Rug Burn
“Is your husband here?”
“Harvey Singer?”
“Yes. Do you have another husband?”
“Unfortunately, Harvey is the one I married. I didn’t want to but… Hell, I don’t know where he is. Went into town with some guy named… um I don’t know his name. He had a big beard and a fancy velvet jacket like some kind of big city pansy man. I do not have anything against men who prefer the company of men, but there was something off about this one. Anyway, I don’t know where they got off to.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No. It has been over four months. I doubt if he will ever come back. Knowing Harvey, he probably drank some bad whiskey with a two bit whore and expired. What business do you have with him?”
“His gold watch was found in the Trident Saloon. It had somehow slid under the bar. He needs to come into town and claim it.”
“The Trident? I never thought old Harvey would go anywhere that classy. Well, he never said anything about losing his watch. I just assumed he sold it. Would you mind helping me take this old rug out and bury it?”
“Why are you burying a rug?
“My dogs dragged in a javelina and tore it up on the rug. Ruined it. So, I wrapped up the bloody animal, and I need to get rid of it before my house stinks to high heaven. Can you help me. I’m tired of my house smelling like rotten meat.”
“How did the dogs make out?”
“Fine. Here grab this end of the rug.”
Augustus Arthur, the Sheriff of Big Quartz City helped Irma Singer drag the noxious rug out about fifty feet from the house and dump it into a four foot deep hole. Two dogs, about 30 pounds each ran around sniffing and playing with each other. Augustus wondered how two smallish dogs could take down a javelina. Those desert pigs were mean sons of bitches, even the females and young ones. Maybe it was old or sick, or the dogs were just good at what they do.
“Mrs. Singer,” he asked, brushing his dusty hands against the side of his pants. “Did you dig this hole by yourself.”
“I did indeed Sheriff Arthur. Thank you for your help. You may leave now.”
“Are you going to fill in the hole. Animals are going to get into that rug and spread nastiness all over the yard here.”
Irma took off her hat and scratched her head, then pulled it back over her thick head of brown hair. “I plan to light it on fire as soon as you leave then add a layer of dirt and fill it with rocks. I already have a pile of rocks ready to go. See, right here, next to the hole.”
Augustus looked at the woman wearing an old canvas jacket with a knitted hat on her head, and her skirts pinned up almost to her knees. Her work boots were dusty and worn. Never in his life had he seen a woman so enticing. His head grew light as if intoxicated by her glow. Damn, she was one good looking woman. The Sheriff almost slapped himself to get his mind off of taking her inside and warming her up outside of her clothing.
“Do you need help with the fire?”
“No Augustus I do not need help with the fire. I appreciate you helping me move the rug, and that is all the help I need today. You had better get home to clean up. You do not want folks seeing you covered in dirt and smelling like death. Tell your housekeeper to draw you a hot bath. I will see you at the Christmas celebration in town this evening.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“I can handle my horse, or I might just hitch up the mules. I can take care of myself. Now get.”
For the entire two mile ride back to town Augustus Arthur thought about Irma Singer. At the tender age of sixteen the woman was married off to Harvey Singer after her father lost her in a poker game. Harvey was a professional gambler and gun slinger. The man was quite successful at it. With that success he’d built a fine house about two miles from town along a pretty creek, with a wooded area that was perfect for sitting and thinking, or making love in the afternoons, not that Irma and Harvey ever did that.
Irma was a talented artist and sold quite a few paintings of birds, images of the desert sunsets, and the occasional portrait. It was rumored she had sent works to an art gallery in San Francisco where they brought as much as $50 for a single painting. Irma also gave art lessons in town to anyone who wanted to learn how to sketch or make a watercolor painting.
Harvey was a good ten years older than Irma, who was about twenty eight now. The marriage had produced no children. Augustus imagined those two would find no joy in children. It was obvious by the way they lived that they found little or no joy in each other. On occasion Irma would come into town with a black eye, a limp, or a bandaged hand. It was a waste of a good woman. Not just a good woman, but a smart and talented woman who deserved better than Harvey Singer. Then he thought about kissing every inch of her body, starting with her lips and working down as her hands ran through his hair, then over his back… then he almost fell off of his horse and continued on home.
