Simon leaned back and smiled. “I’ll give you twenty dollars for a detailed bill of materials for what I described. I’ve drawn the floor plan. I want eight of them.”
“Oh, shit. You’re still lookin’ to get the girls outta here, ain’t ya?” Buell shook his head.
“May is not going to be amused.” Twiggs chuckled. “Does Amos know about this yet?”
“Not yet. And I’m not going to be the one to tell him.”
“Well, you can bet your suspenders it’s not going to be me,” Twiggs said.
“Oh, no. None of us. I’m going to depend on a favored customer or two for that. I’ll work it out, you’ll see.”
“When will you need that list of materials?” Zahn asked.
“Soon as you get it put down. Now, how do two men make lumber?”
Zahn explained a little of how a pit saw worked, and what would be required to set up an operation. Buell’s eyes glazed over, Twiggs picked at his fingernails with his pocketknife, and Simon listened intently until the kitchen door opened.
Lori appeared, carrying an enormous tray balanced on one hand and a pitcher of some sort in the other. She swept up to the table and set the ensemble down, pushing coffee cups out of the way with the edge of the tray.
“Gentlemen, let me serve you Lori’s breakfast special.”
The plate she set in front of each man nearly overflowed with sliced bread smothered in creamy, brown gravy. Settled in the middle were three pepper-flecked, golden orbs with startling white collars. Strands of shredded beef roast peeked invitingly through the sauce.
“Creamed beef on toast with poached, seasoned eggs. One plate with enough food to keep any man going till dinnertime,” she announced.
“Boy, that looks good,” Buell said as Lori set a knife and fork beside his plate. He scooted his chair closer to the table, and picked up the fork.
“See, Max, there is something else besides eggs with brown crunchy edges and half-done fatback,” Simon said.
“And to keep it settled, hot chocolate,” Lori said and put fresh cups on the table. She loaded her tray with the empty coffee cups, and went back into the kitchen.
“Chocolate? For breakfast?” Twiggs stared at the squatty brown pitcher, and then at Zahn.
“It’s good, ’specially if she’s made it like she does for me.” Zahn took the handle and poured his mug full. “Anybody else?”
“Oommff,” Buell said around a huge forkful of bread and gravy. He held out his cup.
Simon and Twiggs offered over their cups, and Zahn filled them all.
Simon took a swig. “That’s incredible.” He tipped his cup again and took another.
“It has a faint cinnamon . . . no, it’s more nutty . . . no, it’s both and it’s thick, like it was made of cream, but not heavy like cream,” Twiggs said. “Damn, Zahn, how’s she do that?”
“Don’t ask me. I just drink it and smile. One of the many reasons I married her. Best cook I’ve ever seen.” Zahn smiled proprietarily as he looked at the satisfied expression on Twiggs’s face.
“You best be lookin’ to yer plates,” mumbled Buell, chewing. “Cuz I’m figgerin’ on takin’ what you don’t eat.”
The front door opened again and Daggett came in. Spud’s tail thumped a greeting.
“And Zahn, here’s the man you need. Plato, come meet Zahn Tapola.”
Daggett slowly approached the table, and Zahn stood.
“Plato. Pleased to meet ya.”
“Likewise,” Daggett said, looking a little perplexed.
“Sit, Plato, and I won’t take anything else for an answer.” Simon rose from his chair and went to the kitchen door. “Lori, would you dress another plate just like the one I had, and hand me a cup. We’ve got another customer.”
“You’re gonna love this, Plato. Here, try this first.” Simon poured him a cup of the chocolate.
At about the time the third pitcher of chocolate had been finished, Amos came downstairs. Lori treated him to the same meal, and Simon’s search for a cook was over.
With only minor finishing touches needed to the interiors of the new dining rooms and a few additional lamps yet undelivered, Simon posted a message in the sutler’s store.
McCaffrey’s Saloon & Restaurant
Now Open to Serve
New Eastern-trained Chef
Dinner & Supper
T. P. looked at the placard and smiled. “Eastern-trained, eh?”
“Well, she is. And I wouldn’t smile too wide until you’ve tried some of her cooking. I wince when I say it, but she puts my mother to shame,” Simon said. “Come on out. I realize Missus Triffet wouldn’t be comfortable there, but you really ought to come try it.”
