Under Starry Skies

by Judy Ann Davis

  Abigail stared at the pages, horrified, as an ache began in the pit of her stomach. Why had her father sent Uncle Henry money? And who was Irene M? It was preposterous to think her father had a mistress or illegitimate child. Or was it? With shaking hands and her stomach twisting itself in knots, she slammed the ledger shut and shoved it back into the drawer. Discouraged, she laid her head on her forearms on the desk and closed her eyes, exhausted from the day’s events.

  The gentle tapping on the outside door startled her, and she bolted upright in her chair.

  ****

  Brett sauntered in holding a glass of whiskey. He closed the door quietly behind him. “Almost everyone in the dining room has left. Only the crowd at the bar remains.” He looked at her tired, ashen face. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing,” she lied and stood. “I’m just weary and out of sorts. It has been a long night.”

  “Sit down, Abigail, we need to talk.” He was surprised to see her knees buckle under her as she slumped back down into her chair. Tears welled up between her eyelashes, and she buried her face in her hands.

  “That seems to be your favorite line,” she mumbled.

  “Have you been drinking?” He watched her shake her head. “Are you ill?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Come, come. Tell me. What is it, Abby?”

  She waved her hand in the air and looked at him with tears rolling down her cheeks. “I don’t know. Nothing, Everything! The inn. Aunt Emma. It’s plain as the nose on my face Maria and I don’t belong here. We’re not even wanted here.”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Pulling out a chair from the corner of the room, he dragged it beside her and handed her his handkerchief. They sat in silence for a few minutes while he sipped his whiskey and waited for her to compose herself. He knew better than to try to touch her in such a fragile but agitated state.

  At last, he broke the silence. “You do belong here.” He leaned forward and dangled his drink and hand between his knees. “Your uncle had a lot of friends here. Here! In the area. He also had many investments. He, your father, and I invested in the mines up near Black Hawk with the understanding all the land rights we collectively purchased for your father were to be signed over to him after the war. We’d each have a one-third share.” He glanced at Abigail who was drying her eyes as she listened. “Only Henry didn’t figure on getting himself killed or your father dying. He even planned to have your father move here with you and Maria to help with the business and mines.”

  “Why are you telling me this? What does it have to do with me?”

  “More than you can imagine, Abby. Do you know if your father ever gave Henry any large sums of money?”

  Abigail thought about the ledgers she’d just looked at. “No,” she said, “unless it was to a lady called Irene M.” She rummaged through the bottom drawer, withdrew the small ledger, and held it out to him.

  Setting his drink aside, he quickly paged though it, then tossed it on her desk, and chuckled.

  “Irene M is the Irene Maiden Mine, the first one we invested in together.”

  “She’s not a person?”

  “No, she’s going to be one of the richest gold sites west of Denver once we get her opened.”

  Abigail looked at him confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “The problem is Emma. The Irene M, bought with Henry’s, your father’s, and my money is in Henry’s name. Your father and I were blind partners. I was off in the war and Aeron was in Utah when we formed the business venture. Now, with his death, it can easily be claimed by her unless we can find the deed or have the courts uphold Henry’s intentions.”

  Abigail’s mouth fell open. “You mean Aunt Emma is in control?”

  “Not yet. At least not until she finds out.”

  “But she could go to the mining office and find out! Do you think she’d actually cheat me and Maria from a mine that is legally ours?”

  Brett raised an arched eyebrow and sipped his whiskey again. “Let’s not be naïve. Emma? The Emma who wore the diamonds and burgundy mourning dress while her niece wore a hand-me-down? I doubt she would pass up a chance to become a wealthy woman. Why do you think she allowed you to reopen the inn? She needs money for her rich tastes.”

  Brett stood and sighed. “You’d better go to your staff and check to see everything is in order before closing. Why don’t you give me the ledger? We don’t want it to get into the wrong hands.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” There was a wary look in her red, swollen eyes.

  “You don’t, but your chances with old crotchety Aunt Emma aren’t much better.”

