Montana Sky_Laced By Love

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Cinnia had noticed and wondered what Helen’s reason was.

  “What did I miss?” Dorrie positioned her stool toward the fire and held out her hands to the warming flames.

  “Same demands. They want out, and they want their wages.”

  “Excuse me.” Dorrie leaned against Cinnia to stretch out her mug and waited while Arney filled it before nodding her thanks.

  “All right, Helen.” Nola walked along the perimeter of the circle to stop in a sunny spot. “Tell us why your brother thinks you won’t be part of the arrangements we’ll soon receive from Mrs. Morgan. At this point, nobody knows for certain whose names will be on that list.”

  “Won’t matter if my name is on the list or not.” She lifted her chin a notch higher.

  Nola blew out a breath. “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m not single. Wallace and I have been secretly married for four years.”

  Exclamations rang around the circle as everyone shared wide-eyed looks and shook their heads.

  Cinnia laughed and turned toward Dorrie. “That’s why they always disappeared to their wagon so early every night.”

  “Yeah, I wondered about that.” Giggling, she nodded. “And how they were always sitting so close and hugging on each other. Okay, that’s one less competitor.”

  “What?” Cinnia stared and wanted to ask what she meant by that, but then she heard Nola’s voice.

  “Shh.” Dorrie pressed a finger to her lips.

  “You’re married. Want to explain how that could be?”

  Wallace faced the circle. “You all know about H.P.’s rule of only hiring unmarried performers. One that I believe is patently unjust and unfair”—he shook a fist in the air—“and that’s why we performers should look into forming a labor union.”

  Helen cleared her throat and gestured for him to continue.

  “Uh, right.” He stroked a hand over his hair. “When we came to Mr. Thomas in Omaha, we really needed the job. But, as you all know, the contract stipulates only unmarried performers. So Helen and I decided to pretend to be siblings. Now that our contract with Thomas is null and void, we’re finally free.” He held out his arms, and Helen skipped into them. “We will seek out a promoter willing to take us on as a married couple.”

  “How many times do you think they practiced that move?” Dorrie shook her head.

  Cinnia sat straighter, her gaze following Nola’s movements. An ache settled in her chest. The mention of their contracts being voided meant no one was obligated to remain. A detail that she had most likely registered at the back of her mind when they first discovered Mr. Thomas gone, but the fact hit home right at this moment. They all were free. She should feel no guilt about making her decision yesterday.

  Cinnia glanced at her sister, who had her arms wrapped around her stomach and paced a six-foot distance, and then back again. Nola looked like she was beside herself. Her livelihood was falling apart.

  “So, Helen is not part of the miner meetings. But I’m asking you other three”—she squared off opposite Milly, Gerda, and Josette—“will you stay long enough to fulfill that obligation? Because if you don’t, then the men might be within their rights to expect the remaining women to act as substitutes.” She spread out her hands, palms up. “I ask you, ladies, is that fair? Would you want to be the one who is put into that position?”

  “She gives the mayor a run for his money.” Dorrie chuckled

  “Good point, Nola.” Cinnia surely didn’t want to endure more than her obligated one hour of this commitment. Frankly, she was secretly hoping that the miners involved preferred the more outgoing types like her sister and Dorrie. Or Helen—although the dancer was no longer a possibility. A niggling doubt crept in—three men had been waiting outside their wagon the previous day.

  “We’ll be getting the news from Mrs. Morgan soon. I’m counting on the friendships we’ve shared over the past years”—she paused and rested a hand on Milly’s shoulder—“and your loyalty toward the spirit of the vaudeville community.” Here, she dipped a curtsey between the stools where Giorgio and Arney sat.

  “I beg all of you to agree to stay for one more show. Not because you’re obligated by a signature on a piece of paper, but because you don’t want to put your fellow troupe members in a bind. Tonight will be a farewell extravaganza with everyone’s personal choice of performance or routine. Those who want to can write their own introductions.”

  Nola was on a roll. Cinnia recognized those subtle jabs of guilt inserted into the argument. From across the circle, she spotted Milly, Gerda, and Josette conferring. That’s a good sign.

