“Any of his men?”
“No.” Samantha pulled down the sash, leaving only about a two-inch opening to allow a stirring of air.
“Well, I hope Jake comes up here quick to tell us what happened.”
Samantha checked the pistol Jake left for them, handing it to Will. “Jake isn’t with them.”
“He’s not?” The gun fell on Will’s lap. “Where do you think he is?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.” Samantha wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. “You going to be all right?”
“Sure.” Will slid his fingers around the gun butt.
“I’ll ask Mrs. Tew to look in on you.” With that, Samantha marched out the door and down the street.
The sheriff had already left his office, if in fact he’d gone there at all. Samantha scanned the street and spotted the sheriff’s roan, among a group of horses tied in front of the States’ Rights Saloon. Squaring her shoulders, Samantha headed down the boardwalk.
She’d never darkened the door of this particular establishment... and not just because of its Rebel sounding name. But she did so now, pausing only a moment when her entrance caused conversation to cease. After all, embarrassment was the least of her problems.
“Sheriff Hughes.” Samantha moved next to him at the polished mahogany bar. “I see you returned empty-handed.”
Hughes turned, squinting over the rim of a shot glass filled with amber liquid. “What are you doin’ in here, girl?”
“I might ask you the same. Didn’t you leave town with the intention of finding Landis Moore?” Samantha could feel the attention of the other men standing at the bar, but she tried to ignore them.
“Couldn’t find him,” Hughes offered before upending his glass and noisily gulping down the spirits.
“I see.” With arms crossed tightly under her breasts, Samantha continued, “And may I inquire where you looked?”
Hughes straightened, backhanding the liquid from his thick lips. “Well, little missy, I don’t usually answer to anyone about how I do my job, but I’ll give you this in hopes you’ll stop chewing on this bone. We checked out the old Colt place, and then rode over Missouri way. Talked to some of his kin... an uncle.
“Said Landis and Ab set out for Tennessee just that morning.” The sheriff puffed out his considerable chest. “Also said Landis and his brother was home last Sunday night. Says he’ll swear to it.”
“Then he’s lying,” Samantha countered. “Where’s Jake... Mr. Morgan?”
Hughes’s eyes narrowed until she could hardly see them in his cauliflower face. “Funny thing about that man of yours. He just rode off. Don’t rightly know where he was off to. He tell any of you men?”
Samantha glanced around to witness a general shaking of heads and negative grunts from the members of the posse, who seemed to hang on Hughes’s every word.
“Well, there you have it, missy. If you ask me, you and your brother should—”
But Samantha didn’t wait around to hear what Sheriff Hughes suggested. Head high, she swept out of the saloon, not stopping for anything until she reached the quiet haven of her hotel room. She closed the door behind her, leaning into it and wringing her hands.
Her emotions were near the boiling point and she couldn’t even decide what it was she felt. Anger, of course, at the potbellied, ignorant sheriff and his contention that Landis Moore was innocent of hurting Will. But there was more.
Jake Morgan.
What could have happened to him? Did he really ride off without a second thought to Will... to her? Samantha bit her lip to keep the tears from pouring over her lashes. It made sense. Why would he want to hang around here? He made it clear from the beginning that he was only passing through. What better time to continue his trip to Texas than when he could accomplish it with no drawn-out good-byes or explanations?
Samantha sniffed and moved farther into the room, feeling guilty because Will was next door wondering what was going on and she didn’t have the courage to face him.
She sank on the bed and another thought came. What if Jake didn’t leave? What if he was still looking for Landis Moore? By himself? Or worse, what if something had happened to him and the sheriff didn’t tell her?
She jumped up and paced to the window, then back to the bed. How could she find out the truth? And what could she do about it even if she knew?
A thump sounded, then another, and Samantha stared at the wall separating her room from Will’s. He was using the crutch she’d purchased for him at the mercantile—and not the way she’d intended.
Sighing, Samantha opened the door and walked to the adjacent room, wondering what in the world she was going to tell Will.
