The room was so quiet, Trudy could hear Rose’s fan flap from two tables away.
Pastor Benton rose, and all heads turned his way. “Bitsy, Augie …” He turned to look over the room full of people. “You’ve made a courageous decision, and one I’m sure the Lord will honor. I know the people of this town will support you in your new endeavors.”
Augie grinned and squeezed Bitsy. “Thank you, Preacher. This decision was a long time coming, just like my darlin’s decision to tie the knot.”
A subdued laugh rippled across the dining room.
“Let’s just say the Lord and Augie were both patient with me,” Bitsy said. “As of tomorrow morning, the Spur & Saddle will serve meals, coffee, sarsaparilla, lemonade, and sweet cider.”
“Amen!” Pastor Benton clapped his hands, and Libby hastened to join in. Pride welled up in her. Soon at least half the people applauded. Some of the men sat thunderstruck, their mouths set in disappointed lines.
“Good for them,” Ethan said as he clapped enthusiastically.
Trudy nodded. “We’ll have to come in often.”
Libby smiled as she watched the newlyweds accept the unaccustomed encouragement. Bitsy’s spiritual struggle had involved several more conversations with the Bentons, and after last week’s announcement of the impending wedding, she’d confided to Libby that she’d believed in Christ and surrendered her heart to Him. Libby hadn’t pressed her about her earlier question concerning the saloon, but she’d wondered.
Trudy leaned toward her and whispered, “What do you suppose they did with their leftover inventory of spirits?”
Libby just shrugged. She glanced at Hiram and found he was watching her. He looked away but then looked back with a sheepish smile. She hadn’t felt so lighthearted in years.
When the applause petered out, Bitsy gave a decisive nod. “Well then, I hope you enjoy the cake. Augie spent the better part of the last two days working on that thing, so eat up.”
“It’s a work of art,” Bertha Runnels called out. “Bitsy, you oughta frame that cake and hang it on the wall.”
Everyone laughed, and soon Goldie and Vashti were darting between the tables, distributing slices of Augie’s masterpiece. Libby got a piece with a sugar bell on it. She had to agree with Bertha, it was almost too pretty to eat.
When Vashti handed a plate to Cyrus Fennel, who sat at a nearby table with Isabel and the Walkers, he grinned up at the girl. “You sure there’s nothing with a kick to wash that down with?”
“It’s lemonade from here on in, Mr. Fennel.”
“Bitsy can’t be serious about that.”
“Oh yes sir, she is.”
“What will you and Goldie do for a living?” Cyrus asked. Libby didn’t like to eavesdrop, but she, too, was curious.
“For now, we’re staying on here to board. Miss Bitsy says we can try waiting on the customers who come to eat here and wash the dishes. Goldie’s going to keep playing the piano when people want her to.”
“Are you happy about the change?” Isabel asked.
“Yes ma’am. Mostly. Augie says they won’t make as much money as they have been, and if business drops off, they might have to pay us less. We’ll see.”
Cyrus frowned as the girl moved on to the next table. Libby could almost see the gears turning in his head, like a windup music box. This place would transform nicely into an elegant restaurant, and Augie’s cooking far outstripped Mrs. Thistle’s. Competition for the boardinghouse. If Bitsy decided to open rooms for rent as well, she might just put the Fennel House out of business.
“Cyrus doesn’t look too happy,” Hiram said.
“No he doesn’t.” Libby decided it was time to bring up an idea she’d considered for several weeks. “Hiram, I’ve been thinking. You know we ladies go through a lot of ammunition at our shooting practice.”
He chuckled. “Trudy’s fired more rounds this spring than I’ve shot in my whole life.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.” His sister scowled at him. “You used to shoot all day, seemed like, for the fun of it. You’re a much better shot than I am.”
Ethan leaned back and eyed her skeptically. “Everybody knows you’re the best shot in Fergus.”
“They think they know.” Trudy took a bite of the wedding cake.
“So, what about the ammunition?” Hiram asked.
