Mountain Dawn

by Maureen Child

  "Don't know, Bridget." Jessica stood, her hands behind her back, her angelic face tilted up to the woman who eyed her suspiciously.

  "Now, Jessie darlin' ,” Bridget said softly, “just you think a minute or two." She knew the little girl was fibbing. She was the only one who could have eaten the last six cookies. Besides, it would explain why the child had had no appetite for dinner. Bridget glanced toward the corner of the cabin, where Jacob sat on his bed, the oil lamp bright beside him as he read yet another of his books. He didn't seem to be payin' the least attention to what was goin' on. But then, he hadn't, she told herself, for the last couple of weeks, had he?

  "Now, Jessie love," she tried again, "we both know where those cookies went, don't we?”

  Jessie's lower lip stuck out as she shook her head slowly, her eyes wide.

  "Aye, we do." Bridget patted the little girl's stomach gently. "They're right there, restin' mighty heavy by now, I should think."

  “No, Bridget. Didn't."

  The little tyke was altogether too good at storytelling, Bridget thought. Not a glimmer of guilt showed on her face.

  “Well, then," she sighed heavily, "since I know you wouldn't be tellin' me any lies, they must have vanished."

  Jessie nodded eagerly.

  "Just as I thought. Well, I'll not be makin' any more, then.”

  Jessie's face fell. "Why?"

  "Well, now," Bridget answered, “why would I be wastin' my busy time makin' cookies that no one gets to eat? No. I'll make no more, if all they're goin' to do is vanish."

  Jessie looked down at the floor and mumbled something.

  “What was that, darlin'?"

  She looked up, her gaze resting on Bridget's waist. "I ate 'em, Bridget."

  "Ah." Bridget dropped to her knees. "Well, I thought that might be it."

  Jessie threw her arms around Bridget's neck. “I'm sorry, Bridget. But cookies are good."

  "Aye, they are at that," Bridget said, smoothing the girl's hair back, “but they're not for eatin' for supper."

  "No."

  "All right, now." Bridget leaned back and smiled at the girl. “You go on to bed now, darlin'. I'll be there in a moment to tuck you up."

  The child started for the loft ladder when Bridget's voice stopped her. "And, Jessie…" She waited until the girl's gaze met hers. “Don't start in on lyin', will ya? Once begun, 'tis a hard habit to break."

  Jessie nodded and went on. Bridget shook her head and finished stacking the plates on the high shelf over the sink.

  "Curious."

  She whirled around to find Jacob's eyes on her, a sardonic smile on his face.

  "What does that mean?" she countered.

  "Exactly what I said." He laid the open book down across his flat abdomen, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched her, eyebrows quirked. "I find it curious that you are telling Jessica not to lie."

  Bridget's face flushed. She felt the heat of it moving across her skin and hoped he couldn't see it. So, Cotton was right. Jacob did know something was goin' on. He had seen through her petty lies and now he was going to taunt her with his knowledge. How had she ever thought him kind?

  “What's the matter, Bridget? Nothing to say? I find that curious as well."

  She stared at him a long moment, dampness behind her eyes threatening to shame her at any moment. He looked so smug. So righteous. Well, who was he to know anything of her life? To know what might push a woman like her to tell more lies in a few months than in her entire life?

  Did he think he was so much better than she? It didn't bother him to seduce a woman and then barely acknowledge her presence? Who gave him the right to look down on her? To tell her what kind of person she was?

  "Well, Bridget?" he said softly.

  “I've only one thing to say to you, Jacob Fallon. And it's no lie, either." She walked across the room and stopped in front of her bedroom door. There, she turned to face him. Lifting her chin and straightening her shoulders, she said softly, “Me father used to have a sayin'…"

  Jacob sighed.

  “Oh, aye, I can see you're tired of hearin' about him as well." Her voice shook. She had to hurry or she would disgrace herself further. “Then this will be the last time you'll hear about him. He used to tell me that when I came of an age to be on the look for a decent man, to remember one thing." Her gaze stabbed him. “Do not mistake a goat's beard for a fine stallion's tail."

  Chapter Fifteen

  A goat's beard! Jacob turned the key in the jail door lock, stepped inside the cell, and kicked the booted foot of his prisoner.

