Millie tried to shove past him, but Andrew’s fingers clenched her wrist. “Where are you going, missy?”
She stared into his suspicious face for an instant. “I’ve got to go out back. You know.” She made a face that she hoped would imply her urgent need to visit the little building a lady would never mention.
“With all your stuff?” Andrew’s eyes squinted into slits. “Not running out on the customers, are you? We’ve got a lot of dinners yet to serve tonight.”
She sighed and pulled her wrist from his grasp. “Look, I need to leave. I’m sorry—it’s an emergency. Just give me what you owe me, please.” She was glad after all that she’d run into him. She’d have slipped away without her pay, and she needed that.
“You ain’t worked a whole day yet.”
“Pretty near. I mean it, Mr. Willis. I need to get going now.”
“Why? What’s happened?” He looked past her into the kitchen.
“Nothing, but if I’m not in Scottsburg by morning, something awful will happen.”
This didn’t satisfy him any better than her earlier answers. He leaned against the doorjamb and studied her with an air of disapproval.
“You’re lying. Why?”
“I’m not.”
“You planning to ride to Scottsburg all by yourself? ’Cause the steamboat don’t leave ‘til morning. I know that for a fact.”
She looked him over, wondering how big a fib he would swallow. So far she wasn’t doing very well. And if he tried to collect money for the pies…
“All right, I’ll tell you.” She blinked several times and tried to conjure up tears. “I went into the dining room, like you said, and gave all the men their coffee. And some of them—” She sniffed. “Some of them said shameful things to me. Mr. Willis, I’m afraid of those men. Some of them have got no morals at all. Please let me go.”
Andrew laughed. “You think you’ll be safer on the road to Scottsburg than you were in my dining room? Girl, you’re loony. What do you think would happen if one of them caught you a mile out of town, all by your lonesome? Besides, I won’t let ’em bother you.”
She achieved what she hoped was a pathetic quivering of her top lip. “I’m just so scared. And I’m nigh exhausted. I don’t think I can cook anymore tonight.”
“Well, you’ve got to. We have a business agreement. Come on, now. Fried chicken, more pies…I ain’t paying you a cent until you do.”
Millie let out a pent-up breath. “All right, but don’t make me go out into the dining room again. I don’t want them to see me.”
“All right, Charlotte. Just you put your apron back on and get busy. I’ll go deliver them pie slices and tell the ones still waiting to be patient. How do I know who gets the pie, now?” As he spoke, he picked up the things he’d dropped and placed them on the table.
“Oh, they’ll know. Just ask who was promised a slice of pie.” She dearly hoped they wouldn’t tell him they’d paid her, but if they did, she guessed she’d have to hand over the five dollars.
Andrew loaded the tray and carried it into the dining room. The roar of voices and clinking of silverware on china burst through the doorway then quieted again as the door closed.
Millie looked longingly toward the back door. If she ran now, the liveryman wouldn’t trade her a decent horse. She needed the pay Andrew had promised her. She couldn’t think of anything more she could do to ensure that Anne Stone and Daniel Adams wouldn’t learn who was cooking their dinner. Resolutely, she tied the apron around her again and picked up a limp, naked chicken.
The next morning, Millie crawled out of the hayloft in the barn behind a farmhouse before the sun rose and brushed all traces of her sleeping place from her hair and clothing. The rain had let up after midnight, and for a wonder she’d slept soundly. She hurried through the shadows to the horse trader’s corral.
Her saddle was waiting for her in the flimsy shed, and she decided to go ahead and put it on the mare she was taking. If the owner came out before she was done, she’d pay him. If not, she supposed she’d have to go knock on his door and give him the money. She wished she dared to leave Elkton without paying for the horse, but that was too dangerous. He’d have the marshal on her for sure, and she couldn’t stand for any delays now, nor too much scrutiny.
Just for a moment, she considered putting her saddle on the bay gelding, which looked to be in better shape than the mare, but she didn’t have twenty-five dollars, and she’d never get away with it for less. The horse trader wasn’t just big, he was shrewd. She threw one last wistful glance at the gelding. The horse she’d ridden into town got no notice. Millie was glad to be rid of it.
