[Dakotah Treasures 01] - Ruby

by Lauraine Snelling

  Thinking back, Ruby was fairly certain neither grace nor gentleness appeared in her diatribe. She trapped a sigh like she had the fidgets and sat perfectly prim and perfectly still, unless the pounding of her heart showed through her gown.

  Mr. Davis finally raised his eyes to meet hers. “Be that as it may, Miss Torvald, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Until this account is current, I cannot in good conscience offer you more credit.”

  “I suppose sixty dollars would not be sufficient.”

  “No. Is that all you have?”

  “Yes.” For you.

  “I will apply that to the current payment. When do you believe you will have the remainder?”

  “As soon as possible. I have never had debt of any kind, and I want out of this as quickly as I can make my way free.”

  “I see. You realize that if we are forced to foreclose to get our investment back . . .” His voice trailed off, as if he expected an answer.

  Foreclose! Lose Dove House after all the work we’ve done? All that my father invested? You will not get your greedy paws on my inheritance! “How long can you give me to catch this up? The end of the year?” Surely I can make this up by that time.

  “You realize there will be another payment due before then?”

  “Of course.” She tried to put some warmth and confidence into the smile. “Thank you for your time.” She stood and gave a slight nod.

  Charlie rose, hat in his hands.

  “Good day, Mr. Davis. Please remember that the invitation to visit Dove House still stands.” In spite of your stiff-necked rectitude.

  “Good day, Miss Torvald, Charlie. Thank you for coming by. Oh, you can leave your payment with Mr. Struthers at the second window.”

  “I will.” Ruby turned and, without waiting for Charlie, stalked through the swinging door in the low oak wall that divided the manager’s desk from the rest of the room. She approached the second window and, with another of those empty smiles, laid her money on the counter. “Please apply this to the Per Torvald account. I am his daughter.” Next time I come, I will transfer the accounts to my name.

  “Glad to meet you, miss. I was sorry to hear of your father’s death.” Mr. Struthers took the money, counted it carefully, and completed the transaction, then passed the receipt he wrote back under the grillwork. “There you go, miss. I wish you every success.”

  “Thank you.” At least there is one person in this bank with a heart. Ruby tucked the bit of paper in her reticule and allowed Charlie to lead her out of the bank.

  As they walked up the street to the mercantile with Charlie pushing the dolly, she debated how to ask her next question. There appeared to be no easy way.

  “Charlie, from what Mr. Davis said, and from what I’ve read of the Dove House ledgers, there appears to be some money missing. In fact, at least an entire payment that was registered as paid. Do you know what has happened?”

  “Can’t say as I do. I know I did not take the last quarter’s payment to the bank. Guess I thought it was still in the box at home.”

  “Box? You mean the till?”

  “No, the box.” He drew it with his hands. “ ’Bout this by this.” He scratched his chin. “Come to think on it, I ain’t seen it for some time.”

  “Is this the box Far referred to as the buksbom? He said something about treasures being in it.”

  “Not sure I know what you mean by buksbom, but this box just had money in it.” Charlie shook his head. “So we might have two missing boxes.”

  “Guess so.” Ruby pictured the box and in her mind surrounded it with a halo of hope.

  “You think Belle has them?”

  “Could be. Or . . .” He chewed on his lower lip.

  “Or?”

  “Or Per hid them.”

  “Hid them where?”

  “Don’t know.” He took her elbow to assist her up the three stairs to the front of the mercantile.

  “Why didn’t you mention this money box before?”

  “Guess I thought you already found it.” He pushed open the door to the store. “The proprietor here is Boyd Rumsford. He was a friend of your father’s.”

  “It sounds like my father had a lot of friends. I sure hope this one proves more helpful than that banker.”

  “Ah, bankers are always a stiff-necked lot. Get that way from trying to keep their ears above those collars they wear.” He ushered her in the door ahead of him and motioned her toward the back where a counter ran half the length of the wall.

