The Bride's Prerogative

by Davis, Susan Page

  “Oh, you like it now?” Her eyes were more blue than gray as the sun struggled to put in an appearance.

  Ethan shrugged. “I’m not saying I want to keep this job forever, but I don’t see the city council hurrying to hold an election either.”

  “That’s true.” Gert trudged along in silence for a minute. “Well, I expect they’ll wait and reelect you when they reelect Charles Walker in the fall.”

  A month ago, Ethan would have protested violently. Now, somehow, that didn’t seem so bad. Of course, if he truly wanted to keep the office, he’d better start finding some clues to solve the murders.

  He glanced at Gert from the corner of his eye. She’d worn her hair down today. Beneath her bonnet, the locks settled about her shoulders. He liked it. Of course he’d never say so.

  “I have given your suggestion about Cy Fennel some thought. But we know for a fact he was at the stagecoach office at the exact time Griff was robbed at the livery. I figure that rules him out.”

  Gert made a soft little sound—not a snort or a sniff, but he could tell she wasn’t happy with this conclusion.

  “What one thing bothers you the most about these crimes?” he asked.

  “You mean besides the fact that two people are dead?” She eyed him with calculation in those eyes.

  Ethan nodded. “I’d like your take on the whole situation.”

  She held his gaze for a moment but stumbled when she stepped in a dip in the road. He reached out to steady her.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  Maybe he should offer her his arm. Something in him squirmed at the thought. Not that he’d mind touching her, but someone might see, and then the whole town would think he was courting Gert. And would that be so bad? He wasn’t sure yet. His resolution never to take a wife, nearly seven years old, still bound him, though lately its grasp on his will had grown weaker. Best to keep his distance until he either hardened his resolve or decided to fling it aside.

  “You know about the pennies we found.” He eased away from her a bit as they walked. “Tell me what you think they mean.”

  “Nothing, except …”

  “Except what?”

  “You won’t laugh? Because you laughed when I said maybe Cyrus did it.”

  “I won’t laugh.” He was pretty sure he hadn’t actually laughed about that other idea either, but there was no point arguing over it.

  “I think they mean the same person did all the crimes. At least … at least the two killings.”

  “So do I. What about the fire at the emporium?”

  She nodded slowly. “Had to be.”

  “But with the murders, the pennies were under the bodies. After the fire, it was on the counter.”

  “He wanted to make sure you found it,” she said. “If he’d left it with the burning stuff, he had no guarantee that the fire wouldn’t grow and it would get lost in the ashes.”

  “Hmm. You may be right.”

  Her chin wrinkled as she frowned. “Or not. I mean, a store is a place where anyone could drop a penny or leave one on the counter after counting up the cash in the evening.”

  “Not one from the same identical year,” Ethan said.

  She lowered her lashes. “You said the one from Milzie’s murder was the same year, too.”

  “That’s right. All three of them.”

  “Well, then, the year must be significant.” A cloud covered the sun, and her eyes were gray again as she looked up into his face.

  “So 1866.” They walked on in silence for a while, and Ethan was very conscious of Gert-Trudy beside him. Her head came just about to his shoulder. Her natural stride was nearly as long as his own, and he easily adjusted to hers.

  “What happened in 1866?” she asked.

  “That’s what I’d like to know. My family moved here that year. I was ten years old.” He sighed, thinking back. “Fergus was a boom town, full of hard-drinking miners. A lot of people lived in tents. I think there were four saloons.”

  “Hiram and I were just kids then, back in Maine. He was fourteen, and I was five years old.”

  Trudy at five. Again he pictured a little girl with blond pigtails tagging along after her big brother. He glanced over at her. “I haven’t told anyone else about the pennies. Just you and Hi. Of course Libby knows about the one at her store.”

  “She was there when you showed the first one, too,” Gert said.

  “And the preacher was with Hiram and me when Hi found the one in Cy’s office. I figure I won’t let it be known in general though. If it really is a clue …”

  He fell silent, wondering what one did with clues. He’d pondered this one until his head hurt.