The liveryman arrived, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, as she tied her bundles to the saddle. She’d sneaked a small bag of oats from the farmer’s cache last night and had slipped it into the sack with the dress she’d pilfered in Eugene City. At least her new mount would have a little nourishment later.
“Well, Miss Evans, you’re about early.” He frowned as he eyed the mare. “I guess this means we’re doing business.”
“Yes, sir, and I’ve got the money right here. Thank you kindly for recommending me to Mr. Willis.”
His eyebrows shot up as she heaped his palm with coins and a few bills. “Well now. I heard there was big doings at Andrew’s last night. I almost went over to see if I could get a piece of your pie.”
“The pies sold out as fast as I could bake them.”
“Do tell.” The huge man slapped the mare gently on the withers. “She’s a good horse. Treat her well, and she’ll do the same for you.”
“Thank you,” Millie said. “Say, there hasn’t been a fella around asking for me, has there?”
The man shook his head. “You did say you had friends coming in, but nobody’s been here inquiring for a lovely young lady.”
“Oh, thank you.” Millie smiled up at him, knowing she’d get a lot further with him if she played along with his attempts at flirtation. “He’s my half brother. Light hair, beard, not nearly so tall as you are.” She blinked at him, disgusted with herself, but determined to leave a favorable memory, since she had to leave some impression.
“Nope, haven’t seen him, but if he comes along, I’ll be sure to tell him Miss Charlotte Evans was here.”
“Thank you.” She almost told him Charlotte wasn’t her real name, but then what if Anne Stone made inquiries and learned she’d been here?
She swung up onto the mare’s back.
“Her name’s Vixen.”
Millie almost shouted, “I don’t ever name horses.” Instead she gave him a farewell wave and set out on the westward road.
David Stone crawled out of his wilted tent and looked around at the sodden mountainside and the rushing creek. He hated rain. His bay gelding, Captain, named in a fit of nostalgia and yearning for his brother John, plodded toward him. He looked black when he was wet, and David regretted not having built a shelter for the horse.
Captain came over and rubbed his damp face against David’s arm.
“Good morning.” David rubbed between Captain’s ears absently while he considered his course for the day. He’d have to make the trip down to Scottsburg for more supplies if he wanted to stay up here to prospect any longer. He and Captain both had survived on short rations for two days and would have a very skimpy breakfast.
Maybe he should just pack up his tools and go home. The rain swelled the stream and made it hard to work the sluice box—a difficult job for one man as it was. He should probably go home and see if that shiftless Sam Hastings had ruined his farm.
He walked back to the tent, with Captain tagging after him. Stooping, he pulled out his nearly empty sack of provisions.
“Here you go, boy.” He’d saved the last, shriveled carrot for his horse. Inside the tent were his gold pan, spade, pick, and other tools. If he was going to break camp, he’d have to pack up everything. He hated to strike a wet tent. At least it wasn’t raining this moment—but that didn’t mean i
t wouldn’t soon. He squinted up at the low clouds. “Well, Lord, shall we have a cup of tea, and I’ll wait for You to speak?”
He always read a little scripture in the morning while his breakfast heated. Maybe God had a message for him today. Lately, he’d been feeling that his life was empty and hadn’t a lot of point to it. He’d made money and lost it again, made friends and left them behind, fallen in love and climbed out again. He was forty-one years old, and this morning he felt ancient. He was so thin, he could count his ribs easily, and his left knee ached. The thought of riding all day with his foot confined to the stirrup made it hurt worse—but the prospect of standing in the icy creek wasn’t much better.
How did he get to this place? Was he supposed be this age and not have loved ones around him? He’d bought the farm near Eugene as a place where he could settle down. So why couldn’t he feel settled?
Captain nuzzled him for more carrots.
