The Undertaker's Devil - 2. Mr. Ream, a Funeral, and Uneasy Sleep

Ritter’s business partner W.H. Ream arrived at noon and surveyed the ghastly display in the window. With a grave expression he approached his partner.

“Andy, was that your idea — ‘Murdered in the streets of Tombstone’?”

“Yes, it was.”

“I’m not sure it’s wise to be seen taking sides in this.”

“Listen, Bill, I’m not siding with the Cowboys, but what Virgil Earp and his gang did was mighty high-handed. It’s not how the law is supposed to work.”

“All right, all right, let’s just get through the afternoon and then back away from playing favorites. And who is this?”

Samael had appeared in the doorway. Ritter said, “Bill, this is Samael Higgins, lately in the employ of the Clantons. Sammy, this is my partner, Mister Ream.”

Samael ducked his head. “Pleased to meet you, Mister Ream.”

Ream regarded Samael with some suspicion. “Likewise.”

Ritter coughed. “Samael will be helping in the business for a while. Organizing the lumber, cleaning up and so on.”

Ream sniffed. “Andy, may I speak to you privately for a moment?”

Ritter turned to Samael. “Sammy, would you kindly go continue cleaning out the back room where you’ll be sleeping?”

“Yes, Mister Ritter, sir.” Samael disappeared.

Ream all but hissed. “Sleeping? He’s sleeping here? And you hired him without asking me? What do you know about this boy?”

Ritter was unfazed. “I know enough. He’s harmless. He was a low-level hired hand. Never took part in the Clantons’ more nefarious activities.”

Ream glared. “‘Harmless’? Andy, I just finally got you on the point of being respectable. I got you into the Masons. You’re in the G.A.R. You could be somebody in this town. But not if you repeat the mistakes you made in the army.”

With an effort Ritter kept his temper under control. “I was younger then. Young and foolish.”

“And you’re older now, and there’s no fool like an old fool. Certain things just don’t cut it, even on the frontier.”

“I felt sorry for the boy, that’s all. There will be nothing untoward. Come now, give him a chance to get on his feet.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“You afraid he’s going to rob us?”

“That’s the least of my worries. Are you still sleeping in the rooms upstairs?”

“For the moment.”

“And your young friend?”

“He’ll sleep in the back room behind the office.”

“Make sure that he stays downstairs and you stay upstairs at night. Keep it on a business footing.”

“You’re assuming it could possibly ever be anything else.”

“Safer than assuming it couldn’t.”

“Nonsense. He’s just a kid and I’m a worn-out old fart. I’m more than twice his age.”

“You’re only thirty-nine and he's not a child.”

The conversation turned to the impending funeral. Together they confirmed all the arrangements. There were many, from flowers to the brass band to gravediggers to a man of the cloth to officiate.

Not everything was left to them. Many people contributed to the proceedings. Hundreds were in the funeral procession, and thousands watched from the sidelines. It was difficult to gauge the mood of the crowd, but it was clear that the Clanton faction was not without supporters.

Ritter and Samael stood on the sidewalk as the procession finally began near four o’clock. The brass band led, playing a funeral march, followed by the dead men displayed on horse-drawn wagons, then by the principal mourners in carriages, then a crowd on foot. Ritter heard Samael weeping at the sight and laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Billy was only a year older than you, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Samael said, wiping an eye with the heel of his hand. “Not the kind of man that usually catches my eye in a crowd at all.” Ritter glanced around nervously to see if anyone could overhear. “But he was something, all right. Wasn’t afraid of anything. Didn’t give a hoot what anyone thought. When he smiled and said, ‘Come on, it’ll be fine,’ it was like he made it true just by saying so.”

The rear of the procession was passing. Mr. Ream represented the firm among those accompanying the dead to Boothill Cemetery. Onlookers gradually dispersed.

Ritter insisted on taking Samael out to dine. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that the boy knew how to use a knife and fork, though it was clear that finer points of table manners would have to be a matter for study. Samael ate with what could charitably be called a good appetite. After gorging himself, Sammy’s incredulity when his dining companion insisted on dessert, too, made Ritter chuckle. The look of pleasure on Samael’s face as he tasted the chocolate cake was worth the extra expense.

