The Bride's Prerogative

by Davis, Susan Page

  “I wonder if the mayor’s still alive,” Ethan said.

  Hiram nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.

  Ethan pulled gently on the reins and turned Scout. The other men moved their horses up close to him. “Thank you all for trying. I’m going to catch a few hours’ sleep, and I suggest you do the same. I’ll head out again around noon and see if I can find anything we missed in the dark. Anyone who wants to join me, come to the jail then.”

  As the men said good night to each other, Hiram stiffened in his saddle. “Ethan, look.”

  “Hmm?”

  Hiram pointed toward the Nugget.

  “What is it?”

  Hiram didn’t answer, so Ethan studied the building’s facade. The first rays of sunlight hit the front window to the right of the door, but the window on the left was a dull, dark hole.

  “Someone took out the window.” Ethan stared at it. “Must have gotten wild last night after we left.”

  “Sheriff, there’s a light on at the jailhouse,” Augie Moore called.

  Ethan swung around to look toward the jail. Sure enough, a soft glow outlined the small window. Down the street, a horse neighed, and he stared at it for a good five seconds before he was sure his exhausted brain told him the truth. He turned and scanned the posse for Ralph Storrey.

  “Ralph, looks like your horse is tied up about where you left it last night.”

  Ralph rode forward on his borrowed horse and stared toward the telegraph office. He put his heels to his mount’s sides and trotted down the street toward the pinto.

  Hiram cocked an eyebrow at Ethan. “What do you think’s going on?”

  “I dunno. But I intend to find out who’s in my office.”

  Ethan swung down and tossed Scout’s reins to Hiram. His back and legs were stiff with fatigue. He hadn’t spent all night in the saddle since the last war. He limped to the walk before the jail, limbering up a little with each step. By the time he reached the door, he walked normally. He pulled his pistol from its holster and pushed the door open.

  Trudy.

  She sat slumped in his chair with her head cradled on her arms atop the desk. A rifle lay before her on the desktop, with the jail cell key beside it. The kerosene lamp burned low on its hook above her, casting a shimmer on her hair. As he crossed the threshold, she flinched, then sat up, blinking.

  “Well! Sheriff Chapman.” She stood with a crooked smile.

  He walked over to her and stood looking down into her soft blue gray eyes. “Hey, Trudy.” He wished more than anything that he had good news. He wanted to tell her they’d caught the killer, and that she and all the people in Fergus could feel safe now. He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. We rode all night, but we lost him. Lost him early. He’s just … gone.”

  A slow, shaky smile curved her lips. She put her hand up to his stubbly cheek. “You may have lost him, Ethan, but we found him.”

  “What?” He eyed her cautiously. “What happened? I saw Ralph’s horse tied up, and the broken window at the Nugget.”

  “Your killer is lying on the floor over there beside the bar. It’s Jamin.”

  Ethan drew in a slow breath. “Jamin Morrell.”

  Trudy nodded. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

  A riot of questions sprang to his mind. He caught her to him and held her in his arms. “Trudy, Trudy. Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She sneaked her arms around his waist, and he lowered his cheek to rest on top of her head.

  In the shadows, a throat was cleared. Ethan straightened and stepped away from her, peering toward the jail cell.

  “Oh, and the Ladies’ Shooting Club brought you a couple of prisoners,” Trudy said.

  He walked over to the cell door and gazed in at the two girls from the Nugget. The dark-haired one sat on the edge of the bunk, glaring daggers at him. The light-haired one—Opal, wasn’t it?—stood with her arms folded and a put-upon air.

  “You going to let us out of here, Sheriff? I helped them get their friends away from the boss.”

  Trudy came softly over and stood beside him. “We disarmed them and locked them up for you to deal with. I don’t know how big their part was in the crimes, but they were helping Morrell get ready to leave. He was going to take Isabel, Libby, and Goldie with him.”

  “Take them where?”

  “California, apparently. He planned to make Libby empty her bank account for him in Boise first. He was going to make them work in his new saloon. But Isabel refused to go, and he was going to shoot her.” Trudy’s voice cracked. “Ethan, I’m so glad you’re home.”

