“And if something does happen, we can fetch the sheriff, like you did for Mrs. Adams the other day,” Florence said.
“That’s exactly what I mean. Let us help one another, especially the women who live alone or whose men are away a lot. Let’s help each other stay safe.”
Annie Harper began clapping, and the other women picked up the applause. Gert felt her face flush with the thrill of having an idea accepted and approved.
“Let’s make a list then. Anyone willing to help out in ensuring safety for others, tell me and I will put down your name.” The women crowded around, and Gert listed all their names but Milzie’s. The old woman hung back, looking anxiously toward the westering sun now and then.
“We need to take this list to the sheriff and see if he can make use of our abilities,” Gert said when she’d finished it.
“Would the sheriff be over to his house today, do you think?” Emmaline Landry asked.
“I passed him on the road on my way out here,” said Bitsy, who had arrived a few minutes late.
“Then he’s likely in town,” Gert said. “Shall we go to him as a group? Those who live in town, I mean. I’m sure some of you ranch ladies need to get back home.”
Milzie’s frown grew more pronounced as they talked. Gert caught Mrs. Benton’s eye.
“You’ll excuse Mrs. Peart and me, won’t you?” Apphia said. “We had made other plans for this afternoon, though we’re more than willing to serve.”
“Of course,” Gert said, and Milzie perked up immediately. “And if you wish to ride back into town in the wagon with Mrs. Harper, she can drop you off right in front of your house.”
Six of the fifteen women left for their scattered homes, and the rest rode their horses or the wagon back to town. Milzie smiled nearly all the way, swinging her legs off the back of the Harpers’ wagon. At the new parsonage, Annie halted the horse, and Apphia hopped down.
“Here we are, Mrs. Peart.” She reached up to help Milzie clamber down.
Gert waved to them. “Have a nice afternoon, ladies. We’ll let you know what the sheriff says.”
Annie flipped the reins, and the horse plodded on to the hitching rail in front of the jail. Gert jumped down and waited until Annie, Myra, Libby, Bitsy, Vashti, and Florence joined her. They were missing Goldie, who reportedly had taken to her bed with a catarrh, but otherwise, all the women who regularly attended had come to shoot today.
Gert smiled. “Ready?”
“Ready,” they chorused.
She turned and led them up the boardwalk. If Ethan wasn’t at the jail, she would feel pretty silly. They’d have to track him down. What if he was at the Nugget? Maybe Vashti or Bitsy would peek through the door to see. But he was more likely chewing the fat with Hiram.
Before they even reached the stoop in front of the jail, the door swung open. Ethan stood, tall, rugged, and flustered, in the doorway.
“Ladies! To what do I owe the honor?”
Gert cleared her throat. “Sheriff, we represent the Ladies’ Shooting Club of Fergus, and we’re here to offer our services in helping you catch the miscreant who is terrorizing our town and prevent further violence.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Well, now.” He looked them all over for a long moment then shifted his gaze back to Gert’s face. “And what services does that entail?”
Gert gulped and took a step toward him. “We have some ideas. We also have a list of fourteen able-bodied women who can help in any capacity you see fit.” She fished her list from her pocket and held it out to him.
Ethan leaned forward and took the paper from her. He perused it for a moment then looked up. “Would you like to come in, ladies? I don’t have many chairs, but this seems like an idea worth discussing.”
Gert couldn’t hold back her grin as she glanced at the other women. Florence and Myra were grinning, too. Even Libby wore a restrained smile.
“I can see the sense of this,” Ethan said a few minutes later. He’d let Annie Harper, as the eldest, have his chair and brought a stool and a short bench from somewhere in the shadows of the jail so four more women had seats. Vashti and Gert stood near the desk, and Gert had outlined her vague ideas of how the ladies could help.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said. “We appreciate that you’re taking us seriously.”
“I can see that I’d be foolish not to.” Ethan smiled. “Now, ladies, I know some of you have jobs, but if you’re serious about this, your enthusiasm and energy can be assets to the town. I’ve noticed that several of the women on the list live a few miles outside town.”
