For all that, he managed to put the tool down before Finch straightened up and dusted off his hands. “All right, boy, you can do your fancying up. Can’t see why any cowboy worth his salt would want such stuff.”
Old moss-back. Tom kept his face blank, not letting it sneer. He fetched the saddle, picked the swivel knife back up, and got to work.
It was near dusk when the cowboy returned, with Tom still rubbing the oil into the fresh design. He didn’t seem too hurried, though, standing behind Tom and watching as the oil made the feathers stand out more. As Tom wiped off the extra oil, the cowboy said, “Now that’s right fine. Natural-looking, and not too fussy. I’m much obliged.”
Tom ducked his head in a sitting sort of bow. “Likewise, for your saying so.”
Finch bustled up with something between a smile and a smirk on his face. “Well, then, you and your horse’ll both be happy. Shouldn’t be no more chafing from that saddle.” He held out his hand as if the cowboy would likely forget to pay him otherwise.
The cowboy paid Finch, hoisted the saddle, and carried it out, stroking the feather design with his finger. Tom faced the back of the shop so Finch wouldn’t see the big ol’ smile on his face.
Doc Gibbs stopped by the farm while Tom was still wolfing down breakfast, even though it was out of his way, and he brought Mrs. Gibbs along. Seemed like Doc didn’t care to wait until Tom happened by the office or the house to check up on him, and of course Mrs. Gibbs was his nurse, or something like. At least the sun was getting up earlier by now, so they wouldn’t need lamp light.
Doc looked the stump over for chafed spots, tested how tough the skin had got, and finally said, “This is looking as good as we can reasonably expect. I was wondering, though, whether you’ve noticed anything unexpected.”
That would’ve made no sense at all, if that very thing hadn’t been happening. “You’ll think I’m soft in the head.”
Mrs. Gibbs made a sort of snorting sound. “You’re anything but that. Please tell us.”
Tom took a deep breath and blew it out. “Well, sometimes — more when I’m sitting or lying down, best I can recall — my foot hurts. The one that ain’t there! It kind of burns, or throbs, or aches. And there’s no way to ease it.”
Doc and his missus nodded at each other, and Doc said, “I thought you might be having that sort of problem. It happens more than you’d think. There’s a neurologist who came up with a word for it several years back — he calls it ‘phantom pain.’”
Doc didn’t seem to have any more to say about it, nor his missus either. “I’m guessing this neur — whatever kind of doctor hasn’t found a way to fix it.”
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Gibbs said in her straight-ahead way.
Doc said right after, almost as if it were one person still talking, “But we’ll keep reading about it, and do some thinking as well, in the hope of finding one.”
There was one more thing been happening, but Tom didn’t see the point in mentioning it. Even though it drove him even crazier than pain in a foot that wasn’t there. How could a foot he didn’t have go to itch?
Doc put a foot toward the door and then turned round again. “Oh, I almost forgot! That’d never do. Tom, young Jenny greatly admired your portrait of her. She thanks you, and said she’s never seen anything so good. And she hopes to see you again.”
That was fine to hear. Especially as sometimes, he almost wished he had that picture back again, so’s he could look at it and think about her. Especially when he was thinking about her a certain kind of way, at night when everyone else was sleeping sound.
He kept puzzling how he could scrape up the money to go back to Mamie’s place before he grew a whole beard waiting. He didn’t feel right about keeping much of his pay, seeing as he could manage so little work on the farm. And it wasn’t like he could do a lot of odd jobs around town, even if he had time for such.
Finch really should have passed on what that cowboy paid for the feathers, seeing as Finch probably couldn’t’ve done it himself. But it was a little late to bring that up. Unless . . . that cowboy seemed plenty pleased with the work. He’d likely showed it off to the other cowboys. Maybe some of them would come in for their own decorations. He could talk to Finch now, just in case.