Libby hesitated. She’d intended for this conversation with Hiram to be private, in case he wasn’t agreeable, but the others at the table had obviously heard her opening, and she couldn’t back down now. “Well, I’ve always told the girls to gather up their empty shells. I give them a small discount on the next box when they bring me their brass or shotgun shells.”
Hiram nodded. He’d often bought used shells from her to reload, as did many of the other townspeople.
“So, I wondered, would you be interested in a business arrangement with me where you reload them for me? I could resell them as reloaded ammunition, not just as empty shells. Of course, I’d supply the powder and lead as well. And if you didn’t have molds for certain sizes, I’d order them for you.”
His eyes took on an appreciative gleam as she spoke, and by the time she finished, his crooked, shy smile shone through. “That sounds like a good idea. I could work on them when my gun business is slow.”
“I could pay you half a cent each, I think.”
“That could be good for both of you,” Ethan said.
Hiram nodded. “A sound business idea.”
Later Libby barely remembered the rest of the afternoon. Goldie’s sweet piano rendition of “Sweet Genevieve,” when Augie had led Bitsy around the small piece of open floor in a waltz, had shocked those who didn’t believe in dancing, and those who didn’t believe in worldly entertainments on Sunday even worse. But for Libby, the most memorable moment of the day was when the quiet gunsmith gazed at her with his calm gray eyes and praised her business acumen.
CHAPTER 19
School was finally out, and Isabel reveled in her freedom. On the Monday after the closing program, she rode into town with her father. She asked him to let her out before he turned off Main Street to leave the wagon at the livery stable. She was determined to avoid a face-to-face meeting with Griffin Bane at all costs.
Since her regrettable outburst at the smithy, she’d only seen him across the room at church and at Bitsy’s wedding. He hadn’t acknowledged her presence, and she’d done all she could to stay out of his line of vision. As far as she could tell, word of the incident had not reached her father, but she still held her breath every time he came home from town.
She walked to the emporium and entered. Libby looked up from arranging new merchandise in the linens section. “Good morning. It’s a pleasure to see you in here on a weekday.”
Isabel approached her, smiling. “Thank you. Since I’ve six weeks until the summer term begins, I thought I’d pick up some sewing notions. I want to make over a couple of Mama’s summer dresses.”
“A bittersweet task.” Libby walked with her to the fabric section. “New items for your wardrobe, but constant reminders of your departed loved one.”
The door opened, and Ralph Storrey came in.
“Excuse me,” Libby said. “If you need any help, I shan’t be far.” She turned to greet Ralph. “What can I do for you today, sir?”
“Did you get any more barbed wire?” the rancher asked. “I’ve strung all I had, and I’m a thousand feet short.”
“Yes, I did. It’s on the back porch, where Josiah unloaded it for me. Do you want to drive your wagon around back, and I’ll meet you out there?”
Ten minutes later, she returned to the store through the back room and jotted something in her ledger. Several other customers had come in while she was gone. Florence was weighing out dry beans for Bertha Runnels. Isabel had found all the items on her list and had stopped to examine the selection of buttons.
Libby made her way between the tables and shelves of merchandise. Isabel looked up as she ap
proached.
“I think I’ve found what I need, but these darling silver buttons caught my eye.”
“They can make an older dress look new.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Isabel slid them into her basket. “There. I suppose I’m finished, except for a pound of coffee for Papa.”
She waited while Libby measured it for her.
“Any more word about your uncle?” Libby asked.
“No.” Isabel glanced around at the other shoppers and back to Libby. “I haven’t heard a word since that one visit. Papa doesn’t talk about him. Our dinner conversation is rather strained.” She had tried to put Uncle Kenton out of her mind these past few weeks, and her father hadn’t spoken his name once. The entire connection with the ex-convict had a sordid feel, and she wished she could erase the memory of the night he’d come to the ranch.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Libby said. “Do you want this on your father’s account?”
