Taming Eliza Jane

by Shannon Stacey

  Eliza Jane couldn’t imagine this girl married to the dark and menacing sheriff. “I can’t believe she wants to marry you off to that man.”

  A deceptively fragile-looking hand clutched Eliza Jane’s forearm. “So you think I should run off with Joey?”

  Oh, good Lord! “No, Beth Ann. You can’t just run away to marry somebody your parents disapprove of.”

  “I’m old enough.”

  “Even so, running away is not the answer. Destroying your relationship with your family won’t make you happy in the long run. You need to explain to your mother how you feel and keep on explaining until she has no choice but to listen.”

  Beth Ann’s mouth drooped into a pretty pout. “Ma won’t ever listen. And you’re the one who goes around saying women should do whatever it is they feel like doing, whenever they want.”

  Eliza Jane jerked back as though she’d been slapped. “That is most certainly not the point of my lectures, young lady.”

  Her tone caused Beth Ann’s eyes to widen and her jaw to drop, but Eliza Jane didn’t care. There was a substantial difference between a woman having the right to make informed decisions about her own life and a young girl throwing her life away on a whim.

  “You need to talk to your mother and tell her how you feel,” she reiterated. “My lecture is mostly pointed toward married women and I absolutely do not recommend disobeying your mother or running away.”

  “But I love Joey,” Beth Ann argued, and her sweet southern accent sounded a little less sweet.

  “Then tell her that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

  The business she had been seeing to all day was an exercise in futility, of course, but it gave her an excuse to extricate herself from the awkward discussion.

  As she neared the end of the main street, Eliza Jane considered paying a visit on the woman who had gazed at her so mournfully during her last lecture.

  The woman’s name, she had discovered from Marguerite, was Dandy Thayer, and she lived somewhere at that end of town. But Marguerite had warned her that, while Dandy vehemently denied he’d ever laid a hand on her, Roland Thayer was not a very nice man. He wouldn’t take kindly to finding his wife in the company of a women’s libber.

  That only made Eliza Jane more determined to talk with Dandy. If what Marguerite said was true, Dandy had taken a risk in attending the lecture, and Eliza Jane considered that the woman was seeking a way to help herself.

  But still, she wasn’t willing to risk angering Roland Thayer by showing up unannounced on their doorstep with no knowledge of the man’s schedule. She would simply keep an eye out for Dandy on the street and in the Mercantile, and maybe manage a private word with her.

  For now Eliza Jane had to refocus her energies on finding employment. And from this point on she’d try to avoid proprietors in pink shirts.

  “Hey, Doc. I’m heading over to the saloon for some lunch. Spare me a few minutes?”

  Will wasn’t much for the saloon, but he wouldn’t be able to talk Adam into going anywhere else. If the sheriff didn’t have his noonday shot of calm, there would be bodies by supper.

  Maybe he’d even knock one back himself, just to cool the fire for a certain pain in the ass female that was burning in the pit of his stomach. But just the one.

  When they stepped up to the bar, the barkeep set up the sheriff’s glass, then looked Will over. “Howdy, Doc. I gotta warn you, we’re fresh out of milk.”

  Will tried to stare him down, but the barkeep had too many years experience staring down badder men than Will Martinson. Finally, he gestured toward Adam’s shot glass. “Give me what he’s having.”

  “You sure, Doc? You remember what happened last time.”

  “Hellfire, just give me a drink. I only intend to have one.”

  The barkeep set him up a round and moved on down the counter. Since Adam was still too busy laughing at him to talk, Will perused the oil painting of a voluptuous nude hanging over the bar. As a rule he’d always found robust redheads mighty attractive, but now he’d bet Eliza Jane naked would make the artist’s model look like a lump of unkneaded dough decked out in feathers and a red wig.

  He took a sip off the whiskey, careful to keep his expression suitably manly while it seared a trail of fire down his gullet and exploded in his gut.

  He’d just bet that, as tall as Eliza Jane was, her legs were plenty long enough to wrap around a man’s waist and—

  “We’ve got us a problem with that damn women’s libber,” Adam interrupted.