  They reached the jail and went inside. Ethan waved Gert to the chair behind the desk and brought the stool over for himself. They studied each other for a long moment in the gloom.

  At last, she leaned forward, resting her hands on the desk. “Ethan, I’m sure you have the mental resources to outwit this killer. I’ve been thinking hard on it and even praying about it. Praying for you, that God will help you find out who did it.”

  A painful longing made his throat constrict. How long since someone had cared enough to pray for him? And would God really answer those prayers and make him smarter? That would be a miracle. Trudy seemed to think he had some brain power already, but he felt as stupid as a fir stump. Still, she had faith in him.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate that.”

  She untied the strings of her bonnet and pulled it off. Her hair fluttered and settled again in gentle waves. He didn’t think she’d ever looked so pretty.

  He cleared his throat. “One thing that really puzzles me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why wasn’t there a penny when Griff Bane was attacked?”

  “The robber left in a hurry.”

  “Maybe.”

  She inhaled and stared up at the wanted posters on the wall. “What if it fell in the straw on the floor, and you just didn’t notice it?”

  “I thought of that. But remember how the man we’re after put the one on the counter at Libby’s, to be sure we’d find it?”

  She nodded. “So you’re thinking he’d probably do the same at the stable—make sure it didn’t get lost.”

  “That’s right.” He leaned back on the stool with his head against the wall. Again the silence stretched between them. A sliver of an idea pricked the extreme edge of his mind. He sat up. “What if the person who killed Bert and Milzie was the same person who set the fire at Libby’s, but he wasn’t the same person who attacked Griff?”

  She sat perfectly still, holding his gaze. After about ten seconds, she nodded. “All right. You may have something there.”

  “Tru—” He caught himself, but her eyes had grown round. She watched him, her lips slightly parted, waiting. Ethan swallowed hard. “Your hair looks nice that way.”

  Now, where had that come from? He’d told himself not to say that. And yet he wasn’t sorry. Unless she got mad again. Then he’d be plenty sorry.

  In the utter silence, a voice called from the front step, “Sheriff, you in there? I’m here to take my oath.”

  The door opened, and Bitsy sashayed in. She wore a red dress with an abbreviated skirt. Beneath the hem, matching baggy trousers pouffed above her shoes. Ethan looked helplessly at Gert.

  She smiled. “Bitsy believes the ladies should wear bloomer costumes when we go on patrol. I haven’t decided what I think of the fashion. I’ve divided one of my skirts for when I go riding, but I have to admit this trend is practical.”

  Ethan opened his mouth and closed it again. Bitsy’s costume was awful. More awful than her revealing saloon wear. More awful than Milzie’s rags. How could any woman think such an outlandish getup was attractive? But he couldn’t say any of that. Maybe sometime when he and Trudy-Gert were alone, but certainly not with Bitsy standing right there in front of them wearing it.

  Behind Bitsy the door op
ened again. Oscar Runnels and Zach Harper entered.

  “We’re here,” Zachary said jovially. “Thanks for picking me and not my wife, Sheriff.”

  Bitsy glared at Zach, and Gert hid a smile. Oh yes, dealing with deputies was going to be quite an experience.

  CHAPTER 27

  On Sunday morning the old haberdashery was filled for the morning service. Before Phineas Benton stood to lead the first hymn, Gert looked back toward the door. Two black-cloaked women slipped in and found a seat in the next-to-last row of benches. Gert nearly whooped for joy. She had formed a pact with Apphia and Libby to pray until Bitsy and her girls accepted their invitations to church.

  A sharp intake of breath caused her to turn around. Isabel Fennel sat right in front of her and Hiram, beside her father. Isabel, too, had seen the newcomers.

  “Isn’t that those two girls from the saloon?” Isabel hissed.

  “Yes, Goldie and Vashti. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Isabel’s eyes narrowed. “I … suppose so.”

  “They need the Lord,” Gert whispered.

  “Well, yes.” Isabel faced forward.

