Chapter 2
Chapter 2: An Ebeneezer in the Heart
The locals of Plattsburg had been very accommodating to Pauline, truly sensitive towards the young widow in her grief. Against everyone's advice, travel arrangements were made and Stew's body was expertly packed with ice to be sent a fairly short distance by train to Kansas City, then on by wagon to Westport, where his family had a cemetery plot on their farm. Pauline was determined to get her dead lover away from there, no matter the circumstances. A telegram had been sent ahead to arrange picking up the coffin in Kansas City and taking it straight to the cemetery. She packed a large bag and boarded the same train at the Lathrop Station, very brave and amazingly composed. Alvin carried her in a rented buggy, and cherished the short trip, since it gave him a little more time to spend with her. He admired her poise, and was proud to be at her arm like a seeing-eye dog, until the train pulled out. As a policeman, he could stay aboard till the very last whistle.
When he stood up to leave, he dug around in his vest pockets, searching, and finally handed her a letter, which he had spent the whole night writing. And then as an afterthought a candy cane came from his watch pocket. His boyish charm was refreshing, even in this dark moment.
“Had to start it over a couple of times,” he smiled. She tried to smile, but her eyes betrayed a woman with a heavy burden, only enduring the moment. “Pauline, wait and read this after you have laid him to rest. But please do read it. It means a lot to me- and it may... someday... mean a lot to you.” He smiled one of those expressionless doll-like smiles people show when they are afraid to give away their emotions. She gave one back.
As Pauline nodded and looked away, unsure what Alvin expected and not sure what she expected from herself, he pulled away, and zipped down the row between the seats and out the door, leaping from the train as it began to glide through the dark, blurring ground which some people called Jesse James's domain. He hated putting his feet back on it, and hated worse that he could not go with her. He hated that he could not take care of her as his heart desired, but the killing had the town stirred up, and the town marshal needed every man. Even a heartsick rookie.
Plattsburg was not really Jesse James' domain as much as it was his buffer zone. Down on the Clay County line, and beyond, where Stew had been found, was the belly of the beast, where northern strangers gathered their loins and took their lives in their own hands when they entered a twenty-mile radius surrounding the James homestead, better known locally as Doc Samuel's. The Pinkerton strategy had been to ease-in to a small town on the outskirts of the James domain and do more listening than anything, until a person emerged who could, and would help them. That person had never showed himself during this operation, and Stew had decided to enter the county as a drummer, selling seeds and bulbs out of a catalog.
He made a slow spiral over several months around the Samuels home, getting closer and closer where Jesse and Frank had grown up, paying great attention to every person he met, their means of income, where they supposedly went to church, and if they did; Anything that might indicate whether a family was friend or foe. And Stew had been so careful, not wanting to be another casualty in the Pinkerton's private war. As far as Alvin knew, Stew had never done anything to draw suspicion, never had a cross word, and he had even sold a few seeds. How long had the outlaw spies known his identity? Had they identified Alvin?
And then Stew was dead. Alvin thought for a few moments, and it suddenly occurred to him: Of course, country people were naturally suspicious, and the two detectives should have been suspicious of their lack of it. They had been played like a fine violin. But was the song over?
Alvin strolled up the dusty streets of humble, seemingly oblivious Plattsburg every day, now torn from his special duty, watching the clouds and wondering what Pauline was doing, hoping she would answer his letter soon. Everything seemed to be pleasant, with nice Southern folks going about their lives. It wasn't such a bad place. But then he would suddenly see Stew in his mind, hanging from that tree, and it would all come back to him. And the unseen dangers all around him began to taunt him again, and harassed him stronger and stronger. It had taken days for that stench from the hanging to leave his nostrils. And it would take a lifetime to erase that picture in his mind- But he might not have much of a lifetime if he stayed around Plattsburg much longer.
Raised in St. Louis and still considered an out-of-towner, it became clear to Alvin as he made the rounds, the general political consensus of the berg which he was sworn to protect. This part of the state was “unreconstructed,” and might never be changed. The government's scheme of “Reconstruction” after the Civil War had gone over like a prayer meeting in a saloon. In fact he had seen a prayer meeting in a saloon, and it had not gone that badly. Nobody got killed. But folks down in Clay County loved Jesse James, and everything he stood for. The wanted outlaw had been safe there for years, in fact admired, protected, supplied, and even prayed for. And killed for. The James's and the Youngers, the Clements and the Millers, were undaunted and insolent, as their children and their children's children would be. As time passed, for decades, Stew's name would be anathema, as well as any persons associated with him.
