by Carol Arens
What had happened to her in her young life to make her a slave to prostitution and addiction?
Poor thing. Agatha understood more than most people did, that life could take a person in a direction she would not have chosen.
She scanned the ground near the sallow-skinned woman, looking for a bottle. Yes, there it was, just under her hand.
“I’ve run out of laudanum.” The woman gazed up at her with unfocused eyes, her mouth slack. “Go into my trailer and fetch me another bottle, won’t you?”
Something dark, fearful, raised its head inside of Agatha, snarled its claws about her. As clearly as she heard the wind rustle the brush, she heard its seductive voice.
She backed away without answering the prostrate woman.
Even though her hands grew damp and her stomach nauseous, she was not going to pick up the laudanum. If she did, she feared she would find a dim corner and drink it down.
It was time for a visit to the elephant. She cut across the yard, rushing past the bull hand who guarded the huge pachyderms against curious townsfolk.
It was not those elephants she sought. It was the one inside the big top that drew her.
Pausing beside the entrance, she glanced behind her. In the distance she spotted a man making his way up the stony path toward town. Something about him, the way he moved, seemed familiar—reassuring.
That was odd since she could see nothing of him but the back of his coat as he huddled against the wind. Odder still, that a stranger could give her a sense of comfort.
Agatha hurried across the floor of the Big Top. Glancing about, she ducked behind the canvas where Gloria stood still and majestic even in death.
She wouldn’t visit for long. Mr. Brown did not like people near his elephant unless it was by a personal invitation or purchased ticket.
This was a rule that Agatha had ignored from the first moment she saw the beast.
“I’m not you,” she whispered to the hulking gray corpse.
But she had been. Under the influence of the laudanum that Hilda Brunne had kept her subdued with, she had been as lifeless as this elephant.
Dead inside, gray and still outside, appearing to have life but with no spark of animation.
Some people might think it strange that she likened her past to this petrified creature—she even thought so sometimes. But other times, when she was afraid, when simply giving a stranger the time of day made her want to hide away—she needed to be reminded that she was alive—to vow that she would never again be a slave to laudanum.
She feared this great hulking creature that seemed to represent life in death.
She feared herself, what she might have become without the help of William English.
Yes, Ivy had been the one to help her overcome her addiction, but it had been William who kept her from going back to it when, fearing her sister had died, she wanted to find oblivion again.
On that wicked stormy night, he’d placed a book in her hands and made her read it out loud to him. It hadn’t been easy to do, given that she was mightily distracted by the masculine scent of him, by the warmth of his arm and the lean muscle of his thigh touching hers while they sat on the couch waiting.
Of course, she’d had a crush on him for years. But whenever her young heart would begin to flutter, Nurse Brunne would point out that she was not fit for any man, especially not one like William English.
She’d been right about that. William was a prince and she had been—dead—like this poor elephant.
But she would not be again.
Today she was breathing, alive and getting stronger. No one, or nothing in a beguiling little bottle would take that new freedom from her.
* * *
The stew was not thickening as it should. No matter how long it cooked, it remained broth and not gravy.
The Fat Lady would hate it.
“I don’t know what’s wrong, Laura Lee.” The Fat Lady was not the only one who was going to be displeased. “Frenchie Brown will be angry.”
“I’m homesick,” Laura Lee stated as though Agatha had not spoken.
“He’s going to bellow at us if his food isn’t correct.”
“It’s been two months and I miss the Lucky Clover to my bones. I’m going home, tomorrow.” Laura Lee turned to look at Agatha, moisture glittering in her eyes. “Did you add flour?”
“Going home!”
She couldn’t go home! The two of them had come on this adventure together. Why, Ivy and Travis would never have allowed her to come if Laura Lee hadn’t accompanied her.
Especially had they ever dreamed the adventure would lead to this cook trailer.
As far as anyone back home knew, she and Laura Lee were working in the kitchen of a fancy hotel in Cheyenne.
Before Agatha had even become skilled at peeling potatoes, the hotel closed for good. Within a couple of days, Laura Lee had secured them this job.
Maybe she ought to have gone home then, let her friend go on alone, but she had set out to find independence. What could be more daring than living among circus folks?
“I’ve got to go. You know how I was sweet on Johnny Ruiz?”
How could she not know? At only five miles from home Laura Lee had begun to sigh over him and hadn’t quit.
“We’ve been writing to each other every day. He’s coming for me and we’re going back home to be married.”
“But you haven’t finished teaching me to cook.”
What a cowardly thing to say! Agatha regretted it the instant the words left her mouth.
“You came here—joined a circus for mercy’s sake—in order to learn to stand on your own.”
Yes—it was true that she had. Still, she hadn’t learned nearly enough about cooking to do it on her own and she’d discovered that circus people did enjoy their meals.
“You should go, Laura Lee!” She really should. “Go home and have lots of sweet little babies with Johnny.”
