Maddie's Justice

Rivlin kilpatrick stood in the corner of his mother's drawing room and watched his family and their friends celebrate the birth of yet another Kilpatrick grandchild. He knew the people in attendance, had grown up with most of them. He had once belonged among them, had something in common with them. But then he'd gone off to do his duty and fight for General Grant in the war and everything had changed. He had changed. He had left as a boy of seventeen and become a man in a world far distant from drawing rooms, fancy clothes, and polite society. He no longer fit in this place, among these people, or in the kind of life they led. Rather than face the painful truth of it day after day, he'd left. And then returned again, this time the dutiful son taking up the reins from his late father's hands. It had been a mistake. But then, he mused, tossing whiskey down his throat, if there was one thing he did exceedingly well, it was make mistakes. He could be counted on for that. He could also be counted on for taking damn near forever to see the error in his judgment and then taking yet another eternity to do what he should have done in the first place. It had only taken him six months this time, though, and that was a record for swiftness. He could only think that it had something to do with managing to live--against all odds--to the ripe old age of twenty-five. If he ever reached thirty, he might actually be capable of good judgment. If it ever happened, he'd write his mother to tell her of the rare accomplishment, trusting her to share the uncommon and unexpected news with his six older siblings. They'd all be astounded. And, with any luck at all, their exclamations would be just as joyously exuberant as their outraged squealing was going to be when they discovered that he'd slipped from their clutches again. With a tight smile Rivlin set his empty glass on the tray of a passing servant and left the room. He paused at the table in the foyer to remove the telegram from the Marshal's Service from the breast pocket of his dress coat. He carefully placed it on the silver tray then went upstairs to change his clothes and the course of his life. 13 August 1871 Oklahoma Territory Maddie Rutledge stepped from the one-room schoolhouse and shaded her eyes against the glare of the late-morning sun. The heat rose from the parched earth in shimmering, undulating waves. Maddie peered through the rippling curtain, trying to see down the trail that led into the woods. It was so unlike Lucy to be late. If it had been any of her other Cherokee students Maddie wouldn't have worried, but Lucy Three Trees religiously abided by white concepts of time. Something was wrong. Maddie could feel it in her bones. The dark shape of a single horse and a black carriage separated from the tree line and came toward her through the heat. Maddie recognized the vehicle and knew that Mrs. Stewart, Tahlequah's self-appointed Maven of Right and Proper, was coming to conduct her monthly surprise classroom inspection. Any other time Maddie would have been annoyed by her presence. Today, however, she saw the woman's arrival as a welcome blessing. Ten minutes later, with Mrs. Stewart enthroned at the front of the classroom, Maddie strode to the line of horses picketed in the shade of the school building. Hers was an ancient steed, saved from death by her insistence that the animal could ably serve her simple riding needs. Pausing at the saddle-bags, Maddie removed her battered felt hat and holstered revolver with a wry smile. The good Christian women who had raised her in the Iowa orphanage would be appalled by both articles, she thought. The hat they would eventually, but grudgingly, accept as being a frontier adaptation necessary to protect her skin from the harsh sunlight. But the gun . . . The good women would never, ever accept a six-shooter. Guns were the devil's toolsLeslie LaFoy is the author of 'Maddie's Justice' with ISBN 9780553580457 and ISBN 0553580450.