Cowboy Homecoming

by Louise M. Gouge

  If Mrs. Foster’s situation weren’t so dire, Laurie would’ve giggled. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “How about some tea?” Doc’s forehead creased slightly. “Wait. Mrs. Foster, would you like for Laurie to help you into some dry clothes?”

  “Y-yes, p-please.” She shivered again despite the warm day.

  Laurie didn’t need further instructions. Within ten minutes, she’d fetched a dry gown and underpinnings for the lady and helped her change while Doc made tea in the kitchen. Tolley returned with the splints, then disappeared upstairs while Doc secured them to Mrs. Foster’s leg and arm. Doc also gave her the tea.

  “I’m sorry to say the arm is broken, but I think your ankle is only sprained. The willow bark in your tea should help a little with the pain, but be sure to tell me if you need something stronger.” He lifted Mrs. Foster and began the trek up to her room. With Tolley and Laurie helping, they soon settled her in her four-poster bed.

  “Oh, dear.” The usually calm lady fluttered her uninjured hand over the quilted coverlet. “How will I care for my boarders?”

  “Don’t you worry for a minute.” Laurie gently grasped that fluttering hand and patted it. “I’ll move in and manage everything for you.” Even Ma would approve of her taking care of the lady who’d taught Laurie to sing and play the piano.

  “Would you, my dear?” Mrs. Foster’s eyes grew moist again. “I’d be so grateful.”

  “I’ll be here, too.” Tolley gave Doc a doubtful look. “If you think it’s all right.”

  “Most folks are pretty understanding when a need arises like Mrs. Foster’s. And, after all, another unattached lady and gentleman live here, and no one has considered it improper.”

  “Good to hear.” Tolley grinned, his relief apparent.

  Laurie considered what to do next. “I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen for supper.”

  “I planned fried chicken, dear,” Mrs. Foster said. “Would you mind—Ow, oh, dear...” She gripped her injured arm with her free hand.

  “Ma’am,” Doc said, “if you don’t object, I’m going to give you a dose of laudanum. A good rest will help you to heal.”

  “Oh, my.” She gave him a doubtful look. “I suppose so.”

  “Fried chicken coming up.” Laurie hoped her cheerful tone would encourage Mrs. Foster. She hadn’t cooked in two years, but it should be like riding a horse. Once in the saddle or, in this case, the kitchen, everything should come back to her. Or so she hoped.

  Doc gave Mrs. Foster her laudanum and instructed Laurie on subsequent doses. Then the three of them left her to rest and went downstairs.

  “I know you’ll manage things here, sis.” Doc patted Laurie on the shoulder. “I’ll send Maisie over to check on you later this evening.”

  “I’ll be fine, although I do need to let Ma and Pa know where I’m staying. Maybe Georgia could pack more clothes for me and bring them to town.”

  “When Adam Starling comes by to see if we need anything, I’ll send him out to the ranch to arrange it.” Toting his black satchel, he headed for the front door.

  “I guess I’d better see about supper.” Laurie glanced through the large opening to the parlor, where she’d spent countless days taking piano lessons from Mrs. Foster. The old upright piano still sat in the corner, an embroidered linen runner protecting its mahogany top. The house appeared spotless. How did Mrs. Foster do all the cooking and laundry and also clean her boarders’ rooms? Laurie moved toward the kitchen door. “First I should clean up the stairs.”

  “What should I do?” Tolley followed her.

  “Peel some potatoes and—”

  Before she could finish, the front door opened, and Mrs. Runyan walked in. The short, middle-aged woman set her parasol in the hall tree by the door and took a step toward the staircase. Seeing Laurie and Tolley, she stopped and gasped, her brown eyes wide with shock.

  “What on earth is going on here?”

  Behind her, a well-dressed gentleman entered the house. “Who are you people?” He removed his black bowler hat, narrowed his already beady eyes and glared at Laurie first, then at Tolley.

  Tolley stood so close to her she could feel him bristling. The boy she’d grown up with had a quick temper, so the accusatory looks in the boarders’ eyes might easily set him off. She stepped in front of him.

