by Jodi Thomas
After walking across the tattered rug, which provided little more than faded color in the room, she eased down on the side of the bed. The mattress sank dangerously low beneath her weight. She pulled off the gaudy boots. Again, she wondered why she had gone ahead and worn the stupid-lookin’ things, but then she’d had little choice if she wanted to go riding. Without her knowledge, her cousin had taken Laurel’s only decent pair of boots and hat, leaving the gawd-awful ones for her. She almost smiled thinking how they looked like something a rodeo clown might wear.
She was washing her face with a bar of soap that stung like lye when her bedroom door swung open.
Unceremoniously, her cousin, Victoria, stomped in. A couple of years younger than Laurel, the dumpy, bloodless-looking girl who hadn’t spent more than two hours outdoors in months began bellowing at the top of her lungs.
“Where are my boots and hat?” Her shrill voice sent chills up and down Laurel’s spine.
Taken aback, Laurel whirled toward her cousin. “I, uh, they are right by the bed.”
Victoria rushed over and snatched up the boots and began examining them. “You’re lucky. You didn’t scuff them up any.” She looked around. “And my hat better not have so much as a smudge of dust on it.” She put her hands on her plump hips. “So where did you get the idea you could wear them without asking permission?”
Her cousin had always acted like a spoiled brat, and age had only encouraged the entitlement she seemed to think was rightfully hers.
As angry as Laurel was, she chose her words carefully, knowing whatever she said would be twisted around to benefit Victoria. “I didn’t borrow them. You knew I was going riding and took mine, so I presumed you had left yours for me to wear. You left me with little choice.” Laurel tried to depict a calm she didn’t necessarily feel. “Besides, I bought them in New York—”
“With my father’s money!” Sarcasm laced Victoria’s shrill screech.
“No, with what I earned at the magazine,” Laurel said with deceptive calmness.
“Oh yes, you saved your money, but continued to take what Father sent you.” Victoria hurled out the words as if they were stones.
“I’ll have a regular payday soon when I go to work at the bank.”
“You think Father is going to hire you? Maybe to clean the floors or empty the trash, just like your mother used to do, but not anything where the public can see you. You know nothing about fashion, and would probably scare customers away.” Her dark eyes narrowed and she let out an evil, haunting laugh meant to humiliate. “You should hear what others say about you. Why don’t you take better care of yourself? You’re too plain, almost ugly, and wearing riding pants doesn’t help. And Father wants to find you a fitting beau to get you off his hands ... and out of our house as soon as possible.” Every word was calculated and meant to hurt.
Old fears and uncertainties rose within Laurel. A flicker of dread coursed through her.
As if she hadn’t said enough hurtful words, Victoria continued in a chiding tone that angered Laurel beyond belief. “Just so we’re clear, don’t ever touch anything that belongs to me again or you’ll be sorry.” She stalked toward the door, then whirled back. “I can make your life a living hell. Oh, by the way, Father wants to see you immediately.” A twisted, cynical smile spread across Victoria’s plump lips. “And I wouldn’t make him wait, if I were you. He’s not in a good mood, and it’s all because of you.”
She slammed the door behind her, then opened it again to say, “And be quiet. Mother has taken to bed as she’s feeling poorly today.”
Victoria deliberately closed the door louder than before.
Laurel sat back down on the side of the bed. Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on her knees and rested her face in her hands. She fought back the few tears that she’d not already shed. She doubted there were any left in her soul.
Why was everything that went wrong in life always her fault? She’d been a good girl, or tried to, but no matter how hard she worked at doing the right thing, something went awry.
For over fifteen years, she’d carried the burden of being the cause of her parents’ death. If only she could express her concerns. Her anger. Her doubts. But then who would believe her?
Why had she come up with the stupid idea to take a ride today anyway? If she’d stayed home like she should have, then she wouldn’t have run into Hunter. Now she was not only caught up in old feelings about the crafty cowman, but had a dilemma with his mother. An issue that seemed to have ripped the town apart. The last thing she needed was to divide what little family she had left.
Now her uncle was angry with her or at least that’s what Victoria wanted her to think.
Laurel walked to the washstand and rinsed her face with cold water. She tied her hair back with a ribbon and changed into a plain brown calico dress.
With as much resolve as she possibly could scurry up, she descended the stairs to the study, being careful to be quiet. She didn’t want to upset her frail Aunt Elizabeth.
Uncle Gideon sat behind his massive oak desk in his well-appointed study fit for a banker. Even as big as the desk was, he dominated every inch of it. Tall, potbellied, with a full beard and sideburns, he looked to some people like a big, wild woolly stuffed into a suit and tie. She couldn’t have described him better herself.
“Shut the door,” he bellowed, without looking up. “So you finally decided to come home.”
Laurel did as she was told, easing the door closed, but took a stance in front of the desk. Determined not to be browbeaten, she folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve been out riding—”
He interrupted, “And sneaking around the Sundance Saloon with those no-good Wilson sisters.” He turned the paper he was writing on face down on the desk. “You were also out at the Campbell place.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to get this straight.” He leaned back in his chair and gave her a cold, nasty look of displeasure. “As long as you’re living in my house, you will have nothing to do with that woman or her son.”
