by Zina Abbott
After Buck dumped the used water in the corner pot, he poured more water in the bowl and added his two pair of dirty socks. Using the bar of soap Hal had left on the dressing table, he proceeded to scrub the feet of each of them until they lathered. After he squeezed out as much soap as he could and rinsed them with the remainder of the water, he draped them over the iron footrail of the bed. As soon as he realized the socks sloughed water on the floor, he shoved the mattress towards the headboard as far as it would go and brought Hal’s bedroll around, unfolded it, and kicked it in place to catch the drips.
Hal had the audacity to complain about Buck’s dirty socks, did he? If that was not enough, he thought he could get away with leaving Buck behind so he could slink off all by himself like some slippery sidewinder to enjoy a breakfast fit for a king cooked by a pretty widow. Well, Buck would show him. Maybe coming back to a room stinking of dirty feet and wet wool would make Hal think twice about turning his back on a friend.
A sound that Buck would recognize anywhere rumbled into the room. He rushed to the window, swept the lace panel up and tucked it into the rod that held it over the glass and opened the window. As he leaned his head out, he listened to pounding hooves and the shouts of drovers. He had been on cattle drives, and knew what he heard did not belong to one. The neighing and trotting hoofbeats belonged to horses—lots of them.
Buck grabbed the edges of the window frame with both hands as he leaned as far forward as he could and turned his head to the left, the direction from which the sounds came. Soon, the first heads of mustangs and mixed breeds—all good cow ponies, Buck guessed—came into view. Calls from the men on horseback as some waved coils of rope kept the horses on the road.
In spite of the maneuver being partially blocked by the shed the washer woman used for her laundry operation, Buck watched with a sense of admiration only another wrangler could a appreciate as the men turned the horses at the corner and drove them on Chestnut Road straight in front of him. Buck straightened somewhat, but still leaned forward, his hands resting on the bottom window sill. There on Chestnut, only a waist-high fence several yards in length blocked him from enjoying a full view of the horses as they continued towards the livery corral Buck knew was located just beyond the stable barn that served as his temporary bunkhouse. He watched as the boy he now knew was named Jamie, with his mother and sister close on his heels, ran from the opening between the hotel and laundry shed to the fence so he also could watch the horses as long as possible.
The ranch hand guiding the last horse passed from his view. Buck pulled his head inside the room and stood up straight. As he listened to the sound of fading hooves beating the ground, he continued to revel in what he had witnessed. These were the horses for the auction. He didn’t know where Hal had taken himself off to, but if he missed this sight, it served him right. As for Boss, he knew Dallin Walsh would not waste much time going over to the corral to look over the stock to see which horses he wished to bid on.
Buck glanced back at his socks wrapped over the cross rail of the bed’s footboard and slammed the window shut. He wrinkled his nose, and shook his head with dismay, realizing by opening the window, he had probably helped dissipate some of the odor he had thought to leave for his partner. It was worth it. Watching the horses being driven through town entertained him more than any vaudeville act he had ever seen.
Buck picked up the key and walked out of the room. It was time for him to go take a look-see at the horses his boss might buy. While he was at it, he intended to find out exactly where Hal had gone to enjoy the company of his pretty young widow.
Chapter Sixteen
N
issa had the children fed and encouraged them to play where she could see them. Her first batch of towels and sheets from the hotel soaked in her wash tub while her copper pot filled almost to the brim with heated water for the boiling rinse. In response to Dallin’s suggestion the previous night, she had added one of Jamie’s play shirts to the load.
A sound she did not recognize had her running to the middle of the yard to check on Jamie’s and Molly’s safety. The noise had also attracted their attention. Jamie, wide-eyed, now barreled towards the opening to Front Street with Molly, her arms pumping, running to keep up with him.
Nissa raced to intercept the two and grabbed each of them by the hand to prevent them from running into the street to see what caused the ruckus. By now, she knew it was the sound of trotting horses—lots of them. A child on either side of her, Nissa stood where she hoped the walls of the hotel and her laundry shack would prevent any horses from bolting from the herd across the boardwalk and into the yard, plowing them under in the process. She stepped back from the excited animals and coughed as the clouds of dust they raised enveloped her.
“Get back!” One of the men working the herd called out to her, focusing Nissa’s attention on the reality of the danger the horses posed to her and her children, should one come towards them. Molly, evidently frightened by the size of the animals, already tugged on Nissa’s hand to return to the safety of the yard. Jamie stubbornly resisted being guided away from the spectacle.
Only when Jamie realized the horses had been turned at the corner of their property onto Chestnut did he jerk his hand free of hers and race to the waist-high fence that bordered the boardwalk. Nissa turned to follow, not trusting her son to stay inside the yard.
“Jamie, stay several feet behind the fence. If you get too close, you might spook a horse and he’ll run towards you.”
