by Diane Darcy
Melissa shook her head. “No one’s ever going to take you seriously if your wearing short pants. Stick to the good stuff. I’d want my Nike’s.”
Jessica sighed. “I’d want a candy bar. And a toothbrush.”
Melissa laughed out loud. “Good thinking. After the first you’d certainly need the second.”
Both kids were smiling at her and Melissa smiled back. They were getting so big, grown up in so many ways. Love for them swelled in her heart.
From their rapt expressions it was obvious they loved having her full attention and she felt a pang of regret for her absentee parenting. She knew she’d missed a lot, but she’d needed to work. Just like she did now. Besides, it could have been a lot worse for them. At least they had everything. When she’d been a child--
Dismay slammed into her so hard it stole her breath. Right now, her kids had even less than she’d had as a child. What had Jessica wished for? A bar of soap? A toothbrush? All of their possessions were gone. Everything important was gone. Everything they owned was sitting on their backs right this minute. And it was so little.
This was unacceptable. She would do right by her children. They wouldn’t ever have to feel inadequate or second best. Ever. “Come on kids. Let’s go. We need to get to town, pronto.”
“I thought we were having fun? Soaking,” said Jessica.
Melissa, concentrating on her face, barely heard her words. All she saw was the hurt. Heard it in her tone and realized Jessica was feeling the pain of being poor. Because they had nothing. She sucked in air. They would soon have everything they needed, everything they wanted; she’d make sure of it.
* * *
A short while later, Melissa and the kids passed a pretty white sign perched on a hill proclaiming them to be within ‘Garden City’ limits.
They walked by a grain warehouse, an attractive white church and a picturesque green park, complete with pond. Small houses decorating the hilled area looked to be made out of pine or redwood, some of which were painted with whitewash. Almost every home sported shutters, most of them open to the warm summer morning.
One thing was for sure, decided Melissa. It looked a heck of a lot different than the Garden City of the future. In fact, it didn’t even look like the same place. “It’s so changed.”
Jessica nodded. “It looks like a movie set or something.”
It did. A movie set depicting small town American life. Busy with people, the streets and store fronts bustled with activity, and the town itself was much bigger than she would have supposed.
If she’d thought about it, she would have expected an old-west-type town, like something from a Clint Eastwood movie: dirty brown streets, false-fronted buildings, and perhaps a few cowboys wearing guns and giving each other shifty-eyed looks while a squeaking sign swung in the breeze. But it wasn’t like that at all.
The town was big, with homes sprawled on either side of the main street and with many more behind. There was a lot more industry than she’d have imagined too. On one side of the street there was an agricultural implement store, a bakery, a beer parlor, a blacksmith shop, a carpenter shop, and a citrus packing house.
On the other side, there was a social and athletic club, a dental office, a hotel, a liquor store, and a livery stable.
A school sat in the distance, as well as a post office, and there was a saloon and billiard hall at the first corner.
They kept walking and soon passed a bank, a mercantile, another saloon, a restaurant, a sheriff’s office, a milliner shop and she finally found what she’d been looking for--a dress shop.
She mounted the two steps to the boardwalk and realized her little family was collecting quite a bit of attention.
A thin, middle-aged man swept the planks nearby and nodded at them, staring as they walked by. A teenage boy on a clunky bicycle almost crashed as he gaped at them. An elderly man tying the reins of his horse around a post stopped to stare. A gentleman wearing a white shirt and a brown jacket rode by, tipping his cowboy hat to Melissa.
A couple of giggling little girls wearing ruffled hoop-skirts and flower-trimmed hats scampered around them, their elegantly dressed mother close behind, all of them sneaking peeks at Melissa’s family.
A couple of men sporting bowler hats and patent leather shoes stopped and murmured good morning. A wagon, filled with supplies drove by, the family of four craning their necks to get a better look.
Melissa realized they were especially staring at the children. She took in the apparel the other kids wore and realized the twins’ clothes were drawing attention. “Jessica, put on your jacket.”
Despite the heat, Jessica slid into her jacket without argument.
Melissa sighed. “Maybe it would be best if you kids just went back to the cabin now?”
They both shook their heads.
They started walking again, and as people continued to stare, Melissa’s irritation mounted. Simple country hicks. Hadn’t they ever seen a visitor in town? “Just try to blend in, okay?”
Jeremy laughed nervously. “Uh, blend in. Yeah, okay, sure thing, Mom. So, how exactly do we do that?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t take you kids to my job interview, so you’re going to have to find something to do.”
“Maybe they have an arcade?” Jessica tone was sarcastic.
Melissa stopped and shot her a ‘don’t push it’ look. “We passed a park. Why don’t you go and hang out there for a while and I’ll come get you later?”
Jessica glanced back they way they’d come. “There wasn’t any playground equipment.”
“Maybe there are ducks. Get going.”
“Where will you be?” asked Jeremy.
Melissa pointed to the dress shop. “I’ll be just down the street a ways. And watch out for weirdos.”
The kids crossed the street and headed toward the park.
