In Harper’s Ridge there was a small saloon with a tolerant barkeep and a decrepit piano.  On occasion when the mail sent him there, a certain Pony Express rider would stop in for a sandwich and sarsaparilla.  If he had the time, and the place were not crowded, he might ask if he could play a song before he went.  The barkeep always consented, because the boy had talent and his melancholy repertoire suited the moods of late afternoon drinkers.   Perhaps it irked Noah to be doing menial labor instead of laboring in his mind.  Or maybe it was the combination of mucking stables and falling asleep too exhausted to ponder the world’s mysteries.   Perhaps he had tired of trying to discuss ideas with his fellow riders and being met with talk about guns and horses.  Whatever the reason, only a few weeks after joining the Express, Noah felt taciturn and restless.  He went about his chores short-tempered and silent, and if his new friends noticed, they chose not to comment.  It had never been a concrete thought but without even realizing it, Noah had started looking around for a new opportunity and a chance to move on.             Opportunity arrived one day after a trip to Tompkins.  The boys were headed to the saloon for a sarsaparilla and to observe master poker players in action.  Down the street, a wagon was tied up in front of a new building.  Brass beds and red velvet divans had been delivered all afternoon, and now, sitting outside in a wagon gleamed a honey-gold piano.  Noah muttered something about catching up with the boys later.  He waited and watched to be sure they were headed the other direction before making a move.  The piano glowed in the sunlight and he absently ran his finger along its edge.             “Could use some help gettin’ that in here.” Said a harsh voice from the porch.  Noah looked over to see a black-haired woman with a weathered face resplendent in black lace.  He tipped his hat and apologized as he started to turn away. The woman called out to him, “There’d be somethin’ in it for ya.  We’ve got all sorts of diversions: drink, cards, girls.  Pick yer poison.” None of it appealed to Noah, but he surprised himself by saying, “That’s alright, mame.  I’d be happy to help.  Do you think I could play a song once we get it in there?” The woman laughed in a loud, horsey way, “Honey, you get that piano inside and you can play however many songs you want!” It wasn’t easy, but with the help of a few passing farm boys, the piano was soon resting beside a window.  Noah played Greensleeves tentatively while the woman in black looked him over.  As he started to leave, she grabbed his elbow, “Wouldn’t mind havin’ a piano player ‘round here.  ‘Specially one as good lookin’ as you.  Are you lookin’ for work?” Noah smiled, “No, mame.  I got a job.”  The minute he said it, he could feel the soreness in his shoulders and the dirt under his fingernails.  Starched collars and plenty of girls never sounded so good. Maybe the woman sensed his pause, because she cocked an eyebrow at him knowingly, “You get tired of dust and sweat, you come back to me, ya hear?” Noah only nodded and headed out the door to meet up with the other riders.                 The next day Noah was up as the sun first began to peek over the horizon.  He had an early morning ride, so he forced himself out of his warm bed and out into the gray dawn.  Outside he crammed his hat on his hand and pulled on his jacket.  The wind was bitter and cold and he couldn’t help but remember the warm fire at the new cat house.  Ike came tearing in and Noah swung up on his mount and galloped off into the dreary morning, his mind focused on the way his fingers danced across piano keys.               Ike and Kid were in town taking Teaspoon some dinner.  Irene Pendleton’s brothel was having its opening night and the marshal’s hands were full.  The boys could not help but look at the party as they passed by.  The veranda was filled with girls and anxious customers.  Spirits were high and the liquor was free.  Rambunctious rabble-rousers overflowed onto the street.  The boys tipped their hats at a pretty young thing with dark brown curls as she passed them by.  She was obviously not one of Irene’s girls.  She was dressed primly in blue gingham and though she smiled as she passed, it was a reserved and tentative expression.    Ike turned to watch her go and caught sight of two drunken miners as they leered at her and one grabbed her arm.             Ike paused only long enough to draw Kid’s attention to the scene before dashing down the street to her aid.  The girl was badly frightened and fighting off her attackers as well she could.  The men were drunk and no match for Kid and Ike who soon had them laying in the dust of the street.             Ike took the girl’s elbow and began to indicate he would walk her wherever she was headed.  He jumped back when she tore her arm away and shouted viciously, “Let go of me!  Stop it!”             It was, unfortunately, not an unusual reaction to Ike and his attempts to help.  Ike hung his head and shrugged his shoulders, but Kid would not let his friend’s good deed go unrewarded.  “Miss.  Miss,” he said, attempting to grab the struggling girl’s shoulders.             