Isabel hesitated. “The coffee only. I’ll pay for the notions.” She wished she could talk to Libby again. They hadn’t had much of a conversation since Libby had come to the schoolhouse to apologize for encouraging Starr and Trudy to match up Rose Caplinger and Griffin. When Libby had explained how it came about and assured her they meant no harm, Isabel was able to forgive the three ladies.
Rose swept into the emporium, followed by Trudy.
“Ladies,” Libby said in greeting. Rose smiled cordially, but Trudy wore a downcast expression.
Isabel accepted her change from Libby and picked up her market basket. “Good day, ladies.” She didn’t think she could remain long in the same room with Rose and not feel the pangs of jealousy rise again. The young widow was an outsider who would never understand Griffin, a man who’d grown up in the West. So far Isabel had seen no evidence that Rose had looked Griffin’s way any more intently than she looked at other men. Apparently the plan had fizzled. But she still didn’t want to be around the woman.
“I’ll see you this afternoon,” Trudy called after her.
Isabel stepped onto the boardwalk then flattened herself against the emporium’s door. A short way up the street, Griffin was leaving her father’s office. She stood still, her heart pounding, until he turned northward toward the livery stable without seeing her.
She felt the irony of the situation. Ten days ago, she’d longed for him to notice her. Now her cheeks burned in shame at the thought, and she was glad he’d gone the other way.
“How may I help you, Mrs. Caplinger?” Libby asked.
“Do you have any dye?”
“Yes, I have a good selection of colors.” Libby led her down the room. “The newer line from the Fossett Company seems to hold better than the old ones. Emmaline Landry dyed a set of curtains with the scarlet, and she said they came out beautifully.”
“Colorfastness is especially crucial in apparel,” Rose said.
“Oh, are you dyeing some clothing?”
“Feathers,” Trudy said with a woeful grimace. “She’s going to make hats.”
Libby looked at Rose and smiled. “This town could use a few more hats, and some of yours are delectable.”
“Why, thank you. I’ve decided it’s my calling.”
“Oh? Are you saying you make your own hats? The pink one you wore to the wedding was exquisite.”
“Thank you. Yes, I have a natural talent for it. And I’ve decided to stay here in Fergus and ply my skill as a trade,” Rose said.
Libby looked anxiously at Trudy, who shrugged, a perfect imitation of Hiram’s favorite gesture.
“No slight to your merchandise,” Rose went on, “but I think this town needs a decent millinery shop.”
Libby’s love of fashion struggled against her loyalty to the Dooleys. “What a lovely idea. Of course, I have to stock a wide variety of merchandise, and I only carry a limited selection of ladies’ hats and bonnets. But … do you think there are enough ladies with spending money in this town to support such a shop?”
“I believe women are willing to pay for the best. When they find superior items that flatter their looks, they’re happy to turn over their savings.”
“Well, you may be right.”
“I’ve mailed an order for supplies.” Rose picked up a roll of lace edging and peered at it. Her lip curled, and she laid it down. “Feathers, netting, and embellishments.”
“I wish you success,” Libby said.
Trudy brought a one-pound bag of salt and laid it on the counter. She turned away, toward the spice shelves.
“I perceive that in this town, widows are required to support themselves,” Rose said.
Libby felt her face color. “I would rather say that in this town, women of any marital status are able to support themselves if they so choose and if they are willing to work hard.”
“Well, it seems my brother-in-law does not look for a closer relationship.” Rose frowned. “No matter.”
Indeed, Libby thought. To an untrained eye, she supposed Fergus might look like a fertile hunting ground for husbands. Several solvent widowers and bachelors made their home here. Without even trying, she could name a dozen, from Cyrus Fennel and Dr. Kincaid to the ranch hands and miners who populated the valley.
Rose probably considered her prospects quite good, even though Hiram wasn’t interested. At least she’d finally deciphered that message. She’d been blessed with a pretty face and figure, and she could be charming when she wished. Unfortunately, a lot of the men in town already knew she could also be a harridan. Libby expected most of them to avoid Rose, if only out of sympathy for Hiram. But some gentleman might place more value on her looks than her personality and offer for her in spite of her acid tongue. And God could work the impossible, after all. Rose might, with divine intervention, change her ways.
