Under Starry Skies

by Judy Ann Davis

  Tye winked and looked at his sister who was doing everything possible to suppress a smile. The door slammed shut with a bang.

  “Yes!” they said in unison and exchanged relieved glances.

  The bell tingled again, and Frank Norwell stepped inside. He tipped his hat and gave Betsy a warm smile. Norwell was a prosperous, white-haired rancher with land adjacent to theirs. “I just passed Emma McNeil on my way in, and it looks like she’s been eating something sour.”

  “See, I told you,” Theo mumbled, coming to stand beside the front counter.

  Norwell raised a quizzical eyebrow, then turned to Tye. “I saw your horse outside and was hoping to talk with you.” He leaned against the counter and pushed his hat up. “I heard you helped the O’Donnell sisters to find their way to Golden.”

  Tye nodded and regarded Norwell with somber curiosity.

  “I’m told the youngest is a teacher.”

  “Yes, she is,” Tye confirmed. “Her name is Maria.”

  “Well, I’m in need of Miss Maria O’Donnell’s skills.” He tapped his fingertips lightly on the counter. “I have this young man working for me who’s a natural with the horses and livestock and has a mind for figures as sharp as a razor. He could make a good foreman some day. Problem is, he can’t read very well.”

  “Send him back to school,” Betsy suggested.

  Norwell shook his head. “No, Eli would be too embarrassed and never agree to it. He’s seventeen. You know most of those boys drop out by thirteen or so. I was thinking maybe Maria would be willing to spend some time tutoring him. I’d be willing to pay whatever she might charge for an hour or two a week.” He looked at Tye. “Of course I plan to ask her personally, but I was wondering whether you’d run it past Flint when you see him. I need to know if the school board would have any objections.”

  “I don’t see why they would,” Tye said. “They have no restrictions on her free time, but I’ll ask Flint and have him get word to you. The women are strapped for money. Maria just finished remaking an old dress of Emma’s for Abigail to wear to the opening night of the Mule Shed. She’s hoping she can get hers finished in time.”

  Frank Norwell raised his head. His eyes met Betsy’s in an unspoken look of mutual understanding as if they both shared an old aching wound. Tye knew they were both thinking about the town’s celebration twelve years ago when Golden became the Territory’s capital and Norwell’s wife was still alive. Betsy had been only sixteen years old, and they had been in Golden only two years. Virginia Norwell had taken Betsy under her wing and made sure she was dressed properly.

  “I just got a new stock of dresses in the back,” Betsy said. “Let me see what I can do.”

  “Put it on my account.” Frank Norwell reset his hat.

  “No, I’ll pay for it,” Tye spoke up.

  “No, you won’t, young man,” Norwell said crisply. “A gentleman never wants it to appear like he’s trying to buy a woman’s affections. This young lady is no trollop from down at the saloon. If my wife were living, God rest her soul, she would have insisted she be dressed properly. If you’re looking for something to do while you’re courting Maria O’Donnell, how about peddling the litter of five pups your mongrel dog sired with mine to some of these hapless souls around town? Eeegads, man, I’d pay someone to take them off my hands! They’re driving my men insane getting underfoot and tumbling around the barn stalls and irritating the horses.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Tye said biting back a snicker.

  “Appreciate it.” Norwell turned to leave, then thought better of it, and faced them again. He scowled. “Oh, I don’t know if those young women know Lang Redford hired two drifters to help him with Emma’s stables. I have no idea why. Even an idiot can see that Emma has only a handful of horses to tend.” His eyes grew serious. “They’re no accounts who can’t be trusted. Drifters. I fired them both. Jebb Masters for stealing and Pat Wenson for a knife fight. Though Wenson is known for all kinds of fights—fists, guns, words, and knives. That lowlife isn’t particular. You might want to warn those young ladies to keep their eyes open and their doors locked…and to shy clear of Emma’s stables when the men are around.”

  Theo Sarowski who had remained silent during much of the discourse spoke, “Is Jebb Masters the tall, sullen-looking blond who wears a black shirt and black leather vest?”

  Norwell nodded.

