After the Incident at Dead Man's Corner

Martha met him in the cemetery early in the morning, armed with a bouquet of drying flowers and weeds she had gathered from the nearby hills, and a bucket of food. Paul wasn’t surprised to see her. He also wasn’t surprised that she was the only one who arrived for the funeral. “I can help you dig the graves,” she offered. Paul looked at the two covered corpses near the shallow graves, then back at Martha’s pretty face. There was already a single bead of sweat in the hollow of her throat, her skin glistening in the morning heat. “No.” Martha perched on a boulder, setting the pail of food at her feet. She looked almost childlike in the gray light of pre-dawn. Paul shook his head, focusing on the narrow hole before him. “Why don’t you have the deputies help?” Martha asked. “You’ll want to get these graves dug before the sun gets too high.” After the final showdown between Mayor Reid, his wife, and the town, everybody had vanished, leaving Paul to put Dead Man’s Corner back together from the bottom up. He earned the responsibility by virtue of surviving the battle, not by virtue of ability. He didn’t mind…much. “Nobody offered.” Martha shook her head. “Paul, you’re the boss now. You don’t wait for people to offer to help; you tell them that they’re digging graves before breakfast.” Paul shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. What’s with the pail?” “I thought I’d bring you some breakfast. So you wouldn’t have to eat at the hotel,” Martha said, smiling. Her crooked front teeth always distracted him. It was her only imperfection, but it didn’t mar her beauty. “What’s wrong with eating at the hotel?” He pushed the nose of the shovel into the shifting sand. It would be easier to burn the bodies. It would be easier to burn the town. “Because the mayor shouldn’t be eating at the hotel with everybody else. It’s unseemly,” Martha said primly. Paul laughed, though it felt more forced than genuine. “Unseemly? Honey, those guys don’t care where I eat. They probably don’t even realize I’ve taken over the job.” He had officially been mayor for nearly a week now, and nobody had even commented on his new role. “It’s just not right,” she huffed. “You should be better than that.” “This isn’t San Francisco or New York,” Paul said, pausing to survey the single dusty road that ran through town. He could already hear dynamite in the hills. The miners always got to work early. And now they could work in peace, without the fear of Mayor Bernard Reid sneaking up behind them, taking them prisoner, murdering them, and stealing their claims. “If you’re going to do right by this place, you need a wife,” Martha announced. She brushed the hair out of her face, a simple gesture that drew Paul’s eyes away from his task. “Now, Martha, where am I going to find a wife here? No women in Dead Man’s Corner but whores, and I don’t have the inclination to travel on to Santa Fe,” Paul said, his shovel slicing through the dirt. The only woman he wanted to marry was out of his life anyway. “I can be your wife.” Paul stopped short, but he didn’t look at her. Did she just propose marriage? To him? Despite his lofty new title, he was nothing more than a boy. What’s more, a boy that was in love with a woman who had rolled out of town the morning before on the arm of another man. What would any woman, especially a beautiful woman like Martha, want with marrying him? “I’ll treat you real good,” she added. “I’ll cook your food and do your laundry and clean up the house, and well…o’ course I’ll stop working at the hotel.” He answered without thinking, fear pushing the word past his lips. “No.” She reared back. “No?” Paul shook his head. “No.” How could he deal with being Martha’s husband and Dead Man’s Corner’s new mayor? One week ago, he hadn’t even been trusted with a real job. “Is it because of Eliza?” Martha asked, tilting her head and pursing her fine lips. “She isn’t coming back.” Paul knew that. Still, he didn’t know what to do with a wife. He decided to change the subject, trying to ignore the sudden pain in his heart. “What are you doing here anyway? I’m sure you didn’t have any tender feelings toward the mayor.” “No, I didn’t, but Elsie was always kind to me. Besides, you pay your respect to the dead.” “I’m sorry I shot her,” Paul muttered. He could still see the mayor’s wife, standing over Eliza’s body, a mean smile on her face, a gun in her hand. Eliza had been defenseless, trapped. That second in time had been frozen, endless, as he raised his gun and stared at Elsie’s eyes over the long barrel. “You didn’t have a choice.” “Still sorry I had to do it.” He looked at the two corpses, wrapped in white sheets. They didn’t have enough wood on hand to make proper coffins. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” “Why not? Paul, if you feel guilty, don’t. She was going to kill Eliza, you knew it—” “No, it’s not the guilt. I couldn’t sleep because the house was too quiet…the bed was too soft. Just not use to fine living, I guess.” “I guess not.” “Where you from, Martha?” Paul knew she wasn’t going to leave until both the bodies were interred. You do have to pay your respects to the dead. Paul believed it, too. Otherwise, he would have tossed the bodies to the desert, allowed the coyotes to make short work of Dead Man’s Corner’s former murderous mayor and former crazy first lady. “New York City.” “Now, what would a fine lady from New York City want with someone like me?” Paul joked. “Nothing. A fine lady from New York City wouldn’t even notice somebody like you, mayor or not. You wouldn’t even be good enough to tend to the horses. But I’m not a fine lady from New York City. I’m a w***e from Dead Man’s Corner, and you’re the finest man in town.” “There are richer men…” “I said fine, not rich. Besides, I’ve already taken their money. They’re fools with nothing better to do at night than leave their gold on my bed. What do I need a man with money for?” “What do you need me for?” “I like you, Paul. I always have. You like me, don’t you?” Paul paused, resting his arm on the top of his shovel. The question struck him as absurd. Who in town didn’t like Martha? Shining, golden hair, sweet body, beautiful smile—a rarity in Dead Man’s Corner, she was the only w***e with all her teeth. Crooked as they were. How many nights had he considered knocking on her door, taking his turn in her bed? But he never could walk up those stairs. “‘Course I do.” “Then marry me.” “It’s not that simple,” Paul protested, gauging the depth of the first grave. Only three feet. It would work if he had a mountain of stones on hand, but he didn’t. “Why on Earth not?” “Because I…” Paul had the sense that marriage should be a grand affair. Romantic, passionate, but never spontaneous. He didn’t know where he picked up this idea, but he couldn’t seem to shake it. He would have married Eliza if she had stayed, if she had loved him. “It’s because I’m a w***e, isn’t it?” Martha asked, her voice low. “No…no…I mean, shoot Martha, I don’t care. None of my concern, is it?” Paul didn’t understand why she was doing this. Didn’t he have enough to worry about without her pressuring him into marriage? Just two weeks before, he had been a lowly, unpaid deputy with little money and no concerns. He had been happy enough. “We can do it this afternoon. Eliza took my silk dress, but I have one that’s almost as nice.” She pulled the lid off the top of the bucket, removing several biscuits wrapped in a checkered towel. Paul could smell them despite the overwhelming aroma of overturned earth and decay. “Biscuit?” “I’m not hungry just now.” “Open your mouth. Take it. I’ll be right back,” she instructed, pushing the warm bread against his lips. “Where you going?” he asked, taking the food from her. “I’m getting you some help. You’re going to be out here all day otherwise. I want to make sure you’re rested and fresh for this afternoon.” “Martha, I said…” She waved her hand. “I know what you said, but you’re going to change your mind by this afternoon.” “How do you know?” “I know how men work.” Martha winked, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be back shortly.” * * * * The woman kept her word, returning in minutes with five men, each armed with their mining equipment. With regret, Paul watched them approach. They’d take over and be done with the digging in less than an hour, then Bernard and Elsie Reid would truly be out of his life forever. He may have had a hand in killing them, but he wasn’t ready for that. In a sick way, they had been like family. “We’ve got it now, boss.” “Go on inside.” Paul shook his head. “I appreciate the help, but I think I’ll just stay on and finish.” They shrugged, setting to work with the same grim determination that governed their lives. It soon became apparent to Paul that he was in the way. Stepping back, he joined Martha on the edge of the cemetery. The sun was now fully over the horizon, and Martha didn’t look like a child anymore. She looked like an astute, focused, intelligent woman. Paul tried to swallow his fear. Fear of being a husband as well as a mayor. Fear of what she would see in him once they were married. Fear that he couldn’t survive by himself. He wanted to touch her. “I really don’t know the first thing about being a husband.” “Most men don’t.” “I’m going to be awfully busy,” he warned. “All those bodies out there…they need to be dug up and reburied. Properly. Not to mention the rest…” “Yes, I know.” “I am in love with Eliza.” “I know that, too. Who you love isn’t my concern.” “This afternoon works for me then.” Martha smiled, taking his hand. “What would you like for dinner tonight?” * * * * Paul hated his new house, the mayor’s house. He hated that the kitchen still smelled of Elsie’s perfume. He hated that cigar smoke still lingered in Bernard’s den. He refused to sleep in their bed, opting instead to sleep in the guest room on the ground floor. He hated the silence. He hated being alone—at least when he was forced to sleep in the stables behind the sheriff’s office, he usually shared his makeshift bed with a friend, or even an old mutt. Most of all, he hated the fact that Martha seemed completely out of place in the grand house. She moved into his bedroom without asking. She used Elsie’s pots and pans to make dinner. She laughed and hummed beneath her breath, but Paul couldn’t shake the feeling that they were interlopers, and they would be found out any second. Then what? Perhaps they would join Mayor Reid and Elsie in the afterlife. When the walls closed around him, and Martha’s incessant humming drove him to distraction, he grabbed his hat and hurried out the back door, Martha