When he returned home Augustus found a letter waiting on the table by his front door. It was the news he’d been waiting for. He would miss the never ending golden sunsets, and the shadows reflecting off of the red and orange buttes. Maybe before he left Senora Maria Anna would teach him how to grind corn and make tortillas and her famous beans and peppers. Maybe he could convince her and her son into coming with with him and working for him. He wondered about a lot of things, but it was time to get ready. He was the Sheriff, and it was time to meet with the ranchers, cowboys, shop keepers, miners, teachers, and assorted citizens of Big Quartz City.
In the center of town a tall pine tree was covered with colorful animals and snowflakes town people had made out of cloth and paper. Some of the miners and the blacksmith had fashioned stars out of pieces of scrap metal and hung them all over the tree. Nearby fires and torches lit up the street. Jackson McNalley played his fiddle while folks young and old danced on a wooden platform. Senora Maria Anna and others had tables with food and drink. Everyone in town had donated fund to put on a Christmas party that none of them would ever forget.
With a tall glass of whisky in his hand, Augustus greeted his friends and anyone he saw and wished them a Merry Christmas. Younger women gave him sweet smiles. Older women looked sorry for the young unmarried Sheriff. He was only 29. He’d almost been married once to a woman he’d known all his life, but she broke his heart when she left him for a rich railroad man. Since then, he had toyed with the idea of marriage, and toyed with plenty of women who did not want to get married, but he’d been too busy to make the time to expose his heart or break up any marriages. At least it that was how he felt until now. Now for the past six hours all he could think of was Irma Singer and her dusty canvas jacket pulling a rolled up rug across the dirt.
“Sheriff, there you are,” said a familiar voice behind him.
He turned around. There was Irma. She wore a small hat adorned with feathers. Her dress, complete with a matching jacket lined with white fur, was purple and green silk with a fancy bustle following behind her. Irma was not the most beautiful woman in town, but that night her beauty took his breath away and captured his heart.
The two of them walked around the street, sampling food and drink, making small talk with the other merry makers, and even dancing on the wooden platform to Jackson’s fine fiddle.
After their second dance, they went to the Sheriff’s office where Augustus took Harvey Singer’s gold watch out of a locked drawer. He handed the watch over to Irma.
“I do not believe you think your husband is coming back.”
“I know he is not coming back. In fact, I am going to make a trip to either Nevada or Utah and get a divorce based on desertion. I could get him for adultery just to add to the pile of shit he heaped on me.”
“Then what?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“People have been telling me that some choice San Francisco art galleries are selling your paintings.”
“That is correct.”
“Listen, Irma. I have known you a long time.”
“About five years.”
“We have always been good in each other’s company.”
“Yes, we have. What are you getting at?”
“I have been offered a lucrative position in San Francisco. It comes with an large inheritance, plus membership to the Bohemian Club. I would also be taking over my uncle’s import and shipping business.”
“What wonderful news. What does that have to with me?”
“I have been thinking.”
“Thinking is good. Most men do not think enough.”
“I have been thinking about us.”
“I am married.”
“Your husband was in that rug.”
“Pshaw.”
“I saw his toes peeking out of the end. His wedding ring was on the table by the lamp. His favorite hat and his gun were hanging off of the coat rack by the door.”
Irma stood on her tip toes and kissed Augustus long and hard. He could feel lightning shoot though his body.
“Irma, go get your divorce and meet me in San Francisco. You can paint. You can be with other artists. We can even go to Monterey anytime you want, and to see the redwoods. You can paint there. Bring your dogs. What do you say?”
“This is the best Christmas ever,” Irma answered. Then she kissed him again and knew for as long as she lived that she’d never roll him up in a rug, and that he’d never tell anyone about those damn toes.
~ end
The first new Christmas story for 2025, written in about 25 minutes over a Christmas cookie and a hot cup of tea. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
Vampire Maman 