by Kari Trumbo
Hattie shook her head and brought her thoughts back to the fabric. “I don’t know anything about which fabric is what or what would work for an evening gown. I’ve never had anything but sturdy cotton. I can sew a fine hem and I can do minor tailoring with a little embroidery. I’m just not sure I’ll be any good working for you.”
Ezzy grabbed the sheers from the loose-fitting belt she wore and pulled down the large bolt of yellow fabric, hefting it to a huge, waist-high table in the center of the room.
“This is the damask. Help me get past the faded edge so we can see it better. Will you? We’re going to cut off the yardage we need.”
Hattie approached the table, her hands bunched in her skirt. The fabric looked too nice to handle. “Do you have someone to make a dress for?” She touched the fabric gingerly. Everything she laid her fingers on turned to dust and she couldn’t afford to replace the fine fabric. The acrid scent of the dye brushed her nostrils with each bounce of the bolt against the table as Ezzy deftly flipped it. After the first turn of the fabric, it become brighter, the pattern clearer.
“It’s lovely.” Hattie held the bolt straight so Ezzy could cut it with her sheers. Ezzy grabbed the fabric before it fell to the floor and folded it carefully.
“Isn’t it though?” Ezzy smiled mischievously and stepped closer to Hattie, lifting a lock of her hair. “Now, I’m going to teach you what I need you to do most. Over here to the sun.” She directed with her sheers and Hattie obeyed. “Now, turn around and hold your arms wide.” Hattie did as she was told, but it was silly, standing there like a scarecrow. Ezzy’s hands reached around her and measured her body from neck to toes. Ezzy’s arms snaked around her over and over. Each time a little more invasive.
“Now, take note of what I’m doing because next you’ll be doing it if someone comes in. I make most of my dresses using only measurements. You see, I used to work in Minneapolis at a premier dress shop, but I prefer it here. Though, I still get many orders from there every month. There are roughly fifty points you’ll need to measure. Most women are quite used to having it done and it isn’t a problem.” Most women had the luxury of special order dresses? Hattie wasn’t so sure of that. Even the ladies from Cutter’s Creek had sewn their own, but then perhaps they were used to measuring themselves.
She tried to remember all the places where Ezzy’s arms roped around her, but it was like the woman had sprouted six extra for how quickly she measured.
“Now sit. I need a few from a sitting position.”
Hattie complied and put up with more of the tape winding around her body. Ezzy disappeared for a moment and pulled out a small notebook. “This is where I keep all my measurements.”
Hattie turned back to look at the silk. “Wouldn’t that make a nice wedding dress?” She felt her eyes water and she snapped them shut to keep the thought and tears at bay. She’d cried enough for one day.
“I suppose, it would make a wonderful dress for a bride who wasn’t a new bride. A widow finding new love, perhaps? Since Queen Victoria demanded a white wedding dress, most ladies want to copy her. White dresses for weddings are en vogue.” Ezzy went back to measuring Hattie’s legs and tugging her skirts this way and that.
White gowns were for pure and untouched brides. Her own sister, Ruby, had been married in a walking suit and she had been untouched. “There are some who just shouldn’t wear white,” she whispered.
Ezzy stood and rested a hand on Hattie’s arm. “You wear whatever dress you want to wear. A wedding is one special day, a marriage is a lifetime.”
“But you spend your life making beautiful dresses, don’t you want them to count?” Hattie dropped her arms and flattened her damp palms against her roiling stomach.
“The fabric will always be there. Whether I make a dress that women wear one day or every other day. What’s more special? Which one is more beloved? I have a few women who buy my dresses so they may wear a fresh gown for every occasion, but they are rare. More often, I make a gown that will get worn until the elbows wear through. I’d say the woman who wears the gown until she needs a new one appreciates the work just as much as the one who wants a frock of fancy stitches for just one day.” Ezzy draped her measuring tape around her neck and tilted her head, her mouth askew.
“Your life is like that Hattie. You don’t have to be the decorated wedding gown. You can be the everyday dress with a good cut, strong fabric, worthy of everyday work and still be beautiful and loved.”
