Frank:
The first part of the evening went slowly, as it was prone to do in places like Tinkle Town. Having few occasions of any serious crime was a good thing, but it did get tedious. It gave me too much time to worry over whether Shama had forgiven me completely and if she was being wooed sufficiently.
Perhaps I should buy her some flowers, although she once told me that she believed cut flowers were an insult to the rights of the plants, which deserved their privilege of blooming in nature and enjoying the sunshine outside.
Shama was always saying things like that, keeping me on my toes with her outlandish thoughts. But I loved those thoughts, just like I loved her. She was unique, special, and the woman I wanted to marry. However, flowers were out.
Chocolates? She might like a fancy box of candy, but I knew she’d just give it to the boys. She didn’t much like eating desserts. It was something that Old Mother, the woman she’d lived with for several years, had said. Let’s see: Carrots and other vegetables give you plant vitality. Sweets take vitality away.
Of course, Shama let the boys eat cookies and cakes, but she said that was because their bodies were so young they burned the bad stuff away. No, chocolate wouldn’t help my plight. So, what could I do to show Shama how much she meant to me?
Maybe I should ask Martha. She’d know, but then Martha was busy with that obnoxious daughter of hers. I couldn’t be bothering her about something like this.
“Hey, you out there, Sheriff?” a voice called out.
It took me a moment to realize it was the preacher, one of the men who’d come to Tinkle Town bearing false witness of Shama. What did the man want?
I stood up, gave my legs a good stretch, then copied what Sergio had earlier done, holding my arms out like I thought I could take flight. Sergio was right. It did feel good.
I strode over to the outer door of the jail cells, unlocked it, and yelled, “What do you need?”
“I’m thirsty,” the man said, “and I want you to hear a testament from the Holy Book. It would be good for you.”
The other officers had told me how the two men from outside our town kept asking for things that weren’t normally found in a jail cell. The preacher, in particular, wanted extra blankets, towels, and fluffier pillows.
His companion hadn’t been so demanding. He’d just moaned for days, as his body cleaned itself out. Alcohol gave some people a real bite when they became dependent on it. I’d felt mildly sorry for him at first, until I remembered how he’d treated Shama.