by Kit Morgan
He took his satchels from Mr. Burnside the stage driver, nodded in farewell and headed across the street. The Golden Nugget, he was told, was Noelle’s only hotel, newly remodeled, and was getting a new sign made. He’d get settled in, then see about a more permanent residence – namely, a building he could purchase for his bookshop with room for living quarters in the back. Though he’d sleep on a cot behind the counter if he had to, given how he’d left Boston in a hurry and his father in a huff.
Well, more than a huff – more like a stampeding rage. Meanwhile Mother, who was just as adamant about his marrying Gertrude, had piped up tears to make him feel guilty. But it became quickly apparent that his parents wanted the match for one thing and one thing only: the money. The Van Housens had good social standing and lots of assets, and with their companies combined, his father and Mr. Van Housen would have a near-monopoly of the shipping business in the Northeast.
But Elwood wanted nothing to do with it. He wasn’t about to give up his dream or his happiness for filthy lucre, and had enough money of his own to get by for now. He didn’t like the rift in his relationship with his parents, but he hoped they’d come around in time. After all, if he didn’t marry Gertrude they were as well off as they were before, which in his opinion was very well off indeed. A merger with the Van Housens would be a good business decision, but they didn’t need him and Gertie to marry to seal it – this was America, not European monarchy.
Unless … was Gertie pushing it? Now that he thought about it, that could very well be. But she’d given no indication of it – or that she’d set her cap for him at all.
Elwood stepped through the hotel doors and went straight to the counter. “Good afternoon,” he greeted the big man behind it. “I need a room.”
“Do ye now?” the man answered in an Irish brogue. “It just so happens I have one.” He reached under the counter, pulled out a register, opened it and produced a pen and ink. “Sign here, please. I’ll fetch the key.”
Elwood signed and took a moment to study his surroundings. The interior of the hotel was as rough as the exterior but not without its charms. One side of the building was obviously a saloon with a small stage for entertainment. The other half boasted some tables for dining and a sitting area. The smell of stew wafted from somewhere in the back of the building and made his mouth water.
The Irishman returned, key in hand. “Here ye go – room number 5. Excuse the mess upstairs – we’re expanding, ye know.”
“Yes, the stage driver that fetched me from the train station in Junction told me you were adding on. Looks like you’re about done.”
“Aye, we are. We serve meals over there,” the innkeeper said and pointed. “Dinner’s at six. My wife likes our guests to be prompt.”
Elwood smiled and tipped his hat. “I’ll be sure to be on time.”
“See that ye are. Name’s Seamus. I hope ye’ll enjoy yer stay. Passing through, are ye?”
“No, sir,” Elwood said with another smile. “I plan to stay.”
“Do ye, now? Are ye here to invest in the mine, then?”
“Mine?”
“Aye, the silver mine. If that’s yer business, Mayor Hardt’s the person to see. His office is across the street.”
“Oh.” Elwood glanced over his shoulder at the saloon doors. “Do people come here just to invest in the mine?”
“Aye, they do. But the town does have … strict requirements for investors. Best ye talk with Mayor Hardt about those.”
Elwood nodded. The silver mine wasn’t why he was there, but he could still investigate it. He had money but it would only last him so long, even with his plans for the bookshop. Who knew how literate the local miners were, after all? Collecting and selling books was a hobby he loved, but he wasn’t guaranteed to make a viable living here. And he wanted to write books as well. He could use some income while he got both careers going.
So why not speak with this Mayor Hardt? A productive silver mine sounded like a good investment, and he had the funds to get in on it. If it turned out to be a good source of income, he could settle in Noelle for quite some time, and Noelle seemed like just the place to inspire him to write his stories about Sheriff Savage. Plus he could interview Sheriff Draven to get more ideas. “Excuse me,” he called as the Irishman headed toward the back. “Is Sheriff Draven still in town?”
“Oh aye. The sheriff’s office is across the street and a few doors down from the mayor’s office.”