“Nobody’s going to love a calico dress.” Especially not the man who had promised to never touch her, but had, more deeply than she’d ever allowed anyone else. Right to her soul.
Chapter Twenty
DAISY STRUGGLED UP THE last of the trail then slowed as they reached the flattened summit. The sky hung overhead in the brightest blue with wisps of clouds. A haze covered the horizon for as far as he could see, spreading further than he could ever guess. The green of the hills against the blue of the sky was a humbling sight, but he couldn’t rid his mind of Hattie. Maybe it was because he felt he’d known her long before he’d found her, or maybe it was just the Lord’s way of connecting them. He couldn’t explain it except that nothing could take her place in his thoughts.
The heavens didn’t open up and direct him and the ground didn’t open up and swallow him. He’d ridden until both he and Daisy were worn out and there still wasn’t a clear path for what he should do. Everything had been easier when all that mattered was getting Hattie well, then getting her to Hill City. He hadn’t even given much thought to what life would be like after that; it hadn’t mattered. The Lord would take care of it. But now the apple cart had been upended. Lord, I’m waiting. I can’t stop thinking about her now that the seed has been planted. Was it your plan to open my heart so you could see if I would follow your will, like Abraham? Or did you really mean I should take Hattie as my wife? He shook his head and took one more look at the horizon. Though many of the hills surrounding the one he was on seemed equally high, everything around him steadily faced downward, as if he truly were on the top of the world. The Lord remained silent.
After making a quick stop at the cabin and wandering back into town, he plunged the key into the door on the second-floor of the jail house. An old hound dog thumped its tail on the floorboards as Hugh brought in his saddle bags. He’d only brought what he could carry with him on the journey, so moving had been little more than gathering his few things from the cabin and bringing them into town. He’d already rented a spot for Daisy at the livery, but being on the road away from his parents for so long had left him weary. How many different places had he slept? He’d lost track after the first few months.
The dog lifted his head, his ears drooping to the floor. Hugh dropped his bags on the bed and a cloud of dust erupted from it. At least it was a full-sized bed. He’d be able to stretch out. Not that he’d begrudged Hattie the other. She’d needed it, but not now. She was strong and full of life, ready to take on new things all on her own. While living within the city might bring back some bad memories, the sounds would likely bother her the most, as she hadn’t been allowed to leave the saloon. From her room, she’d probably heard the sounds of the town and pictured what life was like outside those four walls.
Hattie had Ezzy to help her with anything she might face until it was time to leave. He’d really given that some thought on the way back down the mountain. How would he get Hattie and his horse back to Deadwood? He’d ridden Daisy everywhere so far, but now he had Hattie, he couldn’t just get another horse, nor could he leave his behind to take the stage. He scratched his jaw. It would take some thought.
He let himself fall to his bunk and the dog raised slowly, one short fat leg at a time, and shoved his cold nose into Hugh’s hand.
“You’re a real guard dog, I see. You must’ve been the deputy Peterson spoke of earlier, the one Horace lets out.” The dog opened lips much too big for his face and heaved one deep bark. Hugh scratched the dog on the head and the beast grunted his
approval. “I don’t know what to do, boy. I can’t stop thinking about her. Wondering if she’s fine…wondering if she needs anything. Wondering if she needs…me.” He shook his head and the dog rested his large chin on Hugh’s leg, his soft brown eyes looking up at him through over-large, shifting eyebrows. “You aren’t much help, either. And your eyes are just as shifty as Aiden’s dog, Jack.”
He turned to his bags and unbuckled them, flipping the flap open. All his clothes had been freshly washed and the tears all repaired. Hattie had done the wash earlier that morning, the warm dry air in Keystone had dried them quickly. Now, after being in his bag, they weren’t as nice as he’d found them when he’d returned to the cabin. Hattie had slowly begun doing more and more around the cabin. Pride swelled within his chest; she’d come so far. From being dull and forgetful without any energy or fire, to a woman fit for anything she’d want to do. She should be proud of all she’d accomplished.
