“Mrs. Zylphia Speare. I’ll soon be Mrs. George Hudson.”
“Oh, will you now?” The woman’s reaction was filled with joy at the news. Such a relief, compared to that horrible Ina Dimond.
“I’m Babette Terrell. Call me Bab, won’t you? My man is Archibald. Archie. Or just Arch.”
“Call me Zylphia.” She’d used her short name only with intimates. Just last night, she’d urged Geo to call her Zee. Maybe she and Bab would develop a close friendship and she’d invite Bab to use the nickname.
“Zylphia, it’s a pleasure having you in the neighborhood. When is the wedding?”
“Soon.”
The baby pumped his fat legs, wedged on either side of Bab’s hip. The infant gnawed and slobbered on his own fist. The heat, such as it was, the little one was dressed only in a diaper and short dress. His bonnet kept away the worst of the sun. The perfect little cherub put her in mind of Elizabeth at that age. Such a happy baby.
“Meet my grandson. Archie, after his grandpa.”
“A grandson—that’s wonderful.”
The perfect littler cherub reached for Zee but Bab pulled his wet fists back. “Oh, no you don’t, Mr. Archie. Mrs. Speare doesn’t want to hold the likes of you.”
But she did. Very much. This fat and joyful baby, drooling all over his fist, was quite possibly the most beautiful little person she’d ever seen—other than her own.
For the first time, Zee wanted a grandchild. There, she’d admitted the truth to herself. Want seemed too mild to explain the ache in her breast. She craved a grandchild.
“May I?” She offered her arms, tentatively. Young Archie squealed with joy, pumped his chubby legs harder, and reached for Zee with welcome glee. Oh, how she needed a baby.
“He’s wet.”
“I don’t mind.” The little bundle, heavier than she’d anticipated, felt right in her arms. Right and absolutely wonderful. She cradled Archie close, and a flood of glorious memories rushed in and filled her eyes with tears.
She recalled the promise of holding her babies. Such dreams she’d had for them—and the familial bond that would keep them with her always. She’d been so alone before marriage and childbirth. Those babies were supposed to grow up and love her as she loved them.
She’d clung tightly to her sons, and those who’d lived had abandoned her, the thankless wretches. If it weren’t for wonderful Geo, she might have grown old with no one but Elizabeth for company. Grateful, gentle Elizabeth. A good girl who understood her responsibilities as an only daughter.
“Have you grandchildren yet? Hope you don’t mind me asking.” Bab chuckled, as full of life and vitality as her grandson. “I saw your daughter out and about these past few days. A spitting image of you.”
Zylphia nodded, forced the tears back.
“You do? How many?”
“Oh, no. No to the grandchildren question and yes about my daughter. Elizabeth Louise. My only daughter.”
“Only one, you say? You and George have much in common.”
Bab called Mr. Hudson by his first name? Worry caught Zee off guard, but as the neighbor chattered on, not a care in the world, she shook off the discomfort. Bab and Ina had nothing in common. This was the West. Colorado hadn’t been granted statehood until nine years ago. Naturally, the unsettled places would be less observant of comportment than fine cities like St. Louis.
“Had only the one son, they did. Morgan’s a fine young man. So much like his dad. I’m sure George will tell you all about it, wanting more children and all. He’ll be a good grandpa, when the time is right.”
If Elizabeth married, Zee would have a grandson or granddaughter of her own. But she couldn’t bear the thought of a husband taking her precious daughter far away. No, that wouldn’t do at all.
She knew all about men who picked up household and home and family and moved thousands of miles away without consulting his mother-in-law. She knew all about it—for she’d seen it time and time again. She must select a son-in-law with exquisite care.
If Elizabeth were to marry, he’d better be a man who’d keep her close. Like Morgan Hudson.
Geo said they had a close relationship. Morgan would stay home.
“I watched that boy grow up, follow his father to work through this very lot. Some days George couldn’t get the boy to go to school, so enamored was he with the gunsmithing. Some days I think the pair of them have gun oil in their veins instead of blood.”
