Putting him out of her mind as best she could, Olivia left the bed to take care of her needs. Because she’d spent most of yesterday campaigning with the spinsters, her shop had been closed to customers. Today she planned to be open; there were bills to pay and dresses to make. Keeping her business afloat was far more important than running for mayor.
To that end, after a breakfast of a boiled egg and some toast, she dressed and grabbed her handbag for the walk over to Main Street. She’d noticed that her shears were becoming dull, and although she’d been searching for the last few days, she hadn’t been able to find the file she usually used to sharpen them. So a trip to the store to purchase another was the morning’s first order of business.
Olivia loved mornings; she always had. They signaled new beginnings and the chance to start again. The quietness and the freshness of the air filling her lungs as she walked made her believe that anything in life was possible, even for a woman like her living in a land where her contributions as a citizen were rarely appreciated; where Redemptionists could ride roughshod over dearly won rights; and where the number of men of color still serving in the halls of Congress could be counted on one hand. The race was resilient, however, and so was she. Olivia was convinced that one day hurdles like Jim Crow and bigotry would no longer be the law of the land, and that a man of the race might one day govern this same country as president. Until then, she planned to keep placing one foot in front of the other and thanking the good Lord for every morning, come rain or shine.
Since Olivia had vowed never to spend another cent in Malloy’s mercantile, she headed up the street to the much smaller establishment owned and operated by Harriet Vinton’s husband, Henry.
There were very few people about at this time of morning; most of the stores and shops were still shuttered. However, the folk she did see were all rushing somewhere. Many of them, both men and women, passed her at a run. Confused, she saw a farmer she knew from church and shouted, “Mr. Joyce, why’s everyone running?”
He grinned and hollered, “Just come on. You’ll see.”
Olivia hurried to catch up. A small crowd stood in front of Malloy’s mercantile. What she saw stopped her dead in her tracks. Malloy had the biggest flagpole in town. It measured at least seven feet high. Usually the flag of the United States flew from it. Today, a man in his union suit was hanging there by his hands and feet, and it appeared to be Malloy! Olivia’s hand went to her mouth in surprise, and her eyes were wide. His arms were trussed behind him, as were his feet. Somehow he’d been slipped onto the pole like a stitch on a knitting needle and was up there, positioned belly down. He had a flour sack, of all things, on his head, and he was flailing and squirming like a caught beetle. Olivia could see a stern-faced Sheriff Jefferson and Asa looking up at him and talking as if they were discussing what to do. In the meantime, a curious Olivia moved through the crowd to get a better look. Who would do such?…Instantly she knew the answer, and as unchristian as it was to gloat, she thanked Neil July for the early morning treat. It was a prank that would be talked about until Christmas, but how had he gotten Malloy up there, and how would the men get him down?
As word of the sight spread, the crowd began to grow. Some folks took one look at Malloy and rolled in the street laughing. Olivia had to admit he did look quite comical mounted up there like a masthead on a ship, and as more and more people arrived, more and more giggles could be heard.
The sheriff hollered up, “Hold on, Malloy. The only ladder tall enough to get you down belongs to Handy and he can’t find it. Could be the folks that hung you up there used it and then hid it.”
Olivia prayed Neil hadn’t hidden the ladder anywhere on her property, but then she remembered him promising not to leave a trail that pointed to either him or herself. She relaxed. She looked up at Malloy and shook her head at the inventiveness and lunacy of the stunt. July was a wicked genius. Olivia would never have conceived a revenge so harmless yet so publicly humiliating as this. If July ever showed up on her doorstep again, she’d give him a big kiss. He’d earned one.
The flour sack on Malloy’s head made it impossible for the crowd to tell if he could see them, but Olivia was sure he could hear the laughter. Folks were pointing and laughing behind their hands, while others made wisecracks about him not being in red, white, and blue long drawers. Malloy was twisting and turning, and mumbling furiously from within the sack. She wondered why his speech sounded so muffled; was he gagged? Whatever the reason, it was plain to all the onlookers that Armstead was mad as a wet hen.
