Her arms ached and dozens of small splinters prickled in her hands. Her head swam to be at that height, but Sydney did her job. She kept up with William Bedford, too. Doing so earned her the approving nods of those present. When her feet hit the floor, Tim jostled her shoulder. “Kid, you did good. Real good.”
When she got home that night, Sydney ached and gladly soaked her hands until the splinters swelled sufficiently for Velma to pluck them out. Velma glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “I gotta say, you’re doing fine. Big Tim told me today you’d started to shape up. Said soon any man in the state would be proud to claim you as his son. Never thought I’d see the day when that man would admit it, but he actually decided he likes having you underfoot.”
Though Tim didn’t say a thing to Sydney, she sensed a subtle shift in the way he treated her. She no longer felt he was pushing her to change, but pushing her to be all a man ought to be.
She’d changed, too. Aunt Serena spoke the truth when she’d said Sydney knew nothing of a man’s world. Basic observation helped with mimicking masculine behavior—but that was all. Tim was mentoring “Syd” and teaching her the responsibilities, concerns, and requirements. In doing so, he’d allowed her an unguarded view of what a woman never saw. She’d come to admire and appreciate him—and the impossible had happened. They’d become friends.
Two days after the Smiths’ construction, she was mucking the stable when a rider came in and shot off his pistol. Men gathered around him at once. “Stauffer’s little girl fell into the test hole the well digger started. We need Hathwell to go down and get her. No one else’ll fit.”
Sydney wasn’t at all certain she wanted any part of this. By the time she was at the Stauffers’ place, she was sure she’d gladly decline the rescuing opportunity. She took one look at the small, deep hole in the ground and swallowed hard.
Tim gave her a stern look. “Stauffer lost his wife and son two months ago. That little girl is all he has.”
A wave of grief washed over her. Sydney knew what it was to have everyone she loved gone. Resolve replaced her fear. She’d do anything to spare someone else that anguish.
“Syd, they need you. For once, that scrawny body of yours is just what the job requires. Any other man strong enough for the task has shoulders far too wide to get down more than a few yards.”
She nodded.
Tim shoved a rope in her hands. “You’re going to do this. You have to. Tie that around your middle. Pull it tight. I’m knotting another length about your left leg. That way, if one snaps, we’ll still have you.”
“If that was supposed to reassure me, it didn’t.”
Tim locked eyes with her. “Duty makes a man. This is one of those times.”
“Duty,” she echoed in a voice filled with iron resolve.
“We’re all counting on you, Syd. Look at Stauffer. He can’t take another heartbreak.” Tim paused a moment and tested the ropes. She barely felt the strong tug he gave to the one at her waist. He took the ends and twisted them into one more knot for good measure. “When you first got here, I wouldn’t have bet a plugged nickel you’d last a day. You proved me wrong. I wouldn’t send Fuller’s only blood kin down that well if I didn’t firmly believe he’d come back up in one piece. Fact is, you’ve got what it takes. We’re all counting on you.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Tim abruptly thrust one arm up into the air. Folks went silent. He clapped hold of Sydney’s shoulder and bowed his head. “Lord, we come to you in this hour of need and plead with you for divine mercy. Grant Hathwell the necessary strength to do this task and reunite Stauffer with his little daughter. In your name we pray and claim victory, amen.”
A chorus of amens sounded.
Sydney trained her eyes on the hole in the ground and felt bats fluttering wildly in her stomach. She knew that she had to do this, though. The time had come.
Sydney crept to the edge of the well’s test hole. Dirt sifted in. She drew in a deep breath before sliding in, hands first. For a brief second, she fought the instinct to back out. She swal lowed her fear, thought of the little girl, and scooted farther in.
“He fits,” someone said.
It made perfect sense that they didn’t dare send anyone larger down. Broader shoulders would have gotten wedged after the first two feet. As it was, very little sunlight filtered past Sydney’s body. She couldn’t see anything.
Then she heard a whimper.
“Lower me!” she shouted.
The rope bit into her waist as they lowered her. Dizziness assailed her as all of the blood rushed to her head. Dirt got in her mouth, and she spat it out. As the hole narrowed, she had to use her arms to turn herself at a different angle so she could continue.
