Molly's Hero

by Susan Amarillas

  Ethan was just crossing the street when he spotted Billy coming out of the boardinghouse.

  “Hey, Ethan,” Billy called out to him, and Ethan grabbed up his horse’s reins and walked in the direction of his partner.

  “What are you doing here?” Billy asked.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Ethan replied.

  “I came to see about getting Murphy’s land,” Billy answered.

  “I told you I’d take care of that.”

  “Yeah, I know, but when I got your wire about the rails, I knew there was no time to waste. Luke can keep the men working.”

  Ethan sighed. “You didn’t get the land, though, did you?”

  “No,” Billy said. “She sent me packing.” He glanced over at the El Dorado Saloon a few steps up the street. The tinny sound of a badly tuned piano carried out to the street. “Come on, you look like you could use a drink.”

  “Yeah,” Ethan agreed. “I could.”

  They got a bottle of whiskey and settled at a table.

  “Billy, there’s more bad news.”

  Billy poured himself a drink as well as one for Ethan, which he slid across the table in Ethan’s direction. “Great. Just what I need is more bad news.”

  Ethan picked up the glass and took in the whiskey in two swallows. “The rails are here and the men are working. I’ve told Luke to keep ’em working around the clock if necessary.”

  Billy arched one brow in surprise. “Look, Ethan, I know you’re anxious to finish but with not much of a moon, working at night isn’t safe.”

  “We don’t have a choice.” Ethan reached for the bottle and helped himself to another drink. “I didn’t get the extension on the loan. It seems our loan has been frozen.”

  “What do you mean frozen? By who?”

  “I couldn’t find out exactly but it’s pretty clear it’s our old friends over at Union Pacific.”

  Billy stared hard at Ethan for a full five seconds then said, “I should’ve known.” Billy drank the whiskey in a couple of swallows then put the glass down as though it were fine crystal. For a few seconds, he stared at the glass deep in thought, then he looked up, his gaze meeting Ethan’s. “There must be someone we can talk to, some marker we can call in. What the devil do they want, the entire west?”

  “I don’t think you are far off. Besides I already called in a few markers—how do you think we got the rails and the train to haul ’em?”

  “We’re running out of options…and time here.”

  “What do you think I’m telling you?”

  “So you figure they’ve cut some kind of deal with the banks to take over when we default, something that will make it worthwhile to the banks…more worthwhile than us.”

  Ethan reached for the whiskey bottle again. “It’s the men at the top who are determined to control everything and everyone. Come on, Billy, we saw enough of that when we worked there. Course, then their bullying helped us so we didn’t complain.”

  “Speaking of complaining, who was that guy we used to go to with problems? Jefferson. Jeffers. Jedson! That’s it. He always seemed to be able to make things happen. Maybe he can help us get our loan extended.”

  “Maybe. If we knew where he was and we could get to him in time and convince him it was in his best interest to help us.”

  “Oh, I can convince him all right.” Billy laid his Navy Colt on the table.

  Ethan was already shaking his head before his friend finished speaking. “Tempting as that is, I try to draw the line at murder.”

  “I’m not so squeamish, at least not when it comes to keeping what’s mine.”

  “Yeah, but I’d like to get through this without either of us being hanged.”

  “Well, what do you want to do?”

  Ethan toyed with the glass in his hand. “You need to go back to the camp and keep the men working. Work them in shifts if you have to. Do whatever it takes to make that two-hundred-mile mark.”

  “And the land? My laying track won’t do us any good without that land,” Billy said with equal honesty.

  “I’ll get the land.” Ethan stood, his chair scraping as he did. “Count on it. I’ll get the land.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was close to sundown when Ethan rode in to the ranch yard. There was smoke coming from the chimney on the east side of the house. Getting ready for supper, he supposed.

  The wagon team was in the corral, the corral he’d fixed. Chickens strolled and clucked around the horses’ hooves and they seemed to be unaware of the feathered creatures.

  All was quiet. On the ride out here, Ethan had run over several dialogues in his mind—almost the way actors do for a play. He’d tried to figure the best way to tell her that he was right about the land, to convince her that she would be better off if she sold. But it always came around to the same point. He wanted the one thing she wanted.

  With a deep breath and a small prayer of hope, he knocked on the door.

  “Mr. Ethan!” Katie practically screamed with delight and hurled herself at him so that he had to catch her to keep her from falling on her face. He hoisted her up in the air high above his head. “Hiya, Katie,” he said, genuinely glad to see her. He settled her on one hip, her little arms almost reaching around his shoulders and neck.

  “Mama. Mama,” Katie called out. “Look who’s here. Mr. Ethan’s here.” She bounced up and down in his arms. “Did you bring your horse? Can I ride him again?”

  “What? Ah, sure,” Ethan said, but he wasn’t really listening to the child in his arms. He was more interested in the woman standing by the stove looking so intently at him.

  “Can I come in?”

  “I thought we had an understanding this afternoon,” Molly said bluntly, thinking all the time how right he looked standing there holding Katie.

  “Did we?” he asked innocently. Now that he was here, he knew he was staying, for a while anyway.

  He let Katie slide to the floor and, holding her hand, he walked over to the table. There were two places set for dinner.