~ ~ ~
Nearly three days passed and still there was no word of Jake. Samantha returned from selling milk she got from Faith to Sam Jenkins at the restaurant and knocked on Will’s door. His voice sounded crotchety when he said to come in. He was hobbling around on his crutch, bumping into the washstand, then turning to knock into the bed.
“You seem to be getting the hang of it,” Samantha offered, then settled down in a chair by the window when he only scowled at her. She picked up the blue silk gown and began stitching the bodice... more for something to do with her hands than anything else.
She’d decided not to remake the dress for Peggy Keane. Too many things bound her to the gown to sell it. Instead—and she really couldn’t come up with a sensible reason for doing it—she was altering the dress for herself.
“I told Mr. Kelsy at the livery we’d be leaving tomorrow.” Samantha looked up from her stitching to watch Will lower himself into the other chair in the room.
“I’m still not sure we should go back to the farm just yet. Jake said—”
“What Jake said or didn’t say no longer matters.” She rammed the needle through the ruffled silk. “He isn’t here. Landis Moore is supposedly off in Tennessee and we’re running out of money. Besides”—Samantha glanced up and smiled. “I still have a corn crop to harvest. I spoke with Jim Farley about coming out to help and he—”
“Jake wouldn’t just run off and leave us like this.”
Samantha’s lips pruned. She’d ended up telling Will everything because she hadn’t known what else to say. No great surprise to her, Will chose to believe that Jake was off looking for Landis Moore by himself.
“But the point is, Jake didn’t come back.” Samantha didn’t see any reason for Will not to face reality. “And we need—”
“You have more money. Jake gave you some.”
“Yes. But I’m not going to use it. It’s bad enough he had to pay for our hotel rooms and food. I’ll pay that back. And—” Samantha held up her hand to quiet Will’s next objection. “If he doesn’t come back, I’ll hold it for him. Maybe someday, when he gets settled, he’ll write, and I’ll send it to him.”
“I still say he’ll be back.”
“Then he’ll find us at the farm.” Samantha bit off a thread. “The sheriff said Moore’s off somewhere in Tennessee, so I don’t think he’ll cause us any more trouble.” At least she hoped not. Though she definitely felt safer in town, she couldn’t leave their only source of livelihood for too long.
“Can we at least go to the dance?”
“The dance?” Samantha looked over into Will’s face, noticing a touch of color seep into his cheeks.
“Yeah. There’s a town dance tonight. Didn’t you know?”
Of course she knew. Peggy Keane made sure she did—or rather that Jake did. “Yes. I saw them laying the dance floor out in front of the school. But Will, what do you want to go to a dance for? You can barely get around.”
“I can watch. Being stuck in this room is awful. Besides, you could wear that blue dress you’ve been sewing on.”
What was it with this dress? Did everything else she wore look so bad that people longed to see her in the blue gown? Samantha didn’t want to answer that—even to herself. But for heaven’s sake, she had a farm to run. That did
n’t leave much time for gussying up.
But what would it hurt for one night? Will had had a rough time of it. They both had.
“All right. I’ll see if Mr. Tew will help you down the stairs, and we’ll go for a little while. But we’re not staying late,” Samantha cautioned when Will’s face blossomed in a smile. “We have to get an early start for the farm tomorrow.”
The gown was lovely. Samantha took another turn in front of the mirror nailed over the washstand, and smiled. The skirt swirled around, then floated down on the one petticoat Samantha had. It might look better if the skirt stood out more, but there was no help for it.
Samantha fingered the short puffy sleeves and the ruffled silk adorning the off-the-shoulder décolletage and wished Jake were here for yet another reason. She’d like for him to see her in the gown, but...
Tapping at the door made Samantha turn from the mirror. Mrs. Tew stood in the hall clutching an ornate bottle. “Just thought you might like to splash on some of this,” she said as she entered the room. “Mr. Tew brought it all the way from St. Louis for me when he went to visit his sister last year.”
“Oh, Mrs. Tew, I couldn’t.”