  Reluctantly, she handed it to him. “What if we have to go to court with only this as evidence and we fail?”

  Brett bent and kissed her softly on the forehead. “Don’t worry. The worst possible thing that could happen is you’d have to prove your uncle’s intent to form a partnership with me.”

  “And how will I do that?”

  “Marry me?”

  ****

  Brett, Tye, Marcus, and Flint sat in Betsy’s kitchen the next morning with long, gloomy faces looking like a bedraggled bunch on a weeklong binge. Although Betsy knew they imbibed for a while in the barroom, she was certain excessive alcohol wasn’t the problem. She stood with a plate full of scrambled eggs and surveyed the group.

  “My, my,” she said, “you all looked a whole lot better last night at the Mule Shed’s grand reopening. You know how I love to see a good-looking man dressed in a suit now and then.”

  “Yeah.” Tye groaned. “We all looked so good we could have taken in a funeral on the side.”

  “With the spawn of Satan at our table, I thought we were at one.” Brett squinted through bloodshot eyes.

  “I wonder what triggered Emma McNeil to decide to make a grand entrance?” Betsy was proud of her brother for quelling what could have been an embarrassing situation.

  “I wonder why Emma acts the bizarre way she does?” Flint pointed to his plate, and Betsy spooned some eggs on it.

  “Besides being dropped on her head in infancy?” Marcus shrugged. “She simply has a disposition like a rabid weasel.”

  Tye rose and took the coffee pot off the back of the stove and poured himself a cup. “Don’t insult weasels, Marcus.”

  Betsy smiled. “Emma’s always been a crabby critical woman since the day she arrived. Remember what Ma used to say. A man who blows out the other fellow’s candle won’t make his own shine any brighter.”

  “Well, the Good Lord knows Emma was snuffing out a lot of candles last night.” Brett rubbed his eyes with his hands. “I’ll take some coffee.”

  Tye poured him a cup, then he looked at the pathetic group. Every face was either glum or tired-looking. “It was near disastrous. Brett had Abigail weeping in her office, and I was mopping up Maria’s tears outside. She was crying about her aunt, apple orchards, custard pie, and chickens. If anyone ever suggests we get together with Emma McNeil again, just hit me alongside the head with an iron fry pan.”

  Marcus’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth and grinned. “Deal!”

  Betsy finished serving the eggs and toast, and slid into a seat next to Flint with a cup of coffee. “We need to think this through,” she said, her tone serious. “No one has been able to find out who killed Henry McNeil or why.” She looked around at their somber faces. “And we have no idea who tried to shoot Tye or if the incident is related.”

  “What do we know?” Flint pushed his chair away from the table to stretch his long legs. He was the oldest and serious one of the group.

  “We know Emma is not pleased her nieces came to Golden,” Betsy said. “But we don’t know why.”

  “We know Henry McNeil had no enemies,” Tye added.

  “Only until his death. There’s someone out there now,” Brett said.

  “We need to find out why Emma doesn’t like Cullen Wade.” Tye took a sip of coffee.

  “Emma doe
sn’t like anyone.” Marcus snorted. “I can’t believe you called her an old witch to her face.”

  Brett grinned and rubbed his chin. “I don’t believe Emma can either—which only emphasizes why I try hard not to get Tydall riled.”

  “I think we need to ask more questions from some of the hired help at the Mule Shed.” Flint’s eyes circled the group. “Maybe they know something we’re not aware of.”

  Betsy stood. “Everyone has secrets and reasons for them. All we can hope is in time they’ll be discovered. Now, who’s going to help me clean up this mess?”

  There was the thunderous noise of chair legs scraping against the floor as the four men scrambled up and made a beeline for the door.

  “Just as I thought.” Hands on her hips, Betsy watched them all scatter like buckshot from a shotgun.

  ****

  Maria was glad that school on Monday went without any disturbances. After a long weekend, all the students were weary. Rains sweeping in during the past few days were chilling, adding to the gloomy atmosphere. With her class dismissed for the day, she sat at her desk, grading spelling tests and waiting for the shower to subside. She was pleased with the progress her students were making and with their attentiveness to her teaching methods. They were soaking up knowledge like water splashed on dry sand. She was so engrossed in the task she never heard the door open or anyone enter.