By now half the town was staring on; people brought their children, dogs were barking and chasing, and everyone waited on Handy to find the ladder.
Finally he arrived, and the crowd cheered boisterously. The big blacksmith carried the heavy ladder with ease and planted it against the lip of the mercantile’s overhanging roof. He climbed up. Using a large bladed knife, he began sawing at the rope binding Malloy’s ankles. The sheriff climbed up too and took up a position a few rungs below Handy. When the rope parted, Chase caught Malloy’s legs and eased them down. No one knew how long Malloy had been mounted on the pole, but it was plain to see his legs wouldn’t hold him, so everyone guessed he’d been posing as a flag for quite some time. The wrist ropes were cut next, and Malloy’s arms dropped uselessly to his sides. The men carried him down and sat him on the edge of the walk. The sheriff took off the hood and undid the blindfold and the gag to reveal Malloy’s furious face.
Someone handed the sheriff a canteen. He passed it to Malloy, who took a long swallow, then handed it back. When Malloy looked into the smiling crowd and saw Olivia, his eyes blazed at her before he snarled, “Sheriff, I want the people responsible for this found, then jailed, and hung. Hung!”
Jefferson nodded, adding, “Okay, Mr. Malloy, but let’s get you to the doc—”
“I don’t need a doctor. I need those people found. Aren’t you responsible for the safety of this town’s citizens? Where were you last night when those hooligans attacked me?”
Olivia thought the tirade was uncalled for, and, from the grumblings she could hear around her, others thought so as well.
Jefferson seemed determined to take the high road. “I’ll come by after you’ve rested up and you can tell me what happened. In the meantime, I really think you should have Doc Johnson give you a look—”
The furious Malloy jumped up to give the sheriff holy hell, but as soon as Malloy stood on his feet, his eyes rolled back in his head, his legs and hips wobbled unsteadily, and he fainted right there in the street.
The crowd howled.
The tight-lipped Sheriff Jefferson shook his head and said to Handy, “Go get the doc.”
Flagpole Malloy, as he’d been christened after the event, became the town’s main topic of conversation. Every customer who came into Olivia’s shop wanted to talk about it. At noontime, Olivia placed the Closed sign in the window and walked down to Sophie’s hotel for lunch. As she took her seat at a small table in the large dining room, she could hear, all around her, snippets of conversations humorously recounting the sight of Malloy hanging from the pole and the fainting aftermath. Seeing Olivia, a few diners came over and asked if she thought Malloy might withdraw from the mayor’s race. Olivia declined to speculate and referred the questioners to Malloy.
Cara Lee Jefferson stopped by Olivia’s place later that afternoon. Once again, Malloy was the topic of conversation.
Cara said, “I hate that I missed it.”
Olivia couldn’t stop her chuckle. “It was quite a sight. I have never seen anything remotely like it in my life.”
“Chase is still trying to figure out who put him up there.”
Olivia kept her thoughts on the culprit to herself. “Did your husband tell you that Malloy accused him of being negligent in his duties as sheriff?”
“Yes, he did, and I’m glad I wasn’t there to hear it. Were it up to me, Malloy would still be posing as a flag. Nasty little man.”
Olivia smile
d. “Folks have been asking if he’s going to quit the race for mayor. Have you heard anything?”
“No, but I’d bet Chase’s badge he won’t. He’d be more of a laughingstock than ever. Maybe he’ll just leave town.”
Olivia deadpanned. “We should be that lucky.”
And they weren’t.
The next morning, Asa Landis delivered a message to Olivia from Malloy, who wanted to debate her. Olivia blinked. “A debate?”
“Yep.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow evening at the hall.”
Olivia had done mock debates at Oberlin and she was sure she could hold her own, but this was very unexpected. “Please tell Mr. Malloy I will be there.”
“Will do,” he replied before asking, “wasn’t that something this morning?”
