Summer Breeze

by Catherine Anderson

  She sniffed and puckered her lips as if she smelled something bad. Joseph just grinned. Everyone in town knew Simone was greedy. If not for her kindly, fair-minded husband, Harrison, she would have jacked up all the prices and never felt a moment’s remorse as she put the pennies in her till.

  She gave him an inquisitive look. “So what can I do for you, Mr. Paxton? If you’re here to bend Harrison’s ear again about heifers and calving, he’s busy cleaning shelves in back.”

  She wore a pale purple dress of shiny cloth that made her huge bosom look even more gargantuan than usual. Joseph wondered why on earth Harrison allowed her to wear something so unflattering. Then he wondered at himself for wondering. Harrison Gilpatrick was a quiet, peace-loving man who picked his battles and only bucked his wife when he felt he had to.

  “I’m not here to visit today,” Joseph assured her. “I’ve got some butter, eggs, and cheese to hawk.”

  Simone nodded. “I heard you were staying out at the Hollister place with Miss Rachel. Day and night, as I understand.”

  Joseph flicked her a sharp glance. There was an underlying tone in her voice that he didn’t quite like.

  “There’s nothing improper going on. If folks are saying otherwise, they’re dead wrong.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve no control over what other people say, Mr. Paxton. As for what’s going on out at the Hollister place, that’s for you to know and the rest of us to only wonder about.”

  She came out from behind the counter, her manner brisk and businesslike. The shiny dress, when seen from hem to collar, magnified her plumpness until she looked like a garish barn door waddling toward him. “Where are these commodities you’d like to sell?”

  Joseph was still stuck on what people were wondering about. “Now look here.”

  Simone arched an imperious black eyebrow. “Yes, Mr. Paxton?”

  “Darby McClintoch, the foreman at the Hollister ranch, is laid up at my place from a bullet wound in the back.”

  “We heard about that. How is he doing?”

  “Doc thinks he’ll pull through. That isn’t the point.” He followed the store proprietress through the maze of baskets and barrels. “Darby believes the attack on him may be connected to the Hollister massacre five years ago, and he’s afraid for Miss Rachel’s safety. That’s why I’m staying at the Hollister place, to protect the lady.”

  “I see,” she said, her tone dubious.

  “Miss Rachel lives in a boarded-up kitchen,” Joseph protested. “She hasn’t opened the door to anyone in years. How can people think anything improper is going on between us?”

  Simone swished out the doorway, her broad ass grazing the doorjambs on both sides. “Rachel Hollister is an unmarried young woman, Mr. Paxton, and you are an unmarried man who—if you don’t mind my saying so—has something of a reputation for being a womanizer.”

  A womanizer? Joseph was starting to get the mother of all headaches. A womanizer chased anything in a skirt. A womanizer had no scruples. A womanizer would compromise a decent young woman without batting an eye. He had never consorted with decent young women.

  “That isn’t to say that I believe anything inappropriate is happening out there.” She flashed him a syrupy-sweet smile that fairly dripped venom. “But you may as well know there has been a lot of talk.”

  And Joseph was willing to bet that her tongue had been wagging the fastest.

  “No matter how carefully you slice the pie, Mr. Paxton, some folks are always going to scrutinize the pieces.”

  Joseph’s temples were pounding by the time he joined her at the wagon. The self-righteous, judgmental old bitch. It made him furious to think that anyone in this dusty little town would dare to point a finger at Rachel Hollister. She was one of the finest and most proper young women he’d ever met.

  “Some people forget the eighth commandment,” he told her. “It’s a sin to bear false witness against your neighbor.”

  Simone just lifted her eyebrows again. “Do you want to sell these commodities or not?”

  Joseph had been pissed at Ace earlier. Now he wanted to do murder. He couldn’t very well strangle the old biddy, so he did the next best thing. He got his revenge by haggling with her over prices.

  “Four cents for a dozen eggs? These are from grain-fed chickens, and I know damned well they should go for six cents a dozen. You sell them for nine. I just saw the sign. That’s a fair thirty-three percent profit margin for you.”

  “Go away.”

