Shadow of Legends

by Stephen A. Bly

  Rebekah hid her grin behind her coffee cup.

  Dover responded like a man vainly trying to placate a lynch mob. “Oh no, he’s remarried now. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  Abigail’s words slammed down like a gavel. “Nor is this conversation appropriate!”

  “Well, I agree,” Olene blurted out. “Certain attorneys seemed locked on caustic comments. I’m curious about the support and care offered to the children by the whole community you mentioned. I would have thought everyone was so concerned with getting rich, they might tend to neglect the children. How do you account for this widespread compassion and generosity?”

  Most at the table resumed their eating. Except Watson Dover. He sat stunned.

  “Some of it has to do with all the babies dying,” Rebekah’s voice was soft.

  “Oh my,” Olene pressed. “What happened?”

  “For a couple of years we had an outbreak of diphtheria, smallpox, and scarlet fever,” Rebekah reported. “It hit the children the hardest. It was horrid. I believe over two hundred infants and children died in two years.” In her mind, Rebekah could see an endless procession of tiny wooden caskets. She could still hear the sobs of grieving mothers.

  “My word,” Olene nervously tugged at his gold cuff links. “I had no idea of the primitive conditions out here.”

  “But all of that seems to be settled down now.” Dacee June stared in horror as Fern grabbed a big handful of stewed tomatoes, then was somewhat relieved when she stuffed the whole wad into her mouth.

  Tobias Olene sprinkled salt on top of his white beans. “What caused things to settle down? Did they find a cure? What made the difference?”

  “The fire.” Dacee June popped a bite of ham into her mouth like a person who didn’t know when she would have another opportunity to eat.

  Watson Dover broke his self-inflicted paralysis and took a sip of coffee.

  “What fire?” Olene quizzed.

  Dacee June mumbled something, pointed to the bulge in her mouth, then nodded at her brother.

  “We just about lost the entire town last fall,” Todd explained. “Three hundred buildings were destroyed.”

  Dacee June swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. “But only one man died. The deaf Englishman called Casino Jack. I guess he was drunk and passed out. He must not have smelled the smoke. It’s a cinch he didn’t hear anyone yell,” she reported.

  Dover stared at his plate and pecked away at his food. He seemed to ignore the conversation around him.

  “Three hundred buildings?” Olene waved a silver fork across his plate. “But there is no trace of that fire now.”

  Todd surveyed those at the table. “Folks in Deadwood don’t sit around and mope much. We just jumped in and rebuilt. As you can see, we used a lot more brick this time around.”

  Olene seemed to be calculating replacements costs. “Did the hardware burn?”

  “Nope. The fire started in the Empire Bakery on Lee Street and swept east,” Todd reported. “We built our brick store building a few years ago. A brick company over in Spearfish went under and owed Dad quite a sum. So he took it in bricks and we rebuilt then. Of course, we did a lot of business after the fire.”

  Olene rubbed his clean-shaven chin with his fingers. “It sounds like a quite profitable venture.”

  Todd ground his teeth, then glanced down the table to Rebekah.

  “Actually, Mr. Olene,” Rebekah replied, “Fortune’s Hardware sold most everything at wholesale to any who wanted to rebuild. We didn’t think it right to make a profit from others’ tribulation.”

  Todd laid down his fork and turned to the Cleveland businessman. He forced himself to talk slowly. “Tell me, Mr. Olene . . . if you had a monopoly on the hardware business in Deadwood and half the town burned down, would you sell to them at your cost?”

  “I, eh . . . I’ve never heard of anything like that. I, eh . . . well, I, of course, don’t work in our sales division so I really couldn’t predict what . . .”

  “Mr. Olene, I believe it is a very good question,” Dacee June piped up as she cut a ham slice for a biscuit-chewing Quintin. “What would you do?”

  Todd could see Watson Dover visibly relax as Tobias Olene took the witness chair.

  “I, eh . . . well, as I . . . this is, conjectural, of course . . . I don’t see how this . . .”

