Silver Mist

by Raine Cantrell

  “My, you have been busy since yesterday, haven’t you?” she returned coolly, noting how he stressed her unmarried title. Watching his fluid dismount, which tautened his black cord pants, she felt a sense of alarming anticipation. The pale blue double-breasted shirt accentuated his tanned skin, and Dara had to look away. “Best tie your reins or your horse is liable to walk off or be stolen. Haven’t you heard Rainly won’t—”

  “Old Sinner won’t run off,” he assured her.

  “Sinner?” She couldn’t help but smile. “Why?” With the flash of his charming and ingratiating smile, she thought the name would fit the man as well.

  “He ran off once from a herd of horses I was trailing and followed me. Couldn’t shake him. Reminded me of an old proverb my daddy was fond of quoting: ‘The sinner isn’t cast out, but casts himself out.’”

  “Gracious, what sins could a horse be guilty of?”

  “Stealing.”

  “Horses do not steal.”

  “Happens all the time. A wild herd is composed of mares, colts, and fillies. Can’t have but one stallion as leader. Sinner here probably took a notion to cull a few mares for his own, lost the ensuing fight, and ran off.”

  “To follow you?”

  “To follow me.”

  She tried to stifle her laughter, but his smile, then his chuckle, enticed her to join him. Eden felt the tiny claws of desire sink deep to hear her laugh. Her eyes were merry, her cheeks sun-blushed, and her lips … he looked away just as Dara recalled all her good intentions not to encourage this man and stopped.

  “I see,” he said with a pleased look at the stacked lumber, “that Jesse started to deliver my order.”

  He stepped up onto the porch, and Dara stepped back, glancing up at him. She took in the full import of what he said, but this time refused to be drawn in to conversation with him. The mere thought of his being a neighbor, of seeing him every day, unsettled her in ways she didn’t dare comprehend.

  “Not even a bit of curiosity, Miss Owens? It’s a refreshing but most unusual trait to find in a woman.”

  His mockery brought forth her annoyance. “I’m as curious as anyone else, I suspect, but I was taught it is considered rude to question strangers.”

  “Feel free to ask me anything that will change my status,” he urged with a spark of humor.

  Dara shook her head, feeling the heat of her cheeks reach her earlobes. The man was simply impossible!

  “Are you angry because I found out some answers to the questions I had?” He smiled, cupped his square jaw with one hand, and held her gaze with his own. “I admit, I was surprised to find out—”

  “As I said, you’ve been busy with the gossips, but you wasted your time if you discussed me.” If her deliberate interruption didn’t stop him, the move she made to walk past him with a sweep of her skirt should have.

  “Edward Dinn and his wife, Elvira, over at the bank give more than receipts for money deposited.”

  Spine rigid, hands clutched around the folds of her black serge skirt, Dara forced herself to look at his face. She knew exactly what he had learned about her. She should have felt pleased that he knew she was promised to marry Clay Wescott, but Elvira wouldn’t leave go without telling him all the juicy details of why they weren’t married yet.

  His widening smile, too charming, too confident, revealed white teeth bracketed by creased bronzed skin. She had, in her musings yesterday, determined his age to be in the thirties. There was a lean hardness to him that showed the years had not all been easy ones. But Dara suspected that was by his own choice.

  “Did you come here to buy more supplies? If not, I’m sure Elvira would be happy to gossip the day away with you. Excuse me.”

  He’d angered her and thought about following her into the store, but he saw Miss Loretta, the owner of the boardinghouse, walking rapidly toward him. She resembled a stuffed partridge today, and while he had found her company charming enough last evening, he abruptly decided to forgo it now. Dara could wait. He tipped his hat politely as the woman stopped a moment to greet him, then quickly mounted Sinner.

  Dara had paused just inside the doorway. She wondered where he was going, then chastised herself for the thought. Why did he deliberately seek to provoke her? Continuing on until she slipped behind the counter, she left off musing about him as the slightly panting Miss Loretta Parkville entered the store.