Once again, Nissa held both her children by the hand as the last of the horses passed their place and continued to the corral on the far side of the livery. She glanced at the yard behind her. As exciting as the event had been, she offered a prayer of gratitude that she did not have clothes hanging to dry on the lines yet. With all the dust the horses raised, if it had hit damp cloth, the only way she could get the fabric clean was to wash everything again before the dirt set in.
g
Later that afternoon, the sun poured into the westward facing doorway and illuminated the table Nissa had positioned to catch the best light. She had already finished pressing the sheets—she preferred to get the heavier pieces to be ironed out of the way first—and now finished up on the last of the linen cloths hotel patrons used for personal bathing in their rooms. The only article left to press was the play shirt belonging to Jamie she had put in the final load of towels. She would make both Jamie and Dallin happy by having a clean, pressed everyday shirt for her son to wear to supper that night. She and Molly would once again wear their Sunday best.
Nissa scratched one of the rough, reddened spots that had formed on her hands from doing laundry. She studied her hands as the question ran through her mind whether or not she could afford to get a cream with lanolin in it to help them heal. Even if she worked as a housekeeper, she would still need to do laundry for Dallin at least once a week.
Nissa started on the shirt by pressing the collar, front and back, as she realized the prospect of joining Dallin Walsh for supper in a matter of hours tied her stomach in knots. The previous night he seemed so unsure about wanting her to work for him as his housekeeper. As she thought back through the conversation, she did not recall him questioning her abilities. Although he only had experience with her as a laundress and mender of clothes, she guessed he assumed—correctly so—she knew how to clean, manage a household and cook.
Nissa pressed the shirt’s shoulders and yoke. No, his opposition centered around the isolation that came with living on the mountain ranch. She appreciated his concern. However, with several men working for him, if they all behaved like the ranch hand she had met at dinner the previous night, she could enjoy a certain amount of sociability and her children, particularly her son, could have positive male role models to learn from.
As Nissa turned to press the sleeves, she scrunched her face at the thought of the big negative, at least for her. There would be no women besides her on the ranch—no kind, generous female friend like Dianth
a Ames who had grown to be someone she could turn to for support or a listening ear. She would need to travel over half a day to reach the closest woman who might understand the thoughts and feelings shared by many women. Then again, as a housekeeper, the wives of other ranchers may see no need to speak with her and include her in their limited social gatherings.
Nissa steeled her resolve as she spread the shirt flat on the board and pressed the back. She had been virtually isolated these past several years and had endured. She would manage. If it allowed her to escape Mortimer Crane and put her children in a better living situation, it would be worth it to her. Hopefully, Dallin would pay her well enough she could save some money and eventually move to a larger community once the children needed more schooling than what she could give them.
Finishing the front of the shirt, Nissa offered a short, silent prayer—something she had only recently learned to do again—that matters regarding her job request would work out for the best for her little family.
Chapter Seventeen
T
hat evening, Hal pressed his back against the side wall of the mercantile. He checked his watch, and then lifted his foot and rested the sole of his boot against the wood planking. She would leave the bank soon. As instructed, he would stay on the opposite side of the street from where Birdie walked home. He would assume an expression of bored indifference and do his best to not reveal the attraction he felt for this woman.
Hal reflected on how much his life had changed in the past two days. Before then, he had not known Miss Birdie Templeton even existed. Yet, since he met her at the bank, he had not been able to drive her out of his mind.
Last night, his meal at the boarding house had left him feeling both exhilarated and frustrated—exhilarated because, at the supper table, he had been able to occasionally glance at Birdie who sat across and over one chair from where he had been seated. Frustrated because, due to her situation and her fears, he dared not show to others his interest in her. Exhilarated because this morning, the breakfast table had been too crowded to seat everyone who paid for breakfast, and Maggie had invited him to join Birdie at the small two-person table in the corner of the kitchen. There he had enjoyed a brief meal with her. Frustrated because they had not been able to talk very long before she assumed her teller persona and rushed out the door to her job at the bank.
Up until three days ago, the highlight of his day would have been watching the horses being driven into town and herded into the large corral just past and across the street from the boarding house. Today, the highlight of his day would be seeing Birdie again.
Hal straightened as he watched Birdie exit the bank and nod farewell to the man who worked in the other teller cage. Snapping open her black parasol—the one Hal recalled with a grin Maggie had referred to as a flapping bat on a stick—Birdie ignored the fluttering ruffles as she used it as a shield against both the sun and prying eyes.
Hal lazily turned his gaze towards Front Street, where he knew just beyond and out of his sight ran Moose Creek that provided water for much of the town. Several seconds later, he turned and sauntered towards the corner. He looked down Gold Street where the previous two nights he watched Mortimer Crane walk and disappear into buildings over a block down. The man had not exited the bank at closing and Hal had caught no sight of him that day, but had heard from Dallin Mr. Crane and a few of his hooligans had tried to stop the horses from entering town. Some fancy big-city lawyer from Salt Lake City the mayor had hired put a stop to it.
Hal glanced up and watched Birdie crossing the street mid-block in order to enter the back alley behind the boarding house. As Hal walked towards the same building, he knew he needed to do something different. Only a few days remained to him to better know the woman who had caught his attention and captured his heart. He longed to spend every moment with her. Even though he knew their situation appeared impossible, he could not leave her alone while they both remained in the same town.