  “I see, Ma-ree-a, you are still hard at work,” the deep voice said.

  Maria looked up to see Two Bears standing inside the door. He was dripping wet from his stringy black hair down to his knee-high leather moccasins.

  “Oh, heavens, Two Bears!” Maria felt her heart thump. “What are you doing sneaking up on people? You scared me.”

  “This is the way Two Bears always walks.”

  She stood. “Of course, you’re right. I’m used to noisy children stomping around.” She came around her desk and stopped. “You look cold. Here. Come by the stove and get warm.” She went to the small nook in the corner of the room and removed some old cloths she had planned to use for cleaning. “Use these to dry off,” she instructed. “I have water boiling for a cup of tea. Would you like some? I have honey, too.” She pulled a small bench away from her desk where she placed unruly students and dragged it to the stove. “I assume you’re trying to get out of the rain.” The kettle hissed and whistled, and she took it from the top of the stove and poured boiling water into a small teapot on her desk. From a drawer she withdrew two porcelain cups and put them beside the pot.

  “I came to see you.”

  Maria’s gaze locked with his and she stared suspiciously at him.

  “How is your arm?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  Two Bears’ dark penetrating eyes surveyed her. “I wish to learn to read and write.”

  She sighed. “Oh, Two Bears. No.”

  “Why not? Two Bears is quick at learning.” He finished drying himself and laid the cloths beside him on the bench. “You do not want to teach me?”

  “Two Bears, it’s not that I don’t want to teach you, but I fear it’s not safe.”

  “No one has to know except you and Two Bears.” He pointed at her and thumped his chest. “I can pay. What do you need, teee-cher? I see you have no horse and must ride horse of Tye Ashmore.”

  Maria poured the tea into the cups and added a teaspoon of honey, stirring it with the only spoon she had. From her desk, she withdrew a tin and took out a biscuit. She handed the hot liquid to Two Bears along with a biscuit. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  She leaned against the edge of her desk and gave him a challenging look. “What if the townspeople find out?” She blew on the hot liquid in her cup. “And I can’t take anything from you, but if you’re wondering, my fondest wish is to have some chickens someday. Imagine, fresh eggs for breakfast every morning or a fried egg sandwich at night.”

  Two Bears grunted and chewed on the biscuit. “The people in your town do not need to know. I can come to a place where we would be safe. After school, here. Or behind your house and shed. Or in the forest.”

  “I fear it wouldn’t work,” she said.

  “Fear? Are you afraid of me?”

  “I’m afraid for us.” Setting her cup aside, she crossed her arms at her chest and paced the room. “I don’t want to be fired out…from my job.”

  “Fire?” he asked curiously. “What kind of fire?”

  “Fired out. Sacked.”

  “What is this fire in the sack?” He looked at her still puzzled.

  “Get the boot.”

  “Boot?” He was getting agitated now.

  Maria looked at him, stopped, and burst out laughing. It was going to be a long autumn, if she agreed to his request. “All those words mean to be dismissed. To be let go. Told to leave. I would not have a job here.”

  He stared at her a minute, then brightened. “Then you’ll do it?” His grin, with two front teeth missing, was wide like a jack-o-lantern’s. He slurped his tea.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “As God is my witness, I have no idea why, Two Bears. Let’s meet behind the shed after school two times a week. There’s a few flat rocks surrounded by sumac and briars and close to the woods where no one can see. If it gets too cold, we’ll have to find another place. We’ll meet next week unless it rains.”

  “Leave a water bucket outside the back door if you can’t meet me,” Two Bears suggested, grinning. “Leave a dipper in the water bucket if you can meet me in the afternoon.”