  Gert glanced at Hiram. He shook his head slightly. So, he’d heard. He knew how burdened Gert had felt lately for the ladies of the shooting club, including the saloon girls. She’d told him the overwhelming guilt she’d felt when she realized she’d been remiss all these years in not sharing God’s Word with others. The Dooleys had kept up their faith, though they’d gone without church. They hadn’t even owned a Bible until recently. That had bothered Gert now and then, but she’d reminded herself that, when she came west, she couldn’t carry much. Besides, the children of the Dooley family had never owned their own Bibles. Their parents had one, but more would have been an extravagance. So she and her brother had gone without.

  They hadn’t lived as heathens. They still asked the blessing at each meal, and Gert prayed often, and she’d vaguely missed spiritual training and fellowship, but she hadn’t given much thought to her neighbors’ spiritual needs. Since the Bentons’ arrival and Libby’s procuring Bibles, Gert and Hiram had devoured the scriptures. Principles she’d learned as a child struck her with new clarity. She wanted all of the ladies of the club to learn as she was learning and to believe as she believed.

  Most of them claimed at least a superficial faith. The saloon girls seemed the farthest from the fold, with Milzie a close second. Apphia had made Milzie her own project, hoping to win the old woman through kindness. Too late for Milzie now.

  In her own heart, Gert had taken on the saloon women. They may not see their need for God, but in her new vision, their need hung out where all could see, like their brightly colored dresses flapping on a clothesline. Gert now believed she was no better than Goldie or Vashti. She lived virtuously in her brother’s house instead of upstairs at the Spur & Saddle. But only her faith in Christ gave her an eternal advantage over the girls, and she longed to share it with them.

  Cyrus sat in front of Hiram with his spine rigid and his shoulders unmoving during the service, except when they stood to sing a few hymns. Apparently, he had recovered from his prostration. As soon as the final song and benediction ended, he turned around and buttonholed Hiram.

  “Say, Dooley, I’ve mentioned to the reverend that we ought to have some new pews for the church, or at least put backs on some of these benches.”

  Hiram nodded. “Might be able to.”

  “Well, an hour and a half on a rough bench with no back support is too long. I expect I’ll be stiff all day.”

  Gert smiled at his inspiration to initiate some improvements in the sanctuary. She stole a quick look toward the doorway. Goldie was shaking hands with the Bentons, but Vashti had already disappeared through the portal.

  “Now, since it’s for the church, do you think you can donate your time?” Cyrus asked.

  Gert’s anger boiled inside her. Cyrus didn’t want to do anything that would cost him a penny, but he expected other people to donate money, materials, and labor.

  Hiram said, “I’ll ask the pastor what he thinks.”

  Isabel had turned and was looking at her with her habitual sour face. Gert met her gaze and tried to smile.

  “I don’t expect I’ll be able to come to shooting practice tomorrow,” Isabel said.

  “Oh? That’s too bad.”

  Cyrus picked up his hat and said to her, “I’ve got to see Bane for a minute, Isabel. I’ll be back.”

  “That’s fine, Papa.” After he walked away, Isabel turned her attention back to Gert. “My father wants me to start work on the old boardinghouse tomorrow.”

  “What for?”

  “He wants to open it for business, the sooner the better.”

  Gert glanced over at Hiram. Her brother watched Isabel with his big gray blue eyes but said nothing.

  Isabel took her gloves from her handbag and pulled them on. “He said he’s gotten requests from stagecoach passengers for meals and rooms in town.” She flicked a glance toward where her father stood in conversation with Griffin and leaned closer. “He’s also had some sort of falling out with Mr. Bane, and he wants a place where the drivers and shotgun messengers can sleep.”

  Gert winced at the thought of Isabel keeping house for the likes of Ned Harmon and Bill Stout. “And he wants you to run that big place all alone?”

  Isabel shrugged with a little sigh. “I told him he’ll have to hire someone else before the summer term of school opens. A married couple would be best.” She lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. “I will not give up my schoolroom to run a boardinghouse.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gert said. “I hope it goes well for you.”

