“And the second one is like it, Solace,” he prompted.
“You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” she replied tiredly. Then she looked across the table at her sister. “Look, Lily, I know you have things to offer Gabe, but dang it, so do I! And mark my words, he loves me!”
“He loves me, too!” Lily rasped.
“But you’ve had opportunities to meet all sorts of nice men who—”
“None as nice as Gabe!” her sister retorted. “And whose fault is it that you stayed home with the animals? You could’ve gone to school, same as Gracie and I did, and—”
“That’s all!” Michael shut the Bible with more force than he intended, and the loud whump resounded like a knell in the room. “Until you ladies can make your peace—without wearing the rest of us thin—I insist you separate yourselves. If I were Gabe, I’d move to town and refuse to see either one of you again.”
Solace’s brown eyes widened. “But Papa, we’re sharing the same room, and there aren’t any spare—”
“Work it out,” Michael insisted. He put the Bible back on the sideboard, praying his girls would see their folly—and soon.
“I get the bedroom!” Lily piped up. “So you can take your things out of it and bunk in the barn, Solace!”
“Fine by me, Princess! At least Rex and I can talk without biting each other’s butts off.”
He shook his head as he headed for the kitchen. Their voices rose in the stairwell…followed by Solace’s solid footfalls and Lily’s lighter, kid-slippered ones.
“I didn’t accomplish a thing,” he said with a sigh. “I could’ve talked myself blue in the face, and they wouldn’t have heard a word.”
Temple smiled ruefully and pulled the drain plug. “You gave us all a night’s sleep, anyway. Maybe tomorrow we’ll see things more clearly and think of other ways to talk to those girls. Let me see what I can come up with along that line.”
Temple hung her wet towel on the handle of the cookstove and removed her apron. She was no longer the girls’ teacher, but she was a fixture in this household and his children respected her aura of love and light. “I’ll be upstairs with Mercy. She’s going over Gabe’s wardrobe, mending a few things and sewing on buttons for him.”
Michael nodded mutely. He poured the last of the morning’s coffee from the pot on the stove and then grimaced at its bitterness.
Life was like that sometimes: nothing beat a fresh cup of coffee, but when things sat past their prime—got cold and acidic—there was no fixing them. He sincerely hoped this rift over Gabe Getty wouldn’t become a permanent wedge between sisters who’d always shared things much more important than a bloodline.
He wasn’t surprised to hear Solace’s trunk bump-bump-bumping down the back stairway a few minutes later, nor to watch her fetch a two-wheeled cart from the barn to haul the rest of her belongings out there. She’d always taken care of herself and pulled her own weight; he was depending on Solace’s solid, unruffled nature to kick in again—to offer Lily an olive branch—because Lily’s behavior baffled him.
When he saw Solace gallop off toward town a few minutes later, holding Rex in front of her, he got an uneasy feeling. True enough, she was eighteen—most of her friends were married and had children—but it wasn’t like his sturdy, good-natured daughter to take off in a fit of proud anger without telling anyone where she was headed.
Ride with her, Lord, he prayed. Help her make good decisions none of us will regret.
Chapter Sixteen
“Holy cow, Rex, would you look at that!”
Solace slowed Lincoln to a halt near the entrance to the Dickinson County fairgrounds, gazing ahead eagerly. Three big tents shimmied in the wind and the whole place buzzed like a hill of ants; burly men with sledge hammers checked the tent pegs while others watered the horses, longhorn cattle, and buffalo that fed from troughs in the corrals. Scents of roasting peanuts, burnt popcorn, and animal droppings came to her on the breeze, but to Solace it smelled like a promise. Here, if folks were quibbling, they would soon set aside their differences for the afternoon performance. Or they’d be soothed by the lullaby of lowing cattle and whickering horses.
A shot rang out—and then another!—yet no one scurried for cover. Then she saw a costumed cowgirl taking target practice with a large bull’s-eye painted on canvas and propped against hay bales.