“You like the Hudsons.”
Bab chuckled. “Indeed, I do.”
Elizabeth would do very well with Morgan Hudson. A perfect arrangement, really. A bond between George and herself. A grandchild that was theirs.
Moving matters along in that direction would take some thought. And a few nudges, but it could be done.
Baby Archie squealed with delight and patted Zee’s face with his slobbery palm. Love for this child welled, filling her heart and overflowing. Well—she couldn’t love this neighbor’s baby, could she?
No, she just loved the idea of having another generation to love her back. A grandchild who’d live near, bring her happiness through her golden years, and see to her comfort as she grew old. A grandchild—several grandchildren—would ensure she was never alone.
“I see the men are living in the first house. That’s good. And I’ve not seen Ina Dimond about since you arrived.”
Zee’s pleasure dimmed, a bucket of water thrown on the fire. “Why, yes, I dismissed Miss Dimond. I take great pleasure in keeping my own house and in feeding my own family. I’m not one to need hired help.” Though she’d had plenty of domestics through the years. One did have to keep up appearances.
Bab didn’t reply. The moment stretched, and Zee assessed her new friend’s reaction. Had she overstepped? Had horrible Ina Dimond been a friend of Bab’s? She swallowed. Redirect. Redirect. “I see how well you tend your gardens. You and I, I hope, are a good deal alike.”
“Oh, yes, I think we are.”
Relief swept in. Maybe, hopefully, Bab had been silent with her own thoughts.
“How old is Archie?” The babe’s wet chin felt like heaven beneath her fingertip.
He grabbed her finger and chewed on it. Two little teeth had broken through the lower gum and by the feel of the upper, he’d soon have four pearly whites.
The simple touch reminded her of all she’d lost. Four babies, lost to illnesses in childhood. Buried in St. Louis. Their graves so far away, she’d never again visit. She’d lost her childbearing years. Old enough now, her marriage to Mr. Hudson would produce no issue.
All she had left was Elizabeth.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Elizabeth married Morgan Hudson?
Chapter 5
By the time Mrs. Speare and her daughter had been in town one week, Morgan reassessed the situation. He’d known his relationship with Dad would change. He’d not been prepared for just how much.
Circumstances hadn’t merely changed. They’d been shaken to the point Morgan was ready to hire a replacement for his father.
Other than helping load the wagon and delivering the rifles to Rocky Gideon at The Peerless Mine, Dad hadn’t put in but a few hours here and a few hours there.
Orders were backing up.
Dad sat at his worktable and smiled, staring beyond the shaft of sunlight. The revolver he’d disassembled two days ago still sat in a neat row of individual components. This wasn’t like Dad at all.
Unfortunately, Morgan couldn’t live—or work—with the man Mrs. Speare was turning Dad into.
He’d tried, the once or twice he’d crossed paths with his father’s bride, to be civil. He couldn’t comprehend what Dad saw in her.
Shoving aside the aggravation, he soaped and rinsed his hands at the washstand in the workroom. No sense bellyaching about circumstances he couldn’t change.
Three more customers had brought in firearms for repair, and one had ordered a special piece. Put down a hefty deposit too.
At first, Morgan had gla
dly put in extra hours at the shop—the one place Mrs. Speare was sure to never be. He arose early and went to bed late. Hardly saw Dad, except when the old man sneaked back into the first house well after a proper hour.
Bells over the customer entrance jingled.
Perfect. Just perfect.
He couldn’t man the counter and get anything done in back. He slapped on a smile, and left the workshop for the sales room out front.
“Ina.” Now it wasn’t hard to smile, seeing who’d come by. No sense staying behind the counter. He raised the pass-through section on its hinges and hurried to the woman who’d taken good care of his family.
Redness tinted her eyes and the tender tissues ringing them. She’d been crying but had done a fair job washing away the evidence.
Seeing her like this pained him. “I’ve been looking for you. Mrs. Speare—”
“I’m here about business.”
Morgan pulled up short. “O.K.?”