  Todd watched Olene squirm. Feed them and grill them. Not a bad strategy.

  Olene pushed his chair back. Its legs squeaked across the polished floor. “What does this have to do with selling me your hardware?”

  Rebekah glanced at Todd. He liked the way her eyes flashed. Go to it, Mrs. Fortune. You’ve got the fight in your eyes now!

  “I believe all of us Fortunes will need to know the answer before we consider any sales,” Rebekah insisted. “If Deadwood burns . . . and it surely will again someday . . . will you sell at wholesale to any who want to rebuild? You see, Mr. Olene, this is the way business is done here in the West.”

  By his fidgeting Todd surmised that Olene was ready to bolt to the front door.

  “Do I understand that you are forcing this to be a condition of the sale?” Olene blustered.

  “Not at all. We aren’t obliging you to do anything. You came to Dakota and made an offer to purchase our store,” Todd corrected. “The answer to this question will help us to appraise what kind of company we’re dealing with. What’s your answer? Are you the kind of a company that sells wholesale when neighbors get burned out?”

  Olene cleared his throat. “I will give you an honest answer. I doubt very much if we could maintain a profit margin and afford to sell wholesale under such circumstances.”

  “We didn’t ask if you could afford it,” Todd persisted. “We asked if you would do it.”

  “That’s all very hypothetical. With so many buildings rebuilt in brick, I don’t know if there is a very real problem. We would, of course, be very supportive of the volunteer fire department.” Olene tugged on his shirt collar in an unsuccessful attempt to loosen his tie. “That’s as much of an answer as I can give at this time.”

  “I reckon it’s obvious where you stand,” Todd said.

  “Would anyone like some more ham?” Rebekah stood and retrieved the large platter from the two-wheeled serving cart. Todd knew it was her signal that the matter had been pressed hard enough, for the time.

  The conversation trailed off. Todd finished his coffee, then helped young Fern remove her hand that was stuck fast in the cream pitcher. He then glanced down the table at the determined look on his wife’s face. Mr. Tobias Olene, you have made a capital offensive blunder. Under no circumstance should you have aggravated Mrs. Rebekah Fortune. On the other hand . . . thank you, Lord. His insensitivity and arrogance was more convincing than six months of my best logic. If she gets aggravated enough, she’ll insist we stay here and run the store the rest of our lives. ‘Course, I could just be getting cocky and optimistic!

  By the time the peach cobbler was served, Dacee June had taken the children out to play on the front porch. The front parlor window was open wide as Todd helped Rebekah clear the table.

  “What now?” he whispered as they entered the kitchen. “Which one of these charming men should we deal with first?”

  Rebekah stacked dishes on the counter and scraped the scraps into a tin bucket on the floor. “How about Mr. Olene?”

  “But you said Abigail’s business is much more important,” he cautioned.

  “Most certainly . . . that’s why we’ll get the other out of the way first.”

  “You are riled over him, aren’t you?” he grinned.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I know you’re glad, Todd Fortune. But the matter is not resolved just because he peeved me.”

  “What s
hall I tell him?”

  “Nothing.” She blinked her long, dark eyelashes. “I’ll take care of Mr. Tobias Olene. There’s a little actress in every woman.”

  Todd trailed Rebekah back out to the parlor. Both Dover and Olene were standing. She scooted over to Tobias Olene and slipped her arm in his as she led him to the hat rack. “Mr. Olene, please give my fondest love to my father when you see him next. I trust he ­hasn’t remarried without notifying me.”

  “Oh, no . . . I’m sure he hasn’t . . . at least, I don’t think he has. My word, he was with Mildred Dodge the last time I saw him.” Olene unsuccessfully resisted her prodding and inched to the door.

  “Oh, don’t worry about Mrs. Dodge. She was dropped several months ago, according to his letters.” Rebekah handed him his hat.

  “Eh, we haven’t discussed this proposal.” He pulled several ­folded sheets of paper from his coat pocket.

