by Cassie Hayes
“Oh yes, Aidan. Silly of me to forget.”
She wandered around the shop, casually trailing her fingers through dust. Jack stood at the window staring out.
“He seems like such a sweet fellow, so kind. You know he actually gave me encouraging words when Mr. Kimble was a wretch to me? I can certainly see why you’re so fond of him. I wonder if he would be interested in leaving the employ of Mr. Kimble.”
Delilah kept her eyes on Jack the entire time she wandered around, pretending to inspect the place. Instead she was inspecting him. The broad set of his shoulders drooped a little more with each word she spoke. Kimble was a horrid man, so it made sense that anyone working for him would be miserable. And Aidan’s infirmary made him ill-suited for manual labor, so she took a guess that he might have complained to Jack about his situation.
More than anything, Jack liked to be the biggest toad in the puddle. Since he rolled into town with a wagon full of gold, he’d been showing off to everyone. His first night at Sam’s, he paid for a week’s worth of lodging for every man there. He often bragged about buying rounds of liquor for the entire saloon. And Delilah had seen him around town on occasion buying pretty gifts for even prettier girls.
A twinge of annoyance colored her cheeks at the thought of the last. He’d done so much for others but persisted in calling her names and teasing her.
Of course, that wasn’t completely true. He had taken a chance to gamble for her gold. It would have been just as easy for him to walk out of that saloon and let her get her comeuppance. But he didn’t do that.
Gratitude tugged at her heart. As much as she talked big, Jack could have walked away from this whole mess, leaving her destitute. She almost felt guilty for manipulating him in such a blatant manner.
Almost.
“You can stop now, Dell,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her, a smile playing at his lips. “I know what you’re doing and there’s no need. I can see now that I got no choice in this so might as well make the best of it. Can’t do no better’n Aidan. I’ll be back.”
With a wink and a wave, he swept out the door.
The smells from the old press brought back a flood of memories from her childhood. Her father didn’t often take her to the newspaper’s offices, but she loved being there. The smell of the ink and paper, the cacophony of men in grimy, stained aprons with equally grimy, stained hands setting type and pulling levers, turning out sheet after sheet of newsprint. It had always been her most favorite place in the world and those warm feelings returned now, even though the entire shop was still.
She spent the next hour tidying up — dusting, sweeping and organizing boxes of type into some logical order. It was like coming home.
That had been the only thing her father would allow her to touch. She delighted in spelling out words on the rough wooden floor of his tiny office as the men worked outside, pretending she was setting up her own newspaper. As she grew older, she even had the opportunity to set up type plates from time to time, though not as a real job, as much as she would have liked that.
No, as much as she persisted in asking, her father denied her the chance to actually be employed at the paper.
“It’s no place for a lady,” he’d always say. “No man of good character will want a wife with stained fingers. Besides, my men wouldn’t like having to mind their Ps and Qs around a young lady. Now go practice your knitting with your mother.”
Ps and Qs. She plucked one of each letter from an ink-blackened box and lightly traced their outlines with the tip of her forefinger. She’d had to mind her own for so long but now she was going to mind them in the way they were meant to be minded.
Moving quickly, she dug around in the box and pulled out all the letters she needed. Arranging them on the composing table to set up the masthead, she spelled out the name of her newspaper and smiled.
The Nuptial News
~*~*~
Delilah was just wondering if Jack was ever coming back when she heard a commotion from the street. Shouts and the cries of a terrified horse were right outside her door. A horse was rearing, threatening to tip over the wagon it was pulling. She watched helplessly from the doorway as the woman and child on the buckboard held on for dear life while the horse whinnied wild-eyed and tried to throw its bonds.
A figure darted out of the shadows and into the street, heading right for the horse. Before her brain could make sense of what her eyes were seeing, Jack was standing in front of the crazed horse, hands held up and murmuring something too low for her to hear.
For a brief moment, her heart stopped. Jack was going to get trampled by that horse and leave her alone. Alone to run this newspaper, her brain quickly added. But that’s not what happened.
Instead, the horse locked eyes with Jack, who advanced slowly on the beast, murmuring to it all the while. It reared one last time — nearly toppling the wagon — before returning to all four feet. Jack reached for its head, but it pulled back, still wary. But Jack wouldn’t be denied. That soft voice and gentle approach calmed the horse and soon Jack was rubbing down its neck and nose, reassuring it that everything was just fine.
Men rushed to the wagon to help the frightened woman and child, but Jack stayed with the horse, comforting it. But the most touching moment was when the horse leaned into Jack and rubbed its head down his side, neighing softly. Smiling sweetly, he grabbed the leads and guided the horse away toward a livery down the street, a glint of gold sparkling at his neck.
“Quite a sight, in’nit?”
Delilah nearly jumped out of her skin. She’d been so engrossed in the scene playing out before her that she hadn’t noticed that the little Irish man from Mr. Kimble’s had sidled up next to her.
“Oh! Mr….I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your last name.”
“Me las’ name is Connelly, but jes’ call me Aidan, miss. If ya call me Mr. Connelly, I’m apt t’think me da snuck up on me.”
