by Zina Abbott
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Chapter 8
~o0o~
H ank, his hat in his hand, sat on the oak chair placed before the front window of the Ridge Hotel lobby. He had escaped further questions by curious citizens of Wildcat Ridge by returning to the Wells Fargo office to retrieve his trunk. It now rested next to his carpetbag by the wall leading to the upstairs.
On his way back to the hotel, he had passed the stagecoach driver carrying the mail satchel.
“You tell her yet?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, her letter from the Post Office Department notifying her of the change did not arrive until today’s mail. I thought she would have been relieved she no longer needed to worry about the mail and could focus on her children and household. I received the impression such was not the case.”
Wearing an expression of disgust, the driver shook his head. “Mrs. Ames doesn’t have any children. You got a lot to learn about these widows in this town. They’re all scrambling either to find new husbands to come here and help provide for them or ways to earn enough money to make ends meet. With the train gone and not too many people coming to Wildcat Ridge wanting to rent a hotel room, she needed that post office money to get by.”
Once back at the hotel and waiting for Mrs. Ames to reappear, Hank thought about the driver’s words. He chose not to think much on the statement the widows in town were looking for new husbands. He might marry someday. Right now, it would be all he could do to support himself. It would have been tough enough if the Post Office Department provided a building, no matter how small, where he could both live and also conduct his other business. After realizing the post office operated in the hotel lobby, not in a separate building, Hank began to wonder if he had made a mistake accepting this appointment.
Hank rose to his feet when Mrs. Ames entered through a door set in the wall behind the registration counter—the same wall that backed the mail sorting cabinet. She took her position at the registration desk and, her face devoid of expression, looked over at him.
“Did you wish a room, Mr. Cauley? I offer rooms by the night, plus I also offer a reduced weekly rate.”
Hank walked over until he stood on the other side of the counter from her. He grimaced after she named the rates. “That depends, Mrs. Ames. I was never told much about the post office facilities themselves when offered this position. Quite frankly, neither our territorial Congressional representative, nor his secretary, knew any details.”
She looked away and inhaled a shuddering breath. “I still do not know why they did not notify me so I could have applied for the position. I suppose it is because they wanted a man for the job.”
“Mrs. Ames, you do realize postmaster positions are awarded by the Congressional representative of a state or territory, don’t you? It is usually a reward for political patronage—offered to those who helped the elected official some way in his campaign or in his government position.” Hank watched as the woman sucked in a breath then shook her head.
“No. I didn’t know that. Now that you mention it, I recall after my late husband found out he was given the postmaster job, he made a comment about how his contributions to the congressman’s campaign had paid off. At the time, I didn’t know what he possibly could be talking about.” Her intent gaze met his. “Is that how you became the postmaster?”
Hank smiled ruefully and shook his head. “No. That’s how my brother got me the job. His wife and I do not get along, and they wanted me out of Salt Lake City.” He paused a second. “Is there a room that comes with the postmaster position?”
He watched the woman blink several times before she answered. “Why, no. Mr. Ames and I already had our private rooms in the hotel before he became postmaster. It was up to him to provide the means to distribute the town’s mail. We have always done so from the registration desk.”
Hank scrunched his face as he considered this information. “I see. Since the people are used to coming to the hotel for their mail, would you consider allowing me to continue to operate the post office from here?”
“Absolutely not, Mr. Cauley. Since I am no longer involved with the mail as of Monday, it is up to you to arrange for your own building for the post office. I assume you came here to conduct a business since, I can assure you, the pay is insufficient to fully support even one person, no matter how frugally one lives.”
Hank stretched his neck and canted his head. “I see. I do have inventory coming here in two weeks—actually, it will come to Curdy’s Crossing, and then I’ll need to make arrangements to have it brought here. You see, in Salt Lake City where I’m from, most of the post offices are in buildings provided by the Post Office Department. Of course, I realized Wildcat Ridge is a much smaller town, but still….” Hank stopped as he noticed the unsympathetic expression on the woman’s face.
“Mr. Cauley, this is not Salt Lake City. I suggest you make arrangements for the post office before Monday.”
Hank looked off to the side. This most definitely had not been a good idea. Still, for the time being, he was committed. He turned back. “Mrs. Ames, do you know of any properties in town for lease? I will need one at a reasonable rate.”
“I believe Mr. Crane has properties. He is in the process of moving many of his buildings to his new town in Cranesville, but I’m sure he has some he intends to leave here.”