  Flynn tossed another branch onto the fire and waited for the sparks to subside before reaching a hand for the coffee pot. “No matter what gets decided about staying, I want to know what we are doing about the wagons. Just like I mentioned yesterday.” He took a sip and waited.

  Finally, Nola walked to where Cinnia and Dorrie were and sat on her stool. “I’ve been busy with the show’s plan and haven’t thought about that matter.”

  Nola, not think about anything related to the troupe? Impossible. Cinnia didn’t dare look at Dorrie, or she knew they’d both burst out laughing.

  “Since the group is headed toward a common destination, we figured the equipment wagon should come with us.” He glanced at the men at his sides, who nodded. “Between the three of us, we’ll work out who gets to sleep where. Thomas’ wagon has only one horse and that would slow down the whole group. So the gold-and-black one might as well stay here in Morgan’s Crossing.”

  Dorrie hugged herself, but she kept quiet.

  “I want my backdrops and”—Cinnia waved a hand between the three women—“all our costumes before you leave.” Plus the dress forms and her supplies, but she figured that she’d get the items related to sewing went without saying. The timing of the troupe leaving couldn’t be better. They were so focused on preparing to travel that no one would argue about what she needed for her shop.

  Nola looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “What will you do with the backdrops in a dressmaker’s shop?”

  Cinnia shrugged. “I don’t know, but they’re fabric. Maybe I’ll hang them on the walls until a need arises. At least, they’ll add color to the place.”

  Dorrie jumped to her feet and pointed. “Look, here comes Mrs. Morgan.”

  ****

  Finishing his second cup of coffee, Nicolai stood at the sink, looking at the mustangs Quaid had corralled two days earlier. Their coats were the shaggiest he’d ever seen on horses. Manes halfway down their foreheads to the muzzles, and tails almost down to their fetlocks. Maybe because no one had ever taken a brush to their hides, the hair was matted and only looked thicker.

  Behind him, the door from the shop opened.

  Quaid entered, still in his stocking feet. “Got more of that brew?”

  “Mugs are in the cupboard to the left of the sink. Pot’s on the stove.”

  Simple sounds—the clink of metal on crockery or the slosh of liquid into a cup—of another person sharing his living space comforted him. Until Quaid’s arrival prompted Nicolai’s first opportunity to play host, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed life at the Andrusha family home. How someone was always in the other room or just outside in the yard, carrying on a task—another breathing person nearby.

  “They are a right handsome bunch, aren’t they?” Quaid mirrored Nicolai’s pose facing the window and sipped the fragrant brew.

  The man was an inch or so taller and carried probably an additional twenty pounds of muscle. “Actually, the word that first came to my mind was shaggy.”

  A surprise laugh belted out then Quaid turned and leaned his hip against the counter. His brows scrunched low over his eyes. “You noticed it, too. And horses aren’t even your livelihood.” He took another sip before he continued. “I gotta share this with someone. Not that I claim to be a woodsman, but conditions are getting bad out there. This is the fifth year I’ve ridden out into the foothills to
round up mustangs. I saw things this season I never have.”

  “Like what? You saying bad for the mustangs, or what?”

  “Nah, I’m saying the animals are preparing for a hard winter. First example is the coats on those ponies. Second is spotting one of the biggest beaver dams I’ve ever seen on a river about a day’s ride into the foothills of the Rockies. That was a few days ago, so I’m not too sure of the direction from here. I was hankering for some black walnuts to flavor up my oats.” He shook his head.

  Not needing to rely on what nature provided for his food, Nicolai wasn’t sure what his statement meant. “Too late in the season?”

  “Squirrels and chipmunks got them. All I found was a few shells on the ground. They’re storing them away, I tell you.”

  In the short time Nicolai had known Torin Quaid, he’d never seen him go this long without a smile or a laugh.

  “I almost forgot the rabbits.” He set down his mug. “Let me get my bag to show you.” He padded into the other room and came right back carrying a saddlebag. “When I’m out hunting mustangs, I trap rabbit whenever I can. A man can handle jerky and hardtack for only so many days in a row.”