Small, jerky sobs filled the well hole.
“What’s your name?” Sydney asked.
“Emmy-Lou.”
“Emmy-Lou, I’m Syd. I’m coming to get you.”
“Please hurry!”
“Believe me, I have no desire to stay down here any longer than is absolutely necessary.” She blindly reached ahead of her and thought she felt something. “Put both hands over your head, Emmy-Lou. I have to find you.”
“You touched me. Come closer.”
A voice from above called down, “That’s the end of the rope!”
Sydney hoped Emmy-Lou hadn’t heard those words and that God had heard Tim’s prayer.
“My hand is hurt, Syd,” little Emmy-Lou whimpered. “Will you still help me?”
“Yes, Poppet. Reach very, very high with your other hand.” Emmy-Lou’s fingers brushed hers. “Good. Now pretend I have a treat in my pocket. You can’t have it unless you stretch farther. You have to hold on to my wrist, and I’ll hold your wrist back.”
“Do you have a treat?”
Sydney fought back a hysterical laugh. “I’ll get you one next time I’m in town.”
“All right.”
Once they connected, Sydney curled both hands around the thin, cold wrist, then kicked and whooped. Both ropes jerked at once. Her descent had been very controlled, but the ascent was wild. Dirt showered down around them, and Emmy-Lou screamed. In fact, the little girl let go. Sydney held fast, even though her arms felt as if they were being yanked out of their sockets. She felt Emmy-Lou’s sleeve give and heard the ominous sound of fabric ripping. “Hurry!”
Suddenly the rope at her waist dug deeper as her left boot was jerked clean off by the rope. The waist rope now bore all their weight—and if the knots failed, she and Emmy-Lou wouldn’t survive the downward plunge.
When Sydney’s legs hit open air, seemingly dozens of hands grabbed at her trousers and yanked. She popped out, and someone snatched Emmy-Lou from her.
Sunlight never looked so sweet. Sydney managed a shaky grin, but tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Syd. We’re safe now,” Emmy-Lou piped up.
“Syd ain’t crying,” Pancake groused. “He’s got so much dirt in his eyes, he’s probably half blind.”
“Let me take you to the washstand,” a woman’s voice offered.
“I’d be obliged, ma’am.”
Mr. Stauffer clasped his daughter tightly to his chest. He couldn’t even let go long enough to shake Sydney’s hand. In a choked tone, he began to express his thanks, but the words got lodged.
Sydney gave him a cocky grin and shook the dirt from herself.
“Come along, then.” Once in the house, the woman turned to her. “Mr. Hathwell . . .” Her voice fell away.
Sydney gave her a wobbly smile. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you be my accomplice, ma’am.” She stopped holding her right shoulder, revealing how the binding had slipped.
“My dear Aunt Gussy! You’re a woman!”
“Don’t you dare let on! Promise!”
The woman bit her lip and nodded. “I owe you my niece’s life. Silence is the least I can do. Let’s put you in my bedroom. You can borrow one of Jakob’s shirts.”
�
��I’ll be able to see to myself. Emmy-Lou said something was wrong with one of her arms. Please see to her.”
Twenty minutes later, Sydney emerged from the Stauffer home, freshly bathed and shampooed, her chest carefully bound, and her secret still intact.
Tim stuck out his hand. Sydney put hers in it, and he gave it a strong shake. “I told you duty makes a man. You did well.”
His words were the highest praise she’d ever received. Sydney’s heart soared, but she knew she couldn’t give too much of a reaction. Men didn’t allow themselves shows of emotion. “Thanks. I’m glad the lass is fine.”
Mr. Stauffer came over. Filthy as could be, little Emmy-Lou still had her legs and one arm wrapped tightly about him. “Hathwell—”
Afraid she’d become too emotional if he said much, Sydney interrupted. “How’s her arm?”
“Sprained her wrist. That’s all. Can you believe it?”
Sydney nodded curtly. “Creighton prayed.” She turned to Tim. “We have work waiting back at Forsaken.”