  Ruby glanced around, trying to keep her amazement from showing. There wasn’t a square foot of space—be it on the shelves, counters, walls, floor, and even hanging from the ceiling— that was not full of food, clothing, tools, household utensils, spirits in bottles, spices in cans, and pickles, flour, and sugar in barrels. A huge ham hung behind the counter, and a wheel of cheese lay under a glass dome. The proprietor closely resembled one of the barrels, only he wore an apron that had seen better days. His handlebar mustache appeared to make up for the lack of hair on his head and the two teeth missing in his smile.

  “Hey, Charlie. Been a while.”

  “Miss Torvald, meet Boyd Rumsford.” Charlie performed the introductions.

  Ruby nodded. “I am pleased to meet you, and I have to admit to some amazement at your store.”

  Mr. Rumsford looked around. “Whatever for?”

  “All the merchandise you have displayed here.”

  “Ah, that. And I can locate anything you need. What can I do for you today, Miss Torvald? Oh, and I offer my condolences on the loss of your father.”

  “Thank you. I have an order, but first we must discuss the financial arrangements you had made with my father.”

  “Being we’re the nearest store of any size and carry a full line of spirits, he did most of his shopping here. We ran a chit, and sometimes he ordered by mail. He usually paid me when he came in again. Right sorry I had to send you that letter.”

  “I see. And how much is the balance on his account?”

  Mr. Rumsford pulled a leather-bound ledger out from under his counter and flipped pages until he came to the right one. He ran his finger down the column and looked up to pronounce, “One hundred twenty-seven dollars and sixteen cents.”

  Ruby mentally flinched. “I have twenty-five dollars to pay you now.”

  He tipped his head to the side along with a tsking sound from between his teeth.

  “Along with the return of three cases of whiskey. At two dollars a bottle, that is another seventy two dollars,” Charlie put in.

  “Was there something wrong with it?” Rumsford glanced to Charlie for an answer.

  “Nope. We’re just not serving drinks any longer.”

  “No drinks?” Horror looked normal on Mr. Rumsford’s long face with its veined, slightly red nose.

  “Dove House is now a family hotel with a good dining room.”

  “No whiskey? Sherry?”

  “No, neither.” She handed him her list. “You will fill this for us then?”

  “Yes, of course. You want to look around while I get busy on this?”

  “Yes, thank you. Where are your sheetings and dress goods?”

  He indicated the stairs along the right wall. “Up there. You want I should send someone up to help you?”

  “In a little while. I’d like to look around first.”

  “Good, good. You do that. Charlie, you want this all on tomorrow’s train?”

  “If we can.”

  Ruby ignored the slightly miffed feeling that his asking Charlie inspired and headed for the stairs.

  Three hours later, after having supper at the Dickinson Hotel, Charlie and Ruby made their way to their rooms. Ruby spent part of the evening writing a letter to Mrs. Brandon, leaving out as much about their life in Little Missouri as she told. After all, she didn’t want to horrify her benefactress. After that she made a list of changes and additions for her hotel based on things she saw in the one she was in. When she crawled into
the bed, all she could do was luxuriate in the heavenly feeling of lying on a mattress again. Briefly she wondered what Charlie was up to before she floated off on a night of heavenly rest.

  The next morning they returned to the train station to await the soon-to-arrive westbound train. Once boarded, Ruby leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. How do we make enough money to pay the bank, keep our account current at the mercantile, and pay for things in Little Missouri? Would it be cheaper to buy from suppliers in Fargo or Minneapolis? And if so, how would she pay them?

  Where had the box of money Charlie had spoken of disappeared to? Was Belle the one behind the conspiracy to keep locals from coming to Dove House other than to play cards? Was there a conspiracy, or was it all in her head?

  The questions rolled over and over in her mind like the train wheels rolling over the track. At least the train had a destination. “Charlie, where do you think the money box might be?”