  “Have I come at a bad time?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Molly went back to her cooking, a stew of some sort, judging by the single pot she had going. He thought about their meeting at the store and wondered how her supplies were holding out. He’d bought quite a bit before he’d left…before she’d ordered him gone.

  “Mama, can Mr. Ethan eat dinner with—”

  “No!” Molly snapped. More softly, she repeated, “No, Katie, not tonight.”

  Katie’s mouth turned down in a pout. “But I want him to,” she whined, twisting back and forth, her hem flaring with the motion. “Please. He can eat half of mine.”

  “No,” Molly said. “No.”

  “It’s all right, Katie,” Ethan told her. “Your mother’s right. There’s not enough.”

  “Don’t go, Mr. Ethan.” Katie grabbed hold of his hand and held on tight.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Katie, I’m not leaving.”

  Molly’s head came around sharply at his statement. Eyes met and locked. “I want to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.” She went back to stirring the stew.

  “I’ll wait.” Ethan dragged out a chair and sat down. Katie was immediately in his lap, fiddling with the flaps on his shirt pockets.

  “Did ya bring me anything, Mr. Ethan?” she was asking, peering into his pocket.

  “No, Katie, I’m sorry, I didn’t bring you anything.”

  Katie looked momentarily sad, then immediately brightened. “That’s okay, Mr. Ethan, I’m just happy to see you. Mama’s been real sad since you left and she cried—”

  “Dinner!” Molly practically shouted. She carried the stewpan over to the table and put it down in the middle.

  Ethan watched her. So she’d been sad, huh? A smile threatened, and when he tried to look at her, she pointedly looked everywhere else except at him.

  “Katie, get the spoons, please,” Molly ordered, and Katie slid down o
ff Ethan’s knee and did as she was told.

  Moments later Katie returned carrying three spoons and one additional plate. “Mama, why can’t Mr. Ethan eat with us?” She put the spoons down and the plate in front of him. “There’s lots of stew and he won’t eat much, will you, Mr. Ethan?”

  “No, not much,” Ethan confirmed with an innocent expression, all wide eyes and drooping mouth.

  Molly was trapped and she knew it. She’d known it since the moment he’d walked in…from the moment she’d first seen him. Yet she had to try. In a tone that held no warmth at all, she said, “Would you like to eat with us?”

  “Yes, thank you, ma’am,” he returned with great formality, “I would be pleased to stay.”

  They ate in silence. At least Ethan and Molly had nothing to say to each other. Katie, fortunately, was oblivious to the tension between the two adults. She brought Ethan up to date on the kittens and the chickens and the vegetable garden, which now had the first formation of beans on the vines.

  “I can show you,” she offered.

  “Not now,” Ethan told her, thinking they’d never see those beans sprout. “You need to finish your dinner first.”

  Katie nodded solemnly and went back to eating.

  Ethan did the same, glancing up from time to time. Once he caught Molly watching him, but she quickly averted her gaze. “This is good,” he offered.

  “Thank you.”

  As he sat there, he kept wondering what or how he was going to convince her to forgive him and then give up the land. To achieve one goal he would have to surrender the other.

  When they finished dinner, Ethan said, “I’ll do the dishes.” He picked up his plate and Katie’s and started for the sink.

  “That isn’t necessary,” Molly told him in a demanding tone. “I can do it.”

  “I know, but it’s the least I can do since you were so kind and invited me to stay.”

  She gave him an I-did-no-such-thing look. With elbow and hip, she kind of moved him aside until she was in front of the sink and he was displaced entirely.

  “Katie,” she said as she scrubbed the first of the dishes. “Get washed and ready for bed.”

  “Aw, Mama, I don’t want to go to bed.” Katie was busy playing with her rag doll on the floor by the table.

  “I know, but you were up early today and didn’t have a nap. You need your sleep.”

  “But Mr. Ethan is here and I wanna visit.”

  “Mr. Ethan is leaving.”

  Katie shot him a questioning look. “Are you?”

  “Ah, well, not right away.” He leaned one hip against the counter. “I need to talk to your mother.”

  “See,” Katie retaliated. “He’s not leaving.”

  “That still doesn’t mean you don’t have to get ready for bed, young lady. Just let me dry my hands and—”

  “I can do it. Katie and I are a pretty good team, aren’t we, short stuff?”

  “Yup,” Katie agreed.

  Ethan helped her with her dress, undoing the buttons down the back. She did her own shoes and stockings.

  As he’d done several times before, he poured water from the kettle on the stove into a washbasin and added a splash of cold to make it just right for washing. The soap was brown lye.

  He saw Molly watching them, but the expression on her face was unreadable.

  “How am I doing?” he finally asked, as much to get her to talk to him as to get her approval.

  “Fine,” she responded in a tone that had an edge like glass.

  This wasn’t going well, he thought.

  Katie washed quickly. “Mr. Ethan, can you tell me another story?”

  “Another story?” Ethan had pretty much exhausted his story supply. “Ah, I—”

  “Please?”

  “If I do, will you go to sleep?”

  “Uh-huh,” Katie agreed, climbing between the sheets and settling down.