  "All right. Time's up. Get on out of here now." He watched as the hung-over man rolled uneasily to his feet, clutching at his no doubt roiling stomach. "Go on, get out. And don't let me find you sleeping in the middle of the road again, understand?”

  The man nodded, stumbled from the darkened jail, through the office, and out the front door, leaving Jacob alone again with his thoughts. A goat's beard. That's what she thinks of you now, he told himself angrily.

  It's all your own fault. He slammed the iron door-shut and stomped back to his desk. How had he let this whole matter get so far out of hand? He'd never meant to hurt Bridget. Yet, that's all he seemed to be doing of late. He hadn't meant to confront her about her lies until he'd found out some of what she was hiding. Yet, at the first opportunity, he'd not only confronted her, he'd taunted her with his suspicions.

  His head in his hands, elbows on his desk, Jacob tried to think clearly and decide what exactly it was that he wanted.

  Was he going to try to force Bridget's hand? To somehow make her tell him what it was she was so carefully protecting? If he did that, he was risking the very real possibility of her leaving. Did he want that?

  No. He sat up straight in his oversize ladder-backed chair. God, no, he didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to trust him – to trust him with the secrets she so obviously carried with her. He wanted their easiness with each other to return. He wanted her honesty, her compassion, her tenderness. He wanted Bridget – no matter what.

  But hadn't he already ruined any chance of that with the way he'd been treating her? Not many women would have stood for being seduced, then ignored, without trying in some way to have their revenge. Bridget had.

  Jacob jumped to his feet. She had. She'd stayed with them despite his stupidity. Surely there had to be a reason for that. Maybe it wasn't too late after all. Maybe there was still a chance that he could salvage the only real chance for happiness that he'd ever found.

  But what about the lies? his mind whispered. What about her meetings with Cotton? Wasn't it his duty as marshal to discover if there was anything criminal in her past? Didn't he owe it to Jessica to make sure that the woman who had the care of her was exactly what she claimed to be?

  He shook his head as if to wipe the notions away. It didn't matter. None of it did. One way or another, he would, someday, find out everything she had to tell him, but he would wait. For now, he knew all he needed to know about Bridget O'Dell. He loved her. Jessica loved her.

  For the first time in his life, Jacob Fallon didn't care about doing his duty.

  #

  Bridget squeezed Jessica's hand and stepped inside the MacElroys' store. She took a quick look around and breathed a sigh of relief. Emmaline MacElroy was nowhere in sight.

  Behind the counter Herbert, nervous and flustered, waited on a woman whose back was turned to Bridget. Nonetheless, judging from the woman's clothing, there was no doubt as to who, or what, she was. Bridget had heard Cotton and some of the men in town talking about Cherry Tuttle and the girls who worked for her in the Lazy Dog Saloon, but she’d never seen any of the women until now.

  The tall woman's black, full skirt stopped just below her knees, and her legs were encased in black net stockings. The impossibly high heels she wore looked uncomfortable, and she had a bright red, woolen shawl pulled up over her head and around her shoulders.

  Herbert glanced over his shoulder at the stor
eroom door, then turned back to the woman with a sense of urgency. "What can I get you, Miss Cherry?"

  Bridget moved up closer, curious. She heard the woman's soft voice answer.

  "Some liniment, Mr. Mac. And some laudanum, if you've got it." Cherry gripped her hands together nervously. "Oh, and maybe some bandages… and iodine, too."

  Someone was hurt, Bridget told herself, and stepped up even closer. A quick glance reassured her that Jessie was in her favorite spot, studying the candy jars.

  "Well, now," Herbert mumbled, turning and looking over his jumbled shelves, "I'm not sure about the laudanum. Liniment, we got. And the rest." He glanced at the storeroom door again, then back to the woman. "Give me just a minute."

  As he hurried off, Bridget reached out and touched the woman's arm. “Excuse me," she said quietly.

  The woman called Miss Cherry spun around and stared down at Bridget, who swallowed her surprise. If not for the net hose and the indecently short gown, Bridget would never have guessed that this woman worked anywhere near a saloon.