He would wait in Plattsburg for Pauline's answer for a while longer, and then depending on her response, he would meet her anywhere, on her terms, but either way, he would leave Jesse James domain forever. Alvin had his eye on Kansas, another toxic brew of humanity, but it had wide open spaces to the north and the west, where a man could look as far as the eye could see, and not see another person. And he could do that for miles and miles. That sounded real good to him right then.
As Stew was being planted and his gravestone carved, Alvin planted his own stone in his mind. In the Bible they called it an Ebeneezer. It was a marker commemorating a major decision, a covenant. He saw a big white standing stone in his mind, like a monument, and on it he would inscribe: PAYNE. It would mark wherever Alvin chose to finally stop and build his life, when he had gotten far enough, and that would be Alvin Payne's domain. Most people got some kind of a monument when they died, but to him, the only kind that mattered was one that a man placed while he was alive. And it would be beautiful and children would be safe, and women would never have to cry, and if he was lucky, Pauline would be there with him.
Plattsburg settled down quickly, the death of a Pinkerton was only good for a few day's gossip, and then the town reverted to its usual lethargy. Hours turned into unbearable, glacial periods of boredom without Stew to talk and scheme with. Just a few weeks before, Alvin had been on the hunt with a master detective for several of America's most wanted criminals. Police work now seemed almost meaningless compared to his previous operation. And it was without the prestige or beautiful Pauline to soften the bumps of a hard and sacrificial life. He never realized just how much in love with her he had been, until she was gone. Now his whole life teetered on a cliff, waiting for her to catch his fall. The mails came and went, and weeks passed before a letter finally came from Mrs. Pauline Bacon. Just seeing her handwritten name made his heart leap.
She was taking care of her parents, and happy to do it. Stew had left her nothing, and her family had to pay for his shipping and burial expenses. She had intended to keep his pistol and shotgun, but she needed the little bit of money she received from the sale of them. She thanked Alvin for his kind letter, but remained vague about its most important part; the part where he told her that he had always been "very fond" of her, and maybe even loved her, and wanted her to consider coming back to Plattsburg, at least temporarily, where they could consider their future together. Emphasis on together. But then she stunned him with her ending...
“Alvin, please do not pressure me right now, Please don't read too much into anything I say right now. I am a mess from head to toe. It will take a long time for me to really consider your suggestions. Just know that I DO LOVE YOU. But I don't know whether I love you like that. But I will let you know as soon as I do.”
This was the proverbial light at the end of his love tunnel. Pauline had written, and spoken of love and showed true concern for his feelings. Alvin was not just encouraged, he was born again. Suddenly his feet were lighter, the sun shone brighter, and even police work looked good- for a little while. And there was a post script at the bottom. Pauline had given him a task, if he would, and she knew that he would:
“P.S.: Please put Stew's overcoat, Bible, and saddlebags in the Arbuckle's coffee crate, along with anything else you think might be important- especially any comforting keepsakes that I might be able to send to his family. His mother asked about a watch fob??? It had belonged to his grandfather. Please look around for it... but I told her that I thought it had been taken, along with the watch. Finding it would mean a great deal to them. Send it all to Pauline Bacon, c/o Mr. & Mrs. Seth McAllen, Kansas City, Kansas.”
Truth be told, Alvin was ready to deliver Stew's personal possessions in person. But her letter gave him a new outlook. If she was to come, he needed to be gainfully employed. This caused him to rethink his whole life. He could not help the missteps he had made, but from now on he had to consider “what Pauline might think about it.” And the first thing he planned to do was get out of Plattsburg. He was sure that she would approve of that. She was taking care of her aging parents, and that was a perfect time for Alvin to get reconstructed. He went to work immediately.
Alvin went to Stew's spartan room at the boarding house one Sunday afternoon, right before another month's rent would be due, to clear out his belongings. The mess strewn all over the floor struck him immediately that someone had been there and rifled through what little was there. It was not in this condition when he retrieved Stew's firearms the day Pauline left. But it appeared that the snooper had been interrupted, because there were several stacks of letters still bundled, which had not been touched. It would be impossible to know what they had been looking for. But Alvin could certainly guess.
Detective Bacon
The Jameses or Youngers might well have sent someone into his room to peruse Bacon's belongings, to ascertain from anything they could find, what "Stew Wilson" knew, and whom he might have been working for. And the possible danger from what they would have found was obvious. Now they would know Stew's real name, and the addresses of his wife and her family, and his parents as well. He was confident that Stew never kept agency correspondence, but it would only have taken a tiny little scrap of paper with the word Pinkerton on it to fix a brand on the whole operation. They were not likely to pursue aging or female family members, and they already knew that the Pinkertons had been after them for years, but the one thing they might not have known and were most likely curious about, was the name of his dastardly accomplice. Alvin wondered what Stew might have kept with his name on it. And it came to him like an arrow.