  Of course, he didn’t know he was interrupting. Or what. And since Will intended to keep it that way, he gave the sheriff his full attention. “What kind of problem?”

  “Saw her talking to Beth Ann Barnes on the street a short time ago. That’s a kind of trouble we don’t need.”

  “Shit. I’ll keep a closer eye on her.” It was an appealing thought.

  Adam polished off his drink and set the empty glass on the slab of polished wood hard enough to get the barkeep’s attention. Will’s was still three-quarters full, so he declined a second pour.

  “The way I see it, Doc, it might be time for a little less watching and a little more action.”

  Will guessed when it came to Eliza Jane, the action he was considering taking and the action Adam was considering were mighty different. “What exactly is it you expect me to do, Sheriff? Lock her up ‘til the stage comes through?”

  He could tell by the silence the son of a gun was considering it. “Adam, she hasn’t broken any laws. And trust me, she doesn’t want to cross paths with Lucy Barnes any more than you do.”

  “Doubt that, since Lucy ain’t looking to make her family.”

  They were quiet a moment, each lost in thought. Will’s were a jumble and mostly centered around Eliza Jane—what she was doing, what she shouldn’t be doing and what he wanted her to be doing.

  “How’s Miss Adele faring?” Adam asked after a while. Since Adam had as little as possible to do with the Chicken Coop, he was no doubt asking more for Will’s sake than an overwhelming concern of his own.

  “Not well,” Will replied, staring down into the amber depths of his drink. “I don’t reckon she’ll hold out much longer.”

  It was a painful thing to contemplate, and he took a healthy swig of liquor. It burned, but not as badly as the thought of Miss Adele dying.

  “I’ll be sorry for her passing,” Adam said, “on account of my knowing you think highly of her.”

  Will’s glass was nearly empty, so he accepted more from the barkeep, then waited until the man moved on. “My own mother hasn’t spoken to me since I volunteered as a Union doctor. I couldn’t make my family understand why I thought preserving the country was so important. I write Ma a letter every year for her birthday, but she’s never responded.”

  “I’m sorry for that, too, even though my brothers and I wore gray.”

  “You can quit being sorry for what you ain’t done.”

  “It’s an expression,” the sheriff muttered. “And Miss Adele’s an interesting choice to replace your ma.”

  “Nobody could replace my mother. But when I came to Gardiner and she approached me about tending to her chickens’ medical needs, we just took a shine to one another.”

  “No offense, Doc, but I reckon she’s taken a shine to a lot of fellows.”

  Will punched him in the arm. “Not that kind of shine. For me, Miss Adele is like a mother without the expectations and judgmental nature.”

  “Well, I tell you what. When she passes on, you and I can come here and I’ll buy a bottle so you can have yourself a good cry.”

  The barkeep snickered and Will pushed away his glass. “You’re such a good friend, Adam. But since everybody in Gardiner already knows I’m a maudlin drunk, if I take to the bottle to drown my sorrows, I reckon I’ll do it in private.”

  “Don’t feel bad, Doc,” the barkeep interrupted. “You won’t be the only man in this town sad to see that old whore go.
We’ll be raising our glasses to her when the time comes.”

  The Will Martinson he’d been before the war would have driven the man’s teeth down his throat for referring to a woman Will cared about in such a disrespectful manner. But the years of horror, followed by his years of wandering and in Gardiner had mellowed him, and he knew no disrespect was intended. The man was a barkeep, Will was a doctor and Miss Adele was an old whore. Simple as that.

  “That’s real nice, but I’ll do my heavy drinking alone, all the same.”

  “When the time comes I’ll give you a bottle on the house. You can take it home with you.”

  Will nodded his appreciation and the man wandered off to serve a couple of cowboys who’d come in.

  Adam stood and dropped a couple of coins on the bar. “Maybe you’ll get drunk enough to do something about the hankerin’ you’ve got for that damn women’s libber.”

