by Mercy Levy
“How can I help you two gentlemen?” Craig inquired, his hand still resting on the butt of his Colt Dragoon. The tall thin man rubbed the dark stubble on his chin and glanced at his stocky friend.
“Well, see here.” The shorter, red-faced man spoke up. “You’ve got two prisoners in there who are friends of ours.” He gestured to his mate, who nodded sagely. “We was just wonderin’ how long they was gonna be locked up like that. It would be mighty nice to finish that drink we started last night.” He wheedled.
Craig recognized the men from the hotel, but seriously doubted they were friends of the two cattlemen he had locked up in his jail. He looked down the street. His deputy, Mark Rainfeld, had noticed something was up and was heading toward them on the boardwalk.
“Evening Sheriff,” Craig heard the voice of Karl Mayweather behind him. “Eva told me you’d be heading over to see me, I thought I’d just meet you halfway.” The tall thin man looked uneasy now that the numbers no longer favored him. The stocky redhead dropped the barrel of the shotgun so it pointed at the ground.
“Meeting you halfway.” The taller man repeated Karl’s words, nodding. “That’s exactly what my mate and I was doing for our friends.” He paused and scratched his head. “Looks like they might not be available for that drink tonight though, right Sheriff?” He asked.
“Looks like they won’t be.” Craig agreed coolly. The two railroad workers tipped their hats to the townies and walked away down the road, back toward their camp. Deputy Rainfeld scratched the back of his neck and adjusted his hat.
“I’m thinking we should keep the twins for another night, just to be on the safe side, Craig.” He suggested. The sheriff nodded his agreement and kept watching the men head out of town on foot, giving the taller of the two a wave when he looked back over his shoulder.
“Karl, Mark, I’m of the opinion that things are going to get more sore, before they get better.” Craig drawled. “How many guns you think you got in the bar any given night?” He asked Karl. Karl shook his head.
“Too many not to have trouble, Sheriff.” He replied. “But me and the Mrs. We hold our own.” The savvy hotel owner had hired Pinkertons to help keep the peace. Craig didn’t always agree with hiring more guns to stop guns, but they had stepped in on more than one occasion before things got out of hand, so as long as they stayed out of his way, he stayed out of theirs.
“Why don’t you go get a drink in you, Sheriff, and I’ll watch the twins for a bit.” Mark offered. “The missus is away visiting her mother right now, so I’ve got nothing else pressing.” Craig slapped Mark on the back and nodded his thanks, and he and Karl walked back to the Abilene, discussing the more private matter Craig had wanted to speak with him about.
After he gave Karl the over view of the letter, Karl thought for a long while. He stepped behind the bar and poured the sheriff a stiff drink, then gestured him into the back kitchen, where Eva and a young assistant washed and dried glasses for the bar. When they saw the men, the ladies took a break and let them have the kitchen to themselves.
“She hates it when I come in here.” Karl admitted. “But, I just never felt comfortable in that fancy office she put together.” He smiled and raised his glass. “To friends around kitchen tables.” He mock-toasted, and Craig lifted his glass in agreement. Karl tossed back his drink and poured a second, while Craig still nursed his first.
“I’ll admit it,” Craig began after a swallow. “I’m worried about the girl.” He rolled the tumbler back and forth between his hands. “She’s smart, and I reckon I did miss the letters when she stopped sending them.” He sighed and looked at Karl. “Can you help out at the Sheriff’s office while I go collect my bride-to-be?” He ventured. “You’re already deputized and I know Eva won’t suffer for it, so I thought maybe you’d be okay being a law man for a few days.”
“Course I will!” Karl responded enthusiastically. “What do you think it will take to get you there and back? You going by coach or rail?” He queried.
“Rail. I just want to get there and get everyone back here before all hell breaks loose.” Craig confided. “You know the main camp isn’t more than two weeks behind the surveyors in town.” Craig outlined his travel plans, to take the coach for the full-day drive to Kansas City, and take the rail the rest of the way to Boston. He’d telegraph Candace Shepherd the next day right before he left, so they could immediately begin the journey back to Abilene. From her letters, it seemed as though they didn’t have much in the way of belongings, so they wouldn’t need a wagon to get back.