  He turned and folded her in his arms again, ignoring the two women observing. She sobbed and hung on to him. “Sweet Trudy,” he said. “I’m going to have to hear the whole story, but right now, we’d best go tell your brother you’re all right.”

  “Oh, if he’s gone home, he’ll know.” Trudy lifted her head and swiped at her eyes. “Pan Rideout’s in his bed.”

  “What?”

  “Jamin shot him, too.”

  “Eth?” Hiram stood in the doorway. “Well, hi, Gert. Everything all right?”

  “Why don’t you step outside with me and Hiram?” Ethan said to her. He kept one arm firmly about her waist as they walked to the door and out to where Scout and Hoss were hitched. The rest of the men had scattered to their homes or gone to the mayor’s house for their wives. The street was quiet once again.

  “The ladies caught the killer,” Ethan told his friend.

  “I peeked through the Nugget window,” Hiram admitted. “That your shooting, Gert?”

  Her eyes clouded. “Afraid so. With the mayor’s rifle. It wasn’t my first choice, but Morrell would have killed Libby.” She gritted her teeth and looked forlornly at her brother. “It wasn’t such a good idea to confront him like I did.”

  Hiram nodded soberly. “The mayor going to make it?”

  “We think so, and Pan Rideout is, too, but they’ll both be laid up awhile. He’s over to our house, Hiram.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He got in Morrell’s way.”

  Hiram stepped closer and touched her shoulder. “You gonna be all right?”

  She nodded and sniffed. “Yes, but I wouldn’t want to go through last night again. Annie did wonders with the patients, but I’d be more hopeful if we had a doctor.”

  “Morrell told me last week he’d written some letters and hoped we’d get a physician to move here soon,” Ethan said.

  “Oh, and here we are patching up the people he shot while we wait.”

  Hiram said, “Well, he got us a good preacher.”

  “True. And do you know why he did it?” She looked from him to Ethan.

  They both shook their heads.

  “He wanted to be a big shot in town, like Cyrus and the mayor. But it wasn’t enough. People still didn’t respect him, even though he’d tried to act like a pillar of the community.” Her shoulders drooped for a moment.

  Ethan studied her tear-streaked face. She must feel as appalled as he had after his first battle against the Bannock. Maybe they could talk about his war experience after all. They might even be able to comfort each other. He tightened his hold on her just a little, and she looked up.

  “You fellows must be hungry,” she said. “Come on. I’ll make some flapjacks.”

  “What about the prisoners?” Ethan asked.

  “Prisoners?” Hiram’s eyes widened as he looked at his sister once more.

  She chuckled. “I’ll send Deputy Shepard over to keep an eye on them while you have breakfast.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Church services began on time Sunday morning, though several benches were empty and many members of the congregation had eyes red from lack of sleep. Mrs. Walker stayed home with her husband, and Annie Harper sat with them. Several of the posse members were also absent.

  Hiram and Ethan sat down on each side of Trudy, trying to hide their yawns behind their hands. Neither had shaved that morning, but
she didn’t mind.

  Libby paused at the end of their row on her way in. Ethan stood stiffly.

  “Good morning, Sheriff.” She smiled at the Dooleys. “How’s Pan doing?”

  “Holding his own,” Trudy said. “Bertha and Oscar Runnels volunteered to sit with him this morning. If his wound doesn’t get infected, they plan to move him to their house tomorrow.”

  Libby nodded. “That’s good. And Trudy, you look lovely today.”

  As her cheeks warmed, Trudy realized she was no longer Gert. She had begun to think of herself as Trudy, too. Ethan’s eyes swept over her, she could tell without looking up. She smoothed the skirt of the light blue muslin dress Libby had persuaded her to buy.

  “Yes, you do,” Ethan said. “Very nice.”

  Trudy’s cheeks blazed, and she was glad when Libby turned her focus back to Ethan.

  “Are you going to let the girls from the Nugget go, Sheriff?”

