching. “Remember, Louisa,” she cautioned, “there’s nothing to be afraid of as long as you tell the truth.”

“Darling,” murmured Elizabeth Harper, covering one of her daughter’s hands with her trembling own. Louisa glanced nervously at her mother, then back again to her aunt. She didn’t understand.

Aunt Agatha said, “What has John Benton to do with you?”

Louisa couldn’t stop the catching of breath in her throat, the paling of cheek, the startled widening of her eyes.

“John Ben—” she began, then stopped, her voice failing. She felt her heart beating heavily and had the pointed sensation of her mind being ripped open, her most secret thoughts plucked out, naked and terrible. For a second she thought she might faint so strong was the welling of shock.

Agatha Winston straightened up with a look of vulpine self-justification on her lean face. She glanced once at the lined face of her sister, then back to Louisa whose cheeks were now coloring embarrassedly.

“W-why do you ask that, Aunt . . .” Louisa swallowed hastily, “. . . Agatha?” she finished.

“What has John Benton to do with you?”

“N-nothing, Aunt Agatha. I don’t even—”

“Louisa.” Aunt Agatha’s voice threatened and Louisa stopped talking. “You have nothing to be afraid of as long as you tell the truth like the good Christian girl I hope you are.”

Numbly, Louisa felt her aunt’s gaunt hand fall on her shoulder.

“But—” she began.

“We expect the truth, Louisa,” her aunt said.

Louisa stopped again and sat there, heart pulsing heavily in her chest.

“There was a fight this morning, Louisa,” Agatha Winston said. “Between John Benton and the young man you will probably marry.”

“Rob—” Louisa’s voice broke off and she stared up speechlessly at the hard face of her aunt. She wanted to run from the room; go anywhere to get away from her aunt. Her throat moved in a convulsive swallow. I didn’t mean it, the thought wavered across her mind, I didn’t mean it at all . . .

“The facts are not clear,” Aunt Agatha said in concise tones, “but it appears that young Coles was defending your honor against that . . . man.”

Louisa felt herself drawing in, backed into a defenseless corner. How could this have happened? She’d had no idea Robby would take her joking taunt so seriously. She’d only wanted to make him angry and jealous and put some life into him.

“Darling, what did that terrible man do to you?” Elizabeth Harper asked in a faint voice, fearing the worst.

“Mother, I don’t—”

“Before we go any further, Louisa,” her aunt said crisply, “I want you to know that this is a very serious matter. We must have the truth. If you lie, you will be severely punished, do you understand?” She ignored the startled look on her sister’s face. “This is a matter of grave importance to your very future.”

Louisa looked at her aunt with frightened eyes. It wasn’t a lie, her mind struggled to explain. It was only a joke, I only wanted to make him jealous. But she knew her aunt wouldn’t see it that way. I didn’t mean anything, she thought in anguish.

“Did John Benton attempt to arrange an immoral meeting with you?” Agatha Winston demanded bluntly.

Louisa pressed trembling fingers to her lips, her eyes stark with fright. “No,” she murmured. “No, he—”

“Don’t lie to us, Louisa!”

Louisa began sobbing. She felt warm tears falling across her cheeks as she sat there, shaking without control, hardly feeling the pressure of her mother’s arm around her back, hardly hearing the frail voice trying to comfort her. Through the blurring prisms of her tears, Louisa saw the shapeless black form of her aunt standing over her. She wanted to tell the truth. She wanted to tell them that she’d only made it up but she was afraid of her aunt, she didn’t want to be punished for lying. She was afraid of being scorned, terror-stricken at the thought of anyone knowing her secret. . . .

“When did this happen?” Agatha’s voice came breaking down over her like a spray of ice.

“I don’t know, I d-don’t know!” Louisa sobbed and the widow Harper looked up imploringly at her sister.

“Please, Agatha,” she begged, “no more. She’s too upset.”

“We must know the facts.”

“It’s not important!” Louisa blurted out suddenly, her voice rising brokenly. “It isn’t important, Aunt Agatha!”

“It is very important,” the answer came sternly. “Your honor is the most important thing in your life.”

“But I didn’t—” Fear broke off Louisa’s words again and she slumped over, shoulders trembling helplessly.

“No, you didn’t tell us immediately,” Agatha interpreted her niece’s unfinished sentence. “You told Robby Coles and he did what he had to do; went up against that . . . that killer to defend your honor. You should be grateful that your honor is so highly regarded.”

“Agatha, please,” begged her sister.

“Come, Elizabeth.”

“I’d like to stay with her, Agatha, and . . .”

She stopped as Agatha’s bony hand closed over her shoulder firmly. Agatha shook her head. “Come,” she said again and Elizabeth was drawn up nervously, one shaking hand patting at Louisa’s soft hair.

“Darling, don’t fret now,” her mother tried to comfort Louisa. “It isn’t your fault, mother knows that.”

“Elizabeth,” Agatha said strongly, then looked down at her sobbing niece. “You had better remain in the house the rest of the day,” she said. “I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow morning.”

Louisa raised her tear-streaked face quickly as though to speak. Then she sat staring wordlessly at her aunt. I didn’t mean it, her mind implored but she couldn’t speak the words aloud. She was too afraid of her aunt and of the punishment she would get for lying and causing Robby Coles to fight in her defense. In her mind she could almost hear the questions her Aunt Agatha would ask if she confessed. Why did you make up such a story? Why John Benton? Are you trying to say you care for that man?

No, she couldn’t bear that, she couldn’t. She sat silently as the two women moved for the door. Then the door edge had shut off the worried face of her mother and she was alone in the quiet of the room, a sense of impending dread creeping over her.

I didn’t mean it, I didn’t—she thought again. She’d only told Robby what she did in order to make him jealous. She’d never even dreamed that he’d take it so seriously, that he’d go looking for Benton to fight him. Robby just wasn’t that kind; he was the quiet, dull kind, not at all like John Benton.

Louisa Harper sat on the edge of the bed, her sobs gradually subsiding, her breathing getting more and more even. She rubbed at the tears with shaking fingers, then stood and got a handkerchief from her bureau drawer.

She sat on the bed again, looking down at the hooked rug her mother had made for her sixteenth birthday.

Now that Aunt Agatha was out of the room, the situation didn’t seem so bad. She knew she really should have told the truth but there was something about her aunt that terrified. She just didn’t dare tell that she’d made up the story; especially now after she’d failed to confess it when she’d had the opportunity.

Besides—her right foot began kicking a little, thumping back against the bed—besides, it would all blow over. It wasn’t that serious, no matter what Aunt Agatha said. Robby wouldn’t go any further and certainly John Benton wouldn’t; he was a gentleman.

The hint of a smile played on Louisa Harper’s full lips and something stirred in her. There was something strangely exciting about the thought of John Benton fighting over her.