“Well, heck, anybody could hit that!” she murmured to Rex. Nudging her bay into a walk again, she circled the bustling grounds to take in all the excitement: Indians sitting cross-legged while a dandified cowboy painted their faces; a carnival midway lined by small booths, where costumed hustlers prepared for another onslaught of spectators; including a Gypsy fortune-teller who eyed her up and down, as though she knew things she’d never reveal. Somewhere a brass band tuned up and then burst into a spirited march.
Solace smiled and a shiver shot up her spine. What a life it would be, to perform on the road! A different town each week, yet the acts would remain the same. A bantam rooster of a man in a black cowboy hat, wearing a crimson cape over his jeweled ebony suit, strutted to the end of the midway and raised a megaphone to his mouth.
“Sixty minutes and counting!” he called out imperiously. “Have your mounts ready! Prepare for the opening parade! Leave nothing to chance!”
“Whoa, boy,” Solace murmured. She took the flyer from her shirt pocket and nodded. “That’s Apache Pete himself, Rex! Kind of a pip-squeak, don’t you think? Not much of an Injun, either, from what I can see.”
Her dog panted in her lap, gawking in every direction. It was a palpable thing, the excitement vibrating around them, and Solace sensed this performance would outdo any wonders she’d witnessed under circus tents as a kid. It featured stagecoach robberies and fancy shooting and Indian attacks—things she planned to write about in upcoming stories. She’d arrived just in time to get a feel for the majestic spectacle to come.
Solace looked around for the ticket booth. No sense in waiting until a line formed. She could be the first one in the grandstand—unless somebody objected to Rex. If anybody did, she’d find another way in, or they’d enter with a cluster of folks, when the ticket-taker was distracted. Rex would behave like the perfect gentleman.
She tied Lincoln in the outer lot, which was intersected by hitching posts and lengths of rope. “Come on, Rex, let’s get a good look around before the crowd sets in.”
With a confirming yip, the white dog fell into step beside her. He looked up with adoration in his shining eyes.
“Yeah, you’re my best friend, too, fella,” Solace crooned. “Lily won’t follow us out here—might dirty her new kid slippers—so we can do as we please! Don’t go wandering off, though. Somebody else might try to take you home, fine pup that you are.”
Rex perked up his dark ears, forming the butterfly she loved. Solace felt perfectly safe, because while he was the gentlest of pets, this loyal dog would jump any roustabout or carny barker who dared lay a hand on her. Rex suffered no fools; he was compact enough to stage sneak attacks, yet large enough to do some real damage if provoked.
In the far corrals cowboys mounted up—men dressed in flashy red shirts with black trim like no real cattleman would be caught dead in. But what a spectacle they made, herding those longhorn steers off the fairgrounds! A stagecoach swung into position ahead of this herd, and its bright yellow sides proclaimed “Apache Pete’s Wild West Extravaganza.” The brass band was riding on top of this vehicle, and Apache Pete had vaulted up into the seat beside the uniformed driver.
“Well, hot dang! We get to see the parade twice—going and coming!” Solace said with a grin. “Let’s just stay right here and look around.”
A dozen half-naked Indian braves fell into formation, with tall feathers in their beaded headbands and loincloths that showed off their dark, muscled legs. Then came three magnificent chiefs in full regalia, with ceremonial headdresses that trailed behind them. Solace wondered if the center chief was a white man who’d stained his skin…but th
en, that was part of the show’s magic, wasn’t it? If the crowd believed he was a redskin, that was all that mattered.
“You want I tell your fortune, brave lady?”
Solace turned to see the Gypsy approaching with a purposeful glint in her eye. Her coal-black hair had beads braided into its front strands, and her bracelets played a seductive song as she swayed in her loose, gauzy skirts. She had a shiny gold tooth—something Solace had never seen—and it flashed in the sunlight when the provocative woman smiled at her.
“Give me hand! I not charge you nothing,” the fortune-teller coaxed. “Madame Flambeau, she see something very…unusual in you. Come to table! I read your cards!”
It was a bid for money, pure and simple. “No thanks, I’m just watching.”
“Somebody here, he watching you, too. He tell me you destined for glory—someday real soon.” The Gypsy reached for her with a playful wink. “You not be sorry! It not cost you nothing—and your dog, he like me! He know Faustina, she tell the truth when she read your palm and your cards.”
