by Hill, April
Before long, she was writing to him about how much she enjoyed being in school, even though she was the oldest one there, and all the boys were puny little runts with pimples who didn’t even shave yet. The most agreeable surprise to Griff was how rapidly she was continuing to change, from a half-literate foul-mouthed tomboy, to a well-spoken young woman—though not quite all the way to becoming that female creature she had always claimed to detest—“a proper lady.”
Somewhere in the early summer of his fourth year as a cattleman, when the round-up was done and the cattle shipped, he decided to make a buying trip, to have a look at some young Hereford bulls he’d seen advertised. The year had been a good one, but he knew that if he wanted to be able to compete, and start making real money in the currently thriving cattle business, it was time to expand, and increase the size of his herd.
It was going to be a long, hard trip back to Kansas, most of it in a hot, mostly airless railway coach. The only good thing about it, aside from the chance at finding a good bull or two, was that he’d be passing a short distance from the ranch at Rainbow Water, from Martha and Abner—and from Elyn O’Malley.
* * *
Nothing had changed much at Rainbow Water. Martha’s rheumatism had gotten a little worse, and Abner’s sparse hair had finally gone entirely white. The two older boys were working in town, but Daniel, the youngest, was still living with them, determined to be a sheep rancher, like his father.
The only major change was that Elyn O’Malley was no longer there.
When Griff asked what had happened to make her leave, Abner simply shrugged his shoulders.
“She just set out one morning with what she’d earned washing dishes at that café in town. Thanked us for all we’d done, then promised Martha that she’d write often, and not to worry, because she’d be just fine. When we tried to talk her out of going, she said her mind was made up, and she wasn’t getting any younger. She rode off on a paint pony I let her have when she first came here. I bought him from an old Blackfoot woman who told me she was too stiff in her bones to make use of him any more. He was wild-like, and didn’t know a saddle from sausage, but that little bit of a girl had him in shape quicker’n most experienced cowhands I’ve known. The day she left, Martha and I watched ‘til she reached the ridge and disappeared, and when we went back in the house, we found twenty dollars wrapped up in a kerchief on the kitchen table, and a note that had Martha bawling like a baby every time she read it.
“The girl is about the most stubborn female I’ve ever laid eyes on, although my good wife tells me it’s not so much stubborn, as determined—which seems much the same thing to me. I will tell thee one thing, Friend Griffin—if that determined young lady doesn’t find whatever she’s looking for, it’s just not there.”
“I’d like to see her again,” Griff said, “before she wanders off too far looking. Do you or Martha have any idea where she is now?”
Abner shook his head. “No. She writes quite often, but the mail is slow getting back and forth, and most of our letters have come back saying she’s moved on to somewhere or other. In her last letter, she told us that she was working at an apple cider mill up north of here, keeping their books.”
Griff smiled. “Apples, again.”
Abner looked at him. “What was that?”
“That’s how I met her—hanging by her ankles from a tree, after trying to pick a lot of wormy crab apples. How about beaus? A lot of young women her age have already married, and had children.”
Abner shook his head. “That’s an odd thing as well. She said that she would like a house full of children—as many as six, perhaps. Martha told her if that’s what she wanted, she’d better get to it. Thee doesn’t get a coop full of baby chicks with no rooster around to do what needs doing.
“Thee probably recalls what she was like when she came here—a bit scrawny and pale, with those big green eyes. She looked like a good breeze could blow her across the barnyard. Before long, though, she became quite pretty, and the young men began coming around. They would come to the house right after First Sunday meeting was over, and sit on the porch, hoping she’d come out and pay them some mind, I suppose. It got to where Martha almost had to beat them off with a broom.” He smiled at the memory. “There were days when it seemed that every young fellow in the county wanted to come courting her, and I told Martha that it wouldn’t be long before she picked one of them to settle down with.”
“Did she?” he asked nervously.
Abner shook his head. “She wouldn’t have any of them, and told Martha that she knew exactly what she wanted, and they weren’t it. When my good wife asked what she was looking for, Elyn smiled rather mysteriously, and said, ‘I’ve been waiting for him to come and find me, but if he doesn’t get here pretty quick, I may have to go and get him.’ To tell thee the truth, Griffin, Martha and I believed it was thee she meant in saying that.”
Griff chuckled. “Not too likely. The last time I saw her, she was cussing me out, and swearing that she never wanted to lay eyes on me again. She sounded like she meant it, too. I was just damned happy she wasn’t armed.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. It’s Martha’s feeling that sweet Elyn had her cap set for thee from that first day in that apple tree.
“For a while, there, after thee left, she talked about thee as if thee were a kind of fairy book prince—like one of the knights in shining armor in the stories she enjoyed reading. When Martha went up to the loft to say goodnight, she often found Elyn under the covers, with a lit candle sitting on a saucer, and reading a book. We could only thank divine providence that she didn’t burn the house down, and once, nearly did. Martha came near to wearing out a butter paddle on her backside, and while I didn’t enjoy doing it, I took a switch to her once myself when she continued. It was as if she had a powerful need to know about things, and to learn it all as quickly as possible. Martha compared her to a parched flower that had gone too long without rain, and needed to drink deeply, to save itself from dying.
