Angel

The deputies rounded up ten mounted and armed volunteers and they set off west in pursuit of their prey.

As the robbery went awry, Cole was separated from the other men. His only clear path was east, so fortunately for him, it was the direction he took. The four others responded when Jim Younger was shot in the face with a shotgun, first shooting the bank manager multiple times as he was attempting to reload, and then running on their agreed upon escape route to a place where their horses were being held. They took Jim's horse with them in case they needed it. The witness did see five horses, but there were only four mounted riders. The fifth horse was holding provisions to balance their loads, and could have been mistaken for a fifth rider.

* * *

The first sensation Cole felt was the sensation of floating on a lake. He turned his head left and then right, seeing that he was in a well-appointed bedroom, laying on a feather mattress and covered by a down filled quilt.

His hands went to the heavy bandage around the waist, where the throbbing pain made its presence known. The bandage was dry, and the dressing appeared to be professionally applied. Then he realized he wasn't wearing any clothes and had been bathed. It felt strange, having the soft white cotton sheets directly against his clean skin. He was used to sleeping unbathed in a cheap hotel or on the hard ground.

The sheer curtains fluttered in the summer breeze. Bright sunlight filled the room. On the nightstand next to his bed lay his holstered gun and his leather saddlebag with his money in it. He grimaced as he tried to turn on his side so he could check his bag, giving up as the pain became too intense. He laid back on his pillow, gasping for breath.

The door opened and Blanche entered the room holding a tray with hot tea and buttered homemade bread. She set the tray down on the foot of the bed.

"I see you're up. How are you feeling?"

Cole looked up, his hazy first impression replaced by a clear look at a young woman with her blonde hair held up with a twist, wearing a periwinkle blue dress with a ruffled collar. Though her face was pleasant to look at, her expression was one of concern as she pulled back the covers to inspect the bandage.

"How does it look?" he said in a reed thin voice, his lips parched. She had the bedside manner of a nurse, which allayed his embarrassment over being naked and inspected by a strange woman.

"Better." She touched the bandage lightly, seeing if it was damp, and confirming it wasn't. She pulled the covers over him.

"You ... look like ... you have medical training." He choked out the words with effort, but had to know.

"I did. I volunteered in a field hospital during the war. I saw more than my share of gunshot wounds. Yours wasn't that serious. The bullet went clean through your side, so there were no complications. Now we just have to keep it cleaned and dressed to see if we can avoid an infection. You were lucky." She went to the tray and poured him a cup of tea, adding a liberal amount of honey.

"Drink this. It should make you feel better and help you regain your strength." She used her hand to help him tilt his head so it was more or less upright and brought the rim of the teacup to his lips. He slurped the hot liquid, a sweet herbal taste and a warm glow filling him from the inside.

"Thank you," he said in a stronger voice.

She cradled his head as he drank, her fingers raking through his dark, wavy hair. His steely blue eyes burned with a purpose, yet unknown to her, although she suspected he was on the wrong side of the law given his bullet wound and his failure to seek out proper medical care. Even with her suspicions, she felt no fear at having the man in the house she shared with her mother. She had been around men with guns during the war, and the presence of an armed man caused her no greater concern. She did, however, empty the chambers of the gun and remove all of the bullets from his holster belt, storing the ammunition in a coffee can in her kitchen.

She helped him until he had consumed two cups of tea. His eyes fatigued, and as he finished the second cup, he slipped into a deep slumber.

* * *

The four men who escaped on horseback set up camp that night twenty miles west of town at their agreed rendezvous point. The sheriff, deputies and volunteers were about ten miles behind them.

Jesse and Frank James had planned the robbery based on information provided by Cole's brother Jim. The planning was meticulous and everything went according to plan until Jim Younger took the bank manager to his office to open the vault that was in it. He didn't know that the manager stored a shotgun next to the vault, and before he could stop him the man picked up the shotgun, wheeled and squeezed both triggers, sending two barrels of shot in Jim's face.

