“Hey, Sheriff! Ed’s dead!” Cassidy raced into the jail house yelling, almost bowling Sheriff Armstrong over. Armstrong grabbed Cassidy by a shoulder to slow him down, and to keep his own balance.
“Where? And when?” he asked. “And do try to calm down. You are totally incoherent when you get over-excited.” He spoke slowly and quietly, still keeping a hand on Cassidy’s shoulder.
“Sorry, Jim,” Cassidy took a deep breath. “Just now, at Morgan’s.”
Armstrong strapped on his gun belt, grabbed his hat, and went striding out the door. Cassidy had to run to catch up.
“It was Big Bart, Jim,” he said.
“Oh? Ok, how many were there, Cas”? I’ll need to talk to them all.”
“Well…uh…there were about ten, but when Bart and his boys showed up, they slipped out quick and quiet like.”
“Cut! Cut!” another voice shouted.
Cassidy and Armstrong stopped and turned. “Ok, Steve, what’s wrong this time?” Armstrong asked.
“The whole damned thing, that’s what!” Steve growled. “This is the worst script it has been my misfortune to have to try to direct – ever!”
“Well, yeh, but then why did you agree to do it?” Cassidy asked.
“It’s like this. Mr. Lastor has always been very generous in backing great plays for me. Now he is insisting on this one, because his wife wrote it. He doesn’t want to upset her.”
“Does he have any idea how bad it is? No matter how hard we try, it’s not even going to make the B list. More likely the F list – for flop!” Armstrong said
“I think he knows, he’s just afraid to tell her. Ever met her? She is one forceful, determined woman!” Steve grinned.
Armstrong, aka Tom Simmons, one of the top leading men in Hollywood, sighed and sat down on the edge of the stage. “Yeah,” he said. “I had that dubious honour.” He sighed.
“That bad, huh?” said Cassidy. His real name was Clarence ‘Clancy’ Hoolihan. “You know, every time I have to say one of those lines, I have a real fight just to keep from breaking up.” He stood and stared at the other two.
Steve stared at Clancy for a moment. “Clancy!” he exclaimed. “You’ve got it!” He started pacing, getting more excited and positive as he went on.
“Huh?” grunted Clancy.
“A comedy! Make it a real farce! Ham it up for all you’re worth.” Steve went on excitedly.
Tom’s head slowly came up, he looked at Steve, then at Clancy, as big grins gradually spread over three faces.
“Right, Steve,” he said. “The script says Cassidy is clumsy.” He turned to Clancy. “When you rush in, instead of me staying up, we both go down. You stumble when you’re trying to get up, and knock me back down again…”
There was a moment of silence, then all three broke into roars of laughter and shook hands.
Six months later, the three left the stage. It was opening night. The crowd had roared with laughter. There had been three standing ovations, and three encores. It had turned into the funniest musical comedy in a decade.
As they walked to the Star’s dressing rooms, Steve said “Tom, your idea to add music and dancing really put the show over the top! Great job, guys.”
“Yup,” Clancy said, grinning. “Most fun I’ve had on the job in years. Hmmm .. Wonder what Mrs. L thought?” They looked at each other, shuddered, and broke up again.
“Well, never mind,” Steve said. “We won’t have to face her. And ‘Ed’s Dead at Morgan’s Saloon’ is a smash hit, and we’re all winners.” They walked on, smiling.
The young woman slipped out of the shadows by the saloon and approached the Stage Coach driver. “Sir, I have my ticket, sorry I am so late.” she said softly.
He had just finished loading passengers and luggage, and was about to mount to the box, so he turned angrily at her voice. Taking in the slender body loaded down with luggage and baby, his face softened.
“Ok, Ma’am. Just leave the luggage here and get in and settle yourself. There is plenty of room. I’ll tend to your things.” He tipped his hat and opened the coach door.
Leaving all but one bag on the ground, she climbed in and settled herself in a corner. There were only two other passengers, officials of the railway line who had been looking over the area. The railway company was going to extend the line through the town and on Westward. In a few years, this Coach, from Morganstown to Tucson would be retired.
