Lorraine

by Caroline Clemmons

“Wouldn’t that be awful? Saturday, I thought each of us focused on different men, except Cassandra was wavering between two.”

  Prudence sighed. “One’s all I want. I hope I have a chance of attracting him.”

  “And why wouldn’t you? You’re a beautiful and kind-hearted woman. Any man would be lucky to have you for his wife. When you analyze it, you and the doctor are both in a similar profession.”

  At the mercantile, Lorraine slowed. “I have to arrange for my writing name mail. I hope this goes well.”

  Michael Buchanan was at the front counter when they entered. “Good afternoon, ladies. May I help you?”

  Prudence gestured to the dry goods. “I’d like to browse a bit.”

  Lorraine went to the counter and pushed her letters toward Mr. Buchanan. “I have letters to mail, Mr. Buchanan. Oh, I believe it’s Mayor, isn’t it?”

  His smile crinkled the skin at the corner of his eyes. “Please, folks call me Michael.”

  “Then you must call me Lorraine.”

  He set out postage for her letters to her mother, to Essie Miller, and to her best friend Katie Wyatt. When he came to the one to Frank Leslie’s Magazine with the return address listed as L.S. Trueharte, his eyes widened and met hers.

  She leaned forward. “I hope I can count on your discretion, Michael. You see, that’s my writing pseudonym and I don’t wish everyone to know yet.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” He told her the amount she owed.

  She counted out the money and laid it on the counter. “From time to time I’ll be receiving mail to that name as well as to my own. Can you keep the two together discreetly?”

  He turned and gestured behind him. “There are the cubbyholes I’ve set up for everyone who regularly gets mail here. I’ve labeled slots for each of you ladies. Then there’s a larger slot for those who use Tarnation as their general delivery address but don’t make it to town often. Some only come in once or twice a year.”

  He slapped his hand against a crate-shaped area beneath the mail slots. “I keep packages here.”

  “You’re well organized. Thank you for your help. I’ll join Prudence and look around your store.

  ***

  Monday evening, Lorraine received a visit from Mr. Pettigrew.

  “I’m sorry to drop by without an appointment. Yesterday at church I couldn’t get close enough to speak with you.”

  Forcing herself to remain calm and ladylike on the outside didn’t stop the butterflies taking wild flight inside her. Her first caller was the one she’d hoped to attract.

  “How nice of you to pay a call. Won’t you come in, Mr. Pettigrew?”

  He sat in a chair and looped his hat over his knee. “Would you accompany me on a picnic for supper tomorrow? There’s a nice area a short stroll from here.”

  That meant they would be alone and could talk in private. “That sounds lovely. I’m sure Mrs. Murphy will let me borrow the kitchen for a while in the afternoon.”

  He held up a staying hand. “No need, I’ll bring the food and a blanket to spread on the ground. I’ll call for you at six fifteen if that’s agreeable.”

  She supposed he worked until six. “I’ll look forward to our outing then.”

  To their credit, the other women didn’t intrude or stare their way. Still, Lorraine was conscious of them nearby. The sensation of performing on a stage caused her to search for casual conversation.

  Mr. Pettigrew must have shared her discomfort. After a glance around, he stood and gave a slight bow. “Until tomorrow then.”

  When she’d walked him to the door and returned, the other six women swarmed around her.

  ***

  The next day, Lorraine was on pins and needles. Had Mr. Pettigrew chosen to court her or was she only one of several being evaluated? With six beautiful women for competition, she couldn’t be too optimistic.

  When he called at fifteen minutes past six o’clock, she waved at those nearby and hastened to answer the door.

  He stood on the porch carrying a blanket tucked under the arm holding a large basket covered with a red-checked napkin. “Shall we go?”

  She closed the door behind her. “Is the spot you have in mind far?”

  “Though close to town, it’s secluded enough for privacy without being too far to walk. I hope you’ll enjoy our picnic.” He guided her away from town and Lydia’s home.