  Will didn’t respond as he followed the sheriff out of the saloon into the blazing sun. He couldn’t really deny he had a hunger for her, but he didn’t want to talk about it, either.

  Adam pushed back his hat to scratch his head. “Course, knowing her, she’ll expect to be on top.”

  Before Will could think of a suitable reply—if there was one—the sheriff walked away, his laughter trailing behind him.

  Chapter Six

  It was with a weary soul and wearier feet Eliza Jane walked down the plank sidewalk to the Chicken Coop the following afternoon. Nobody in Gardiner was inclined to offer the troublesome women’s libber a job, and their reactions had ranged from tear-inducing laughter to righteous indignation she had the gall to ask.

  Even after Augustus divorced her, his settlement and her inheritance had more than met her financial needs. She’d never given more than a passing thought to money.

  Now she was growing desperate. Despite what she’d told the sheriff, she had been keeping a small amount of cash on hand for incidental purchases when Edgar ran like the cowardly dog he was. If she was frugal, she could afford simple meals at the restaurant for a few more days. But if she didn’t find a job, she would find herself in dire straits very soon.

  She was still poor, still unemployed, and hoping like the dickens she was still early enough in the day to not catch the chickens plying their trade. There was only so much a woman could take in one day.

  At the sound of the door closing, one of the chickens—a perky redhead named Betty—peered down over the stair railing with her hair tied up in rag curlers. “Howdy, Mrs. Carter!”

  “Good afternoon, Betty. I’ve come to pay a call on Miss Adele, if it’s a good time.”

  “We’re all getting ready for work since our knittin‘s going a mite bit slower than we hoped, but Miss Adele just woke up from a nap and I reckon she’d be glad for the company. Go on back to her room if you like.” She waved and went back to her preparations.

  Miss Adele, even on her deathbed, managed to look more attractive than Eliza Jane felt. The madam waved a hand toward the gilt chair next to her bed. Folding her tall frame down onto the tiny, decorative seat made her feel even more gauche.

  “My chickens tell me it’s a beautiful day out there, Eliza Jane. Why the glum face?”

  “Nobody will offer me a job,” she replied, trying for a matter-of-fact tone, but even she could hear the despair in her voice.

  “From what I hear, child, you’ve managed to make yourself mighty unpopular with both the menfolk and the Bible Brigade. Have you tried Marguerite over at the restaurant? She’s a reasonable sort and always busy as a one-armed muleskinner.”

  “I’m not a very good cook, I’m afraid,” Eliza Jane confessed. “I’m at wit’s end, Miss Adele. I honestly am. That’s why I came to you.”

  The woman’s black-rimmed eyes widened. “You know I think the world of you, child. You even remind me a little bit of myself—raising hell and turning menfolk on their ear. But you ain’t so much like me I think you’d make a good chicken.”

  Eliza Jane almost leapt off the chair when she realized how Miss Adele had taken her words. “No! No, I don’t want to be a chicken. I mean, I like them just fine, but I… Well, to be honest, I’m not very good at that, either.”

  “Oh sweetheart, you just haven’t met up with the right man yet.”

  Eliza Jane thought of Will and those naughty, delicious words he’d said to her behind his examination curtain. …and the other hand is holding a pillow to her mouth so her screaming doesn’t wake the whole damn town and she can’t even talk because it’s all she can do to breathe… Lord, she felt the heat climb into her face just thinking about it.

  Unfortunately, it seemed the madam didn’t miss it. “I hear you’ve been keeping company with my William. Do you like him well enough?”

  Well enough to what? She liked him well enough to be thinking about him at all hours. And she liked him well enough to practically drape herself across him in his exam room. “He’s…nice.”

  “He’s nice?”

  “Yes. He’s nice and he’s smart and he’s very handsome.” Eliza Jane looked down at her hands. “To be honest, he makes me wish I was more like the chickens.”

  Miss Adele laughed until her dying lungs robbed her of air. “You don’t have to be a whore to have sex with a man, child. You’re even allowed to enjoy it.”