“Well Sheriff,” Karl grinned at Craig. “You best be getting’ some sleep tonight. I’ll check in on Mark as the night wears on, just to make sure those yokels don’t give him trouble.” Craig knew that Karl was talking about the rail men, rather than the twin yokels they knew and loved. Karl snorted in derision. “I might just have to ask what the hell Junior said this time. Poor Bud, never starts the fight.” He shook his head.
“He is good at finishing them, though.” Craig replied. He stood up to go while Karl was still chuckling and muttering to himself, “there is that, all right, there is that.” Craig tipped his hat to Miss Eva and left the saloon while it was still civil and prayed that it stayed that way for the night. He trusted his men to keep order, but tonight, at least, he’d be better off with a few hours of sleep.
2. Candace
As she read the telegram, Candace reeled with a fairly even mixture of excitement and horror. She couldn’t believe that suddenly, after a score of letters that never made any direct statements about the state of their possible future together, Mr. Ferguson was on his way to collect them. The missive was short, but very clear. They were to pack only their clothes and most prized possessions, because he couldn’t be away from Abilene for long.
“I suppose a rancher can’t be away from his land for long.” Candace mused to herself as she hurried home from the dress shop to tell her brothers. Her mistress, Mrs. Brown, had been nothing but supportive of her, and had even slipped her two dollars on top of her last hours worked to help out. Candace had cried, and thinking about it brought tears to her eyes again. After she was forced to leave the textile mill, Mrs. Brown had taken her in and believed her story. After being called a liar and worse, it had been salvation to be given even the crumbs that Mrs. Brown could afford to pay.
Because of the shop-keep, Candace had been able to continue taking care of her brothers, Sill and Darren. She sighed. It would be easy enough to pack, as they had nothing but the clothes on their backs worth keeping, and even those were mostly questionable. Her skill with needle and thread had kept what little they had in good repair, if a little threadbare, and she prayed mightily that with her lack of a dowry, at least her handiness would speak to her value as a wife.
She had grown to respect Mr. Ferguson through his letters, which she felt were uncommonly detailed and pleasant for a man’s writing. She longed to see the open spaces he spoke of, no more coal choked air and streets that smelled of piss and booze. She hurried past the docks where her brothers had taken work as loaders. She spotted them immediately by their size. They were dwarfed by the rest of the men they threw cargo with, but more than one of the men had told Candace that they pulled the weight of men twice their size and never complained.
She was terribly proud of her younger siblings. She couldn’t wait until they were back in school like other boys their age, learning so that they didn’t have to be menial laborers for the rest of their lives. Farming seemed a respectable living, caring for the land and providing meat and grain for the tables of city-folk like her.
She waved in big arcs to get her brothers’ attention. One of the older dock workers saw her and sent the teens over to her. They hurried over, looking almost like twins now that Sill had begun growing at an astronomical rate. They also wore twin scowls as they approached her.
“What’s happened, Candace?” Darren inquired with worry in his voice. “Why aren’t you at work?” He looked her over as thoug
h checking for injuries. Candace waved the telegram in his face and squeaked with glee as he took it from her and read.
“Collect your pay at the end of your shifts, tomorrow we need to wash and pack, and then we’re leaving this place for good.” Sill smiled quietly, and Darren whooped and danced a jig in place.
“You did it, Sis.” He congratulated her. “I told you any man would be lucky to get a smart, handy woman like you!” He did another hop and a turn, and slapped his younger brother on the back. Sil’s smile widened, then faltered.
“You don’t think there will be trouble between now and then, do you?” Her youngest brother asked her. He was justified in his concern. The foreman that had tried to force himself on Candace had made her the villain when she defended herself, hitting him in the face with the shuttle from her loom. The police had even gone to Mrs. Brown’s shop looking for her, but her employer had told them she’d been fired and was gone already. Candace hid in the closet for a good thirty minutes after they’d left, she was so terrified.