  “Gracious, Dara,” she called out, “he’s simply charmin’. Ah believe he’s as handsome as one of mah beaus. Turned blockade runner durin’ the war, and Ah lost track of him. ’Course, yore heart’s been settled for a time on Clay and you’ve led such a sheltered life that you wouldn’t understand how attractive a glint of wickedness in a man’s eye can be.” Removing lace gloves, fanning herself, Miss Loretta came down the aisle, swaddled in the height of fashion. No one laced their corsets tighter, no woman dared to wear such a towering confectioned hat filled with vast numbers of flowers, birds, feathers, and ribbons that defied gravity. Few, if any, of the town’s women would bother to wear the thickly padded bustle under a severely tailored walking suit in this heat. But Miss Loretta, ever the lady, not only did so, she tended to lecture those who didn’t.

  Setting her parasol on the counter with a bang, she fanned herself a moment more. “Ah declare this to be the hottest summah evah. And heah you stand, cool as lemonade.”

  With a face as smooth as creamed butter, which, she privately admitted to Dara, she attributed to a spoonful of Dr. Worden’s Beef Iron and Wine Tonic taken every morning, she set her gloves upon the counter. Dara wondered if the alcohol wasn’t the tonic’s main attraction for Miss Loretta, but would never dare ask her. Admitting to forty of her almost sixty years, Miss Loretta narrowed her gaze, for she wouldn’t admit to needing spectacles, took a deep breath that threatened the jet buttons of her black Kersey cloth jacket, and slowly exhaled.

  Dara, accustomed to her dramatic entrances, fussy dress, and sometimes secretive manner, merely smiled and waited. Miss Loretta was a force to be reckoned with in the town. She and Elvira Dinn battled with each other to have the last word. But Miss Loretta had the advantage of being the town’s oldest living resident, since her family was the first to settle here.

  Button-bright eyes fixed on Dara’s face as she leaned over the counter. “You haven’t slept well, girl. Watch those shadows. Be a ruin to you. Might try some White Lily face wash. ’Course, at yore age, you shouldn’t be needin’ any. Now. Did you place yore ordahs yet?”

  “No, I was about to start getting—”

  “Good. Ah’ve got a special one for you. Ah suppose you know we’re about to be invaded?”

  “Invaded, Miss Loretta?”

  “Land’s sake! Don’t be tellin’ me yore hearin’ is goin’, too? Mah deah chile, you do not know the half of it. Now, listen. Ah want you to place an ordah for feathah ticks. Not goose down, mind you, but all chicken feathahs. An’ Ah’ll pay the extra charge to have them rushed heah.”

  Dara bit back a smile. “Miss Loretta, if you want chicken feathers, I’ll tell Abner and Varina to save them for you when I go out to get fresh eggs this week. I’m sure—”

  “Don’t be thick as Alma Clare’s honey! Ah need ticks. Not one, but twenty-five. Cheap ones, too.”

  Dara hesitated before drawing out an order form from the cubbyhole below the counter. Over the years the town had experienced the result of a few of Miss Loretta’s wild schemes, but no one had really been hurt by them. She had started the land company, helped write the brochures promising Rainly as God’s paradise, and lost her money in the last one. Dara couldn’t help her strong feeling that this latest scheme boded ill.

  “There’s no need to be starin’ at me like mah birds sprung free of mah hat. Ah’ll explain. It’s all those empty bedrooms,” she whispered. “Got two new boarders off the train yesterday. One a mighty fancy lookin’ gent, too. The othah one, well, you met him yoreself. Annamae was beside herself. That gal ai
n’t worth a lick of molasses lately. But she agreed, aftah Ah promised to blister her hide, that Ah can move all that heavy furniture Mothah insisted on bringin’ down heah when Fathah objected to its unsuitability. Ah’ll have more’n enough room then.”

  Dara’s blank stare slowly became one of alarm and brought a heavy sigh of exasperation from Miss Loretta. “Think of it! Ah can fill five upstairs bedrooms with those feathah ticks. Ah did give the two front rooms to the first gentlemen to arrive. Private ones, they both wanted and paid deah for. Now,” she demanded, “do you understand why Ah need mah ordah?”

  “Miss Loretta, are you seriously planning on renting sleeping accommodations to the type of men that—”

  “Don’t look so shocked, girl. We did more’n that to survive aftah the war. But don’t be doubtin’ that they’re cornin’, eithah. Mark mah words, there’s money to be made, and Ah intend to have mah share. Ah might even build a hotel. Don’t be frownin’ so, gives you wrinkles. Ah’m well aware of the gossip Elvira stirred up when Ah first decided to rent rooms. But no one in this town forgets Ah run a respectable house, and Ah aim to keep it that way.” Pointing an imperious finger, she ordered, “Now, write me up.”

