by Chloe Carley
“I hear congratulations are in order,” she said as Joseph stepped up onto the veranda.
“Just doing my duty, Mrs. Talbot,” Joseph said, blushing a little. “Must the whole town know?”
“Mayor Taylor merely informed me as a further reference as to the quality of lodger I keep in this establishment,” she replied, laughing as she followed Joseph inside.
The house had belonged to her late husband, and was a substantial construction of timber-framed Victorian charm. The formal parlor was for her private use, but occasionally she allowed her lodgers to use it, and today she invited Joseph to sit with her a moment, offering him polish for his shoes and watching as the young man went about his meticulous business.
“Who learnt you to polish so precisely?” she asked, watching in fascination as he applied the polish to each part of the shoe and rubbed it in with an expert hand.
“It is an old army habit,” he replied, his concentration fixed upon the shoes.
“Was it not your mother or father who impressed such standards upon you in the first place?” she asked.
“I have neither mother nor father,” he replied.
It was a source of considerable shame for Joseph that he was in effect an orphan—a fact he hid as best he could by always beginning the narrative of his life from his experiences as a soldier.
“I had assumed William Cassidy was a relative of yours,” Eliza said, for she had never really questioned Joseph over his family—a topic which now appeared to be embarrassing him.
“William is a friend, that is all. We experienced the Civil War together, and he was kind to me, but it was the Army that taught me to polish shoes, Mrs. Talbot,” Joseph said, and standing up, he thanked her for her hospitality and excused himself.
Joseph’s room was above the parlor, up a narrow flight of stairs and along a corridor lined with old pictures and a table, atop of which were several large aspidistra plants.
The house was cool, an oasis from the heat of the day, and Joseph lay down upon the freshly made bed and closed his eyes. He was grateful for the solitude, since he hated to be the center of attention. Outside, he could hear the hustle and bustle of Little Hope. A wagon train had just come in, bringing new homesteaders and prospectors out west.
Closing his eyes, Joseph fell into a gentle sleep and was awoken sometime later by the grandfather clock below. Its chimes indicated that it was six o’clock and he was due at the home of Mayor Taylor immediately.
Chapter Two
A Portrait Encounter
Leaping from the bed, Joseph donned his polished boots and straightened his jacket, then rushed down the stairs and out onto the street.
The mayor’s house lay only a few moments’ walk from the center of town, and soon Joseph was standing outside the imposing Victorian façade, with its veranda that stretched right around two sides and delicate gabled windows, the slats painted in blue and white. In front lay a garden with mature trees and roses growing in the rich soil. It was an idyllic setting amidst the often harsh and unforgiving town of Little Hope: a tranquil escape from its hustle and bustle.
“Here goes nothing,” Joseph said to himself, checking his boots once again and stepping through the gate and up onto the veranda.
The maid answered the door, curtseying to the deputy as she ushered him inside. Joseph was asked to wait in the parlor whilst she informed her master of his arrival. Full of apologies for his tardiness, Joseph entered the room, which was neatly furnished, and stood by the hearth looking with interest at his surroundings.
He had never been used to good fortune, and the ostentations of wealth and privilege held little sway for him.
So long as he had a bed on which to lay his head, a roof over his head, and a full stomach, Joseph wanted for nothing much else. His eyes fell upon a portrait above the fireplace, but just at that moment the door to the room opened and the mayor appeared before him, smiling broadly and coming over to take the deputy by the hand.
“You are most welcome, Joseph, most welcome indeed. I see you are admiring our little house here. My daughter Rosalie will join us in a moment. Please do sit down,” the mayor said, indicating a seat opposite from his own.
The maid brought a pitcher of iced lemonade and some glasses. The drink was refreshing after the heat of the day, and Joseph soon found himself relaxing as he listened to the mayor talk of the affairs of the town. He been mayor there for five years, though he’d had had his share of sorrow too, his wife having died three years previously of a fever.
“She was a mighty fine woman, the kindest and most loving person any man could ask for, and my daughters take after her so much. It is as if their mother were still amongst us,” the mayor said, sipping his lemonade.
“You have more than one daughter, then?” Joseph asked. He had assumed that Rosalie was the only one, but Mayor Taylor nodded and pointed to the portrait Joseph had noticed upon his arrival.
“I have two daughters: Rosalie, who’ll you meet momentarily, and my Isabelle, whose portrait is hanging above us. She is far away in New York, attending a finishing school for young ladies. I could not be prouder of her.”
Joseph looked up at the picture above. It portrayed a striking young woman, eloquently executed in pastel shades. He had rarely seen a more beautiful figure, but it was the way in which the artist had captured her eyes which was most striking. As he gazed at the portrait he felt as though Isabelle herself were looking back at him.