  Joseph nodded. “Maybe I’ll just do that. I reckon I can stand on the boardwalk, cut your store prices by a penny, and sell out, lickety-split, making not only Miss Rachel’s usual profit, but most of yours as well. Care to make a wager?”

  Joseph got six cents a dozen for the eggs, eight cents a pound for Rachel’s cheese, which was top price, and six cents a pound for the butter. As he drove the buckboard up Main Street, he grinned like a fool. Who ever said revenge wasn’t sweet?

  His next stop was at the sawyer’s. Ronald Christian was a jet-haired man of medium build with friendly blue eyes. He wore patched but clean overalls, winter and summer, unless he was going to church, whereupon he donned a suit.

  As Joseph swung down from the wagon, the little Christian boys came running out to greet him. Richie, a six-year-old, hugged one of Joseph’s legs, and Donnie, a year younger, grabbed the other one. Joseph patted their ebony heads and smiled into their big blue eyes.

  “Hello, boys. How are you doing today?”

  Ronald emerged from the mill, an open-sided structure, essentially only a roof supported by poles. “Now, Richie, now, Donnie,” he scolded. “Let go Mr. Paxton’s legs. He can’t walk with you hanging on him like that.”

  Joseph ruffled the boys’ hair and then focused on their father. “Hi, Ron. I need some planks.”

  “What kind?”

  “I don’t much care. I just need them extra thick.” He held up his hands to demonstrate. “Miss Rachel Hollister needs a new door.”

  Ronald nodded. “I heard you were staying out there.”

  Joseph could only wonder what else Ronald had heard.

  “I was real sorry about what happened to Darby. How’s he doing?”

  “Doc has been dropping by to check on him regularly. So far, so good. He was running a bit of a fever last night. That’s a worry. But Doc says it’s to be expected.”

  “Bullet wounds are nasty business,” Ronald agreed. “Always liked Darby. I hope he pulls through.” He motioned for Joseph to follow him into the mill where he kept his stockpiles. “So what kind of wood are you looking for?”

  “I don’t rightly care. I just need really thick planks to build a barricade door, something stalwart to fill an archway.”

  Ronald led Joseph to the far end of the building. His boys swarmed over the stacks of wood like tiny ants, giggling, yelling, and seeming to be everywhere at once.

  All of Christian’s planed boards were no more than two inches thick. Joseph wanted stuff much stouter than that. He came upon a stack of roughly planed pine that hadn’t yet been vertically cut.

  “Those are perfect,” Joseph said. “Can you plane them more smoothly at that thickness?”

  Ronald stroked his jaw. “I can give it a try, but they won’t be as smooth as regular planks.”

  “I can sand them down.”

  Ronald grinned. “You don’t want boards, my man. You want quarter sections of trees.”

  Joseph nodded good-naturedly. “Can you fix me up with four of them?”

  Diana, Ronald’s wife, appeared just then. She was a pretty little woman with brown hair, gentle green eyes, and a slender build. Her gray dress was ready-made from Montgomery Ward and on the cheap side, but she looked Sunday perfect anyhow. She extended a slender hand.

  “Mr. Paxton, it is so good to see you. It’s not often we get buyers on Sunday.”

  “I stopped by in the hope that Ron would be out here working.”

  Diana smiled. “Normally I scold if he works
on Sunday, but Garrett Buckmaster is building a new barn, and Ron’s got to fill his order no later than Tuesday.” Her expression grew solemn. “We were very sorry to hear about Darby, Mr. Paxton. It must be difficult for Miss Rachel. Darby is the closest thing to family that she has left.”

  Ronald glanced past Diana at his frolicking boys. “Richie, get down off there before you fall and break your neck!”

  Diana rushed away to corral her children, leaving Joseph and Ronald to negotiate prices.

  On the way out of town, Joseph heard Bubba striking his anvil. It seemed that most all of No Name’s business owners worked on Sunday. After turning the team into the yard in front of the shop, Joseph set the brake, swung down from the wagon, and wandered into the building.

  “Bubba?”

  The huge, muscular blacksmith appeared from around a corner. His grizzled red hair lay wet on his forehead, and his bare, muscular shoulders glistened with sweat. The heat that radiated throughout the building almost took Joseph’s breath away.

