My Heart Belongs in Ruby City, Idaho

by Susanne Dietze

  Rebecca couldn’t fix a single one of those hurts, but she could be a friend to the members of her new community, remembering that each, like her, held hurts and griefs.

  It was a small thing, but she knew just where to start. She stood, drawing Uncle Giff’s and Mrs. Horner’s surprised gazes. “Excuse me, but I have some errands to run.”

  She wasn’t the least surprised that neither Uncle Giff nor Mrs. Horner seemed mournful at her departure.

  Tad winced. Good thing he’d been grazed in the left shoulder, or he wouldn’t have been able to work. Not that this was really working.

  “What do you say, Lady? Lift.” He gently pushed the sorrel mule’s shoulder blade, watching for the animal to respond by raising her hoof off the ground.

  Lady’s hoof elevated, an inch, maybe, but it was enough. Tad removed his hand from Lady’s bony shoulder. “Good job, following instructions already.”

  “That’s more than I can say for you.”

  He looked up. Rebecca strode into the livery with a basket on her arm, her mouth twisted. At least she wasn’t as angry as she’d been yesterday. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

  “I am.” Tad patted Lady’s broad neck.

  “Doesn’t look like it to me.”

  “This? It’s easy. Even you can do it. Come here.”

  She hesitated, but after a moment, she set the basket on one of the workbenches and joined him. She stood close enough that her flower-soap scent filled his senses, a nice contrast to Lady’s smell.

  “So, who’s this?” She patted Lady’s side.

  “One of the new mules Pa bought last week. He named her Lady.”

  “She’s pretty, like Madge.”

  Only Rebecca would find a mule pretty. “She might be stronger, though. A mule kick’s a powerful thing. They do it because they’re scared, in pain, or remembering pain, and sometimes because they’re just ornery, so we need to teach Lady not to kick us, for whatever reason, when we tend to her legs or she gets shoed. This is how we do that. Here, push on her shoulder blade.”

  Rebecca’s hands pulled back from Lady. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “It doesn’t hurt. Here.” He captured her small warm hand and returned it to Lady’s back. He manipulated her hand over Lady’s shoulder blade. “Feel the sharp bone? Now when we press it, look down and see if her hoof lifts off the ground.”

  “It did!” Rebecca swiveled to look back at him, grinning.

  He removed their hands from Lady’s back but didn’t let hers go. “Now we do it two more times, so she gets used to the idea.”

  Once, twice. Lady lifted her hoof each time.

  “Good job, Lady.” Rebecca’s encouraging tone was sweet in Tad’s ears. Probably Lady’s ears, too. “You’re so smart.”

  A mule—pretty and smart. Tad snickered.

  “What’s so funny?” She spun in his arms, her shoulder knocking the cut on his chest. He grunted, and she gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sound like a strangled cat. Sit down.” She pointed to the chair by the workbench where she’d left the basket.

  “Wilkie changed my bandage already.”

  “I heard. Sit.”

  “Just a minute.” If she hadn’t come to check his bandages, why was she here? Before he could find out, he had to see to Lady, offering her a treat and then settling her in the paddock. When he returned, he peeked in Rebecca’s wicker basket. “What’s all this?”

  “Willow bark tea for pain. Cookies for my apology.”

  “Apology?” He plopped onto the chair. “For what, Rebecca Mary?”

  She turned red as the flowers on her calico dress. “Yelling at you. Getting angry. I had no right.”

  He’d been thinking the same phrase about himself. He had no right to think about Rebecca the way he did, first thing when he got up and last thing at night. No right to enjoy teaching her how to train Lady, with her close to his chest and his arm wrapped around her. No right to remember what it had been like to kiss her.

  “I can handle you yelling at me.” What he couldn’t handle was the way her smile made his stomach flip.

  God, take these feelings away. I beg You.

  She unwrapped a dish towel, releasing the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon and sugar. “An offering. I promise I didn’t put just enough poison in them that you’d get sick so you couldn’t go out and get shot again.”

  “Never crossed my mind.” The cookie melted in his mouth. Rebecca was an amazing cook, smart, pretty, and giving. Did Theodore know how blessed he was?