“Sorry, old boy. I haven’t got any more. You’ll have to make do with what you can browse on.” He hated not having decent feed for the horse. He took out a small sack of rolled oats and set aside enough to make himself a small portion of oatmeal, then sprinkled the rest among the weeds. “There. See what you can make of that.”
While his tea water and oatmeal heated, David opened his Bible and read a psalm. “LORD, what is man, that thou takest knowledge of him! Or the son of man, that thou makest account of him! Man is like to vanity; his days are as a shadow that passeth away. “Wasn’t that the truth?
His thoughts strayed, as they often had lately, to England. Stoneford. His real home. Was it time to go back? What would he live on, other than his friends’ kindness? He’d have no income there. If he sold his mining claim and his farm, he’d have enough to take passage to England, but not enough to set himself up once he got there.
Maybe he should write to his eldest brother, Richard. Why hadn’t he kept up the correspondence, anyway? Laziness, he supposed, and the difficulty of making sure he’d get a reply when he’d moved around so much. Now it had been so long since he’d written that he was embarrassed to barge into John’s and Richard’s lives again.
He recalled the days he’d dangled Richard and Elizabeth’s infant on his knees. Little Anne was such a pretty mite. She probably had several brothers and sisters now. John must be married, too. David hoped so—hoped they were both happy and fulfilled.
The water boiled, and he jumped up to fix his tea. Sometimes it was hard to come by out here. A mercantile in Eugene stocked it for him, but the traders in Scottsburg had offered coffee instead. The stock David had carried with him was running out, like all his other provisions, and of course he had no milk to put in it.
He picked up his Bible and read the next verse aloud. “ ‘Bow thy heavens, O Lord, and come down; touch the mountains, and they shall smoke.’ ” He looked out over the hills, with the clouds rolling close to their summits. “ ‘Cast forth lightning, and scatter them; shoot out thine arrows, and destroy them.’ ”
Thunder cracked, and on the hillside across from the ravine where the stream flowed, lightning split a gnarled cedar tree.
Captain left off nosing about in the dead grass and snorted, whipping his tail back and forth. Raindrops splattered on David’s head, and he slammed the Bible shut. He dashed to the tent and placed the book inside. Poor Captain. The horse would have to fend for himself in the storm.
David ran back to the fire and grabbed his pot of oatmeal and his cup of tea. Captain trotted off toward the lee of a rocky outcropping. David crawled into the tent and sat for a moment, listening to the rain pelt the canvas. A gust of wind shook it so hard he wondered how long before the whole thing would collapse on him.
“Well, Lord, if that’s Your opinion, I’d say it’s definitely time to go down the mountain.”
Millie arrived in Scottsburg late in the morning. She’d shaken off Andrew’s pleadings and refused to come back to cook breakfast. She’d made a good trade, as far as the horse was concerned. The new mare moved along briskly through the wooded hills. She’d met several horsemen and a couple of farmers driving wagons eastward and passed more freighters and some drovers taking a small herd of cattle west. The mare didn’t balk at bridges, and she had a smooth canter—overall, Millie felt she’d spent her ten dollars well, and she still had the pie money in her pocket.
If she could have afforded the time, she had no doubt she could have struck an agreement with Andrew Willis by which they both profited. But she didn’t want to work hard all day in a sweltering kitchen. She wanted to take things a little easier and be ready to go out dancing in the evening, instead of needing to soak her feet and tumble into bed.
No, she had no regrets about leaving Elkton. One thing troubled her, though: where was Sam?
She’d seen no sign of him. Because of Miss Stone’s presence, she hadn’t dared peek out into the dining room again to see if he came into the restaurant last night. Before she went to the livery that morning to make her trade, she’d sneaked around to the stable behind the fancy boardinghouse. Sure enough, the horses Anne Stone and Dan Adams rode were in there. She was ahead of them now. She’d hoped to have a couple of days’ lead on them, but she’d have to make do with a few hours.
But it would have been nice to see Sam for a minute. What was he up to, anyway? Not enough to hold her adversaries back, that much was obvious. Odd that he hadn’t found her, though. Her lame horse should have told Sam she was in Elkton, and he could have located her if he’d hung around. She’d give him a piece of her mind next time they met.
