by Eli Easton
They all stared at Rowena like she was speaking a foreign language.
“So pick them up. Go on.” Rowena’s tone was cheerful.
Pa-Pa took his napkin from the empty glass and stared at it. “Where the heck did ya get these? I—”
Robby could see the moment when Pa-Pa remembered. He swallowed hard, blinked rapidly, and put the napkin in his lap with shaking fingers. “Well?” He glared around the table. “You heard the gal! Got wax in your ears?”
With some reluctance, everyone picked up the napkins.
Robby sat back down and fluffed the napkin in his lap. “Please pass the eggs,” he said to Missy, who was to his right. The little girl hurried to obey.
“Thing is, Rowena, we ain’t much for airs and graces,” Pa-Pa said, looking at Robby with a wary expression.
“That’s the marvelous thing about life. You can always learn.” Robby scooped eggs onto his plate.
There was a strangled sound that might have been laughter from Clovis’s end of the table. The dishes were grabbed and fought over as usual. Food landed on the tablecloth and on the floor. And that, Robby decided, was a battle for another day. But the napkins stayed in laps and Marcy and Emmie ate with the family. And that gave Robby a small sense of accomplishment and control that he desperately needed.
The meal had nearly ended when he spoke up again. “After the breakfast dishes, Marcy, Emmie, and I will take the rig into town. Pa-Pa, we’ll need money to buy fabric for new outfits for the kids. And for Marcy and Emmie too.”
The table went silent. All movement ceased. Billy had a fork half-raised to his open mouth and his eyes shifted from Robby to Pa-Pa and back again with a look of eager anticipation. Wayne’s lips had all but disappeared his mouth was pressed so tight.
“We don’t have time to take you gals to town today,” Pa-Pa said in a firm voice. “Maybe Saturday.”
“You don’t need to take us. I can drive the rig. Missy, please pass the strawberry jam.”
Missy’s chubby little hand planted the bowl in Robby’s palm, and she smiled big.
“Thank you kindly, sweet pea,” Robby cooed.
Missy squirmed in delight.
Pa-Pa put down his jackknife very, very carefully. Robby could tell he was struggling to control his temper. Robby waited patiently, painting jam on his toast with broad swipes. His hands were perfectly calm and steady, but a reckless fire burned in his chest.
“Now listen, the gals don’t go into town by themselves. It ain’t safe. You hafta wait till one of us can take ya.”
“It’s perfectly safe. And it must be today. We need to make new outfits for the wedding, and we’ve only got a few weeks to do it. As it stands, the children don’t have a scrap of decent clothing to their name, or Marcy and Emmie either.”
A tremor of fear went around the table. Wayne’s face went red and Roy glared at Robby. Clovis put his head in his hands. Even the children shrunk in their seats. Marcy and Emmie looked horrified, staring at Robby with wide eyes.
“Now . . . that’s not exactly true,” Marcy put in hesitantly.
“Yes, Marcy. Sad to say, it is true,” Robby countered in a no-nonsense tone. “However, it’s fine. We can fix it.”
In his peripheral vision, Robby could tell Pa-Pa’s face was red, so red it looked like his head was set to explode. But Robby did not care a whit. He was itching for a fight—of any kind, with anyone. And if Pa-Pa was going to be that one, God rest his soul.
He turned to look at the man. Robby’s chin lifted. Go on and hit me, if that’s what you do.
Pa-Pa’s eyes narrowed, and a flicker of confusion crossed his face. He looked at Robby for a long moment, his tongue poking at his cheek. Then he looked away, took a bite of toast, and chewed thoughtfully.
“Our ways are foreign to ya, gal,” he said at last, with only a slight tremor of anger in his voice. “So I’m gonna give ya some slack. But let me tell you somethin’ about the Crabtrees. We don’t take to throwin’ money around on fancy folderol and what-have-you’s. I didn’t build this here fine ranch by having loose pockets. Any gal with a lick of sense would appreciate security over vanity, and I’ll be disappointed if I learn that ain’t you, Rowena. Besides which, the kids ain’t goin’ to no weddin’. It’s you, me, and Clovis what’s gonna be there. Nobody needs new clothes.”