Jesse and Frank were watching the bank tellers and the handful of bank customers still in the bank when the shotgun blast went off. They dashed back to the office and unloaded their revolvers into the manager before he could reload. Pandemonium broke out after that, and without the manager alive, there was no chance the safe could be breached.

* * *

Sheriff Nickels and his posse made good time in the darkness, having left town when it was already dark, and riding the familiar road out of town with only the light of a half moon. The next morning the men found the tracks they were looking for. It was relatively easy to track five horses, travelling together.

* * *

Cole slept for several hours, waking when the midday sun was burning brightly. The curtains now hung limply as the humid summer air covered the countryside like a wet blanket. He was sweating, and the sheets were clinging to his skin. His wound had now bled through the bandage and required attention. He felt more energized, and studied his surroundings. A pine dresser with a mirror mounted above it in the corner. A braided rug on the floor. A low rise cabinet with a wash basin on top of it. The windows overlooked the front yard of the house, a pond, and the rolling hills beyond.

Blanche cracked the door open, and seeing that Cole was awake, she pushed it open, now holding a tray with lunch on it.

She propped another pillow behind his head so he was sitting a bit more upright.

"Thank you for taking me in." Cole extended his hand towards Blanche. She put it between hers. He noticed smooth, porcelain skin on the top of her hand, but also the presence of callouses on her palms. She was a piano teacher by trade, but hard times put everyone in the garden, and Blanche's hard work in their garden sustained her mother and herself through the war years.

"You're welcome." She sensed a connection between them, but was careful to tread lightly. "Are you from around here?"

"No ma'am. Grew up near Lee's Summit. Spent a lot of time on the Mississippi."

She pulled back the covers. "So what brought you here?"

Cole knew that his bullet wound could not be explained with a lie. She was certain to find out sooner or later and decided he might as well tell her the truth.

"Truth is we were here to rob your bank. I got shot when I was watching the back of the bank."

Blanche wasn't surprised. One didn't get shot when engaged in legitimate commerce. She was happy she stored the bullets in the kitchen.

"I thought as much. Not too many people get shot by a revolver walking in the woods."

"I wish I could have told you something better."

"At least you told me the truth."

"I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

"I would never let a wounded man die on my doorstep."

"I would never hurt you."

He didn't have to tell her. She saw it in his eyes.

"Here. Eat. You'll need to get your strength up." She put the tray over his legs. It had a bowl of chicken soup and a crust of bread. He was starving, and the odor of the hot soup brought a smile to his face.

Blanche was overly sensitive about the poor provisions, and offered an excuse when none was needed. "I'm sorry about the meal. It's all we have." Blanche saw kindness in the man's eyes and sought out his understanding. "My husband ... he died in Manassas." Her eyes became a bit blurry. "His family lumber business failed after he joined the Confederate Army. He was riding with Colonel Jeb Stuart and the Virginia Cavalry when he was cut down by Yankee artillery. My mother and I have been living in this big house by ourselves. I'm afraid we won't have enough money to stay here."

Cole was moved by her confession. He saw in Blanche everything that was good in the world, and thought that maybe there was enough here to give him hope that all had not gone to hell in a handbasket. She was his idealized version of a beautiful woman, a woman he dreamed about in his stank cell, whiling away the hours amid rat-infested squalor. Millie was just the shadowy essence of his dream. Blanche was the fulfillment of it.

He shared with her stories of his childhood, fishing on the Mississippi, playing hooky from his father's Sunday sermons, and getting into trouble with his older brothers. It was all so innocent, an innocence lost in the carnage of war. He longed for that era. He wished he could erase the last five years and start over. To start over with Blanche.

* * *

Cole bolted upright in his bed, his head covered in sweat. He had the same recurring dream, being in the prison, waiting for his turn to be taken outside to the courtyard and executed by the firing squad that assembled each morning. He saw himself being marched outside and lashed to a wooden pole and would awake as the order was given to fire. With the wound still open, the sudden movement triggered blinding pain, causing him to cry out. Blanche burst through the doorway after she heard Cole's cry. She helped him lay back down, then retrieved a wash basin and wash cloth to blot the sweat off his forehead.