  Ethan gritted his teeth and shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. I’d like to talk to you later about what happened last night. Trudy says Flora helped Morrell when he kidnapped you ladies, but Opal helped you escape.”

  “I believe she did. It happened awfully fast at the end.”

  “Uh, would you like to sit here?” Ethan asked, stepping into the aisle.

  “Thank you, but …” Libby’s gaze shifted toward the doorway, and she smiled. “I believe I’ll sit with Bitsy and her girls. I’ll speak with you later, Sheriff.”

  “Bitsy came?” Trudy turned her head and watched in satisfaction as Bitsy, Vashti, and Goldie settled with Libby two rows behind them. Isabel Fennel crossed the threshold with her father and clung to his arm as they walked toward their bench.

  Pastor Benton stood up and walked to the pulpit. Dark shadows rimmed his eyes, and he smiled wearily.

  “Greetings, brothers and sisters. Our town has endured great trials, but God has sustained us. I’m happy to report that Mayor Walker is resting this morning, with no fever. We’re in hopes he’ll recover from his wound in time. Mr. Rideout was also wounded, as most of you know. His injury is less severe, and we expect him to make a good recovery. One other announcement—I’ve placed an order for hymnbooks, and Mrs. Adams tells me they should arrive in a couple of weeks.”

  As the congregation sang “Amazing Grace” from memory, Trudy sent up another prayer of thanks. The pastor’s sermon on love for one another touched her deeply. She’d seen the people of Fergus move from separate, self-centered households to caring individuals and families watching out for one another. As she listened, she felt blessed beyond anything she deserved, having gained a new love for the women of the town and being seated on the rustic pew between the two finest men in Fergus.

  After the benediction, they filed out into the blistering sun.

  Trudy caught up with Bitsy before she could hurry away.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  Bitsy smiled with a shrug that set the pheasant’s feather in her hat bobbing. “It wasn’t so bad. I may make a habit of it. Of course, I’ve got to hurry now and prepare for the dinner crowd. Augie’s been on his own the last hour, and I expect he’ll need us.”

  Hiram and Ethan came to stand beside Trudy as she watched Bitsy and the two brightly clad girls scurry toward the Spur & Saddle.

  Hiram’s gaze shifted to the south end of the street. “Looks like a rider coming in.”

  As others filed out of the haberdashery building behind them, they stood watching until the bay horse had brought its rider close to them. The man stopped the dusty mare in the street and gazed at the crowd of people emerging from the old store in their Sunday best. Several bags were strapped to the cantle and sides of his saddle. The man looked tired. He homed in on Ethan and smiled through a couple of days’ growth of beard.

  “Good morning, Sheriff. Is this the town of Fergus?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Ethan. “Can I help you?”

  “Why, yes. I’ve ridden all night. Is there a hotel?”

  Ethan nodded down the street toward the Fennel House. “The boardinghouse is right yonder.”

  He looked where Ethan pointed and smiled. “Ah. That sounds adequate. I suppose I could have waited for tomorrow’s stagecoach run, but I was eager to get here. And … I’m looking for Mr. Morrell. He invited me to come.”

  “Oh?” Ethan looked at the Dooleys. Hiram shrugged, and Trudy frowned. Ethan said to the stranger, “What is your name, sir?”

  He leaned down and extended his hand to Ethan. “It’s Kincaid. Dr. James Kincaid.”

  “Praise God,” Trudy murmured.

  Ethan released the man’s hand and shoved his hat back. “Well, Doc, you’ve come to the right place. I hope you’re not too tired, because we can put you right to work.”

  Trudy laughed. “One of the patients is at my house, just a few doors down, Doctor. Would you care to take a look at him and join us for dinner?”

  Hiram said, “Go on ahead with him. I’ll take care of his horse.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” the physician said.

  Trudy nodded in satisfaction. “Good. And after dinner, Sheriff Chapman can take you around to meet the mayor. He’s the other patient.”