  Lorraine noted they followed a faint footpath. “I’m sure I will. This is a lovely day for one. Being outdoors after spending the day inside is a treat.” She inhaled deeply of the fresh air, noting it was drier than that at her former home.

  “What do you do with your days?”

  She refused to mention her writing to him after his previous comments. “We each help Mrs. Murphy with cleaning and cooking. We’re rehearsing dancing for this coming party. Not all the girls know how to dance but Lydia is quite graceful in her demonstrations.”

  “Some of us men are doing the same at Mrs. Hill’s. Although I do know how to dance, I’m not skillful. She has her work cut out for her where I’m concerned.”

  They reached a copse of oak trees up a slight incline.

  He stopped and gestured in front of them. “Here we are. What do you think?”

  “Perfect, and the view is lovely.” She gazed out at the rolling grassland dotted with cattle.

  He set down the basket. “I’ll spread the blanket over here.”

  When he’d done so, she picked up the basket and set it on the edge. Movement at the side captured her attention.

  She froze. “Th-There’s a s-s-snake.”

  Instantly, he was at her side, a gun in his hand. “That’s only a garter snake.” He shoved his gun into his waistband at his back. “I’m surprised that with all your reading you don’t know more about the types of reptiles.”

  She still couldn’t move. “I-I started reading a book about them but the first was an anaconda and the next was a boa constrictor. Those articles gave me nightmares and I haven’t pursued the subject since.”

  He bent and picked up the serpent immediately behind its head and the creature curled around his arm. “These little fellows are harmless and help keep down pests like mice and insects.”

  He turned toward her and she jumped. “Come, you’re an intelligent woman. Time you learned about these creatures. Touch him.”

  “No, thank you.” Shivering with dread, she took a step backward.

  “Miss Stuart, I would never have imagined you afraid to learn something new. Come on, he can’t bite you with me holding him as I am. Touch this fellow and tell me what you discover.”

  Hesitantly, she reached out with her forefinger and touched the part curled around Mr. Pettigrew’s arm. “H-He’s not slimy. His skin is cool to the touch.”

  He nodded. “What else?”

  She forced herself not to cringe as she focused on the serpent and his forked tongue. “When I rub toward the tail, he’s smooth. Stroking toward the head, there’s roughness. I expected there would be scales like a fish, but these are different. More like rough leather.”

  He appeared impressed. “Anything else?”

  She tucked her hands behind her back. “I think that’s it for me. Was there something more you thought I should learn?”

  “You did well.” He walked three trees away and released the snake on the ground, where the serpent slithered further into the trees.

  She wiped her hand with her handkerchief and wished she had strong soap and water to scrub her skin. What an unpleasant, if educational, experience.

  When Grant returned to their blanket, he sat near the edge and patted the place beside him. She joined him, carefully, completely on the blanket and away from leaves and twigs that might conceal another creepy-crawly.

  He picked up one of the sticks. “I don’t know about other parts of the world, but in the Southwest, telling a poisonous from non-poisonous snake is simple.” Sketching on the ground, he drew what resembled the creature he’d just released. />
  “You see that this fellow’s head is approximately the same width as his body.” He scratched another image. “We have three main poisonous snakes here—the copperhead, the water moccasin, and the rattlesnake.”

  “We had those in Virginia. My friend Essie was bitten by a rattlesnake two years ago.”

  “But the western rattlesnake is much more venomous than your eastern variety. Grows larger, too. Our poisonous types have one thing in common.” He tapped the last sketch he’d scratched in the dirt. “See the triangular head?”

  “Yes, I see how the two drawings are different.”

  He used his stick to tap the second drawing. “Those to beware of have these pockets of venom in their cheeks, which makes their heads triangular. That’s not to say a bite from one like I released won’t cause an infection.” His smile set his eyes sparkling with mischief. “They don’t brush their teeth so who knows what they’ve had in their mouths?”

  “You’ve taught me a valuable lesson, but can we eat now?” In vain, she tried to suppress another shiver. “I really don’t like snakes.”