“Poppycock. Of course you could. Here, smell,” She stuck the opened bottle under Samantha’s nose and watched as a slow smile spread across her face.
“Roses,” Samantha said, looking up. “My mother used to smell like this.”
“And you shall, too. Now bend closer.”
“But really, I can’t take your toilet water. Besides, it was enough that you fixed my hair.” Samantha patted the curls the older woman had pulled back on the sides and let trail down her back.
“Just a little.” Mrs. Tew dampened her finger and touched it to Samantha’s neck, then her temple, and finally the undersides of her wrists. Mrs. Tew leaned back, smiling her apple-faced grin. “Now you’re ready.”
Samantha gave Mrs. Tew a quick hug then went next door for Will. He was waiting for her, leaning on his crutch, and sporting a clean shirt. His chin dropped when he saw her. “Gee, Sam... I mean Samantha. I never saw you looking like that.”
“Do you like it?” Samantha spun around, listening as the silk rustled around her ankles.
“Well, yeah. I mean it’s real pretty. You’re real pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s just...”
“What?”
“I wish Jake was here.”
The smile faded from Samantha’s face. “Well, he’s not.” She probably wouldn’t mind so much if she hadn’t been thinking the same thing. “Are you ready?”
The Ladies’ Guild and their hard-working husbands had transformed the area in front of the schoolhouse. As they maneuvered through the crowd, Samantha heard comments that this wasn’t the Guild’s best effort, but to her and Will it looked magical.
“Let me see if I can find us a seat. Samantha walked in front of Will, clearing a path. “Are you doing all right?”
“Sure am.” Will swung his broken leg up to meet the crutch he’d planted firmly on the ground. “Would you look at those paper lanterns? Ain’t they grand?”
A string of Oriental-looking lanterns hanging between one corner of the schoolhouse and the sycamore tree in the play yard swung gently in the chilly air. Samantha turned around, taking in the lights, the crowd all dressed in their Sunday best, and the excited gleam on Will’s face, and was very glad she came.
“Let’s go over there, Will.” Samantha pointed to a spot close to where the musicians warmed up—Tommy Morton, the undertaker and cabinet maker, who played the fiddle passably well; old Eli Greenwich, his chaw of tobacco puffing out his cheek, who lovingly strummed the strings of his banjo; and Amanda Phillips, the minister’s wife and piano player, who was trying to get the two men to follow her lead. “You can sit on the stump till I find you something more comfortable. And I think you can see everything pretty well from there.”
By the time Samantha and Will made it through the crowd lining the perimeter of the wood plank dance floor constructed for the event, the stump was occupied by Miss Hannah Criswell. The elderly lady gave Samantha and Will a howdy-do, and even questioned Will about his leg. But she didn’t give up her seat.
“Wait here.” Samantha leaned toward Will’s ear after Miss Hannah returned to watching the dancers square off for a reel. “I’ll find you something to sit on.”
The dancing started and Samantha cut a wide berth around the townsfolk as she headed for the open doors of the schoolhouse. Inside, under the hungry eyes of some of the town’s children, the women of the Guild were setting out rum cakes and cookies, and sandwiches piled high with beef and ham. The punch bowl sat on planks they’d placed with one end on the teacher’s desk and the other on a pile of wooden crates.
“Excuse me.” Samantha stopped in front of Mrs. Weston, who was arranging oatmeal cookies on a platter.
“The cookies are three for a penny, but I get to pick which ones you get,” the woman said without glancing up.
Samantha’s gaze dropped to the cookies, noticing when she did, the charred edges on some of them, then back up at the woman. “I don’t want any cookies. But do you think I could take one of these school benches outside?”
The woman looked up, her mouth pursed. “You’re that Lowery girl, ain’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Samantha had never had much contact with Mrs. Weston, whose husband owned one of the saloons, but she knew the Westons had sympathized with the Confederacy during the war.
“You look fit enough to stand,” Mrs. Weston said, continuing with her task.
“The bench is for my brother, Will. He has a broken leg.” Samantha tried to keep her tone pleasant but her jaw hurt from clenching it.
