Patsy turned back. Her look was very direct. “If they weren’t holding you by force, why were you with them?”
Jodee hung her head. “Burl said if I got caught I’d go to jail. I was afraid.”
“Well, it’d help to have the washing done before bedtime.” She patted Jodee’s arm. “I would’ve been scared too if the marshal’s posse was after me. Come along.”
Jodee left her apron on a hall table—that was surely a breach of some household rule. “Can I carry him?”
Patsy bundled the baby and handed him over again. She accepted her gifts from a disappointed Avinelle, and they went out together.
“I’ll be back in time to help with supper,” Jodee called, hugging the baby close.
Corbet steadied her as she went down the steps. He took Patsy’s gifts as they started away.
Jodee had missed so much, being with her father. Women things. Family things. How many cousins did she have now? Might she have been married by now with a family of her own? Had her father been selfish to take her and keep her? Jodee wasn’t sure. Corbet walked beside her, watchful of their surroundings. Jodee felt safe with him near. “Do you ever think of getting a house, Corbet?”
“I have,” he said, seemingly easy once again. “If you could have any house along here, Jodee, which would you choose?”
Jodee shook her head. “I couldn’t tolerate a house in town. They’ve got me dusting and polishing, sweeping and scrubbing. A campsite’s easier. Just cold at night.” She grinned as if making a joke.
“Were you comfortable on Avinelle’s back porch last night?”
She had no intention of telling him she’d been cold. “If I had my druthers, I’d have me a cabin with chickens in the yard or maybe a dugout in the woods. And a cow for milk and butter and such like. I used to churn for Grandmother. I’d have me a big washtub and a washboard. And an apron all the way to my feet. Good quality, like the kind I saw in Mr. Quimby’s store. That first place Pa and me had, that was nice. We didn’t have a cow or chickens, but we talked about having them. Pa was a dreamer of dreams that never came true. He told me the stagecoach holdup would be his last. After that we were going back to Arkansas. I didn’t want to go, but he said they had no business keeping us away.”
The memory of her father’s words left her aching with sorrow. His life seemed so pointless. No more dreams of new boots or a hat. Such a waste that he died, lying in the road like some old buffalo. He hadn’t deserved that.
“I guess it was his last.”
Corbet gave her shoulder a hug.
At Patsy’s cabin, Jodee shook off her sad thoughts. She had imagined Patsy in a big house like Avinelle, not a small and very humble cabin. She was even more surprised inside. The main room was cluttered, and the floor needed sweeping. Jodee let Patsy take the baby and watched as she removed the baby’s damp clothes, leaving him squirming and pink as she hurried to tie fresh diaper drawers around him.
“His legs are bent,” Jodee remarked softly, feeling concerned.
“He was wadded up inside of me,” Patsy said, half smiling at Jodee. “He’ll grow straight as he gets bigger, Doc says. You do know he grew inside me, don’t you? You don’t think I fetched him from a garden patch, I hope?”
Jodee gave a shy chuckle. “I guess I knew that much.”
Patsy grinned. “I haven’t wanted to like you, Jodee, but I appreciate your offer to help. I’m lucky Mother let me have yard goods on credit from the store to stitch him some clothes.” As she dressed Henry, she went on, “As you can see, I’m not much good at sewing. My father owns Wilson’s Mercantile. Him and Quimby are rivals. Your things came from Quimby’s, didn’t they? We don’t have anything like that, blouses with pin tucks or skirts trimmed with a band at the hem.”
“Is that why Avinelle and Widow Ashton stare at my clothes? Because they look nice? Half the time I wish I was back in britches.”
Patsy chuckled. “There, he should sleep now. Avinelle stares because you’re the prettiest girl in town. She’s terrified you’ll take Corbet from her. That, my friend, would not be difficult. He’s sweet on you. Anyone with eyes can see that. And Widow Ashton? She’s has to feel better than everybody just to get through the day. If I had money, I wouldn’t be like that.”
Jodee couldn't believe it. Her clothes looked nice? Avinelle was jealous, and Corbet was for-true sweet on her? She stared at Patsy until the woman pointed her toward the laundry.
“Time’s a-wasting, girl.”
Jodee’s face split with a grin. She wanted to throw her arms around the exhausted young mother and thank her. “Avinelle and Widow Ashton should have called on you,” she said. “It wouldn’t have been far for them to come in their surrey.”