T. P. looked skeptical.
“First meal is on me,” Simon said. He walked to the door and opened it. “Anytime.”
The seated US Army captain stared at Trooper Pettit and Trooper Rankin, who stood at attention in front of his desk, contempt pulling the corners of his mouth down. Sergeant Barrschott stood immediately behind the two.
“Assault and battery, attempted rape, arson, theft, lying under oath, and conduct unbecoming. All serious enough to get you cashiered after your sentence in the guardhouse is complete. It is my inclination to do just that, but Sergeant Barrschott would like to keep you around. I defer to his experience and won’t question his motives. Six months in the brig, forfeiture of seventy-five percent of your pay and allowances for one year. I only regret that neither of you have a stripe or two to lose. Sergeant, escort the prisoners to the brig for their confinement.”
Buell pushed the office door open and went in. Simon was writing, so he dropped the envelope on Simon’s desk, then slumped into one of the two easy chairs. Simon finished his thought on paper and looked up. “Afternoon. Where ya been?”
“Went to see Tay for a while. That Indian Walks Fast was there. You really ought to meet him. He’s in’erestin’.”
Simon picked up the envelope and turned it over. His eyes went wide. “It’s from home,” he said.
“I know. I got one too.”
Simon cut the top with an opener, and withdrew the two folded sheets of stark white paper. Buell leaned forward and saw the letterhead, “Kingsley & Lindstrom, Law Offices, Carlisle, Nebraska,” and below the elegant longhand script of the letter. He leaned back and watched Simon’s face in anticipation. His friend’s eyebrows went up, and he obviously reread a sentence or two. Then he visibly recoiled, his head jerking back, as he read something farther down the page. He lay down the first sheet, and started on the second. A smile crossed his lips a couple of times, and then he looked at Buell and grinned.
“What?” Buell exclaimed.
“Just a minute,” Simon said. He finished the letter and handed the second sheet to Buell. “The first is some family stuff about an inheritance and some money matters. You can read that one.”
Buell leaned forward and took it. Silently, he sounded his way through it. “I’ll be damned. Your folks’ farm seems to grow and grow.” He looked up at Simon and handed the letter back.
“And now yours. Have you opened it?”
“Not yet. I’m always scared it’s bad news.” He reached for the opener.
Buell read the hand-printed, single-page letter. His eyes blinked rapidly as he finished. “Good for Pa. No shit, Simon, I’m gonna have a ma,” he said as he handed the letter across. He turned his head away and pinched his lips together, swallowing hard as he reached down and stroked Spud’s head.
Simon quickly read the short letter. “Good news, huh?” he said smiling. “Your pa and my auntie Ruth will make a splendid pair.”
“I’m thinkin’ maybe I’ll go home for the wedding. How ’bout you?”
“Don’t think so, Buell. I’m not ready. And that’s a long ride in October. You might get stuck.”
“We could go to Cheyenne and ride the train. Hell, that’s less than a hundred miles. It’d be easy. Think about it.”
“I don’t think
so, Buell.”
“Looks like John Lindstrom and Judge Kingsley went into law together. Who’da thought that five years ago? The town drunk and the best citizen Carlisle has, pardners.” Buell slumped back and looked at Simon. “Any word abo—”
“Don’t say it, Buell. I asked ya once, and you promised.” Simon’s eyes sparked.
“Sorry.”
“I’ve got a lot of money coming from Grandfather Steele’s estate. I was eligible for it when I turned twenty.”
“Can I ask how much?”
“Sure. Almost forty-one hundred dollars.”
“Holy shit, Simon, you’re rich.”
“I don’t have to take it now. I can wait until I need it and let Uncle . . . er, Mister Lindstrom continue to manage it until then. All the grandkids got a share.”
“David?”
“I suppose.”
“Oh.”
“What ‘oh’? You’re thinking something, I can tell.”
“It answers some questions I had before we left, that’s all. Nothing important.”