“Yes, I heard about that.” Mrs. Weston paused. “From the sheriff. Heard you had him running off after Landis Moore.”
“I’ll take that bench,” Samantha said, staying only long enough to watch Mrs. Weston’s flabby jaw drop. The older woman recovered quickly though, and before Samantha had lifted the unwieldy bench, she was admonishing her to bring it back when the dances were over, her tone frigid as the threat of sleet.
Biting her tongue to keep her caustic retort from slipping out, Samantha struggled through the door. She didn’t get three steps outside before again being confronted about the bench.
“Hey there, pretty lady. What you doing carrying such a heavy thing? Here, let me take it.”
Before Samantha could object, the bench was hauled out of her arms and up against a burly chest. A boyishly handsome face above that chest smiled down at her. “Where do you want this?”
“I can take it really.”
“Don’t be silly. You just lead the way, little lady, and Amos Smith will follow.”
Thus Samantha was introduced to Amos, a farmer new to the area, and her first partner for the evening. For once he’d deposited the bench, and helped Will settle into it, Amos refused to take any thanks except to lead Samantha around the dance floor in a lively waltz.
Once begun, Samantha seemed unable to stop the flood tide of men, young and old, who asked her to dance. She admitted to herself a liking for the attention, but after a few hours, her feet were aching and her conscience bothering her even more.
After nicely but firmly rejecting the next man who asked her, a tall skinny redhead who bobbed his head several times before weaving off through the crowd, Samantha made her way to Will.
“Oh, I’m sorry for leaving you all alone,” Samantha said, squeezing onto the bench beside her brother.
“That’s all right. I’ve plenty to see. Besides you look like you’re having a good time.”
“I do?” Samantha used her hand to fan her face. “Well, I suppose I am. But I have to tell you my feet feel like Pru’s been clogging on them.” This brought a laugh from Will, and Samantha stood. “Are you hungry? The Ladies’ Guild is selling some nice-looking cakes in there.” Samantha motioned toward the schoolhouse.
After being reminded by W
ill—a needless precaution—that he didn’t like raisins, Samantha reentered the building. She carefully counted out the few remaining coins she brought from home, refusing to use any of the money Jake had left her. She bought Will two iced cakes and a cup of punch. Balancing her purchases, she stepped through the door, almost running into Peggy Keane.
“Why Samantha Lowery, I didn’t know you were still in town.”
“I am.” Samantha bent down and licked a glob of icing off her hand. “But I’m going back to the farm tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m glad you stayed for the dance. You look so pretty. Wherever did you get that gown?”
“Thank you. It was my mother’s. And as for the dance, Will wanted to—”
“Is that handsome Jake Morgan with you?” Peggy’s eyes scanned the crowd. “I do declare, I don’t know why you hide him off at your farm.”
“Actually, I didn’t hide him anywhere. And no, he’s not here.” Samantha shifted to step around Peggy. “I have to take this to Will,” she began, but Peggy drowned out her words.
“Well, there he is. What’s the idea telling me he isn’t here?”
“Who?” Peggy had stepped in front of her again, the icing was dripping, and Samantha didn’t know what the other woman was talking about.
“Why Mr. Morgan, of course. Did you really think I wouldn’t see him?”
“Jake?” Samantha murmured, then turned to look in the direction of Peggy’s stare. Sure enough, taller than most of the crowd, Jake Morgan was moving toward her. Their eyes met and held, and Samantha felt her pulse begin to race. She honestly thought never to see him again; had tried to accept that he had left them to ride after his own dream. Now as excitement coursed through her, she knew she hadn’t accepted anything.
“Is one of these for me?” He took one of the cakes out of Samantha’s hand while she stood stock-still, staring. “I haven’t eaten since noon, and I’m real hungry.”
Samantha watched as he ate the sweet in three bites. When he reached for the second cake, she found her tongue. “Where have you been?” She pulled her hand back. “This is for Will.”
“Missouri and I’ll buy him another one.” This cake disappeared in two bites.
Christine Dorsey Page 25