A downpour broke as she reached the outskirts of town. She pushed the mare into a canter and rode the last quarter mile squinting against the fat raindrops that pelted her face. The brim on her hat served only to funnel the water into a nearly steady stream that poured down her back and soaked through her coat. By the time she saw a sign for a hotel, she was bedraggled and uncomfortable.
She threw the ends of Vixen’s reins toward the hitching rail and ran up the steps. She shoved the door. It flew inward and crashed against the wall. The desk clerk and three other men in the lobby looked up.
“Sorry.” Millie gave the clerk a weak smile and closed the door. Suddenly out of the wind and drumming rain, she wondered if she was going deaf. The four men still stared at her. Not the entrance she liked to make. She dredged up a smile and strode toward the desk.
“May I help you, ma’am?” the clerk asked.
She hesitated. She didn’t want to blurt out a request for the rates in front of the other customers. You never knew when it would be advantageous to make a gentleman’s acquaintance, and she didn’t want them all to know first thing that she was nearly broke.
“Uh, yes, thank you.” She raised her chin and hoped her disheveled auburn tresses held a hint of mystery, not complete squalor. “I wondered if you have a room free.”
“Well, yes, we do, ma’am.” The clerk turned the registry toward her. “That’s a dollar a night.”
“Oh.” She kicked herself mentally for letting that give her pause. She had five dollars and seventy cents in her pocket, but she certainly didn’t want the clerk to know that. With meals and care for the horse, that wouldn’t last more than two or three days in this mining town. Her impulse to ask if they had a cheaper room might be a mistake, though. She picked up the pen. “I may wish to stay several nights.”
“Of course. Our policy is, if you pay one night in advance, you can settle the rest when you leave.”
“Perfect.” With a flourish, she signed, “C. R. Evans.” She didn’t think Miss Stone and Mr. Adams knew her last name, and if they came in behind her, she doubted they’d recognize the name Evans. But sticking with the alias “Charlotte” that she’d used in Elkton seemed wise. One of the men who’d bought pie from her at Andrew Willis’s establishment might ride over here.
“I have a horse outside,” she murmured, in tones as like Anne Stone’s as she could muster. “Do you have accommodations for my mare?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have somebody see to it. Fifty cents a night. Seventy-five if you want us to give him oats.”
She nodded. “It’s a brown mare with a sidesaddle—out front.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
“I shouldn’t like the saddle to be ruined.”
“We’ll get her under cover right away, ma’am. Do you have bags?”
“Oh…” Millie couldn’t think how she’d explain to the snooty clerk that she carried her clothes in a grain sack. “I shipped a valise that will probably come later when the freighter comes in, but there is a saddlebag and a sack containing a gift for my cousin. If your man could just bring those to my room…?”
He glanced down at the registry. “It’ll be there before you get your bonnet off, Mrs. Evans.” He smiled at her stupidly.
Was he making fun of her wet, drooping bonnet? It took Millie a moment to realize he was waiting for her dollar. Obviously he wouldn’t put her horse under cover until she paid.
She took out the pouch her coins were in and held it below the level of the counter so that the clerk couldn’t see how light it was. She placed the money beside the registry.
The clerk smiled and whipped the coins off the surface like greased lightning.
“Thank you, ma’am. It’s room 202, up those stairs. Just throw the bolt when you’re inside, and use this key when you go out.” He placed a substantial steel key in her palm.
Millie paused, observing through lowered lashes that the other three men lingered and threw frequent glances her way. Maybe she could wangle a free dinner with one of them.
She cleared her throat and said to the clerk, “My cousin is to meet me here, but I’ve learned today that he’ll be delayed. I may have to wait a few days for him to arrive.”
“Very good, ma’am. If you need anything, just let us know.”
“Do you serve meals?” she asked.
“Yes, we do. That door”—he pointed to her right, beyond the staircase—“is our dining room. They’ll be serving dinner in about an hour, and supper from five to eight.”
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 43