“Anyway, I don’t need it now, and I’ll send John a letter telling him so. I have to take it all when I do though. And I don’t want to go home now, Buell. Everybody is doing fine, and so am I. We’ll leave it at that for now.”
Buell patted the dog’s head once more and stood. “About time to get up on my perch. I’ll see ya later.”
Simon watched Buell close the door and then unfolded the first page of the letter.
Judge Kingsley and I went into practice together when he decided to become fully involved in Nebraska politics. With Sarah gone, he and Missus Kingsley are much more free to travel to Omaha, and I needed something more to do.
Thoughts swarmed Simon’s mind. Sarah. Gone? How? Surely not—I can’t even think it. Maybe just back East to see her relatives. Why do I care? God, can’t I ever leave that behind?
He crumpled the letter in his hand and put his head on it. The black ink dissolved as tears dropped on the words.
CHAPTER 9
Simon attached the last reflector on the last lamp, and stood down from the step stool.
“Got to admit, Simon, I had no idea what you had in mind when you started, but this is beautiful.” Amos admired the highly polished, bright, nickel-plated stove and plum-colored carpet. The walnut-colored tables and matching purple-brocade-upholstered chairs invited a person to sit down and relax.
“I’ve let everyone I can think of know we’re ready for tonight. I hope we’ve aroused enough interest to at least eat that delicious-smelling roast of beef Lori’s been watching all afternoon.” Simon picked up the stool, and took it into the main part of the saloon. Lori had two tables set up with a service for four at each. Two women were listening as Lori explained how to lift a plate over the customer’s left shoulder. She’d been training them a couple of hours a day for the last week.
“You can’t just walk up and surprise them with it. You’ll eventually wind up with a plateful dumped right in the middle of the table, or worse. Let them know you’re there.”
“How?” the frumpy-looking older woman asked.
“It’s best if you can walk toward them so they see you coming. If you have to come from behind, stop well short and say something. Like, excuse me, ma’am, or clear your throat lightly. Anything to let them know.”
“You ladies going to be ready?” Simon asked.
“Never had to be so careful when I fed my husband,” the older woman said.
“But he had no place else to go, did he?” Simon joked.
“I reckon not, though sometimes I wished he would have.”
“Everything ready, Lori?”
“I think so. These two are gonna do fine. I can’t imagine both rooms being needed, so they won’t have any trouble keeping up.”
Three hours later the red bell over the icebox tinkled. Simon’s heart started to race as he looked at Lori and her two assistants, and then up at the bell again.
“I was out in front of the saloon not thirty seconds ago. Where did they come from?” Simon asked.
“We’ll soon find out. Go take their order, Melissa,” Lori said.
Five minutes later she was back.
“They’ll have the roast dinner. And a bottle of wine,” Melissa said, excitement in her voice. “My first order.”
“Our first order,” Simon said smiling. “Who is it, do you know them?”
“Of course, it’s Mister McCaffrey and Miss Pritchin.”
“What! Oh, shit. I mean . . . oh—” Simon rushed out of the kitchen.
In the saloon, he caught Twiggs’s attention. “Max, did you know Amos was going to have May for dinner?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah, why?” Twiggs said.
“Why? Oh, hell, we’re cooked now. Shit!”
“What?”
“That’s the reason for setting the rooms off. Our ladies are not supposed to be apparent, much less occupying one of the tables. And especially May.”
Simon walked across the saloon and entered the dining room.
“Good evening, May, Amos,” he greeted from behind May.
“Oh, Simon, what a lovely job you’ve done.” She turned in her chair and faced him.
May wore a long-sleeved, dove-gray dress, buttoned to her throat. She had her hair combed back from her almost-rouge-free face and kept in place with tortoiseshell combs. The cameo figure on the brooch at her neck glowed amber and cream in the lamplight. May looked stunning.
“I’m pleased to welcome you as our first dinner guests,” Simon lied.
“Thought it only appropriate to show our support,” Amos said with a sly smile.
“I appreciate that. And Miss Pritchin, you look beautiful tonight.”
“Why, thank you, Simon.”
