Jo and the Pinkerton Man

by Dorothy A. Bell

  “Tell us about the abduction. Where did it take place? Did you fear rape? Are you in love with Mr. McAdam? Did you know he’s an Indian? What about the school? Were there other girls involved? Speak up. We can’t hear you in the back.”

  The urge to tell them all to shut the hell up overwhelmed her. Her fingers dug into the flesh of her wrist, and she pressed her lips together. Blinking, she struggled to bring their faces into focus. Finally, she held up her hand to shade her eyes from the glare, and sounding much stronger than she felt, said, “If you really want answers to your questions you must allow me time to formulate answers. Close your mouths, please.”

  They laughed at her. One of the men said, “She’s a schoolmarm, all right.”

  Jo nodded. “Thank you. I want to make this very, very clear. No other students were involved. The young ladies at the school are off limits to you. We have contacted their parents and notified them of the events and the results of those events. The fate of the school hangs in the balance. If any student wishes to speak to the press, it will be with the permission of their parents. Not with me. Not with the other teachers. The school grounds are on private property. You will not trespass.”

  The men grew silent, and a few of them actually looked chagrined now that she could see their faces. “I never feared rape. I find the question ludicrous. It exposes your ignorance as to why young women, and young boys too, are being abducted and sold in the first place. You would do better to adhere to the facts rather than sensationalize with titillating speculation. Pinkerton has rid the country of a very large threat and scourge. The school is grateful to Mr. McAdam. We admire his investigative talents, as I’m sure does Mr. Pinkerton.”

  Sheriff Telt Longtree had come to stand beside her and folded his arms across his chest. Jo took a deep breath, adjusted her cape closer about her shoulders, and nodded to him. “I must get back to my students. As you can imagine, this entire episode has upset our routine. Good day, gentlemen.”

  She allowed the sheriff to act as a shield. The questions followed her out of the parlor, across the room to the front door of the hotel and onto the street. “But are you in love with the Pinkerton man? He’s an Indian, what about that? How and where did the abduction take place…details? We want details.”

  The sheriff helped her into the buggy. Holding up his hand, he turned to address the pack. “I was there. I subdued the Joneses. I’m taking Miss Buxton to her school. When I return, I and Mr. O’Bannon will give you our statements. Go have a beer,” he said and waved them off.

  Grumbling, the reporters backed off. The sheriff climbed into the carriage and whipped the horse into a fast trot. “Never, in all my days, have I ever seen anything like that,” he said to the horse’s rump.

  Jo sagged in relief. “Thank you.”

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you can expect more. There will be a long, drawn-out trial and you will have to testify. The Portland press will no doubt hound you too. Can’t say when, but you will be called up to testify. And this trial will make the headlines.”

  The tears pooled in her eyes. Her throat closed up in a cramp. All she could manage was a nod.

  “Grace’s daddy, Howard Buttrum, you remember him? He’s due in at any time this evening. He’s gonna put in a good word with the mayor and the city council to recommend keeping the school open. Royce and I’ll do what we can.”

  Jo really couldn’t speak and opened her mouth to say thank you, but no sound formed. She cleared her throat. “I don’t know if the girls want to stay at the school. Most of them didn’t care for the Joneses. I know that. Neither did I. Convincing them we can do better might be a hard sell.”

  They pulled up in front of the administration office at the edge of the school grounds. Daylight had turned to dusk, a light snow falling. “One more thing,” the sheriff said. “You should know to keep the school open the city will require a lease and a large deposit. I managed to find that out this afternoon. The Jones’s lease will run out in December.”

  Pulling herself up at the waist and staring straight ahead, she asked, “How big of a deposit?”

  The sheriff jumped down and came around the horse and held out his hand to her. “Three thousand dollars covers the lease for the next three years. The buildings, the grounds, it all belongs to the city.”

