The Bride's Prerogative

by Davis, Susan Page

  “Stagecoach late?” Trudy asked.

  “Not yet.” Cyrus’s lips thinned to a grim line. “That Bill Stout had better get the coach here in one piece. Folks have been waiting months for regular service to Boise to resume.”

  “Still snow in the passes.” Hiram gazed off toward Boise, too, but he couldn’t see farther than the mountains beyond the end of Main Street.

  “They got through on Tuesday.”

  The only traffic on the north end of the street consisted of Ted Hire walking from the smithy to the Nugget, where he worked. Hiram set down the basket.

  Cyrus eyed them with sudden interest. “Do you folks expect someone coming in today?”

  “Yes sir,” said Trudy. “We look for Mrs. Caplinger of the state of Maine.”

  Cyrus whistled. “She’s had a long trip. Relative of yours?”

  Trudy glanced at Hiram, and he shrugged. It would get around town soon enough, anyway. They’d already told Libby, who was not a gossip but definitely a link in the Fergus news chain.

  “Our sister-in-law,” Trudy said.

  Cyrus’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh? That would be the late Mrs. Dooley’s sister?”

  “Yes.” Trudy’s face brightened. “Oh look. Here comes the sheriff.”

  Hiram exhaled, feeling extra friendship for Ethan for arriving in time to curb an awkward conversation. The sheriff emerged from Gold Lane, the dusty little side street that sprouted westward between the jail and the boardinghouse. He caught sight of them and smiled, veering across Main Street to join them. Hiram wondered if he’d planned to go to their back door and beg some lunch. A glint of sun caught Ethan’s badge on the front of his jacket. The tall, broad-shouldered young man did make an impressive figure of a lawman, and it was no wonder Trudy admired him so—though Trudy had lost her heart to Ethan long before he began wearing the star.

  “Howdy,” Ethan said, mainly in Trudy’s direction, but swinging his head enough to include the men. A wagon rolled up the street, and rancher Arthur Tinen Jr. and his wife, Starr, stopped in front of the emporium.

  “Hello,” Starr called, waving as her husband reached to help her down from the wagon. Trudy, Ethan, and Hiram waved back, and the Tinens entered the store.

  “You got the time, Chapman?” Cyrus asked.

  “Nope, ‘fraid not.”

  Hiram looked up at the sun, where it hovered on the edge of a noncommittal cloud. Cyrus wouldn’t bother to ask him if he had a watch.

  “They’re late.” Cyrus snapped the case of one watch shut and stuffed it into his vest pocket. “If Ned Harmon and Bill Stout were out drinking last night, I’ll fire them both.”

  Trudy gritted her teeth, her eyes smoky gray. Cyrus chafed Hiram’s sensibilities, too. He arched his eyebrows at his sister in a silent signal. Someday he might do battle with the mighty Fennel, but today’s snappishness wasn’t worth fussing over.

  Ethan stepped closer to Trudy. “Say, would the ladies of the club be willing to help me out? Mr. Fennel was asking me this morning about the Peart place. I may need to write several letters to get information. Do you think the ladies would be interested?”

  “I know they would,” Trudy said.

  She and Bitsy Shepard, owner of the Spur & Saddle saloon, which rivaled the Nugget, had served as temporary sheriff’s deputies for a brief time last summer, and the ladies took their duty to the town seriously. Ethan’s expression cleared at her ready acceptance, and he shot a satisfied glance at Fennel. Sometimes Cyrus wanted more than folks could give him, and Hiram knew some of the wrangling Ethan had gone through with the stubborn man. But if the shooting club helped, Ethan could rest easy. A heap of work would be accomplished, whether the ladies got the information he wanted or not.

  But the fact that Fennel wanted someone to investigate the ownership of poor old Milzie Peart’s land troubled Hiram. He caught Ethan’s eye. Ethan nodded unhappily, but by unspoken agreement, they said no more in front of Cyrus.

  Trudy pushed back a strand of her light hair. “I’m sure we can help if it’s a letter-writing campaign you need. I’ll mention it at this afternoon’s meeting.”

  “Thank you kindly,” Ethan said.

  A drumming of hoofbeats and a rattle of wheels pulled their attention to the north end of the street once more. Hiram exhaled. The stagecoach. He squared his shoulders and drew Trudy back from the edge of the boardwalk. She was apt to be so busy casting sweet glances at Ethan that she wouldn’t think to corral her skirts and get out of the way.