Dear Ina wasn’t as animated as that last night in their home, but she wasn’t her old, sweet self, either. “I want a gun.”
He tried for jovial. “You’ve come to the right place.”
“Something that shoots straight, every time. Something reliable.”
Morgan had known real fear only once or twice in his life. One was the day he realized his mother was dying and he couldn’t do one blasted thing about it. Now Ina scared him. Bad.
Did she intend to hurt herself?
“Are you in trouble?” If she needed help, he’d do anything for her.
“I—” She fidgeted, her movements shaky and too rapid. Her eyes darted left to right, left to right.
She wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she paced the long, glass-faced counter top with pieces on display. And under lock and key.
‘Bout now, that seemed more than prudent.
“Hey,” he touched her elbow with the greatest of care. “It’s me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I…I’m worried about intruders. I need to protect myself.”
“From what?”
“From intruders.” She repeated, but didn’t seem to notice. “A break-in.”
“Understandable.” But no, it wasn’t. “Something happen?” He regretted too-long hours and not enough time talking with friends and neighbors. If something had happened in town, he wouldn’t know.
“I need a pistol. Something little I can carry in my pocket.” She patted her hip.
Did women have pockets in their dresses? “We can manage that.”
Uncertainty clawed at his gut. Grandpa had hammered responsibility into him—and so had Dad. Gunsmiths were duty-bound to sell only to those with sense.
“Ina.” He touched her shoulder.
She flinched, whirled, and met his gaze for the briefest of moments, her eyes wild.
“You’re not well. Tell me what’s wrong.”
The bells tinkled. Again.
Ina swung toward the door.
He wanted to push the customer out, bellow ‘we’re closed’, and turn the key in the lock.
But it wasn’t a customer. Just his waif of a soon-to-be stepsister in a plain, gray cotton work dress and apron. Her head uncovered. She’d obviously been working with her mother in the house.
Why did she always wear gray?
Arrah would never own clothes like that, much less wear them to town.
“Need something?” The question came out gruff and demanding.
Too late to stop her, Ina pushed past Elizabeth Speare, muttering plenty—and none of it complimentary toward Elizabeth’s mother. Morgan couldn’t blame her.
“Ina, wait.” But she was out the door and up the street as fast as her feet could carry her.
Frustration and angst erupted. Morgan slapped his palm against the door frame. He couldn’t go after her. Not without Dad in the shop. And securing the tools, revolvers, rifles, cash drawer, and securing dual locks on both the front and back doors took time. Time enough for Ina to be almost anywhere in town she wanted to go.
“I’m sorry.”
Elizabeth would’ve bolted—he knew that—but he was too near the door and she wouldn’t go through him. Nor would she flee out the back. She’d never been in the shop and the girl was too polite and too proper. “You’re sorry.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your customer was Miss Dimond or I wouldn’t have entered. The sunlight—my view through the window…I didn’t recognize her.”
He faced her fully then. She stood close. Too close. He would’ve thought she’d back up as far as the space allowed. “Need something?”
“Yes, I do.”
The mouse stood up to him. Good for her.
“Ina Dimond is in love with your father.”
What?
No. Ina looked after them because she’d been paid to…because she was a kind and generous-hearted woman without a family of her own.
And, in the end, they’d betrayed her.
That hadn’t sat well with Morgan, not then and not now. He’d tried several times to find her at home, pay her the wages they owed with a substantial bonus, and apologize. But she’d been out.
Love? Ina loved Dad?
She’d been irrational upon learning supper guests were house guests, and house guests weren’t actually guests at all, but soon-to-be-family…and smashed half the dishes in a fury.
“Close your mouth, Mr. Hudson.”
He closed his mouth.
She tipped her head a little to the side. “Will she cause trouble for our parents, do you suppose?”
Our. Parents.
Most uncomfortable, that.
“Dad should have told her he’d proposed to your mother.”
“Yes. And Mother should’ve shown an ounce of compassion.”
Ah, so the little gray mouse not only stood up to him, she recognized her parent’s shortcomings. His esteem rose a notch or two.