  “Hardtack, like in rations?”

  “The stuff my ma bakes is better, but yeah, it’s still dry bread.” Fumbling with only his one good hand, he pulled a pelt from the pocket and held it out. “Look how thick that fur is.”

  Nicolai accept the fur, hefted it in his palm, then ran his thumb over longish guide hairs to the shorter guard hairs and pushed his thumbnail deeper to reach the plushy down. “Thicker than what I trapped last month from a spot about two hundred or so miles southwest.” After setting his cup on the counter, he walked into his workshop and collected a rabbit skin from his dwindling stack. Back in the kitchen, he laid both on the counter and ran the thickness of both through his thumbs and forefingers. “Quite a difference.”

  Quaid poured more coffee. “The signs are all there. The coming winter will be harsh.” He turned to the window and sighed. “I got to get these horses back to the ranch before the snowstorms start. This is Montana Territory, so we can count on fighting through winter’s snow. Nobody wants to get caught out in it.”

  Nicolai frowned and turned to stare at his friend’s profile. “You’re not thinking about making the trip on your own, with an injured hand?”

  “Don’t see as I have a choice.” A shoulder lifted and dropped. “I’ve got quite a bit of ground to cover.”

  “Look, I’m sure Nola did what she could, but I heard rumors of a miner who has formal medical training. Not sure what type, but his name’s Rawlins. You should have him check out your wrist.” He tossed back the rest of his coffee. “Maybe a different type of wrap will allow you more use of that hand.”

  “I’ll do that tonight. I thought I’d talk to a couple of those performers. See if I can’t hire one away for the couple of weeks I figure the drive will take.”

  “Two weeks?”

  He turned his head and grinned. “Maybe less, but I won’t know until I spot a familiar landmark. But, I have probably already lost a ten-dollar bet with my younger brother, Morain.”

  “How’s that?” Nicolai moved to the cupboard and started pulling down the ingredients for flapjacks.

  “We started out from the ranch together, like always. But a ways outside of Helena he wanted to go north, and I was heading west. Might say we had a parting of the ways over where to find the best mustangs. Mor bet me he’d bring home a bigger string and beat me back to Four Clovers. That’s the family ranch.” He ran a hand over his whiskered face. “I honestly thought he’d sulk for a couple hours and catch up to me by nightfall. That was a week and a half ago. Sure hope he’s all right.”

  “With you as a teacher, he’ll be fine.” Nicolai whipped up the batter with a bit more force than needed. This talk of a hard winter meant he needed to order in more supplies. Maybe he’d take the buckboard over to Sweetwater Springs and see if his pelts had arrived from his brothers. Sure, he could wait for the twice-weekly delivery by freighter El Davis, but…

  No getting around the truth, he needed a distraction from his new partner. Cinnia York was occupying too many of his thoughts, and the four-day round trip would be good for putting their relationship back on a landlord/tenant one.

  Yeah, right after he fulfilled his promise of helping to set up her shop.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Ladies, I wish you luck in how you decide to conduct these meetings.” Prudence Morgan stood from the folding stool at the campfire and ran a hand down her front.

  Cinnia took in the details of the woman’s navy fur-trimmed pelisse. The cut was stylish, but from several years earlier, and definitely made of fine quality materials. Mrs. Morgan’s wardrobe demonstrated she had at, one point in her life, lived in a household of moderate wealth. How she ended up in this small town was probably an interesting story.

  “Your assistance in this matter is appreciated…” Nola stood and swung an arm to indicate the other five women who’d gathered to hear the names of the miners. “By us all.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  Farewells were called out, and then the women turned back toward the small circle.

  “Now, to decide how to carry out these meetings.” Dorrie held the slip of paper delivered by the mayor’s wife, a smile playing at her lips. “I might just sit on the boarding house porch.”

  Milly sat upright. “I do hope the gentleman who wishes to meet with me likes violin music. I do not intend to miss out on rehearsal.”