“She is strikingly beautiful,” Joseph said, blushing a little at the effect the portrait had had upon him.
“Those are her mother’s looks, of course. She gets none of her beauty from me, of that I can assure you,” Mayor Taylor said, laughing. “But she is also the kindest and most gentle creature on God’s fair earth. Fiercely loyal, too. I can tell you that she would be distraught if she knew what had happened today at Skull Gully. I would get a telling off and that is sure.”
“How long has she been away?” Joseph asked, still staring at the portrait of Isabelle. Transfixed by her.
“These past two years. She must have been leaving just as you returned. It was mighty hard to let her go, but it was for the best. I cannot expect her to stay in a little place like this her whole life. New York City is where the excitement is for a young lady, though I worry about her. We have some relatives there, though, and the school is a most respectable one, run by a religious order. She writes each week to tell us of her news and it won’t be long before she returns,” the mayor said, smiling at Joseph, who now tore his eyes from the portrait and returned his attention to the mayor.
“I should like to meet her when she does,” he said, forgetting his place for a moment, it not being quite correct for a deputy to speak so informally of the mayor’s daughter.
“Son, if you had not saved my life today, my Isabelle would no longer have a daddy. It is the least I can do to introduce you to her. I hope the two of you become friends. Then maybe she’d have a reason to remain here,” Casey said, raising his glass of lemonade to Joseph in a toast.
~
The incident at Skull Gully had shaken him up a little. As mayor of Little Hope, Casey rather thought of himself as invincible.
It was he who had tamed the outlaws in these parts and ensured that the wagon trains in and out of town were safe to travel upon. He had helped establish the mission church and built a schoolhouse. Life was good in Little Hope thanks to the mayor, and he had no doubt as to his own abilities.
But nothing could protect him from a stampede of cattle, not even his mayoral office, and after his brush with death, he had been in something of a reflective mood.
He missed his daughter deeply and longed for her return; perhaps she’d settle down and start a family right here in Little Hope. The deputy sitting before him wouldn’t make a bad son-in-law, that much was certain, though Casey wondered whether Isabelle would stoop to marry a mere deputy, however courageous he was.
He was brought back from his musings by a kn
ock at the door and the entrance of his younger daughter, Rosalie. She looked shy at the sight of Joseph, who rose to greet her, forgetting that he had already removed his hat, his hand going to his head and he in turn blushing with embarrassment as he realized his mistake.
“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said, smiling as he took her hand.
“Rosalie, I would like you to meet Mr. Joseph Stewart, deputy to Sheriff Quentin and the man who saved my life this afternoon,” the mayor said.
“A pleasure to meet you too, sir,” Rosalie replied, taking a seat beside her father and pouring herself some lemonade.
“Where have you been today, Rosalie?” her father asked her.
“Just out tending the horses. One of the men said your horse is lamed, father,” she said, still shyly looking at their visitor.
“That’s right, and it is the reason that Joseph comes to be here this evening. If the horse had not been lamed, then I should not have been walking back into town when those longhorns charged me. It was Joseph’s quick thinking that kept you from being left an orphan,” Casey said.
“Then I thank you kindly for rescuing my father, Mr. Stewart,” Rosalie said, smiling at Joseph, who blushed further.
His experience with women was somewhat lacking. The life of a soldier, and then a wagon man, was in no way conducive to meetings with the fairer sex. Joseph was by no means unattractive—quite the opposite, in fact. He was a handsome man whom many of Little Hope’s women had found themselves attracted to since his arrival.
“You tend the horses, ma’am?” Joseph asked, attempting to cut through the young girl’s shyness.
“She’s as different from her sister as can be imagined,” Casey said, butting in before Rosalie had a chance to reply. “As shy as any creature on the plain, that’s my Rosalie.”
“I ride, too,” she said, looking up from her drink and addressing the deputy directly, ignoring her father’s words.
“Do you now? And do you ride well?” Joseph asked.
“She rides very well, though I do not allow her to ride out by herself when her sister is not here. You know yourself, Deputy, just how lawless the roads can be. We’re lucky to have you and the sheriff to keep order here in the town, but out there it’s a wild west, and make no mistake. I would not allow my Rosalie to ride out alone without her sister here,” Casey said, placing his arm around his daughter.
“I have my own horse, though. His name is Canaan and he’s as fast as any horse in the district,” Rosalie said, warming to her subject. “I could show him to you if you wish? And I am just as capable as my sister when out on the plains.”
“I should like that very much. With your permission of course, sir?” Joseph said, glancing at the mayor, who laughed at his daughter’s enthusiasm.