Robby smiled sadly and touched his arm. “Of course, I want the whole family there, Pa-Pa. Especially since my own beloved family will be absent. I’m all alone in the world here in Flat Bottom. But I’m so glad you mentioned family.”
“I didn’t—”
“My father built up a successful farm from nothing—”
“I thought he was a lawyer.” Pa-Pa looked confused.
Robby continued, on a roll now. He let Rowena have full steam and she was charming, ruthless, and glorious. “My sainted father built up a successful farm while also making sure those who were dependent upon him—his wife, his children, and my grandparents—” She looked at Pa-Pa pointedly. “—had decent clothing and other basic necessities like hair ribbons, coats that were warm, and shoes that didn’t pinch or let in the rain and snow. Not fancy things, laws no! But necessary things.”
Pa-Pa’s gaze dropped to Missy’s shoes, which were on the rail of her chair. The little girl wore boy’s shoes that had gaping holes in the side.
“My beloved father always said to me, ‘Rowena,’ he said, ‘I don’t care how much land a man has, or how much gold. A man is not a success in this world if he doesn’t take care of his family!’”
Pa-Pa’s face went the color of blueberry pie. His eyelid twitched.
Robby forced a sympathetic smile. “Now, I know men just don’t care about these things. Why, I’ll bet you can drive a herd of cattle in circles for days and diagnose a dozen diseases, but not know the difference between a bolt of serge and one of calico. Which is why Marcy and Emmie and I will take care of everything, don’t you worry.” She patted Pa-Pa’s hand.
Marcy spoke up, timidly. “I think . . . What Pa-Pa always says is that . . . children outgrow things so darn fast. It’s not worth spending money for things that don’t last.”
She was trying to play peacemaker. Bless her heart.
Robby took a sip of coffee and summoned up his most carefree manner. “Well, there’s nothing I admire more than a frugal man, and they can write that on my tombstone! But I’ll tell you my mother’s philosophy. You would have liked her, Pa-Pa. Everyone thought she was a tremendous beauty.” He gave Pa-Pa a dazzling smile. “My mother believed in sturdy, practical fabric made into sturdy, practical clothes that looked nice and fit comfortably. Why, a body must be able to breathe and move around! It’s just exactly like a horse with a good saddle. And when one child outgrew a thing, it was passed on to the next child. Most evenings she had something on her lap that she was mending.”
Marcy nodded eagerly at the word “mending.” She glanced between Robby and Pa-Pa anxiously.
“However, there comes a time when a piece of clothing crosses the line between being a useful article to being a downright embarrassment that gives a bad impression to other folks.”
“I never cared a fig about what other folks think!” Pa-Pa said, but his voice was a little wobbly and he sounded more defensive than angry now.
“You are so right, Pa-Pa!” Robby agreed. “A man’s pride should come from his own conscience. I couldn’t agree more. On the other hand, as an important businessman in this town, I’m sure you know the value of keeping up appearances. Why, it’s just like fencing. Have you ever ridden by a farm with fences that are falling down? And the whole place is goin’ to weed? Now, would you do business with a place like that, or would you think that farmer is on the verge of losing everything? Or that, if he’s too lazy to keep up his own place, he’s not a man you can trust to work hard?”
Pa-Pa stared at him, his eyes wide.
“The fences on this ranch are all in excellent repair, and that speaks highly of you, Pa-Pa,” Robby c
hatted on. “It tells people that you’re a man who protects and maintains what’s his.”
Robby delicately ate some toast. There was dead silence around the table. Wayne stared at his plate and Roy exchanged an unreadable look with Clovis. Marcy and Emmie watched Robby with faces still anxious, but there was hope there too. Marcy nodded at her in agreement, just once.
Robby gave her a smile. “And! Sooner or later Billy and Paul and Missy, and all these fine grandbabies of yours, they’ll be of an age to marry too. You know how time flies. And it will matter what people think of this family when they’re looking for wives and husbands in Flat Bottom.”
More silence. The clock in the hall ticked. Baby George started fussing and Emmie gave him another scoop of eggs on his tray to hush him up.
Robby finished his toast and wiped his mouth daintily with a napkin.
Pa-Pa was still silent, but his face was less blueberry pie now than strawberry cream. His eyes were distant and thoughtful. He didn’t answer, but he did reach out to pick up his cup and take a big drink of coffee. His hand only trembled a little.