  “Joseph. Hey.”

  “No rest for the wicked, I see.”

  Bubba chuckled. “No rest for the blacksmith on Sunday, anyhow. People stop by to place orders before going on to church, and I have my hands full, trying to fill them before they leave town in the afternoon.”

  Joseph nodded. “I won’t keep you, then. I was just wondering if you’ve started on one of the doors yet, and if you think the idea will work.”

  “There wasn’t much to it,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Just straightening and fusing the bars together. They don’t look like much. In my opinion, they could use some paint.”

  “You mean they’re done?” Joseph followed the blacksmith into the firing area. The barred doors lay on the ground near the forge. Bubba was right about the call for paint. The rusty iron didn’t show well. “These are great, Bubba. You must have been up working half the night.”

  “I did work for a spell after supper.” He grinned and winked. “My Sue Ellen is tickled about me getting them done so fast. When she’s happy, I’m happy, if you get my meaning.”

  Joseph chuckled. “Well, you tell Mrs. White that I appreciate her kindheartedness. Rachel will feel much safer with those bars over her doors.”

  “Me and the wife just hope she can start enjoying a little sunshine.” Bubba leaned over to grab a bar in one massive fist. “I’ll help you get ’em loaded up.”

  On the way out to the wagon, Bubba called over his shoulder, “Now that Sue Ellen knows about Miss Rachel missing the sunshine, she’s got a maggot in her brain about building the lady a courtyard.”

  “A what?”

  “A courtyard,” Bubba repeated. “A walled-in yard with a barred gate and ceiling. You reckon Miss Rachel would enjoy something like that?”

  It was a brilliant idea, in Joseph’s estimation. A courtyard. A bubble of excitement lodged at the base of his throat. “I can’t rightly say if she would or not, Bubba. She’s skittish as all get-out about open places.”

  “Wouldn’t be open, not really. Sue Ellen’s talking about tall rock walls, with the ceiling bars set into the mortar and anchored by a final layer of stone. With a heavy iron gate that locks from the inside, it would be an outdoor fortress with walls on all sides.”

  “I don’t know,” Joseph said cautiously. “Let me see how she does with the bars over the doors first. No point in our going off half cocked, building something she won’t use.”

  Bubba looked disappointed.

  “It’s a really grand idea, though,” Joseph hurried to add. “Ever since I saw how she lives, I’ve been racking my brain, trying to think of some way she might enjoy the outdoors. I never would have thought of a courtyard. If Rachel feels safe with the bars and can open the regular door to let in fresh air, there’s a good chance that she’ll feel safe inside a courtyard, too.”

  Bubba wiped sweat from his brow. “I’m thinking fifteen feet wide, maybe twenty feet long.” He swung a beefy hand toward the pile of rusting metal in the yard. “God knows I’ve got plenty of scrap iron. Just a little area where Miss Rachel can sit outside for bits of time and maybe even grow a flower garden to attract the butterflies and birds.”

  Joseph could already picture it. A lovely garden area with a bench and flowers all around, perhaps even a small tree. He wanted to hug Sue Ellen for coming up with the idea. If Rachel could gather the courage, she would be able to sit outside. Sunlight would filter down through the grillwork. She’d be able to feel the summer breeze in her hair. Even better, she’d be able to hear the birdsong again. Joseph knew, deep in his bones, that Rachel would absolutely love that.

  “Bubba, your wife is a genius.”

  The blacksmith’s freckles were eclipsed by a blush that suffused his entire face. “Well, now, don’t tell her that. She’s pesky enough as it is.” He rubbed a hand over his sooty leather apron. “Truth to tell, though, I’m convinced it’s a pretty good idea myself. This morning, Sue Ellen talked it up at church, and a number of folks have volunteered to bring wagonloads of rock. Everybody seems to have a rock pile from when their land was cleared. All we lack is the mortar, and Jake Lenkins, from out at the quarry, said he’ll donate the mixings for that.”

  Joseph’s throat had gone tight. He couldn’t push any words out.

  “I hope you aren’t thinkin’ it’s none of our beeswax,” Bubba said. “I tried to talk Sue Ellen out of it, but once she got the idea in her head, there wasn’t any stopping her.”