  She wore no makeup and her almost plain face had the look of a tired, underfed schoolteacher. Even her flame-red hair was neatly braided into a long, thick rope. Then the woman's agitated brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What is it?" she asked.

  "I don't want to be a bother, but l was wonderin' if l could maybe help?” Bridget smiled. “I've nursed sick folk before this."

  Cherry's amazement showed clearly on her face. Suspicion gave way to amusement, then finally stunned gratitude. Hope blazed momentarily in her eyes before she said, "It's very kind of you, but I'll manage."

  The storeroom door swung open just then, and Emmaline sailed through. She came to an abrupt halt at first sight of the two women opposite her. The lines in her frown-furrowed face deepened as she drew herself up to do battle.

  Bridget sensed the change in Cherry's manner without seeing the mocking half-smile that transformed her features. The woman's whole body stiffened, and she laced her fingers together tightly, as if hoping to still their trembling.

  “What do you want?" Emmaline asked, staring pointedly at Cherry.

  "Nothin' you can give me, dearie." The saloon girls' entire demeanor changed. She threw her shawl off her head and lifted her chin. "Mr. Mac's already getting my things."

  "Hmmph!" Emmaline glared at her scurrying husband before turning to Bridget. "And what about you?”

  Bridget glanced at Jessica. Emmaline followed her gaze, swallowed, and changed her tone. “What is it?”

  Bridget nodded and handed over her list. As Emmaline hurriedly filled the order, Bridget watched Herbert hand Cherry a small paper bag. The woman held it in a tense grip up close against her chest, then, deliberately, she shot Herbert a mischievous grin and turned to leave. Before she did, though, she stopped briefly. Meeting Bridget's gaze, she said sincerely, “Thanks for askin'."

  Bridget nodded thoughtfully and noticed that Herbert left the store as soon as Cherry had. It appeared that he didn't want to be anywhere near his wife when her temper finally let go.

  "Trash." Emmaline spoke up, and Bridget turned to face her.

  “What was that?”

  Emmaline stared hard at Bridget. "I said trash and I mean trash. No decent woman would be seen talking to the likes of her."

  A spurt of anger shot through Bridget's body. She knew exactly what Emmaline MacElroy was saying. She'd as good as called Bridget trash, too. But then, what did that matter anyway? She'd never change the woman's narrow opinion of her, and truth to tell, she didn't care to. Without a word, Bridget reached for her package and ordered a stick of candy for Jessica.

  As they were leaving the store, though, Emmaline spoke up once more. “If you know what's good for you, you'll stay clear of Cherry… and her 'friends.' "

  "I don't like threats, Mrs. MacElroy. Never have."

  "It's no threat, Miss O'Dell. One day there'll be families in this town. A school. A church. And when that day comes" – she shook a long, bony finger at Bridget – “we'll run those women and any others like 'em out of town."

  "And when those families come here, Mrs. MacElroy,” Bridget countered, "if they're anything like yourself, I think you won't have to chase Cherry and them very hard to get them to leave."

  Bridget stepped outside and took a deep, shuddering breath. So help her, she couldn't understand why Mrs. MacElroy hadn't choked on her own venom years ago. If there was ever a woman to try the patience of a saint… Bridget shook her head. Forget about her. There were other things to do.

  Pulling Jessie along behind her, Bridget hurried to the cabin. She'd left some beef soup simmering on the fire. That should be just the thing for someone feeling poorly. Despite Cherry Tuttle's refusal and Mrs. MacElroy's nasty opinion, Bridget was going to the Lazy Dog.

  She well knew what stubborn pride could do to a body – and perhaps that was all Cherry had left. Bridget had seen the fear in the other woman's eyes, the silent appeal for help… but she also knew that Cherry would never ask assistance of anyone.

  Bridget's mind raced back to the last few weeks of her mother's illness. The women of Kerry Patch had come together then as they had before in time of trouble. Though no one had much, everyone gave what they could, be it a long visit with the ill woman or a nourishing meal. And that's as it should be, Bridget told herself firmly. Women alone, facing a world with little kindness in it, had to care for each other.

  She tightened her grip on Jessie's hand and marched quickly to the cabin.