  Rebekah plucked them from his hands. “Thank you, Tobias, for making the trip to Deadwood. Todd or Daddy Brazos will contact you in a few weeks and let you know what we think.”

  “A few weeks?” He spoke like a man sentenced to be hung a few days before Christmas.

  “Let’s say a month, just to be sure. Of course, if you don’t hear from them, the answer is obvious.” With one hand still on his coat sleeve, she held the front door open for him.

  “But, I’ve got to have decided something this week. I didn’t get a chance to explain.”

  “This is a family business, and the whole family will have to discuss it. I’m sure you understand. Mr. Olene, you told us quite a lot today, actually,” she insisted.

  “But we have much more to discuss,” he continued to protest.

  “I’m sure a good businessman like yourself has everything articulately explained in these documents. I assure you we will read the details very carefully.”

  “But . . . but . . .”

  She grabbed his shoulders as he stepped back out on the porch, then she leaned over and kissed his blushing, bushy cheek. “Take that home for my father, would you, Mr. Olene?”

  “Yes, well . . . certainly, Rebekah. I’ll be stopping in Chicago for a few days on my way home. Eh, thank you for dinner. I’ll, eh, look forward to hearing . . .”

  The door was closed before the sentence was completed.

  Todd Fortune ushered his wife back into the parlor where Watson Dover and Abigail Gordon awkwardly waited. Both gazed at a painting of a neatly arranged flower garden that was signed in the corner, Rebekah Jacobson.

  “You are a very smooth lady, Mrs. Fortune,” Todd whispered.

  “And sealed with a kiss,” she winked.

  “Do you always have your way with men?”

  “Just the pushovers like you, Todd Fortune.”

  He turned to the Chattanooga attorney. “Now, Mr. Dover, why don’t we all sit down. We’ll let you and Mrs. Gordon finish discussing this proposal of yours.”

  Dover perched himself on the edge of the settee. Abigail Gordon chose the straight-backed side chair across the room. Todd and Rebekah remained standing at the wide doorway leading to the entry hall. The lawyer glanced back at the open window where Dacee June hovered on the porch, trying to look uninterested. He cleared his throat. “I thought perhaps Mrs. Gordon and I could have a private discussion.”

  Todd joined Rebekah on the sofa. His shirt collar felt damp with sweat. “Mrs. Gordon asked us to sit in with her.” He leaned back and slipped his arms on the back of the couch.

  Abigail folded her arms across her thin chest. “Mr. Dover, you require me to make a decision that will drastically affect my daughter for the rest of her life. I do not consider such a proposal lightly. I appreciate the counsel of such friends as the Fortunes. However, if that is unacceptable, I could arrange to have my attorney present at this discussion.”

  “Oh . . . no . . . ,” Dover mumbled, “it’s not that I don’t . . .”

  “Perhaps Judge Bennett is home.” Rebekah patted her husband’s knee. “Todd, would you step down and ask the judge to sit in on this?”

  Dover wiped perspiration from his forehead with a white linen handkerchief and shook his head. “No, no . . . that won’t be necessary. I just want to keep everything confidential, out of respect for all involved.”

  Todd stretched out his legs in front of him. The more he relaxed, the stiffer Dover became. “I assure you, my wife and I can be trusted to keep things private,” he said.

  “Me, too . . .” Dacee June echoed from the porch. Her words caused Dover to twitch all the more.

  “Perhaps I can make all of this easier,” Abigail announced. She stood, then laced her fingers together in front of her narrow waist. “I have considered Dr. Gordon’s proposal and find it unacceptable, Mr. Dover. So, there is really nothing to discuss, nothing to keep secret.”

  “I believe that is a decision you will regret,” Dover stammered.

  “If it is, I will learn to live with it, as I have other decisions that I regret. However, I believe this is one that will produce no remorse.”

  Dover’s round, bearded face flushed. “Dr. Gordon said that you might very well turn him down and, therefore, he has authorized me to offer you ten thousand dollars, instead of five thousand.”

  “What?” Abigail gasped.