“Yup.” When they got home, Tim pointed to the ax stuck in a stump. “Get to it, son. You’ve got enough time to chop half a cord by supper.”
Sydney marched over to the wood and stared at the ax. How was one to accomplish this task? She hadn’t the faintest idea. For the next two hours, she tried every conceivable way to hack the logs into manageable pieces of firewood. Nothing she produced was vaguely usable. What humiliation after she’d finally earned Tim’s respect!
Boaz sauntered over. His features screwed with puzzlement. “Why is Tim bothering to have you make kindling?”
“I’m not producing kindling.”
“Sure looks thataway to me!”
“Looks like that to me, too,” Tim said from several yards away. He paced over, grabbed the ax, and managed to split several pieces all with single, well-placed, powerful swings.
“Watch, kid. You set the piece down.” He took a good-sized log and positioned it on a stump. “Hold the ax like this. See?” He gripped the long handle with casual grace and ease, his large hands fitting with plenty of room to spare around the smooth wood. “Keep an eye at the center point, and swing with a fluid move.”
He made it look so simple. He hefted the heavy tool up, and the arcing swing was fluid and loose. A single blow, and the wood seemingly fell apart, each half obediently dropping off to either side as if they’d been awaiting the ax’s mastery. He grabbed a second piece, positioned it, and the ax bit once again. The area rang with a strange sound from each strike.
Sydney watched the muscles in his arms bulge and ripple with the action. There was a rugged beauty in the way he accomplished his labor. She didn’t know a single man who could match this kind of masculinity. By the sweat of his brow and the power of his muscles, he earned everything he owned.
If only Papa had sent me to marry him! The thought stunned her. Back home, he’d have been a nobody. He was far beneath her in class. Papa wouldn’t have let him in the front door. Here, things were different. Men were measured by their accomplishments instead of their pedigree. In the days she’d been here, Sydney had grown to respect Tim Creighton. Measured on his own merits, he was head and shoulders above any man she’d ever known.
Tim turned. “I’ll get you started, Syd. Next time, if you don’t know how to do something, just say so.” He put another log on its end up on the chopping stump. He moved behind her. “Here.” After placing the ax in Sydney’s hand, he clasped his hands over hers and took her through the entire motion slowly. “Do it.”
The act nearly shattered her molars. Force jolted all of the way up her arms, into her jaw and head. Though the wood split, so did her head. Tim didn’t leave it at a single piece, either. He guided her through four more. “Get going now.”
Weak from the pain in her arms, Sydney longed to confess her gender. She wanted nothing more than to go take a long soak in a tub full of sweet-smelling bath salts and put on a lacy dress. Still, she couldn’t give up now. Not when Tim had finally accepted her and was mentoring her. She drew in a deep breath and adjusted her grip on the ax.
“Awww,” Boaz groused. He held his palm up to the sky. “It’s fixin’ to rain.”
Sydney swung the ax and connected with the wood. It split halfway, and she had to bang it down twice to finish splitting it, but she’d hit her target. By the time she set the next piece on the stump, the skies opened.
“You’d best put that ax away,” Tim ordered. “I don’t want it flying out of your wet hands.”
“Hey, Boss, what’s with him?” Boaz frowned at her.
Tim’s eyes narrowed.
Sydney looked down and felt horribly sick. Her soaked shirt stuck to her skin, and the binding around her chest showed through very plainly. She closed her eyes in horror.
Rough fingers clamped her jaw and squeezed. “Kid, why didn’t you tell me you busted your ribs fishing Emmy-Lou out of the well?”
Shocked by his assumption, she remained utterly silent for a second. Her luck couldn’t take any more twists and turns than this. Sent down a hole, fished out, almost exposed, gaining another accomplice, then almost being revealed again by the presence of her bindings. Just thinking about the day made her dizzy.
“Did Miriam wrap you up good enough?”
Sydney nodded vigorously.
“Go on in the house. That wet binding will chafe. I’ll be up in a minute to rewrap you.”
She stepped back. “I’ll do it.”
“Nope. Tell you what—it’s muggy. Leave it undone and crawl into bed. Tomorrow, I’ll strap you up.”
