Several men milled around outside the jail, waiting their turn to get their wives out. Jesse pushed through, shouting, “Lawyer.” A path opened up.
The sheriff stood off to the side, surrounded by a circle of men.
“Where’s my wife?” Jesse demanded.
The sheriff’s eyes looked longingly at the small window alongside him as if he wanted to crawl out and head for the border. Instead, he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief as he shouted over the din of the women yelling, “In the back, Jesse, locked up with the others.”
Jesse pushed toward the direction of the cells, but the sheriff pulled him back by his collar. “Now hold on there, son. I have to do this orderly like.”
Jesse yanked free of the sheriff’s hold. “Have charges been filed?”
The sheriff shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Then as her attorney, I demand you release her immediately.”
“Just a minute.” The sheriff puffed out his chest. “There will be charges filed against these women. They destroyed the saloon this afternoon. I’m expecting Caleb Johnson to tear down here first thing tomorrow morning when he gets off the train.”
“Fine. Until charges have been filed, you need to release these women.” When the sheriff hesitated, he added, “Come on, sheriff, you know all these women, their husbands. They aren’t going anywhere before tomorrow morning. We’re not talking about dangerous outlaws here.”
The sheriff shifted his cigar. “I ain’t so sure of that. Right now I’d rather have a gang of thieves in my cells trying to saw their way out.” He took a deep breath and confronted the men, running his hands through his scarce hair. “All right. I’ll let ‘em out, but only cause I can’t stand anymore of the caterwauling coming from those cells back there.” He motioned with his thumb.
Grabbing a ring of keys, he glared at the group of men. “I’ll send them out, one at a time. You have to sign this.” He waved a yellow piece of paper and handed it to one of the deputies. “They have to appear back here first thing tomorrow morning.”
The sheriff ambled to the back of the jailhouse, wiping his forehead again, his unlit cigar chomped to a bit. At the appearance of the sheriff, the shrieking from the women grew louder.
The first woman came out. A man stepped forward to claim her, then signed his name and shoved the paper back at the deputy. Another one came out, and then anoth
er, repeating the process. Some men were relieved, while others barely controlled their anger.
Stunned at the women’s disheveled condition, Jesse brushed his hand along the nape of his neck. Beads of sweat met his dry fingertips.
Torn dresses, scratches, bruises, and, of course, lots of tears. Unbelievable.
Tori hurried down the hall and spotted him. She ran straight into his arms. He held her while she cried and blubbered words he couldn’t understand. Something about signs, singing, her sore eye, and a broken shoe.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He led her from the jailhouse. She continued to sob, and he wished for the privacy of his carriage. He didn’t want to parade his distraught wife down Main Street hobbling on one shoe. The next couple out, Pastor Dave and his wife, lived a few steps from the jail.
“Pastor, can I borrow your buggy to take my wife home?”
“Sure, Jesse, that would be okay.” He wrapped his arm around a sobbing Jane.
“I’ll bring it right back.”
“Don’t concern yourself. I won’t need it again tonight. You take care of your wife.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Jesse led Tori to the buggy, still parked in front of the Pastor’s house, not having been put away for the night.
“Honey, do you have your spectacles?”
Tori raised her twisted spectacles and kept mumbling words he couldn’t understand, with sobs in between. He patted her on the back and uttered comforting sounds.
Once they were out of jail, he relaxed a bit. All those women, church-going, respectable ladies, sitting in the jailhouse with the local whores. And the fact they’d involved themselves in a saloon brawl flabbergasted him.
A fierce desire to throttle Mrs. Boswell and her decency campaign ripped through him. His stomach clenched at the thought of Tori being hurt, and then dragged off to jail like a criminal. His wife! And sitting in jail with whores. Never did he want any part of his soiled childhood to touch her.
With white-knuckled fists, he held the horses in check as they drove down Main Street. The town appeared a lot busier than usual at this time of day. People gathered in groups and grinned in his direction. A few brave souls hollered something about upstanding women and funniest thing ever.
Children, accompanied by the inevitable muddy dogs, shouted and ran alongside the buggy. Storekeepers saluted him and doubled over with laughter, slapping each other on the back in their hilarity. The best thing he could do was to get Tori home as fast as possible. Raising the collar of his jacket, he smacked the horses.