“Thank you.” Elwood headed for the stairs and hurried to room 5. The sooner he got started, the sooner he could get writing. He was so excited he dropped his key as he tried to unlock the door. Once inside, he quickly put his things away, ran a comb through his hair and headed out again. He’d prove his father wrong – he was no milksop! So he’d never been in any sort of real danger – he didn’t have to prove his manhood. And while writing about heroes and adventurers of the West, he could learn these things firsthand from the best of the best. Sheriff Draven!
Outside the saloon, he spied the sheriff’s office down the street and a tingle of excitement went up his spine. With purposeful strides, he went straight up to the door and went inside.
A man stood in front of a potbellied stove pouring himself a cup of coffee, his back to Elwood. Had he even heard him come in? Elwood cleared his throat.
“Whaddaya want?” the man asked gruffly.
“Excuse me, but is Sheriff Draven around?”
The man turned and Elwood gasped in delight. The left side of his face bore ugly scars. They ran from forehead to jaw, and his one good eye was glaring daggers. This was better than he thought! “Who wants to know?” he snarled.
Elwood grinned like a loon. “Are you Draven?”
“Yeah. What of it?”
“Wonderful!” He wanted to hug the man but didn’t dare. After all, this was one of the roughest lawmen in the country, and he did want to live to see the next day. “My name is Elwood Hunter, sir. I’d like an interview with you.”
Sheriff Draven raised the eyebrow over his one good eye. “Interview? What kinda interview?” he asked as gruffly as before.
“I’m writing a book, you see, and … well, sir, I’d like to base my main character on you.”
Draven stared at him a moment as what was left of his other eyebrow rose. He threw his head back and laughed. “Ya wanna do what?” He laughed some more, then suddenly sobered. “No! Absolutely not. Now get out unless ya got a problem.”
Uh-oh, Elwood thought. This isn’t ideal. “N-no problem But I would like to …”
“If ya ain’t got a complaint about anythin’ and there ain’t been no laws broken, then be on your way.”
“But Sheriff Draven …”
“Ya heard me, boy. I ain’t got time for such nonsense.”
“Nonsense? This isn’t nonsense …”
“Out!”
Elwood’s shoulders slumped. This wasn’t going like he’d planned. “Very well, but if you change your mind, I’m staying at the Golden Nugget.”
“Enjoy your time in Noelle,” Draven took a sip of coffee.
Elwood stood his ground. It was best not to show fear. “I plan to, as I’m not going anywhere.”
Draven’s eyebrows rose again. “You’re stayin’?” He looked Elwood up and down. “Ya here to invest in the silver mine?”
“I’m looking into it.” Elwood turned and strode out the door, slamming it behind him. Not that he’d meant to, it just happened. He looked up the street, spied the mining company’s sign and headed for Mayor Hardt’s office. He’d get an interview with Sheriff Draven if it took him a month! Not that there were many days left in April, but he was determined.
He entered the mining office to find a man sitting behind a desk, who looked up as the door closed. “Hello. May I help you?”
“Are you Mayor Hardt?”
“Yes, I am. And you are?”
“Elwood Hunter.” He took the chair across the desk and sat. “I want to invest in the silver
mine.”
Mayor Hardt, a handsome man with light brown hair and steely blue eyes, put down the papers he was reviewing and folded his hands on top of the desk. “Do you? Well, let me tell you about our requirements …”
Back in Denver …
Dorcas took two steps back – into a corner. Oh dear. “Vernon, control yourself!”
Vernon Fink smiled like a wolf. “Dorcas, once you’re married to me, you know what that means, don’t you?”
“I have a good idea.” She twisted past him and hurried into the parlor, where both their parents were discussing the wedding. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with Vernon again – ever. How he’d managed to corner her so quickly, she didn’t know. He’d asked her to explain the history behind the family paintings on the foyer wall, luring her away from her folks. Taking a seat next to her mother, she determined not to fall for that one again.
Vernon casually strolled into the room. “Thank you, Dorcas, for those fascinating explanations.” He gave her an oily smile and waggled his eyebrows.
