The Eager Bride: The Ladies Club of Laramie

by West, Everly

  Dragging his gaze from the horizon, Wesley turned to the group. “Yes, I will be taking an apprenticeship with a very well-known lawyer. Father arranged it.”

  “For how long?” Rose asked, which was uncharacteristic of her usually quiet cousin.

  “A year.” Wesley shrugged. “Perhaps longer.”

  Sybil, who’d always managed to stand close to Thomas, spoke next. “We’ll ensure to keep your brother occupied while you’re gone. I’m sure your family will miss you.”

  Thomas huffed. “You may stay away as long as you wish.”

  Every chuckled, except for Sybil who laughed as if Thomas had said the most brilliant of jokes.

  Beth and Jane exchanged amused looks when Thomas beamed at their younger sister.

  Obviously, their mother’s attempts at finding a match for Beth that night had failed miserably. Sybil took all of Thomas’ attention, Wesley was leaving and seemed to be pining more for travel than the company present. Then there was Michael, who’d kissed Jane. Although, that meant nothing. He’d done it to shock her. And because men, especially Irish men, were hot blooded.

  Mr. and Mrs. Carlson walked out from the house making it clear the evening was ending. Earlene was close on their heels, her face bright. Jane’s heart softened. Mother so enjoyed entertaining and was always the perfect hostess.

  “I’m afraid we must bid everyone a good night,” Eugene Carlson said to no one in particular. He turned to Michael. “Don’t forget to come by tomorrow, young man. I am in need of your expertise.”

  Michael nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  “It was the most wonderful evening, Earlene,” Josephine Carlson said as she hugged Earlene.

  The families all meandered toward the waiting carriages. The Carlsons, followed by Uncle Ted, Aunt Therese and the cousins.

  Jane dropped the handkerchief she carried and stopped to pick it up. When she straightened, Michael was standing just a foot away. “Thank you for tonight.”

  Sliding a glance toward the others, she looked back to him. “It was an enjoyable evening.”

  “Can I call on you?”

  Her eyes widened and she scanned his handsome face. Could it be true? Michael O’Leary was truly interested in her? “I-I would like that. I will have to ask my father of course.”

  Michael nodded and, with purposeful steps, went directly to her father, who willingly walked away from the carriages that were now departing. Jane gawked at his retreating back. Did he plan to approach her father now?

  “It was a delightful time, was it not?” her mother exclaimed, waving at the carriages. “We should do it more often.”

  “Why are Father and Michael O’Leary looking at us?” Sybil asked, looking from the duo to her mother. “I wonder what they are talking about.”

  Her mother shrugged. “Probably about those silly guns.”

  “No,” Jane said, taking a fortifying breath, as she didn’t know what to expect when it came to her mother’s reaction. “Michael is asking for permission to call on me.”

  Her mother’s mouth fell open and she clamped it shut, her teeth making a clop. “Oh, dear. That could be problematic.”

  “Why?”

  Just then, their father and Michael shook hands and went in separate directions. With a wave of farewell, Michael went to the corral to fetch his horse and their father walked toward them.

  “What did you say?” Her mother and sisters asked in unison. Jane scowled. It should be her who learned of his reply first. Now that Michael had asked, she was excited to know.

  Her father’s warm gaze met hers. “I told the young man I was not against him calling. However, I did admit to wish for someone who would provide my daughter with a higher living standard.”

  “You didn’t!” Jane exclaimed. “Father, I’m sure you hurt his feelings.”

  “He’s a man,” her father replied as if it made things clear. “I like him. He told me he’d strive to do better.”

  Just then, Michael rode across from the corrals to the road. Once again, he waved, looking only at her. His lips curved and then he spurred the horse to a gallop.

  Her mother was silent as they entered the house. She seemed as if she were suddenly exhausted.

  “Whatever is the matter, Mother?” Beth asked, leading her to a chair. “I’ll fetch you a cup of tea.”