  “Sorry if I caused you distress. I tend to get carried away.” He opened the basket and set out containers of food as well as plates and cutlery.

  She took a napkin then filled her plate with fried chicken, potato salad, cucumbers sliced in what smelled like vinegar, spiced beets that carried the odor of cinnamon, and green beans. For dessert, there were generous servings of peach cobbler. A quart jar held apple cider and two glasses were nestled in a napkin.

  Lorraine sipped the cider. “This is a feast. Surely you didn’t prepare the food.”

  He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling again. “You don’t think I can cook? My mother insisted each of us boys know how to take care of ourselves. However, you’re correct. Martha and Lonnie Granger at the café provided the basket and contents.”

  “I’ve heard theirs is a good place to eat. I doubt anyone could improve on Mrs. Murphy’s cooking, though.”

  “You’re right there, but Lonnie does almost as well. They’re a nice couple and work hard to insure theirs is a pleasant place to dine.” He lifted a fork full of potato salad into his mouth.

  “Tell me about Grant Pettigrew.” She bit into a perfectly-prepared chicken breast.

  He swallowed. “I’m thirty and I own the local newspaper. Not much else to tell.”

  “Of course there’s more. Although you dress like a westerner, I believe you said you grew up in Pennsylvania. You mentioned your mother had boys, but you haven’t said how many or if there were also sisters or what your parents are like.”

  “My folks live on a farm there, but I didn’t want to follow my father. Not that I needed to because I have two older brothers, no sisters, but I know Dad was disappointed. He and my mom were supportive when I told them I wanted to own my own newspaper someday. After I worked for the local press a couple of years, I went to Chicago and was able to get a job there.”

  “That’s impressive for only two years’ experience.”

  He grimaced. “At first I only did obituaries, which I didn’t like. Writing about dead people made me sad plus there was no challenge. I wanted to report on important things.”

  She glared at him. “I know the feeling.”

  He blushed and refused to meet her eyes as he continued, “Chicago is where I met Zane Evans and we became friends.”

  “You said he invited you to come here.”

  “He did, although he hadn’t settled here at that time. He insisted he was going to set up a freight operation in Tarnation. I’m glad I accepted his invitation. I can’t say exactly why, but this place appealed to me right away. And, the ability to be a part of a growing town is exciting.” He met her gaze. “Tell me about Lorraine Stuart.”

  “I’m twenty-four. Frankly, I came because my father had arranged for me to become the third wife of an odious man with five wild children.”

  He leaned back, his eyes wide. “The third wife and a rowdy ready-made family? Sounds awful.”

  “Certainly the idea sounded horrid to me. Papa said as long as I lived in his house, I would abide by his rules. That day, my mother showed me Lydia’s notice. Fortunately for me, Lydia accepted me to come here.”

  “So, your mother agreed with you about marriage to the man your father chose. What were your interests in Virginia?”

  “I was a librarian.” She took a breath. “I also wrote stories for publication.”

  He ignored her as he leaned back on his elbows. “You can see the evening star up there. I love when the air is this clear and I can gaze at the sky.”

  Lorraine wanted to hit him with a chicken leg for ignoring the mention of her writing. Or with a skillet—where was a skillet when she needed one?

  She restrained her inclination and gazed upward. “More stars appear than I knew existed.”

  “Makes me feel as if I’m a tiny cog in a very large wheel. Nevertheless, I intend to make a contribution to Tarnation and the community.”

  “You’ve already succeeded there. Your Gazette is a first-class paper. You can’t include as many pages as the New York Times, but you do an excellent job with your resources.”

  “Thank you, Miss Stuart. Obviously you’re upset with me for not accepting stories from you. Please understand I run a shoestring operation. Perhaps in time my income will increase and allow me to hire another person.”

  She stared at him with her eyebrow raised. “Hmm, why do I think that person will be a man?”

  He sat up and faced her. “Please don’t let us quarrel. Here I am alone with a beautiful woman on a perfect evening. Nothing unpleasant should be discussed.”

