The Bride's Prerogative
Page 25
“Thank you. I’ve got a piece of gray flannel I thought I’d make up for fall. Oh my!” Ellie had spotted Libby’s new, basket-shaped, French bag of soft leather. Idaho Territory might be a few months behind the New York fashions, but Libby refused to bypass them completely and stick to the basics.
“I saw them in the latest catalog and couldn’t resist.” She held it up so that Ellie could see it clearly. No need to mention the pearl-handled Smith & Wesson revolver inside. She’d decided to add it to her arsenal, leaving the heavier Peacemaker at home under her pillow except for shooting practice. The little gem of a pistol in her bag allowed her to go armed wherever she pleased and still appear dainty.
Mr. Nash held the door open for them, and the ladies entered the old store now used as a sanctuary.
Just inside, hugging the back wall and peering at the crowd with wide, frightened eyes, stood a young woman dressed in claret-colored silk. She clutched the edges of a fringed gray shawl before her bosom, but even so, the white expanse of her neck hinted at a low neckline. Rosettes caught up the skirt in front, exposing the girl’s clocked stockings and shoes with scandalously high heels. Opal, the new girl from the Nugget.
Fearing she would tear out the door, Libby stepped toward the anxious young woman. Before she reached Opal’s side, Apphia Benton scooted down the aisle and reached for the girl’s hand.
“My dear Opal. Welcome.”
Libby watched with interest. Opal had come into the emporium last week and purchased a fan and some perfume. But how did Apphia know her? The minister’s wife must have expanded her outreach to Bitsy’s rivals. Libby stood entranced as Peter Nash herded his family toward a bench halfway down the aisle. Ethan’s ranch hands, the McDade boys, appeared, and the older one managed to end up seated beside Florence.
“Won’t you come and sit with me?” Apphia asked the saloon girl.
“Oh, I …” Panic filled Opal’s eyes as she flicked a glance toward the front of the room. Perhaps she had guessed correctly that the pastor’s wife usually sat in the front row.
Libby stepped toward them and smiled. “Good evening. I’m Libby Adams, from the emporium.”
Opal met her gaze and nodded slowly. “I remember you.”
“Would you like to sit with me? I’m all alone tonight.” Libby gestured toward a bench in the next-to-last row.
“Thank you,” Opal whispered. She caught her breath and turned to look at Apphia.
“It’s all right, my dear. I’ll find you afterward, and we can visit for a few minutes.” Apphia smiled gently at both of them, nodded, and turned toward the front of the room.
Libby entered the row and sat on the bench. Perhaps she should have suggested Opal enter first. The girl might feel the urge to bolt if Pastor Benton launched into a fiery exposition.
Two rows ahead, Libby saw Gert and Hiram sitting with the Harpers. Across the aisle, Goldie and Vashti claimed seats. Goldie glanced over at them, and her eyes widened. She elbowed Vashti, who leaned forward and stared past her. She glared at Opal and turned to face the front with a flounce of her black cloak.
Libby would have laughed if they were anywhere but church. Apparently, the competing saloons’ employees harbored deep resentment toward one another.
Opal drew in a shaky breath. “I oughtn’t to have come.”
“I’m glad you did,” Libby said.
“I have only an hour,” Opal said. “Mr. Morrell says if I’m late coming back, he’ll never let me go again.”
“I’m surprised—” Libby stopped short and felt her face flush. “That he let me come at all?”
“In the evening, I was going to say,” Libby admitted in hushed tones.
“Well, I wanted to come Sunday morning, but I was ailing.”
“Perhaps he’ll let you come next Sunday.”
Opal nodded judiciously. “Mostly we can do what we want Sundays. He said I’ve got to be back tonight by eight o’clock. It’s never busy on Wednesday, but most of the traffic we get is after eight.” She shot a surreptitious glance across the aisle. Goldie was staring at her malevolently. Opal caught her breath.
“Don’t mind them,” Libby said. “They’re good girls, really. They’re always well behaved when they come to the shooting club.”