  The coach had advanced up the street at a good clip and was nearly upon them. Cyrus stepped forward, still holding one watch open and glaring at the driver.

  “Whoa!” Bill Stout pulled the horses up so that the coach door sat even with his boss. The leather straps creaked, and the coach swayed. The horses panted and shook their heads.

  “You’re ten minutes late.” Cyrus’s harsh tone cut through the cool air.

  Bill sighed and shook his head. “It’s heavy going through the passes, Mr. Fennel. I told you that day before yesterday.”

  “I expect you to maintain the schedule.”

  “When humanly possible,” Bill said evenly. “I hope we’ve got mules for the next leg.”

  By this time, Ned, the shotgun messenger, had stowed his weapon and leaped down from the box to open the door for the passengers.

  The first person to fill the doorway, in a flurry of lavender skirts, pleats, soutache braid, and covered buttons, was Rose Caplinger. The woman’s dark hair was swept up beneath a large hat, and her snapping brown eyes critically surveyed what she could see of Main Street. Cyrus stepped forward quickly, but Ned already had extended a hand to her.

  “Watch your step, ma’am,” Ned said.

  When Rose’s dainty feet in patent leather shoes hit the boardwalk, Cyrus edged Ned aside.

  “Welcome to Fergus. I’m Cyrus Fennel. I trust you had a pleasant journey with the Wells Fargo line?”

  “Pleasant?” Rose blinked up at him. “Not unless your idea of pleasant is bouncing over every rock in Idaho Territory at high speed and being jostled by a drummer and a herdsman stinking of sheep, while a quartet of Chinese miners stares at you from across the coach.”

  Said drummer and shepherd were staggering out of the coach while the miners hung back; whether out of courtesy or intimidation, Hiram couldn’t tell. But the time had come when he must step up and rescue Rose from Cyrus’s arrogance—or perhaps rescue Cyrus from Rose’s ill temper. At any rate, he forced one leg forward, then the other, until he stood next to Cyrus.

  Rose’s gaze lit on him, and the sour cast fled from her face. Her eyes softened. Her lips trembled.

  “Hiram Dooley!” With only this brief warning, she flung herself at him.

  CHAPTER 6

  My dear, dear brother-in-law.” Rose entangled her arms about Hiram’s neck, pushing him back three steps so that Trudy had to jump aside, nearly upsetting the willow basket. Rose placed a heartfelt smack on Hiram’s jaw. It probably would have landed higher if Hiram hadn’t had the presence of mind to raise his chin as her puckered lips reached toward him. Trudy felt her face flush in sympathy for her brother.

  “Uh, good day, Rose.” Hiram’s voice sounded somewhat constricted. He held his hands inches from Rose’s back, obviously trying to avoid placing them on her person, darting desperate glances toward Trudy and Ethan.

  Not one to neglect her duty, Trudy came to the rescue.

  “Rose, how lovely to have you here.” She touched Rose’s shoulder, and the newly arrived lady gave a reluctant sigh and released Hiram.

  “Gert.” Rose turned and eyed her from head to toe. “My, how you’ve grown.”

  Trudy’s strained smile congealed on her face. “I go by Trudy now, if you don’t mind.”

  “What? Oh.” Rose’s gaze had already strayed to Ethan, who stood comfortingly close to Trudy. “And who is this dashing gentleman? A lawman, I see.”

  Trudy’s heart beat faster. Flirting was not the norm in Ferg
us. Fluttering lashes and coy smiles tended to occur behind the doors of the Nugget or the Spur & Saddle. She felt like taking Ethan’s arm and staking her claim. Ethan, however, seemed not to mind the pretty woman’s admiration.

  “Hello. You must be Violet’s sister.” He held out his hand, and Rose took it eagerly.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Rose Caplinger, this is our sheriff, Ethan Chapman,” Trudy said dryly. “Ethan, Mrs. Caplinger.”

  “How do you do?” Rose’s eyes flicked back and forth between Ethan and Hiram. “My, I can see that this town is the place to find handsome gentlemen.”

  At that moment, Ned Harmon plopped a large valise and a carpet bag onto the boardwalk beside them. He pushed back his wide-brimmed hat. “Where do you want your trunk, ma’am?”