He stood and shoved the clothes into one side of a drawer and his shaving kit in the other. Tomorrow would be a new day, with a new job. He’d stop thinking about Hattie soon enough. She could move on and when they returned to Deadwood, she could find a good man to marry. She wouldn’t need him anymore. Probably stopped needing him days ago. A cold chill seeped its way deep into his bones.
The door swung open and Deputy Peterson moseyed into the room, closing the door behind him. He tossed his hat on the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You find the accommodations to your liking?” He spread his feet apart and waited.
“It would seem I’m taking someone else’s bunk.” He patted the dog again, then stood.
“That’s Deputy Giblet. He’s too old now to do much but we used to walk down the streets of this town when we were both younger, before it was much of a town at all. I’m getting too old to do it and I’m not even here that much. That’s one of the things I want you to do, walk through the town each day. Tthe presence of the law will help people feel more secure.
“If people are drunk and causing a ruckus, bring them in to cool off. Any fights should be stopped right away, especially gun fights. We don’t want a bad reputation. Keystone is growing, and we want to continue to see growth.”
“Do you get many?” Hugh rested his hand on his Colt. He’d learned his lesson in the woods; never be without it.
“Enough. It’s the drunks that’ll take most of your job. We do get plenty of those. Ever handled a drunk before?”
His gut clenched. He had, but not when she was drinking, only after. His da had never allowed drink on the farm and even at Aiden’s wedding they hadn’t offered anything stronger than coffee.
“Not really, but I think I can spot one.”
“It isn’t the spotting that’s the trouble. They can be stronger than they look and for whatever reason, when there’s one, four more tend to show up the minute you think you have him under control. I’ll take you tomorrow morning and show you around. After that, you’ll be on your own. Think you can handle it?”
He wasn’t a lawman, despite the badge Bullock had given him. He was a farmer who wanted to get back to the ranch in Deadwood. But for now, sure, he could handle it. The townspeople were already cautious with him, so what was a badge? Not like they’d ever have a chance to know him. “I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble.”
“I’ve already warned Ros and her men to leave you alone. They’re sore over this whole deal to be sure.”
“What about Roy? Where’s he? I’m more worried about him than Ros. The town would expect her to do something, but no one’s been watching Roy.” That man had to be kept far from Hattie. He’d be keen on taking her from Keystone and selling her again to make up for his losses. It wouldn’t be too tough to get at her, either, with only the seamstress watching.
“Haven’t seen Roy in a couple days. He dropped off some haggard woman about two days ago, according to Horace.” He shook his head. “I don’t know where he found her, but she wants to be there so Ros has forgiven him.”
“So, the only thing left for them is humiliating Hattie as a way to keep their girls from thinking about running.” He frowned. Didn’t seem right, but he couldn’t let that get to him. He’d have to leave that to God.
“That’s about it. I’m glad you’ve already thought about that. It might just be rumors or they might really try something. I wanted you walking the street for that very reason. They can’t get to her with you there. All I ask is, as soon as Deadwood opens, you get yourself and your gal out of here. I’d like things to get back to routine around here.”
“Pretty quiet before all this? Horace seems to help you out a fair bit. How come you don’t just deputize him?” Hugh couldn’t help but wonder how a mining town could be quiet, but this one didn’t have that new, wild town feel. In fact, if the Garter and the other scattered small saloons weren’t there, Keystone would be a great place to start over.
Peterson nodded. “Horace is willing to help, but he makes a living giving cuts and shaves. He don’t carry a gun and doesn’t want to. As to how quiet Keystone is, well, you can see that I’m only here once a week or so and the town is fine. It’s a good thing you didn’t wait for a judge, they don’t have to come often and you’d have been waiting a long while. I’ll be happy to go back to the occasional drunk and disorderly once you’re gone, no offense meant.”
“None taken. I’ll do my best to oblige you. As soon as I hear from Deadwood, you’ll be the first to know.”