  Jane lowered to a chair as well, her mind tumbling over what had just happened. If Michael were to court her, did it mean he’d eventually ask for marriage? Although she was eager to marry and start a family, was he the one she was meant to be with?

  “Jane,” her mother called out as if for the second time. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “No, Mother, sorry. I’m distracted by the unexpected request of Michael’s.”

  Her mother let out a long breath. “Earlier today, Eugene Carlson asked if Wesley could call on you. It seems he is pursuing a possibility of marriage.”

  “What?” Jane and Sybil exclaimed in unison. “Wesley?”

  The man had only spoken to her once that night. And when he’d done so, he’d not looked directly at her. Jane struggled to recall if perhaps she missed something that had occurred that evening.

  “He barely said a word to me. Actually, he spent the evening looking sulky and morose.”

  Their mother shook her head. “You don’t understand the way of men. I’m sure he was subdued and shy at the fact his father was to ask about you.”

  “Wesley Carlson doesn’t have a shy bone in his body,” Jane said.

  “Why didn’t he ask father directly, like Mr. O’Leary?” Sybil added. “Most peculiar.”

  “I wonder if he’s even aware that Mr. Carlson was to speak to Father,” Beth uttered pensively. She placed a cup of tea next to her mother’s elbow. “I am willing to bet the answer is no.”

  “No matter.” Their mother took a sip of the tea. “You will allow for Wesley to call, Jane. He is a much better match than Michael O’Leary. Although Michael’s a nice young man, he is not of means.”

  Chapter 5

  It was a good day for a ride but Michael didn’t pay attention. The trip to the Carlsons’ place had proven well worth his time. A large canvas bag with two rifles and several handguns hung from the saddle. With the last two jobs and people who walked into his shop, he had enough work to keep him busy for weeks.

  In the distance, the outskirts of Laramie came into view making him wonder how long before the town would stretch out as far as the ranches. It seemed to grow more every day. The boom was great for his business and, yet, would it be enough to sustain a family?

  Up until whatever nonsense had made him speak to Jane’s father, he’d no notion to marry. Asking to court a woman meant the family would eventually expect a marriage proposal. Then again, as her father had explained, perhaps in this instance they would hope for a better match to come along.

  Franklin Farnsworth had not spoken down to him. As a matter of fact, the man had seemed pleased at his request to court his middle daughter. He’d then stated that he hoped Michael would strive to do better for himself so that he could maintain Jane in a suitable living standard.

  Currently, he lived in a house behind the gun shop. It faced the opposite side, giving a view of the mountains in the distance through the front windows. It was a nice house, built solidly.

  Michael scratched his head. Compared to the Farnsworths’ home, his entire house would probably fit in their piano room.

  Although it wouldn’t take much to make his home larger, it would never compare to the wealthy estate where Jane lived.

  A whistle took his attention as a rider approached. It was Ian, the Farnsworths’ horse handler.

  “Headed to town?” Ian called out as he approached. “I’ll ride with you.” The man brought his horse alongside.

  Michael nodded. “Coming from the Carlsons’ place.”

  They rode for a bit and Michael decided to find out what he could about life at the Farnsworth ranch. “Do you like working for Farnswor
th?”

  “He’s a fair man. Never late to pay me and gives me days off to do what I wish. Can’t complain about the horses,” Ian answered, running his gloved hand over his mount’s mane. “Even gave me Fox here.”

  Michael’s eyes widened. The horse was a purebred. Probably named Fox for its red coloring. “That is very generous.”

  “I agree,” Ian said. “For my thirtieth birthday and for working at the ranch for ten years.” The man laughed. “No complaints from me. I plan to work there forever.”

  “Good treatment brings about loyalty. Farnsworth is a wise man,” Michael said. “What about his daughters?”

  Ian shook his head. “They’re more like sisters to me now. I was courting Anne Smith, a young woman over at the Carlsons’ ranch. She works for them. “

  “Was?”

  Ian nodded. “I don't think she fancies me anymore.” His Irish brogue was heavy. “Can’t make time.”