“Perhaps, Pa-Pa, you’d like to come to town with us this morning,” Rowena offered sweetly. “I’d be happy to show you some fabric bolts that are sturdier than the dickens and not expensive at all. Why, I bet we could make new clothes for every soul at this table for less than twenty dollars.”
“I’d rather jump onto a pitchfork,” Pa-Pa said in a flat voice.
Robby laughed gayly. “Men! It must be in your blood to hate shopping. All right. I surely wouldn’t want to torture you.”
Pa-Pa cleared his throat. “Wayne, you take the gals.”
Wayne blinked at him, his jaw hanging open. “You’re gonna . . . You mean . . . Well, I can’t, Pa. You know me and Roy are goin’ to the horse auction today. We gotta leave right after breakfast.”
Pa-Pa grit his teeth and looked down the table. “Clovis?”
Clovis looked at Robby and Pa-Pa, his eyes twinkling. “I’d sure like to take ’em, Pa. But did ya forget that you, me, and Billy are bringin’ in the south herd today?”
Pa-Pa frowned. He was working up to a hard no, so Robby had to think of something. He opened the drawstring purse at his waist and brought out a locket on a chain, handling it carefully. “That reminds me, Pa-Pa. I was wondering if you could hold on to this for safe keeping? It was my grandmother’s and it’s solid gold. It’s my most prized possession in the world, and I’m always so afraid I’ll lose it. I’d be grateful if you take care of it until the wedding.”
Robby gave Pa-Pa a tremulous smile and pressed the treasure into his palm. His eyes met Pa-Pa’s. I’ll be back.
Pa-Pa licked his lips and tucked the locket into his shirt pocket. “Wayne, you hitch up that rig before you go.”
Chapter Fourteen
Marcy and Emmie could not stop talking about it the entire drive into town.
“Lord, you about gave me a heart attack this morning, Rowena!” Marcy exclaimed, fanning herself. “I have never seen anyone go up against Pa-Pa like that. I’d like to have up and expired.”
“And he gave in!” Emmie gasped. “He gave us twenty whole dollars. I can hardly believe it!”
Robby smiled to himself. Both Marcy and Emmie were as chatty as schoolgirls this morning. Both of them wore the best things they owned for the trip to town—the tan calico on Marcy and a faded green cotton dress on Emmie. There hadn’t been time to modify Rowena’s dresses for them, but Robby had added a big blue brooch and lace collar to Marcy’s dress and a soft dappled knit shawl over Emmie’s. They’d taken more time with their hair, too, worn back in buns with loose tendrils around the face. And Robby had even applied a hint of rouge on their cheeks and lips before they’d left the house.
They were so different than the resigned, mousy women he’d met upon his arrival. It was amazing what a little honest rebellion could do. Robby’s heart sang to see it.
It also helped that Robby had bribed Billy into baby-sitting with the promise of store-bought candy.
“Of course he gave in.” Robby flicked the reins to get the two horses to pull the rig faster. “Because he’s wrong, and, deep down, he knows it. He’s just never had anyone challenge him on it before.”
“Well, you won’t get around him quite so easy once you’re wed up with Clovis, but it sure was a sight to see all the same,” said Marcy with satisfaction.
“Twenty whole dollars,” Emmie mused, shaking her head. “I can just see all the kids cleaned up and dressed in something sturdy and practical, like you said, Rowena. The sturdier the better when it comes to the boys. Last time I was at the general store, they had some of that new dungaree cloth.”
“Dungaree pants for the boys,” Marcy said happily. “And I wonder if we could make a dress for Missy from it too. Or do you think it’s too stiff, Rowena?”
“It depends on what kind they carry. When we get to the store, we can take a look.”
In truth, Robby wasn’t adept at regular clothes. Putting together garb for Egyptian pharaohs, medieval kings, and French tarts had been fun, but he had no idea how to make children’s clothes, nor any interest in learning. Still, any project that would take his mind off the Bowery Boys would be welcome.
