Page 7 of Silver Lining
"The same could be said about three-quarters of the men left in Piney Creek. But it was me who had to marry her." The crazy injustice of it clawed at his chest. "We never agreed that one man would pay the price for everyone. That wasn't part of our decision."
"No, it wasn't. But it's done. Can't go back and change things now."
They stood beside the rushing water, listening to the calls and curses of the men working the creek banks. "I was going to be married in two weeks," Max said. "Two weeks later, I would have taken a lucrative position in the Fort Houser bank."
"Well." Jellison frowned down at his boots. "You can still be a banker, I guess."
"I doubt Mr. Houser will welcome me into his bank when he learns I've jilted his daughter."
The situation was unbelievable. Honor and duty were his guiding principles. This close to the wedding, he would have married Philadelphia if he had detested her because a man didn't renege on his promises, didn't humiliate a woman. In the time it took to draw a marble out of a hat, he had destroyed his good name, humiliated Philadelphia, shamed two families, and caused a scandal that would reverberate in Fort Houser for as long as he lived.
"In retrospect, maybe we should have let you stand with the married men," Jellison conceded.
Throughout the night, friends and acquaintances had stopped by his tent to state the same second thoughts. But no one had said it at the time, when it would have counted for something.
"Things don't always work out like we believe they ought to, son. The Lord works in mysterious ways."
Only the Bible dragging at the pocket of Jellison's frock coat saved the preacher's bones from taking a beating. Yesterday hadn't been the Lord's doing, it had been Jellison whipping everyone into a froth.
"Make no mistake, McCord, in the eyes of God, you and Low Down are married. That was a real wedding. It's a shame about that other young lady, but now you have a duty to do right by the wife you got."
Eyes glittering, Max leaned over the preacher, itching with the need to bloody his knuckles on Jellison's face. "Don't lecture me about duty." He started to walk away, but Jellison's sharp voice stopped him.
"There's something you need to know. Low Down ain't much to look at, and she's rough as a cob. But she's a good woman. Honest and hardworking. A lot of women with no family and no advantages might have taken to the cribs, but not her. She's made her way with her hands, not on her back."
Low Down rose in his mind as he'd last seen her, standing beside him whispering her vows. Wearing a saw-brimmed hat leaking dirty hair, dressed in layers of shapeless, musty-smelling men's clothing. Her face had needed a wash along with the rest of her.
And then Philadelphia shimmered into memory, his beautiful lost Philadelphia . The fire burned hotter in his stomach, and his throat closed on a rush of bile.
"Low Down ain't just your wife's name, it's her condition. That woman has never had a lucky break, never had anything good handed to her. In my opinion, she deserves better than life's given her." Jellison waited for Max to inquire about Low Down's background, but he didn't. "Anyway, I'm hoping the something better is going to be you."
"There won't be any happily-ever-after, Preacher. Not for Low Down and not for me. Not for anyone."
Nothing Jellison could say would make this situation any better.
Low Down hadn't figured in his thoughts throughout the long night, but maybe she'd had plans, too.
Plans that didn't include being shackled to a stranger. There was a noose on both ends of the tie that binds.
"I only got one more thing to say. This situation ain't Low Down's fault, so don't go blaming her. She didn't choose you. God put that marble in your hand. If you're fool enough to blame God and fight His plan, then good luck to you, son, because you're going to need it. Just don't go punishing someone else for something that isn't her fault."
Jellison didn't offer to shake hands before he strode away from Max's tent, and neither did Max. He lit his fire, hung a coffeepot over the flames, and stirred together a mess of biscuits.
The talk about fault went to the heart of the matter. He wanted someone to blame, someone he could pummel and punish for the catastrophe wreaked on him and Philadelphia and a future as sparkling as the sunshine striking diamonds off the surface of the creek.
But who? Granted, Billy Brown should have, halted the proceedings and called another meeting to discuss the twist their gratitude had taken. But Max couldn't imagine any man stating that he'd rather Low Down had let him die than poke her. In the end, they would have agreed that someone had to give her a baby.
Jellison made him the maddest because he'd introduced marriage. But naturally a preacher would insist on marriage. It could be argued that Jellison would have been derelict in his duty if he hadn't raised the specter of sin and damnation.
Low Down? She had set a train in motion, impossible to halt once the wheels began to grind. But everyone present, including himself, had urged her to name whatever she wanted most. No one had mentioned any restrictions. No one had added, "as long as what you want is reasonable."
Standing abruptly, Max ground his teeth together and glared down at the skillet of burning biscuits. A terrible wild darkness filled his chest with an intolerable pressure that would burst through his skin if he didn't do something. Losing control, he kicked the skillet off the flames, kicked it down the incline and kept kicking until the pan sailed hissing into the creek.
Then he jammed shaking hands into his pockets and discovered he still had the green marble. Holding it to the sunlight, he swore and ran his thumb over the scratched X that had made a jilted bride out of Philadelphia and a bastard out of him.
In the end, this small glass marble was all he had to blame. The utter ridiculousness of it struck him hard and stopped him from flinging the marble into the rushing creek. He rolled it between his fingers and finally decided he would keep it.
Whenever he was arrogant enough to believe that he was the master of his fate, or anytime he became so puffed up as to think he might deserve a little happiness in life, he would look at the green marble as a reminder that he was wrong.