  As Kincaid dismounted, Ethan reached for Trudy’s hand. She let him hold on to it as they led the doctor toward the Dooley house.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  Ethan Chapman doesn’t want to be sheriff. He’s shocked when the town fathers choose him for the job. But within weeks he is reluctant to give up the position. Why has he changed his mind?

  Orissa Walker is known to be a proud woman, but others are not immune to this flaw. How does Gert’s pride manifest itself in the story? Do you see a change in her attitude toward Cyrus? Isabel? Milzie? Bitsy? Others?

  How does the Ladies’ Shooting Club help Gert, Libby, and the other women think differently about their neighbors?

  What reasons do Hiram, Libby, and others have to resent Cyrus? How much of this was brought on by his own actions? Do you feel Isabel was justified in rebelling against her father? Was she right to work in the boardinghouse? To insist she keep her school?

  How does Ethan tread the line between smoothing the mayor and town councilors’ feathers and doing what he feels is right? How could he have done better?

  Ethan sees Gertrude as two separate people: plain, practical Gert and sweet, lovable Trudy. When he grieves over his army experience, close-lipped Hiram advises him to take God at his word and move on. How does this help him in his relationship with Gert/Trudy and let them merge into one? And should Hiram perhaps take his own advice?

  Why are the town fathers embarrassed when the new minister assumes Jamin Morrell is chairman of the pulpit committee? Do their relationships with the saloon owners change after the minister arrives?

  How do Gert and Libby decide who gets to join the shooting club? Why is the act of joining so divisive? Was Pastor Benton right to allow Apphia to join?

  Too late, the ladies begin to help Milzie. How does Gert’s approach differ from Libby’s? From Apphia’s?

  Bitsy tells Ethan, “I don’t think God is ready for me yet.” How would you have responded?

  Some of the residents of Fergus seem to live contradictory lives. Augie Moore, who is Bitsy’s bartender and cook, owns one of the few Bibles in town. Many of the faithful churchgoers spend Saturday night at the Nugget or the Spur & Saddle. Gert and Hiram, both believers brought up in a Christian home, spend Sundays alone and silent for years, and it seems they have rarely mentioned their faith to others. How critical is it that the outward life match the inward? How did the town’s history contribute to this discrepancy? What changes did you see in any of the townspeople?

  THE GUNSMITH’S GALLANTRY

  DEDICATION:

  To my second son-in-law, John-Mark, who brought great joy to our family, despite whisking our daughter off to England. Whenever you’re on this side of the Atlantic, we’ll have a bed for you and a mountain of tea.

  The son shall
not bear the iniquity of the father.

  EZEKIEL 18:20 KJV

  CHAPTER 1

  Fergus, Idaho

  May 1886

  Wait, Hiram!”

  The gunsmith paused on the board sidewalk and turned around.

  Maitland Dostie left the doorway of his tiny office and shouted at him, waving a piece of paper. “Got a message for ya.”

  Hiram arched his eyebrows and touched a hand to his chest in question.

  The gray-haired telegraph operator smiled and clomped along the walk toward him, shaking his head. “Yes, you, Mr. Dooley. Just because you haven’t had a telegram in the last five years and more doesn’t mean you’ll never get one.”

  Hiram swallowed down a lump of apprehension and reached a cautious hand for the paper. “What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. It was paid for on the other end.”

  It still seemed he ought to give him something, but maybe that was only if a messenger boy brought the telegram around to the house. Hiram nodded. “Thanks. Where’s it from?”

  “Whyn’t you look and see?”

  Hiram wanted to say, “Because if it’s from Maine, it’s probably bad news.” His parents were getting along in years, and he couldn’t think of a reason anyone would part with enough hard cash to send him a telegram unless somebody’d up and died.

  But Hiram rarely spent more words than he had to, and Dostie had already gotten more out of him than usual. Besides, if someone in the family had died, the telegraph operator would know it. Wouldn’t he look a little sadder if that were so? Hiram nodded and tucked the paper inside his vest so it wouldn’t fly away in the cool May wind that whistled up between the Idaho mountains. He walked home, stepping a little faster than previously, certain that Dostie watched him.