  “Trunk?” Trudy squeaked. She looked at the roof of the stagecoach, where a huge black steamer trunk was roped down.

  “Oh anywhere, thank you,” Rose said with a smile. “I’m sure my brother-in-law has a conveyance nearby.”

  “Uh, no, actually, we live just across the street and down a bit.” Trudy fixed Ned with a meaningful frown. “I don’t suppose you and Bill could drop it over there for us?”

  “Well …”

  Hiram slid a coin into Ned’s hand.

  “Surely.” Ned tipped his hat to the ladies, nodded at Hiram, and turned to the clutch of men waiting for their bags.

  “Well then,” Trudy said, “Let’s get you over to the house. You must be famished, and I have luncheon ready.”

  Ethan helped Hiram with the luggage, and Trudy picked up the basket. By the time they’d walked to the Dooleys’ house, Bill Stout had brought the coach down the street. Hiram dropped Rose’s valise on the tender grass beside the path and hurried to help Ned lower the trunk to earth. The question of just how long Rose intended to stay niggled at Trudy’s mind, but she said nothing.

  Ethan scooped up the valise, which more than counterbalanced the big carpet bag he already carried, and followed the two women around to the back door.

  As they wound around the rear corner of the cozy little house, Rose gazed about, and her nose crinkled. “Oh, you have livestock.”

  “Just a few hens and two horses.” Trudy opened the kitchen door and held it for Rose. Ethan had to turn sideways to get in with the luggage. He looked questioningly at her, and Trudy said, “In the front room, if you please.”

  Rose removed her hat and looked about for a place to settle it. “Oh, my hatboxes. I must have left them in the coach.”

  “Here, let me take that.” Trudy took the hat, a feathery, red velvet creation that was more stylish than even Libby Adams would wear, and placed it on the rack near the door. It hung there next to Trudy’s second best cotton sunbonnet and Hiram’s battered “barn hat,” appearing so flamboyant beside them that in Trudy’s mind it walked a narrow line between elegant and tawdry, barely coming down on the fashionable side. She couldn’t help being reminded of one of Bitsy Shepard’s hats.

  Ethan edged into the kitchen from the parlor minus the bags.

  “Would you mind going out and asking Ned to see if Mrs. Caplinger’s hatboxes are still in the coach?” Trudy asked.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Ethan bolted out the door so fast neither woman had time to thank him.

  Rose turned to Trudy instead. “Thank you, Gert. I can’t do without my hats.”

  “I go by Trudy now.”

  “What a quaint kitchen. Don’t you have electricity?”

  “No, we don’t. It will probably be a long time before they bring electric lines up these mountains.”

  “But you have telegraph wires.” Rose arched her shapely dark brows. “You did get my message?”

  “We did. But we still don’t have electricity.”

  Rose nodded and gazed toward the work counter and woodstove. “And no pump?”

  “It’s out back.”

  “Oh my dear. You still have to haul all your water?” Trudy shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

  “But on wash day. And to think of all the trouble when one wants a bath….” Rose looked hopelessly down at her dust-coated clothing. “Oh my.”

  Trudy pulled in a deep breath. “I’m sure you’d like to freshen up before we eat lunch. I put a pitcher of water in your room upstairs. Let me take you up. Hiram will bring your luggage up, and …” She hesitated, but duty took precedence over personal comfort. “I thought we could heat water this evening so you could have a bath if you’d like.”

  “Ah. And wash day is …?”

  “Monday. Unless you need something right away.”

  “No, I think I can get by until then.”

  Trudy mounted the stairs before her sister-in-law and showed her into the front bedroom.

  “Well, this isn’t so bad.”

  Trudy tried to view the room through Rose’s eyes. She’d given her the flying geese quilt that Violet had stitched ten years ago. A small box stove stood under the eaves, with a stovepipe flue poking out through the ceiling. A chair, washstand, and small chest of drawers completed the furnishings. Plain white curtains edged the window.

  “Aunt Sal warned me to expect rustic conditions,” Rose said.

  “You spoke to Mama before you left home?” Trudy couldn’t hold back the eagerness in her voice.