They said nothing, just tipped their hats, tight lipped as they contemplated a long trip with an infant. A short time later the coach started, and soon they were travelling along at good clip. There was not much light as night closed in, the moon being in the earliest crescent phase.
She sat looking out the window, seeing nothing with her eyes, only that last scene in Morgan’s saloon. She still felt shaken, still heard the report of the gun, muffled though it was between their bodies. Why couldn’t he have left her alone? No one in that bigoted, judgmental town had ever believed her. She had come to teach, but instead she was condemned as a whore, a slut – because she had a child and no husband in evidence. She had shown the Preacher and the school board her marriage certificate, and the death certificate for her husband, and they had scoffed and brushed them off as forgeries. Any enterprising whore could provide herself with the like, they said. She should have been wary when the advertisement for the teaching job said ‘four-square Gospel Christian preferred.’
Still, she had tried to make a home for herself and Jamie there. She had no where else to go, she had used almost all of her money getting there, expecting a job and salary. She had scrimped and saved, doing sewing, housecleaning for the women who practically spit on her if they met her on the street. And all the time fighting off the oh, so holy men of the town. Now she had enough for the Stage Coach fare to Tucson, thanks to a gift from her in-laws. They had tracked her down, and begged her to come to them. They wanted to help her and their grandson. If only the Stage had come in earlier, then nothing terrible would have happened. She sighed.
I didn’t mean to kill him, I just wanted him to leave me alone. But no, he grabbed me, held a gun to little Jamie’s head, threatening him if I didn’t ‘put the kid down and give out’. I put Jamie down on the floor, and as I was straitening up, he jumped me. We both fell and I fought, as hard as I could, using teeth and nails. He still held the gun, and somehow it got between us. I got my hand on it, and pressed his finger on the trigger. He jerked, and his arms fell away from me.
When I stood up, the blood was running from his chest. He moaned once, tried to turn his head, and stopped breathing. Now Ed Stanley is dead and I am a murderess. Maybe, when I get to Tucson, I should go to the Sheriff and tell him what happened. But not until I make sure Jamie will be all right with Will’s family.
The tiring journey went on, the coach stopping before midnight at a small way station. The passengers were given food and a place to rest. She was able to change and clean Jamie, and even got some sleep. Then they were on the way again just as the sun was rising.
Three days later they were in Tucson and a neatly dressed black man approached. “Excuse me, Ma’am, are you Mrs. William Clarkson? I’m George, driver for Mr. William Henry Clarkson, and they sent me to bring you home.” He tipped his hat and smiled.
“Oh!” AnnaBeth said. “Yes, I am. I didn’t expect to be picked up, thank you.”
“Fine, Missy, just you rest here and I will gather your luggage.” smiling again he pointed to a bench. She agreed, described her luggage, and settled down to wait. It was not long before he was back pulling a cart with all her bags on it. “Come along now, Missy, the carriage is just outside.”
She got up and followed, and was amazed when she saw the splendid coach, shiny black and pulled by a matched set of greys. There was an insignia painted on the door, WGC, in red and gold. OH! She thought. I didn’t know Will’s family were rich! Oh, dear, how will I ever fit in? Ah, but I won’t, not if I tell them about Ed. At laest I’ll know my Jamie will be well cared for and educated.
“In you get, Missy, I’ll just stow your bags and we’ll be off. You don’t have anything more to worry about, now.” He helped her up the steps, folded them away, and very soon after climbed up to the driver’s box, clicked to the horses, and they were off.
Less than half an hour later they drove up a long, winding drive to stop before a beautiful mansion. Standing on the steps were an older couple, undoubtedly Will’s parents, smiling and holding out their hands.
Once they had each had a chance to cuddle Jamie, he was sent off with a nursemaid, and they sat down to a sumptuous meal. She felt she had to tell them about the killing, it was not a thing she could hide. They listened quietly, William asking an occasional question. There was silence for a few minutes after she was done.