But even to his overtures, the girl screamed, “Leave me alone!”             They were beginning to attract stares and Ike tapped Kid’s shoulder and nodded towards home.  Exasperated, Kid let the girl go on her way, which she did with a fair amount of stumbling until she found her way into the hotel.  “Wonder what’s wrong with her,” Kid said and shrugging his shoulders turned towards home.  Ike watched the girl for a moment before following.                           The next morning, Noah returned from his ride dusty and tired.  He’d been caught in a hailstorm and he could feel if not see the multitude of bruises on his arms and shoulders.  He shook his head as he dismounted, this was certainly not the life he’d hoped for.  He was plenty tired, but something inside of him recoiled at the thought of sleep and he washed up and headed into town.             Irene’s had calmed down since the night before.  Only a few girls sat drowsily out front, leaning on the porch columns and fanning themselves.  Noah politely tipped his hats to them, and they looked on with disinterest as he went inside.  No one with clothes that shabby had the money for their services.             Inside, he found Irene herself, still in black lace.  She stood behind the bar, drinking a brandy.  She looked at Noah and nodded, “Came back did ya?”             “Yes mame.”             “Interested in that job yet?” she asked.             “Maybe.” Noah surprised himself with his answer.  He looked around at the empty place.  “Care if I play a couple of songs?”             “Do what you like, honey.”  Irene answered as she sat down on a couch and watched him sit at the piano.             Noah couldn’t help but sigh as he relaxed his tired muscles and started to play.               Ike heard Annie Laurie as he passed by the brothel and he was still hearing it as he sat playing checkers in Teaspoon’s office.  It occurred to him that just listening to the music might be reason enough to give in to Cody’s persistent badgering and pay a visit to Irene Pendleton’s.  Teaspoon ran a finger along his jaw, pondering his next great move, when the door opened.             Ike looked up to see the same girl from the night before.  He cringed as she looked over towards them her face grim.  Ike suspected she was about to report that Kid and he had attacked her.  Silently, Ike thanked God that Teaspoon was the town’s marshal.  But there seemed to be no recognition on the girl’s face as she gazed at him, and when she opened her mouth to speak she said nothing of the night’s events.             “Marshal Hunter?” the girl asked.             “That’d be me.” Teaspoon answered genially, “And what can I do for you, today?”  The older man got up and stretched, crossed the office to his desk in an attempt to look business like.             The girl was still awkwardly turned towards Ike when she spoke again and he stood up in an attempt to evade her line of sight, “Marshal Hunter, my name’s Ruthie Quinn.  I’ve been staying at the hotel, waiting for the stage to Saint Joe, and the proprieter has just informed me that the stage will be delayed a week or more.”             “That’s so,” Teaspoon answered from behind her, and the girl startled before turning towards him, “Broke an axle out by Poplar Bluff, take a week at least to replace it.”             By this time, Ike had maneuvered his way closer to the girl.  She turned towards him, and Ike found himself staring into two sightless gray eyes.  * She can’t see! * He signed quickly to Teaspoon.             Ruthie’s face turned crimson with indignation, “Is there someone else here?”             “Well, yes, that’s Ike-” Teaspoon started to answer, but Ruthie cut him off.             She whirled around to face Ike and said angrily, “Whatever you are saying about me, you may say it out loud.”  She paused as Ike stared at her in a panic.  “Well?”             “Miss Quinn,” interjected Teaspoon, “Ike can’t talk.  He can hear, but he’s got to use sign to talk.  Weren’t no disrespect intended.”             Ruthie looked down ashamed, “I’m sorry.  I just assumed…well, lots of people try to take advantage of the fact that I can’t see and I just thought…well, I’m sorry at any rate.”             Ike just grinned and Teaspoon hemmed and hawed before saying, “Uhh, Miss Quinn was there something you wanted other than to hear me say the stage is delayed?”             Ruthie turned towards him again, “Yes, actually.  You see, I’m on my way to Saint Joe for a wedding and I can’t be a week late.  I understand you run the Pony Express and I thought perhaps you’d have a spare rider that might escort me the rest of the way.”  Teaspoon didn’t answer, and Ruthie quickly dug in her purse, “I’ll pay of course.”             From across the room, Ike beamed at Teaspoon.  * I could do it. *             Teaspoon chose to ignore him and hooking his thumbs into his suspenders, responded to Ruthie instead, “Miss Quinn it’s not that I don’t understand your predicament, but I’m not sure with the mail schedule-“ * I could do it.* Ike repeated.             “I’m not sure about that, Ike.”             “About what?” asked Ruthie, turning again towards Ike.  “You’ll have to interpret for me, Marshal.”             “Ike is volunteerin’ for the job,” said Teaspoon cautiously.  The idea of course was ridiculous, and he only hoped that the girl didn’t say so too rudely.             “Thank you, Mr. errr,  Ike.” Ruthie responded warmly.  “Would that be a possibility, Marshal Hunter?”             Teaspoon scratched his head, knowing to say no right out would likely work Ike up into a snit.  “Well, I gotta check the schedule back at the station, talk to the boys.  But I’ll see what we can do.”             “Thank you, Marshal.  You can send word to me at the hotel.”  Ruthie turned to go and Ike let loose a barrage of signs in Teaspoon’s direction.             Teaspoon let out a long sigh, “Errr, Ike would like to walk you back to the hotel, Miss Quinn.  If that’s alright?”             “That would be lovely,” the girl answered and let her hand float in the air until Ike held it and gently placed it on his arm.             Teaspoon watched the two out his window and felt himself glad not to be Buck Cross.                 Noah was playing Shenandoah as the sun went down and Teaspoon headed back to the station.  The place was beginning to fill up, and some girls had even led a few customers upstairs for the night.  Noah yawned as the song stopped.  He glanceded out the window and saw the sky turning from blue to purple to black.  He grabbed his hat and made his way to the door.  Irene leaned on the doorjamb as he began to leave, “Leavin’ already honey?”             “Should’ve left awhile ago.” Noah answered curtly.             Irene nodded and handed him a wad of bills, “I guess you earned this.”             Noah stared at the money as it slowly uncrumpled in his palm, “I didn’t say I’d take the job.”             “You spend all day in here playin’ that damn thing, I’d say you took the job already.  For today anyway.”  She patted his hand affectionately.  “What’s so great about the Pony Express that’ll keep you away tomorrow?”             “How’d you know I work for them?”             “Seven young men without families in my town, I make it my business to know.  How come I never see any of your friends in here?”             Noah shrugged, “Company doesn’t like us visiting your sort of place.”             Irene laughed in her horsey manner, “Might get that blonde fellow anyway, am I right?” Noah nodded at her uncanny perception.  “And maybe that one with the guns; he’ll want to blow off some steam.  But not the others.  Not you, either?”             It was Noah’s turn to laugh, “Looks like you already got me, doesn’t it?”             Irene patted his hand again, “See you tomorrow, honey.”             “Name’s Noah.”             “Alright, then see you tomorrow, Noah, honey.”  Irene gave him a kiss on the cheek and went back to pouring drinks.                 Noah walked into the bunkhouse in the middle of an argument.  Ike was staring at Buck angrily and signing furiously, * I can do it! *  Teaspoon flanked Buck with his arms folded but everyone else looked like they were trying to blend into the woodwork.             “No, Ike, you can’t.  How will you tell her anything?  She wouldn’t even be able to read anything if you wrote it down.  And you know what a ride like that’s like.  You’d have to be able to talk to her.”  Buck reasoned.             Kid piped up from the background, “Buck’s right.  You saw how she reacted when we tried to help her.  You’d be gettin’ yourself into a whole mess of trouble.”             Ike pounded the table in frustration.  * I’ll figure something out.  It will be fine. *             “C’mon, Ike,” Cody interjected, “there’s plenty of pretty girls.  Why make such a big deal out of one who can’t even see how good lookin’ you are?”             But the jest fell on deaf ears.  “Sorry, Ike,” said Teaspoon, “but it just ain’t gonna happen.  Now I think we can help the girl out, it means double rides for a couple of ya, but that ain’t nothin’ too terrible.  Now, who’s volunteerin’?”             Ike thumped the table again, * I am!*             “Now Ike-“ Teaspoon began but Ike hit the table again and stood up agitatedly.             He stared at the stationmaster angrily.  * If I go, no one has to do double duty.  I don’t have another run for a week, I can be back by then.*  Buck tried to interrupt, but Ike kept going, * She didn’t seem to mind when I suggested it.  She doesn’t think there’s a problem.  Maybe you should ask her first? *             “Ike, just cause she’s a fool too don’t mean it’s a good idea!” roared Teaspoon, “Now, son, I know you got your heart set on this and I ain’t sayin’ it’s fair, but there’s a practical problem here and you bein’ stubborn ain’t gonna fix it.”  Suddenly Teaspoon turned towards Noah, “And where have you been all day?”             Noah blushed slightly, “Out.”             “Out?” Teaspoon repeated, “You’ve been gone all day, don’t show up for dinner, have Rachel worried half to death and all you’re gonna say is you were out?”             Noah shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what else to say.  Teaspoon grabbed him by the collar and drug him outside, saying, “Son, we’re gonna have a talk.”               Outside, the moon was pale and the air crisp and cool.  