The Gunman's Bride

“I’m pleased to meet you. All of you.” Rosie caught her breath at the realization that she was standing in the place she had dreamed of for so many years. A schoolroom, desks and flags, slates and readers, inkwells and chalk dust. How she had longed to teach—guiding small hands to form letters, listening to recitation, drying eyes and bandaging knees. The children looked exactly as she had pictured them—some clean and neat, others ragged and dirty; some bright with intelligence, others more dimly visaged; some giggly and mischievous, others solemn.

What would it be like to stand before them and open doors in their young lives? Rosie could hardly wait to find out.

“Students, you may be seated,” Mr. Kilgore stated as he gave the children a quick scan through his spectacles.

“Grade three, continue your history recitation without me for the moment. Lucy, you may lead the group. The rest of you carry on as you were.”

As young heads bent to work, he led Rosie to his desk at the front of the room. “Now, Miss Kingsley, may I ask your teaching qualifications?”

“My father is a physician in Kansas City. I attended Park College, in Platte County, to study Latin, art, music and science. My marks were excellent, and I’m confident I can pass the examination of any school board.”

“Miss Kingsley, I founded this school with the intent of forming a much larger institution. My wife and I have high hopes of establishing an independent school district in Raton according to territorial law. As you can see, we suffer from overcrowding here, and I fear my students are lagging behind other pupils of like age who have enjoyed better school privileges. At my request the school commission recently voted to extend our school term in order to give the students better preparation as they continue in their education. A good many of these boys and girls will one day attend high school, and some will even want to go on to college. We intend for them to be able to compete with their peers.”

“Wonderful,” Rosie said, impressed with the man’s dedication.

“The voters of Precinct Six have petitioned an election for this purpose, and it will take place the last Saturday of the month. If it passes, the school term will continue through July.”

“July! That should allow plenty of time for the students to make up what they’ve missed.”

“Should the election turn out favorably, however, I’m afraid I will be without a teacher. My regular instructor has…” Here he paused to survey the room, then he leaned closer toward Rosie. “The primary school teacher has elected to return to Chicago as the bride of a young lawyer of her acquaintance.”

Rosie’s heart swelled with hope. “I would be honored to fill the teaching position your difficult situation has made available.”

He pulled at his mustache for a moment before responding. “Return tomorrow morning, Miss Kingsley, after I’ve had time to ponder this.”

“Yes, Mr. Kilgore. Thank you for considering me.”

Light-headed with optimism, she shook his hand firmly before making her way to the door.

As she raced back to the restaurant, Rosie laid out a plan. If she were to get Bart Kingsley safely out of her room and on his way, he would need something decent to wear. Her Harvey Girl salary of seventeen dollars and fifty cents a month plus tips, room, board, laundry and travel expenses left plenty of spending money. She had saved nearly all her income toward her goal to buy a small house. But she was more than willing to spend a dollar or two on a new shirt if it meant she could send Bart away. Far, far away.

After the evening trains had pulled away and the dining room had been set in order, the Harvey Girls climbed the long stairway to their dormitory hall. Even though it was well after ten, Rosie was wide-awake as she clutched the shirt she had purchased and opened her bedroom door.

“Bart?” she called softly.

“Over here, Rosie.” His deep voice came from the corner by the window. “I waited for you. I wanted to say goodbye.”

She lifted the glass globe of her lamp and lit the wick. Bart was dressed in his buckskin jacket and denim trousers. But the warrior with shining black hair and bright green eyes was not the wounded wreck who had crawled out from under her bed.

She looked away. “The sooner you leave, the more of a head start you’ll have on the sheriff. He’s still after you. He was in the restaurant talking about how wicked you are.”

“I reckon I am, Rosie.”

She shrugged. “As the Bible says, sow the wind and reap the whirlwind. If Sheriff Bowman gets his hands on you, he’s going to shoot you dead. He wants the fifty-dollar reward.”

“Then I reckon I’d better not let him find me.” With a gentle smile on his face, he walked toward her.

Rosie winced at the thud of his boots on the hollow wood floor, but it was the nearness of the man that made her face go hot. “W-what are you going to do?” she stammered.

“Right now I’m planning to say goodbye to the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

“I…I mean after you leave. Where are you going?”

“I’m glad you care about me, Rosie.”

“I don’t care. Not a bit. But I think I should know where you’ll be, just in case.”

He stopped a mere two feet in front of her. “In case what?”

“In case…” She moistened her lips. “In case I should ever need to know what became of you. Last time you went off without leaving a clue. Now I know you were running with an outlaw gang. Is that what you’re planning to do again?”

His eyes searched her face. “I reckon a man who truly loves a woman ought to think of something better to do than robbing banks.”

He lifted his hand to touch her cheek, but she caught her breath and pushed it away.

“You made that same sound the first time I kissed you,” he said in a low voice. “Remember, Rosie-girl? We were at our special place by the stream. I grabbed your hand and kissed it. You gasped…but you didn’t pull away from me.”

Her eyes trained on the lamp, she shook her head. “I’m a different woman now, Bart, and you’d better leave my room right this minute.”

“You’re no different, Rosie. Not really. You’re the same girl I married six years ago.”

“No, I’m not.” She whirled on him. “I’ve been engaged to Dr. William Lowell for three years and—”

“And you’ve never forgotten me. We loved each other back then, Rosie.”

“We were children! We didn’t even know what love was.”

“And you’re telling me that you do now? If you love your rich fiancé so much, how come you ran off and left him? Why are you hiding out in New Mexico?”

“Stop it, Bart! You don’t know one thing!” Her eyes stung with unshed tears.

“I know one thing. I know I aim to make a new life for myself. And finding you is the beginning of it.”

She crossed her arms and stared at the ceiling in hope that he could read nothing on her face. Oh, why couldn’t this confusing man just leave her as he had before—with no farewells, no speeches, no tenderness?

Why was he standing so close, smelling so good and looking like the man in her dreams? Why did her heart have to hammer and her throat swell up in a lump? And why, oh, why did she long to feel his arms around her just one more time?

“We’re both trying to start over, Bart,” she said when she trusted herself to speak. “If finding me is the beginning of your new life, it could be the end of mine. I don’t want any reminders of the past. I want to be a new person. I want to be alone, Bart. Alone!”

“Rosie,” he murmured, unlocking her arms and letting his big hands slide down to take hers. “Rosie, don’t push me away. Give me a chance.”

“I’ve always done what people told me to—my pappy, Dr. Lowell, you. I don’t have to live that way anymore.”

“But I’m not telling you to do anything, Rosie-girl. I’m asking. Please…give me a chance.”

She studied the design on her pressed-tin ceiling. “A chance to what?”

“To touch your face, Rosie.” He ran the tip of one finger down her cheek. “Remember how I used to pull the ribbons from your braids? I’d untwist your hair until it hung loose around your shoulders. You used to laugh and scold me because I could never put your braids back the right way, and you worried that your pappy would find out we’d been together. But I knew you didn’t really care, because you always leaned against my shoulder and let me slide my fingers through your hair.”