Gert nodded. “They couldn’t do a lot, but they’re willing to give a few hours a week.”
“Good. Let’s say Starr Tinen and her mother-in-law could check a couple of times a week on Mrs. Peart and the Robinsons—they’re the last two places out the Mountain Road. That would be extremely helpful. I’ve pondered on how we’d know if one of the outlying ranches was attacked. I’d hate to think someone had trouble and no one knew about it.”
“I’ve got an idea, Sheriff,” Annie Harper said. “What if the Robinsons and Miz Peart had something like a flagpole where they could run up a signal? If the nearest neighbors could see their signal in the morning, they’d know the other folks were all right. But if there wasn’t any flag flying, why then they’d know they needed to go and check on their neighbors.”
“I like that idea,” Libby said. “In fact, since the Paragon Emporium was attacked last week, I’ve wondered how I could get word out if I needed help again. I could hang a white towel out my bedchamber window each morning when I rose. Florence or Annie ought to be able to see it from their backyards.”
“That’s true,” Florence said. “And if one morning I didn’t see it, I’d run over to the store early to make sure you were all right.”
Ethan nodded. “Good thinking, ladies. Let’s set up pairs of women who can check on businesses in town. Look to see if windows or doors have been broken, for instance.”
“Like my back door was broken in,” Libby said ruefully.
“Exactly. They could check in on the elderly folks in town, too, to be sure they were all right,” Ethan said. “And since the fire at the emporium, I’ve worried that someone is lurking about, waiting for a moment to do more harm where least expected. He might bother the school children on their way to and from the schoolhouse, for instance. If he wants to make mischief, there are plenty of opportunities.”
Annie nodded. “It’s a long walk to school for some. We could send two ladies in the morning to walk the children to school and have two more meet them when school’s out. I’m sure their mothers would appreciate that.”
“That’s right. Of course, school will soon be out for the summer, but we could put this plan in motion until the term ends.” Ethan looked at Gert and held up her list. “Would you help me work out the details, Miss Dooley? We can match up the pairs for their assignments, according to where the ladies live and the best times for them to carry out their duties.”
“I’d be happy to.” Gert felt her face flame, but none of the others seemed to notice. All were murmuring their approval and telling each other when their own most convenient hours to be on watch would fall. Gert met Ethan’s gaze. His dark eyes glittered, and his left eye twitched—almost a wink. His smile widened, and she found herself looking forward to working on the list with him. Perhaps over a piece of mince pie.
CHAPTER 21
Libby and Vashti waited outside the schoolhouse for Miss Fennel to dismiss her class. They could hear the children reciting their lessons. Isabel’s voice broke in as she spoke sharply to one of the Ingram boys. Vashti rolled her eyes skyward, and Libby smiled.
“I recall my school days with fondness, but something tells me this isn’t Willie Ingram’s favorite way to spend his time.”
Vashti chuckled. “I never did more than three grades all told. We moved around so much, I never stayed in one place long enough to finish a reader.”
Libby wond
ered how the girl had separated from her family and come to work at a saloon in an Idaho mining town gone bust. Vashti’s enthusiasm for the shooting club had surprised her, and Bitsy had allowed her extra time off this afternoon to fulfill the duty Gert had assigned. Without her cosmetics and lurid costumes, Vashti might almost have passed for a schoolgirl herself. Libby doubted she was older than Florence Nash. The thought that wholesome girls like Florence and Myra Harper wound up working in saloons all over the country grieved her, but she had no idea what she could do to change that. Getting to know Bitsy and her girls through the shooting club had altered her attitude toward them.
The schoolhouse door burst open, and a handful of boys pounded down the steps. They paused and stared at the two women.
“Good afternoon, boys,” Libby said. “We’re here to see that you get home safely.”
“Ha! That’s a good one.” Willie Ingram, his little brother, and Tollie Harper breezed by them and ran toward town. The girls and a couple of smaller boys emerged from the building at a more moderate pace.
Behind them, Isabel Fennel stopped in the doorway and eyed Libby and Vashti. “May I help you, ladies?”