  #

  She stood outside the Fallon cabin and watched Jessie's progress toward the jailhouse. Bridget shifted the crock of soup to her left arm and grasped the basket she carried tightly in her right hand. Impatiently her foot tapped against the boardwalk. Jessie was moving like molasses, but until Bridget knew exactly what kind of illness was in the Lazy Dog, she didn't want Jessie anywhere near the place. It was best if she stayed with her father for now.

  Finally the little girl reached the office and went inside. At the same moment Bridget turned and swiftly made her way down the walk. The miners she passed seemed to sense her hurry as more than one nimbly got out of her way.

  The saloons were at the other end of the main street, and Bridget's packages were beginning to get heavier with every step. As she neared the first saloon, the raucous noise of combined laughter, curses, and tinny piano music crowded around her. She swept past the men lounging outside the swinging doors and didn't even hesitate when one of the men called out a rather vulgar suggestion as to how they could spend some time together.

  Her gaze fixed on the Lazy Dog, she allowed nothing to sway her. She passed the second saloon and felt a hand grab at the basket holding bread, tea, and a few other things she thought might be needed. Immediately Bridget tugged back against the greedy man.

  "Whatcha got in there, honey?”

  Whiskey-soaked breath floated past Bridget's face, and she wrinkled her nose. "Nothin' for the likes of you!"

  She pulled her right foot back and swung it out, kicking him in the shin. He let go of the basket and grabbed his leg, hollering. Bridget scowled at him and went on. Not twenty feet ahead of her stood the Lazy Dog. There seemed to be fewer men hovering around the front doors, and the noise level was definitely lower. As she headed for the batwing doors, a tall, burly man stepped out, blocking her way.

  “Let me pass, man."

  "Lady, you cain't go in there," he said, astonished by her presence.

  "And whyever not?” Bridget asked, shifting her burdens again.

  "Well, this here's a saloon, ma'am." He pulled his hat off, and she noticed that his dirty brown hair stood up in spikes on the top of his head.

  "Yes, I know." Bridget smiled at his concern, but really, she'd never had so many people try to tell her what she could and couldn't do. "There's someone feelin' badly here, and I've come to help."

  The man was horrified. His gaze swept over the gathering crowd, looking for help. An embarrassed flush crept up his cheeks
. Obviously he didn't know what to do. Then he gave a relieved smile. "Deputy!" he called. "Hey, there, Cotton!"

  Bridget sighed heavily and waited for Cotton's arrival.

  Several men stepped back making room for the hurrying deputy.

  “Miss Bridget," the blond man said as he walked up beside her. He looked uneasily at the shifting crowd, then back to her. "What are you doin' here?”

  "For the last time, there's some poor soul sick in there,” she said, jerking her head toward the saloon, "and I've come to help."

  Cotton rubbed his jaw. "Ma'am, I cain't let you go in there. The boss'd have my hide for sure."

  "You try to stop me, Cotton… and I'll have your hide."

  “But,” he continued, lowering his voice, “you don't understand, ma'am. Ladies don't go inside places like this. Not out here."

  Bridget's gaze moved over the interested men surrounding her. "Are you tryin' to tell me that I shouldn't be goin’ into a saloon to care for the sick because some folks wouldn't like it?"

  “Well…" Cotton looked for support at the other men, but they were hanging their heads shamefacedly.

  Bridget waited.

  He looked down at her uneasily, studying the calm determination in her brilliant green eyes. Decision made, he stepped back and pushed one of the doors wide. Once she's inside, he told himself, he could go for the boss. Let him handle her.

  Bridget smiled her thanks and walked quickly into the dimly lit saloon. As the door swung shut behind her, an uncommon quiet fell over the crowded room. Men standing at the bar and those sitting sprawled in low-backed chairs swung around to stare at her.

  Through the blue haze of cigar smoke, Bridget wended her way to the bar and stopped opposite the big man drying glasses. She paid no attention to the others in the room.

  "I'd like to see Cherry, please," she said clearly.

  The bartender's hand stilled in the act of wiping another beer mug. He stared down at the tiny woman before him, raised one bushy gray brow, and Bridget knew she'd stunned him into silence.

  "I said, I've come to see Cherry. Can you be tellin' me where I can find her?"