Olivia nodded. “It was indeed.”
“Wish I knew who did it. Between you and me, I’d like to give the person a medal. We haven’t had this much excitement since the Liberian Lady burned down back when Chase was courting Cara Lee.”
Olivia knew from the historical society that the Liberian Lady was a saloon that once operated on the outskirts of town. It had burned down back in ’82. “I keep hearing about those times.”
“That was a year I’ll never forget, let me tell you.” Then, changing the subject, he said, “Debate starts at seven, so get yourself ready. Lots of folks pulling for you.”
He then moved to the door. “Good luck, Miss Olivia.”
“Thanks, Asa.”
That night, Neil skinned the two rabbits he’d caught in his snares and readied them for the makeshift spit hung over the crude fire pit he’d dug. Once they were positioned and roasting, he sat back against his bedroll and gazed at the flames. He wondered what Olivia was doing. Was she sitting on her porch and wondering about him? Her face floated across his mind’s eye, and he could see her as clearly as if she were seated across the fire; the heart-shaped, copper-colored face, the dark eyes, the wide, full mouth. She had a good head of hair, which she wore pulled back in a spinsterish knot, and that tall, full body could make a man never want to leave her side. He guessed they’d found Malloy and cut him down by now, but were it up to Neil, Malloy would have stayed on that pole until the geese flew south. Putting his ugly mouth on Olivia had earned the store owner a much worse fate, but out of respect for Olivia’s wishes Neil had only played with Malloy a little bit.
He hoped she’d had the chance to see Malloy before he was cut down. Neil was pretty sure she’d know the prankster’s identity, but he was equally sure she wouldn’t tell anyone. Neil wanted to see her, bad. She’d asked that he not come back and he wanted to respect that wish too, but he didn’t know if he could. She was not for him, he knew that, but he couldn’t make himself ride away—thus this camp he’d set up behind an abandoned homestead about ten miles outside of town. In truth he knew next to nothing about her, but by the ancestors he wanted to know more. Much more. The need to learn everything there was to learn about one Olivia Sterling pulsed through him with a strength he’d never felt before with any other woman, and Neil had had many women. He was experienced enough and honest enough to admit that inside that statuesque body could beat the heart of a shrew who’d make his life hell once he got to truly know her, but Neil didn’t think so. She impressed him as being a strong, good woman, but one who’d never known a man. The inexperience in her kiss had been expected, but he hadn’t expected to taste passion as well. The memory of her being in his arms wouldn’t leave him alone.
He moved over to the fire and turned the rabbits. They were scrawny little things and it wouldn’t take them long to cook, but they weren’t done yet. He was as hungry as the proverbial bear, and not just for food. Forcing his mind away from the tempting seamstress, he wondered if Shafts had reached Indian Territory safely and if he’d been able to find Teresa. Was she on the road with her gang or cooling her heels in some local’s hooscow? That was a legitimate question. The net was closing on the west. In ten years’ time, outlaws were going to be as extinct as the tribes. In truth, being an outlaw these days was almost more trouble than it was worth. The trains were getting bigger and faster, making them harder to ride down on and board, and the increase in the number of passengers meant gangs needed more men to control all of those good citizens during a robbery. Added to that were the Pinkertons, now posing as paying customers; most stood out like white buffaloes and were easy to spot, but when they weren’t spotted they played havoc with a gang’s carefully worked out plans. A younger Neil had found train robbing exciting; the danger alone had been worth every job he and Shafts had undertaken. Now…Now, one of their best train robbing partners, Griffin Blake, was married and a sheriff in Texas, and when men like Griff left the business, it was time for everyone he knew to take stock of themselves and their place in a world that had little future. Towns were passing laws; good women were building churches; and farmers were putting up fences on the High Plains. Ten years ago, there’d been no Nicodemus or Henry Adams; this area had been as wild and free as any land on this side of the Mississippi. Not anymore. Towns brought civilization, and civilization was destroying the west he knew and loved.