  “I saw him down at the bakery a few days ago. Funny thing, I was sure he had a wallet identical to the one Henry McNeil used. The only reason I noticed was Henry often came out to my ranch to buy freshly made goat’s cheese for the inn. He showed me his wallet once and was so proud of it. He said it was hand-tooled leather, sent as a Christmas present from his brother-in-law in Utah and was specially designed by a saddlemaker down in Texas. Right pretty work.”

  Tye and Norwell stared wordlessly at each other. Finally Tye asked, “Do you think it’s a coincidence?”

  “I think one of us should have a little talk with the sheriff,” Norwell replied.

  ****

  Later in afternoon, while Maria and Abigail waited at the cottage for Tye Ashmore to take them on a picnic and to see the countryside, Maria presented her sister with a blue satin dress she had secretly remade from an old one of Aunt Emma’s to wear to the opening night of the Mule Shed Inn. But it was the new petticoat Tye Ashmore gave to Abby when he arrived that sent them into a fit of delightful giggles.

  “It’s beautiful,” Abigail said, holding the delicate, sheer undergarment in front of her. “The lace is so fragile and delicate. Your taste is excellent.”

  Tye blushed, his face turning as bright as an evening sunset. “Actually, my sister picked it out and had it shipped here once she found out about my little exploit with the flag on the boat.”

  From the steps of the cottage, he picked up a picnic basket, quilt, and Maria’s sketchbook and put them in the two-seat buckboard beside the house. After everyone was seated, he drove the wagon to a grassy knoll east of his ranch where Cherry Creek meandered south and bubbled over rocks and wound its way into a patch of dense hemlock.

  As he unhitched the team, Maria and Abigail spread out the quilt and began to unload the picnic basket and piles of food they had prepared. They had barely finished when the sound of an approaching horse interrupted the peaceful silence around them. Brett drew up and slipped off, just at the edge of the quilt. He tied his horse to a nearby laurel bush and flopped down on the quilt beside Abigail.

  “Perfect day for an outing, darlin’.”

  “It was, Captain Trumble,” Abigail corrected him.

  “Good to see you, old man.” Tye clapped him on the back before dropping down beside him.

  “How long have you known each other?” Maria asked, smiling.

  Tye’s mud brown eyes twinkled. “Brett and I go a long way back. Fourteen years. We’ve chased a few Indians in our lives and outran even more of them.”

  “Chased a few women, too,” Brett added with a smirk.

  “And ran from even more of them.” Tye grinned. “Did you get your gun dried out?”

  “I don’t see how you can laugh about it, Tydall Ashmore.” Abigail fumed, her hands on her hips, a scowl on her face. “You were abetting someone committing a federal crime.”

  Maria spoke, coming to Tye’s defense. “Because Brett is innocent, Abigail.” Maria didn’t think Tye did anything more underhanded or dangerous by trying to help Brett clear his name than her sister did by smuggling a load of explosives on board, although she hesitated to voice it aloud.

  Abigail glared at her sister.

  “Come, come, ladies, let’s not quibble.” Tye’s lips melted into a smile only enhancing his rugged, suntanned face. “I have a present from the school board for Maria, and I want her to open it.” He handed her a large wrapped package, tied with a blue velvet bow.

  Eagerly, Maria unwrapped the paper and took out a brocade bag with delicate gold threads woven through it. “Oh, my. For my school books a
nd papers,” she exclaimed. “Thank you!”

  “Open the bag,” Tye coaxed.

  Maria unfastened the buckle and pulled out a copy of Longfellow’s Tales of a Wayside Inn. Tenderly, she held the book of poems before her and opened the book’s cover, leafing through it.

  “It’s wonderful,” she whispered, clasping it to her chest. “Thank you, again.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” From under his coat, he pulled out a small pistol. “Now this may be another story. You need to learn how to use a gun. It’s also a gift.”

  “Oh, no.” Maria jumped up and took a step backwards from the group.