His grin was contagious and his thick Irish brogue enchanting.
“Well, then it only seems right for you to call me Dell.”
He bowed low, sweeping his hat in a big, comical arc.
“Dell, may the Lord keep ya in His hand and never close His fist too tight.”
Before she could engage him in further pleasantries, he popped back upright and nodded at Jack’s retreating figure. Giving her a sidelong look, he asked, “Y’ever meet a man with a touch like his?”
Delilah knew he was talking about the horse but the phrasing of the question, and her profound reaction the handful of times Jack had touched her, drew a rush of blood to her face. She hid her embarrassment by turning away as if she was looking down the street. The most she could manage was a shake of her head and a quiet, “No.”
“Mmm,” Aidan mused. “I should tink not. He’s got quite da talent. Seen him do dat a coupla times, mostly after riders beat ‘em too hard. Jack’s got a soft spot for ‘em, he does.”
Jack, an animal lover? She would never have guessed. He seemed far too absorbed in making sure his every whim was met to care about anyone else, human or otherwise. Yet there he was, tenderly soothing a frightened horse and making sure it was cared for properly at the livery.
“Y’know what me ol’ da used t’say: Many a ragged colt made a noble horse.”
Turning back to Aidan, she was startled by his intense scrutiny of her. But a blink later and his friendly smile was back. She must have imagined it.
“Well, I see Jack has stolen you away from the singular Mr. Kimble. Welcome to the new home of The Nuptial News!”
He nodded his approval and limped into the shop, having a look around. “Hmm, dis equipment is right old, Dell. Goin’ t’need some work, I’d wager. Welp, the back must slave t’feed da belly.”
With a toothy grin he lumbered over to the press and wasted no time clinking and clanking around. Maybe this would all work out after all.
Chapter 9
Over the next several days, Jack, Dell and Aidan worked from
sun-up to sun-down getting the print shop up to snuff. That blasted Browne had painted his name on the window and that was about it. It made a certain amount of sense to Jack, since the man was just waiting find some sucker to buy it, but Dell was completely mystified.
Jack tried to explain it but she was just too naive to understand why someone would own a business and not try to make something of it. He finally gave up trying to explain the way of the world to her because, to her, the world didn’t work that way. She could be almost endearing, if she wasn’t so annoying.
Not knowing the first thing about printing, and not interested in helping sort out the ads of the poor saps who were trying to tie themselves down, his first order of business was to scrape away the old name and get a new one painted on. The artist he’d hired for what seemed like an unreasonable sum of money — until he thought about how much he spent at The Eagle in a week — was poised with his brush in a pot of gold paint, waiting for a final decision on exactly what he’d be painting.
“The only logical answer is ‘The Nuptial News’, Jack. That’s the name of the publication and that’s what should go on the window.” Dell was being as stubborn as ever, not looking at the thing from all angles. She was standing right next to him, but she just couldn’t see.
“But, Dell, what if the paper, y’know, doesn’t take off like you think it will? Then I’ll have to run this as a regular ol’ print shop, doing flyers ’n such. Doesn’t a name like ‘J. Dalton Printers & Stationers’ sound more highfalutin’? Personally, I like the ring of it.”
She rolled her eyes at his suggestion. Didn’t she know if she kept doing that her eyes would stick that way?
“It won’t fail, Jack.”
“Aidan, what do you think? And don’t let the fact I pay your salary color your opinion.” He winked at Dell and turned his attention to Aidan, who was busy pretending to be busy. Her heavy sigh of exasperation only widened his grin.
Aidan popped his head up and looked between them. “Hmm? What? Din’t hear ya.” Then he ducked his head back into a press.
“Now, c’mon, man. I swear no ill will come to ya.”
“Better t’be a coward for a minute than dead for da rest of yer life, Jack,” was the muffled response from the machine.
“No, really. I swear it. Right, Dell, you don’t think I’m a liar, do ya?” Jack nudged her with his elbow and dazzled her with one of his most charming smiles. It never failed to work on a woman.
Except this time.
Rolling her eyes yet again, she turned away and busied herself with setting up more type.
“You both know I’m right,” he muttered.
“Jack,” said Aidan, looking out from the printer. “I’ll just say dis. Put silk on a goat and it’s still a goat.”
“What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
He looked between them, trying to work it out. Dell snickered into her ink-stained hands and Aidan grinned at him like a fool.
The painter piped in. “Means he don’t like yer name. Yer little lady wins this round. Sorry, fella, but ya better get used to it.” And darned if that painter didn’t start swiping the brush in strokes that said ‘The Nuptial News’, only backward.
“But…but…”
No one was paying him any mind. The decision had been made and he’d been vetoed. The owner of the business didn’t have a say in anything, it seemed.
“Well…she’s not my little lady, so there,” he spit, stomping back to his small desk and slumping in his chair.
Even from across the room, he could see Dell tense up. Why did he always say the wrong thing? This wasn’t the first time he’d caught himself behaving like a toddler, and he didn’t like it much but seemed powerless to stop.