Chapter Twenty-One
HUGH PULLED HIS HAT low to keep the sun off and shrugged on his black coat. The badge Bullock had given him was buried in the bottom of his shaving kit. He hadn’t looked at it in a week. It wiped off easy and shone like a new penny. Hugh pinned it to his coat then checked his belt and his munitions pouch, both were loaded and ready. Giblet raised his head and looked at him with knowing eyes then let loose with a deep woof that seemed to sap him of what little energy he possessed. Giblet would love to go out and join the patrol, but the poor old dog could hardly make it up and down the stairs to do his business. Soon, they’d have to keep him in the main floor jail.
The dog had proven to be good company for his mercurial mood. Every time he’d closed his eyes, all he could see were bright blue ones. He’d replayed their conversation on the rock and the little clink that had made her run. It couldn’t have been a weapon. If it had, she’d have used it against Lola’s man in the woods. She was smart and scrappy enough to know that you trusted the weapon you had more than the one you had to take. If she’d already had a weapon, she wouldn’t have needed to get close enough to steal the brute’s.
Nothing had been missing from the cabin. With the notable exception of the window, they’d left it just as he’d found it. So, she hadn’t taken anything from the cabin with her and she had no place to hide anything, so the only explanation was Lola. What could Lola have given her that she’d be nervous about him finding. The only thing he’d come up with had chilled him. Booze.
It wasn’t his place to lead her. He wasn’t her husband and couldn’t take that responsibility. But as the festering thought came back to taunt him, he said another prayer that she could do the right thing and not succumb to drink again. He didn’t want to have to arrest Hattie. The jail was no place for her.
He patted Giblet on the head. “You know where I’m going, don’t you, boy? I know you’d like to come with, but I’ll let you know everything that’s going on in your town when I get back.”
Giblet laid his large head between his huge front feet and sighed.
Hugh closed and locked the door, reminding himself that he’d have to go up and let the poor dog outside later, probably when he stopped for his lunch. He jogged down the stairs and met Peterson in the front office.
“You ready to really see Keystone? It’s our job to check out the businesses, including the mines, and make sure no one’s standing about that shouldn’t be. Then, we come back here for a short lunch and do the rounds again in t
he afternoon. The only change is, if you arrest anyone in the morning, then we have some paperwork for you to fill out. You can’t do your rounds until the paperwork is done, so you’ll have to do a quick job of it.”
Hugh nodded, only half listening.
“Why do I get the feeling you’d like to start our rounds at Ezzy’s?” Peterson laughed.
Hugh wasn’t in the mood to joke. His hand flexed and relaxed. “Why don’t we start where you usually do and you can show me what I need to know to do my job?” The anger he’d worked so hard to keep tamped down threatened to spill out. No, he wasn’t like that anymore. He had to let go.
Peterson threw up his hands in surrender and grabbed his hat. He clipped a large keyring to his belt and swung the door open, holding it for Hugh.
The town hadn’t seemed quite so spread out until he had the job of keeping an eye on all of it. The little seamstress’ house was on the far end of town, away from the mines but near the saloons, where he’d probably be the busiest. If Hattie needed him, he’d most likely be near.
“I usually start down here by the mines. All five are pretty close to one another, all along the ridge line. Closest to town is the Holy Terror. We don’t need to get too close to them, just make sure no one is loitering about that shouldn’t be. Then we’ll go on over to the Trading Company mercantile and check for any wires. Then, over to the school. If Mrs. Wheelock is in, she might chat for a bit. Then we’ll come back up main street and start at Peggy’s.”
“What’s Peggy’s?” He followed Peterson toward the first mine, the Holy Terror, which was only a few yards away.
“Peggy is what we call the blacksmith…on account of his peg leg.” Peterson shook his head with disgust, as if that should’ve been easy to figure out.
“We’ll stop at Franklin House for a cup of coffee and see what people are talking about this morning. Mrs. Jennie Franklin makes a mean cup of belly wash. After that, we’ll walk by the saloons and the restaurant, finally ending over by the barber, and seamstress. They’re across from the big Loomis place.”