As the pain subsided, Cole turned his head to the side so he could see Blanche, seated on a chair next to the bed. Blanche felt compassion for the man, and the beginnings of something more.

Blanche saw the goodness in all people, and it wasn't hard for her to see the goodness in Cole. She had seen how the war had ravaged the social fabric of her community, and how in the current day it was all about what you could take for yourself. She understood why Cole was seduced by crime, though she didn't condone it. She had done many things she wasn't proud of in the name of survival during the war. Every man who returned back from the war would never be the same again. She knew that.

He reached for her, grimacing at the motion.

"Please," he said.

"Don't move. You'll start bleeding again." Blanche was a nurse first.

"Stay with me."

"I have all the time in the world."

It certainly felt that way to Blanche. She was basically sequestered in her house with her mother for four years. The nearest neighbor was half a mile away. Blanche had resigned herself to dying a widow. There would be thousands like her. Talking to Cole was like a gift to her as well.

"I've had a lot of time to think," Cole offered.

"I imagine you have."

"More time than I've ever had, and I hate my life."

"I think I understand."

"You wouldn't. Not because you're not capable of it, but you wouldn't be able to imagine the awful things I saw and did. Some of it was in the name of the government, some of it wasn't, but it was all the same -- mayhem."

"I don't ever want to try." As a nurse, Blanche had seen the results of the horrors of war. But she had never seen the horror itself.

"I can't figure out how to get off this train. I'm going to have to run, or be captured and hung. Either way, it's a short run of track for me."

"I can only help you get better physically Cole. I can't help you with what you're thinking."

"You've helped me so much already, and I don't mean just physically. Just being able to talk to someone. The guys I'm with would kill me if they knew I wanted out. I want to get better but I also want something to live for."

She understood Cole's dilemma, but understanding and solving were two very different things. She still wasn't completely confident of his allegiances, and didn't want to give a wanted man advice. She was more than happy to lend him an ear.

"I'm glad to keep talking to you if it helps you."

Cole turned his head to the right so he could look at Blanche. She was seated on a straight back ladder chair wearing the same yellow chiffon dress she was wearing the night he arrived on her doorstep. He could see traces of his bloodstain on the hem of the dress. Even with shopworn clothes she was still a vision that did his heart good.

"Looking at you helps me."

Blanche's face reddened as she turned it away, hidden by her hand. She didn't know what to say. A man hadn't said anything like that to her since she was courted. She blushed modestly even though she had seen him naked. On the night he was brought into the house they laid him on the kitchen floor and took off all of his clothes. His shirt was ruined and later burned. She and her mother worked together to take off his boots and pants. Blanche had seen many men naked during her war service so she didn't hesitate to take off his undershorts before giving him a sponge bath. She tried to maintain her clinical attitude but it was hard to ignore his lean, muscular body. She saw her mother try to hide her embarrassment when they washed his pubic area and penis. He was much better endowed than Blanche's husband, and though she would never admit it to her dying breath, she couldn't get the idea of letting him have his way with her out of her head. It had been more than four years since she last had sex with a man.

Cole realized he was in polite company, and had overstepped the bounds of discretion.

"Please ... accept my apologies. I have to remind myself I'm with a lady."

"I'll accept your apology and consider what you said as a compliment ..."

"It was one."

Blanche moved her chair closer to the bed. Cole was lying flat on the bed with his head propped up. His hands were resting at his side. Blanche put her hand on top of his.

"I like looking at you too."

* * *

The next morning Blanche was cleaning the wound, which was healing nicely. She was absentmindedly looking out of the bedroom window when she noticed a cloud of dust on the horizon announcing the arrival of a lone rider. She put down her washcloth and stood at the window, squinting to see if she could make out who was coming.

"Trouble?" Cole sat upright in bed, his hand reaching for his gun. Blanche had given him back his bullets.

"Not yet. I'm not sure who it is." She stared intently until she could make out the man's face.

"I think it's Danny Harden. He's a deputy in Joplin." She drew the curtains shut. "You're going to have to move."