  “Yes. Actually, she tried to discourage me from coming, but I was ready for new vistas.” Her face puckered up. “It was so dreary after my Albert died. I needed a change of scenery. So I thought, what better than a visit to my brother-in-law in the West?”

  “Indeed.” Trudy could hear Hiram thumping slowly up the narrow stairs with some of Rose’s luggage.

  “I had no idea how vast the West is,” Rose proclaimed as he appeared in the doorway, laden with the valise, the carpet bag, and a hatbox under each arm. “Oh, thank you so much, Hiram. Right there, near the dresser.” She glanced about. “I suppose there’s no closet.”

  “No, but we have hooks.” Trudy nodded to the peg rack.

  “I see.”

  “Did you want that big trunk up here?” Hiram asked doubtfully. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  He winced. “Ethan stayed in case you wanted it….” He cast a pleading glance at his sister.

  “It might be easier for you to unpack it in the parlor and carry small lots up here,” Trudy said with a determined smile.

  Rose tapped her chin and looked about. “No, I think I’ll put it right there under the window so that I can sit on it if I wish and look out.” She walked over and pushed the curtains back. “Oh.”

  Trudy and Hiram exchanged a troubled glance. “Is everything all right?” Trudy asked.

  “This window fronts on the street.”

  “Well yes. But it’s by far the larger of the two bedrooms up here.”

  “May I see the other?”

  Trudy swallowed hard. “The other one is my room, and as I said, it’s not nearly so spacious as this one.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m afraid the dust from the street will affect my sinuses. I do have delicate sinuses, you know.”

  Trudy looked down at the rag rug and mustered her dignity. If Mama were here, she would do the ladylike thing.

  Hiram surprised her by speaking up. “I don’t think you should ask Trudy to give up her room.”

  “It’s all right, Hi.” Trudy smiled out of affection for him and appreciation of his small gesture of chivalry. “If Rose prefers it, we can switch.”

  She led Rose across the landing and swung open the door to her room. Rose entered and looked about the cozy but small chamber. The eaves came down on both sides, making slanted walls to within a yard of the floor. The one windowsill at the back was only inches above the floor. Yellow wallpaper with nosegays of darker yellow and orange flowers brightened the room.

  Trudy’s bed was narrower than the one in the front room, but she preferred this room to the bigger one Hiram and Violet had shared. Hiram, too, seemed unable to sleep there and had moved downstairs before
Trudy arrived nearly nine years ago. They never discussed it, but the front bedroom remained vacant except for the rare occasions when they entertained a guest. Trudy could count those on one hand.

  Rose cleared her throat. “Perhaps you’re right, dear. I can see that you’re comfortable in here. I’ll manage across the hall, I’m sure.”

  “If you need anything, just let me know,” Trudy said.

  Hiram gazed at her, his eyebrows hiked up under the hair that spilled over his forehead.

  “What is it?” Trudy asked. “Ethan’s still waiting.”

  “Isn’t he staying to lunch?”

  Hiram raised his hands and shoulders and cast a glance after Rose, but she had already stridden across the landing, and the sound of drawers being opened reached them.

  Trudy stepped closer to her brother. “What do you think?”

  He gulped audibly, and she would have laughed had she not felt like doing the same. He said softly, “Ask me again after she unpacks that trunk and plants a garden.”

  Trudy drew in a quick breath. “You don’t think she’ll stay all summer?”

  “Well … she sure brought a heap of stuff.”

  “Hiram, you don’t think …?”

  His face drooped into a forlorn mask.

  “Come,” Trudy said. “We’ve got to convince Ethan to stay and eat with us.”

  “And you’ll take her with you this afternoon?” His hangdog expression gave her a maternal pang. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Hiram was nine years older than she.

  “We’ll see. She may want to rest from her trip.”

  “If she does, I’m heading over to the livery to keep Griff company.”

  “Good plan.” Trudy walked out to the head of the stairs and called, “Rose, I’ll have lunch on the table in five minutes.”

  “I’ll be right there,” came the muffled reply.

  Ethan sprang up from a chair when Trudy and Hiram entered the kitchen. “What’s the word on that trunk?”

  Trudy glanced at her brother, but he was no help. “Let’s leave it in the front room for now. If she insists on having it upstairs, I’ll ask her to take the heavy stuff out first.”

  Both men sighed, and she chuckled. “Come on, fellows, you must be hungry.”