“Don’t worry, Sill.” Candace comforted him. “Mrs. Brown said they’re probably not even looking for me anymore. It’s time for us to start over in a new place, where people treat each other differently than they do here.” Sill nodded and slipped his newsboy cap back over his raven curls.
“We best get back to work then.” He advised his older brother. “I don’t want them docking my last day’s pay!” Darren punched him in the shoulder with a laugh, and the two boys jogged back to the crew. A moment later, Candace heard a cheer go up from the dock workers, and saw one of them lift Sill onto his shoulder while the boy pumped his arms and cheered along. City people hadn’t all been bad, she thought to herself. She watched the celebration for a few more minutes before heading back to the tiny box they’d been living in.
She hung her bonnet on the hook behind the door and surveyed the living area. The furniture, sparse as it was, had been provided with the lease of the one-bedroom space. The dishes were hers, but it was no great sacrifice to leave them behind. She pulled her father’s old trunks out from under the bed. As she went through all their belongings, she realized that they would barely need both trunks for everything they owned. In fact, her greatest concern was to find them some decent traveling clothes. Candace would not let Mr. Ferguson’s first impression of her and her brothers be that they were dirty, or disheveled, even though frequently, the boys couldn’t seem to look any other way.
She took her earnings and rolled the bills up into a small leather pouch that her father had given her when she was just a little girl, to hide small treasures in. She carefully tied the pouch to a garter and slid it up high enough on her thigh that the pouch wouldn’t slip and wouldn’t make her walk funny. The coin she kept in her purse. Even though she still feared losing it, a thief would walk away with far less if they got her purse, but enough that they might not look for more.
She tied the bonnet under her chin again and set out, walking the distance to the clothier and carefully choosing two new pair of pants and two over shirts for each of the boys. For herself, she bought only a blouse and a newer clean bonnet. She could take in another of her mother’s old skirts tonight, and she had made herself a dress she’d never taken the opportunity to wear. She’d designed and sewn the dress at Mrs. Brown’s request. It had been her test of Candace’s skills, and when it was completed, the dressmaker had let her keep it.
By the time the brothers arrived home, Candace had begun packing away nonessential items. When she noticed the arrival of dusk and the lanterns being lit on the street below, she set aside her packing and began cooking supper for her boys. She had been drawn to the butcher on her way home from buying clothes, and against her better judgment, had let the friendly old Scot talk her into a length of hard sausage and a cut of roast. The price she’d paid for it all was highway robbery, but her brothers had stuck by her through her trials and she was excited to give them a treat.
The apartment smelled like heaven to the boys when they trudged in, tired from their long day of work, and smelling suspiciously of lager. Candace blocked the way to the table and sniffed Darren. She narrowed her eyes at him and glared until his face became flushed and he dropped his gaze.
“It was only a drop, Candace.” The lanky teen whined. “C’mon, it was our last day. The blokes just wanted to say goodbye.” He finished, sucking in a breath when Candace fisted her hands on her hips and stomped one small foot.
“There will be no more drinking. You hear?” She admonished them both. “We need to show our best selves to Mr. Ferguson when he arrives.” Both boys apologized, and Candace shooed them to the sink to wash up before she let them eat the small tender roast and potatoes she’d cooked for them. Without being asked, Sill helped with the dishes, while Darren collected the work shoes for all three of them and took them out to the tiny balcony to clean them.
Candace read to them by the light of a great, fat tallow candle she’d also splurged on that afternoon. It had been a long while since they’d spent money to have light in the evening, and both Sill and Darren curled up to listen as their older sister read from the serial novel, “Oliver Twist”. It had been a favorite from before their parents had died, and they had kept all twenty-four installments. Darren drifted off to sleep on the couch by the end of the first chapter, but Candace continued to read to her youngest brother until the candle was one quarter its former height.