  She nodded and tried not to look crestfallen, and drawing herself up, offered him a smile. “Thank you for bringing me back to the school. And thank you for…for everything. I’m very grateful to you and Mr. O’Bannon. I have no way to repay you.”

  Holding her hand, he said, “My wife, Wren, drove a double team of mules and two freight wagons from Oregon City to Laura Creek. At the time, she was about your age. She did it all by herself with a dream of opening her own mercantile. And that was just the first of many hurdles she had to overcome to get what she wanted. I’ll never underestimate the power of a woman’s determination or stamina.”

  “Food for thought,” she said, her voice cracking, flooded with tears. “Good night, Sheriff.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dodie arrived at the cottage at dawn to say goodbye to her friends, Grace and Twyla-Rose. Jo, who had taken Dodie’s bunk, extracted a promise from her to write. Her friends wished her well, and with tears in their eyes, sent her on her way.

  Jo, Miss Ames, and Miss Ott called the meeting to order in the great hall directly after breakfast Monday morning. “Parents will be arriving this afternoon and tomorrow. We’ve received several telegrams voicing concerns for your safety. We’ve done our best to reply promptly and give assurance, but it is natural for your parents to find this all very unsettling,” Jo said to open the meeting. “We have an appointment to meet with the mayor and the city council members on Wednesday. We intend to put forth a united front if it is your wish this school remain in operation. We are here to listen to your concerns. Everyone will have a voice in this decision. I, Miss Ames, and Miss Ott have drawn up a curriculum, schedule, and rules for the school. There are many changes we would like to make. I’ve lined them out up here on the chalkboard at the front of the room. Please study them. Write down your questions, recommendations, and complaints. We will hold another meeting directly after our evening meal. Right now, you are dismissed to attend your classes as you normally would.”

  Twyla-Rose rushed up. “I’ve raided the smokehouse,” she said, cheeks rosy, a little breathless. “We’re going to have a whole ham for supper. Grace picked four squash. A feast, we’re going to have a feast.”

  Jo laughed. “Good girl. Everyone will think more positively on a full stomach. Which reminds me, we need to form a group of volunteers to glean the garden.”

  “Grace and I will see what we can do,” Twyla-Rose said and skipped off to alert her classmates.

  There simply were too many things to be done and managed and listed and remembered. Jo wandered into her classroom, making notes on her tablet. Cheers went up. The girls crowded around her, hugging her, praising her bravery, and vowing to stand with her against the objections of their parents, the mayor, and the city council.

  She got the girls settled down, and they’d begun a lesson in geography when Ryder showed up in the classroom doorway. His right arm in a black sling over black suit coat and a white ruffled shirt, black hair pulled back in a long braid, he looked pale but handsome nonetheless. He nodded to her. She quietly circumvented her students and stepped out into the hall. He handed her a telegram. “I thought I better deliver this myself.”

  She didn’t speak but stared at the yellow paper and blinked.

  “It’s from your father,” Ryder said.

  The implications of the telegram simply overwhelmed her. She’d lain awake all night contemplating what she should say. What she should tell her father, her family. Arguing with herself, she told herself to go home, give it up, there were far too many obstacles in the way to keep the school operational. Run or stay? She thought she’d decided to go home. Then the dawn came, and she said goodb
ye to Dodie and knew she couldn’t. She had to at least try to keep the school open, make this a better place for the girls to learn and expand their view of the world.

  Her father loved books, loved reading and writing. Jo had grown up with an enthusiasm for learning. But many of these girls had no encouragement to broaden their minds. Perhaps she’d be called a bluestocking, yes, to think a female should have knowledge of other countries, their customs, and religions, of science and biology, astronomy and the philosophers, but Jo thought a girl should at least be exposed to such subjects and be allowed to decide for herself what she wanted to learn and experience.

  “He’ll be here tomorrow night,” Ryder said, bringing her out of her reverie.

  “You read it?” she asked, flipping the telegram open.