“We’ll go together. My horse wandered back itself and the farrier is shoeing him now, I believe,” Casey said, downing his glass of lemonade and standing up.
The three of them left the cool of the parlor and made their way through the fine house into the backyard where the stables were. The mayor owned four fine horses, and his own horse was being shod beneath the shade of a tree some distance away.
“This one is Isabelle’s,” Rosalie said, pointing to a black horse with a white patch on its nose. “She calls him Thunder, though my Canaan could outrun him any day.” And she laughed as she led Joseph and her father to the next stall.
Inside were the two other horses: Canaan, a magnificent brown horse who neighed and whinnied at the sight of Rosalie, and next to him a chestnut mare whose name was Indigo. Rosalie said she’d belonged to Rosalie’s late mother.
Joseph stretched out his hand as the two horses approached the door, patting each in turn and commenting upon how fine they were.
“You know, this fella reminds me of a pony we had out in the Civil War. A real worker of a beast, with the sweetest nature about him. He could pull packs all day and still carry you home at night. I used to call him Bertie, and I’d always save a sugar lump from the rations to give to him. The colors on this horse are just the same,” Joseph said, the sight of the horse bringing back vivid memories of times past.
Back in the Civil War, before he had met old William Cassidy, Joseph had spent as much time around the animals as possible.
Bertie had become his closest friend and he would often sleep in the stables, the warmth of the animals preferable to the harsh life of the Civil War encampments. It was there that he had learned the value of solitude, the gentle strength of the horses a comforting presence when so much else about his life had been uncomfortable.
~
In speaking of the horses, it was as though Rosalie’s shyness disappeared and she became animated to her subject. She told him about the many adventures she’d had with her sister and the horses, and smiled brightly.
“One time we were up on the ridge above Skull Gully, looking down onto the wagon road going west, and we saw the most enormous gun fight. Bandits attacked one of the wagon trains, but they didn’t reckon on them defending themselves. There was so much smoke it looked like a whole town was alight, and those homesteaders sent those bandits away in a sorry state,” she said.
“Rosalie, I do not like to think of you and your sister in such a dangerous situation,” her father said, shaking his head as any father would do at the thought of his daughters witnessing such a horror.
“We were fine, Father, and besides we could outrun any bandits, that’s for sure. Our horses are the fastest in town. Why won’t you let me ride out anymore?” she asked, taking advantage of the presence of Joseph to beseech her father once again.
Ever since Isabelle had gone to New York, Casey had only allowed his daughter to ride out when he himself accompanied her. It was too dangerous otherwise, and these stories of bandits on the road only strengthened his resolve to protect his daughter.
“Not until your sister comes back, and even then I may have my doubts about letting the two of you go riding out just anywhere. These parts aren’t safe. Forgive me for saying it, Deputy, but it’s true, and the daughter of the mayor would make a tempting target for every no-good in the county,” Casey said, shaking his head and turning away from the stables.
“Rosalie is welcome to ride out with me any time, if it would give you some peace of mind, Mr. Mayor. That is, if you didn’t mind,” Joseph said, smiling at Rosalie.
“Oh, can I, Father? Please do say yes. Mr. Stewart has already proved his bravery to you; surely you can trust him to take good care of me?” Rosalie said, looking imploringly at her father, who laughed at the look she now gave him, her hands clasped together in a gesture of begging.
“Well, Mr. Stewart has his duties to attend to, so he can’t always be riding out of town with a young lady whenever she should choose,” he replied, scratching his head and batting away the gnats that buzzed around the horses in the heat of the afternoon sun.
“It’s no trouble. I often have to ride out on business and I should be glad of the company, at least until Isabelle returns. Then perhaps the three of us could ride out together. I know some picturesque trails up into the hills. You’d be safe with me, and if this horse is as fast you boast it is then even if trouble did occur, we would have no problems in getting away,” Joseph said, enthusiastic at the prospect of having Rosalie accompany him on his rides.
“Well, it seems you two have settled the matter for me,” Casey said, shaking his head as Rosalie jumped up and down with excitement.
“You hear that, Canaan? We’re going to ride out with the deputy just as soon as he is free to do so. Thank you, Father, and thank you, Mr. Stewart. You are most kind,” Rosalie said, still unable to contain her excitement.
“Please call me Joseph, Miss Taylor. I shall be glad to ride out in the next couple of days,” he said. “I guess I should be getting along now, though. There are duties to attend to and there’s a wagon train due in later on. I want to get a look at the folk coming in,” Joseph said, and he and Casey walked back through t
he house, leaving Rosalie petting Canaan and talking to him of the adventures they would once again enjoy together.