  “You know, after what you just said about mules, I think I’m a lot like them. I lash out when I’m afraid or in pain or remembering pain.”

  “Or when you’re just plain ornery.” He snatched another cookie.

  “That, too.” She stared at her fingernails. “I want you and Theodore to be friends again.”

  The name was like a splash of cold water to his face. “That wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”

  “I know you two haven’t gotten along since that fiasco with Dottie—yes, I know who she is. But now, I’ve made things worse between you.”

  “It’s not you.” Or Dottie, either. Little surprise Rebecca had heard about her. Ruby City wasn’t that big of a town, and memories weren’t that short. “I want to mend the rift between Theodore and me, too. Although I have to admit, I really don’t want to talk about Theodore right now.”

  “Why not?”

  He reached behind her to pull a bill off the worktable and handed it to her. It was in Theodore’s neat hand. Payment due for bandages, needle, thread, and other sundries. “Corny brought it over.”

  Rebecca grunted and shoved the bill into the basket. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “Don’t you dare. I pay my bills.” His tone was light.

  “That isn’t the point.” She helped herself to a cookie. “Me being married to you, after what happened with Dottie, has to stick in his craw. I don’t want to hurt him like that.”

  Yet she brought Tad cookies and chatted with him in the barn, a contradiction—unless this was her way of saying good-bye to their relationship, whatever it was. Friends who accidentally married each other.

  She was right to put distance between them, for Theodore’s sake. And for their own. It did no one any good for Tad to like Rebecca more than as a cousin. “Apology and cookie accepted. See you at the annulment?” He said it with a smile, although the stirrings of panic chewed at his innards.

  “I’m certain I’ll see you every day, silly. One of these days I’ll remember to return your wedding ring.”

  The thought of putting it on someone else’s finger gnawed at his gut. “No hurry. It’s just an opal I dug out of the dirt.”

  Her brow quirked. “It’s more than that, Tad. It’s a symbol of your commitment, which doesn’t belong with me.”

  He couldn’t argue with her about that, or about her staying longer when she stood and brushed off the back of her skirt. He chose to smile his good-bye. “You’re still mad at me about getting shot?”

  “A little,” she said with a tiny smile. “See you around, Tad. I have more errands to do.”

  “For Mrs. Horner?”

  She shook her head. “You’re not the only person in Ruby City who could use a cookie.”

  The basket knocked Rebecca’s arm as she hastened up the street toward the mercantile. She still had a dozen cookies nestled in another dish towel, just enough to—

  Make that eleven. She approached the stooped figure, coming around his side so she wouldn’t startle him. He mumbled, so she cleared her throat. “Mr. Pegg?”

  He didn’t stop, so she quickened her step. “Mr. Pegg? Longbeard?”

  There, that name made him turn. She didn’t like using it, but it seemed to be the one he answered to, so she smiled. He didn’t return the gesture, however. One eye squeezed shut, while the other squinted at her. She dipped her head. “I’m Rebecca Rice. Do you remember
me?”

  He didn’t say anything, but his fingers clenched. No fork today.

  “I have something for you.” She stepped closer. He stank of perspiration and rot, like his teeth were blackening underneath that beard. Rebecca kept her smile in place and reached into the basket. “A cookie. Oatmeal and cinnamon.”

  “Why?” He didn’t take it.

  “We’re neighbors. I baked them today, and I’d like you to have one.”

  Slowly, one dirty, gnarled hand reached out and snatched the cookie.

  “Miz Rebecca, is that you?” The voice behind her pulled her gaze around.

  “Ulysses? You know Mr. Pegg, don’t you?” But Longbeard was already scurrying up the street, clinging to the shadows like a mouse. Sending up a prayer for him, she turned back to Ulysses and dug into her basket. “Would you care for a cookie?”

  He propped his hands on his hips, pushed out his lower lip, and gave her a look of mock suspicion. “You don’t want something in exchange, do you? Like more gemstones? Not as easy as you think. Ruby City didn’t get its name because rubies line the streets. The soil’s red, that’s all.”

  “I don’t want a ruby. I love my jasper.” She held out one oatmeal cookie.

