by Merry Farmer
“That’s a fine toy you got there, boy,” Paul said. He rolled back the sleeve of his shirt to show his own muscles.
“Careful, honey,” Delilah said across the alley to Sarah. “They’ll be dropping their pants next to compare manhood.”
“Roy! Mr. Sutcliffe! How could you?” Sarah exclaimed as if Delilah meant it. “And you, grown men. Honestly!”
“Aw, Sarah, I would never drop my trousers in a public place.”
“You did in my saloon,” Paul countered, gloating. “Paid good money for the privilege too.”
“I never wore my birthday suit for nobody but Sarah,” Roy protested.
“Son, you been visiting the girls since you had hair on your-”
“That’s it!” Sarah’s bellowed shout ended the argument and brought a hush to the alley. “I have had enough of this! I’ve had enough of the both of you. I’m leaving!”
With a sharp crack like a pistol shot, Sarah slammed her window shut.
“Sarah!” Roy leaned as far out the window as he dared. He would have leapt out and crawled up the side of the building if he thought he could.
“She’s pulling all her things out of the bureau,” Delilah told them. She too was leaning as far as she could out her window, staring hard into Sarah’s room.
“What?” Paul snapped.
“Yep.” Delilah nodded, watching on. “She’s picking up that old suitcase of hers and laying it on the bed. Now she’s opened it and is packing her things.” She shifted to look down at Paul. “She’s leaving all right.”
“What a load of nonsense.” Paul grumbled, but his face wore worry lines in the dim light. He drew back into the saloon and slammed his window down.
“You might want to get dressed to see what’s going on,” Delilah called down to Roy. “A woman has every right to fly into a fit now and then, but it’s always a good idea to have a friend by her side when she does.”
“Right.” Roy nodded and retreated into his room, shutting the window behind him.
He didn’t realize how cold he’d gotten until he reached for his shirt and threw it over his head. Cold he could deal with, but the shivering sense that something needed to be set right or Sarah would be in more trouble than she knew hung with him. He tucked in his shirt and searched for his boots.
Five minutes later, he was outside and on the saloon’s porch just as Sarah came stomping out through the door. Wild music, warm light, and laughter followed behind her. So did Paul.
“Sweetheart, it’s close to midnight.” Paul chased her.
Roy jumped right on his heels. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Sarah ignored them. She gripped her suitcase tighter, her brow crumpled in a frown, and marched out into Main Street. She wore her fringed shawl over a flannel nightshirt with boots on her feet.
“Sunshine, it’s cold out here,” Roy said as he skipped to keep up with her. He shrugged out of his jacket and tried to throw it around her shoulders.
As soon as Paul caught on, he struggled out of his own coat and knocked Roy to the side, saying, “Take my coat, darling. You’ll catch a chill.”
“I will not take either of your coats,” Sarah declared without looking at either of them. She marched on with single-minded determination, past the saloon, the general store, and the courthouse. Mr. Avery was locking up the courthouse. When he turned to be on his way home, Sarah nearly barreled right into him. Still, she strode on as though nothing could stop her.
“Sarah, you’ve got me worried now.” Roy pulled up to her side. “Can’t we talk about this, work things out?”
“Can’t you come back to the saloon where you’ll be warm and safe?” Paul caught up to her other side.
Sarah ignored both of them as she crossed in front of the bank and made a bee-line for her destination.
Mr. Phineas Bell’s house stood at the far end of Main Street. It was as magnificent a structure as any of the shops or public buildings in town with a fresh coat of paint and neat green shutters. It had been built when Cold Springs was a one-horse town, before folks started building houses around the outside of Main Street. It was one of the few houses left in the heart of town and by far the nicest. Sarah marched right up the steps and wrapped the brass knocker on the front door.
“Come on, now, Sarah,” Paul grumbled. “This is plain foolish.”
Roy darted a sharp look between the determined set of Sarah’s jaw and the scowl that Paul wore. He saw his chance and took it.
“I think it’s a right fine decision,” he said, puffing his chest up and smiling as though he’d won a church raffle.