Maybe she wasn’t like her shrew of a mother in more ways than one.
He didn’t want to notice that, or anything else, about her, so he turned his focus to the street and Ina’s distress.
“Does Ina have friends? Family? Women to talk to?”
“Uh—” Surely he knew, after all this time. “She’s close with my aunt. Next-door neighbors.”
“She needs a woman right now.”
She smelled of roses. Elizabeth smelled of roses.
Three or four feet away, the roses in her bath soap tickled his nose.
He cleared his throat. Forced his wayward thoughts back to Ina. Somehow, letting Ina and Ray’s mama, Aunt Maggie, talk it out, comfort each other, and speak ill of Mrs. Speare seemed a bit foolish. “You sure ‘bout that?”
“I won’t pretend to know Miss Dimond, but I know what it is to be a spinster.”
“Spinster? You’re what, nineteen? Twenty?”
“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to ask a woman’s age?”
“Can’t say she did.”
A shy, hesitant smile showed those beautiful teeth again.
“Why are your teeth perfect?” A stupid question, but she’d just called him on the last stupid question he’d asked. Maybe this one wasn’t as offensive as her age.
“My father was a dentist.”
“Ah.”
“He insisted we take good care of our teeth.”
Morgan shook his head, wondering about this woman who wouldn’t tell him her age but freely talked of the father who’d died so recently. A dentist. No wonder his widow expected a house full of servants to keep things going. But that wasn’t fair—Mrs. Speare had cooked three meals a day. Fed him every time he showed up, hoping to see Dad. Every time he’d not come to the new house for meals, she’d sent a plate to the shop or first house, usually with her daughter and occasionally with Dad. Neither stayed long enough for a conversation. Just handed him a plate.
She’d been nice, feeding him, even when he refused to be seated at her table.
Maybe he’d been too hard on the woman
. Even if she had fired Ina.
He’d definitely been too hard on the woman’s daughter. “Liz.” He shook his head. “You’re an enigma.”
She chuckled, a warm, sweet sound he’d never heard. The girl was always so…reserved. “Everyone calls me Elizabeth Louise. Elizabeth for short.”
“For short?” He snorted. “Elizabeth Louise. That’s a mouthful.”
“Maybe. My family doesn’t use nicknames.”
“Not even your brother?”
“Brothers. I have two, living.”
Brothers.
For some reason he couldn’t identify, he didn’t like being lumped in with her journeyman carpenter brother in St. Louis. He wasn’t her brother. Wouldn’t be, not even when his father married her mother. If not siblings, then what were they?
“Junior is a merchant sailor.”
That didn’t make sense. “Isn’t ‘Junior’ a nickname? And I thought he was a journeyman carpenter.”
“Two brothers. Elijah Junior, after Father. Then Sidney, the carpenter. In St. Louis. I guess ‘Junior’ is a nickname.”
“Junior sails. In St. Louis?”
And just like that, she smiled again, broad and genuine. He liked making her smile.
Somewhere along the way, she’d moved a little closer. She’d turned to the side, running her fingertips along the edge of the shelving. Not looking for dust. Just…exploring.
What did she want? He hadn’t missed a meal, and she hadn’t come delivering a plate. “You came out here for a reason?”
Her cheeks pinked. She seemed mighty interested in that shelf edge. “Not five minutes ago, a young gentleman came to the door, asking for me.”
Morgan couldn’t help it—he grimaced. “Who?”
“I don’t know. Mother didn’t give me a chance to ask.”
Ray, probably. Wasn’t one to wait on a good thing. Ray looked mighty respectable in his suit of clothes. Had pretty manners too. Why would Mrs. Speare send him away?
“Mother said something you need to know about.”
Oh boy. He could only imagine. “What’s that?”
Her cheeks darkened to the color of rose petals. Probably just as soft. “Be forewarned. Mother said to that man, whoever he was, ‘Elizabeth Louise intends to wed Morgan Hudson.’”
Gunsmoke and Gingham Page 20