It took him a couple of days to find what felt like the right moment. Finch tended to be sour much of the time, or else impatient and wanting Tom to look busy even when he wasn’t. But finally, one afternoon, Finch finished up his dinner and acted especially pleased with it, patting his belly and saying to Tom, “Durned fine cook, my Dolly. You can’t deny it, now can you?”
Tom stood up from where he’d been eating and came a little closer. “I never would! She sure is. I’m grateful she brings me such a fine dinner every day.” May as well lay it on thick. Finch would eat that up, almost as eager as dinner.
Waiting wouldn’t improve his chances. “Mr. Finch, I was thinking back to that saddle the cowboy had me fancy up. If he shows it around, it could bring in more of the same kind of work. And if I do the decorating, which I gather you wouldn’t care to, we could —” The words weren’t coming easy. “We could maybe split what you charge for the decorating. Between me and you, that is.”
Finch brought down his heavy eyebrows and stared at Tom. Then he sat back and chuckled. “Nice try, boy. But I’ve got plenty else for you to do, that I’m already paying you for.”
Which wasn’t always true, but it’d hardly help to point that out. Tom stepped back, almost tripping over a bucket and catching himself on the workbench. Finch, for a wonder, acted like he hadn’t noticed. And if that weren’t surprise enough, he said, slow, making Tom wait for it, “But I could maybe see my way to raising your wages a mite. I took you on for pretty cheap, not knowing just how much use you’d be, but you work hard and get a lot done. I’ll give you twenty cents more a day, starting this week. That make you feel better?”
Not only did it make him feel better, it even made him like Finch a little. Until Finch added with that oily leer of his, “And when you save up enough for Mamie’s, you give that little gal a big sloppy kiss from me.” And on top of that, he winked.
Tom kept his face as blank as he could manage. “Thankee. I’ll be getting back to work, then.”
He tried to hang onto being glad about getting a raise. But after that crack, it felt kind of like getting paid to listen to Finch’s dirty mouth, and put up with whatever came out of it. And money only paid for so much.
Chapter 7
Tom had done plenty of waiting while he saved up for another visit to Mamie’s. It hadn’t occurred to him he might have to wait again when he got there, at least if he wanted Jenny. But that’s what Mamie told him. “All the ladies you see would be delighted with your company. But if it’s Jenny you’re set on, you can relax in one of those easy chairs, or have something at the bar.”
He hadn’t even known he’d see Jenny, the first time he showed up here. Why not go with someone else this time?
Because he just didn’t want to, that’s all. He made his way to the bar and asked for a beer.
* * * * *
When she was a little girl and just wanted to lie abed longer instead of getting up for chores, she’d never’ve believed you could get tired at a job where you lay in bed most of the time. Not that some of the customers didn’t rather you were on your knees or pushed up against a wall or standing bent over the bed. Anyhow, she was tired, and the evening barely started.
It perked her right up, though, when she headed downstairs to be on offer and saw Tom at the bar, sitting sideways so’s he could keep an eye on the staircase. She had a moment of nerves that someone else’d pick her first, but he caught her eye right off and fairly jumped to his feet.
She was supposed to make a circuit of the room, but she walked right up to Tom instead, holding out her hand and smiling up at him. “I’m sure glad to see you again!”
Tom grinned all over his face as he grabbed her hand and followed her back up the
stairs.
She started peeling down as soon as they got to her room, Tom leaning against the wall and watching, eager as could be. After a minute, though — he didn’t exactly wince, but he did make a peculiar sort of face, like a horsefly was buzzing around him. She’d better find some way to ease him, or their joining wouldn’t be much of a success. “Does your leg hurt?”
Tom shook his head and came out with a little laugh that wasn’t too happy. “It’s not exactly my leg, and it don’t exactly hurt. Ever heard of phantom pain?”
She surely hadn’t. “Does that mean ghosts hurting folks?”
Now he really laughed, and at her, she supposed, but at least she was cheering him up. “No, it’s something that happens to folk with missing parts. The missing piece, like my foot, can hurt just as if it were still there. That happens to me more’n I like, but what’s going on now is almost worse. It itches. And there’s no earthly way to scratch a foot I don’t have no more!”
