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Chapter 5 Death & Taxes

The ceremony concluded, Michael drove his father and Sadie home from Lander in the buckboard. The sun was setting beyond the Tetons, and a chill breeze brushed at the tendrils of loose hair falling from Sadie’s low bun. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and Michael glanced over at her.

“Almost home.” He flicked the reins in his hands.

She blushed and stared down at her shoes. “I’ll fix some supper.”

“Supper sounds fine.” Michael smiled gently at her.

Wyatt remained blessedly quiet in the back.

“We don’t have to do anythin’ you aren’t ready for,” Michael ventured, keeping his voice low.

Sadie’s eyes flew open and her cheeks flamed, even in the gathering dusk.

“It isn’t that I cannot—” She broke off, then glanced at his father.

Michael’s grip tightened, and the mares slowed with the tension. He forced himself to relax.

He stared hard at the tracks in the grass ahead.

“I understand,” he answered. “As I said, I don’t expect you to do anythin’.”

She traced the scarred tissue of her right hand with the equally scarred pointer finger on her left. She nodded stiffly and said nothing more.

They pulled into the yard as the last of the sun’s rays faded. Wyatt lumbered out, as Michael stepped to the ground and rounded the wagon to lift his bride down.

For a moment their faces were mere inches apart. Michael’s hands twitched on her waist. He slowly lowered his head.

Wyatt cleared his throat, suddenly breaking the stillness. “I’ll be in the barn,” he grunted.

Sadie’s lips twitched, and Michael sighed like a deeply put-upon man. She could no longer hold the giggle and it escaped her throat.

“I am sorry,” she said.

He lowered his forehead to hers. “I suppose we’ll just have to figure out somethin’ else.”

She smiled, then stepped back. “I’ll get supper.”

Michael watched her disappear into the house and grabbed the harness to unhitch the horses.

“Welcome to matrimony indeed,” he grumbled to himself.

~

Michael led the horses into their stalls just as an icy wind gusted through the barn door. Wyatt was spreading fresh hay in an empty stall, and Michael frowned.

“Pa, what do you think yer doin’?”

Wyatt glanced over his shoulder and shrugged.

“I won’t be the old man in yer way.”

Another gust rattled the loose boards overhead. Michael tied off the bay’s lead rope before turning back to his father.

“You can’t sleep out here. The weather’s turnin’. Not with yer cough.”

Wyatt straightened and fixed him with a look.

“It’s yer weddin’ night.”

“I am aware, but that’s mine and Sadie’s concern, not yers.”

Wyatt opened his mouth to argue, but the words turned into a fit of coughing that bent him nearly double. When it finally passed, he drew a slow breath and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I don’t wanna burden yer woman.”

Michael hung the last of the tack on its peg before answering.

“She ain’t said one word about it.”

Wyatt looked away.

“She shouldn’t have to.”

Michael studied the old man for a long moment. His father rubbed at his knees again, then shifted his weight as though every joint pained him.

“You ain’t sleepin’ in the barn.”

Wyatt sighed.

Michael looked toward the narrow strip of ground beside the cabin.

“I’ll build you a lean-to before the real cold gets here.”

Wyatt snorted.

“Lumber costs.”

Michael flexed his fingers once.

“Everythin’ costs.”

Silence settled between them while the wind whistled through the cracks in the siding.

Finally Wyatt nodded.

“Fine. I’ll come inside and stay outta yer way.”

~

Both men entered the cabin, and Sadie glanced back and forth between them. The scent of rabbit stew she had simmered all day filled the air, mingling with the smell of fresh bread she had baked that morning.

She had set the table with care. Michael’s mother’s good china rested at each place. White plates painted with delicate blue roses sat beside real silver that gleamed in the lantern light.

“Where did you find that?” His voice came out rough.

She frowned at the tone. “It was in the chest under the bed. I found it while cleaning one day and decided we would use it for a special occasion. Tonight counts.”

The two men looked at each other. Neither had ever told her the truth about Michael’s mother. Some subjects were just too painful to touch.

Wyatt broke the silence.

“’Bout time it got put to good use.”

Michael raised an eyebrow but said nothing more to his father. Instead he turned to his wife.

“Smells good enough to eat.”

She smiled brightly. He hated that her smile relieved him so much.

The silver clinked against the porcelain. The meal was excellent, better than Michael or Wyatt had ever managed when it had just been the two of them.

His father thanked Sadie and bid them both good night when the meal was over.

Michael banked the fire, and she disappeared behind the curtain he had hung for her weeks before. At first he was tempted to sit and read, not because he was anxious, but because he did not want her to be. At least that was what he told himself.

She poked her head around the curtain, her shawl wrapped around a white nightgown.

“Are you coming to bed?”

He looked at her. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in thick brown waves.

He swallowed twice.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

He checked the bar on the door, the rifle above the mantel, and the fire one last time. Finally, finding no more chores to occupy his hands, he wiped them on his trousers and stepped behind the curtain.

She was already beneath the quilt, and her eyes sparkled when she saw him.

He blew out the lantern, undressed in the dark, and slid beneath the covers.