  “No, I didn’t read yours,” he said, waving his telegram in front of her. “I read mine. I took it as a threat.”

  Jo groaned. Quickly scanning the cryptic message, she got the idea. “He’s scared for me. He has no doubt read the papers. Hard telling how they wrote it up. I haven’t found the courage to read any of the articles yet,” she said, unable to meet Ryder’s penetrating gaze. He could look right through to her heart. He could melt her resistance with his touch. And right now she couldn’t afford to let her guard down, not for one second.

  “I’m going to be in the administration office all day,” he said without even trying to touch her, which left her feeling decidedly unloved and abandoned. Her inconsistency of thought and desire she knew to be totally unreasonable—hadn’t she just been guarding herself from his touch?

  Oh, she didn’t know what she wanted from him. Yes, yes she did, but she wouldn’t admit it, not until he told her what he wanted. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself…she wouldn’t. “We’re having ham and squash for supper. You should join us.”

  He shook his head. “I’m meeting with Buttrum, the mayor, and some of the council members at the hotel for supper.”

  Jo pursed her lips, drew back her shoulders, and tucked in her chin. “I see. Going to talk about the silly woman who thinks she can run the school all by herself, I suppose.”

  He put his hand to her cheek and looked deep into her eyes. “You don’t have to do anything all by yourself, Jo, not if you don’t want to.”

  She tipped her cheek to press it against the warmth of his palm. “And what about you? Do you want to be all by yourself?”

  “Never again, my Jo, never again.”

  His words echoed in the empty hall. He dropped his hand to his side and left the building. Left her standing there wondering what he’d meant, and what he intended to do about it, whatever it might be.

  »»•««

  The girls showed great enthusiasm. Rapid-fire discussions broke out after their hearty supper meal. Even the younger girls felt brave enough to express their thoughts and concerns. Miss Ames and Miss Ott declared they’d never heard the girls talk so much. The infectious optimism of the students brought Miss Ames and Miss Ott around to thinking the school could be managed by the three of them, declaring if they dropped a few of the strict guidelines female teachers were expected to adhere to, they might even enjoy their profession.

  Between the three of them, they declared the rule of a female teacher having to remain celibate and unmarried during her tenure archaic and patriarchal. Teachers at the Ascension School for Young Ladies, soon to be renamed the Grove Academy for Young Ladies, could marry and have a home apart from the school grounds. The girls were consulted, and they heartily agreed with a show of hands and cheers.

  Jo retired in a more positive frame of mind than she had the night before. Ryder had not made an appearance since Monday morning. No news from that quarter did not necessarily portend good news. Twyla-Rose and Grace, when she pumped them for information, shrugged their shoulders and said neither of their parents had said a word about anything to them.

  At times like this, Jo missed Dodie. Dodie would’ve scouted out all manner of gossip and tittle-tattle by now. No, it wouldn’t matter, but at least she might have a better idea of which way the wind was blowing.

  And to top it off, she had no sign or word from her father. She would’ve thought he’d be here by now. She chalked up his tardiness to the weather, probably snow in the pass between Cherry Grove and Baker City. At ten o’clock sharp the next morning, the meeting with the mayor and council members would take place in the great hall. Her future, the future of the school, hinged on the outcome of one meeting.

  Sleep? Impossible.

  »»•««

  “We have here records from school transcripts for Miss Agnes Ames, Miss Patricia Ott, and Miss Josephine Buxton. You all have excellent academic qualifications,” said the mayor. “We also have acquired, through the diligence of Mr. McAdam’s investigative experience, personal recommendations, vouchers, and references from instructors, private citizens, and acquaintances. And of course, these,” the mayor said, waving a thick sheaf of paper in front of him, “the heartfelt admiration of your students.”

  So her absentee lover, Ryder McAdam, had been a busy boy, investigating each and every one of them. Oh, sometimes Jo wanted to smack him. But of course, he wasn’t here. When she needed his support, he just wasn’t to be found.