  “Mrs. Runyan, how nice to see you. And you must be Mr. Parsley.” She reached out to the short, slender gentleman. “How do you do? I’m Laurie Eberly. This is Bartholomew Northam.”

  “Indeed!” The man moved back and stared at her hand like it was a rattlesnake. A growl rumbled in Tolley’s throat, and even Laurie battled with her temper. But an angry retort wouldn’t solve anything.

  “Mrs. Foster had an accident. We are her lifelong friends, and we came to help.” She could hear the snippiness in her own voice at his suggestion of impropriety.

  “Indeed?” Mrs. Runyan looked at her up and down, then did the same to Tolley. “Am I to understand you two unattached young people will both be residing here to assist her?”

  Laurie bit her lip. Apparently the woman had no interest in learning what happened to Mrs. Foster.

  “Yes, we’ll be residing here.” Tolley moved toward Mrs. Runyan, towering over her, and gave her a deceptively charming smile. “Like you and Mr. Parsley.”

  Mrs. Runyan gasped. “Why, you impudent young man. I am a respectable widow and a gifted milliner. The wealthiest ladies in town patronize my shop. I am above reproach.”

  After looking down his long, pointed nose at Mrs. Runyan, Mr. Parsley lifted his equally pointed chin. “I am an important businessman.” He sniffed with indignation. “People come from all over the San Luis Valley and beyond to engage my watchmaking services.”

  “Well,” Laurie chirped. Apparently neither of these newcomers knew the Eberlys and Northams were the founding families of Esperanza. “Now we all know who we are. What are we going to do to help our dear Mrs. Foster? Mrs. Runyan, would you be so kind as to help me prepare supper? And Mr. Parsley, perhaps you could bring in some firewood?”

  Although obviously not friends, the two boarders gasped together as if they were a Greek chorus.

  “Help you? The very idea!” Mrs. Runyan placed a hand on her chest and stepped back. “I pay for my room and board in this establishment, and I expect my supper to be served promptly at seven.”

  Barely able to comprehend the woman’s hauteur, Laurie looked to the man.

  “As I have already informed you, I am a watchmaker. Do you have any idea how delicate my hands are? How I must protect them?” He clutched the appendages to his chest and huffed. “Carry wood? How insulting.” He marched up the front staircase, stopping halfway. “Friends of Mrs. Foster or not, rest assured I shall watch you two young people. One small inappropriate step, and I shall vacate the premises and move to the hotel.”

  “Humph.” Mrs. Runyan began her own march up the stairs, but obviously couldn’t permit the watchmaker to outdo her with his arrogance. “Breakfast at eight a.m. Supper at seven sharp. My room is to be cleaned weekly, and I expect clean linens every week, or I shall find other accommodations. Is that understood, Miss Eberly?”

  “Why, you—” Tolley lifted a scolding finger.

  Again, Laurie stepped in front of him, this time elbowing him hard in the ribs. She covered his startled “oof” with “Why, of course, Mrs. Runyan. Breakfast at eight. And tonight, supper at seven sharp.” She barged through the swinging kitchen door, trying to quell her anger at the two selfish boarders. Did they have no compassion? Didn’t they know people out here in the West took care of one another?

  “Why’d you do that?” Tolley followed her into the kitchen, one hand on his rib cage. “You have sharp elbows.”

  She rolled her eyes as she spun around to face him. “Don’t you
be giving me trouble, too.”

  He held up both hands in a pose of surrender. “Hey, take it easy. This isn’t all on you, y’know. I’ll help with the chores.”

  She exhaled in relief. “Thank you. That’s what I needed to hear. Now, while I start the chicken, would you please peel the potatoes and then clean up the back stairs?”

  “Wait. What? I didn’t mean I’d do women’s work.”

  The puzzlement on his handsome face would be humorous if he hadn’t just dashed Laurie’s hopes of getting real, actual help in making sure Mrs. Foster’s boarders didn’t move out. If they did, how would her dear friend support herself?

  Couldn’t Tolley see how selfish he was being?

  Chapter Three

  “This chicken is burned to a crisp.” Mr. Parsley dropped his fork with a clatter. “These potatoes are barely cooked. I’m paying good money here, and I won’t stand for this kind of tasteless fare.”