Patsy wagged her head. “I didn’t want them here. I can’t keep up the place. Let’s get a kettle on to heat—”
“Oh, I’m used to doing washing outside,” Jodee said, hurrying to gather the mound of musty-smelling laundry. “I’ll get a fire going. Do you have rope I can sling between the trees? I’ll get it. You sit yourself down and rest.”
Outside, Jodee dropped everything on the ground. There was no wind, just the refreshing scent of pine and sun-warmed dirt and bracing mountain air. It was like being at a campsite again. Jodee realized she missed the freedom of living outdoors. In no time, she gathered rocks to ring a fire and deadwood for kindling. Bringing an ember from the hearth fire inside—Patsy was already asleep in the rocker—she got a blaze going and water heating in Patsy’s biggest kettle.
In time, Jodee was scrubbing just as she had at her mother’s side years before. How dear it was to recall her mother. As she draped diaper drawers and baby clothes over the rope line, Jodee paused to look at the cabin, the towering pines, and the looming mountains. She wondered if she might have a spread like this someday and Corbet Harlow waiting behind the hanging blanket.
Quickly she returned to the washtub. It didn’t hurt to dream.
• • •
Perched on a flat rock on the mountainside overlooking Burdeen’s road to Cheyenne City, Burl Tangus could just see the backyard of the Ashton Babcock house. Twice he’d seen a young woman moving around on the back porch who might’ve been Jodee, but he wasn’t certain. In skirts, she looked different. Almost good.
He dribbled the last of his whiskey between his lips. His jaw was so swollen he couldn’t open his mouth to eat or drink. Days and nights had become a blur. The damned barber was so busy all the time, with his chair in the front window where everybody in town could see, Burl was afraid to risk going to him for help.
Glaring at the house, he calculated how hard it’d be to climb up into that rear upstairs window. Not a hand or foothold on the whole back side of the place. There was no chance of going in by way of the back porch, either. He snickered to think how Jodee always had slept like a rock. He’d watched her sleep more than once now, silent as death itself, but he didn’t plan to open the door and step over her. If he did that he’d have to be ready to tangle with her. Nobody else believed it, but he knew she was a spitfire.
But sometime soon, even that old man who lived in the carriage house wouldn’t stop him once he decided to get into that house. There was a certain little cash box in there, and he knew there was a lot of cash money in it.
Patting his green plaid vest’s watch pocket, Burl made his way painstakingly down through the brush to wait for dark among the boulders. If he could’ve, he would’ve smiled. He wondered if that rich gal knew just how close he was, waiting with her little key.
• • •
Hanna and Bailey struggled to insert extra sections into the dining table. Fully extended, it sat sixteen. Rounding the tight space at each end would challenge Jodee when serving, but she was determined to manage. She helped Hanna prepare many elaborate dishes. The grocer’s boy delivered twice. The butcher brought the roast by cart.
Patsy and Virgil Robstart declined their invitation to Sunday dinner. In their place, Avinelle suggested the barber, Wal
ter Hamms, and his wife Sara. The banker, Ellis Sutton, and his wife Arleta were coming. Burdeen City’s mayor, Clay Winfield, and his wife Bertha would be there. Mayor Winfield also ran the livery barn where Jodee’s pony, the old pack horse, and the Rikes’ horses had been stabled. Hanna whispered that Burdeen’s city officials were not a fancy bunch.
Patsy’s parents declined due to family illness—Virgil’s. Roy Trappe and Isaac Munjoy didn’t respond. Hanna suspected the men didn’t know to send regrets. Such a to-do, Jodee thought, wearily peeling potatoes and opening cans of peaches.
Artie Abernathy, Parson Caruthers, and his wife Patience, and the Reverend Boteller and his wife Clova sent word they could come. Hanna said the Botellers had nine children, ranging from one to fifteen. “They want to see inside this house,” she whispered. “Otherwise, Clova wouldn’t set foot in public. She’s expecting next month. I think Miz Ashton invited every family needing a helper, cook, or nursemaid.”