  Dara did so, privately thinking she should find someone to get Reverend Speck to talk to Miss Loretta. She might listen to him. Then again, Miss Loretta was known to have a wide stubborn streak.

  “Town’s goin’ to change. Rainly’ll grow.”

  “I haven’t had time to think about it,” Dara answered with a spark of spirit. She was twenty-two years old, and as much as she adored Miss Loretta and Jesse, it was annoying to be thought of as a half-grown child.

  “We’re goin’ to be news. A boomtown is what they’ll be callin’ us. This heah store,” she stated, gesturing wildly around her, “is goin’ to be a gold mine for you and yore fathah. Speakin’ of him, how is he?”

  Only experience helped Dara follow Miss Loretta’s erratic talk. “He’s feeling better since we’ve had no rain, but he’s out at—”

  “Well, Ah know he’s not heah, or he’d be waitin’ on me, girl,” she snapped. When Dara finished writing up the order, she grabbed it. “I’ll take this ovah to Luthah mahself. He read me the papers when he come for suppah last night. Luthah’s of the opinion the trains’ll be running full up. See ’bout gettin’ yoreself help in the store. Ah’ve already hired Mabel and her girl to work for me.

  All Dara grasped was Luther’s opinion. Since he was the ticket agent, postmaster, and telegraph operator for the town, Luther usually knew what was happening. He’d been sweet on Miss Loretta for years, but she was a Parkville from Georgia and rarely allowed anyone to forget it, while Luther Marlow was merely a retired army corporal. Swallowing words of caution, Dara asked if there was anything else Miss Loretta needed.

  “A loaf of sugah, three pounds of buttah crackahs, and a tin of blackstrap molasses. You have Matthew delivah that to Annamae, and you may come for suppah on Saturday with yore young man.”

  “We’re having a fish fry at the ferry landing on Saturday, Miss Loretta. You wouldn’t miss that. Besides, I don’t know if Clay will be coming into town this week. He received those new seedlings from California. But I do thank you kindly for the invite.”

  “Girl, in mah day, we had bettah sense than to allow a man to keep us danglin’. We had ways back then of makin’ a man attend us. Shame you young things don’t know now. You ain’t payin’ attention to those reprehensible women advocatin’ the vote, are you? N o,” she answered for Dara, “you wouldn’t.” Attentive to smoothing the fit of her lace gloves, she added. “Mah advice, Dara, is to watch out for men like that charmer you spoke with this mawnin’. We had names for men like him and one of ’em wasn’t gentlemen. But Ah digress from mah point. You should be married long since and earin’ for yore family—oh, don’t be givin’ me that buttah-wouldn’t-melt-in-yore-mouth look! Ah suppose it wouldn’t do me a bit of good to tell you to make Clayton jealous? Thought not,” she said, shaking her head. “But that man, watch him. His kind will be fillin’ the town. They talk smooth and soft, girl. Spark you down by the river one night in the moonlight and move on to the next gal before you finish tyin’ your corset strings.”

  “Miss Loretta!”

  “Don’t be Miss Loretta-in’ me!” She noted the blush staining Dara’s cheeks with bobbing nods of satisfaction. “Yore a fine young woman, Ah prick yore temper some, but I called your mothah mah dearest friend. God rest her, she was a woman who didn’t shy away from callin’ things as she saw them. And she’d be the first to tell you the same.”

  As Miss Loretta reached out for her parasol, Dara covered her gloved hand with her own and smiled. “Miss Loretta, how can you warn me to be careful of these men and still plan to rent out rooms to them?”

  “Ah’ve lived through the war, girl, and with mah virtue intact. If you need more answers, take a long look in yore mirrah.”

  After Miss Loretta left the store, Dara didn’t have a minute to reflect on her advice. She quickly came to the conclusion that the whole town was infected with the same feverish moneymaking schemes.

  Mrs. Leah Tucker came in with her young daughter, Selena, in tow, purchasing every bolt of denim and bull-hide shirting in stock. To Dara she explained, “Ah decided to make up a stock of work clothes for the miners a-comin’. Mah Robert and I talked some, and don’t be takin’ offense, but we’re plannin’ to enlarge our store. I’ll be orderin’ direct for mah own bolts, seein’ as how there’ll be money enough. Ah might even think of havin’ ready-mades.”