  “That’s a bad sign.”

  “What about you?”

  “I asked Farnsworth for permission to court Jane.”

  A loud chuckle erupted from Ian. “Brave man.”

  Was he brave or crazy? After all, he had a good life. Nothing to complain about and he was healthy so he could work steadily. Income was steady and his belly was usually full. So why did he decide this was the time to complicate his life?

  The kiss. The feel of the beauty in his arms, the taste of sugar from the sweets on her lips had rendered him useless. That was it. He was overtaken by lust.

  “Either that or I’m crazy.”

  Upon arriving in town, Michael went straight into his shop through the back door. Ian offered to take his horse to the stables and he’d allowed it. If anything, the man was good with horses.

  As soon as he unlocked the front door, a man rushed in. “I need to buy a gun. Gonna kill me that son of a bitch.” The older man spit on the floor and glared at Michael through bloodshot eyes.

  “Then it’s probably not a good idea to sell you a gun right now, Earnest.”

  The man shook his fist. “Caught that bastard red-handed. Can’t get to my rifle.”

  Deciding it was best to keep the obviously drunk man talking, Michael guided him to a chair. “I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. Tell me what happened.”

  “Come home from doin’ my business,” Earnest began, eyeing the bottle Michael had on a shelf. “Found that lowlife with my wife.” Once again, the man spit on the ground.

  “Where’s your rifle?” Michael asked, handing the man a cup of coffee.

  “She’s got it. Won’t give it to me. Threatened to shoot me if I try to take it.” Poor Earnest leaned forward and began to cry. “She’s gonna leave me, Gunny. Don’t you see?”

  The local men who often lingered outside the gun shop began calling him Gunny for obvious reasons. He never corrected them. It gave him a feeling of acceptance.

  “Who was in the bed with her?”

  Earnest looked up, wiping his face with a shirtsleeve. “They weren’t in bed. Havin’ coffee at the kitchen table. All familiar like.”

  “Could be that was all they were doing.”

  “Then why did he run when I said I was gonna kill him?” Earnest persisted. “Was guilty of somethin’.”

  Michael wanted to laugh. Instead, he let out a breath. He wouldn’t be getting any work done, it seemed. “Come on, I’ll walk you home. We’ll talk to Betty and see what she has to say.”

  When Earnest stood he swayed. “Fine, I’ll go. But Gunny, if I fall asleep once we get there, you go after the idiot and shoot him for me.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep you awake then.”

  They walked unsteadily out the front door. Two men who sat on a bench looked up. “Where you takin’ Earnest, Gunny?” one asked with a scowl. “We about to play some cards over at Pat’s.”

  “Find another player,” Michael called out. “Can barely keep him awake.”

  The two men grumbled, but didn’t move. Sometimes, Michael envied them. Their biggest worry was a fifth card player for their usual Wednesday game at another older man’s house. They usually placed bets with matches and ate whatever Pat’s wife cooked for them.

  Other than whoever was bold enough to have coffee with another man’s wife, they rarely had any fights.

  That evening, Michael sat at his kitchen table. With a coffee cup and a slice of pie from Earnest’s wife, he looked over figures in his tattered ledger.

  He had enough money put away to build on to the house. He considered a third bedroom and a parlor which, according to Earnest’s wife, women enjoyed. The kitchen was of a good size and so were the dining room and two bedrooms, of which the one he slept in was the largest.

  He let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. Even after paying for materials, there would be enough left in his savings to provide for clothing, necessities and whatever other things a wife would require.

  Looking up at the ceiling, he tried to remember what he saw at the Farnsworth home. There were lacy things everywhere, but he figured the women made those.

  Knocks on the door were a welcome distraction. If someone needed him to work or help out, he was more than willing. It would be better than spending so much time thinking about things that could never come to be.

  Although Jane had agreed to him calling, it didn’t mean she would be as willing to marry him.

