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Stories from the small town of Whisper Gap where one life, one tale invariably reaches out to touch the next. by Jo Janoski.
So, such a shoot'em-up kind of fellow wasn't likely to attract women. But that was before the new school marm came to town. Miss Annabelle Beasley's first words upon spying Black Bob, as he ran through town guns raised and popping, was, "Oh, mercy!" And mercy she needed, the school marm fell in love at first sight. But how was a simple school teacher to entrap a gun-slinging cowpoke? Miss Beasley set her class to quiet reading every afternoon just so she could stare out the window. Soon Bob would turn the corner, dressed in black, the sun glinting off his spurs, hands hovering above his guns, quivering, quivering, until boom-boom-boom. He'd shoot up the streets, laughing as he watched people scatter. Truly, when Miss B. witnessed that, a lump formed in her throat. Every day she would turn away from the window and ponder how to catch such a man. Then she'd look back and spy the cowboy kick the saloon doors to the Redeye Saloon wide open and strut in. The man loved only three things: guns, horses, and saloons. That was when Miss B. figured out what she needed to do. Miss Cathy didn't take well to the idea of Miss Beasley working in her Redeye Saloon, but when the teacher explained more money was needed for books and chalk at the school, well, that convinced her. Miss Cathy loved children. "Well, what can ya do? Can ya tend bar?" Cathy asked, already doubting her decision to hire Miss B. Miss Beasley looked back with a startled expression. "Well. I'm not sure...uh, I can sing. I sing with the children all the time." "Sing, huh? Well, I guess it can't do no harm. You can start tonight." After class dismissed that day, Miss Annabelle Beasley trotted over to the Redeye and took her place next to Piano Sam, the clean-faced fella Cathy hired to play the piano in the bar. He was even too young to drink the Redeye's signature whiskey, but Cathy let him have some anyway. Miss B. settled in and with a nod to Sam, started her first song, "Oh! Susanna," but as her notes drifted through the smoky quarters, her eyes rested on Black Bob and never wavered. Poor Miss B. warbled the night long and nary a twinkle of interest came from the cowboy. That fellow sat at the poker tables downing shots of whiskey while he played cards. He didn't even look her way once, not even with her glaring eyes set on him all night. Piano Sam looked her way though. Hunched over the keyboard plunking keys, he stole glances while she sang. She wasn't like the other women in the bar. No low-cut dress, no heavy rouge nor red lips. No, Miss Annabelle Beasley was a school marm, and properly attired in her Sunday dress, high-cut shoes, and a pert little hat. Shucks, she reminded him of his mom. "Miss Annabelle, you should take a break for a while," he said one night as she went into her second hour of singing. His remark startled Miss B. Truthfully, when her eyes rested on Black Bob, the world around her faded. But Piano Sam was right, she was tired. As she settled in her chair, Sam approached balancing a steaming cup in his hands. He placed it in front of her. "I made you a cup of tea...to help your throat." "Thank you, Sam." She took a sip. "What with a school marm singing in here and sipping tea, these cowboys will wonder what's happened to this place." "No, no! They like you singing here. They would never say it, but I know they do." Miss B. gazed at Black Bob and murmured, "Not bloody likely. What appeals to these cowboys besides guns and horses?" "I'm telling you, Miss Beasley, these cowboys are soft inside. Inside every cowpoke, his heart beats for his Momma." "Is that right?" Miss Beasley's mind churned with ideas, and since she was a teacher, she had a very good mind. The next night the school marm pushed her way through the double doors of the Redeye fumbling with a big white box. Knocking and bumping her way around tables, she placed it on the bar while under the scrutiny of curious eyes. Miss B. said nothing but, "I'll be back for this later." Even Black Bob strutted over to take a look. Indeed, it was a plain white box; and unless it was opened, there wasn't much to see. "Hey, little missy, you gonna open this box?" He turned on his heel to look Miss Beasley in the eye. That lady swooned. "No, sir. I do not, at least not until after my singing." Black Bob hovered over the school marm, his eyes moving back and forth, to her first, then to the box. His restless hands stroked the guns in his holster. He pondered further, then grunted. "Okay, I reckon I can wait." Piano Sam hit the keyboard in the first bars of "Oh! Susanna," and the saloon returned to normal. Miss Beasley started her song. At least Black Bob had finally spoken to her. As she sang, that lady gathered her courage and taking baby steps, she inched her way closer to the cowboy. Soon Miss B. was singing over his shoulder with a rousing rendition of "Beautiful Dreamer." She stayed next to Bob all night, soaking in his strength and aura, plus a barrage of horse, whiskey, and tobacco odors, but she didn't mind. That's the stuff cowboys are made of, and Miss Beasley loved it. Speaking of aromas, pretty soon Black Bob pushed back his chair with a creak. Every single bar patron dived for the floor fearing the worst from Bob's itchy trigger finger. That's because when a gun-toting fella's playing poker, things can happen fast. But Bob simply walked over to Miss Beasley's big white box. Bending low, he sniffed. It seems even cowboys can be curious creatures. "This here box smells like apples," he announced. Miss Beasley flew to his side. "Yes, it is apples, in a way." A shy smile passed her lips. "I made something for you." Next a remarkable event occurred. Black Bob smiled. The folks in the Redeye just about fell off their chairs. No one had ever seen Bob smile. "Well, now, little lady, you'd best open that there box and show me what you brought me." Miss Beasley's heart was jittering like a nervous egg in a red hot fry pan as she opened the lid. "APPLE PIE!" Black Bob reached in and broke off a piece, stuffing it in his mouth. "Just like Momma used to make," he said, only his words were muffled because he spoke with his mouth full, flakes of crust and juice spewing through his lips. He grabbed Miss Beasley and planted a big kiss on her cheek. As Bob backed away, he stared at Miss B.
with an astonished expression. You see, Black Bob right at that
moment had an epiphany. He knew he'd met the lady who would be
his wife. And, mind you, it was all thanks to apple pie and a
strong-hearted woman. Copyright 2008 JO Janoski
Jo Janoski is a poet, author, and photographer from Pittsburgh, PA. Send Jo a message either directly or using the Word Catalyst feedback form. For more from Jo visit the Word Catalyst archives or her online home. |
Cheshire Cat
Songs of