She rolled toward him, and for a long moment they simply lay there.

He reached over and took her hand.

Her breath caught once.

“You all right?” he asked.

“More than all right,” her voice came softly beside him.

He rolled onto his side, trying to make out her face in the darkness. Starlight spilling through the window gave him just enough light to see her eyes.

“Yer sure?” he asked again.

“I am.”

He cupped her face gently and shifted closer.

From across the cabin came a low rumble.

SNNNNNORK.

Michael froze.

Sadie startled.

Then her shoulders began to shake. She clapped both hands over her mouth in a desperate attempt to stay quiet, but a snort escaped through her nose.

That did it, and Michael lost all composure. His forehead came to rest against hers.

He closed his eyes.

“We’re not gettin’ any sleep tonight.”

Which only sent her into another fit of laughter.

“Not for the reasons one might imagine,” she whispered, laughing hard enough that tears began to gather in her eyes.

Michael sighed and rolled onto his back.

“I can’t get that lean-to built quick enough.”

Sadie rested her head against his shoulder and laughed a little longer.

~

Michael hitched the horses again the next morning. He offered Sadie a chaste kiss.

“I’ll be home by supper.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand before staying on the porch to wave as he crested the hill.

Jeffrey Nevels raised an eyebrow when Michael pulled up in front of the mill.

“Figured you’d be honeymoonin’.”

Michael snorted.

“None of yer business.”

The lanky man shrugged.

“Then what can I do fer ya?”

Michael handed over his list.

“Need lumber. Nails. Hinges.”

Nevels looked it over and let out a low whistle.

“That’s a fair pile.”

“I know.”

“You got the cash?”

Michael was quiet long enough to answer the question.

“No.”

Nevels motioned him into the office.

“Come on then.”

He settled behind his desk, pulled the ledger toward himself, and dipped his pen into the inkwell.

“Seventeen dollars and forty-three cents.”

Michael stared a beat at the figure.

“I could mill it myself for nothin’.”

Nevels raised an eyebrow.

“Then why don’t ya?”

Michael rested both hands on the brim of his hat.

“Because my pa’s cough is gettin’ worse, winter’s comin’, and I ain’t got that kind of time.”

Nevels nodded once.

“Fair enough.”

Michael drew a slow breath.

“I’ll have to put it on account.”

Nevels frowned.

“That’s more’n I usually carry.”

“I’ll work it off.”

“How?”

“Half a day every Saturday till it’s paid.”

Nevels leaned back in his chair.

“Yer newlywed. That how ya wanna spend yer Saturdays?”

Michael met his eyes.

“That’s my business.”

The shouts of the mill workers came from outside the window.

Finally Nevels nodded.

“All right. But if you quit on me, the interest starts.”

Michael took the pen. For a moment he looked at the blank line waiting for his name.

Then he signed it.

“Much obliged.”

Nevels tore the page from his order book and stood.

“I’ll have the boys load yer wagon.”

Half an hour later Michael rattled out of Lander with a wagon full of lumber and a debt he already intended to erase.

~

Michael rose before the sun. The sound of digging, sawing, and hammering filled the yard. Wyatt helped as he could, but the chill air set him to coughing so often that Sadie would come out of the cabin.

She gently took his arm. “Come on, Mr. Vincent. Sit inside for a spell and keep me company.”

“Stop babyin’ me,” he grumbled.

“I am not. I want to hear more about Texas,” Sadie said.

Michael would nod at her and silent understanding would pass between husband and wife.

She brought Michael’s supper at dusk, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

“He’s sleeping,” she said.

Michael nodded, and hung the lantern, eating standing up.

“Go inside, Sadie. It’s gettin’ too cold fer you to stand out here.”

She looked around the frame. “I could—” she cut herself off. Because her hands no longer had the strength to hold a hammer, much less swing one.

Michael swallowed the bite of pork he had just taken. He reached a hand toward her. His mouth tilted into a grin.

“You ever drive a nail before?”

She stared at him, then blinked. “No.”

He huffed. “Then maybe we leave the building up to me.”

That at least made her smile.

When he finally came to bed the hour was late. Sadie was asleep on her side, and he dropped down next to her, exhausted.

Five days later the lean-to stood against the cabin, weathertight.

Sadie and Michael helped Wyatt move his things to the room. Michael dumped a load of firewood next to the small potbellied stove he had scavenged from an abandoned homestead.

“Wind is from the north, we may get snow. You keep that door barred, and the fire fed, Pa.”

Wyatt grunted, placing his bottle of whiskey on the shelf.

“Sight better than the barn, that’s what matters.”

Michael shrugged. “Sadie’ll have supper.”

Wyatt nodded.

They all retired early. The wind coming down from the north was curling icy fingers around the boards and planks.

Michael kissed his wife goodnight.

“I’ve got to be at Nevels’ early.”

He fell asleep nearly as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Something woke him from a dead sleep. He sat up listening, and that was when he heard the banging.

“What—?”

He reached for the lantern, turning it up. The banging sounded again.

The lean-to door.