Sarah’s lips twitched out of their set line.
“Banging on the door of the likes of Phineas Bell at nigh-on midnight?” Paul balked.
“And why not?” Roy checked Sarah’s expression again. Encouraged, he said, “There certainly won’t be any saloon shenanigans here!”
Sarah’s mouth softened further. She peeked at Roy out of the corner of her eyes. As soon as she saw his smug grin, her back went straight and her chin up again. She knocked harder.
“Sarah, honey, if you don’t want to associate with the saloon anymore, then let me come up with a better idea. There’s no need to despoil yourself by sleeping in that man’s house.”
“Hmph!” Sarah huffed.
“See that, Mr. Sutcliffe? Sarah don’t like what you have to say,” Roy needled Paul.
“I ain’t exactly heard her cooing to you, boy,” Paul snapped.
“Oh, she’s cooed to me in the past, all right.”
Sarah’s eyes flared with fury and she pounded harder with the door knocker.
“Come away from here, sweetheart,” Paul coaxed like he was grinding an ax. “If you’re so damned worried about your reputation, then why the hell are you setting yourself up to be seen under this aberration’s roof?”
Even before he was finished his sentence, the front door swung open and Phineas Bell appeared. He wore white cotton pajamas with a long white nightcap and a burgundy robe tied at the waist. His perturbed scowl melted into a soft smile and his shoulders dropped when he saw the collection on his porch.
“Can I help you?” he asked, focusing on Sarah, removing his nightcap the way gentlemen took off their hats when they met a lady.
Paul snorted.
Sarah clenched her jaw, then took a breath. “Good evening, Mr. Bell. I’m so sorry to disturb you at such a late hour.”
“Not at all, Sarah.” He smiled. Roy found it hard not to like a man who smiled at his Sarah with such courtesy. “What can I do for you?”
“I don’t want to stay at the saloon anymore,” she said without preamble, glance darting to the side where Paul stood.
“I see.”
“The other day you said I could stay here if I wanted to.”
“Sarah, I’m warning you,” Paul grumbled.
Sarah’s shoulders tensed and her chin tilted up. “Does that offer still stand?”
Phineas Bell glanced from Sarah to Roy to Paul, expression becoming sharper with each pass. “Yes, it does. I’ve got plenty of room.” He stood aside and gestured for Sarah to come in.
“Thank you.” Sarah smiled in relief and stepped over the threshold into Mr. Bell’s house.
“Now just a minute there!” Paul barked.
“What’re you gonna do? Drag her back to the saloon by her hair?” Roy drawled.
“This ain’t none of your goddamn business!” Paul lunged forward as if to siege a castle.
Roy stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “It is so my business! I care about Sarah, and if I say it’s all right for her to stay at Mr. Bell’s house, then it’s all right for her to stay at Mr. Bell’s house.”
“How generous of you.” Mr. Bell arched an eyebrow.
“I won’t have her staying with no deviant who likes men the way he’s supposed to like women,” Paul insisted.
Sarah gasped. “Mr. Bell is a very nice man!”
“If Sarah wants to stay
here, then I say it’s all right for her to stay here!” Roy said.
“That just goes to show what a damn fool you are, boy. Now let me in.”
Paul tried to wrestle his way around Roy. Roy had no choice but to grab hold of him to fend him off. Paul dug his fingers into Roy’s arms, and a few seconds later they were scuffling up against the doorframe while Mr. Bell and Sarah stood inside the house watching.
“Stop it!” Sarah shouted, ending the match as fast as it had begun. Roy and Paul stopped struggling and stared at her. “Honestly! For two grown men so worried about reputations, you think you’d be worried about your own! Mr. Bell,” she turned to her host, “I would be mighty grateful if you could show me to a warm bed in a quiet room now.”
“Certainly, Sarah.” Mr. Bell nodded.
“And as for you two.” She glared at both Roy and Paul. “I don’t want to speak to either of you again until you’ve learned to grow up and act like men.”
“But-” Roy stammered.