Dropping the wooden spoon into the large pot of watery stew, Agatha wrapped her arms around her friend. With luck she would believe the tears on her cheeks were tears of joy, and they were for the most part.
But it couldn’t be denied that she was indulging in a big dose of self-pity. She hadn’t a doubt in the world that once Ivy knew where she was, she would send someone to fetch her home.
Ivy would not come herself. She had a newborn to care for, and a ranch to run. But someone would come and she was not nearly ready.
“Don’t look so worried, Agatha.” Laura Lee let go of her and scooped up a cup of flour, mixed it with water. “I know you’re concerned about being forced to go home. But I’ll assure your sister and Travis that you are thriving and the circus people are watching over you like they would their own kin.”
Someone was. Mr. Frenchie Brown. She felt his eyes on her back whenever she ventured from the cook trailer.
In her opinion, his attention was not so protective. He frowned at her often, shook his head. Given the chance he would dismiss her.
Agatha watched Laura Lee stir flour mixed with water into the pot. “Look at that! It’s stew. Nice thick stew.”
“Here’s the secret to cooking, although Mrs. Morgan would paddle me for saying so.”
Laura Lee winked. Mischief made her eyes sparkle.
One day Agatha hoped her own eyes would sparkle. They didn’t now, but one day they would. As much as her friends’ did, as much as Ivy’s did. And Ivy’s eyes always sparkled.
“If a dish isn’t right add butter, lots and lots of butter. If it needs to be thicker, flour, and if it’s dessert lots of sugar, and butter, butter, butter—a good dose of cream doesn’t hurt, either.”
Chapter Two
The door slammed behind the current, and fifth, man that William had presented f
or sheriff. It was hard to tell if the wind had to do with it or if the fellow was hopping mad to have traveled a hundred miles only to be judged unworthy for the position.
William frowned at the citizens sitting in the chairs facing the council table. The way they were going, they would never agree on a lawman.
“I’m glad to see the back of that one,” uttered Mr. Henry Beal. Henry sat beside William at the long council table drumming his fingertips on the polished wood. His vocation of blacksmith showed in the soot rimming his fingernails. “Too prissy to be sheriff if you ask me.”
“And small,” declared a middle-aged woman perched on the edge of her chair. “We need a larger man.”
“Yes, a much larger man.” This from the younger lady sitting beside the woman.
William glanced away quickly when she winked at him and nudged her companion in the ribs.
The wood legs of his chair scraped across the floor when he stood up. He made eye contact—frowned more to the point—at the four men seated with him at the table.
“I understand that you want the best person for the job. We all do. But that man was qualified and willing to accept the pay you offered. He may have been short, but he came highly respected. You read his letters of recommendation.”
“Still too small.” A man stood up from his chair near the front door of the Tanners Ridge Library where town meetings were held, shrugged his shoulders. “I think we all agree on that.”
“He might be married,” came a muffled voice from the back of the room. Just not muffled enough so that folks didn’t hear the comment.
“Really, Aimee.” The woman’s seat neighbor whispered too loudly. “Why do you care? The most eligible bachelor of them all is standing right in front of you. Forget about winning a sheriff.”
“He’s not married.” William pursed his lips.
This was supposed to be a serious meeting, not a matchmaking fest. He ought to be used to that kind of attention by now. Every unmarried woman and her mother knew he was rich, ambitious and needed a wife.
But the matter at hand was to appoint a sheriff. Surely they understood how urgent the need was.
“We’re running out of time, folks,” he pointed out. The man most concerned about the size of the fellow who’d just stormed angrily out of the library sat down. Feminine giggles stopped abruptly. “You know that Pete Lydle will be here soon. Do you really want him opening up a saloon like the one he had in Luminary?”
“I wouldn’t mind having a nice place to play a game of cards,” Henry stood up to say.
“It wouldn’t be a nice place. Pete’s Palace was a hellhole. Drinking, gambling, prostitution—it attracted a lot of unsavory folks.”
“You been there? How do you know?” Henry spread his arms.
“I’m the mayor. It’s my business to know.”
As soon as the old Bascomb Hotel had been sold and rumors of a saloon surfaced, he’d made sure to find out what he could about the new owner. He’d discovered Pete Lydle to be an objectionable fellow who would do anything to earn a dollar. Didn’t matter if the thing was legal or not.
“There are decent watering holes. This town could use one if you ask me,” said a man near the back of the room.
“Maybe Lydle’s gone respectable,” said Henry. “Otherwise why would he come here? Why would old man Bascomb have sold out to him?”
“It wasn’t him who sold out!” Henry’s wife stood to glare at her husband. “It was those next of kin in New York City, did that. And don’t think you will be going to the Bascomb come an evening. Mark my words!”
“Just so!” agreed another woman, coming to her feet and wagging her finger.
“Folks change. You women are seeing the boogeyman when you might not need to.”