She rolled her eyes and glanced at the invitation list her mother was going over with Mrs. Fink. “I think this is a fine list, Martha,” Dorcas’ mother commented, then turned to Father. “Don’t you think this is a fine list, dear?”
“You ladies know what you’re doing – I trust you. Don’t we, Fink?”
Vernon’s father barely looked up from the newspaper he was reading. “Splendid. Whatever it is, splendid.”
Dorcas shook her head and sighed. Mr. Fink was about as involved with the wedding preparations as a cow was with milking time. Her mother and Vernon’s, on the other hand, were having a wonderful time. Her father stayed as neutral as he could – all he wanted to know was how much things cost.
She looked up to see Vernon smiling down at her with that predatory look again. Yes, she’d finally agreed to marry him as her parents wished, but it didn’t mean she liked it – and the more involved with the wedding she got, the more she loathed him. Vernon was thoroughly unpleasant, insinuating all the things he’d like to do to her once they were wed. The looks he gave her and the tone of his voice were bad enough – she knew she wanted no part of the actual events.
“I’d better go check on lunch,” she announced to her mother, figuring it would get her away from Vernon for a few minutes.
Her mother looked up from the invitation list. “Good heavens, what time is it?”
“Several minutes past noon, Mrs. Minx,” Vernon said. “I assure you that any staff of mine who made such an odious mistake would be fired.”
Dorcas shook her head. “Vernon, it’s only a few minutes.”
“Don’t be impertinent,” he snapped. “If you’re to be lady of my house, you’ll have to rule the servants with an iron fist, as I do.”
“Our Vernie does keep our servants in line,” Mrs. Fink said sweetly. “Don’t you, dearest?”
Vernon smiled back. “Of course I do, Mother.”
“Our Dorcas will be able to handle things,” Mrs. Minx assured him. “You’ll see.”
“After I’m done with her, I’m sure she will,” Vernon stated, looking her in the eyes. “I’ll train her to perfection.”
Dorcas’ own eyes widened. What was he going to do, get out a whip and keep her in a cage? She thought he actually might. The more she pondered it, the less she wanted to go through with this wedding. But how could she get out of it? Her parents were deep into the planning and beside themselves with joy. Mr. and Mrs. Fink appeared gloriously happy. Vernon was sadistically ecstatic.
But she was becoming more miserable by the day. She felt trapped, as if her hands were bound behind her back. How could she get out of this, short of running away?
She suddenly straightened. That’s it! That’s the only answer – I’ll have to run away if I’m to escape this. What else can I do at this point? Her eyes darted around the parlor, looking at everyone in turn. She met Vernon’s gaze and cringed – as usual, he was looking at her like a hungry beast about to devour its prey. Oh Lord, please help me come up with a way of escape, and quick! I can’t marry Vernon, I just can’t! He’s evil!
“Luncheon is served,” Polly the maid announced with a curtsy.
Vernon looked Polly up and down, smiled and licked his lips. Dorcas shuddered. Just how did the man keep his servants in line? She tried not to think about it as everyone got up and went into the dining room.
Once seated, she let her mind race over possible solutions to her dilemma. She could steal away in the middle of the night, but what if she ran into outlaws and was robbed? No, she needed a plan, a solid one. Most of all she needed someplace where she could hide, where Vernon couldn’t find her …
“The chicken looks delicious,” Mrs. Fink commented as Polly served.
“It looks overdone,” Vernon quickly snapped. “Take mine back.”
“Vernon,” his mother said, “mind your manners. It’s perfect.”
“I don’t think so, Mother. Your tastes differ from mine.” He got up from the table and picked up his plate. “Hello, lovey,” he said to Polly. “Show me the kitchen.”
“Vernon!” his mother said. “I said it’s fine. Charles, do something.”
Mr. Fink looked up from his plate. “If the boy doesn’t like what’s been served, he has every right to correct it, dear. Let him go see what else the cook has.”
“Oh very well, go on,” his mother said. “But don’t make a nuisance of yourself.”