“Max will be by shortly with your wine. Enjoy your meal,” he said and went back into the saloon.
“What’s with the big grin?” Twiggs asked.
“Have you seen May?”
“This morning, why?”
“Take them a bottle of wine. You’re in for a surprise.”
“Did they have the beef or the trout?”
“The beef.” Simon went back into the kitchen.
Melissa was scooping butter-flavored potato pieces onto a plate, and Lori had two generous slices of roast beef laid on the cutting board.
“Looks wonderful and smells even better,” Simon said.
Tinkle tinkle. Simon’s head snapped up to see the red bell moving.
“Another one?”
The stream of customers continued until the blue bell rang, and Simon was pressed into service as Lori’s kitchen assistant, the two waitresses attending to a room each. They were down to three trout and about five servings of beef when the last customer arrived at nine o’clock.
“Well, there goes tomorrow’s dinner menu. I planned on at least half of that roast being left over,” Lori said as she wiped an arm across her sweaty brow. “That was as busy as I’ve seen my father’s place, and he’s been there for twenty-five years. I think you’ve got a business going here.”
“If we judge by the compliments to the cook that kept coming back,” Simon said. “What did you put in that beef to make it taste like that?”
“Wasn’t in the beef. It’s in the sauce and I ain’t gonna tell you or anyone else what it is.”
Twiggs’s gleaming eyes showed his pleasure. The dining rooms had closed a little before ten. In the two and a half hours they’d been open, he’d sold two hundred sixty-six dollars’ worth of wine, of which nearly sixteen dollars was his. “This is going to make the summer months as good as the winter, Simon. You’re a genius.”
“First we have to see how many come back,” Amos said. “I’ll admit, I’ll eat in there regular. That’s as good as anything you can get in Saint Louis or Denver.”
“That’s exactly what I need, a nonpaying regular,” Simon teased. “Hope others feel the same.”
“Sure kept it quiet in here,” Buell sa
id. “The usual bunch couldn’t hardly wait to see who showed up out front.”
“I see Rosie’s still around, and Saint Louis Bob. Want to play a little poker, Buell?” Amos asked.
“Why not? I like takin’ your money. Ain’t no use in askin’, but I’ll be polite. How ’bout you, Simon?”
“Nope, I’ve had enough. All you had to do was snooze on your chair. I worked my butt off in the kitchen. I’m gonna get my dog and go home.” Simon opened the door to his office. “C’mon, Spud, let’s go get some sleep. Good night, you guys.”
The bright moonlight cast distinct shadows, and Spud took advantage of it. He raced around the end of the stable before Simon made it halfway across the street. He barked twice as he headed into the open. The night air, warm and almost liquid, wrapped him in nature’s essence. Trapped close to the ground, the aroma of the river and the dry dusty scent of sage blended with the sweet-sour smell of the corrals. Free of the overused air in the saloon, Simon strolled past the cabin and continued walking into the low brush and patchy grass, pausing occasionally to listen for his dog. After he’d walked about half a mile, he retraced his steps to the porch of the cabin, and once more paused to listen for Spud.
“Guess you’ll be waiting for Buell when he comes home.” He turned to open the door.
A shadow flicked to life on the porch, and Simon’s eyes followed naturally. In a heartbeat, a form passed the corner of the cabin, and moved across the porch toward him, following the shadow. Simon spun around to catch the moonlight glint on a knife blade. It cut an arc out and then in, aimed for his belly. Sucking in his breath, he arched his back and blade’s tip plucked at his shirt. Scrambling, Simon retreated, his arms flailing for balance.
The porch ended a foot shy of his last step, and he fell heavily to the ground. Searing pain shot through his shoulder as it took the brunt of his fall, followed by a bright flash of light when his head bounced off the hard dirt. He was vaguely aware of a hand shoving his face to one side. Then, suddenly and acutely, he remembered the flashing knife, and knew his throat was being exposed for a reason. Terror fueled the strength he found in his injured arm as he balled his fist and punched out. A grunt signaled a hit somewhere and the hand came off his face. He caught the glint of steel again, and his arm rose to fend it off.
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