Cole rotated the cylinder of his Colt Peacemaker to make sure it was loaded. Blanche helped him out of bed. He put his hand over her shoulder to brace himself as she helped him walk up the stairway to the attic. Cole was listing heavily to his left as they climbed gingerly up the narrow set of stairs. They stopped halfway up when the pain was too intense to ignore.

"Are you all right?" Blanche asked, her shoulders supporting most of his weight.

Cole gritted his teeth. "I'm fine. We only have a few steps to go."

They struggled up the final two steps. There was an old mattress on the attic floor. Blanche did the best she could to brush the dust off the mattress before Cole knelt down on it. Blanche found an old pillow and fluffed it up. She guided Cole down so his head was on the pillow. She checked his bandage. The wound opened again and would have to be attended to soon. She hurried down the stairs and closed the door behind her. She ran into the guest bedroom and made the bed over the stained sheets, then dashed to the front door, panting.

She saw the deputy dismounting his ride. She thanked her lucky stars that she had the presence of mind to let Cole's horse graze out in the pasture. He ambled up to the front door, his swagger evident. Blanche gathered her wits and smoothed her dress and her hair.

She opened the door, seeing a thirty-something man in a freshly laundered and pressed uniform, looking as dapper as he could. It was Danny Harden. She had seen him in town on a number of occasions, and each time could feel his eyes leering at her as she walked by. She heard that he euphemistically called himself a ladies man. She considered him to be a lout.

"Hello Deputy Harden. What brings you out here this fine day?" she asked, putting on her happy face.

"Have you heard about the robbery at the bank?" He used his authoritative tone of voice. He liked the sound of it.

Blanche used her best acting skills to answer as if startled. "Oh my, no. What happened?"

"Six men came to rob the Great Western bank. The bank manager killed one of them before succumbing to his wounds. The five others escaped, we think westward."

"But we're east of town," Blanche noted, citing a fact the deputy was well aware of.

"Yes ma'am. But we haven't found them yet, and one or more of them might have gone this direction. Did you happened to notice anything unusual?"

"Why no, Deputy, we haven't seen anything." Blanche wasn't by nature a liar, but the war had changed all of that. She felt no remorse in misleading him.

Danny Harden had always had his eye on Blanche. When the sheriff asked for volunteers to canvass to the east, Danny was the first to volunteer, knowing that Blanche lived east of town, with only her mother. He knew her husband had died in the war, and wondered why such a handsome widow hadn't found a new beau. He loved the blue dress she was wearing and the way she filled it out. A lucky man would fill her dance card, he thought. He should have left after she denied knowing anything, but he decided to press matters further, maybe to impress her.

"I know you live here alone with your mother. It's dangerous to be alone out here without a man to protect you. Do you mind if I take a look through your house and make sure everything is secure?"

Blanche didn't want to raise any suspicion, and knew that Danny had always had a crush on her. She decided to play along, even though his statement was offensive to her. She and her mother had lived for five years by themselves without any problems, thank you very much.

"Why yes, that would be lovely. It's good to have a man in the house again." She had to keep herself from retching when she said it.

Her statement made Danny swell with pride. He thought his visit would allow him to see her again, but her encouragement was unexpected. She was standing close enough that he could see down her dress to her ample cleavage. His thoughts now had nothing to do with his official business. Little did he know she was harboring the very fugitive he was seeking.

She let him in the house and he checked the windows on the ground floor to make sure they were secured. Then she let him down into the cellar to check the dark corners with an oil lamp in hand. Of course they found nothing.

"What about the upstairs? Someone could climb up the vines on the side of the house and enter the upstairs."

Blanche wanted to say no, but he was too invested in the process, and it was too late to say no. "Of course."

They walked up the stairs and inspected the master bedroom and one of the guest bedrooms before entering Cole's room. Blanche panicked when she noticed a few drops of blood on the bedspread. She raced over to the bed and sat on the bloodied area, pulling up her dress a bit to show more of her legs.

"I love the view out of this window," she said. She looked that direction. Danny was distracted by Blanche's legs. Seeing a hint of her breasts and her shapely legs made his blood boil. He forgot why he was in the room, and when she rose up off the bed to stand close to him he started getting nervous.