Jodee felt worried. “But I want to find work on my own.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to be done about it, honey. Those two do as they like.” Leaning close, Hanna whispered, “Wouldn’t hurt you to show Abernathy some attention. Might make a certain other blockhead take notice. Wouldn’t it be nice to go back to Arkansas on a wedding trip?”
Jodee stopped trimming the pie crust. “Who would I marry? Mr. Abernathy don’t interest me that way. And as far as I’m concerned, I’m never setting foot in Arkansas again.”
“I meant the marshal, you ninny. Avinelle’s had her eye on him since the day she took off her mourning black which wasn’t very long after putting Mr. Babcock in the ground, let me tell you.”
“Widow Ashton said Avinelle’s expecting a proposal from Corbet.”
“She might expect one. That don’t mean she’ll get one. The marshal needs prodding in your direction.” Hanna winked.
Jodee laid the dining table with Widow Ashton’s china, crystal goblets, and ornate silverware. There were plenty of spoons, she noted. Sixteen place settings. She counted the spoons twice. Two hostesses’ spoons, fourteen guests. Eight spoons left in the chest. Two dozen spoons altogether.
After church the following morning Jodee tied on a clean apron she had starched and ironed herself with Hanna’s flat irons heated on the stove. The house was fragrant with roast Baron of Beef and peach cobbler—Hanna had been at work since dawn and looked pale. The kitchen was hot, the wood box nearly empty. Bailey was in back, splitting kindling.
When the guests arrived, the babble of voices in the parlor and drawing room made the house come alive. Finally the silver bell tinkled, signaling everyone was seated and ready to eat. Jodee carried in the first course.
Remember, she told herself, steadying the heavy tray in trembling hands, No hellos. No smiles. No talk. Just serve and vanish.
The crowded dining room fell silent as she entered. With everyone in place and all the candles burning, the scene was a wonder to behold. Jodee felt proud to be a small part of it. As she squeezed past Widow Ashton seated at the head, she reminded herself not to spill soup down the woman’s bejeweled neck.
Corbet sat at the foot of the table with Avinelle to his right. The gentlemen looked stiff in their dark coats and high collars. The ladies wore humble finery. With an uncharacteristic smile, Widow Ashton looked rather attractive in a burgundy gown and glinting garnet earbobs. Avinelle wore a champagne-colored gown displaying enough décolletage to draw the eye of every man. Her hair sported white silk flowers and dangly pearl strands.
Jodee edged around the table, passing Corbet, who looked dazzling in a high collar and dark brocade vest. She’d never seen him look more handsome. Flirt with Artie to make him take notice? She wouldn’t do it.
He’s going to propose to Avinelle, Jodee reminded herself. He’s here for her, not me.
She felt so nervous she wanted to giggle. Everything seemed so pretentious. Tiptoe just so. Place the plates on the table without making a sound. Keep her face soberly composed. As she passed Artie, she smelled fried fat back on his clothes. His handle-bar mustache was so stiff with mustache wax it looked false. She had to press her lips together to keep from grinning.
Then she heard Widow Ashton suck in her breath. Oh no, Jodee thought, I looked at a guest. Throw me in jail.
“You’ve done an excellent job with her, Widow Ashton,” Mrs. Boteller said as Jodee went by. “Was it difficult, instructing her? Does she learn quickly?”
Jodee gawked at the woman. They were talking about her as if she wasn’t there.
“The rolls,” Avinelle hissed. “Jodee, fetch the rolls!” Avinelle gave everyone an apologetic look.
Jodee hurried back to the pantry. She hadn’t forgotten the rolls. They were next. Hanna wore a stormy expression as she handed Jodee a woven silver basket filled with rolls covered in an embroidered cloth. Hanna shook her head. “Pay her no mind.”
After Jodee finished serving the first course, it was time to clear plates and bring the next course. It went on like that for an hour. Corbet carved the beef, if awkwardly. Avinelle passed servings around as if handing each person a plate of gold. It did smell delicious.
One after another, Jodee brought in serving dishes brimming with savory creamed onions, colorful corn chowder, sweet and dilled pickles, then more golden rolls and a pitcher of fresh spring water. Finally Jodee cleared away everything in preparation for desert. By her own estimation, she’d done everything perfectly. Well, almost. Close enough.
The Botellers, Artie, and Corbet ate with gusto. Avinelle and Widow Ashton left most of their food on their plates. Jodee wondered what was wrong with them. Back in the kitchen, Hanna saved every scrap to take home to her children.