He hastily began to shuffle through a stack of newspapers. Several months before, Alvin had been written up in the newspaper, after he had been promoted to detective. Excited to see his name in print, he had brought it by to show Stew one Saturday morning before they went fishing. He had circled the article with a pencil so it would be easy to locate. If it was still in the stack, they had probably missed it. No harm done. If they found the circled article and thought it significant, that might well have cut the burglary short, and they took it with them. He went through the stack twice, but it was not there. It could mean nothing, but then he thought about the danger of him even being in the room. What if someone was watching? What if they were taking names? Guilt by association might be his undoing. And he had not even brought a gun with him. Alvin told himself, "IF I make it back to my room, I will never leave again without being armed." He did not mind getting killed, but it galled him at the thought of getting killed because he was stupid.
So Alvin hastily emptied the wardrobe and packed up Stew's clothes and sat on the stripped bed mattress, looking around, making sure. He still had not found Stew's watch fob. The calendar on the wall had been there from before, he thought. The emptied room spoke to him somehow, almost like a tomb; as if the space was waiting for something. Stew's abrupt end and his meager possessions were a sobering symbol of his own vulnerability, and the vacuum waiting before him called for a more ambitious vision of his own life plans. He found a pile of letters Stew had saved, unmolested, letters mostly from Pauline, and after hesitating a minute he untied and read them all. He shouldn't have, but he knew he would learn more about her in those letters than courting her for five years.
It got dark on him as he read the last of them, actually dating back to their earliest correspondence, where Pauline expressed the awkwardness and growing guilt of being courted by her sister's former fiance. Her words were sweet and true, and soared on the wings of hope, and yet now seemed so naive, given the outcome. Would Pauline burn them, or perhaps read them over and over, extending her grief for months or even years? For a moment he thought he might save her from the misery and destroy them himself. But then he considered that these letters were a treasury of Pauline's love for her gallant husband, and a part of that love was still alive through her thoughts on paper. He went from wanting to destroy them, to wanting to keep them. But his jealousy would never let him truly appreciate them. So Alvin swiftly tied all of those passionate words and romantic intentions back up into their bundle, perhaps never to be read again, and put them in the crate with the rest of the material remnants of Stewart Bacon.
Alvin knew he should feel guilty for reading their private letters, but it amazed him how real Pauline was to him as he read them, and yet now as the letters were boxed up, she was miles away again. It also killed him as he thought about her love for Stew, a good fellow who truly deserved a good woman and her love, and who had it all, until suddenly he had nothing. Well, maybe there was a place in heaven for such a man. Reading his mail, his wife's most private thoughts, made him almost feel his presence in the room. And strangely, that made him feel a little safer.
“I'm sorry Stew,” he said softly, “ You ain't here, and I had to know.” He took a dusty sad iron and tapped the nails in the lid down, and thought a moment of the good times they had. It put a subtle gleam in his eye. Stew had been the best friend he had made since leaving home. They had put away a lot of beer since they began to work together. This hardship in his life made him consider how unprepared he was for the next day, much less a real future. “And I plan to take care of her buddy. If she will abide by it.”
To do that would require some big changes. Alvin decided then and there to order a camera he had seen in a catalog. His father had been an itinerant photographer, and made photographs of soldiers in Ohio and Indiana during the war, then traveled extensively after the smoke cleared. He had been able to feed his family until he had so many mouths to feed, and then the horse farm took over their focus. Alvin had learned to make tintypes when traveling with his father all over Missouri and Kansas as a kid. Now he would do it again. He could start in Plattsburg, and take it on the road, and meet Pauline wherever she pleased.
Most importantly, he was giving up, then and there on a lawman's life. Alvin picked up the solemn crate and put it on his shoulder. This was what he wanted, taking care of Pauline, and whatever she needed or wanted. That would make him the happiest man in the world.
Alvin just wanted a normal life, and with God's help he would find it. Energized, he carried the coffee crate to the foyer of the boarding house and set it down. “I'll bring a wagon and get this in the morning and take it to the Post Office... It's going to Mrs. Bacon in Kansas City... You mind if I leave it?” He asked the desk clerk.
“Who?” the clerk asked, as if he had no idea who that was.