When they returned to the shop, Ritter said, “It’s been a long day. Let’s get you settled in your room, see what we can put together by way of a bed for you.”

“I’ve already done that,” Samael said.

“Really? Show me,” Ritter replied.

Samael led the way to his new quarters. What had been a jumbled storeroom of odds and ends was now half perfectly organized supplies and half living space, with a chair, blankets spread on rope strung tightly across a heavy cabinet frame, a narrow chest of drawers, and a small table with a candle and a water pitcher and bowl.

Ritter grunted approval. “You did all this this afternoon?”

Samael shrugged and smiled faintly. “I just moved some things around and strung a rope bed.”

Ritter stared at Samael’s faint smile a little too long. Where had he seen such a smile? Some painting by one of the great masters? He shook his head. “Admirable. Now we really must both turn in. In the morning I’ll show you around and tell you little things like where the wood for the stove is.”

“Already found it,” Samael said. “And I banked the fire for the night.”

“Excellent,” Ritter said, the wind taken out of his sails. “Well, good night.”

“Good night, Andy. You won’t regret this, I swear.” He hugged Ritter.

Ritter hugged back awkwardly and gave a faint smile of his own. “Off to bed, now. Both of us.” He turned and ascended the stairs, telling his heart to slow down, and thinking, I don’t know if I can survive this.

******************************

Ritter found sleep unusually elusive. Scenes from the past replayed in his mind. The grating voice of Major Harkness was as irritating in memory as it had been in life.

“Corporal Ritter. Sit down. I’ve been handing out promotions all day like they were penny candy, and I suppose you expect one, too.”

“If you think it’s warranted, sir.”

“Exactly. If I think it’s warranted.” Harkness paused as he lit a cigar. “They tell me you acquitted yourself with exceptional courage on the field.”

“I tried, sir.”

“That’s all very well, but it’s not enough to make you an officer!” The major’s anger seemed peculiar, since Ritter had not asked for a promotion and was not pressuring him in any way. “There are other considerations. Certain matters about your personal conduct have come to my attention.”

Ritter flushed and his pulse raced. “I have not been convicted of any misconduct, sir. Accusation is not guilt.”

Harkness stood and slammed his hand on his desk. “I didn’t say it was! But the stain is there, man, the stain is there!” After a moment, he sat again. “An officer must be of assured good character. I do not have that absolute assurance. This business with — well, it doesn’t matter what his name was.” Harkness stubbed out his cigar. “Be grateful that I am allowing your present rank to stand, Corporal. Dismissed.”

As Harkness looked down and pretended to busy himself with paperwork, Ritter stood and left.

The pompous old goat! Good character, my foot! What about Edwards with his whoring in every town we pass through? That’s no object to making him a lieutenant, apparently. And Barker! Some captain he’ll make! —if he can spare the time from whisky and poker to lead his men! The only difference with me is — So what if I had a dear friend! I don’t care if it’s wrong and wicked and sinful. I don’t care if it lands me in Hell. It’s the only thing that has made this life bearable. I will not be ashamed of it. I refuse to be ashamed of it!

But of course it was something he could never discuss with anyone but Ream. And Ream was less than sympathetic on the topic.

“I told you!” Ream had said upon learning of Ritter’s unchanged rank. “I warned you! This kind of thing gets about and there’s no getting that cat back into the bag. You’ll never live it down. Never!”

“Nobody ever proved anything!”

“You fool, they don’t have to. They don’t have to give a reason why you’re being passed over. You’ll never get anywhere, in or out of the army.”

Ream was right. Without anything being put into words, the stain followed him ever afterward, long after the army, long after his return to Illinois, long after his marriage and the birth of his son and his wife’s death, long after a string of business failures. It seemed only right, since his heart had never changed.

And so Ritter dealt with it the only way he knew how. Never, never, never again will I have a dear friend. Never, never, never again must I be with a man that way. Never can I trust anyone with the truth. Fight the world and lose. So I must keep my counsel. Otherwise, I’ll end up adrift, rootless, with no place in the world, like that young pup downstairs, with his pencil sketch of his dear friend destined for nothing but a rocky grave.

Yes, that young pup whom the world will so callously grind under its heel, and if I’m not careful, me with him.