Melissa stopped in front of the dressmakers’ window and gazed up at a sign proclaiming the place to be ‘Greyson’s Creations.’ Cute name. Catchy. She turned her attention to the two dresses on display and smirked. With her talent and knowledge of the up-and-coming styles, she’d turn this place on its ear. In the three months she’d be here, she could convert this little California town into a fashion landmark.
Nerves bubbled in her stomach, something she couldn’t remember happening for a long while, and it irritated her. She straightened her shoulders, determined to exude confidence, and pushed open the door.
A red-haired lady looked up from her position on the floor where she was pinning the hem of a customers dress.
Melissa glanced at the customer’s face and inwardly groaned. The Widow MacPherson. This day just kept getting worse.
She considered coming back later, but straightened her shoulders. She had a lot to offer and the job was hers for the asking. Who cared if the old biddy watched her in action? Let her learn something.
She took in her surroundings. There were curtains on the tall, thin, east-facing windows, and they provided generous light for the room. A dressmaker’s form with a half-finished, hideously ugly dress sat in one corner, and the smells of fabric, flowers and a heating iron filled the air.
Three sewing machines sat along the window and a worktable was set against the far wall. Rows of muslin, wool blends, and a variety of fabrics were stacked neatly on overhead shelves.
A dressing room with a curtain was located against the far wall. Fat red roses adorned the wallpaper, fitted hardwood covered the floor, and a stove sat in the corner. It was all very neat and tidy. Melissa’s lip curled. Very antiquated.
The kneeling woman smiled in welcome. “Hello, I’m Miss Greyson. How may I help you?”
Melissa noticed two other women in the shop, looking at what passed for a fashion book. Melissa felt slightly intimated by the audience, but was determined to plow forward.
She took a deep breath and smiled. “Actually, I’m the one who can help you. I’m a fashion designer as well as a seamstress. And if the dresses in the wind
ow are any example, this town is definitely in need of my services. For a percentage of the profits, I’d be willing to work here.”
All of the women stared. No one said a word. It was like they were all frozen in place.
Unease tugged at Melissa’s stomach, but she kept her smile firmly in place. She met the widow’s gaze, and for a brief moment thought she detected pity before the widow shook her head and turned away.
The unease increased.
The two women by the window exchanged wide-eyed glances.
Heat started to climb up Melissa’s neck and she turned her attention back to Miss Greyson.
Miss Greyson slowly stood, her face pink. She choked, sputtered, then pointed a finger at the door.
Oh dear. A chill ran up Melissa’s spine, and the heat continued to climb up her face. Too late she remembered that a smart employee always flattered and complimented the boss; brown-nosed even. She felt her talent so superior to anyone’s in this hick town that she’d forgotten and hadn’t played the game correctly. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Miss Greyson finally found her voice. “Get out.” Her words were amplified in the small room. “Get out of here right now! Ya hear!”
Melissa flinched. She cleared her throat. She had to turn this situation around, but how did she placate the lady? Should she grovel a bit? Pretend she was standing in front of Xavier and kowtow? “Um, perhaps I shouldn’t have said--”
“Now!” Miss Greyson roared the word. She was so angry her face had turned a bright red color that matched her hair.
A bit of fast-talking was in order. “Look, I really want a job. I’m more than qualified for the position. If I could only show you what I can do I think you’d be really--”
”You come into my place of business, you insult me, insult my work, and you want me to hire you?” Miss Greyson’s eyes bulged. “If you were the last person in town, in the entire world capable of helping me, I would work my hands bloody and go without sleep rather than give you a job!”
Her eyes roamed over Melissa’s dress, derision on her face. “And if that fashionable dress you’re wearing is an example of your talent, well, quite frankly, you’re embarrassing yourself and wasting my time.”
Cheeks burning, Melissa realized that the situation wouldn’t be salvaged. She didn’t look at the widow, but simply nodded, opened the door and tried not to look as if she were fleeing.
* * *
She walked a good block before her heart slowed. The woman was obviously unhinged. And the widow! Just standing there, staring, watching Melissa’s humiliation. No doubt she’d loved every second!
Melissa slowed her pace and glanced around, wondering what to do, and what her options were. Perhaps there were other dress shops? She hadn’t seen any, but surely Greyson’s couldn’t be the only game in town.
Or perhaps she should just open her own place and put that harpy directly out of business. It would serve her right.
But of course she needed money to do that, and what were the chances of anyone investing when she was a stranger in town and dressed like a bag lady? Zero chance, that’s what.
She stopped walking and studied a couple of women standing in front of her, outside the mercantile. They wore dresses made of much nicer material than Melissa’s, and elaborate bonnets with six-inch brims, decorated with tacky flowers Melissa wouldn’t put on her coffee table.
She turned her gaze and noticed a woman standing by a wagon across the street. More poorly dressed, but still, she sported a hat with a small brim.
Suddenly Melissa felt bare, her appearance more embarrassing than before. She looked down at the faded orangy calico. She looked like an out-of-work scrub woman.
The ladies by the store said their goodbyes and one, blonde and matronly, walked toward Melissa.
Melissa put up a hand. “Excuse me. Can you tell me where the local dress shops are?”
The woman stopped, her pitying gaze taking in Melissa’s apparel. “Greyson’s Creations is right down the road,” she said, pointing a finger in the direction Melissa had just come from.