Rex indeed sat mesmerized, watching the woman’s skirts and gold bangles glimmer in the breeze. Solace trusted his judgment…it would be several minutes before the parade returned to start the show. “Oh, all right! But tell me who’s watching me!”
“Perhaps a secret the cards will reveal, no?” the Gypsy teased. She sashayed down the midway toward her tent, her gaudy skirts of purple and gold and red shimmering with every step. When Solace sat in the wooden chair the fortune-teller indicated, Rex hopped into her lap. Everybody knew this card-reading stuff was all for show, so she let him remain there to watch for special attention or perhaps a treat. He had that way with people.
But the Gypsy shuffled her colorful deck, gazing at Solace with unflinching kohl-rimmed eyes. “You have unusual name. Born in…a snowstorm, yes?”
Solace blinked. “Yes, ma’am, but how’d you—”
“Faustina Flambeau never reveal her source of wisdom. Bring on a curse, you understand?” The brazen woman grabbed her hand and turned it palm-up on her small table. “Aha! The lifeline, it show a woman of rare strength and courage—dangerous—I see a gun!”
Solace nipped her lip. These fortune-tellers made their living from fools who swallowed their stories and unwittingly gave them more information. “And what do you see that gun doing?” she asked cautiously.
“Shooting, of course!” Madame Faustina’s raucous laughter rang inside her tent—and just as dramatically, it ended. “You save a man’s life once, yes? With a gun?”
Her insides tightened and she glanced nervously around the midway. How in the world did this tricked-out Gypsy know?
“But you gentle and kind. Madame Faustina see exciting days ahead for you.” The Gypsy dropped her hand then, to shuffle the deck again. “Here—you shuffle now, many times. Think of question you want answer for. You know already that I speak the truth about you…I know your secrets and can read your heart. Your destiny.”
Her first impulse was to bolt from the chair, yet curiosity won out. Solace took the worn deck and began a clumsy shuffle with her arms bent around Rex. She hadn’t said two words to this woman—hadn’t given away a thing in chit chat beforehand—but this queen of the gaudy carnival was too accurate to deny. She shifted the cards into a single pile then and rapped the deck’s edges on the table.
“Put out top three cards,” the Gypsy instructed. “Past, present, future.”
Solace laid them face down on the coarse tablecloth and turned over the first one.
“Queen of Swords reversed…someone angry with you—a woman,” the seer murmured. “She not thinking straight…jealousy over a lover.”
Now how could this woman—these paper cards—possibly know I just had a fight with Lily over Gabe? This is too outlandish to—
Solace shifted her dog’s weight to the other leg, too entranced to move. “That’s in my past, right?”
“Yes. And your eyes tell me cards are correct.”
Quickly Solace turned over the middle card. If the Gypsy woman had secrets and didn’t answer direct questions, well, she could play that game, too.
“Knight of Wands—you ride triumphant. You know fame, fortune and success—very soon!” Faustina pushed back her coal-black hair to flash Solace a knowing gold-toothed smile. “You will make name for yourself with horses—but maybe not the name you want. And in your future—”
The woman flipped the final card with a shimmy of gold bracelets. Her eyes widened, and she considered the card portraying a crowned, winged woman in white with a sword in one hand and a scale hanging from the other. “Justice. Madame Flambeau see courtroom and much publicity…a fair trial. But maybe not in your favor.”
“What do you mean by that?” Solace demanded. It was Gabe who’d be in a courtroom soon, not her.
The Gypsy shrugged and gathered her cards. “Faustina, she seldom make mistake. The cards, they never lie.”
An upside-down queen of quarrels…a knight who would ride high and make her famous…a fair trial. What did all this mumbo jumbo really mean? Smiling politely, Solace rose from the rickety chair. “Thank you, Faustina. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
The Gypsy’s eyes, as dark and hard as marbles, followed her from the tent—probably looking for a donation. But those cards were just a parlor game…weren’t they? If that upside-down, agitated queen fit perfectly with Lily, did it mean the cards about riding high and ending up in a courtroom—maybe not a winner—were accurate, too?