Vernon smiled. “Of course not, Mother.” He looked Polly up and down again and motioned her toward the door.
Dorcas saw the frightened look on the maid’s face and winced. “Mother, I don’t think …”
“Quiet, Dorcas,” Vernon said. “We don’t care what you think. You might as well learn how to handle servants now that you’ll be married to me. Things not to my liking are things you’ll have to take care of.” He ushered the maid through the door and downstairs into the kitchen.
Dorcas had an ugly feeling in the pit of her stomach and felt very sorry for the cook. Oh please, please, help me find a way out of this.
The meal commenced, and everything was peaceful when Polly re-emerged with a bowl of mashed potatoes. Her face was red, her eyes swollen as if she’d been crying. Dorcas wondered what Vernon could have said to make her so upset. She served and hurried back to the kitchen as Vernon showed up, his face also red. And was that a scratch on his cheek? Just what had he been doing downstairs?
“Everything all right?” Mr. Fink asked.
“Yes,” Vernon said, seeming satisfied. “I simply let the servants know how I wanted my meat. I like things cooked a certain way, you see,” he added while looking at Dorcas. “But you’ll find that out soon enough, won’t you, sweets?”
Dorcas’ gut twisted. Maybe simply packing a bag and leaving in the dark of night was the best solution, if not the wisest. It was certainly the quickest. And would outlaws treat her any worse than Vernon planned to?
“Once we’re married,” he continued, leaning toward her across the table, “I can teach you all kinds of things.”
“Our Vernon always was an industrious boy,” Mr. Fink commented as he reached for a platter of vegetables. “Very enterprising. I’d trust him with my business any day.”
Dorcas swallowed hard. Would he trust him with his life? She was more and more convinced that she shouldn’t trust him with hers. The sooner she got out of this the better. But how? Her parents would never agree and think she’d gone mad.
Then just before dessert, she got an idea. Of course – why hadn’t she thought of it before? But did she have enough time to act? “Mrs. Pettigrew,” she whispered.
“What was that, my dear?” her mother asked.
Dorcas plunged her spoon into her pudding. “Nothing, Mother. Nothing at all.” But it was something – a lifeline she needed to grab as quickly as possible.
Chapter 3
Noelle, several days later …
“What’s the matter, son?
”
Elwood was sitting in the saloon, a glass of milk in his hand. He looked up to see who’d spoken, and found a clergyman. “Hello, sir,”
The preacher took a seat across the table. “Howdy. Rev. Chase Hammond at your service.” He reached a hand across the table.
Elwood gave it a healthy shake. “Pleased to meet you, sir. Elwood Hunter at yours.”
“Pleasure,” the clergyman said. “Now tell me what’s troubling you.”
Good grief, did he look that forlorn? “Me? Oh, you know … everything.” No sense in lying.
The reverend laughed. “That sums it up. How about some details – maybe I can help.”
“Much obliged, Rev. Hammond, but I don’t think you can help me with this.”
“You’re new in town, aren’t you, Mr. Hunter?”
Elwood nodded. “I arrived a few days ago. But I’m afraid my plans aren’t going as I hoped.”
“Are you here to invest in the mine?”
Elwood smiled and shook his head. “Everyone asks me that. And after speaking with your wonderful mayor, the silver mine appears to be a sound investment. However, I don’t seem to meet all the requirements.”
The reverend raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Would one of them be the requirement of a wife?”
“Yes. When Mayor Hardt informed me, I wasn’t prepared to have that item fulfilled. Not right away.”
“Around here, no one is. Really, there are few women besides the ones already married. And the exceptions are …”
Elwood drummed his fingers on the table and nodded. Of course a frontier town, like most towns, was liable to have a house of ill repute, but such women didn’t pique his interest. “Mayor Hardt was quick to point that out, thank you.” He took a sip of his milk.
Rev. Hammond watched him. “Not a drinking man, I see.”
“Never was – can’t hold my liquor for some reason.” He took another sip and continued tapping the table.
“Well, son, as I’m in the marrying business, among others, I can help you with your problem.”