Opal’s eyes sparked. “I heard tell about the club. I … I want to learn. Would they let me?”
“I expect all the members would welcome you.”
Pastor Benton stood at the pulpit and raised both hands. “Let us pray.”
As she bowed her head, Libby prayed silently, Lord, thank You for bringing this wayward one in. You know her heart. Let her see Your love here.
Ethan walked past the haberdashery as the opening hymn rang out. He wished he could be inside, singing along to “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” Maybe sitting next to Trudy.
He ambled along the boardwalk, past the closed telegraph office and an empty building. He hummed the hymn as the strains grew fainter and kept on until he reached the Spur & Saddle. Only two horses dozed out front at the hitching rail.
Inside, Augie was behind the bar, and a cowboy leaned on it, one foot on the brass rail below, with a mug of beer before him. Bitsy rose from the round table where she’d sat with two of Oscar’s mule drivers.
“Evening, Sheriff.” She wore one of her frothy dresses, but she went behind the bar and fetched a glittery silver shawl before joining him near the door.
Ethan waited, nodding to the two customers. Bitsy slung a twine bag over her shoulder as they stepped out onto the street.
“Got my piece in here,” she said confidentially, patting the bag. “Not that we’ll have to use ‘em tonight, but I like to be prepared.”
Ethan smiled. “Good of you to volunteer for this hour. I know evening’s your prime business time.”
She shrugged, causing the shawl to slip down over her shoulder and show a bit of white skin. “Wednesday’s always slow anyhow. I let the girls go to the prayer meeting. Augie can handle what little business we’ll get before that’s over. But as you can see, I’m dressed for business tonight. Not a deputy sheriff’s usual getup, hey?”
Ethan smiled. “Not quite. Griffin says he’ll take over the patrol when church is done.”
They crossed to the east side of the street. The reddish light from the setting sun reached between the buildings and glittered bright off the windows of the storefronts opposite. They walked in silence for a while, past the lane to the Harpers’ farm, then the Nashes’ house and post office. Ethan wished she’d worn the bloomers tonight. Would anyone see them walking together? Probably at least half the town’s residents were at the prayer meeting; the novelty of church services still drew most of them in.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Bitsy stopped in front of the Walkers’ house and fumbled in her bag. She pulled out a piece of brass. “Griffin finally made badges for me and Gert. Not bad, eh?” She held it out so he could see it. The word Deputy was engraved in block letters on the five-pointed star.
Ethan nodded. “He’s getting better at it.”
Bitsy drew her chin in and craned her neck as she fastened the badge near the neckline of her dress. Ethan looked away. Please don’t ask me to help you with that! He gulped.
“There!” Bitsy moved forward, and he exhaled. They moseyed toward the emporium. “That Gert Dooley is a nice gal.”
“Uh, yes she is.” Ethan observed Bitsy cautiously from the corner of his eye.
“I never thought she’d mix with the likes of me, but she’s been nothing but sweetness to me and my girls.”
Ethan could well believe that. Ahead of them, Cyrus came out of the stagecoach office and turned to put the key into the lock.
“Evening, Mr. Fennel.” Bitsy’s husky voice cut through the stillness.
Cyrus’s head jerked around, and he straightened. “Well, well. The evening patrol, I assume?” He looked Bitsy up and down from her shoes, better suited to a dance floor, to the little ruffled cap that graced her curls.
Cyrus nodded. “I thought of that—everybody over to church. It’s a good time to break into one of the stores.”
“Well, sir, we’ll take special care of your place.” Bitsy laid her hand on his sleeve and gave him what some might consider an alluring smile. It made Ethan shudder.
Cyrus pulled away. “Thank you. I’m late for prayer meeting, and I told my daughter I’d meet her there.”
Bitsy chuckled as he hurried across the street. “Can’t stand that man, the old hypocrite.”
Ethan frowned and cocked his head to one side. “Then why’d you …”
“Play up to him?” Bitsy smiled as they resumed their walk. “Cyrus used to spend plenty of time at my place, and I was glad for his business. His respectable friends came, too. But I’m doing well enough now that I can get along without him.”