“Are you willing to risk the town’s safety on that? You need to hire a sheriff and you need to do it now,” William declared, trying to drive his point home. “What do you think will happen without a lawman to protect you?”
“Maybe that fellow wasn’t so short after all,” Mrs. Peabody declared from her place in the front row. “He did have a hard look in his eye.”
The glare had been because they insulted his stature and questioned his ability, William figured.
“Who else have you got for us?”
“Who else?” Did they think lawmen just wandered by seeking employment every day? “No one.”
“But we need protection!” Mrs. Peabody stood up to speak her mind. She shook her cane to make her point. “We’ll be murdered in our beds when the saloon gets here—if the circus folks haven’t got to us first.”
“We’ve got more’n a month.” Roy Backley, the banker, stood up beside Mrs. Peabody and placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. The mayor will find us someone by then. For now, I say we all enjoy the circus tonight. Forget about that saloon for a while.”
“I second that,” added the blacksmith. “No need to worry now when it might turn out to be a fine establishment. It’s hard to imagine the Bascomb Hotel turning tawdry.”
The owner of the livery, sitting on the right side of William, stood up. “I third that notion and declare this meeting over. See you all at the circus.”
William had lost count of the times he half regretted accepting the position of mayor of Tanners Ridge, but he had to begin his public service somewhere. He’d hoped to get his start as an appointee to the Territorial Legislature of Wyoming, but it hadn’t happened.
The men who made legislative appointments had voted him down because he was not a married man. In their opinion, married men were more stable of character. In William’s opinion, it was their wives wanting other women to socialize with, hold balls and galas and the like.
The loss had been a great disappointment. Especially since he had planned to be married. He’d made an arrangement with Ivy Magee. His money to save the Lucky Clover from ruin in exchange for her hand in marriage. The union would have given him the prestige that the highly respected Lucky Clover had to offer.
In the end she’d turned him down and married Travis Murphy instead.
She was right to have done so. For all that she would have suited his needs, she was a woman who deserved being loved. And Travis loved her to his bones.
The problem with having befriended Ivy was that it complicated his bride hunt. Eligible ladies who would suit his needs in every way threw themselves in his path daily.
An availability of suitable woman was not the trouble.
The trouble was knowing how Ivy loved her man. Having seen it with his own eyes, well—he wanted that now. Or at least something close to it.
He wanted a woman who sparkled for him. But he also wanted to be governor one day. For that he would need a wife and, God willing, children.
Little girls to bounce upon his knee and little boys to play ball with. He wanted them, governorship or not.
“I’d have voted for your man, Mayor English.” William gazed down into the face of a pretty young woman who smiled up at him with a winking dimple. “May I call you William?”
One day he hoped to be as lucky as Travis Murphy.
Gazing down at the woman preening beside him, he doubted it would be today.
* * *
Agatha reread the first three lines of the book on her lap, unable to concentrate. Here in camp, all was peaceful, although the wind swayed the trailer like a cradle.
Everything added up for a cozy evening in the company of fictional characters whom she knew quite well, having read the book four times already.
But just there, beyond the solitude of the nearly abandoned camp, she could hear a crowd of voices raised in merriment.
A part of her longed to be out there, laughing and enjoying the thrills. But the nightly customers were loud and lively—there were just so many people.
>
She ought to force herself to go out, she knew that, but the adventures of Miss Maudie O’Hurley would do for tonight. Indeed, the beleaguered Maudie was about to be carried off by her true love. What could be more thrilling than that?
Being carried off by her own true love, of course.
“You aren’t going to meet him sitting here,” she mumbled.
Still, it was windy outside.
“What if the man of your dreams is visiting the circus at this moment?”
What if the man of her dreams was walking about out there with his dark hair glinting in the torchlight that illuminated the shadowed paths? What if his blue eyes...she’d long known them to be the color of the sky just before sunrise...were sparkling with pleasure at all he was seeing?
What if William was here and she missed him because she was sitting in her safe chair reliving Maudie’s happiness...once again.
Now there was a silly thought. William here? If she was going to indulge in daydreams she might just as soon dwell on something that really happened.
She could at the very least relive the time that William had danced with her at a party hosted at the Lucky Clover. He had only asked her to dance because she was Ivy’s sister, she was certain, but nonetheless it had been magical—the stuff of her dreams.
At the time she hadn’t even had strength enough to stand on her own so that handsome man—that prince—had taken her hand, lifted her with an arm around her back and supported her through a very brief dance.
Nothing that Maudie O’Hurely had experienced came close to that!
Agatha snapped the book closed then crossed the small space to stare out the window. Moonlight cast shadows of tree branches on the roof of the trailer across from hers. They looked like malevolent fingers all twisted and spooky.
“Idiot,” she murmured. “They are shadows and you need to go out.”
Not to find her prince, but to find her strength. The very last thing she needed at the moment was to find a royal protector—or the Wyoming equivalent.
One day that would be a fine thing. Loving a man and having him watch over her, while she in turn watched over him.
