The Violent Peace by George G. Gilman Page B

anger.
    “Mister, there ain't nothing will do anything for a man like you,” she hurled at him.
    The door was slammed and Jennie's bare footfalls in the hallway were heavy, a further sign of her rage. The taunt left Steele unmoved as he turned to look out of the window again.
    “There's something, lady,” he said softly to himself. “There's something for sure.”
    Over at the store, Harry Binns listened with mounting agitation to Mona's account of what had happened out at his brother's farmstead.
    “You did that?” he asked, aghast.
    It was a large, well-stocked store, with a neat, businesslike look about it. There was a counter down, one side, backed by shelves and glass-fronted drawers filled with clothes, yarns, tapes and braids. Racks of dresses and suits, with a number of model dummies took up a great deal of space in front of the counter. Along the opposite wall and at the rear was more shelving, stacked with bolts of cloth. It was neat, clean and colorful and Mona, in her ill-cut and dirt-streaked dress, looked out of place in the store. Binns was well aware of this fact and, since he was now opened for business, was anxious to be rid of the woman. But at least he had been able to place himself on one side of the counter and Mona on the other, and this was an important achievement. For, as far as the citizens of Foothills were aware, Harry's low regard for his brother had sunk still further when he married a whore. And, as Harry had been at pains to state on many occasions, he only allowed Mona in his store because of family ties.
    “I had to, darling,” Mona answered, not seeing Harry's slight wince at the endearment. “There were four dead as it was. If it had gone on, how many would have been killed?”
    Her eyes implored understanding from Harry. He could not hold her gaze, and saw only the dirt beneath her broken fingernails as she brushed a strand of matted hair from in front of her eye.
    “Ed might have been among them,” he put in suddenly, aware he had to say something.
    Mona reached impulsively across the counter and clasped one of his pudgy hands. He glanced nervously down towards the display windows, grateful that no one was passing on the plaza. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he jerked his hand from beneath hers.
    “Please, Mona. Not here.”
    Mona nodded, understanding his embarrassment while not suspecting its depths. “He's as good as dead to us, Harry. Even if he gets away from the soldiers, he'll never dare to come back to the farm.”
    She looked hard into his soft, moist, fleshy, unhandsome face, love shining in her green eyes.
    “And what about the soldier who brought you into town?” Harry asked, swallowing hard as a wagon lumbered across the plaza.
    “I thought if I offered him money,” Mona blurted out suddenly. “You have some money, don't you, Harry? He might let me go. Tell his officers I escaped.”
    The wife of the undertaker halted on the sidewalk outside and peered through the thick lenses of her eyeglasses at the window display. Binns was sure the woman intended to enter the store and he was panicked into hasty thought.
    “Go back to the farm, Mona,” he said quickly, almost stammering as the words spilled over his trembling lower lip. “I'll talk to the soldier. I'll come out tonight and tell you what he says.”
    The undertaker's wife was dividing her attention between the contents of her purse and a red skirt draped in the window.
    “That's wonderful, darling,” Mona exclaimed, reaching out for his hand again. But he drew it away. “You will come?”
    Binns nodded. “Best if you go out the back way,” he implored.
    “Yes. Yes, Harry. I'll wait for you. Please come as soon as you can.”
    She backed away towards the door in the rear wall which gave on to the stockroom. just before she went from sight, she raised a hand to her lips and blew him a kiss.
    Binns groaned and waved her away with an angry gesture before turning to look with trepidation towards