Still pondering how he could bring about a change that would allow him to spend more quality time with Birdie without jeopardizing her position at the bank or putting her in personal danger, Hal found himself caught off-guard as he entered the boarding house dining room. Sitting towards the end of the table across from the door to the entry sat Buck.
Hal stood frozen in place. Once Buck caught sight of him, the man smiled with a smirk, folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.
“Howdy, Hal. Got wind this is a good place to eat—not that the café isn’t, mind you, but figured a certain party we both know might like some privacy. Fancy finding you here.”
Hiding his concern behind an expressionless face, Hal nodded towards Buck. Silently, he considered his options. Buck did not know an enemy. With his tendency to talk to all he met, he did not always exercise discretion. Hal could not let Buck learn about Birdie. It was not Buck learning Hal found a woman he cared for Hal considered worrisome—it was the fear Buck might say something to reveal Birdie’s secrets which could put her in a difficult position with Mortimer Crane.
Hal jerked his gaze to the door leading to the kitchen when he heard it open. Out stepped Maggie Loftin, who closed the door behind her.
Maggie smiled as she addressed Hal. “I’m happy you could make it again this evening, Mr. Summers. May I please speak with you privately in the kitchen?”
Hal nodded and side-stepped behind the dining table chairs as he made his way towards the kitchen door. He ignored the glare Buck offered him. Hal knew if there had been any doubt in Buck’s mind that this was his first visit to the boarding house for meals, Mrs. Loftin had just dispelled it.
Hal stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. Birdie, her hands clasped atop the handle of her parasol in front of her with the pointed metal tip resting on the floor stood before him. He felt his gaze fasten on hers. He noticed her gaze remained locked on his face.
Maggie’s words broke the spell and brought Hal back to reality. “I have a situation, Mr. Summers—a happy situation. I have more people booked for supper than I have places at my table. I thought with only two women boarders, I’d eat in here with Mrs. Smith.” Maggie gestured to indicate the older woman already seated at the two-person table. “As for you and our Birdie…” Maggie, an expression of satisfaction on her face, stepped to her counter next to her dry sink. On top Hal noticed a large basket covered with a folded blanket. “…I prepared a picnic supper.”
Hal turned towards Birdie once he saw her vigorously shake her head.
“Oh, Maggie, no. I don’t dare. What if someone sees us eating out in the open?”
Maggie laughed. “When I get through with you, who is going to see you?” She walked quickly to the empty chair by the small table and picked up a royal blue knitted shawl and a natural straw hat adorned with blue and white fabric flowers and a veil. She returned and stood before Birdie. “If you change into your white shirtwaist and put on a different skirt, maybe the dark blue one that will allow you to sit comfortably on the ground, wear this hat with the veil over your face and this shawl, who are you going to look like?”
“Those are yours. I suppose at first glance people might think it is you.”
Maggie grinned with satisfaction. “That’s right, especially if you are riding in a buggy with the top up pulled by my horse to a secluded picnic site in the trees on the other side of the cemetery. You know the place I mean, don’t you?”
At Birdie’s nod, Maggie continued to reveal her plan. “You change into more comfortable clothes—and I do mean comfortable, Birdie. Get rid of your stiff, formal working attire as well as that tight hair bun. While you do that, I’ll send Mr. Summers to the livery with this note telling Jasper Jones to hitch my horse to the two-seater buggy he keeps on hand.” Maggie turned to Hal. “You do know how to drive a buggy, don’t you, Mr. Summers?”
Hal suppressed a smile. He could drive anything attached to horses or mules. He guessed Maggie already assumed as much, and she questioned him for Birdie’s b
enefit. He held out his hand for the note. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll go get the buggy while Miss Templeton gets ready. I’ll meet her at your back door.”
Note in hand as he exited the rear door to the alley, Hal allowed his grin to widen as his spirits soared. Maggie Loftin should be named Cupid. He could not have asked for a more perfect solution to his desire to spend more time getting to know the real Birdie, not just view her across a table.
Hal laughed at the thought of what Buck might think when he realized Hal would not be returning to eat in the dining room that night. Fortunately, that room’s windows were located on the side of the house where they looked out on a side yard, not onto Chestnut Street and the livery across the way. After the dirty trick the man pulled leaving his stinky socks to dry in the room where he slept, Hal felt it served Buck right to be left in the dark—again.
Hal shoved his thoughts about Buck from his mind. Better things awaited him than ruminating about his fellow wrangler. Tonight, if Maggie’s instructions and machinations were any indication, instead of the frightened sparrow in the funereal silk traveling suit she wore to work to hide her true plumage, he would get to know the real woman that was Birdie Templeton.
Chapter Eighteen
N
issa finished pinning her hat in place as she heard the knock on the door. She smiled with satisfaction. She and the children were cleaned up, dressed and ready.
Jamie scooted of the bed where he had been playing a clapping game with Molly. “Mr. Walsh is here. I’ll get the door.”