Libby’s pity collided with the knowledge that she hadn’t prayed faithfully for Rose. Guilt seeped through her. The woman needed her friendship and her prayers. Instead, she had schooled her features to neutrality whenever Rose was around and had harbored her private dislike of the interloper.
On impulse, she smiled and leaned toward Rose. “Mrs. Caplinger, I know Trudy has invited you to our shooting circle, but I want to extend my invitation, as well. We’d love to have you join us on Mondays and Thursdays if it suits you.”
“Hmm.” Rose eyed her suspiciously. “I’m not sure that it would suit me. But I’ve heard so much about it, I might try it once. We shall see.”
Trudy paid for her salt. Rose didn’t buy so much as a spool of thread. Libby wasn’t sure whether she should feel insulted. Apparently Rose planned to order her supplies for her millinery venture directly from the manufacturers and bypass the emporium. Fair enough. A dozen questions leaped to her mind. Where would Rose set up shop? Would she continue to live with the Dooleys? She decided to let the questions go until she had a private audience with Trudy. As the two women left her store, Libby thanked God for apparently solving Hiram’s problem without the Ladies’ Shooting Club’s involvement.
Ethan hurried across the street toward the post office. Peter Nash never sent for him without reason. The summons had come by way of Peter’s son, who’d popped in at the jailhouse and said, “Sheriff, my pa wants to talk to you,” and left.
When he mounted the steps to the Nashes’ front porch and opened the post office door, Ethan saw that Peter was deep in conversation with a stranger.
“Oh Sheriff, you’re here. Thanks for coming.” Peter gestured to the man, who wore spurs, work pants, and a cotton shirt. A wide leather belt slung around his waist carried a holstered gun and dozens of rounds of ammunition.
“This here’s Wilfred Sterling,” Peter continued. “He says he’s Frank Peart’s nephew.”
Ethan stepped forward, scrutinizing the man. He hadn’t removed his hat, but even so, Ethan recognized him.
“Sterling?” Ethan studied him carefully.
“That’s right.” The man made no offer to shake his hand.
“If y
ou’re Frank Peart’s kin, why didn’t you say so earlier? Oh, and don’t think I don’t know you. You’re one of the rascals I ran out of the Spur & Saddle a couple of weeks ago.”
“Just been getting settled in at my new job.”
Ethan noted that he had his pistol back—Cyrus had taken the two cowpokes’ guns away with him when he’d paid for the damage at Bitsy’s. “At the old Martin ranch.”
Sterling returned Ethan’s gaze from beneath long lashes. “That’s right.”
“I’ve been inquiring all over the country, with some help of other folks here in town. Everything we’ve gotten back says Frank Peart has no living family.”
“Guess they missed me.”
Ethan nodded, more skeptical than ever. “And exactly how are you related to Frank?”
“My ma was his sister. She married and moved upstate. Hadn’t seen her brother for nigh on thirty years.”
“Uh-huh. And she’s deceased now?”
“That’s correct.”
Ethan scratched the back of his head. He’d received replies from New Jersey indicating Frank Peart had indeed had a couple of sisters, but both were deceased.
“I’m not sure you have a legal claim to Frank and Milzie’s land. But you’ll have to go to Boise and do a lot of paperwork if you plan to try to inherit it. They’ll expect you to prove your relationship to Frank. Can you do it?”
Sterling’s eyebrows lowered and his mouth tightened. “How’m I supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know. I’m not an attorney. But I’ll tell you right now, you can’t just squat on the Pearts’ land and call it yours.” Ethan wasn’t sure what would happen to the land, but he had an impression the government was going to take it back. Not that the old mine was worth anything. But as sheriff of Fergus, he wouldn’t let just anyone waltz in and lay claim to it. Especially someone he suspected of lying.
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