  “I would guess in Belle’s room somewhere. If I could have a few hours in the room with Belle gone . . . or”—he looked directly at her—“you could ask Belle.”

  Ruby nodded, ignoring the clench of her stomach. A picture of the bank manager and his supercilious attitude made her narrow her eyes. “I’ll ask her all right.”

  By the time the conductor announced Little Missouri, a headache hammered between her eyes.

  When they stepped back on the ground, the baggage handler set down not only crates of their purchases, but also a box from the Brandons.

  “How wonderful!” Ruby clasped her hands in joy. “Just in time for Opal’s birthday.”

  “I’ll hide it until tomorrow.”

  “Good. She’s going to be so surprised.”

  Ruby turned to Charlie. “Do you hear what I hear?”

  “Sounds like the piano.”

  “I know.” Ruby gathered her packages, and Charlie took the rest. The nearer they drew to Dove House, the louder sounded the music.

  “All right. Now kick, kick, and turn,” floated out the open window.

  What is going on? Ruby pulled open the door to see three females in short lace-flounced dresses turn and flip up their skirts, showing lacy drawers. Giggles and laughter accompanied the beat of the piano.

  Ruby’s jaw dropped.

  “Opal, what on earth are you doing?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The dancers froze. The music died midnote.

  Belle turned the piano stool around as though she had all the time in the world. “Welcome home, honey. Come on and join us. We’re just havin’ some fun.”

  “Teaching my little sister to . . . to show off her legs and her . . . her . . .” Ruby could hardly get her breath. Good thing she’d given up tightly laced corsets, or she would have fainted right there on the floor.

  “Now, Miss Ruby . . .” Charlie spoke gently from right behind her.

  “But, Ruby, we weren’t doing nothing wrong.” Opal settled her skirt, her red taffeta skirt with black lace that trailed to the floor. Had it not been for the ribbon around her waist, the entire garment would have swished and fallen to the floor.

  A red haze swam before Ruby’s eyes. What would Mrs. Brandon do in a situation like this? She’d never be caught in a situation like this, that’s what! She would stay in her lovely home and go to the park or out in a carriage. She would not be running a hotel in the middle of nowhere, a nowhere that didn’t look to be becoming anywhere anytime soon.

  “Take a deep breath and count to ten”—wise counsel from as far back as her mother and reinforced by Mrs. Brandon. So Ruby did as she told herself. She took in a deep breath and, with a hand on her middle, counted in measured beats. One, two, three . . . and on up to ten. The red haze disappeared.

  She caught a glimpse of movement off to the side and recognized Milly with a disapproving I-knew-this-was-wrong look on her face.

  “Ruby, I just wanted to learn how to dance.” Opal clamped her fists into her skirt and her lower jaw jutted out. “We didn’t break nothing.”

  “Anything.” And I know you didn’t break anything other than my heart. Ruby turned to the three who should have known better. “You should know better.”

  “Like Belle said, we were just having some fun.” Cimarron laid a hand on Opal’s shoulder. “Hard as we all work around here, some fun sounded right nice. And dancing is fun, as you would know if you tried it.” She gave Opal a gentle push in the direction of the kitchen. “You go change your clothes, darlin’. You did real fine.”

  “I thought those dresses—”

  “Had been destroyed?” Belle shook her head. “Now why would anyone do that? If this place doesn’t make it, we’ll all be back doing what we know to survive. Dresses like these cost plenty. No one in her right mind would burn money like that.”

  Ruby pulled out a chair to use as a brace. She tightened her hands around the wood back and locked her elbows to hold herself up. First the disappointing—nay, heartbreaking—trip to Dickinson and now this. What was her world coming to?

  “You sit down there, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea.” Daisy fled the room, leaving Cimarron and Belle to deal with Ruby.

  “We’ll all go on back to the kitchen, and I’ll put the kettle on.” Belle rose from the piano stool that rolled on glass casters with a seat that went up or down as she turned it. “You got to admit she was cute as a button.”