“Laced into their corsets too tight, is my guess,” Hanna whispered.
Hanna had been working since dawn. By the time Jodee carried around the cobbler and silver coffee pot, her shoulder ached and she was hungry. She was tired of being watched and judged unworthy. It would’ve been a relief to drop something or let out a stray cuss word just to liven things up, but Jodee behaved herself. Catching her breath in the pantry, she heard Widow Ashton jingle her annoying silver bell. She wished the bell had disappeared instead of the spoons.
While Jodee took the tablecloth from the table the guests removed to the parlor. She was wondering how she would wash the gravy-stained lace when Widow Ashton appeared in the doorway. “Jodee, I rang for you.”
Jodee’s heart skipped. “Yes’m. I’ll just wash my hands.” What had she done wrong now? Hanna cast her a cautionary glance.
Entering the parlor, Jodee heard Widow Ashton say, “I did not want to distract Jodee while she was serving. She dropped my best sugar last week. You saw how she forgot to set my place with a soup spoon. Avinelle and I have to instruct her in the smallest of details—” Widow Ashton saw Jodee standing there. “Here she is at last. Step closer, Jodee.”
None of those damned spoons had been missing, Jodee thought. The woman was lying. Why invite potential employers if only to—Jodee realized what Widow Ashton was really trying to do, humiliate her. They weren’t trying to help. They wanted to ruin her. What had she ever done to them?
Corbet’s voice rang with authority. “Miss McQue performed her tasks well, considering she is recovering a gunshot wound.”
“Marshal, servants are not called miss,” Widow Ashton corrected.
He looked hard at the woman. “She’s ‘miss’ to me.”
Hands clenched at her sides, Jodee summoned all her self-control. She’d show them. They wouldn’t make her act like a ninny. She endured the scrutiny of every person in the room until she decided she’d had enough. “Will there be anything else, Ma’am?”
“Your work was satisfactory,” Widow Ashton said, sounding anything but satisfied. “I have just informed everyone that Avinelle and I have concluded our mourning. We shall receive guests again on a regular basis.”
Corbet started for the door with Avinelle attached to his elbow.
�
��Marshal Harlow, was your meal satisfactory?” Widow Ashton asked. “You, at least, had a soup spoon.”
Corbet’s eyes narrowed. “Sorry, Artie, but Hanna’s the best cook in town. And Jodee is the best serving maid. Yes, Widow Ashton, my meal was satisfactory.” He gave a formal nod. His dark eyes flashed. Patting Avinelle’s hand, he extracted himself from her grasp and stepped away.
Jodee had never seen Corbet look so fearsome.
Widow Ashton continued. “Jodee, I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Artemis Abernathy, proprietor of The Hungry Bear Restaurant.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Jodee said. “How do, Mr. Abernathy.”
“You were most correct, Widow Ashton,” Artie bellowed. “Jodee fits great in a dining room. Jodee, you got yourself a job at my place any time. You would get a penny or two, sometimes a nickel tip per customer, depending on the meal and the customer. I reckon you could make a dollar a day, easy.”
Widow Ashton obviously hadn’t expected the man to offer employment on the spot.
A dollar a day? Jodee might have the price of a ticket out of town in a matter of weeks. The promise of quick money tempted her to jump at the chance, but Corbet didn’t smile. No matter how much she might like to accept Artie’s offer, she wasn’t going to do anything Corbet disapproved of. “Thanks, Mr. Abernathy. I’ll think on it.”
“You’re most welcome, Miss—”
“And,” Widow Ashton interrupted, “Reverend and Mrs. Boteller. This is the young woman I told you about.”
The Reverend had long graying hair more untidy than Jodee would have expected of a church man. His suit needed brushing. He had smoldering eyes.
“I am enchanted to meet you, Jodee,” his wife put in. “Let me take your hands.”
Jodee went to the woman. Her touch felt damp and cold.
“Why, you’re just as clean as you can be.” The woman examined each fingernail. “I would welcome your help with my children.”
Jodee pulled away. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Ma’am,” she said, “but I got no experience with children.” She found the effect of bad grammar just what she hoped for. Reverend Boteller looked away.
Her Outlaw Heart Page 15