“I thought I should tell a sheriff about it,” she said.
“No, my dear, you are not a murderess.” William said. “I am an attorney, and know the law. You had no intention to kill, you were just protecting yourself and your son. And he was the one who drew a gun. I know the governor of Oklahoma, and he will have that town investigated. The only demand they can make on a religious basis is that the person be Christian. And they can not refuse to accept valid evidence of anyone’s marital status. Forget that place, and Ed Stanley. You and Jamie are safe here, now. And we are so happy to have you. We lost a son, but now we have gained a daughter and a grandson. You and Jamie are a true blessing to us, and will fill a big hole in our lives and hearts. Please look on us as your new parents, and let us love and help both of you.”
“Do you really think I should just forget Ed? I’d like to forget him and that whole terrible town. Thank you so much. It would be so good to have a real home, and a family again.” Her strained face eased, as she smiled and felt the tension drain out of her tired body. Maybe all would be well, and she and Jamie could have the future Will had planned for them. With that thought, she was at last able to relax, and look forward to a good future.
inspired by picture of a little girl gathering shells by the sea
“SEVEN YEAR OLD CANADIAN GIRL MISSING!”
Daughter of Canada’s richest man vanished while playing on private Florida beach.
So the headlines had screamed that day twelve years ago. Now, retired police detective Rob o’ Suilleabhain and P.I. Mike Matthews, also retired, were revisiting the scene. For years they had examined and re-examined every bit of evidence to see if they had mossed anything. That evidence was scarce, mostly the statements of the few who had noticed the little girl playing at the edge of the water. Hannah Aliza Johnstone was a graceful, cheerful child, a joy to behold. All that the evidence had ever told them was that one moment she was there, and the next she had disappeared. No footprints anywhere, except the ones she had made as she approached that one point on the shore, then nothing. Not one single sight or sound of her. No bits of hair, or clothing; no scattered shells and stones from the collection she had been making.
“I still feel that we missed something,” Rob said, “but I’m damned if I can figure out what. It’s as though she just disappeared into thin air. And that is impossible!” he scowled at the sand beneath his feet.
“I know. I feel the same. I’ve thought and thought about it, and nothing comes to mind. How could anyone….” Mike stopped suddenly, staring ahead toward where the child had disappeared. He had been looking at that spot as he walked, and now he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“What?” Rob said, following Mike’s gaze. Then he stared, mouth agape. They had both stopped moving, frozen in disbelief. Right there, the spot that was impressed indelibly on both minds stood a young woman. “Who’s that, and where’d she come from?” he asked. After a brief pause, both men started walking toward her. She looked at them, took a hesitant step forward, and stopped, looking confused and wary.
When they were closer, Rob said “Hello, young lady. Are you all right?”
She looked from one to the other then said “I think so. I…I feel strange. I should know this place, but…..” her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. Rob and Mike slowly walked closer, until they were within touching distance; neither tried to touch her, though. They could see the confusion and fear in her eyes.
“What is your name?” Mike asked softly.
“I…I’m….Hannah Aliza Johnstone?” her voice rose in a question, and she looked at them, almost pleading with them to confirm this for her.
“All right, Miss” Rob said. “What can you tell us about yourself? How did you get here? There are no footsteps in the sand leading to where you are standing, and you seemed to appear out of nowhere. Since that has to be impossible, there must be another explanation.”
“I was….I was playing in the waves, picking up pretty shells and stones, and I saw a big bubble on the water. It made me think of The Wizard of Oz. You know, when Glenda appears.” She looked startled, and murmured “where did that come from?”
“Yes, there was a child who did that, twelve years ago.” Mike said. “What else do you remember?”
“Nothing, after the big bubble came. I was in it, and there were two people there, a man and a woman. But they weren’t human. They looked human, but more….more….like, all angles, not rounded. I remember being terrified, and then she touched me, and I felt calm, and went to sleep. When I woke up, I was in a beautiful house. There was a lovely garden outside, and other children, boys and girls, all about my age. They were all colours, some of them children of the people who had taken me – and, I guess, the others.