Fury rocked her. “With all due respect, I’m old enough to decide who I will and won’t be friends with.”
“If you want a place to live, you’d best not let me find out you’re consorting with any of them, especially Melba Ruth Campbell. She’s a troublemaker, and is doing everything she can to ruin our town.” His face was marked with loathing, unnerving Laurel. “She’s little more than a tramp, owning a saloon, cleaning houses for people, and then she thinks she’s good enough to lead a rebellion against the men. I will not allow anyone in my family, or my employment, to associate with rubbish like her. She’s determined to undermine the railroad. I don’t trust that son of hers either.”
“Mrs. Campbell befriended me when nobody else did, and I made it clear that I’m not taking sides on what is best for Farley Springs.”
“Oh, but you are. As long as you’re in my house, eating my food, and wearing the clothes I bought for you, you will do what you’re told, and that includes making certain the railroad comes to town. It’s in your best interest.” His mouth took an unpleasant twist. “This is your one and only warning, so listen up, girl.” His eyes darkened dangerously. “I’m a man of little patience. You’ll do as I say or you will be sorry. Very sorry.”
Laurel had no intentions of being dictated to, and girded herself with resolve, praying for self-control. “I can’t understand how you can have such disdain for Melba Ruth, while supporting her son’s stance on the need for the railroad.”
“That’s the men’s affairs. Good business makes for strange bedfellows. You need to learn your place as a woman. Apparently, all the money I spent on giving you an education went to waste. The only thing you’ll be any good at is staying home, having babies, and trying to make your man happy.” He took a long look at her. “Without a dowry, and with a lot of work, you might find a man who will have you.”
Reality of what the future held sank deep into her stomach. “And the j
ob in the bank you said I could have?”
“I never promised you anything. I simply wrote that there might be something available, but after I’ve seen what tramps you like to associate with, there’s no job for you. Just learn to do women’s things. That’s all you’re fit for,” he replied with contempt that forbade any further argument.
“I am certainly capable of making something of myself and doing a lot of good things with my life.”
“There’s one more thing. I cannot overstate how you must not associate with that rogue gambler who calls himself a businessman and beds any woman who bats her eyes at him. That is, of course, if you haven’t already fallen under his spell and into his bed. We have certain allegiances for business’ sake, but as for you ... you will not so much as speak to him.”
Laurel seethed in her soul, and she wondered how much of his anger was with Hunter as a businessman and how much was because he beat him in the mayoral race. She had to work hard to contain her words. “I am not thirteen years old. I’m an adult. I have my own values, and can assure you that I do not fall into bed with any man. I believe I’m capable of cultivating my own friendships. I will talk to whomever I so desire.” She wanted so badly to add, “And neither you nor anybody else will intimidate me into doing something I don’t want to do,” but she held her tongue.
She stepped backward and opened the study door.
“As long as you live in my house, you’ll follow my rules. If you walk out of that door without heeding my warnings, you’ll never be welcomed back again ... I promise you.”
Gideon Duncan picked up the glass of whiskey sitting on the desk, but never took a drink, just glared at her in a cynical, frightening way she’d never seen before.
Lifting her chin, she replied, “You’ve dictated to me in some form or fashion since I was barely a teenager. I’ve done exactly what you wanted me to do all of my life, and asked few questions. I gave up my twenties and have no intention of doing the same for my thirties. I will find a job and move elsewhere, if that’s what it takes, but I’ll no longer be dictated to.” She wished that she could have added the words “as much as I respect and love you,” but not only would they not come out, they weren’t in her heart.
“You can’t find a job, and without money, there’s no place for you to live. You can’t make it on your own, and I can promise you if you move out of my house, you’ll never see your next birthday,” he said with contempt that forbade any further argument.
The dull ache of foreboding seeped into every crevice of her soul, but with it brought a determination she’d never felt before.
“I don’t need your damnable job. I already have an offer and it comes with a place to live.” She squared her shoulders, turned, and walked out, praying that Melba Ruth Campbell was as true to her word as she’d always been.
“In a room above a saloon, no doubt!” His words echoed off the walls as if they were spoken in an empty tomb.
Glass shattered against the study door, which she’d barely closed behind her.
Fear tightened in her stomach, yet she felt liberated. Although it scared her to death, she was on her own for the first time in her life.
One big problem existed: Did she really have someone to turn to and a place to lay her head?
Chapter 9
Anger dripped from every pore of Laurel’s body as she bounded up the stairs to her bedroom. It took less than five minutes to gather her belongings and pack them in her dilapidated valise. After taking a long, thoughtful look at the garments hanging in the wardrobe, she shut it. She wanted nothing that her uncle had given her.
She closed the door behind her, then walked down the backstairs from the servants’ quarters. Stepping out into the cool spring evening air, she relished its freshness, representing the first real sense of freedom she’d felt in many years.
As she walked away from the cold, heartless house, she let her thoughts wander like a maverick calf looking for his mama.