  Joseph took off his hat, slapped it against his leg, and then plopped it back on his head. He didn’t know if Rachel would ever find the courage to step from her kitchen into a courtyard. But did that really matter? What counted the most to Joseph was that Bubba and his wife had cared enough to come up with the idea. Maybe some people always scrutinized the pieces of pie. But there were others who were just wonderful folks who didn’t give a care about gossip and only wanted to make nice things happen for others.

  Rachel Hollister had lived in an isolated purgatory for five long years, and now the people of No Name meant to liberate her.

  Chapter Eleven

  As Joseph left the blacksmith shop and headed for home, his mood had greatly improved. A courtyard for Rachel. He could scarcely believe that Sue Ellen White had already found people who’d volunteered to bring rock. Once it was delivered, all that would remain was for Joseph to start erecting the walls. He felt confident that his brothers would pitch in to help. An almost impossible dream—summer breezes for Rachel—might soon be a reality.

  A dozen different plans took shape in Joseph’s mind—how to design her flower garden, what plants to order, and the kind of bench to build. And birdhouses, maybe. They’d look cute, hanging from the ironwork over the courtyard, and a few birds might even nest in them. Wouldn’t Rachel be delighted if she could watch the eggs hatch and the babies grow?

  When Joseph reached his place, he was surprised to see a strange buggy parked in front of his house. Not Doc’s, he decided. This one was newer and looked to be something a lady might drive. Joseph parked the buckboard just outside the barn because he wanted to gather some tools before he left for the Bar H. He circled the barn to check in on Johnny and Bart, caught Johnny sitting on his laurels in the shade with his hat pulled over his eyes, and coughed to wake the young man from his nap.

  “Mr. Paxton!” the hired hand sputtered as he lurched to his feet.

  “Is this what I’m paying you a fair wage to do, Johnny, napping before the day is over?”

  “No, sir.” Johnny clapped his hat back on his head. “I was just taking a break, is all. I don’t know how I managed to drift off like that. Maybe just working too hard.”

  Joseph doubted that. “Don’t let it happen again, or I’ll dock your wages,” he said sternly. He thumbed his hand toward a heifer out in the field. “You need to be riding the fence lines, looking for cows that are about to calve. Where’s Bart?”

  “Off doing that, I reckon.”

  “Well,
get out there and help him,” Joseph shot back. “I expect a fair amount of work for a fair amount of pay.”

  The younger man dusted off his pants and went to collect his horse. Joseph gazed after him, glad that he’d stopped by and caught the hired hand lollygagging. It would be a few days before Johnny forgot the reprimand and napped on the job again.

  Joseph watched until the hired hand rode from the barnyard. Then he decided to mosey over to the house and find out who’d come calling.

  When he entered through the front door, he heard voices coming along the hallway that led to the back of the house. He’d built three bedrooms, just in case his two younger brothers ever decided to leave Ace’s place. Joseph loved David and Esa, he truly did, and he wouldn’t mind if they came to live with him, but he’d gotten enough of bunking with them as a boy.

  He crossed the sitting room, which was open to the kitchen, and followed the voices to Darby’s sickroom, the first door on the right. To his surprise, Amanda Hollister sat on a straight-backed chair beside the bed. With trembling hands, she was sponging Darby’s flushed face. From the opposite side of the bed, Esa looked on, his expression concerned.

  “How’s he doing?” Joseph asked softly.

  Amanda glanced up. Joseph was struck once again by her resemblance to Rachel. “Joseph,” she said with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

  Given the fact that they hadn’t parted on the best of terms yesterday, Joseph was surprised by the warm greeting. “It’s nice to see you, too,” he replied and meant it. There was something about this old lady that he instinctively liked. “What brings you over this way?”

  Bright spots of color flagged her cheeks. “I’m tempted to say I came only to check on Darby, but the truth is, I also came to apologize. I was unforgivably rude yesterday. I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive.”

  Joseph searched her blue eyes, which were amazingly clear, considering her age. “David and I understood.” He glanced at Darby again. The old foreman looked to be asleep. “Is he still feverish?”