  He opened the door to find one of older men from outside his shop and another behind him. He couldn't see the second one clearly as his face was hidden by the shadows. “What can I help you with, gentlemen?”

  Just then, the other man moved forward, a familiar person. Someone he hoped never to see again.

  Narrowed eyes met his and, for an instant, Michael considered slamming the door. But curiosity got the best of him. After years, why would the man responsible for so many deaths come knocking on his door?

  “This man’s looking for ya,” the old-timer said and hurried away.

  “What do you want, Buchanan?” He didn’t invite the man in because it would be too easy to kill him.

  There were deep lines etched into Rex Buchanan’s face, a sign he’d continued work outdoors for the railroad. The closest one being over one hundred miles away, it made Michael wonder why the man would travel so far to come knocking.

  “I need to talk to you,” Buchanan said and immediately began to cough. Each time the man hacked, his entire body shook. “It’s important... just give me a few minutes.”

  It took a lot not to turn the man away. How could Buchanan have the gall to face him after ordering men to work on a bridge that wasn’t safe? When everyone protested working, he told them they’d not get paid for the month if they refused. The bridge had collapsed, killing twenty good men.

  “There’s nothing you can say to make things right with me.”

  The man nodded. Shoulders rounded, he hung his head. “Nonetheless, I come to ask for your forgiveness.”

  The one thing Buchanan never did. He never apologized for what his actions had caused. Instead, he’d seemed proud at following orders and not faltering even after the accident.

  “Can’t do that,” Michael replied, closing the door only for Buchanan to stick his booted foot in the way.

  “I understand and didn’t expect you would.”

  “Then why come so far?”

  “Dying can make a man think about things differently. I went to see O’Brien and McIntyre, neither forgave me either. But I want to make amends, to explain the reason for that decision.”

  Michael couldn’t help but laugh. “I know the reason, greed. That’s what drove you and those idiots sitting up in the tents in the shade while we broke our backs out in the elements. We didn’t have a choice, out in the middle of nowhere without horses or any way to get away. You worked us like slaves, never even paid us after the accident. Those that didn’t die on the spot, died because there wasn’t anyone to look after them. We nursed each other doing what we could with what we had.”


  Bitterness filled his entire being and he couldn’t stop talking, needing to get every emotion out. “We dragged the ones that survived for miles to the nearest town. Not once did you sons of bitches offer to help. The only animal we had was a mule and that was what saved a couple lives. We got more from a dumb animal than from you.”

  “I was following orders...” Buchanan once again spewed the same response.

  “Orders to treat other human beings like they’re trash? You better leave. I can’t stand the sight of you.”

  Buchanan held out a weathered bag. “Here’s the pay owed to the workers. I kept it. The pay for twenty-five men, plus my reward for getting the job done on time.” His hand shook as tears fell. “I’m going to hell, O’Leary. But that doesn’t stop me from doing something right before I die. I divided the amount between the five of you that survived. Take it, its owed to you.”

  When Michael didn’t reach for the bag, Buchanan bent and placed it on the ground. Coughing once again, he covered his mouth with a dirty handkerchief and turned away.

  “Hell’s too good for you,” Michael told him, unable to keep from one last retort. He slammed the door shut, his entire body shaking so hard that he could barely manage to pour whiskey into a glass.

  “Hell’s too good for you,” he repeated as visions of broken bodies and cries for help formed.

  It was several hours before he remembered the bag just outside the door. Was it blood money? Did taking it mean he accepted Buchanan’s apology?

  He couldn’t think straight. Hatred had a way of blinding a man. The lantern flickered and he turned to see if a window had come open to let the breeze in.

  The window was firmly closed and he looked down to the small table just beneath it. Atop the table next to the lantern was his bible. A shiver went down his spine as he focused on the open page.

  It was open to the verse where Jesus instructed to forgive seventy times seven. He shook his head and chuckled. “I understand Lord, but it’s a hard one to do.”

  He’d sleep that night and if the bag was there in the morning, he’d take it. It was due to him. The forgiveness part? That would take some time.