  Seated at one end of the dining room table, Tolley glanced at Laurie, who sat nearest the kitchen.

  Strain showed on her face, but she forced a smile. “I’ll do better with breakfast.”

  “I certainly hope so. This is terrible.” Despite her complaint, plump Mrs. Runyan continued eating. “If I have to purchase my breakfast at Williams’s Café, you can be sure I’ll deduct the cost from my rent.”

  “Now, see here, Mr. Northam.” Mr. Parsley aimed his tiny, bespectacled eyes in Tolley’s direction. “Exactly what will you be doing tomorrow? What I mean is, will you be staying here with Miss Eberly, with your only chaperone in this house a sick old woman upstairs in her bedchamber?”

  Tolley nibbled a bite of dry, grainy but edible meat he’d located beneath the burned crust and skin of a chicken breast. This man sure got under his craw, but as Laurie requested, he’d try not to get mad at the old coot. “Well...” He drawled out the word. “I thought I’d go over to the bank and see if they’ll rent me one of their empty Main Street buildings to set up my law office.”

  “Law office?” The small man’s scoffing tone almost earned him a boxed ear. “Why, you couldn’t possibly be old enough to be a lawyer. Why would you expect people to trust an untrained boy with their legal matters?”

  Tolley breathed in and out slowly. “I wouldn’t expect them to.” He also wouldn’t say another word in his own defense. His pastor friend in Boston urged him to let his work speak for itself. Instead, he mashed the hard potatoes into an almost edible consistency and poured gravy over the whole thing, the least he could do for Laurie, who’d obviously done her best to please these two boorish people. He might say something to her about improving her cooking, though not in the hearing of the older folks. He wouldn’t entirely discount marrying a gal who couldn’t cook very well, but she’d have to possess a powerful lot of other attributes to make up for it.

  Why did he entertain such foolish thoughts? Probably because fatigue crept into his bones and he couldn’t think straight. Yesterday and today had been the longest two days of his life. He’d spent the night before last at the hotel in Walsenburg, ridden the train over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, found out his father nearly died of apoplexy, spent the night in the Esperanza Arms, moved to the boardinghouse and rescued poor Mrs. Foster when she broke her arm. Not to mention having to eat a poorly cooked supper. Things like that wore a man out. He’d sleep well tonight.

  “If you folks will excuse me.” He rose from the table and set his napkin beside his plate. “I think I’ll hit the hay.”

  “But—” For a moment, Laurie looked like a lost waif. Then she frowned. “Good night, Mr. Northam.”

  What set her off? He was too tired to ask. Besides, Mrs. Runyan and Mr. Parsley would probably find it scandalous if Tolley even walked into the kitchen when Laurie worked in there alone.

  He’d brought in the wood for cooking supper, and tomorrow he’d carry the water upstairs so Laurie could do whatever cleaning Mrs. Foster had intended. Maybe in the morning he should feed the chickens, too, the least he could do for his childhood friend.

  * * *

  While washing the dishes, Laurie let a few tears splash into the dishpan, dissolving some of the bubbles Mrs. Foster’s lye soap had generated. What a disappointment Tolley turned out to be. He hadn’t even helped her clear the table. But then, growing up in a family with a housekeeper and a sister to help his mother in the kitchen, no wonder he regarded housework as women’s work. Still, understanding him didn’t make it any easier to shoulder all of the chores herself. After all, she and her sisters had learned to do both housework and ranch work.

  A soft, cool evening breeze blew in through the window, bringing with it the merry chirp of a robin. Laurie brushed away her tears and smiled. How silly. Only yesterday, she’d resented having to fetch Tolley from the train depot. What made her think he’d changed? Still the same selfish boy she’d always known. And what of her own resentment over not being permitted to work around her parents’ house and ranch? Well, now her hands were more than full, and she thanked the Lord for it. If she must endure the eccentricities of Mrs. Foster’s self-centered boarders, so be it.

  Supper had failed because she’d forgotten Ma’s lessons. As promised, breakfast would be better. She’d dried and put away the last dish when a cross “meow” sounded at the back door. She hurried to let Mrs. Foster’s black-and-white cat inside. He rubbed against her skirt and looked up at her. His next “meow” definitely had a question mark at the end of it.