Michael scrambled for his trousers, not bothering to tie them.

Sadie stirred next to him. “Stay here!” His tone brooked no argument.

He rushed out the door of the cabin and into a world of white. He could barely see around the corner.

The wind held the lean-to door in its grip, swinging it back and forth. It banged on the frame as Michael approached. He threw an arm up to protect against the stinging ice.

“Pa!” Michael called, his voice desperate.

Michael followed the outside wall with his hand lest he become lost in the blizzard.

He pushed inside the room. The lantern showed snow already drifted into the corners. The stove was out. The gleam of glass caught his eye. An empty bottle of whiskey lay on its side on the floor.

Against his instinct Michael lifted the lantern higher. Wyatt lay under a thin blanket of snow on his bed. Had it not been for the unnatural gray hue of his face, Michael would have thought his father asleep.

“Pa.” The word came out strangled.

Michael reached for his father.

Cold.

He sank to his knees. His eyes moving to the stove. The fire had gone out hours ago.

I should’ve checked.

“Michael.” The distant frantic sound of Sadie’s voice came over the wind.

There was nothing to be done for Wyatt now. But Michael was loath to leave the old man.

The idea of Sadie venturing into the storm to find him pulled him to his feet.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and realized his face was wet.

He stepped to the door. “STAY INSIDE!” he called over the howl of the blizzard. He repeated it just in case. Then turned once more to his Pa.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The body gave no answer. As Michael shut the door behind him, he had never felt so alone.

~

The ground was stubborn. Michael found himself strangely grateful for it. Despite the mid-autumn chill, sweat ran down his neck and forearms.

The blizzard had passed, the grief had not. Michael swung the pickaxe until his hands were raw. The hole was just deep enough to keep wolves from digging up the rough pine box he had built.

Sadie had painstakingly torn strips of linen into a shroud. “Let me help. He was kind to me in his last days.”

Michael had turned before she could see what her words had done to him.

Now the wind blew down from the Tetons, stirring the fringe on Sadie’s shawl and catching her skirt.

Michael held the family Bible at the head of the grave.

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord,” he read.

Sadie scooped dirt with the side of her hand. It thunked onto the top of the pine box.

“Amen,” she whispered, not trying to hide her tears.

It was dusk when Michael entered the warmth of the cabin. Sadie looked up from the stove, her eyes red and blotchy.

He hung his hat and the two ate in silence. The scrape of pewter, the crackle in the stove and Wyatt’s coonhound whining in the empty lean-to were the only sounds in the cabin.

After dinner, Michael helped Sadie dry the dishes she washed. He lowered himself into Wyatt’s old rocking chair, staring into the open stove.

Sadie moved to his side, laying her hand on his shoulder. He reached for it and pulled her into his lap. He did not cry, just took one shuddering breath, with his face buried in her hair.

As the fire burned down into embers they slipped behind the curtain, seeking in one another comfort words could not give.

~

The Sabbath passed quietly, and Monday dawned overcast and cold. Michael was mucking stalls when Wyatt’s dog bayed in the yard.

He leaned the rake against the stall and stepped out, wiping his hands on a rag. A man rode down the ridge on a black horse. Sadie stepped out onto the porch, and he waved her back inside.

He stood in the yard against the rail, letting the man come to him. When the visitor rode into the yard, Michael felt his stomach tighten. Frederick Lloyd, the county taxman, dismounted from his gelding. His lips parted in a tight smile.

“Morning, Michael. Wyatt around?”

Michael’s grip tightened on the rail before he let go.

“Pa’s dead,” he said flatly.

Lloyd paused only a moment.

“I see.” He lifted the valise from his saddlebags. “Could we step inside to discuss the matter?”

Michael glanced toward the cabin.

“My missus is inside. Is this gonna worry her?”

Lloyd considered the question.

“Yes.”

Michael nodded once.

“Then we’re stayin’ right here.”

Lloyd made no objection. He opened the valise and withdrew a small stack of papers.

“Your father’s death transfers ownership of the property to you. With that transfer comes the outstanding property tax obligation.”

Michael frowned.

“How much?”

Lloyd tapped the papers.

“It’s all here. Legal and certified.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed.

“Didn’t say it wasn’t. Legal don’t always make somethin’ right.”

Lloyd neither agreed nor disagreed. He simply handed him the papers.

Michael refused to look at them.

“That yer only business?”

Lloyd shifted his weight.

“If the taxes are not paid in full by January first, the State of Wyoming will be forced to confiscate and auction off your herd.”

“Forced?”

The taxman folded his hands behind his back.

“I do not write the law, Mr. Vincent.”

“No, I suppose ya don’t.”

“Payment may be made at my office.”

Lloyd stepped back to his horse.

Michael finally looked down at the papers. The figures blurred for just a moment as his fingers unconsciously wrinkled the page.

Thirty-six dollars.

He looked back up.

“I ain’t got thirty-six dollars.”

Lloyd mounted without answering. He settled his hat, turned his horse toward the road, and rode out of the yard.

Michael stood where he was, the tax notice crumpling slowly in his hand.