“I’ll manage, but thanks anyway.” She hastened away before he became any more observant.
The next morning, Velma stationed herself in Sydney’s doorframe. “Leave the kid alone, Tim. He’s not complaining, but he’s not in any shape to get out there today.” She glared at the behemoth man.
“I’m checking on him, then.”
“I’m standing over you to make certain you aren’t too rabid.”
Tim plowed into the bedroom and gave Sydney a long, hard look. “Kid, your skin doesn’t have a drop of color to it.”
“You near sent Syd to his death down that well hole,” Velma accused.
“Close only counts in pitching horseshoes. Let me see your ribs, son.” Tim grabbed for the blankets.
Velma slapped his hands away. “No need. I just inspected them. I wrapped them right and tight, too. Right shoulder matches his back for color, too. Left one isn’t quite so bad, but it’s gotta hurt like the dickens. He’s got a huge rope burn ring around his waist and left ankle, too. Far as I can tell, little Syd ain’t budging for three, maybe four days.”
“Four days! If it’s that bad, I’ll have Bert fetch Doc.”
“Doc is a brainless leech. I know my stuff. You know that for a fact, as often as I’ve patched you back together.”
“Hey, I admit, Doc’s no prize—”
“You got that right. He near killed Slim Garner by rubbing goose grease and ashes on that nasty burn he had. Then, there’s what he did to the Tyson kid. That boy’s gonna have one leg shorter than the other because Doc didn’t set it straight!”
“Dear saints,” Sydney moaned.
“Yeah, but we can’t let Fuller’s nephew weaken.”
“Fuller went to Abilene to get squared away. He wouldn’t even let Doc see him! Leave Syd to me. Now get outta here. You make me nervous, what with the way you pace about.”
Tim threw them a disgruntled look and headed for the door.
Sydney barely choked back a surprised yelp as he came back in.
“How’s he breathing? When a broken rib pokes the lung, men go white like this.”
“But his lips would turn blue. He’s breathing good enough. Did you ever get that laudanum I told you to pick up in town?”
“Nope. The men prefer a stiff belt of whiskey.”
“I swear, you men nigh unto drive me out of my mind! Now get!”
After his footsteps die
d out, Sydney whispered gratefully, “Thank you, Velma.”
“I don’t know if you ought to be thanking me. I’m not doing you any favors by leaving you to Tim and his man-making ways. Long as Tim thinks you’re a boy, he’s going to find ways to work you, and you’re not strong enough to withstand much. Tim’s going to expect you to bounce right back.”
Tim got restless on the second day, and by the third, he propped his elbows on the dining table and stared at Sydney. One curt nod, then he pronounced, “You’ve got your color back. That means your breathing’s fine. After breakfast—”
“After he’s done eating, Sydney is going to rest.” Velma glowered at Tim. “You said you’d abide by my advice, and now you’re about to go off half-cocked and put the kid to heavy work. He’ll be bedbound for a week—maybe more—if you try that stupid stunt!”
“One more day,” Tim groused.
Tim watched Syd come downstairs. His eyes narrowed. The kid held the banister like a woman afraid of tripping over the hem of her ball gown. A few days lolling around, and the kid was back to being Fancy Pants again.
Fancy Pants paused for a brief moment. Strain flickered across his features.
Maybe Velma’s not completely wrong. At least the kid handles pain like a man. Babying him would be an insult. “You’re good enough to go on into town and pick up some supplies. Velma’s got a list.”
Syd bobbed his head.
“I don’t care what Velma said about Little Lord Fauntleroy. Your hair looks girly. While you’re in town, mosey over to the barber.”
Immediately after breakfast, Sydney left for town. Velma stayed at the table and gave Tim a scowl. “Creighton, you’re gonna live to regret how you’re treating Syd. Mark my words, one of these days, none too far off, you’re going to be one shamefaced devil.”
“Velma, the kid had to grow up sometime. Little Lord Fancy Pants has come a long way, and you have to admit it. He’s downright passable now—like a brother who grew out of being a pest and turned into a friend. Given more time, we’ll have him trained well enough to take over Forsaken when Fuller and I kick the bucket.”
Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) Page 15