  The only story, the only thing Ethan had on his mind, was Molly; so he began, “Well, once upon a time there was a beautiful lady with red hair. She lived in an old castle.”

  “Was there a prince?” Katie asked.

  “Well, sort of.”

  “Was he handsome like you?”

  “Sort of.” He heard Molly make a derisive sound that he decided to ignore.

  “You see, the princess was alone in the castle except for her little girl. All the soldiers and villagers had gone off to build a road.”

  “Wasn’t the princess afraid to be alone like that?”

  “I think maybe she was sometimes, but she was very brave and wouldn’t let anyone know how she felt.”

  “Oh.”

  “So one day this prince—” There was that derisive sound again. He pressed on. “This prince—” this time he said it firmly “—comes to the castle. He says that the castle is old and falling down and that he will buy the castle from her.”

  “Does she sell her castle?” asked Katie.

  “Not right away. You see, it was her very own home and she liked it there, cracks and holes and all.”

  Katie’s eyes were beginning to droop.

  More softly, Ethan continued. “But the prince wanted the castle because it was right in the middle of the road the villagers were trying to build. The road would make things a whole lot easier for them. They could get places faster. They could ship their goods to market a lot easier and make life better for themselves and their families.”

  “But where would the princess go?” Katie said, then punctuated her question with an openmouthed yawn.

  “The prince was willing to pay the princess money for her castle and she would be able to buy another one somewhere else.” He turned to look at Molly who was watching him openly. In a soft tone he added, “He hoped she’d buy a place somewhere close, so that the prince could see her sometimes.”

  It was true. Ethan knew it was wrong, but he wanted somehow to know that she was near.

  The silence stretched between them, then slowly, like tearing flesh, Ethan looked away, glancing at Katie, who was sound asleep. A smile pulled up the corners of his mouth and he smoothed and straightened the bedclothes. A sound caught his attention and he saw Molly going out the door of the cabin.

  Ethan followed her outside and found her in the shelter of the small porch.

  The night was clear. Ten thousand stars glittered against the soft black sky. A lone gray cloud drifted slowly across the face of the silver-bright moon. All was still. Even the horses in the corral were silent.

  Grabbing hold of the porch post, hand high above his head, he leaned against the rough wood. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She never looked at him at all, but at least she’d answered him. It was a start.

  “It’s been a hot month,” he said, struggling to find words to say how sorry he was, how much he missed her.

  “Uh-huh.” She started away from him and the cabin.

  In a couple of long strides he caught up and fell in beside her. They walked toward the creek, the sound of the gurgling water getting louder. The night breeze stirred, ruffling the neckerchief tied loosely around his neck.

  Molly had her hands behind her back as she walked, her head down, as though watching the ground for each step or as though lost in thought.

  The cottonwood trees cast inky black shadows in the grayness of the night and they strolled along the edge of the creek where Ethan had taken Katie fishing.

  “How have you been, Molly?” he asked. The ten days since he’d seen her were like a lifetime.

  “I’m recovered, if that’s what you mean.” She kept walking.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Are you?”

  “Of course, what did you think?” he said firmly, surprised by her tone.

  “I don’t know what to think about you,” she told him honestly.

  He stepped around in front of her, blocking her path. She paused, her head coming up as though she’d only half realized he was there.

  “I’d lik
e you to think that I’m your friend.” He hooked one finger under her chin and lifted it up until her face looked directly into his down-turned one.

  The cottonwood leaves clattered in the breeze and for a moment moonlight flashed on them like a streak of lightning, illuminating only these two in the world.

  Then he saw the telltale tears in her eyes. Instantly, his hands went to her shoulders. “What’s wrong, Molly?”

  She gave a rueful chuckle. “What isn’t wrong is more the question.”

  She started to move past him but he stopped her.

  “Oh, honey, I never meant for any of this to happen. All I wanted was to buy a piece of land, to build my railroad.”

  “You’ve made that very clear.”

  Frustration warred with desire. “No, I didn’t mean—Ah, hell, I didn’t know you then.”

  “Would it have mattered if you had?” She angled her head around.

  Ethan dragged in a deep breath. He wouldn’t lie to her, not again, not ever again. So with absolute honesty he said, “Much as I wish I could change things—and Lord knows I wish it were possible—I can’t. I have to build this railroad and I have to go through here.”

  “I understand.”

  This time as she moved to go past him, he let her, walking a step or so behind. His boot heels sank in the soft soil. He wanted her to know that he realized what it meant to have a home or, more importantly, not to have one.

  “When I was a boy,” he began, his voice low yet heard above the gurgling sound of the creek, “my mother died and my father left. I was raised by the Sisters of Mercy in Pittsburgh.”

  “An orphanage?” She stopped.

  “Yes.”

  “You never told me that.” Molly thought of all the times she’d felt like an orphan, her family all gone. Alone. So alone. What must it have been like for a child? “Was it hard?”

  “Living there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It wasn’t bad.” They started to walk again. “The nuns were nice, except for Sister Helen—you had to watch out for her.”

  “Why?”

  “Ah, she made sure we did our homework, and she used a long wooden switch to make sure her wishes were carried out.”