  She nodded, went to her desk drawer, and withdrew a sketchpad and pencil. “Here’s your first assignment.” She wrote his name at the top of the paper and the first thirteen letters of the alphabet. “Now practice writing these.” She sounded out all the letters three times, pausing to point to the corresponding letter on the paper. On the fourth attempt, she encouraged him to say them and was amazed when he repeated them all perfectly.

  “Well, I can see you’ll be a quick learner.” She ripped off the page, folded it, and handed it to him with a pencil.

  He handed the pencil back. “I will practice these over and over with a stick in the soft earth by the riverbank.” He handed her his teacup. “Your tea is good, Ma-ree-a. Your biscuit is good. Did you make it?”

  “No, Anna Ashmore makes them.”

  “Anna Ashmore bakes for your whole village. She is a hard worker. She would be welcome in Indian villages.”

  Maria smiled. “Yes, she is a hard worker and a good woman.”

  “You are a good woman, too.”

  Maria shook her head in exasperation, went to a peg by the door, and removed her cape. She opened the door and peered out. The sun was starting to peek though the rain-soaked trees. “I will see you soon.” She threw her cape around her shoulders.

  “You think about what you might need, Ma-ree-a,” Two Bears said and slipped silently out the door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The sun was not even up on Saturday when Maria planted her feet on the cold floor, opened her sister’s bedroom door, and shook her awake. “Let’s get up, sunshine,” she coaxed as Abigail groaned and yanked the covers over her head. “I want to go up to the manse and see what dresses Aunt Emma may be willing to give us. We’ve been wearing the same four dresses for the last month. Surely there are clothes of Emma’s in her attic I can remake for both of us. With the money we save from not purchasing yard goods, we might be able to buy a few chickens. Oh, how I long for fresh eggs for breakfast every morning.”

  Abigail yawned. “She’ll probably chase us away, the wretched crone. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to cast a spell on us. She probably doesn’t remember offering the clothes.”

  Maria laughed. “Oh, hush, Abby. Of course, she’ll remember, or we’ll remind her.”

  Later, as they walked through the early morning fog and up the hill toward the manse, they met Millie Hanson coming toward the barn and carriage house, located at the bottom of the hill. An empty milk pail in her hand swayed in
rhythm to her steps. Tye had told Maria that as soon as Emma married Henry McNeil she insisted he construct both buildings away from the house so there would be no odor from the horses or cattle to permeate the manse when its windows were open. The old barn beside the house had been cleaned and was now used only for storage.

  “Good morning, Millie,” Maria said to the older woman as she drew near. “Where are you headed so early?”

  “I need to milk the cow. Emma’s taken off for town with Lang Redford, and Will Singer is repairing a leak in the inn’s roof. And those two no accounts Lang hired can’t be found anywhere. The poor old cow can’t wait much longer.” The little woman pushed some damp curls off her forehead, and Maria immediately regretted her earlier remark. Millie must have been up hours earlier, baking, cooking, cleaning and washing clothes for Emma. The woman was too polite to point out her error.

  Abigail spoke, “Emma said there were old dresses in trunks in the attic we could look through to remake for ourselves.”

  “Use the back door and go up the kitchen steps to the attic,” Millie instructed them. “It’s faster. Look around. If you need help finding anything, I should be finished milking Blossom in a few minutes.”

  “When is Emma returning?” Maria asked.

  Millie shrugged. “She said she was stopping at the General Store and going over to Sarah Watson’s to try on some new hats. It will take most of the morning, I imagine, if I know Emma McNeil.”

  Millie started toward the barn, then stopped and turned back, glancing at Maria. “I heard what you did for River Roy’s son, allowing him to go to school a couple days a week. It was right kind of you. His pa delivers wood to the manse for Emma, too. He told me you were riding one of Tye Ashmore’s mounts.”

  Maria nodded. “Tye was very generous. It will take us a long while to get enough money to buy horses and tack.”

  Millie pursed her lips. “I’ll talk to Lang Redford. Emma has two of your uncle’s horses in the stables. He used to ride. I’m sure Lang would be happy to have you exercise them when you girls have free time. One’s a big red gelding. The other, a docile white filly.”