The return of the show’s yellow stagecoach and the brass band distracted her from thoughts of her future, however. Who could be concerned about a fake Gypsy’s forecast while watching those red-shirted cowboys funnel a herd of longhorns into the nearest corral? Their bawling and that huge cloud of dust sent Solace trotting toward the ticket booth. Folks were riding in by the score, beckoned by the pomp and pageantry of Apache Pete’s parade through town. She wanted a seat down front so she wouldn’t miss a moment of the excitement.
Rex remained at her feet as she paid, so the fat old woman in the ticket window didn’t notice that he followed her in. The musicians had assembled on the bandstand, and when their director tipped his cowboy hat back and raised his baton, the fun began.
Solace sat entranced; a few riders put their mounts through practice paces while those in the crowd took their seats. Rex panted beside her, his eyes and ears alert. At the back entrance flaps, Indian braves gathered, and she heard the impatient snorts of buffalo. Then the band struck up a dramatic introductory fanfare.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” The loud voice echoed in the peaked canvas ceiling. “Prepare yourselves! Keep your arms and legs out of the ring because—oh, my stars! It’s a buffalo stampede!”
With a crash of the cymbals, more than a dozen woolly, bearded beasts thundered into the tent to circle the arena, chased by Indian braves riding paint ponies. Solace’s pulse raced right along with them. When she felt Rex gather himself to leap at one of the buffalo, she slipped her arm around him.
“This isn’t our show, fella!” she reminded him. “Those buffalo are pretty tame, but they wouldn’t know what to do if a little white dog jumped on their backs!”
As the stampede pounded out the opposite tent exit, Apache Pete began his patter. “In the early days of the West, folks, our homesteaders and settlers had to shoot their food and defend themselves,” he crooned over the band’s low, patriotic music. “Most often we think of men as the hunters and sharpshooting scouts that tamed the wide-open plains, but we have with us today a rare and glorious treat! Please welcome Crack-Shot Cora, our lady sharpshooter!”
Applause rose around her, and Solace joined in. Cora—that woman she’d seen taking target practice—circled the arena with a big grin fixed on her face, holding her Sharps rifle high as she urged her ebony mount into a fancy canter. Red streamers flapped on either side of her, while on the far end of the ring, the roustabouts scurried to set up her props.
“Don�
�t get any ideas about riding with her, either,” Solace whispered to her quivering dog. “So far I haven’t seen a thing you and I don’t do, but let’s give her a chance to prove herself.”
Rex whimpered, wiggling in his place. He was so eager to dash out there and show off, she kept a hand on him—just in case his excitement overrode his training.
Meanwhile, Cora dismounted and made a big show of loading her rifle. Then, as the band played a low, intense tone to quiet the crowd, the lady in the ruffled red skirt took aim…shifted her stance…and then ping! ping! ping! took down the closest three painted cans. Another shot rang out, and then two more—but as applause filled the tent, Solace noticed one of her six targets was still in place.
“We’ve got her beat, don’t you think, Rex?” Solace whispered as she clapped. “Why, I can shoot better than that astride a moving horse!”
Still, it was exciting to watch the colorful performers, and hear the music, and take in the crowd’s reaction, and as the extravaganza progressed through a stagecoach holdup and a ceremonial Indian dance, Solace gloried in every moment.
Too soon the show was over. Too soon she had to think about going home. Her fit of temper at Lily was long gone, but it still galled her that her sister had commandeered their bedroom and felt she was the answer to Gabe Getty’s problems.
And how had Gabe fared at his interview? He’d be headed back to the Triple M by now, and if she wanted to hear his account firsthand, it was time to be on her way. As the crowd mobbed the narrow exit flaps of the huge, poled tent, Solace took a last, longing look at its fluttering walls and the cowboy band, which had finished its final song. She opened her arms, and Rex sprang up into her embrace.
She giggled when he licked her nose—and then noticed a roustabout standing beside a nearby tent pole, watching her intently. He was a tall, lanky fellow with broad shoulders and slim hips; his hat was cocked down so she couldn’t see his eyes. That strong chin and the sandy brown hair looked familiar somehow….
Rex began to rumble; the hair stood up on his back, and he seemed ready to lunge out of her arms.
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