“Even with the new competition down the street?”
“I think so. I cater to a different clientele than Jamin Morrell. My place is a respectable house and nicely furnished. You’ve seen it.”
Ethan nodded reluctantly. Bitsy’s establishment had the atmosphere of a hotel lobby, with rugs, lamps, and padded chairs. Jamin’s had rough furniture and a tinny piano. You could get wine in the Spur & Saddle, someone had told him. Jamin served strictly beer and whiskey.
“He’s got sawdust on the floor.” Bitsy shook her head. “I did that back in the day. You know, when these hills were full of miners. But as soon as I got a little money, I put it into decor. Paintings, wallpaper, a fancy chandelier. And I don’t let people spit on the floor anymore.”
“You’ve got a real homelike place. Prettier than most homes in Fergus.”
“Sure I do. And gentlemen like to come there and relax. They’ll spend a little more for a drink at my place because it’s peaceful. They can sit and play cards for a couple hours and not worry about someone starting a brawl and upsetting their poker game.” She looked up at him. “Did you know we make as much on the Sunday dinner as we do on Friday night drinks?”
“No.”
“Yup. We served twenty-six chicken dinners last Sunday. Of course, Saturday night’s our big night. Always has been, probably always will be.”
Ethan hesitated, but his curiosity reared up. “What about the boardinghouse? I heard Miss Fennel is going to start serving meals.”
“That won’t hurt my Sunday traffic. I talked to her some Monday, and again this morning, when I went to help her redd up the place. She says she told Papa she wouldn’t do any cooking on Sunday except breakfast, and if they have boarders, they can go over to my place or eat some crackers or something in their rooms.”
Ethan arched his eyebrows. “She told him that?”
“You’re darn tootin’. That gal has sprouted some backbone lately. You knew she’d joined the shooting club last week? Against Papa’s will.”
“Yeah. But she’s taking private lessons with Tr—Gert, now that she’s got to work all day.”
“I told you Gert’s a gem. Who else would do that for a pucker-faced schoolmarm who looks as though she was weaned on vinegar?” Bitsy shook her head. “I’m glad she’s standing up to her father at last. He’s got a mean streak, always has. I meant it when I said I don’t like him.” Bitsy looked up at Ethan and winked. “I only did that tonight to make him squirm. I don’t like him, and he don’t like me. We both know it.” She nodded firmly.
They had passed the Wells Fargo office and an empty building and now approached the Walker Feed Company. Across the street, the singing had stopped, and all was quiet. The folks must be praying.
“So … if you don’t mind my asking,” Ethan said, “how come you don’t go to church now? Seems all the other ladies from the shooting club are going, even your … employees.”
Bitsy barked out a laugh. “They’re my girls, Sheriff. No one in this town has illusions about their occupation.” She shook her head. “But no, I don’t see myself warming a pew. The decent folks in this town never said boo to me until lately. Now all the ladies in the shooting club treat me nice. I like it. It’s kind of different, feeling as though I’ve got some friends. But I don’t think God’s ready for me yet.”
Ethan looked away, trying not to register shock. “Miss Shepard,” he managed, “I believe God is always ready.”
Bitsy jabbed him with a sharp elbow. “Look!” She pointed down the alley between the feed store and the old building that used to be the wainwright’s shop.
Ethan squinted against the dusk. Smoke poured from the big pole barn that stood a hundred feet or so behind the feed store. Charles Walker stockpiled all his grain for the store in that building. The stench of the black, roiling smoke hit Ethan’s nostrils.
“Fire! Run over to the church, Bitsy! Tell the men to come quick! Bring water and blankets.”
Bitsy hitched her skirt even higher and jumped off the boardwalk, wobbling on her high heels. Ethan ran for the barn.
CHAPTER 31
Gert sat with her head bowed as Bertha Runnels prayed.
“Lord, we ask that You would heal Mr. Bryce from his sciatica.