“We’ve come to see the children home safely,” Libby said.
Vashti nodded with vigor. “Sheriff Chapman assigned us this duty.”
“What’s that?” Isabel frowned and came down the steps.
Libby looked after the children, who had gained the road and would soon be out of sight. “The Ladies’ Shooting Club is taking on some civic duties, one of which is to ensure safety for the school children and women who live alone. Would you like us to walk you as far as your home?”
“No, thank you. That’s not necessary.” Isabel looked them over as though not quite sure what to do with them, especially Vashti. Libby wondered if she even recognized the saloon girl. Perhaps she was trying to place her.
“Well, your father’s ranch is close by,” Libby said. “If you’re sure you don’t want an escort, we’ll go after the children.”
“Thank you, I’ll be fine.” Isabel’s upper lip rose into a little peak on the left side as she spoke, and she swept Vashti with a disapproving gaze.
So, she had catalogued the bar girl. Libby nodded and turned away.
“‘Bye,” Vashti called and scurried after her, muttering. “Did you say something?” Libby asked. “I said, ‘Fussy old bat.’ “
“Oh!” Libby shot her a sideways glance. “We’d better hurry. The children are so far ahead of us, I’m afraid we won’t do any good.”
“We’d best tell their mothers what we’re doing, so they can tell the kiddies to wait for us tomorrow, no matter what that priggish old stick does,” Vashti said.
“Yes,” Libby said. “Er, I can inform the mothers.”
“Can you? That’s good, because I’ll need to get ready for work soon.”
Libby held up her skirts and kept pace with the saloon girl.
Milzie tried to hold the Hawken steady as she aimed, but her arms shook. Was it because the gun weighed so much, or because of the hunger that gnawed at her belly? The jackrabbit hopped a few steps farther. He blended in so well with the low brush that she could barely see him.
She braced herself and held her breath, lining the sights up with the ornery critter. But he hopped again. Now or never. He’d soon be out of sight. Milzie pulled the trigger and fell back from the recoil.
“Oof.” She sat up, rubbing her shoulder. Must have forgotten to hug the stock up close like Gert had shown her. The rifle lay a couple of feet away. She hauled herself shakily to her feet and walked over to where the rabbit had been. Clean missed it. No surprise.
Oh well. According to Gert, if she’d hit it with this load, she’d likely have blown it to bits anyway. She’d have been lucky to find any bits to put in her stew pot. She shook her head and trudged back toward where she’d stood when she fired. Now, where’d the Hawken got to? It was right here, wasn’t it?
She peered all around at the grass and shrubbery. Nothing. She turned and looked toward where she’d seen the rabbit. Maybe she was a few steps this way…. Or had she stood farther away?
After twenty minutes, nearly ready to give up the search, she stepped on the gun’s stock. The barrel lay all but invisible in the grass. Exhausted, she crumpled in a heap beside it. Better rest awhile before she tried to tote it home. Must be near a mile. And better stick to foraging. At the end of a day’s picking through trash piles, she’d have more to show than she had today.
Gert had just hung up her dishpan after doing Tuesday’s supper dishes when a frantic pounding came at the front door. Her pulse thudded. She glanced at Hiram, who sat at the table. He looked up from the new Bible she’d bought before the fire at the emporium.
“Who can that be?” she asked.
Hiram only raised his eyebrows. Gert wiped her hands on her apron and hurried across the sitting room to the seldom-used front door. She opened it, and Isabel Fennel all but fell in. Gert seized her arm to steady her. The schoolteacher stared at her, gulping in quick, shallow breaths.
“Isabel. Come in. Is something wrong?”
“I’m frightened.”
Isabel’s pale blue eyes looked bigger than usual in her pinched face. Her hairdo showed the wind had been at work during her short walk to town, and her shawl lay askew over her shoulders.
“Come sit down,” Gert said. “What’s happened?”
Isabel took the offered chair and put one hand to her brow. “Nothing, really. I shouldn’t have come.” She stirred as though to rise. “Forgive me for intruding.”
