The air was chilly despite it being the last Saturday in May. The mountains were always cooler, and mornings could be especially crisp. Jefferson checked the stove and found mostly dead ash and no warmth. He loaded up some kindling and a few larger pieces of wood and lit the fire. It crackledand popped as the kindling caught. After a few minutes, he could see that the rest of the wood was burning as well. It didn’t take long for the tiny cabin to warm. He supposed he should be grateful his father had forced him to learn how to set a fire.
He got dressed, wondering how much longer he’d have to remain hidden. When the stage to Denver had stopped to change horses in Ft. Collins, he’d paid a man to take his place, knowing the driver would give little attention to the look of his passengers so long as the count was right.
Although only three years old, the military fort had been decommissioned the year before. Jefferson was more than a little familiar with the place. His father had conducted business with the army, and Jefferson had sometimes accompanied him when he did. On one trip there, some of the men had put together a hunting party, and Jefferson’s father had gotten himself invited to accompany them. He’d fallen in love with the mountainous terrain southwest of the town and hired a man from Ft. Collins to build him the hunting cabin Jefferson now took refuge in.
After he’d left the stage, Jefferson had headed out on foot for a place not far from town where he knew he could discreetly buy a horse and tack. Then it was straight to the cabin. His father always kept the place stocked with supplies, so Jefferson knew he could live at the cabin for quite some time. No one from Cheyenne would ever think to look for him here, because no one there even knew the place existed. Jefferson figured after a few weeks, he could make his way down to Denver and then to wherever he desired to go.
So far everything had gone as he’d planned, and Jefferson couldn’t help but be pleased with himself. When he’d first gone to Cheyenne the year before, he’d been enthralledwith the wild and wicked ways of the town. He had heard that wealthy men were choosing Cheyenne as a new place to expand their fortunes, and Jefferson wanted to expand his fortune as well. Especially given his father’s philosophy regarding each man making his own way in the world, even the sons of successful men.
On his twenty-fifth birthday, Jefferson’s father had given him a hundred dollars and had the valet pack his bags. He could still hear his father’s firm words over that last breakfast.
“Ihave the utmost confidence in your abilities, Jefferson. Return tome when you have a thousand dollars, and I will double it. Return when you have ten thousand, and Iwill give you tenfold. Prove to me you can doublethat, and I will turn over a portion of the family business to you.”
The task was one that had both annoyed and challenged him. As an only son, Jefferson felt he was entitled to take on the family industrial interests anyway, but his father insisted he prove himself worthy. As if he hadn’t always proven himself worthy by doing everything his father had demanded.
Standing at the stove, Jefferson held his hands out and rubbed them together for warmth. Surely in another week or two he could leave and head to Denver. Once there, he intended to see his parents and reveal the thousand dollars to his father in order to get it doubled. After that, he would head out and see what he might accomplish elsewhere. He was certain that with the money he could make a fresh start. Jefferson was also confident that he could, by some means, stretch that money into ten thousand dollars.
He smiled to himself. If not by a legal means, then he wasn’t against another illegal one. His only regret, if it could be called that, was he’d been confident he could have talkedMelody Doyle into marriage ... eventually. She was a beauty and wealthy to boot. Life with her could have had its benefits.
An image of Charles Decker came to mind. He had found Jefferson’s embezzlement and, out of the goodness of his heart, hadn’t brought in the marshal to arrest him. That had been his first mistake. The second had been in forgetting to demand the bank keys be returned before sending Jefferson on his way. Jefferson felt he’d had no choice but to take advantage of the situation. Decker was a fool, and fools always needed to be taught a lesson.
Saturday came all too soon. Melody had purchased a new plum-colored gown with a gored skirt and close-cut jacket. The black trim on the jacket’s fitted sleeves and bodice was the only contrast to the dark red-purple hue of the dress. She had told Marybeth that she wanted to honor her father’s wish that she not wear black while at the same time not shock the entire community. She didn’t really care what the rest of Cheyenne thought, but it was difficult to dress for a ceremony when all Melody felt was sorrow.
As she stood waiting for the procession to commence, Melody couldn’t help but remember gazing at her appearance in Marybeth’s cheval mirror. The only thing that set her apart as a mourner rather than a well-dressed woman of means was the very small black hat she’d chosen to complement the gown. She’d been unable to find anything else that matched and knew Da would understand her choosing black. Now, all she could wish for was that the day would end, and this might all be behind her.