“We were well cared for, well fed, and had regular classes, and we all grew up. Then they said we would go back to our world, and share the knowledge we had with those who could use it best. But I don’t know what knowledge I have, or who to give it to.” She shook her head, and her shoulders slumped in dejection. “Do you know? And what about my family? I know I have a father and mother somewhere. I do, don’t I?” She looked anxiously from one to the other.
“Yes, you have parents, who have never given up hope of getting you back. We will take you to them, and report your return to the government authorities. They will come and talk to you, and maybe they can figure out who you should talk to.” They all headed back along the beach to the car park. An hour later, they were at the Johnstone estate, and had witnessed the incredulous, joyful, reunion. Then an RCMP Lieutenant, and agents from the FBI and CIA arrived, and the questions started.
In the end, Hannah realized that she had a great deal of medical information. Treatments for things that were at that point untreatable; like curing all kinds of cancer, and ending arthritis, and almost anything humans are prone to. Suddenly she wanted to sing. Everything came back to her – her life before she was taken, the life with the aliens, all of it. She knew the names of the other human children, and what each one had been given.
“I know,” she cried. “I know it all. Robert Barnside, nuclear physics, way beyond what earth scientists know. Shelly Martin, cloning and stem cell research to cure birth defects in the first days and weeks after conception. I remember all of it, everything, and everyone. They are benevolent, and want only the best for us.”
They all stared at her; her Mom and Dad, Rob and Mike, the FBI and CIA agents, staring and silent. Then a large, clear, iridescent bubble materialized in the middle of the room and settled on the floor. Then it was gone, and a man and woman stood there. She was tall, blond and angular; he was shorter, dark and just as angular. They were both smiling.
“We are from the Andromeda Galaxy. We travel the universe, and when we find a planet where they are in the first stages of space travel, we explore the place. Whenever we find things that they are unable to fix, we borrow some of their brightest children, and teach them all that we can. That way, when they finally are capable of leaving their home system, they will be cured of all diseases. And all mental aberrations that cause so much hatred and suffering, are gone. The universe is big, and we are its guardians. We are making sure that there will be no strife, anywhere. We have a long way to go yet, but, with the help of those we have taught, the task gets smaller. Welcome to the Universe.”
There was a stunned silence, then an outburst of questions and comments. Androsynna and Zyromeda answered the questions for a while, but at last suggested that all the world leaders be called together. They could then explain to everyone at the same time, and see that the returned children were placed where their knowledge could be best used.
In time, after many different seminars all around the world, that new knowledge was being put to use. Humanity at last became one, with everyone working toward the same goals. And starships were being built so that the more mature Earthlings could take their first large steps outward. In time the Universe would be theirs, shared with the other intelligences they had not yet met.
Written for Andrew and Scott after their meeting with Murphy Sat. 08/01/15
How dare you, Murphy! You contemptible, villainous trickster! It’s bad enough that you have to pick on me constantly; now you are picking on my grandson and his friend? I know you love to discombobulate people; I have experienced your evil ways too many times. But this is too much!
First, you made them wait for three hours for a bus home, sitting around the bus station from nine pm to eleven pm? And when they went for a break and drink, you messed up the chocolate chill that was meant to soothe their feelings; that was just plain reprehensible! And to cap it all, you arranged for them to be locked out of their home when they got there a 1:30 in the morning! You were foiled on that, though. Their friend was home and let them in.
You inveterate, pernicious, obnoxious blackguard! You knave! To perdition with you; you are an anathema to all, and I call on all the Irish saints to send you to the bode of Old Nick: St. Patrick with your staff, St. Bridgit with your veil, Saint Martin with your mantle and Saint Michael with your shield, send this reprehensible blackguard to the nether world, there to consort with Satan for eternity, and free us from his evil ways. Amen.