“You’re fine.” Gert laid her hand lightly on Isabel’s shoulder. Isabel had recovered herself somewhat and had thought better of blurting out her troubles. “I was about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you join me? My mother always made tea when things seemed a bit out of kilter.”
“Well …” Isabel looked around the dim room toward the kitchen, where the glowing lamp illuminated Hiram at the table. “I don’t want to disturb you and your brother. I saw your light….”
“You’re most welcome, and you won’t disturb us.” Gert lit the small lamp on the side table and hurried to the kitchen before Isabel could change her mind. Her heart still pounded from the jolt of Isabel’s interruption as she took down two teacups. The kettle steamed on the stove, and she quickly measured loose tea into the pierced tin ball and lowered it into her plain brown teapot.
Hiram watched her in silence for a moment then bent his head over the Bible. How could he be so calm when a woman who had never entered their home before came pounding on their door? That seemed to happen a lot lately—maybe he’d acclimated to it better than she had. Gert took a deep breath and fixed a tray with two cups, the teapot, and the sugar bowl. If Isabel asked for milk, she’d have to go out to the root cellar.
She carried the tray carefully to the sitting room and nudged aside a few of Hiram’s tools so she could set her burden down on the bench beneath the window facing the street. “Do you take sugar?”
“No, thank you.”
Gert hesitated but knew it would be impolite not to ask. “Milk? I have some—”
“Just black, please,” Isabel said.
Gert exhaled and sat down opposite her with a smile. “Here you go. Careful, it’s very hot.”
Isabel raised her cup, blew on the surface of the liquid, and took the tiniest of sips. “Thank you.”
“Now, tell me.” Gert waited, wondering what had brought Isabel here. Cyrus Fennel’s daughter had never sought out either of the Dooleys for company, though she was about Hiram’s age. So far as Gert knew, she hadn’t befriended Violet either, but preferred solitude or the company of the older women in town. She must have had a terrible fright to come here for refuge.
“I … I walked into town this evening looking for my father.”
“Oh.” Gert sipped her tea to cover her confusion. Apparently Cyrus hadn’t shown up for supper at the ranch, which lay outside town, barely half a mile beyo
nd the Nugget Saloon. “Did you look in the stagecoach office?”
“Yes, I went there first.” Isabel swallowed and looked away. “He wasn’t there. His office door wasn’t locked, but …”
Gert nodded. She could guess where Cyrus was, but she didn’t like to say it.
“I …” Isabel cleared her throat. “I thought I’d stop at the emporium, but apparently I was a few minutes too late, and Mrs. Adams had just closed. As I came back along the boardwalk past the alley …”
“Yes?”
“There was a man in there. In the alley, I mean.” Gert put her cup down. “Just … loitering, or walking through the alley?”
“As I walked by, I noticed him leaning against the wall of Papa’s office. He was in the dark, and I couldn’t see his face, but he frightened me.” Isabel shuddered.
“Perhaps he was waiting for your father to come back.” Yet if the office was unlocked, why not wait for Mr. Fennel inside? It did seem odd. And Libby used that alley often to get from her back door to the street. What if the man was watching the emporium? Waiting for the emporium’s lights to flicker out and Libby’s apartment lights above to come on? There was a small window on that side in Libby’s kitchen, Gert was sure. She’d seen it the day after the fire, when she’d eaten lunch with Libby. It overlooked the low roof and false front of the Wells Fargo building. The idea caused her pulse to take off again, though Hiram had repaired the back door of the emporium and installed a new lock and a sturdy bar as well.
Isabel leaned back in the chair, curling her fingers around her teacup. “I didn’t like to walk all the way home alone. I thought of going to the Walkers’, but I’d have had to pass the alley again, and … well, I looked across the street and saw your light.”
“I’m glad you did,” Gert said. “Isabel, you’re welcome here anytime. And if you ever feel uneasy to be alone, I hope you will call on me or another of the shooting club women. We want to make sure all the women in this town feel safe.”
The Bride's Prerogative Page 17