The debate on Wednesday drew as large a crowd to the town hall as there’d been at the nomination meeting on Sunday evening. If anything, there were more people, Olivia realized as she watched them all file in. She would have been foolish to deny the butterflies in her stomach; she was very nervous, but she was looking forward to stating her positions on the issues facing the town she now called home. It pleased her to see the spinsters and Cara Lee and the rest of her supporters sporting their Olivia Roses. None of the men in the hall were wearing any, but she supposed that was to be expected.
Olivia and Malloy drew straws from Asa’s closed fist to see who would go first. Malloy got the short straw. Obviously angry, he stood up to begin. In the silence that prevailed as he pulled himself together, a few snickers were heard, apparently in response to yesterday’s flag pole incident. He glared in an attempt to silence them, then began to speak. “I come before you today to ask for your vote. Henry Adams has a bright and glorious future, but only if we elect a person with the vision to see and shape that future. My opponent is a fine woman, but there’s the rub—she’s a woman.”
Hissing and catcalls filled the air on the heels of that remark, but he smiled smugly and continued, “God took woman out of the rib of man, not the other way around. If women were meant to run a town, they would have been given the vote, but they weren’t because we all know that a woman might do well in her own sphere of committee work, church work, or running a seamstress shop,” he pronounced pointedly, turning around to look back at Olivia, “but politics is men’s work.”
The supporting applause was loud, strong, and prolonged. Many women in attendance looked up at their clapping husbands with surprise. Some men sheepishly sat down, but others ignored their women and added their hands to the din. Olivia noted that many of the men applauding the loudest were the unmarried men, the field hands, and small farmers.
“So in closing, let me say this. On election day you can vote like your wife wants you to vote”—laughter rang out—“or you can be men and vote your conscience. Henry Adams needs a man’s hands on the reins. Thank you.”
He was given a cheering ovation. Looking pleased, Malloy bowed. When he took his seat, he shot Olivia a nasty little smile, then folded his arms contentedly.
Olivia walked before the crowd and said, “Well. I guess we women know where we stand with Mr. Malloy.”
Applause and amens came from the women.
“But I’m not here to pit husbands against wives, or brothers against sisters. We presently live in a nation that is already dividing its citizens by race, and I refuse to promote such ignorance.”
Shouts of female yells filled the hall.
“But I do wish to set the record straight over who has done what here in Henry Adams. I’m admittedly a newcomer and was surprised to learn that n
ot only was the first mayor a female but a female laid out this town. Miss Rachel, stand up, please.”
Rachel Eddings stood.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, was the surveyor for the original Kentucky dusters who founded Henry Adams in ’78. She decided where Main Street would be. She plotted the town’s boundaries. She oversaw the drawings of the first maps.”
Apparently many of those present hadn’t had any idea Rachel had played such a prominent role, and they were staring her way in amazement.
Olivia added, “Miss Rachel was owned by a surveyor before emancipation and as a result was the only founder with the skills necessary to do what needed to be done.”
While Rachel took her seat again, Olivia looked back at Malloy. He stared at her with cold eyes. She turned away. “So, let’s not debate which gender did this, or which is more valuable than that. Henry Adams was built so that all of us, men and women, could exercise the freedoms promised us by the Constitution.”
She then looked out over the crowd and said seriously, “If there are those here who wish to vote for Mr. Malloy because of his qualifications, then by all means do so, but don’t vote for him simply because of his gender. That is not why this town was founded. Thank you.”
Applause erupted; both men and women jumped to their feet. It was louder and longer and stronger than the support shown Malloy. Olivia was once again so moved that tears sprang to her eyes.
When the room quieted again, Asa stood up and asked Malloy, “Anything else you want to say?”
Malloy waved him off. “No.”
Olivia was surprised by his response. Hadn’t this been billed as a debate? Was he that confident of winning, or had he been shamed by Olivia’s rebuttal? She had no way of knowing.
Something Like Love Page 9