  Cinnia gazed at the wall of the building, her mind occupied with what she had yet to do this afternoon. “I like Milly’s idea. I could meet with…Dorrie, tell me the name again of the man who wishes to meet with me.” She’d known the name on the list Mrs. Morgan provided wouldn’t be Nic Andrews, but somehow, she’d secretly hoped it was.

  “That would be Hugh Bemeere.”

  “I could meet with him on the boardwalk in front of my shop.” My shop. She got such a thrill over saying those words. “The location is public enough, and I could do some mending while we talked.”

  Nola leaned forward. “I could walk the dogs with Mr. Michaels along the street.”

  “Do you think I could borrow the dogs?” Josette frowned. “Although, I wouldn’t want to walk for the entire hour.”

  Gerda let out a sigh. “That leaves me, and I don’t have an idea of how to conduct this session. Maybe I’ll start out practicing with Milly.”

  “Remember, ladies, your meeting is for only an hour.” Cinnia stood, anxious to set up her shop. “Besides, this idea all started with the men. Let them make a suggestion about how to spend the time. Within reason, of course. You can always say no.” She couldn’t hold back a grin over that last statement and the surprised looks she received. “Now, Nola and Dorrie, you said you’d help me transport items from the equipment wagon.”

  An hour later, the floor of the shop was piled with items—a long dowel holding backdrops for all three of her recitations and two of Nola’s; the dress forms; a wooden box containing threads, buttons, fasteners, elastic strips, and scissors; six bolts of fabric; costumes for all three women; and the props for the dog acts. From Mr. Thomas’ wagon, Cinnia had removed the wooden hangers and one of the folding chairs they’d found tucked in a cupboard under the settee. At a minimum, the chair back would help her sit for long periods as she sewed.

  “What now?” Nola stood with hands on hips and surveyed the empty space.

  “I don’t know. This is all new for me.” Cinnia looked at the heap and wanted to throw up her hands. When she focused on the few pieces that were specifically for the shop, she realized how little she actually had. Even for those few items, she had no place to put things. “We should probably keep the items we use for performances separate. We’ll have to move them to the hall tonight.”

  “Guess we should have done that first.” Dorrie bent over and grabbed one end of the dowel. “Nola, grab the other end.” She gla
nced around then jerked her head toward the window. “Under there.”

  “Nic said he’d help me arrange things, so I’ll check if he’s ready.”

  “Fine.” Nola and Dorrie moved the backdrops.

  Cinnia brushed a hand over the sides of her hair as she walked next door and knocked.

  A moment later, Nic opened the door. “Morning. Come in.” He stepped back and waved her inside.

  The space where the round table had stood the night before was now filled with a rectangular table about six feet in length. She looked from it to him, unable to hide her surprise. “What’s that?”

  “I had some scrap lumber left over from building the shops.” He gestured with the hammer he held. “It’s nothing fancy, but you mentioned needing a table for cutting.”

  Cinnia sucked in a breath. “You heard my lists of wants and made me a table?” What a sweet gesture.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I figured any type of business that I might rent to would need one.”

  Oh. That made more sense. He made it as basic furniture for the shop. She walked close, careful to keep her hems out of the sawdust piles, and looked at the sturdy construction—blocky legs and cross-pieces to support the planks on top. “Looks real usable. Thank you, Nic.”

  “Of course, the top needs more sanding and then several coats of varnish.”

  “Please, let me help.”

  “Have you done this type of work before?”

  “Well no, but…” She clasped her hands in front of her body.

  A chuckle escaped as he ran a hand over his chin. “Then I’ll get it finished quicker by myself. Besides, I’ve got most of the ingredients for the promised meal laid out on the counter.” He cocked his head toward the kitchen. “I’ve been thinking about beef stew all morning.”

  She’d meant to go to the mercantile first thing this morning, but the discussion around the campfire had distracted her. “You’re supplying the ingredients? I thought I was—”

  “Nope, the deal was only for your skill and willingness.” He headed toward the kitchen. “Come see if I’ve forgotten anything.”