calling after him. Of course, it was his wedding night. Of course, he would want to spend time with his new bride. Of course, he was looking forward to a fine, home-cooked meal. Of course, the ghosts of the dead didn’t haunt him. He ran anyway. To the lot of shallow graves behind the house. The graves weren’t in clean rows. They had all been all quickly dug, wherever the body had landed. He carefully picked his way around each of the mounds, counting them. One, two three, four…Reid had been in Dead Man’s Corner since almost day one. He had one of the first claims. He had built the first house. He had probably named the town. He could have been shooting people and burying them in narrow holes since the very day he set up camp. Paul had no way of knowing. Passing each grave, he wondered where his brother was buried. Which heap represented his best friend’s final resting place? Would he have the courage necessary to see to the corpses? It would be easiest to leave it. To ignore it. But it wouldn’t be right. Martha found him long after the sunset, standing over a random grave. He didn’t look up as she approached, but he wasn’t surprised when she touched his arm. “What are you doing out here?” she asked. “Trying to make sense of this,” he said, nodding at the unmarked cemetery. “Not sure how I’m going to take care of it all.” “Is it necessary?” Paul flinched. “You know it is.” “When are you going to start?” “Tomorrow. Bright and early.” “Not by yourself, I hope.” “No, I’ll have help this time.” They both fell silent, observing the last rays of light sinking behind the hills. This is my wife, Paul thought, unable to quite comprehend it. This is my wife. Mine. But Martha didn’t feel like his anything. Nobody belonged to him. He didn’t own a thing. He was just borrowing the town until somebody with more knowledge and strength came along and took it over. “Your dinner is getting cold,” she whispered. “I’m not very hungry.” “Why don’t you come inside?” Her touch was too familiar, her body too close to his. He tried to imagine following her into the house, into their bedroom, into their wedding bed. He tried to imagine finally sleeping with the most popular w***e in Dead Man’s Corner—and he hated himself for thinking of his own wife as a w***e. He hated that he couldn’t think of her as his wife. “No, I think I’m going to go over to the livery and see about getting a wagon and a mule for tomorrow.” Martha sighed, releasing him. “I see.” “What are you going to do tomorrow?” Paul asked, hoping to make light small talk. He didn’t want her to leave angry. “I’m gutting the house.” “Gutting the house?” “Getting rid of everything that’s not ours,” she explained. “But what will we do?” Paul asked, imagining a bare, empty home. No furniture, no pans, no candles, nothing. “I’ll order more at the store,” she said, shrugging. “Order more? But we can’t afford…” “Paul, you’re a rich man now. And well, I have my own money. You don’t need to worry about it.” Paul bit his lip. “Well, if it makes you happy…” “Does it make you happy living in that house?” Martha asked, touching him again. Why did she always need to touch him? He resisted the urge to push her away, understanding that it would hurt her if he batted her hand like a fly. “No. No, it doesn’t,” he admitted. “Maybe we should get our own house.” Martha didn’t answer. Paul knew it was a ridiculous notion. How would he build a new house? He wasn’t accustomed to having real goals, real dreams. She squeezed his hand one more time before releasing him, sauntering to the kitchen door, her hips swinging in such an alluring way… Paul shook his head, trudging the opposite direction. * * * * He found Red Noonan in the livery, whittling what looked to be a hollow bone—something small, maybe from a dog. “What can I do for you?” Red growled, without glancing up. “I need a wagon. A few good mules, too.” “What for?” “Moving bodies.” Red spat from the corner of his mouth. “When you want them?” “Tomorrow.” “Come by around seven. The wagon and mules will be ready.” Paul hadn’t expected his request to be fulfilled so easily. Red was a stubborn ol’ cuss, and he seemed to have a special fondness for mocking Paul. But then, the last time they met, Paul had been nothing but a lowly sheriff’s deputy—one that didn’t even get paid for the work he did. “Well, I’m much obliged.” Red spat again, flashing his brown, rotting teeth. “You’ll need to watch one of the mules. She kicks.” Paul tipped his hat. “Will do.” He considered lingering, drawing Red into another conversation, but the hostler ignored him. After a few seconds, Paul shuffled out the door, torn between going to the mayor’s house—his house—and hiding. Paul opted instead to pace the street. He strolled up and down the empty road, watching as the windows in the small town went dark, one by one, until only the candles in his house continued to burn. Paul couldn’t see her, but he knew she was waiting up for her groom. Why shouldn’t she? It was their wedding night, after all. He kept walking, until not a single candle or lamp flickered in Dead Man’s Corner. Only then did he return to the house, slip in the back door, and retire to the study. Stretching out on the floor, he listened for any sign of Martha, but the room down the hall lay silent. Gradually, he relaxed, shivering as he drifted off to sleep.