From the moment her uncle rushed her away from her parents’ graves until a few minutes ago, she had been like a marionette, with her uncle pulling the strings. Even before she was whisked off to boarding school, he’d tried to keep her segregated from people, as if she were some kind of nasty secret not to be revealed.
She had no idea what the townfolks had been told about why she had come to live with her relatives. But by the way they shunned her, it must have been that she was an escapee from a leper colony. The only kids brave enough to stand up for her were the Wilson sisters and Hunter Campbell. Even her own cousin would walk on the other side of the street just to taunt her.
The only normalcy she felt during that time was when she worked very hard in her studies and made good grades, even though she did so more out of fear than her own desire to excel. Her fun times existed when she sneaked away and spent time with Melba Ruth Campbell and her family or the Wilson sisters.
They all treated her like somebody, not a servant.
Only too vividly she was reminded of how Aunt Elizabeth would punish her for the tiniest infraction by having her polish all the silver in the house, although she had servants. It would take hours, and when she’d finally finish, her aunt would always find fault with the job she’d done. It took Laurel years to realize that her aunt was too scared to think for herself, and did as her husband dictated.
Laurel ended up following suit. It was better to do what she was told and ask no questions than to take the verbal abuse. Her uncle knew how to leave scars that could not be seen.
As Laurel walked along Main Street, she wanted to put her hands over her ears to quiet her thoughts.
She took a deep breath. That was then and this is now. She promised herself she’d never speak of the past and look only to the future.
Wrapped in new resolve, she continued along the darkened storefronts. The wind moaned and whispered between the buildings, and the only movement, other than a stray dog, was an occasional cowboy staggering out of one of the saloons either at the insistence of the barkeep or with the assistance of the toe of his boot.
Reality set in. She needed a place to spend the night and be safe at the same time. Running through a limited list, one by one she eliminated each of them.
The Wilson sisters were nowhere to be found, most likely working on their secret project for the library committee. Not to mention their place was much too cramped for another living creature.
It was too dark and dangerous to make her way back to the Triple C all alone. She quickly discounted trying to find Hunter and ask to sleep in one of the rooms above his saloon. Of course, the Sundance was out of the question.
At such a late hour, the only logical place for her to go and not be seen was the stables. The blacksmith would be settled in for the night and he’d never know she was there. She could sleep in one of the wagons, or if worst came to worst, Buckey’s stall. She’d rest until sunup, saddle the gelding, and head out to the Triple C to accept Melba Ruth’s offer of employment.
Her reflection caught her eye in the glass window of the unoccupied Campbell’s Millinery storefront. She pushed her hair back from around her face. An odd, yet warm feeling coursed through her as more memories of better times washed over her. Yet at the same time, a chill ran down her spine.
An idea flittered around in her head. Since Hunter’s sister had married and moved away, the town no longer had a hat shop. Laurel was well versed on headwear, and had written several articles on the fashion of hats. Why couldn’t she open a shop? Once she got settled in and saved every possible penny, maybe she’d do just that. No doubt she couldn’t afford to purchase the building, but surely she could negotiate a monthly rental fee that would be reasonable.
At least now she had a goal for the future. Of course, she’d have to change the name. Staring at the sign above the door, she envisioned WOMACK MILLINERY written across it.
Laurel saw Greta Garrett’s reflection in the window before she got within an arm’s length of her, so she was able to turn aro
und to face the woman as she approached. The look on Greta’s face made it clear that she wasn’t there to invite Laurel to Sunday dinner.
“I want to talk to you,” Greta said in the same hasty, demanding tone of voice she’d had since grade school.
“I don’t have time,” Laurel replied just as Greta grabbed her by the arm.
“Then take time.” Greta stood so close to her that Laurel could smell her breath, which reeked of cheap whiskey. “Hunter Campbell is my man, and if you don’t leave him alone, you’ll regret it.” Her eyebrows narrowed, and she said, “So stay away from him!”
Laurel jerked her arm away from Greta but chose to say nothing, because anything she said would only accelerate the argument. Be the bigger person, Laurel reminded herself.
Obviously thinking Laurel’s lack of response was an indication of compliance, Greta whirled and strolled toward the center of town as if she’d just finished a pleasant conversation with a friend.
Why were so many people intent on her keeping her distance from Hunter Campbell and his family? Jealousy fueled Greta’s insecurities, but what were the real reasons behind Uncle Gideon’s demands?
They will not frighten me away! Laurel said over and over in her mind as she continued down Main Street. If anything, it only solidified her resolve.
As expected when she reached the blacksmith’s shop, there were no lights on, so she came through the wagon yard and found Buckey’s stall near the back door. He might well be a stupid hammerhead, as Hunter called him, but the bay was the only friend she had ... and he didn’t judge her.
She rubbed him down and brushed his black mane and tail. When she was finished, she pulled his saddle blanket from the rails separating him from the horse in the next stall, and headed for the nearest supply wagon, which was somewhat sheltered by a big cottonwood tree. The night weather was perfect. Although the Panhandle was known to have beautiful days and frigid nights during early spring, Mother Nature had smiled down on the town and shrouded it in a warmer-than-usual night.