  ****

  Not surprised by her response, Tye stood and watched her with cautious eyes. “Listen, Maria, it isn’t wise for two women to be alone near those woods without the knowledge of how to handle a weapon. You’re situated at the edge of town, and during the winter hungry bobcats are known to wander close. Even wolves check out local doorsteps, and I don’t want to even discuss snakes.” There was an awkward silence as they stared at each other. “You walk to the schoolhouse each day along a footpath with the possibility of harboring any type of creatures with two legs or four,” he added. He held out his hand. “Come, I’ll show you how,” he coaxed and urged her forward, down the knoll to a cleared area where he placed a few rocks on a stump. Standing beside her, he guided her through the loading of the weapon. When, at last he convinced her to try it, she hesitated, shaking her head.

  “I can’t,” she said biting her lip.

  Tye turned her gently and pulled her in front of him as he wrapped her hand around the gun’s grip and steadied her trembling hands. Together they fired a round at the rock.

  “Try it by yourself,” he whispered gently near her ear and stepped back.

  “I can’t.” She was almost in tears and lowered the gun. “The only animals I’ve ever encountered were deer coming into our orchard in New York to swipe a few apples each fall.”

  “Listen to me, Maria.” When she looked at him with somber cinnamon-colored eyes, he said with complete honesty, “Handling a firearm out here is like breathing. I understand your trepidation at not wanting to aim a loaded pistol at anyone, even an animal, but it’s a skill you have to learn to survive out here. You don’t have to be an excellent shot, like my brothers or sister, but you have to have enough courage to at least point and fire at your target. If nothing else, you might scare an intruder away.”

  “I…I just could never point a gun at anyone,” she whispered.

  He heaved a sigh and shook his head, a hopeless look on his face.

  “She’s afraid.” Abigail lifted her skirts and stepped carefully down the rock-strewn knoll. “We never grew up with firearms in our home. We never grew up among violent people or dangerous animals.”

  “Give it a try, Abby.” Brett walked over to stand beside her.

  Tye handed Brett the pistol. He deftly unloaded it, loaded it again as Abigail watched, then handed to her. He took his place again behind her. “Use both hands. Line up the sights and squeeze the trigger. Take your time. Remember, you have the advantage, you’re holding the gun.”

  Abigail grinned. “I’ll think of the rock as your head, Captain Trumble.” With that, she squeezed the trigger and sent the rock flying off the log. Five more tries sent Brett searching for five more rocks for targets.

  “I think we’ve had enough for today,” he said, wincing. He took the pistol from her. “I’d hate to see you get too good at this.”

  Chapter Eight

  After a hearty lunch of bread, meat, and cheese, Tye and Maria wandered off to take a walk in the woods and locate a grassy spot along Cherry Creek to relax and allow Maria some time to draw. Tye wanted more than anything to have some time alone with her. Ever since he laid eyes on her at the landing in Canon City Landing, his attraction to her was like an appetite he couldn’t satisfy, and he yearned for the hours when they could be together. He found himself making all types of excuses to spend more and more time away from his ranch and at the cottage and schoolhouse instead. He wondered whether she felt the same.

  Together, they followed a narrow path leading to the stream and passed a series of high ledges where industrious miners had prospected for coal seams, leaving cave-like indentations into the mountainside. Maria looked up at a mine’s entrance, yawning like the mouth of an old bear. “Oh, wouldn’t it be fun to climb up the spoil pile and see what’s inside?”

  Tye shook his head, a shadow of alarm marring his face. “Some of those hollowed out old mines aren’t very stable and have been known to cave in without warning.” He had no desire to admit that he had never liked small, dark places even as a child. In fact, he never liked any cave, unless he could see light streaming in from its entrance. Growing up, his brothers had often teased him about his claustrophobic nature, but he had great respect for miners, especially the Territory’s local bituminous coal miners who went hundreds of feet down into shafts to bring out the ore.

  He touched her back and urged her forward. “Come, Maria, you are not dressed for exploring caves. Let’s go down to the stream where it’s cool. You can sketch and maybe I can catch a nap.” He was relieved when she agreed, and they continued onward down a narrow path shaded by pine where they seated themselves on the grassy bank in the shade.

  Maria opened her sketchbook. A strand of sleek black hair came undone from the rest tied at the back of her neck and fell into her eyes. She pushed it aside, and it fell back again.