  “It is a generous offer beyond all necessity. It reflects Dr. Gordon’s sincere compassion and mercy.” He smiled as if in triumph.

  Rebekah Fortune marched over to the grinning attorney. “Mr. Dover, your presence in our home is a disgrace! I must ask you to leave immediately, and you are not invited to return.”

  “What? You’re throwing me out because I made a better offer?”

  “I’m throwing you out, Dover.” Todd joined his wife. When he did, Dover grabbed up his coat as he scurried to the door. “You came to town to barter a daughter’s future with her father. You offered a cut-rate amount to see if you could save money. When there were no bargains, you upped the ante like a poker game. I believe Mr. Lincoln abolished the buying and selling of humans years ago.”

  “What are you talking about? This is not slavery. This is a business deal.”

  “Not to me, it isn’t,” Abigail stormed over next to Rebekah.

  “What’s wrong with putting into writing what is already in practice? Dr. Gordon has no contact with the child now.”

  “That’s a fact he will have to live with. If he wants to come discuss this with me in person, he may do that.”

  “He doesn’t have time to . . .”

  “People have time to do anything they choose,” Abigail snapped.

  “But, if you turn this down, little Amber will never get one penny from Dr. Gordon. You are condemning her to a life of poverty.”

  “As long as I have breath, she will not live in poverty,” Abigail corrected.

  “Dover . . .” Todd nudged the man to the front door with his clenched fist jammed in the man’s stomach. “If you or the good doctor thought there was absolutely no chance of Amber receiving part of the Gordon inheritance, you would never have traveled this far and made this offer. Obviously, you are worried about something.”

  “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of worry,” Dacee June called out from the porch.

  “This whole matter is preposterous! I came in good faith trying to help a young child and . . .”

  “You came trying to save money, Dover. Good day. I would appreciate that while you are in Deadwood you would avoid our home, our store, and especially hassling Mrs. Gordon.” Todd led the man down the steps to Williams Street and watched as he ­descended the steps to the end of Wall Street. “Remember, Mr. Dover, this is the frontier. Justice is swift and thorough for those who harangue women and children.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Dover snapped.

  “You are much
wiser than I’ve given you credit for.”

  When Todd returned to the house, Dacee June had led the children back into the parlor.

  “What have I done?” Abigail sighed. “I’ll never save up ten thousand dollars in my whole life.”

  “You’ve done the right thing,” Rebekah counseled. “Amber needs to have a chance to choose whether she knows her father or not. I’m sure it is what the Lord would want you to do.”

  Abigail took a deep sigh and slumped her shoulders. “It’s not easy. Sometimes doing the right thing is just a strain. I can’t believe I just said good-bye to ten thousand dollars.”

  “There are still some things money can’t buy,” Todd reassured her. “It is a lesson that both the doctor and the counselor at law needed to be reminded of. If this is as big a concern as it seems, I believe you have not heard the last of Dr. Gordon.”

  Abigail fingered her rings. Todd noticed for the first time a gold wedding band. She still wears her wedding ring?

  “You mean, he’ll make another offer?” she questioned.

  “I’m not sure of that,” Todd replied. “But you said you’d discuss it with him if he came in person.”

  “He won’t come. He doesn’t care two figs about Amber. He was highly insulted when she wasn’t a boy. He never took any interest in her . . . or me . . . after she was born.”

  “He might not come for her sake,” Rebekah offered. “But he might come to settle financial anxieties.”

  “I wish Amber was here right now,” Abigail murmured. “I need a hug.”

  Rebekah swung around and pulled Abigail to her. “It’s not like hugging your Amber . . .” Abigail Gordon threw her arms around Rebekah and held her tight.

  It was after dark when Todd hiked up the stairway to his house on Forest Hill. Every bone in his body ached. Each step seemed to tug at his thighs and calves. His right shoulder was trying to cramp, and he kept swinging his arm to find a more comfortable position. Draped across his left arm were his suit coat, vest, and black tie. His white cotton shirt was unbuttoned at the top. The sleeves were rolled to the elbows.