  The mayor took a breath, and Jo held hers. She sensed a but coming. The mayor, a bewhiskered, rotund gentleman of some seventy years, cleared his throat. “The council members have read through all of this…this material, and we recognize the desire and the good intentions of the students and these three teachers. But we cannot, in good conscience, lease this important property to women.”

  Jo sucked in her breath and held it. She thought she would explode. The girls, her students, sent up their protests. The mayor silenced them with his gavel. The parents who had gathered did what they could to bring the girls back to order.

  A flash of light, then another, burst and Jo came awake to the fact the press had gathered in as well. She groaned. God, what a circus.

  The mayor held up his hand. “Please, no more photos.” Wisely sensing he might be losing control and fearing the level of rebellion rising, he quickly moved on to explain. “There is the matter of the lease, which must be signed by a responsible person, a male, preferably a spouse. And then there is the matter of the rental fee, which is substantial and I doubt any of these modest teachers has such an amount.”

  The hall went quiet.

  “She does, Josephine Buxton does,” came a deep, resonating, and familiar voice from the back of the hall.

  Jo jumped to her feet. Her father entered the hall and plowed through the crowd with one arm raised above his head.

  Photographers blasted away. The room lit up with a bright yellow powdery light. The excited voices of those gathered blended into one loud rumble of thunder in Jo’s ears.

  Ryder, grinning from ear to ear, followed right behind her dear parent carrying a round, colorful box. “My daughter is a woman of independent means, your honor,” said her father, ignoring the crowd and heading for the mayor and his table at the front of the room. “She has the wherewithal to see your lease and then some,” he said, waving Jo’s bank book in the air.

  Ryder, taking long, purposeful strides, walked right up to the mayor where he sat and leaned down to get in his face. “She also has a spouse, if she’ll have me.”

  He turned to face Jo and came to her, holding out the box to her. Her father chuckled and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  Jo, trembling, tears blurring her vision, held out her arms to accept the box. She opened it, and the lid fell to the floor. Inside, nestled in lovely lavender tissue paper, sat a beautiful green velvet hat with a pheasant feather and a small bouquet of rust-colored roses tucked neatly in the curled brim, held in place by a deep green velvet ribbon.

  Ryder placed it on her head at an angle, leaned back and adjusted it just so. He said, loud and clear for everyone to hear, “I love you, Josephine Buxton. I’m not easy to love, I know. I presume. I take risks.
But I’m loyal and I love with my whole heart and soul. You are my Jo, no matter what your answer, you will always be, my Jo.”

  Bursts of light flashed all around the room. Pandemonium broke loose. The girls jumped up and down, cheering.

  Too choked up to respond immediately, Jo swallowed and tried to smile, but her trembling lips wouldn’t hold. She gulped and put her hand on his jaw. “And you are mine. There can never be another. I’ll marry you.”

  She brought up her head and looked around him to address the mayor and the council members. “But not because I want the school, you understand. I love this man with or without the school…I am marrying this man.”

  The girls went wild, screaming and clapping, grabbing their stunned parents, swinging each other around. Twyla-Rose and Grace rushed forward to hug her and kiss her. They even kissed Ryder, who stood, a grin on his face, tears rolling down his brown cheeks.

  Over her head, Ryder waved to Royce and Telt, who had taken up a position to the side of the table where the mayor and the council sat. Jo blew them a kiss and threw her arms around her man. “You’re my man, Ryder McAdam, my Ryder.”

  About the Author

  Hello, let me introduce myself: My name is Dorothy A. Bell. I write, and enjoy reading, Oregon historical and western romances. A big chocoholic, I make all kinds of sinful goodies. I love to garden, exercise in the water, tell stories, and write spicy, entertaining, colorful romances. I live in a tiny home with my husband, our long-haired Dachshund, Hector, and an old, angora, tuxedo cat.

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