  Just as she was about to raise her hand again, Tye reached over and tenderly tucked it behind her ear. They looked at each other for several moments, unable to tear their gazes away. “You are a beautiful desirable woman, Maria,” he whispered and watched as a flush of red crept up her neck onto her cheeks. He stared longingly at her.

  She nervously looked away. “I thought you wanted to take a nap,” she stammered.

  “I did.” Removing his hat, he stretched out on his back beside her and placed it over his eyes, content to give her some space, content to listen to the sounds of the forest. The sights and sounds of the outdoors always made him feel life was good. Above them, birds warbled, and the wind rustled through the tops of the pine trees. Around them, insects droned and crickets chirped. Below them, the stream sang a merry tune as it gurgled over rocks on its way to bigger waters.

  Twenty minutes later, he sat up, interrupting Maria’s concentration. He could see she had already sketched a picture of the stream and forest beyond. She had paid careful attention to a nearby bush where a butterfly flitted above the leaves of milkweed plants lining the opposite riverbank. He was just about to speak, when in his side vision he caught sight of a scruffy head with two dark eyes peering out from behind a nearby cottonwood. He had no idea how long the boy had been watching. It was obvious he was curious about Maria’s artwork.

  “You know, Miss O’Donnell,” he said in a whisper, “I have had the urge to kiss you for the last ten minutes. No, to be truthful, for the last ten days.”

  Surprised, Maria looked up at him and gasped. “Why, Tye! I thought you were asleep all this while—”

  “—but unfortunately my wishful thinking will have to wait.” He sighed and motioned to the large cottonwood behind them. “It appears we have company, and the boy seems to be curious about what the school teacher is doing instead of my sleep habits or amorous advances.”

  Maria swiveled to face the tree. The child had ducked back behind the trunk. She smiled and called out, “You’d better come down here if you want to see the picture.”

  The boy cautiously revealed himself and crept forward a few steps. He was wearing a faded plaid shirt much too big and a pair of dirty, suspender overalls much too small. His small inquisitive face was as dirty as his bare feet.

  “Closer. Right here.” Maria waved her sketchbook in the air and patted the ground beside her.

  Tye turned to the boy. “It’s all right, Lenny. This is Miss O’Donnell, the town’s new teacher. You and your
pa met her sister, Abigail, the other day. You know, the gal your pa saved from the lynx sitting in the tree? The gal who was picking blackberries?”

  The boy nodded and edged closer, craning his neck to get a glimpse of Maria’s sketch pad. Finally, he knelt beside her, and she handed it to him.

  “My, that’s right purty,” he whispered in awe. He ran his finger over the picture as if he was caressing it and committing it to memory. “I like the butterfly.”

  “It’s actually not good,” she admitted. “Some artists can capture every little detail. I just draw for fun.”

  “Can you teach me?”

  “I could show you a little about it, but you start by selecting something you like and then you try to draw your picture as close to the real thing as possible.”

  “Whatcha going to do with your picture?”

  “Nothing. You may have it, if you like.”

  Lenny’s whole face split into a wide smile.

  “In fact, you can have the sketchbook and pencil.” Maria rose and dusted off her skirt. “I have another at home and one at school.”

  The boy shook his head vehemently. “No, it wouldn’t be right.”

  “Yes, it’s fine.” Maria thrust the book and pencil at him. “There’s only a few sheets left anyhow. You see, I tear out and burn all those sheets of objects I’ve attempted to draw and don’t like. Think of it as a present for your father taking care of Abigail the other day when she encountered the ornery lynx. Go on, give it a try.”

  Lenny took the sketch pad and pencil she offered. “Thank you, ma’am.” He nodded politely, then without another word, scampered up the bank and between the trees. They heard Lenny give an excited hoot as he galloped through the bushes. “I’m gonna capture me a picture of a red squirrel on this here paper!”

  Tye stood. “I believe you made the kid’s day, Maria.”

  A smile played at the corners of her mouth as she surveyed the ground at her feet. “My talents as an artist aren’t spectacular. Often I just waste precious time when I should be doing other more worthwhile things.” When she looked up, Tye Ashmore’s face was just inches from hers.