Charlie stood faithfully at her side. A well-brushed top hat adorned his head, and a double-breasted black coat coveredhis navy suit. Marybeth and Edward had come to support her, leaving Carrie at home with Granny Taylor. Jedediah, however, was there with more than fifty or sixty other railroad workers.
Finally, everyone was appropriately assembled. Her father had touched the lives of so many. The undertaker had told Melody that he’d had men stopping by all day on Friday to volunteer to carry her father’s casket.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he had shared with her.
Da was certainly well-known and valued. Even men who’d had run-ins with Da admired the man and had come to pay their respects. Da was a friend to all whose intentions were good and an encourager to those less trustworthy. Melody knew her father had changed the heart of many a man. He gave God the credit for it, of course, telling Melody that his role was just to help his fellow man see the truth of a matter.
She smiled at the thought, and Charlie squeezed her arm. “Pleasant memory?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him. “I was just thinking of all the people who have come to Da’s funeral. Some of them didn’t start out as friends, and maybe still don’t consider themselves as one to Da, but they respected him. Da would be pleased.”
The undertaker climbed into the funeral carriage and had the driver start them down the road. Up and down Fifteenth Street, people who weren’t a part of the procession stopped to pay their respects and wait for them to pass by. Men took off their hats and bowed their heads, while women hushed their children and bowed as well.
They walked all the way to the cemetery and gathered around the gravesite Da had chosen. The open land aroundthem didn’t have a single tree to break the landscape. Melody vowed then and there to plant a tree or two near Da’s grave. Maybe she’d even arrange a bench beneath the trees so she could sit when she visited. Then another memory came to mind.
“Don’t yabe standin’ at my grave all the time, weepin’ and talkin’ to me,”Da had said one night a short time back.“I won’t be there, and I don’t want ya to be there either. If ya haveto be rememberin’ me, go ride the train and enjoy the fine tracks me and the boys put down.”
Again, she smiled. There’d be no trees or bench.
Once they were all assembled again and had Da’s casket placed beside the open grave, Dr. Scott took his place and began to speak. “Dearly beloved, we have come here today to lay to rest our brother Clancy Michael Doyle. Most of you here called Clancy friend, and many of you worked alongside him for years. Others knew him from the help he offered his fellow man.
“Clancy was a man of God, but as he told me to remind everyone, that wasn’t always so. He sowed his wild oats as a young man and nearly died in the process. He drank and cursed, lied and cheated, and fought anybody who was fool enough to cross him. But God had a plan for Clancy.”
Melody had heard Da’s story so many times she could recite it from memory. He’d gotten himself into a terrible fight and was stabbed several times. Half-dead, he knew his end was near, but help came in the form of an older church woman who had always been critical of him. Da said this woman despised him, or so he thought. Turned out she only despised his actions. She took him in and nursed him back to health, and every day she read the Bible aloud to him for hours and prayed over him.
Somewhere between the bandage changes, prayers, and readings, Da realized the life he was living was destined for a bad end. As the woman read from John one night, Da asked her if she thought the good Lord really wanted a worthless no-good named Clancy Doyle. The woman had closed the Bible and had the audacity to smile. Da said he’d never seen her smile before—not even on Christmas Day.
“That woman told Clancy that not only did the good Lord want him, He had a plan for Clancy to serve Him and help others to see the light. Clancy told her he’d never be a preacher. He knew God hadn’t called him to speak from a pulpit each Sunday.
“She had laughed,” Dr. Scott said, chuckling a little himself. “And she told him, ‘Clancy Doyle, ya’ll never be havin’ it that easy. The good Lord is callin’ ya to be servin’ Him daily as ya go about yar life. There won’t be any Sunday sermons from ya. No, sir. Ya’ll be a livin’ example of God, and when folks cross yar way, ya’ll be feelin’ God’s presence and hearin’ His words. The urge to share the good Lord and His Word won’t let go of ya until ya give in and let God have His way.’” He smiled at the people gathered. “Sorry, my Irish brogue isn’t as good as Clancy’s, but I thought it important to try and tell it as he did.”
Melody’s eyes blurred with tears. Da had done his best to see to it that he lived his life in a way that would always turn people to Jesus. She wondered just how many lost souls had come to God because of Da’s willingness to share the Bible. What a legacy. Oh, that she could be as much of a witness as he had been.