  And so the day passed. Before long Dara felt as if she would scream if she heard one more plan to be rich. She had just finished cleaning the coffee grinder when Mabel Saunders arrived, all a-flutter about Miss Loretta’s plans to include a laundry service and extra meals at the boardinghouse. Dara was happy for the young widow, who had struggled hard to raise her daughter alone, but Mabel shocked her with her request.

  “You heah me right. Miz Loretta sez we’ll be rich right soon. Ah wanna see those catalog offerin’s of those Anthony Wayne washahs and one of those fancy new hotel-type wringahs. Cain’t be ’spectin’ me to keep up with washin’s if Ah have to use mah old wood tub and board.”

  While Mabel labored to study the small inked drawings and Dara answered her occasional questions about the explanations below describing the special features, Dara wrote out orders to replace their depleted stock. Frowning when she realized she’d sold most of their tools, she couldn’t help but recall the words of warning the man Silver had offered. But she no longer attempted to urge anyone to use caution.

  “Ah believe Ah’d like this heah one,” Mabel said, pushing the book forward. “An’ this heah wringah.”

  Dara totaled the items. Dismay tinged her voice. “Mabel, they’ll cost eleven dollars and fifty cents, and there’ll be freight charges added.”

  “Ah’ll keep that in mind. Now, don’t ferget to ordah extra cases of bluein’ an’ ammonia for me. Oh, an’ that Cobb’s mottled German soap. You had it on special, but Ah saw it’s all gone. Pit minin’s right dirty work, so Ah’ll need good cleanahs.”

  “Where did you hear it was pit mining?”

  “Miz Loretta. She done tole me that’s how they’ll dig out this heah phosafat the papers called white gold. Luthah, you know. He lived neah them phosafat pits in Tennessee when he was a boy.”

  Mabel chattered a few minutes more about everyone’s plans and then left. Dara could only question people’s wisdom. Jake had begun wearing his gun. He’d stopped in twice today, briefly, to check on her. Jesse and Miss Loretta expounded warnings, and so had that annoying man Silver. Wishing her father would come back early from her brother’s new farm, Dara began the routine of closing the store.

  She locked the front doors, pulled the shades down, covered the barrels of pickles and crackers, along with the pickled beef, then rearranged the few bolts of material left on the dry-goods table. Behind the counter she had to s
traighten the jars of spices, the nearly depleted tins of healing borax, powdered sulphur, petroleum oil, and bottles of witch hazel. Gathering up the scattered catalogs from where they had been tossed here and there, she placed them in their cubbyhole below the counter and pulled out her account book. The list that fell to the floor had her frowning.

  She should have known her father would deliberately forget his promise to try to collect a few of the overdue bills. But then, Cyrus Owens was known far and wide as a man most generous with his less-fortunate neighbors. Dara crumpled the list in her hand. Every spare penny they had went toward buying her brother Pierce his dream of his own farm. It was one more reason why she and Clay couldn’t be married. Resentment rose within her, but from long habit she stifled it. She should have taken matters into her own hands as her mother before her had done.

  Polite reminders could be written and slipped along with purchases into the farm wives’ worn baskets when they next came to shop. But the final decision rested with her father. Her head began to ache and she removed her spectacles, rubbing the bridge of her nose. The store suddenly seemed stifling.

  Emptying the money drawer into the bank sack, Dara knew she wouldn’t bother to deposit so small an amount; most of the purchases had been made on credit today. She carefully hid the sack behind the bottles of bay rum. Matt hadn’t spared more than an hour or so this morning to help her, and she was tired and hungry. There was still the laundry to take in and fold, and supper to be cooked. Overwhelmed, she wanted to cry.

  The scrape of boot heels in the back of the store made her look up. Despair filled her eyes before anger surged hot. The man loomed in the doorway, appearing to her like some evil specter planning her ruin. Dara didn’t have the strength to cope with more of his inflammatory verbal sparring.

  “We’re closed,” she snapped before he said a word. “Especially to your kind.”

  Her undisguised scorn had him stepping forward. “Someday,” he intoned coolly, “you must take the time to explain that remark, but not now. I came here to get you for M att.”