  “Mrs. Foster is upstairs, Pepper.” Fortunately, she’d left Mrs. Foster’s door slightly ajar so she could hear if her friend called for help. “I’m sure she’d welcome a visit from you.”

  The cat scampered from the room as if he’d understood her words. Laurie laughed. She’d always enjoyed playing with the barn cats at her family’s ranch and had missed having them while in Denver. Chatting with Pepper would brighten the days ahead. He knew her and always answered when she spoke to him.

  After checking the downstairs, Laurie headed upstairs to turn in for the night. With the clothes Georgia brought her earlier, she could stay as long as needed. Six bedrooms lined the two sides of the center hall, which opened onto a balcony that extended over the front porch. Mrs. Runyan and Mr. Parsley had the two front rooms, Tolley and Mrs. Foster the middle two. She’d settled into the smallest bedroom at the corner of the house close to the back staircase and over the kitchen, with one empty room across from hers. Several times during the night, she tiptoed into Mrs. Foster’s bedchamber to tend to her needs but still managed to get a few hours of sleep.

  In the morning, she slipped downstairs quietly and fixed breakfast without disturbing the boarders. As she’d promised, breakfast was a success. The bacon crisp, the biscuits light, the eggs scrambled to perfection. The coffee tasted slightly bitter, but the boarders didn’t seem to notice, for they put copious amounts of sugar and cream into their cups.

  With a final warning to Laurie and Tolley concerning proper behavior, the two older boarders made their exits, traipsing off to their respective shops. Tolley lingered over a third cup of coffee and helped himself to another biscuit, slathering it with butter and raspberry jam.

  Feeling a bit smug over breakfast, Laurie propped the swinging kitchen door open and noisily cleared the table. Maybe Tolley would get the hint and decide to help her after all. Or maybe he’d leave so she could shake out the tablecloth and see if she needed a fresh one for supper. A sigh escaped her at the thought of all the laundry involved in keeping boarders, especially grouchy ones. Mrs. Foster probably couldn’t afford the Chinese laundry.

  “Breakfast tasted mighty fine, Laurie.” Tolley lounged back in his chair and called through the open door.

  “Glad you liked it.” In her morning prayers, she asked the Lord for patience, so tests would surely come. The first? Mrs. Runyan’s comment about the biscuits needing sugar. Where did the
woman come from to think sugar belonged in biscuits?

  Carrying the last dish, except for Tolley’s plate and cup, into the kitchen, she gently nudged the door closed. Within five seconds, he opened it and stood in the doorway, resting his large frame against the doorjamb while continuing to eat his biscuit.

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Uh-oh. Sounds ominous.” She pumped cold water into the dishpan in the sink, added soap flakes and ladled in hot water from the tank above the stove. “Say, weren’t you going to open your law office today?” She didn’t have time to listen to whatever he wanted to yammer about.

  He grinned that grin of his, and a saucer slipped from her hands into the tin dishpan. She gasped softly. It wouldn’t do to break Mrs. Foster’s lovely china. To her relief, the saucer rested safely on the bottom of the metal pan.

  “What this house needs is a bathroom.” Tolley popped the final bite of biscuit into his mouth and walked to her side, his arm brushing against her shoulder as he slid his plate into the dishpan on top of the saucer. “Upstairs, of course.”

  A pleasant shiver streaked up Laurie’s arm. Her five feet four inches had never felt short, but now it did. At over six feet, Tolley stood tallest of the Northam boys...men. My, how her heart began to flutter. She had only one defense against such silly feminine feelings.

  “So, are you going to wash the dishes?” She waved a shaky hand over the sink.

  He snorted. “No, but I will feed the chickens.” He walked toward the back door. “Where’s the feed?”

  The instant he moved away from her, she managed to relax. Why did she respond to his presence this way? This was her old friend, knows-it-all, obnoxious Tolley. “In a tin tub on the back porch. You’ll find a basket for the eggs, too.”

  “I’ll be back shortly.” He stepped out and then poked his head back inside. “Be thinking about that bathroom.” The shoosh-ping of feed being scooped from the bin and into a tin pail came through the open door.