“Uh, Miss McAllen, it's going to Mr. Wilson's... fiance in Kansas City. Can you watch it till morning?”
“Sure, didn' even know he was spoke for!” That comment was hard to take, but Alvin knew it was true, lawmen had “grass widows,” and perhaps this could foretell his own future- unless he did something to prevent it.
“Yeah, that's the life of a lawman.” Alvin tried to make a joke. “Even when they are hitched, you'd never know it.”
“Even Jesse and Frank James have women... and children” scoffed the hotel keeper. “And they are 'bout as busy as anybody...” Another reason to “admire” the Jameses, Alvin thought to himself. "Say, by the way... somebody'd been in there... snoopin' around... I don't guess you have any idea who it was?"
"You know, we did notice some noises the other night, it was pretty late... but it never occurred to me that they were coming from his room. Was the lock tampered with?"
"They could have picked it, and I guess we are lucky they didn't take everything, or set the place afire."
"Oh.. they wouldn't do that!" The clerk shot back, before he thought. "At least I hope not." Then he laughed nervously. Alvin nodded as he hid his sudden detection, that the clerk knew much more than he would ever admit. And he wondered how safe the crate would be there in the lobby until the next day. He was sure, since he had not found the diamond-studded watch fob, there was little in it of value or of interest, and if it was tampered with he would be able to tell. If it was disturbed or stolen overnight, that would also be a useful clue. He decided to walk out and appear unconcerned, and see what happened to the tempting crate.
The clerk was probably a James gang informant. Hell, the whole town probably was. The danger was not what they might find in the box, but what they might already suspect about him, or what warnings the clerk would presently send them. All Alvin could do was say a little prayer and step out into Jesse James country. The sun was almost down, and every shadowed doorway looked like a perfect perch for an assassin. It would be a long walk back to his room.
It had been funny, how Stew had changed his outlook, when he was assigned to be his liaison. Alvin was the tinhorn rookie policeman, already growing dissatisfied with the job, when he met Stew. Suddenly the job was a thrilling adventure, a noble cause, once he was partnered with a ten-year veteran, who made their assignment educational and exciting. Police work was great in some ways, Alvin thought as he strolled into the dusky streets, but it was, in the end, pure sacrifice. He was lucky to get his warning shock up front, when he could still change his direction, and before he wasted years of his life. If he could just make it out of this town.
Now his decision had set him free, and yet it was built on a foundation of uncertainty. Only Pauline could make it all make sense. Only her rejection could discourage him at this point. Alvin welcomed the unknown, and relished the adventure waiting for him in Kansas. What was it that the Lord Jesus had said? “The birds have their nests, an' the foxes have their dens, but the Son Of Man has no place to lay his head.”
He smiled at the unknown out in Kansas waiting for him. “If it was good enough for Jesus... it's good enough for me.”
The self-terrorized young detective lost many a night's sleep, and thus missed many a day's event's while cat-napping, trying to catch up on his rest. And he was never able to enjoy a meal or a casual conversation, always wondering if this was the moment, when "it would happen." He always sat in the deepest corner of the saloon, with a view of the whole room, never cut through dark alleys at night, and never walked directly into the sun, where he might be blinded to an attack. Fear had become his main concern, and it consumed him at every turn of his daily life. It drove him into seclusion, and bound him to his chair.
He was miserable, and began to write a resignation letter. As soon as his camera arrived, he would be leaving Plattsburg and law enforcement for good. Alvin had hoped that the terror planted in his mind by the outlaws would fade away over time, but it had only grown. Leaving was the only way out, even if he left his self-respect behind. It was not what he had hoped for, but it would end his living nightmare. Then finally, to Alvin's relief, "it" happened.
It was a trap, but not so obvious at first. Traps never are. Spies for the Jameses had been watching Alvin for days, but considered him small potatoes, and far more useful as a human compass to point them to the new Pinkerton agent. They were waiting patiently for that person to arrive, and took note of every new person in town that Alvin spoke with. But Alvin had become paranoid and reclusive, and they were getting very few clues. So it was decided that they would infiltrate the infiltrator. A handsome young cousin of Frank and Jesse's was sent to strike up a conversation with Alvin at his favorite saloon, and test the waters. It was already known that Alvin was drinking heavily in his off-hours, and it was obvious that he was a depressed, lonely policeman, who needed a friend. Maybe some things could be learned by simply befriending the poor man- Certainly more than if he were simply murdered. And a weak-minded detective might be quite useful in the future. Young Franklin was sent in to gather what he could, and try to draw Alvin in to an extensive criminal network.
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