  Ruby closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. One, two, three . . . When she made it to ten and opened her eyes, she was all alone in the dining room, the door to the kitchen still swinging.

  And worst of all, she couldn’t even fire them.

  She reached down for her satchel, only to find that Charlie had taken it with him. She stood alone. Alone amid tables wearing white cloths hemmed by Cimarron. The windows sparkled, thanks to Milly’s polishing. The dark blue painted floor had not a trace of dirt because Daisy kept it swept and scrubbed.

  That they all worked hard together was right. And there most certainly hadn’t been any time for fun.Was she a hard taskmistress? A vase filled with wild plum blossoms reposed on the polished-to-glass counter, where drinks used to be served and now guests registered for the hotel.

  The evidence of hard work and uncomplaining workers could not be ignored. And now she had next to nothing to pay them for their labors. Granted, she’d put enough money on the accounts in Dickinson to keep them from taking Dove House away, but unless they got more business in the door and did so on a regular basis, they were still in trouble.

  She felt like laying her head down on the table and using the tablecloth for mopping tears that once started might never stop. To think that back in New York her biggest problem had been the broken Dresden shepherdess.

  Now she was all alone with all this responsibility. The load on her shoulders threatened to push her down, right through the floor. She tried to take a deep breath, but it stopped halfway. Father, Far, Papa!

  “Papas are supposed to take care of their daughters, not saddle them with a burden beyond endurance.” Ruby shoved back her chair, the feet shrieking against the floor, and stormed out the door and down the street to the cemetery where her father was buried. The slam of her feet against the hardening ground could have slaughtered hundreds of unsuspecting insects— maybe even something larger, had such a creature found its way under her lace-up shoes. She halted at the foot of his grave, arms locked across her chest, a formidable frown furrowing her face, sparks flashing from her eyes.

  “What kind of a father are you, Per Torvald? Why did you bring us out here when you knew you were dying? I know you said you wanted to give us an inheritance, but all I got was more hard work and more responsibility than three young women should have. And the influence on Opal! What in the world were you thinking of? While we had nothing of our own at the Brandons’, at least we were respectable. Here, none of the women in town will even talk to me. All those years I waited to hear from you . . . and look what you did to us!” Her raised voice was enough to invite an ans
wering caw from the crow in the nearby cottonwood tree.

  “And you keep your mouth shut too.” She shook her finger at him, and the crow flapped his way off.

  She paced three feet one way, spun around, and paced six back. “What am I supposed to do? You weren’t even honest with me regarding the debts. You said there was enough money to cover things. Did you think I would be able to go on with the girls in the same line of work? Who do you think I am?” The beat of her feet punctuated her invectives. “Who were you to allow such behavior? You and Mor always took me to church— you even sang in the choir. Now I hear that you and Belle were quite the duet. What happened to you that you changed so much?” She dashed at the tears that had the audacity to seep by her fury. “Take care of the girls! Who’s going to take care of this girl? And Opal? How can I be her mother and her father and her sister and her teacher and all that she needs?”

  She wanted to throw herself down on the carpet of green that had grown over the grave, slam her hands into the ground, cry her eyes dry, but she still wore her lovely travel dress, and grass stains were hard to remove. She resorted to stamping her foot. Somehow it wasn’t as satisfying, but during the weeks since her arrival, she had gained a far greater appreciation for the work that went into laundry and housekeeping and cooking. To say nothing of keeping the books, a job she could shove off on Charlie, but then how would she know exactly where she stood? The thoughts buzzed in her head like bees in a swarm, and surely the bees were more productive.

  A horse snorted, and she glanced back toward the street at the sound. Rand Harrison sat on his buckskin, watching her.

  If she’d thought her face red before, now it flamed like a roaring fire. She clapped her hands to her cheeks, wishing for a fan, a parasol, a tree, anything to hide behind.