No wonder he made faces. “That’s an awful shame.”
He came out with that not-really-laugh again. “Sometimes I get so wild with it that I whack the wooden leg, hoping it’ll somehow stop the itch, but all it does is make the leg jitter against the stump. Which sometimes does stop the itch along with hurting, but sometimes I’m left with both at once.”
She almost asked whether he’d ever scratched the bottom of the wooden leg, but he’d have mentioned it if he had. But that was giving her some kind of idea, if it’d only stop tickling the edges of her brain and come on out . . . .
* * * * *
Jenny sure was cute when she was thinking hard. Her pointed little nose pointed up more as her forehead wrinkled, and she tilted her head so her hair fell lower across her bosom. He was about ready to reach out for her and pull her close when her face went bright as a lamp. “Oh, that’s the thought I was reaching for!” Then she dimmed again and looked a little anxious. “Do you mind trying something that might be kind of silly, and might not help any?”
He’d try most anything if it’d brighten her up again. And it was sweet that she wanted to help. “Sure. Tell me what to do.”
“It’d mean . . . you’d need to take off your wooden leg.”
That wasn’t his favorite idea. “Would you have to look at it — at what’s left?”
She chewed her lower lip, which made him want to set aside all this other business and get to kissing her. “We could maybe manage without. You sit on the bed with your back against the headboard and put your legs straight out.” She tossed her extra blanket to him. “Then take off the leg under the blanket and put it somewhere you can’t see it. And then I’ll reach under the blanket and do something, but not touching you. All right?”
It seemed a lot of trouble — for her, anyway — over nothing, but she was the one wanting to do it. He sat down as she’d told him, fumbled around under the blanket to unfasten the leg, and dropped it carefully over the side of the bed. Jenny had turned her back for good measure, so he said, “Ready for — whatever.”
“Now don’t look.”
He shut his eyes, wondering what in tarnation she was up to. The blanket moved on his lap as she did whatever she was doing, rubbing against his crotch and getting him more’n ready for this distraction to be done with.
“You can open your eyes now.”
He did as she bid, to see a sight that took his breath. There was something under the blanket where his left leg ended, something shaped almost like his foot that was gone. His throat got tight, and he turned his face away while he got a grip on his feelings.
“All right, then.” Jenny sounded excited and nervous both. “I’m going to scratch your right foot.” She did as much, showing him plenty of cleavage as she asked, “If you had an itch there, would what I’m doing ease it?”
“I suppose so, but what —”
“Hush. Now keep watching.” She reached down again — and scratched the foot-shaped bump under his left knee, just the same way.
And damned if it didn’t feel like she was scratching his missing foot!
She let out a trill of a laugh at his expression. “Did it help? Did it really?”
“You! You are some kind of red-headed, warm-blooded, beauty of an angel of a girl, you are. Come here, you!”
He was going to tug the blanket right off, but she got there first and folded it down so it still covered his knees, unbuttoning his pants and lifting up her skirt as she put herself right where he needed her to be.
After an even better time than on his first visit, and after he’d caught his breath, Tom reached down and fetched up his leg. He didn’t bother keeping the blanket over him — he didn’t so much care any more whether Jenny saw the stump. Once she’d figured that out, she acted curious, watching how he put the leg back on and asking questions. “How long did it take you to learn how to walk with it?”
“It seemed like forever, but it wasn’t more’n a few weeks. And now I’ve got a question. How’d your hair turn color?”
She’d been fluffing out her petticoats, but that made her whip up straight and stare at him. “You’d seen me before?”
“A few weeks ago. I came to town with my pa and was setting in our wagon near the dry good store, waiting for him. You came along, looking finer’n sunrise, but your hair was yellow then.” Seeing her fidget, he hurried to say, “Not that I liked that any better. Your hair looks mighty pretty like this. I just didn’t know how it happened.”