It was no use. With a nod from Sarah, Mr. Bell slammed the door.
Roy took a step back. Paul stepped back with him. The two of them stood, blinking at the brass knocker on Phineas Bell’s door. The noise of their argument had given way to frosty November silence. The light in Mr. Bell’s front hall went dark, leaving the porch bathed in moonlight and shadow.
Roy turned and walked down the stairs into Main Street, Paul half a step behind him. It dawned on him as he turned and glanced over his shoulder at the grand house that maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to suggest that Sarah take shelter with a man who would slam the door in his face.
“This is all your fault, you know,” Paul grumbled at him as the two of them walked slowly back down Main Street, side-by-side in defeat.
“How do you figure that?” Roy asked, too stunned to fight anymore.
Paul sniffed and spit. “The saloon sure ain’t the best place for a woman who wants folks to think she’s respectable, but taking up lodging with the town pervert’s not gonna help her out one bit.”
Roy shrugged, fighting the itch down his back that said Paul was right. “Mr. Bell never harmed no one. Yeah, he’s different, but he owns the bank and there’s plenty of folks that like him regardless of his peculiarities.”
“You think the likes of Viola Jones or Jacinta Archer are gonna remember that when she tries to say good day to them on the street?” Paul said. Roy scratched his head, gut twisting. “Or do you think they’re gonna use any old excuse they can to keep treating her like she’s a stray dog with fleas.”
“Sarah is not a dog!”
“I know that, boy,” Paul said, more frustrated than angry. “Sarah’s a ray of sunshine in a bleak world. But some folks are too stupid to see that. A woman’s reputation hangs by a thread sometimes. Only a damn fool would let her twist in the wind.”
“Like you did with Delilah?” Roy argued, but his heart wasn’t in the fight.
Paul’s scowl grew downright murderous. “You want to repeat history, boy?”
“No,” Roy conceded.
Paul nodded. “Then pay attention. One way or the other, Sarah’s jumped out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. So what are you gonna do about it, boy?”
Roy flinched straighter. “It’s your fault as much as mine. What are you gonna do?”
To Roy’s surprise, Paul let out a breath and shook his head. “I dunno. But whatever it is, we better do it soon. Folks got short fuses and long memories in this town.” He glanced up at a lighted room in the hotel as they walked past.
Chapter Five
Sarah had never been much for strong drink, but when she plodded downstairs and into Mr. Bell’s kitchen the next morning, her head pounded and her stomach felt as sick as if she’d been on a bender. Not even the homey sizzle of bacon frying could lift her spirits.
“Good morning, Sarah,” Mr. Bell greeted her, sliding the bacon onto two plates already heaping with eggs and toast.
“Morning, Mr. Bell,” she sighed in reply.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered even though she hadn’t.
Judging by Mr. Bell’s soft smile, he could tell she was lying. “I’ve got breakfast here,” he said, setting the pan down and bringing the plates to the table. The comforting scent of home-cooked food added to his soothing voice, trying to perk her up. “I’ve also got coffee, tea, or milk if you’d prefer.”
“A glass of milk, I guess.” She slumped into the chair that he held out for her. Not even the thought of dining with a gentleman in his kitchen could coax her into straightening her posture. She picked up her fork and stabbed listlessly at her eggs.
By the time Mr. Bell brought coffee for himself and milk for her and sat across the table from her, Sarah couldn’t keep her misery inside for another moment.
“I’ve made a terrible mistake coming here, Mr. Bell,” she moaned.
“I wouldn’t say it’s that terrible,” he replied. If he’d been any other man she would have thought he was poking fun at her, but not Mr. Bell.
“Oh, but it is,” she went on, swallowing eggs to fight back the tears. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to recover from this one. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
Mr. Bell’s lips twitched. “I’m sure there are plenty of people will who understand why a woman in a tight spot would rest her head under the roof of a man with a particular reputation.”
Sarah blinked and sat a little straighter. “It’s not that,” she said, reaching for a piece of bacon. “Why, you’re the kindest, most gentlemanly man I know. I’m honored that you took me in and if anyone thinks less of you for helping a fallen woman in need, then I don’t know what to say.”