  “Oh, then, sure.” The snack was gone in an instant, and Ulysses smacked the crumbs from his lips. “You’re a fine cook, ma’am. You sure you don’t want to marry me?”

  He was incorrigible. “One of these days some gal might take you seriously.”

  “Like who? You know anyone?” He looked around in an exaggerated display of pretend eagerness before bursting into laughter.

  “I’d best be on my way. Have a good day, Ulysses.” She mounted the steps to the mercantile.

  “Bake gingersnaps next time,” he called after her.

  She waved and entered the mercantile. Not a single customer browsed, but at the sound of the bell, Cornelia’s head ducked out from behind the gray curtain to the office.

  “Mr. Fordham isn’t here.” Cornelia’s voice was surly.

  Rebecca would have to wait to give him his cookies, then. Much as she wanted to talk to Theodore, she’d been long awaiting a chance to speak to Cornelia in private. She lifted the basket. “I baked cookies. Care for one?”

  “I’m busy.” Cornelia disappeared behind the curtain.

  Rebecca shut her eyes for the span of a deep breath before marching into the office. The curtain flapped behind her. “What are you doing? I’ll help.”

  “Mr. Fordham entrusted a special shipment to me and me alone.”

  Spools in three sizes of red, white, and blue ribbons lay on the worktable. “Is this for Independence Day?”

  Cornelia’s chin lifted, wobbling the braids looped over her ears. “Mr. Fordham provides bunting to decorate the town, but he also sells rosettes. Mrs. Horner, my ma, and I make them, and he pays us half—a penny a piece.”

  “Is Independence Day a grand affair here?”

  Cornelia’s scowl melted, replaced by an eager grin. “Just before supper the brass band marches up the street. Mrs. Croft sells supper. When it’s dark, there’s dancing to fiddle music and then, real fireworks. Mr. Fordham ordered them already. I love the ones that blast into gold flowers and when they fade they sparkle like fireflies. Mr. Fordham told me he’d get those special.”

  “They sound pretty.”

  “They are. So’s the dancing. Ladies with swirly skirts, twirling around the makeshift dance floor on the street—”

  Cornelia’s mouth clamped shut, as if she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be talking to Rebecca, much less enjoying it.

  Rebecca opened the basket and offered a cookie. “What will you wear for the celebration?”

  Cornelia held the treat, gesturing with it at her frock. It was brown calico, and while it wasn’t too large, it was crafted for a woman of a different shape, like her mother, perhaps. Cornelia’s dainty frame was well disguised. “This, I suppose.”

  “The color’s good with your hair, but sometimes it’s nice to have something new for a party. We have time to sew one, if you’d like. I’m not the best seamstress, but I manage. If your ma wouldn’t mind, that is.”

  Cornelia’s jaw dropped. “She’s always saying we need to take her old things in for me, but we never have time, with me working and her busy with the young’ uns.”

  So Cornelia did indeed wear her mother’s castoffs. “How old are you?”

  “Almost nineteen.”

  Definitely past time for her to own her own dress. “What color would you like?”

  “I never picked fabric before.”

  Never? Rebecca had fixed on choosing from the bolts of pretty but serviceable calicos, but those wouldn’t do anymore. “What about that bolt of blue striped satin we can’t sell?”

  Cornelia flinched. “That’s too fancy.”

  “Not for a party. Besides, the blue will look lovely with your hair and complexion, and it’s patriotic, too. It’ll make quite an impression on the dance floor. I imagine there are plenty of young men who might ask for a reel or seek your company at the supper.” Was Mrs. Horner right about Cornelia taking a shine to one?

  Cornelia’s shoulders slumped. “That won’t happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, it might, but I don’t care if anybody asks me to dance. The fellow I like best doesn’t notice me like that.”

  So Mrs. Horner was right. Rebecca dusted crumbs from her hands. “He might be shy.”

  Cornelia shrugged. Rebecca gripped her hand and pulled her toward the mercantile. “Never mind him. Let’s go look at that bolt. This dress is for you, not for anyone else. Just you.”

  “I wish I could. Not mind him, that is.” Cornelia watched Rebecca slide the bolt from the shelf and lay it on the counter. The stripes of cobalt and paler blue shimmered.