She shrugged her bare shoulders. “’T’ain’t magic. Just dye from a catalog. It cost plenty, though, and I’ll be paying it off for months yet, I reckon.”
He hoisted himself off the bed, came toward her, and curled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I won’t say it was or wasn’t worth it, seeing as you looked so nice before and after, but it is something special, and it becomes you right well. I’ve got another question, though — do you get to places like the dry goods store very often? I might be lucky enough to see you there again sometime.”
Her lips tightened up like she remembered something that vexed her. “Not so often as I’d like. Mamie keeps us pretty busy.”
Tom tried not to dwell on just what she kept busy doing. “If I recall, it wasn’t long after dinner hour. Is that when you’re most likely to have time free?”
“Not as much as morning, but sometimes. You work for Finch, don’t you? Don’t he keep you working, that time of day?”
Seemed like they were thinking along the same lines. “I could maybe work through dinnertime, tell him I had some errand in town to run afterward.”
She pulled her hair slowly through his fingers to get loose, still standing close to him. “You could do that next Tuesday, maybe. I’m about out of tooth powder. I could go out to get some, and then remember I had enough after all.” She gave him a wink full of mischief. “But where could we meet?”
“I guess sitting in a park would kind of blow up our stories. Is there anywhere you’ve been hankering to go, but didn’t want to go by yourself?”
“Well . . . I have wondered about the saloon down the street. I’ve peeked in, and it has pretty stained-glass windows.”
He couldn’t say as he’d noticed, but he didn’t doubt her word. And it fit with what he’d been thinking. “We could both aim to be there around one o’clock. And if the other don’t show up, we’ll know something didn’t work out, and not take it ill.”
She gave him a quick kiss and stepped back, beaming. “It’s a date!” Then, more softly: “My word, it’s been a fair time since I said that.”
Her face looked soft with whatever she was remembering. He reached out and pulled her back, holding her tight, and said in her ear, “What you did for me before — I can’t hardly believe it. You must be as clever as you’re pretty. Thank you!”
She clung to him, and for some reason she was trembling. She let go and turned part way away, and she sounded choked up as she said, “Goodbye, Tom. I’ll be hoping to see you on Tuesday.”
He made
his way downstairs, so full of different feelings he didn’t even try to sort them out, and headed for home, the moon smiling down like it was happy for him.
Chapter 8
Mamie didn’t drink during the busy time of evening, but she’d have a glass of wine once they’d sent the last man home for the night. She’d relax and tell stories, sometimes, about her life and adventures, while those girls as wasn’t too tired sat around to listen. Mostly they were stories from when she was a lot younger and wandering from place to place.
But tonight she walked in different, her head making little jerks this way and that like a bothered hen. And all she wanted to tell about was what it was like when Cowbird Creek was getting started.
“Back then, when this was frontier country, there were hardly any women. Back then, all the men — from the roughest cowboy to the best-dressed dandy to the most pompous banker — respected a woman, whatever her profession.” She took a swallow of her wine, almost a gulp. “They’d all take their hats off to me in the street, and ask my opinion about what a new building should look like, or beg my help collecting for charity.” Another gulp. “Not to mention valuing what we all do here, seeing as there were no wives around to do it — as much as they manage it.”
She tossed down the last of the glass and left the room, calling back over her shoulder, “Go to sleep, all of you!” without the little joke or friendly word that usually came with it. Jenny looked around to see if one of the other girls knew what was eating Mamie. Sure enough, Amanda Jane leaned forward and said in a not-very-quiet whisper, “Some stuck-up lady was rude to her in town. Called her a loose woman and a disgrace, and said she shouldn’t show her face in daylight among ‘decent’ women. Mamie was so angry!”
Jenny had never pictured Madam Mamie at a disadvantage. It wasn’t a pretty picture to think on. And if the women in town would treat Mamie like that, how would they treat one of Mamie’s girls?
What Frees the Heart Page 5
