The Long Trail Home by Stephen A. Bly Page A

pair of ducking trousers?”
    â€œTwo dollars and seventy-five cents more.”
    â€œWell, son, let’s do the whole works.”
    â€œWould you like new boots?”
    â€œNope. But I’d like these polished.”
    â€œPull them off. We can do that in the back room while you’re picking out your clothes.”
    â€œHow long will it take you to tailor the suit?”
    â€œWe’ll have it done by the time you find a bathhouse and return. That is . . . you know . . . if you were headed to the bathhouse.”
    Sam surveyed the dirt that coated his clothing. “I believe I’m not the first one up the trail you’ve waited on.”
    â€œNo sir. I’ve been at this for almost six years. If you need a bathhouse, there’s one right next door. I can bring your clothes over as soon as they’re hemmed up.”
    Fortune studied the young man from head to toe. “Son, did you ever save up a thousand dollars?”
    â€œEh . . . no, sir . . . I haven’t.”
    â€œWell, do it. I understand there’s a lot of daddies in this town that won’t let their daughters marry until the boy saves up a thousand dollars. I think that’s a goal worth savin’ for, don’t you?”
    The young man’s eyes grew wide. “Yes sir, I reckon I do!”
    Sam Fortune studied the bathhouse mirror. The dark gray suit fit well. Though the white shirt, buttoned at the collar, did not sport a tie. The new, light gray Stetson with four-inch brim had a rounded crown, but one chop from Sam’s right hand creased it down the middle.
    When he stepped out on the boardwalk, he tipped his new hat to a lady in a green plaid suit made of mohair brilliantine. A double row of pearl buttons dropped down from the high collar to the skirt accenting the woman’s narrow waist. Her long, curly, dark brown hair was fastened up on her head and tucked under a white straw hat with green, French silk flowers. The woman’s bright blue eyes caught Fortune by surprise. She smiled slightly, and nodded as she passed by.
    I doubt if that lady would have smiled at me the way I looked when I first rode to town. Although cowboys sportin’ new clothes must be a fairly common event in a place like—
    â€œSammy?”
    He looked back at the woman. She spun around to study him.
    Do I know her?
    It was the smile that gave her away.
    â€œRachel?”
    â€œSammy, look at you! I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you dressed up so fine.”
    â€œMe? Rachel, darlin’, you look fancy enough to be a banker’s wife!”
    â€œMy husband’s a doctor, actually. I’m Mrs. Hershel Sinclair.”
    â€œThat’s wonderful, Rachel . . .”
    The flowers in her hat made her look taller than five feet three inches. “It really is, Sammy. These past seven years have been the absolutely happiest ones of my whole life.”
    He leaned his right hand against a porch post. It felt well-worn, slick, and a little sticky. “Seven years? It hasn’t been seven years.”
    â€œIt’s been nine years since that night you and I got run out of Fort Worth. You went back to the Indian Territory, and I went to my sister’s in Chicago, remember? It was there that the Lord decided not to give up on me.”
    â€œThe Lord? Don’t tell me you converted.”
    â€œYou’ll get no apologies from me, Sam Fortune. It’s a wonderful feeling to know that God forgives you. I attended a Bible class with my sister and met Dr. Sinclair there. We’ve been in Dodge five years now. How have you been? From the looks of that handsome suit you’re quite successful. I hear from some of the old gang from time to time. The last I heard, you were incarcerated.”
    Fortune scratched the back of his neck. The new hat felt very stiff. “We do have to reap what we sow.”
    â€œHow true. However, we can be forgiven and start out fresh and new. I wish