Teaspoon eyed the rider in front of him.  Noah looked out across the horizon and stayed silent.  Teaspoon sighed and put a fatherly paw on the back of Noah’s neck, “Son, if you ain’t happy here, ain’t no one who says you got to stay.”             Noah looked at the old man, surprised at the accuracy of his statement, “Just feel restless is all.  Sorry I was gone all day, won’t happen again.” He felt the money in his pocket and wondered if he was lying.             “I didn’t want to say nothin’ in front of the boys, ‘specially Cody ‘cause he’d likely be a mite jealous, but I seen your horse out in front of Irene Pendleton’s all day.”  Teaspoon glanced at the young man, “Didn’t think that was the sort of place you’d spend your time.”             “It wasn’t…I wasn’t…” Noah faltered.  He wasn’t willing to tell Teaspoon the truth, it sounded weak and unsubstantial.             “Son, you keep yourself to yourself and that’s fine by me.  I’m just sayin’ if you want to talk ‘bout somethin’, I’m ready to listen.”             Noah sighed, “They offered me a job, Teaspoon.”             “You gonna take it?”             “Maybe.”  Noah looked down at the ground, realizing he was ashamed to meet the old man’s eyes.  “It’s not that I don’t like it here, it’s just…” he faded off.  How could he tell a man like Teaspoon what it meant to him to earn money some way other than breaking his back?  Men like Teaspoon and the riders, even Lou, understood the brute joys of hard work, grit, and determination; Noah did not think they would understand that he wanted something more.  He wanted the joys of soul and mind, to use the education he had fought to get, to live a life with music and poetry.  The bunkhouse and station were stultifyingly prosaic, grey, full of practical matters and running short on imagination.              Teaspoon just shook his head, “Son, I’ll tell you a bit of verse I’ve learned to be true: ‘All that glitters is not gold’.  You’ll find that underneath all that gilding, there’s nothin’ but lead; and sometimes the dullest things in the world can surprise you.”  Teaspoon headed back inside, leaving Noah to stare at the stars in silence.   “You think about it, son.”  And Noah did.               For a moment Noah stood outside the bunkhouse looking in.  The kerosene lamps flickered brightly and for a split second his fellow riders were caught in tableau.  Cody sat back with his feet up, wryly observing the situation around him.  Lou leaned into Kid; Jimmy sat hunched over, looking at them from the corner of his eye.  Buck and Ike continued to face off across the table, and Teaspoon, his fingers hooked in his suspenders, lorded over them all.  Evidentally the argument was still going on and Noah heard Buck shout, “Don’t sulk!  For Pete’s sake, Ike, why do you have to make everything harder?  There are lots of girls in Sweetwater, why do you have to pick the complicated ones?”             Ike signed back angrily, * Because easy things aren’t worth the trouble! *             Noah grinned to himself and walked inside.  Perhaps there was poetry there after all.               Ike was in fact sulking.  As Noah walked in, the argument had reached an uneasy silence.  “Teaspoon,” Noah said, “What if you sent two riders?  Makes sense on a trip like that.”             “Can’t spare two of ya,” Teaspoon grumbled.             Noah hung up his hat and gun belt and continued, “Ike says he can make it back by his next run.  I only have one ride between now and then and Cody owes me one.”  Ike lifted up his head, * I don’t need help. * “Just seems reasonable to send both of us is all.” Noah said diplomatically.             Teaspoon arched an eyebrow at the young man, “You certain you want to take on a ride like that, son?”  Noah nodded and Teaspoon added in an undertone, “I’d expect you to come back.”             “I’d plan on it,” Noah answered.               The next day, Noah and Ike arrived at the hotel to pick up Miss Ruthie Quinn.  Noah had said he had an errand to run, and Ike busied himself with loading the buckboard as Noah disappeared into Irene Pendleton’s.             As usual, Irene was sitting downstairs, nursing a brandy.  Noah walked in and held out the previous night’s money to her, “I wanted to return this.”             Irene made no move to take it, “Why’d you want to do somethin’ so foolish?  You earned that, honey.”             Noah shook his head, and laid the money down on the table, “I can’t take the job.”             “You got one already?” Irene quipped as she sipped her brandy.             Noah laughed a little, “Sorry.”             “Well, that piano’ll be waitin’ for ya, honey.  Whenever you want you come on down and play for me, ya hear?”             “Maybe I will,” he answered and walked out the door.                 A few weeks later, the barkeep in Harper’s Ridge found himself anxiously looking for his sometime piano player.  When he finally did show up, he was greeted with smiles and tipped hats from most of the patrons.  He ate his supper as usual and asked to play a song.  The barkeep nodded.  The song was cheery and bright, and the barkeep found himself smiling and tapping his foot as he polished the bar.                          Email Beulah HOME