  “Well, I hate to give up the shooting club, too. The ladies have been … nice to me. Of course, Papa’s still furious at me for joining. He’s upset with the parson, too, for letting Mrs. Benton join. Papa thinks the parson should tell all of us ladies to repent and lay our weapons on the altar.”

  Gert chuckled. “Pardon my saying so, but your father doesn’t know much about women.”

  Isabel’s brow creased. “I’m beginning to wonder why Mama ever married him.” She clamped her lips shut as though embarrassed that the thought had escaped through them and looked over her shoulder. Cyrus was now deep in conversation with Charles Walker and Zachary Harper. “Anyway, I wanted you to know that I probably won’t be able to shoot anymore.”

  “You could come over to my house after supper if you wanted to keep practicing.”

  “I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

  “No trouble. I shoot out behind our house for Hiram when he’s fixed a gun. It won’t take but ten minutes to shoot off a few rounds and keep your aim up.”

  A gleam of hope lit Isabel’s eyes. “You’d really let me do that?”

  “Sure. You’ve improved a lot in the few sessions you’ve had. I’d hate to see you give it up now. These long evenings, we may as well make use of the daylight.”

  A genuine smile spread over Isabel’s face. “Thank you! I’ll do it if I’m not too tired tomorrow.”

  “What will you do at the boardinghouse tomorrow?” Gert asked.

  “I’m to scrub down the kitchen and dining room first, and two bedrooms. Papa wants me to start serving lunch by Thursday if I can, but I told him I won’t do it unless he gets a decent cookstove in there, and tables and chairs for the diners. I can clean, but I can’t make furniture, and I won’t serve food on packing crates.”

  “Good for you. Does he have extra furniture?”

  “He’s got some. I think there are bedsteads and a few other pieces upstairs in the boardinghouse from when it used to be open.”

  “That will be a lot of work, getting the place ready.”

  “Yes, it will.”

  “Maybe I can come give you a hand in the morning.”

  Isabel cleared her throat and looked away for a moment. “I’m not sure Papa would pay for extra help.”

  “I’d come as a friend, just to help out.” Gert picked up th
e new Dooley Bible and handed it to Hiram.

  Isabel’s mouth hung open for a second. “I … don’t know what to say. Your offer is very generous.”

  “I don’t mind helping.” Gert smiled. “Could be some of the other ladies from the club will help you, too, if they have time.”

  Isabel stared at her as though she couldn’t believe a word Gert had said. Her father strode past them toward the door and called to her without pausing. “Come along, Isabel. I’m finished.”

  Gert felt like blasting him, but after all, they were still in church, sort of. Isabel scurried into the aisle and followed him.

  When Gert turned around to see if Hiram was ready to leave, Ethan stood next to him.

  “Howdy.” He nodded at Gert. “Hiram, I need to do an inventory of Millicent Peart’s belongings. I wondered if you’d be free to ride out to her place with me tomorrow. From what the ladies told us, there’s not much to see, but I need to make a record of it.”

  Hiram nodded. “If I’m not too busy putting a back on Cy Fennel’s bench.”

  Ethan pulled back and scowled at him. “What’s that about?”

  Hiram waved one hand in dismissal. “I’ll go with you. Come to the house when you’re ready.”

  They walked outside together, pausing to shake Pastor Benton’s hand at the door. Ethan walked with them as far as the path to the Dooley house, where he halted for a moment.

  “Well, I’ll head over to the livery and get Scout.”

  “Would you like to eat dinner with us?” Gert had debated all the way down the street whether to ask him or not. He was eating half his meals at their house now, but he’d rarely come into town on Sunday until the church services commenced. Hiram was fixing a shotgun for Augie Moore and would probably want to continue the project after dinner, but he wouldn’t care if Ethan sat around while he did it.

  “Thanks, but I let the boys go home over the weekend, and I’d better get out to the ranch.” Ethan tipped his hat. “See you tomorrow, Hiram … Trudy.”

  Gert watched him walk across the street. Slowly she turned to her brother.

  “Did you say something to him?”

  Hiram touched a hand to his chest. His eyes widened, as though asking, “Me?”