It was times like these when Sam’s words about acting like a man replayed in his head. Dell might be frustrating, but she also had a good head on her shoulders. What he lacked in self-control, she made up for in spades. He’d never so much as thought about owning a newspaper before but she’d grown up around the newspaper business, so why did he think he knew better?
He thought about what a man would do in this situation and decided the truth was the best course. No sense in acting like a child and making folks uneasy just because he didn’t get his way.
Crossing the room, he leaned his back against the type table Delilah was working at so they were facing each other.
“Dell, I’m sorry for that. I’ve just never owned a business before and I guess my pride got in the way of common sense. You chose right. No hard feelins?”
Lemon verbena caught him off guard. Not many women wore that scent and he couldn’t figure why. It was like taking a swim in a cool lake on a hot summer day. He hadn’t had lemonade since the circus he worked for had landed in Florida, and he missed the sweet sourness slipping down his throat.
“Jack? Jack!”
Her voice cut through his daydream, breaking the spell. Not realizing he’d closed his eyes, he shook his head and stepped back from her, out of the clutches of her fragrance.
“I said, no hard feelings. Where were you just now?”
“Nowhere! I just…nothin’. Glad we’re all good.”
Dell’s brows were furrowed as she watched him back away from her. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yup! Couldn’t be better!” A grunt escaped his lips when he bumped into his desk. Aidan was snickering in the corner, trying not to laugh. “Get back to work!”
The jingle of the little brass bell over the door drew his attention to a tall gentleman poking his head into the shop. Everyone, including the painter, turned to stare at him, which clearly made him uncomfortable. Dell rushed over just as he was pulling back out and closing the door.
“May we help you, sir?” The woman was nothing if not persistent, Jack had to give that to her. She grabbed the man’s arm and nearly dragged him inside.
“Um, I, um…” He looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping and lowered his voice. “Is this the newspaper to find a wife?”
Another sucker! Jack couldn’t believe how many men had sent Dell money for a place in her paper. And now they were coming in off the street! As much as he was committed to getting her paper printed, he still didn’t see how any man in his right mind would want a wife, much less one he’d never met before.
“Why, yes, it is! Would you like to take out an advertisement?” She was beaming at the poor befuddled fellow.
“I…I think so,” he said.
“Just come this way and we’ll help you find the right words to find the perfect wife.”
She proceeded to drag him over to her little desk and quizzed him on his likes and dislikes, profession and income, social standing, age and size preferences — all sorts of things that boggled Jack’s mind.
It wasn’t but ten minutes and the interview was over, the ad was written and the fee paid. Dell was ushering the man out the door when Jack intercepted them.
“Mind if I ask you a question?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dell stiffen. The clanking noise Aidan had been making seconds before died. Except for the constant hum of noise from outside, it was quiet as a church, everyone waiting to see what Jack had to say.
“Ask away, young man.”
“Why?”
Puzzlement filled the man’s face. “Why what?”
“Why are you so blasted eager to get hitched?”
“Jack!” Dell gasped, grabbing his arm, as if that would restrain him. “Mr. Strauss just…”
“No, it’s all right, Miss Price,” Strauss said. “I’m happy to answer this young man’s question. You see, son, the way I figure it, a life lived alone isn’t much of a life to live. Loneliness…”
He paused, shaking his head. “It eats away at your soul, but just a little at a time. At first you think maybe you’re coming down with something. When you don’t get sick, you figure you’re just tired. It takes a long time to get a handle on what the real trouble is. You could surround you
rself with a hundred people every day, you could go on the grandest adventures, you could strike it rich, but if you don’t have someone to share it with, what’s the point?”
A sad smile crossed his lips. “I’ve done all that, you know. I thought I knew better. But I found myself envying my friends with a family. To me, they have it all and I have nothing, even though I have more wealth than all of them put together. A man can only indulge in childish pleasures for so long, sir, before he is treated like a child.”
He nodded to each in turn and walked out the door, leaving Jack in stunned silence.
~*~*~
Delilah was stunned and touched at Mr. Strauss’ confession. She’d received hundreds of letters from men looking for wives and this man had summed up what had been difficult for so many to say. That life is better shared.
She wondered if that had sunk into Jack’s thick skull, or if he was coming up with some excuse for why living a frivolous, meaningless life was better. Probably the latter. He’d had plenty of practice, after all.
“Empty ’n cold is da house wit’out a woman,” said Aidan, breaking the tense silence. “Dat’s wha’ me ol’ da always said anyway.”
“Oh, shut up about your old da!” Jack sulked over to his desk and started shuffling papers around, which was funny since he had no papers of significance on his desk.
“Jack…” she started.
“Leave ‘im be, lass. He’s jes’ seen his future, is all. Now come ‘long and tell ol’ Aidan how ye come t’dis Godforsaken land.”
One quick glance at Jack told her Aidan was right. She followed him to the back, where he was working on yet another rusted piece of the press. As he worked, she handed him tools and told him her tale of woe.
“Well, t’ain’t all bad. Yer startin’ dis paper, and o’course ya met me.” He pulled his head out of the machine long enough to give her a wink and point at an oil can.
“Someone thinks highly of himself,” she laughed.