“We sent her to school, as thee asked us to, and while she disliked it in the first weeks, she honored her promise and worked hard. She had always been good with figures, even before she came here, and once she set her mind to it, she began to excel in all her subjects, particularly in reading and writing. Her speech improved quickly as well, and her spelling. I believe thee would have been as proud of her as we were.
“She often told us that she would like to teach children someday, as Martha does, but one day, she simply walked out of the classroom and never returned. She told her friend, Hannah Jackson, that she was going to San Francisco—to be a singer, I believe.”
“Are we talking about the same girl, here?” Griff asked. “As I remember it, she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”
Abner grinned. “Yes, I suspect she’ll never find that sort of employment, thank the Lord. As thee knows, our faith doesn’t approve of singing, and I was much relieved to be able to tell her that First Sunday meetings don’t require the services of a choir. Still, she’s a very determined young lady, and the dreams of the young are not easily discouraged. Faith teaches us that with God, all things are possible, though I believe He would find making our dear Elyn a singer very challenging.”
“When she writes, again, be sure to let me know. Maybe she’ll stay put long enough to get a package—something I ordered for her a while back, from one of those stores back east.”
Abner smiled. “Now thee’s buying gifts? For a young lady thee’s sure dislikes thee?”
“Just the one gift. I bought her a harp.”
“A harp, did thee say?”
“You heard right,” Griff growled. “A gold one, yet—all the way from Ireland. Took almost a year to get as far as New York, and I’d hate to tell you how much I paid Wells Fargo to get the damned thing all the way to Mill City.”
“I must say that I’ve never thought of thee as a romantic sort, Friend Griffin—given to showering lavish gifts on a woman.”<
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“It’s a harp, Abner,” Griff groaned, “not a lacy nightdress, or some frilly pair of underdrawers.”
“Well, as an imperfect Quaker, with a well-nigh perfect Quaker wife, I’ve never bought either of those things for Martha. And I’m afraid that she would regard a harp, despite its rumored use in heaven, as little more than a frivolous musical instrument, meant for idle hands.” He smiled. “Without question the perfect gift for Elyn, when thee finds her. Does thee intend to search for her, when thee leaves here?”
Griff sighed, unwilling to admit how disappointed he was with Abner’s news—or lack of it. “Probably not. It’s a big country, so the chances of finding where she’s gone without more information aren’t good. Knowing her the way I do—or used to know her, anyway—my guess is she’ll turn up when she wants to, and not one damned day before. Besides, like I said, the last time we talked, she didn’t want anything to do with me.”
“And like I said, I believe thee’s very mistaken about that, Griffin. All that first year, after she came to us, in fact, she seemed quite smitten with thee, and in the months just before she left home, she must have asked me at least once a week if I had heard any important news from thee.” He winked. “I believe what she truly wished to know was if thee had found thyself a wife.”
“I just wish I’d gotten down here sooner,” Griff said. “I write to her all the time, and until the last few months, she’s been writing back. When she stopped, I guess I thought she’d met someone to…you know, someone she liked well enough to marry.” He smiled. “Of course, he’d have to like red hair and freckles.”
“I doubt thee’d recognize her as she is today, Griffin. She’s grown into a lovely young woman—with no freckles at all. Even her hair is a bit softer in color. Thee may well be right about one thing, though. I believe that Elyn had already found a man she wished to marry, even before she left us.”
* * *
Griff returned to Crabapple Valley disappointed at not having had a chance to see Elyn, again. Over the last two years, he’d been surprised and a little chagrined at how much he was enjoying her letters, and how disappointed he was when he went into town for the mail and didn’t find a letter from her in his box at the post office. And then, a few weeks before his buying trip, the letters had simply stopped. It was a long way to San Francisco, of course, and though he told himself that there could be another letter from her any day, he recognized that the chances were better that he wouldn’t. Not if Elyn O’Malley had finally found someone who could make her happy.
Griff knew that as an old friend, and somebody that had once seemed akin to an older brother, he should have been pleased at the possibility that she was finally enjoying the happy, fulfilled life she deserved. And on one level, he was pleased. He was even trying his best to be genuinely happy for her.
What he found more painful to accept than he’d ever imagined, was that he would probably never see her again.
And when he followed that thought, he discovered something else that surprised him. His feelings for Elyn were a lot more than friendly, and nothing at all like brotherly.
Which he was now going to have to learn to live with—somehow.
CHAPTER TEN
With the new fences finished, and the end of summer getting closer, Griff took the buckboard into town to stock up on what he and his three hands would need to get through the approaching fall and winter. This far north, fall could turn cold quickly, and winter sometimes showed up early, and without a lot of warning.
The town of Mill City still wasn’t much to look at, yet, but it was off to a promising start. The hotel and mercantile had been there before he came, along with a livery stable and a blacksmith, and two saloons. But a lot of new businesses had begun to appear, as well. As he drove in, he noticed a new assay office, two cafés, a barbershop, and what looked like a women’s dress shop. The sign hanging over the door read, “Le Bon Chapeau—Ladies Parisian Fashions and Elegant Accoutrements,” and a smaller sign hanging underneath advertised “Fine Millinery for the Discerning Woman.”