  Eliza Jane’s face was so hot she was surprised her hair didn’t catch fire. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. And it certainly wasn’t the topic she’d had in mind when she arrived.

  Up until recently she would have found the idea of discussing her intimate matters with a prostitute preposterous, but now she found herself wishing she’d met this woman before she’d married Augustus.

  “Eliza Jane, I know you consider yourself a liberated woman. Well, it’s time to liberate yourself from feeling undue shame and go liberate that man from his clothes.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth, but not fast enough to catch the startled laughter. “Miss Adele, that’s…”

  “Scandalous? Child, I used to be a good girl—well, as good as I could be—but life became a whole lot more fun after I gave it up. You only get one chance, so it’s up to you to decide if you want to go to your grave having lived what other people decided was a good life, or if you want to go out knowing you held on for one hell of a ride.”

  Eliza Jane’s eyes inexplicably burned with tears despite her smile. “You make it sound so fun and easy.”

  “Oh, it can be fun, but it ain’t always easy. And if you decide to bed William, I don’t reckon you should advertise it. But sometimes you’ve just got to do what makes you happy and damn anybody who doesn’t like it.”

  The madam was overtaken by another coughing fit, and though she was quick to discard her handkerchief, Eliza Jane saw the red stain on the white linen. She didn’t need a Harvard medical degree to know Miss Adele was getting worse.

  After sipping from the glass of water next to her bed, Miss Adele folded her hands under her ample breasts. “Since you’ve set your sights on bedding my William and not just any cowboy with jingling pockets, how is it you think I can help you?”

  Despite Miss Adele’s open and friendly manner, Eliza Jane found herself shifting nervously on the fragile seat. “I apologize for being forward and indelicate—”

  The other woman interrupted her with a deep chuckle. “Not many folks would apologize for saying something indelicate to a whore.”

  “Miss Adele, regardless of your profession, I hold you in higher personal regard than some other women in this town.”

  The madam’s expression made her feelings about Lucy Barnes and her followers quite plain. “Go back to the forward and indelicate thing you were about to say to me.”

  “Yes, about that. I was wondering if perhaps any of the business owners in town are particular…friends of yours.”

  Miss Adele’s eyebrows rose into high, graceful arches. “That’s quite a favor you’re asking of me, Eliza Jane.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.�
�� Embarrassed, she got to her feet and considered how best to extricate herself from the conversation. She must be more tired and discouraged than she knew to ask a woman she barely knew to essentially blackmail a customer on her behalf. “I shouldn’t have imposed on you like this.”

  Miss Adele grasped her wrist before she could flee the room. Though the grip was weak, Eliza Jane allowed herself to be stayed. “I can arrange for you to find a job, but I’ll ask a mighty big favor in return.”

  “Anything.” And she meant it. The idea of begging charity from any of the few friends she had in Gardiner was entirely unpalatable—even more unpalatable than extortion—and she’d do anything to avoid that.

  “Nobody knows this, but I’ve sent a letter to my niece, Rebecca, asking her to come. If I die before she gets here, I want you to help my chickens. They may earn their livings being women, but in some ways they’re like little girls, and ain’t one of them with a lick of business sense. Without their mama figure, they might just fall to pieces.”

  Eliza Jane pulled back her arm until she was holding the other woman’s hand. “I promise I’ll tend to the chickens, Miss Adele. And you know Will won’t let any harm come to them.”

  Miss Adele gave her a sly look. “Seems like you could watch over them together.”

  “You’ve got a unique way of matchmaking, Miss Adele. Will and I can discover our love for one another while playing father and mother to a coop of orphaned chickens?”

  The madam winked. “It’s a grand plan, ain’t it?”

  Will had heard all about Eliza Jane’s futile search for employment. It seemed he couldn’t walk two feet down the sidewalk before somebody stopped him with another gossipy chapter of the story. And too many people seemed to be enjoying it a little too much for his liking.

  He knew he’d spent more time with her than most folks, but it still irked him they couldn’t see she was a decent woman just trying to do what she thought was right.