  “Sometimes it’s hard to stop our feelings.” Rebecca should know. Tad popped into her thoughts more than he should, and not because they still had an annulment on the horizon. But she would not think of him now. Or anymore. She wiped her hands together, even though she’d already brushed off the cookie crumbs. “We have to let God work and trust Him with the outcome.”

  “I haven’t done that.” Cornelia’s fingers traced one cobalt stripe. “Why are you doing this for me? I’m the one who hid the receipts behind the candy jars.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why?”

  “Mr. Fordham values you, Cornelia. You’re important to him and the mercantile.”

  “I am?” Cornelia’s eyes widened. “He said that?”

  “He didn’t need to.” Rebecca unrolled the bolt. “I know it’s not the same at the mercantile since I arrived, but I hope we can be friends. So, should we make you a dress?”

  Cornelia’s breath was shallow. “How will we pay for it?”

  “Didn’t Theodore say he was discounting the fabric? I bet we can pitch in together for the satin and notions. What are you thinking for the style?”

  “A flounce, and tight wrist cuffs.” Cornelia’s words came out in a rush, as if she’d been holding back the vision of her dress for ages. “Nipped at the waist.”

  “Of course.”

  Rebecca and Cornelia talked cuts and yardage, and after a few minutes, Cornelia stopped and stared just behind Rebecca’s ear. “How do you do your hair like that?”

  “The curl? I wrap damp strands around my fingers and then pin them, so when they’re dry—”

  “I mean, half up, half down like that.”

  “I copied a picture in a magazine. It isn’t hard. I’d love to show you how.”

  “Maybe on the Fourth of July, I could wear my hair like that.” After Rebecca’s nod, Cornelia mashed her lips together. “I’m sorry I hid the receipts. You deserved better than that.”

  “Let’s start again.” Rebecca held out her hand. “I’m Rebecca.”

  Cornelia laughed and shook it.

  Ding-a-ding. Releasing hands, they turned to greet the customer entering the store.
Rebecca’s hand froze in midair. “Tad?”

  He removed his hat, and his mouth turned up in a tentative smile. She’d all but told him good-bye. What was he doing here? She’d known she’d have to see him around town, of course, but it hadn’t been an hour since she left him at the livery. Her knees jellied, along with her resolve to distance herself from him.

  God, help me stay strong and ignore this ridiculous pull toward him.

  “I brought my bill,” he said, holding out the paper he’d shown her. At the same time, Theodore pushed aside the curtain from the office with a jaunty, “I’m back.” He must have come in through the mercantile’s back door.

  Rebecca stood between them, her heart galloping in her throat while they all looked at her.

  At last she managed to smile. “Cornelia, will you assist Tad with his bill? I’ll help you with the ribbons in the back, Theodore.”

  She turned and joined Theodore, who looked surprised but happy. Good. Now everyone knew. She was the sort of woman who kept her promises.

  She’s promised to Theodore. Now let her be. But three weeks on, Tad couldn’t. Time seemed to have stopped in the mercantile when Rebecca left him with Corny to pay his bill.

  Life moved on, of course. Jeroboam Jones lurked at the county offices, offering his services and indicating he’d prefer a career in law enforcement to wood hauling. Longbeard lurked in the shadows, but Tad kept inviting him to church or a meal at Mrs. Croft’s—which he refused. Likewise, Wilkie declined to attend church, preferring to hole up in his barbershop with his pain. Mrs. Horner’s cough was better, and Ulysses kept asking every woman in town to marry him. Nothing new there.

  The Gang of Four wasn’t active, though, which was a welcome relief after three months of onslaught. And with Sheriff Adkins’s return from patrol, Tad had more time to help at the livery and assist in the new occupation of moving businesses, walls and all, to Silver City on mule-drawn sledges. Already, the street reminded him of a gap-toothed smile, with buildings uprooted and hauled away. A year from now, would anything be left in Ruby City?

  Tad ached at the thought, but he ached about plenty of things as June progressed. The calendar page would turn to July later this week, which meant Judge Harris would be back. Tad and Rebecca would get their annulment.