Help the—”
The door crashed open, and Gert’s eyes popped open. Heads swiveled toward the back as Bitsy Shepard yelled, “Fire! The mayor’s barn’s on fire. The sheriff says all men get to the Walker warehouse. Bring water and blankets.”
Gert jumped up as the men streamed toward the door, calling to each other.
Libby struggled against the flow and came toward her. “If the buildings on Main Street catch, the whole town could go.”
“Should we go over?”
“We’d just get in the way, I expect.”
“We could haul buckets of water over and soak blankets for them,” Gert said.
“Good idea. And I could put on a pot of coffee.”
Gert looked around. “There’s a back door. Come on.”
She and Libby fought the tide of parishioners struggling toward the exit and gained the door near the pine pulpit Hiram had built for Pastor Benton.
Annie Harper cut them off. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Bucket brigade from my place,” Libby said. “And I’ll donate the fixings for coffee.”
Annie nodded. “I can get my big pot.”
“I’ve got two extras in the store.” Libby took her arm and steered her past the pulpit.
Behind them, Apphia Benton yelled, “Ladies, don’t panic. Let us remain here and pray while the men fight the fire.”
Libby hesitated, and Gert shoved her gently toward the back door. With Annie they made their escape. As soon as they got outside, she smelled it. They rounded the corner of the haberdashery, and she halted, staring at the massive column of black smoke. From their angle, it seemed to rise from the feed store itself and the vacant storefront beside it. Not until they’d crossed the street and come even with an alley could they see the barn behind that served as Charles Walker’s warehouse. Dozens of men surged toward it. Bitsy, in one of her bright silk dresses, stood on the corner yelling and pointing the way.
Gert ran to her, leaving Annie and Libby to worry about coffee and other nonessentials.
“What can I do, Bitsy?”
“Water! The men can’t bring it fast enough. If you can, pump water and bring it. They’ve got two tubs over there where they can soak their wool blankets, but we need to keep them full. And buckets of water to throw on the fire.”
“Libby’s pump and the Nashes’ are probably closest.”
Bitsy nodded. “The men are using them, and Zach Harper’s gone for his wagon. He plans to haul barrels of water, but it may be too late.”
Not many women had stayed at the church. Vashti and Goldie ran across the street, holding their skirts well above their knees.
“Miss
Bitsy, what can we do to help?”
“Bless you, girls. Round up more buckets. Augie’s already over here, but you can get pails and big pans from the kitchen. Oh, and get the wash boiler.”
The two girls hiked up their dresses and charged for the Spur & Saddle.
Gert left Bitsy on the corner to direct the people who came to help. She ran to Libby’s back door and up the stairs that led directly to the apartment above the emporium. Annie answered her peremptory knock.
“Give me any buckets you won’t need,” Gert panted. Annie thrust a galvanized pail and a dishpan into her hands.
“Wait, Gert,” Libby called. She hurried over with her keys in her hand. “I’ll go downstairs and open the back door of the store. You can take anything that will help.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Gert pounded down the outer stairway and tossed the pail and dishpan toward the pump over Libby’s well. Peter Nash already worked the handle up and down, and Griffin and Oscar, along with Jamin Morrell and two men Gert didn’t know, waited to fill their own containers. Bitsy’s alarm must have emptied both saloons.
At the door, Libby shoved a stack of new buckets into her hands. “Pass these out to whoever’s there.”
Gert hurried to the pump. “Anyone need a pail?” Augie was working the pump now, while Bill Stout and Hiram filled their buckets. She handed empty ones to Ted Hire and Cyrus. When they’d gone, Gert filled her own and hurried to the tubs where the men repeatedly brought their blankets to dunk them. Ethan met her there as she dumped two full pails into the tubs, his face and clothing black with soot. Even his badge was caked with it.
“Trudy! Keep back. You need to stay safe.”
“I will.” She squinted toward the barn. Her eyes stung from the smoke, and tears bathed her cheeks. Thick smoke poured from the open barn door and the spaces beneath the eaves. Inside, flames leaped among the bulging stacked feed sacks. Men soaked the siding boards on the south side of the barn. Others hurried in the big doorway with water.