Outlawed(69)

“You see, his father and I can’t agree on a name,” Elzy said. “I want to name him Albert, for my grandfather, but my husband wants to name him Christopher, for Saint Christopher. No matter what I say, he won’t budge. So I thought, if I open a savings account in the name of Albert, and put some money in it, then my husband will have to agree, won’t he? Or my son can’t get the money?”

The fastidious clerk cast a panicked look at his colleague, who studiously ignored him, still busily counting coppers for the grocer.

“Ma’am,” the clerk said, “I’m afraid there are a couple of problems with your strategy.”

The front door opened. A man who was not Lark entered the bank and queued up behind me.

“In the first place, we can’t open an account for someone who doesn’t exist. And since your son is not, in fact, named Albert—”

The other clerk finished counting coppers and sent the grocer on his way with well-wishes. Agnes Rose stepped up to the counter. A man who was not Lark entered the bank.

“But he will be named Albert,” Elzy said. “I just need to make my husband see reason. My grandfather was a great man, you know. He owned two dry-goods stores and was a deacon in his church.”

The second man who was not Lark looked at the queues at both windows and left the bank. Agnes Rose removed a torn fragment of a promissory note from her handbag. Cassie entered the bank and stood behind News.

“In the second place, it’s not the bank’s business to get involved in a dispute between husband and wife. Now, if you’d like to open the account in your own name and simply change the name once you agree—”

Agnes Rose smiled her most winning smile and told the clerk that the remainder of the note had been bitten off by a dog. A woman entered the bank and stood behind Cassie. A man who was not Lark entered the bank. I began to be afraid that he was not coming. Perhaps someone had stopped him in the street and somehow realized what we were planning. Perhaps the sheriff from Casper had come looking for him. Perhaps Cassie was right, and he had betrayed us all.

“But the account isn’t for me, it’s for my son, who will be named Albert.”

The clerk explained to Agnes Rose that she would need more than half the note in order to redeem it. She pretended not to understand him. Sweat soaked the armpits of my blue gingham dress. A man who was not Lark entered the bank.

“Here’s what I can do,” the clerk said. “I can open an account with no name for now, just a number. And then when you’re ready with a name, we can add it to the account. All we’ll need is a deposit of five silver liberties.

“Oh, I don’t have any money,” said Elzy. “My husband keeps track of the money.”

Lark entered the bank.

At that moment several things happened at once. Lark and I exchanged a single glance, no longer than the blink of an eye. Elzy’s conversation with the fastidious clerk escalated into an argument. Cassie quietly stepped out of line. And the unkempt clerk, having politely but firmly dismissed Agnes Rose, looked at me with a smile.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

I had come with a specific story to tell—we all had—but in that moment, the knowledge that Lark was passing behind me down the bank’s corridor, and that his life was in my hands, drove my plans completely out of my head.

“I need to open an account,” I said, parroting Elzy.

“Wonderful,” said the clerk. He was middle-aged, with a round face and small, warm, gray eyes behind the smudged lenses. “Will you be needing one just for savings, or one you can write notes against?”

I willed myself not to turn around and look at the corridor.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never had a bank account before. Can you explain the different types?”

“I’d be glad to,” he said. “A savings account is where you put money for a rainy day. You put money in, and at the end of every month the bank adds a little bit extra on top. That’s the interest.”

The other clerk raised his voice.

“Madam,” he said, “I’ve been very patient with you. But the fact is, you have no business coming in here and wasting my time with your silly questions when you should be at home with your baby.”

The unkempt clerk looked in their direction, so I allowed myself to glance around the lobby. Cassie and Lark were gone. I felt a momentary sense of relief, tempered by the heaviness of the gun in my left skirt pocket and the knowledge that in minutes I would have to use it.

The unkempt clerk shook his head and spoke to me in a low, conspiratorial voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said, inclining his head in the other clerk’s direction. “The fact is, we’re stretched a bit thin today. Some of our colleagues are, ah, busy at the moment, and it’s just the three of us here.”

My stomach fell.

“Three?” I asked.

The bombs were so much louder than I had imagined. In the valley their force had dissipated in empty air, but inside the bank I could hear them rip through wood and stone and steel. In the chaos that followed I was not sure who was screaming, how the bank’s patrons went from racing for the door to lined up against the wall with their hands behind their heads, or when exactly I drew my revolver and began shouting at the unkempt clerk to empty his till. But I was sure of one thing: just before the bombs had gone off, I had heard the sound of gunshots.