“Are there any other dress shops in town?” asked Melissa.
The lady shook her head. “That’s the only one. But Miss Greyson does an absolutely wonderful job. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”
“Isn’t there anyone else?” Melissa heard the desperation in her voice.
Again the lady shook her head. “Her rates are pretty reasonable,” she said kindly. “But if you want to sew your own dress, the mercantile has a good selection of material.”
Melissa nodded. “Thank you.”
Feeling discouraged, she thought about returning to the cabin, but pure stubbornness stopped her. There were plenty of businesses in town. It wasn’t like she was planning to set any career goals while she was here, so perhaps a break from the fashion industry would be acceptable.
Besides, at the moment money was the bottom line. Richard’s income simply wasn’t enough, and she didn’t want to be financially dependent on him, even for a short time.
The twins wandered over. “How’d it go? Did you get the job?” asked Jeremy.
Melissa lifted her chin. “I changed my mind about working in the dress shop. The conditions were too primitive.”
The twins exchanged a look.
“Didn’t go so well, huh?” asked Jessica.
Melissa ignored the comment. “Why aren’t you in the park?” Jeremy shrugged. “We were looking at stuff.”
“Well, go to the park and stay there. I don’t want to have to hunt you down later.”
Throwing her grumpy looks, the kids left.
Melissa set her sights on the mercantile. Before the end of the day, she would be employed.
Chapter Nine
“Boy! Get on over here and grab the other end of this.”
Richard suppressed a smile and dropped an armful of freshly cut hay onto a quickly forming pile and headed over to help the extremely thin, extremely energetic, extremely young Willie.
The sun beat down on him as Richard hefted one end of the newly twined bale and they headed for the wagon. “Do you realize I’m at least ten years older than you? How long do you plan to keep calling me boy?”
In tandem they went to throw the bale into the back of the wagon, but at the last second, Willie changed the momentum by shoving hard on his end.
Richard almost lost his balance, dropped his end of the bale, but didn’t fall this time. He shook his head. “How long do you plan to keep playing that game?”
The other eight cowboys laughed, again, then got back to work.
Richard sighed. This had been going on, in one form or another, all morning. He was well aware he was being put through his paces and had been working hard, knowing he had to prove himself.
If he was honest, he was having fun for the most part. The comradery going on around him reminded him of his own crew at work, and his awe at being in the past, working beside real cowboys, hadn’t quite gone away.
“I’ll keep calling you boy as long as you keep acting like a greenhorn,” said Willie. “Now quit your jabbering and get back to work.”
Richard picked up his end of the bale and together they threw it into the back of the wagon, then headed toward the cut hay.
Merrill wandered over and threw some hay into the pile Richard was forming. “I don’t like you. Boy.”
Oh, that was news. Did the guy have to state the obvious? Richard kept his lips firmly shut against the sarcasm. Most of the teasing going on appeared to be in good humor and Richard didn’t mind that. But this guy seemed malicious and tension between them had built all morning.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Have you got a particular problem?” Richard kept his tone mellow, trying to lighten the tension, “or do you just not like the way I part my hair?”
Merrill threw him a hostile glare. “Your sissy hair’s got nothing to do with it. You don’t have any experience. You waltz in here and act like we’re supposed to be grateful to teach
you. Boy.”
Richard threw down another pile of hay and straightened, trying to hold onto his temper. “Quit calling me boy.”
Merrill straightened too. “Heck, you’re right. Why should we call you boy when you’re prettier than most girls?”
John, an older hand, stepped forward. “Merrill, go help Dave. Richard, you come over here and help me tie this bundle.”
Neither of them moved and the tension escalated.
“Now!” John barked.
Richard turned away, shrugged off his anger, and grabbed the bolt of twine from the ground. Together, he and John tied the bundle and hefted it into the wagon. A bead of sweat ran down the side of one cheek, and Richard’s new cotton shirt stuck to his back.
John assessed the nearly full wagon. “Looks like we’re about ready to make another run to the barn.”
Richard nodded.
“Don’t worry about Merrill none. You’ve caught on fast today,” said John before turning away.
Grateful for the praise, Richard went back to work. It was back-breaking labor, a lot more physical than what he was used to, and he knew he’d be sore in the morning. But right now he was just happy to be employed. To be here.
He brushed his glove-clad hands against his new rough denim jeans and looked down at his cotton shirt and high boots. He looked just like the rest of them. He’d been outfitted as a cowboy that morning, they’d raised his hopes of working like a real cowboy, then sent him to the fields to labor like a farmer beside eight other real cowboys. Go figure. Still, he was glad to be there, glad that Mrs. MacPherson had given him the chance. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t welcome a horse right about now. He knew the others felt the same because he’s heard them discussing the roundup.
John joined him again.
“So, when exactly is the roundup?”
John shrugged. “Not for a couple of months. But we’ll be moving cattle from one range to another in a few days.”
Richard grinned at the good news. He couldn’t wait to get on a horse and hit the trail.
He hefted another bale with John. “So tell me about the Widow MacPherson. How did she come to own all this property?”