She tucked Sill into his bedroll on the floor and made her way to the bedroom with what remained of the candle, tidying along the way. Her chest pressed tightly down about her heart as she considered the adventure they were about to embark on. Losing their mother had been terrible, but their father had held the family together, with help from then fifteen-year-old Candace. When he too had passed, it had taken every ounce of strength she possessed to care for her brothers and raise them right.
Now, she feared that although he had seemed quite friendly and amenable in their letters, Mr. Ferguson would see her and change his mind. She knew that some men had preferences as to the way their women should look, and she couldn’t believe that anyone would see her and think her beautiful. Her face was long, like her father’s, and she had his almond-shaped eyes, while her brothers had large round eyes like her mother. She did have the figure of her mother, only on a smaller scale. Her waist nipped in without the aid of a corset, and her hips were full enough that she only permitted herself the smallest of bustles on her dresses, if she chose to use one at all.
She tried to view her reflection in the old mirror by candlelight. The effect was ghastly, and she started and pinched the flame out, cursing her stupidity for scaring herself. Heart racing, she climbed into the rickety bed and tossed and turned before sleep finally settled over her. Her dreams were of a mysterious man who carried a star in his pocket, and protected her from harm with the strength and tenacity of a lion.
The next day raced past the little family as they rushed to prepare for their journey to the west. Candace cut the boys’ hair and they cleaned and packed as she took in her mother’s old skirts and hemmed her brothers’ new clothes to fit properly. The boys went out to the market to purchase supplies for the trip, and Candace baked bread and wrapped it neatly in cloth to keep it fresh until they needed it.
There was no reading on their last night in the hovel they called home. Exhausted from the packing and sheer nervousness, the three siblings crashed hard in their beds, makeshift or otherwise, and slept like the dead until morning.
While it was still early, a knock on the door made Candace jump. Excited, she rushed to answer it. “Maybe it’s a telegram from Mr. Ferguson, telling us he’s almost here!” She thought to herself as she quickly dried her hands on her apron and threw back the bolt. She opened the door and nearly slammed it shut again. Instead of a telegraph courier, standing on her doorstep was a tan, dark-haired man with a single flower in his hand and a cowboy hat on his head.
Candace gaped at the handsome man standing in front of her, lo
oking bewildered. When she realized that she was staring, she swallowed hard and backed away from the door, looking over her shoulder at her brothers, who were both staring back at her expectantly. She faced the stranger again and steadied herself.
“Mr. Ferguson?” She murmured softly. A look crossed the man’s face that Candace couldn’t place. She feared that she’d embarrassed him and he was going to leave. Instead, the man smiled gently at her and reached out with the flower.
“Your picture truly didn’t do you justice, Miss. Shepherd,” He drawled in an accent that delighted Candace and gave her an indescribable feeling that made her blush prettily. She stepped back and let him into their home, experiencing another pang at the obvious distaste he had for their lodgings.
“It may not be much, Mr. Ferguson,” Candace chided him in her quiet, sweet voice. “It may even be awful to you that people live here. But we are grateful that we had a home at all, with the way things have been.” She stated, standing tall and pushing her shoulders back. Craig raised an eyebrow, and inclined his head in a small bow.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, girl.” Craig mentioned softly as he stepped into the cramped parlor space. “I would have come sooner if I had fully realized the extent of your hardship.” He apologized. Candace dropped her gaze. She hadn’t intended for him to see her living arrangements at all.
She twirled the large pink daisy in her hand. It was simple and sweet, and when she pressed it to her nose she could inhale the lightest, most delicate fragrance she’d ever discovered.
“We don’t have flowers like this here.” She commented as she watched her brothers size the older man up. “We don’t have anything that looks this wild, or unfettered, even in the parks.” She concluded. Craig looked at the brothers with arched eyebrows.
“You sure about that?” He asked with a wink and a smile. Sill smiled in response and stepped forward to shake his hand.