Thinking that he might find a small gift to send to Martha for her birthday, he pulled the team over, and climbed down to take a closer look at the merchandise being offered for sale in Le Bon Chapeau’s large window. The window was frankly astonishing—a wildly cluttered showcase of things feminine, swathed in a filmy froth of pink and lavender netting, and more bows, ribbons, rosebuds and white paper doves than Griff had ever seen all together in one place before. A headless mannequin in a white lace gown stood in the exact center of the display, decked out in strands and loops of artificial pearls and more pink ribbons. The decapitated lady was flanked on all sides by a collection of small, white wooden stands, each of which held a different model of what Griff recognized as the wide-brimmed “picture hats” he’d seen for sale in various catalogues. Someone had festooned the unwieldy headgear with enormous dyed ostrich feathers, silk flowers and artificial cherries, and what looked to Griff’s untrained and unfashion-conscious eye like a lot of newly dead pigeons with their outstretched wings pinned or glued down to the floppy brims.
He was still staring with amazement at the crowded window when a woman came out of the shop—a stunningly attractive woman—actually, with a glistening mass of black curls piled on top of her head, and a corseted waist a man could encircle with his two hands. Not surprisingly, she was wearing a pink silk dress with a nosegay of pink rosebuds at her waist and another in her hair. Exactly the sort of woman you’d expect to be browsing through a female fairyland like Le Bon Chapeau. It wasn’t until the woman said, “Good morning,” and added a dazzling smile, that he noticed the tape measure in her hand. Not a customer after all, but the shop clerk.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked. “A lovely new hat for your wife, perhaps? Most of the designs you see in the window are my own, but I’ve just gotten in some positively enchanting new items from back east, as well. Would you like to come into my shop and see them?”
Griff quirked one eyebrow. So, not a salesclerk, either, but the proprietress, herself.
He politely declined the invitation, wished the woman a good day, got back in the wagon—and immediately regretted not having introduced himself. It was too late, though. The most beautiful woman he’d seen in years had gone back into her beribboned shop, leaving a delicate whiff of attar of roses in her wake.
As he drove on to the mercantile to do what he’d come for, Griff smiled and shook his head. He’d be surprised to find the shop still there on his next trip into town. Most of the women who lived in or near Mill City were the wives and daughters of small ranchers, with a sprinkling of faded, tired-looking farm wives—none of them with a lot of cash to spare, and hardly the kind of well off patrons a female confection like Le Bon Chapeau would need to stay in business.
But Griff couldn’t have been more wrong. A week later, when Jim McKenna rode in to pick up the mail, he returned with the news that there was a line of women a half-block long outside Le Bon Chapeau, all of them waiting their turn to get inside the damned place. “I swear to you, Griff,” Jim reported, “it looked like they might a’ been givin’ away five dollar bills.” He had also learned that the owner’s name was Amelia Pomeroy, that she had come to Mill City from back east somewhere. More importantly, and as far as anyone had been able to discover, there was no Mr. Pomeroy hanging around anywhere. Which meant that Amelia Pomeroy was available, and in cattle country parlance, fair game.
Which was why Griff decided it was about time he rode back into town to purchase that now belated birthday present for Martha that he’d been thinking about.
The present—a small-silver plated music box with an even smaller silver-plated bird on top that hopped back and forth and chirped in a tinny mechanical voice—set him back a half-month’s grocery money for four hard-working men with hearty appetites. The little box was pretty, though, and he knew that Martha would like it. While he was counting out the bills to pay for the box, he asked
Amelia Pomeroy to have dinner with him at the new hotel in town—rather grandly named the Kensington House. When she graciously accepted his invitation, Griff was pleased, but he had known enough women like Amelia Pomeroy to be realistic. He’d spent far too much money on what was basically a useless trinket, which had probably led her to believe that he was cattle-rich—instead of just another small rancher who worked his butt off every day, and shared ownership of his small spread with the Mill City Bank and Trust.
* * *
But Griff was wrong for a second time—this time about Amelia Pomeroy. Two months after they met, Amelia was spending all day Sunday and an occasional weekend at the ranch with him—during which time she’d had an opportunity to thoroughly assess his financial status. Amelia wasn’t looking for an especially rich man. She was looking for a man who wanted to get married—in the very near future. And somewhere, Amelia had learned how to trade what she had for what she wanted.
Which meant that the weekends at the ranch were affectionate, but strictly proper, since that was the kind of woman Amelia was—a lovely, maddeningly alluring woman who was also an intensely proper and determined lady. A lady who had no intention of unveiling her most alluring features until there was a diamond ring and a gold band on her finger, and not one moment before.
For Griff, having a woman in his life that he wanted, but couldn’t have, was not just unusual and frequently painful, it was perplexing. He’d never met a woman that he knew this well and for so long who hadn’t been ready to get in bed with him and allow nature to take its course—with a lot of enthusiastic help from both parties.