“Thank you, Sarah,” he replied. “But now I’m confused. What terrible mistake have you made?”
As quickly as her spirits perked, they plummeted again. “I told Roy off,” she lamented. “And Mr. Sutcliffe. They may have been acting like grubby children, but all they’ve ever done is be sweet to me. Mr. Sutcliffe has always taken care of me, and Roy,” she paused, drawing in a shuddering breath, “Oh, Mr. Bell, I love Roy!”
The smile that spread across Mr. Bell’s face was so caring that Sarah burst into fresh tears.
“There, there.” He reached across the table to pat her hand. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. Roy is a fine, intelligent young man who won’t let this come between you. And Mr. Sutcliffe….” He arched an eyebrow and withdrew his hand to take up his coffee. “Well, if nothing else, he cares about you.”
“That’s just the thing,” Sarah continued, emotion glowing behind her words. “Roy is a fine young man. He’s gonna own a hotel someday. He’s gonna make something of himself. He may be acting like a blockhead right now, but it was wrong of me to cuss him out the way I did. I shoulda been patient and understanding, and, oh, Mr. Bell, now he’s just gonna think I’m some peevish shrew who’ll nag him all the time if he-” She swallowed her words, shoulders sinking again. Without looking at Mr. Bell she finished, “He’s never gonna think I’m anything better than a common whore.”
A tense silence followed her impassioned speech. Mr. Bell studied her across the table, and when she peeked up he said, “Forgive me, Sarah, but that’s nonsense.”
“Oh?”
He set his coffee cup down on the table and leaned towards her. “Whether your Roy was misbehaving last night or earlier this week or not, it’s clear to everyone with eyes that he cares for you.”
“Not everyone,” she replied, the specter of Miss Jones still large in her mind.
“Everyone that matters then,” Mr. Bell corrected himself.
“But how could he?” Sarah argued. “Look at me. Poor, homeless, jobless, ignorant, stained with years of shame.”
Mr. Bell shook his head. “Is that what Roy thinks of you or is that what you think of yourself?”
Sarah blinked. A rush of heat—like she’d been caught in a lie—spread through her. “I … I never
thought of it like that before.”
Mr. Bell shifted in his chair. “Not everyone has had the high opinion of me that you do, Sarah. In fact, back home in Philadelphia things got so bad that I was forced to move all the way out here. I came here and started a new chapter of my life, but that wasn’t easy either. As soon as people discovered what I was, how different I was from them, everything that I had run from began again. But I put that behind me. I knew who I was and I didn’t listen to the gossip. I rose above my troubles and earned the place I have now.”
“Really?” Sarah sucked in a breath, the brightness of promise filling her. She sat straighter and took another bite of bacon. “How did you do it?”
“By working hard,” Mr. Bell explained. “By being polite and respectful to those around me, even if they were rude or hurtful to me. By proving my competence and providing a service that people were unable to get in from anyone else in Cold Springs.”
“Helping people with the bank?”
“Exactly. As predisposed as people are to dislike a person for their faults or their unsavory past, they find it hard to reject them entirely if they smile in the face of persecution and remain polite and helpful at the hands of abuse.”
“Huh.” He was definitely on to something. Her mind began to weave ideas.
“The important thing to understand,” he reached across the table to touch her hand, “is that there are things about ourselves that we can change and things about ourselves that we can’t change. The key is to know the difference. I can’t change who I am or what makes me different from others, but I can change the way I interact with people. I take pride in my conduct and through it I have made peace with myself.”
“So,” she shifted, taking up a piece of toast, eyes narrowed in thought, “so I can’t change the fact that I worked at the saloon for five years, but I can change how I conduct myself going forward?”
“Exactly.” His smile filled her with confidence. “You can’t change the fact that you’re a sweet woman with an open heart either.”
“Aw, thanks, Mr. Bell.” She blushed. “I don’t understand why Mr. Sutcliffe don’t like you,” she went on.