But as they drew close to town, anxiety gripped Robby. He didn’t think the Bowery Boys would be in Flat Bottom—not by what Trace had said last night. But he still felt exposed riding out in the open, and his fear rose up without warning. The prickly heat of it cramped his stomach and his breathing became heavy. He pushed it down and lifted his chin. He would not be afraid anymore, not of shadows. He couldn’t live that way.
But the town looked somnolent as they approached. There was no sign of any movement at all. By the time they drew up at the general store, Robby’s fear had subsided. The Bowery Boys weren’t here. He was sure of it. Still, his hands shook as he laid down the reins.
Beside him on the bench seat, Marcy and Emmie stiffened their backs and held their heads up high. They both descended from the wagon with exaggerated propriety.
From a house with a Rooms for Let sign in the window, an older lady came out and stared. So did a man at the livery stables, eyeballing them while wiping his hands on a cloth. Trace burst out of the sheriff’s office at a near gallop. He slid to a stop on the porch, wearing an alarmed expression.
Robby ignored them all. He climbed down and tied up the horses to the rail while Marcy and Emmie waited outside the store.
“Go on inside. I’ll be there in a minute,” he told them.
With a nod, they went in.
“What the hell are ya doin’?” Trace hissed low, coming up behind Robby.
“Shopping,” Robby replied with an arched brow. As if it were perfectly normal. As if he hadn’t just been scared witless himself a minute ago.
“Ya should be at the ranch!” Trace’s face was stony, but there was a manic look in his eye, like he wanted to hit something.
“You said it’d be four or five days before you-know-who showed up. I needed to get a break while I had the chance, and I needed to do something for Marcy and Emmie. So here we are. Don’t worry. I won’t miss our appointment this afternoon at the cabin.”
With a saucy wink, Robby turned and went into the store.
They took their time looking over the mercantile’s bolts of fabric. It was a basic selection, but not as bad as it might have been. While they browsed, a dozen women decided they really needed something at the mercantile right then. Emmie and Marcy introduced Rowena to lady after lady until there was a small crowd gathered around the bolts of fabric on the back table.
“You’re looking well,” Mrs. Jones told Marcy, dissecting her and Emmie with her gaze. “And, my, isn’t that a lovely shawl. I’ve never seen anything that soft-looking.”
Marcy and Emmie exchanged a look. “Well, it really belongs—” Marcy began.
“The yarn is called mohair,” Robby cut in smoothly. “That dappled cream is divine on Emmie. And doesn’t Marcy look w
ell in that collar? It brings out her lovely brown hair.”
Emmie blushed and fingered the heavy dungaree cloth she’d been examining.
“You must be that mail-order bride who’s marryin’ up with Clovis,” Mrs. Jones said, eyeing Robby dubiously. One of the other ladies gasped, and Mrs. Jones grimaced. “Sorry. I’m a plain-speakin’ woman, but that didn’t come out the best. What I mean is, I hear Clovis is gettin’ married to a gal he courted through the post. Is that right?”
In Robby’s head, Rowena took offense to the way Mrs. Jones said “mail-order bride.” He tilted his nose up. “I am engaged to marry Mr. Clovis Crabtree, yes.”
“Well, I’m sure we wish you every happiness.” Mrs. Jones sounded doubtful.
A great deal of chatter commenced among the ladies. They apparently found the marriage as shocking and unlikely as Robby did himself. But a petite blonde in a modest blue skirt and white shirtwaist frowned worriedly at Robby from near the bolts of blue calico.
Robby leaned over to whisper in Marcy’s ear. “Who’s that?”
Marcy followed her gaze. “That’s Miss Stubbens, the schoolmarm. Clovis had an awful hankerin’ for her, but she refused to let him come callin’.”
Marcy gave Miss Stubbens a glower, obviously defensive on Clovis’s behalf. But Robby was intrigued.
They picked up a few pastel shades in sturdy cotton, then Robby left Marcy and Emmie discussing buttons while he worked his way over to Miss Stubbens. She was studying rolls of eyelet lace, two red spots of color high on her cheeks.
“I hear you’re the schoolteacher. I’m Miss Fairchild.”
The petite blonde gave a curtsy. “How do you do? I’m Miss Stubbens.”
“Charmed, I’m sure. Marcy and Emmie mentioned you.”
Miss Stubbens winced and looked away. “There was never anything between Clovis and me. You don’t need to worry on that account.”