  “All right, but I won’t give up, Mr. Pettigrew.” She heaved a sigh. “This is a lovely spot for a picnic. I can understand why it’s popular.”

  “There aren’t many young couples in town, one less since the minister’s wife died late last year. I understand this and the area behind the church are favorites for outings. Occasionally, the congregation holds a social. There are a few tables with benches behind the church.”

  She blinked at him. “Isn’t that where the graveyard is?”

  He laughed. “That’s behind and north a bit. The picnic area is south of the cemetery.”

  “What a relief. I wouldn’t like to picnic on people’s graves. Wouldn’t be respectful, would it?”

  “Correct, not that the dead would know.”

  She gazed at the increasing darkness. “We’d better pack up and leave while we still have enough light to make our way.” She closed containers and returned them to the basket.

  “I hate to end our time together, but you’re quite right.” He sat up and helped her repack.

  They reached the road as full darkness surrounded them. Fortunately, the lights of town beckoned to lead their way. In spite of his resistance to accept her as a writer, a sensation of calm descended on her. Gazing at the sky with a handsome man on this lovely evening had relaxed her.

  At Lydia’s door, his strong fingers surrounded hers. “I hope you’ll accompany me on another outing sometime soon.”

  “That sounds pleasant. In the meantime, I hope you’ll be at the dance on Saturday.”

  He kissed her hand. “I’ll be there. Goodnight.”

  She slipped inside and went to her room.

  Prudence sat in the armchair reading. She slid a crocheted bookmark to hold her place and closed the book. “Well, tell me everything.”

  “He’s six years older than me.” She told about the snake and the second disagreement about her writing for him. “He did ask to call on me again. I wavered between wanting to hit him with something and wishing he’d kiss me.”

  Prudence giggled. “Sounds promising. He’s nice-looking.”

  “He’s also interesting, intelligent, and infuriating. Oh, Prudence, I don’t know if the two of us have a chance of becoming a couple or not.”

  Chapter Four

  Grant hummed to himself as he strolled toward the café.
Miss Stuart—in his head she was Lorraine—was a fascinating woman. If he discounted her fanciful notion of writing articles, she was perfect for him. As pretty as she was, he’d have stiff competition for her hand.

  Until he’d learned Lydia was going to Virginia to bring back prospective brides, he hadn’t dwelled on the thought of marriage. His attempt to get his newspaper going well had taken every bit of his energy. He’d bought his ready-furnished house from a family who had moved to Denver last year. The price had been good and the house was suitable for a family of four or five. He figured he’d be ready if the opportunity to wed presented itself.

  Now, he longed to fill his home with a wife and two or three children. He hoped he stood a chance with Lorraine. He’d have to step up courting her before some other fellow proposed.

  At the café, he turned in his basket. “Martha, tell Lonnie this was very good. In fact, I’d like a box so I can take home what’s left. Your meals are far too good to let any go to waste.”

  While she dished up the contents, he spotted Zane at a nearby table. “Dining alone while there’s a house full of lovely ladies at Lydia’s? Better get your bid in before they’re all chosen.”

  “I have my eye on one.” He frowned. “Hope not the same one that interests you.”

  Grant leaned forward and whispered, “Miss Stuart?”

  Zane relaxed and grinned. His voice was almost too soft to hear when he replied, “Nope. Miss Ross.”

  “Whew, glad we haven’t set our caps on the same woman. They all seem nice, but something drew me to that one in particular.”

  “Same here. Who knows what makes our minds tick, eh?”

  Martha brought him a box. “Here you are, Grant.”

  Grant held the box level. “Thank you, Martha. I’ll bid you both goodnight.”

  As he strolled home, he couldn’t suppress his optimism. This had been a great day.

  ***

  Lorraine was surprised the rest of the week flew by. She’d expected to have more leisure time to write, but this week helping with housework took up most of each day. Preparing for the so-called ball, which was actually just a dance, took up a couple of hours each day.

  Practicing dancing was enjoyable, but tiring. She was one of the few who knew all the steps. She helped Lydia instruct each dance.