Hank winced. His brother’s warning popped in his mind. “Mr. Crane, as in, Mortimer Crane? I would rather not deal with the man. Who else in town owns properties that I might look at?”
Mrs. Ames blinked in surprise and glanced side to side as if to assure herself they were alone. She leaned forward and her voice grew quieter. “I find it surprising you have heard of Mr. Crane, Mr. Cauley. Have you met him personally?”
Hank shook his head. “I know him by reputation only. There are those in Salt Lake City who prefer to avoid doing business with him. My brother warned me to do likewise.” Hank could not tell for sure, but he thought he detected the first hint of the woman softening her attitude toward him.
“Well, I own my own property, which includes the laundry shed on the south yard of the hotel. However, it does not contain any retail space. Garnet, who runs the Crystal Café next door, owns her own property, but I don’t think she has the room for a post office or another business. There are a few residential houses owned privately. Outside of that, I am not aware of any other business properties in town owned by others besides Mr. Crane. He does not run a company town like many mine owners, but he keeps control over most of the townspeople by owning the properties and holding the leases. We were fortunate my husband persuaded Mr. Crane to sell us the property for the hotel outright.”
“I see. This laundry shed…”
Mrs. Ames shook her head. “No. It is completely inadequate for a store with inventory and a post office. Besides, I have a young woman who uses it three days a week to wash and iron the hotel laundry.”
“Then, do you perhaps have another room available?” Hank turned in a circle to survey the interior of the building. He pointed towards the bottom of the stairs. “What is behind those double doors? I noticed from the outside there is a large room to the side of the lobby, but the draperies are closed.” He turned back in time to see Mrs. Ames press a palm to her chest and look away.
“That is the door to the former hotel dining room. After the mine disaster, I lost my cook and most of the business the hotel used to receive. I decided to close it down. I now refer my guests to the Crystal Café next door.”
“The room is vacant? May I see it?”
“I…I’m not sure I wish to reopen the room, Mr. Cauley.”
Confused, Hank stared at the woman. He knew the reduction of income from losing the postmaster position concerned her. Why did she insist on being so uncooperative? Had he really offended her to that great of a degree, or was there another reason? “Mrs. Ames, I know having me take over the post office operation represents a financial
loss to you. Why will you not consider recouping some of that loss by renting a vacant room to me? Can you not see how convenient it will be for the citizens of Wildcat Ridge if they can come to the same location where they have always come for their mail? It will just be in the next room, out of the way of your hotel business. And, I think my retail business will be very compatible with the hotel.”
“What kind of retail business? That is a dining room, Mr. Cauley.”
“I sell stationary, journals, books—all sorts of paper and writing supplies.” Hank refrained from admitting to her that when he was not busy, he used his time on his novel-writing venture.
“Stationary and books? I don’t know, Mr. Cauley. Most people in town already buy those things at Tweedie’s Mercantile located only a block away. Besides, there is no separate outside entrance to that room.”
“All the better for security, Mrs. Ames—for both my business and the mail, although you perhaps do not have those kinds of concerns in a small town like this one like they do in Salt Lake City. Don’t you see? Although what I sell might be available to everyone in Wildcat Ridge, it will be a particular convenience to your hotel guests. If they wish a book to read or some stationary on which to write a letter, they need walk no further than the room next to the lobby. Perhaps some of the ladies in town can make specialty candy to be sold. Maybe some could provide me a few handmade handkerchiefs—some plain for the men, and some embroidered for the ladies—little items that would make good gifts to take home to loved ones. I would sell them on consignment. I could also bring in specialty scented soaps and items like that.”
“Mr. Cauley, it seems what you describe might work in a large hotel in a big city. I fear it will not prove so successful here.”
“I would like to attempt it, Mrs. Ames. I’ll trade taking over the sweeping of the hotel lobby floor and cleaning the woodwork surrounding the front door and the one leading to that room in exchange for your agreement my customers may use the front entrance.” Full of anticipation, he watched the woman worry the side of her lower lip with her teeth. “Please, Mrs. Ames. May I at least see the room?” He breathed a silent sigh of relief once he realized she relented.
“Wait here, please, Mr. Cauley. I’ll get the key.”
As soon as Hank stepped into the former dining room, he felt a sense of excitement build inside him. It was almost as if the room had been created especially for him and his business. The dimensions were generous. The coal-fired stove on the outside wall would keep the room comfortable in the winter. The tables stacked on either side of it he could use to hold his inventory until he could afford to have proper display shelves built. One he could place towards the rear of the room for his writing desk. “This room would work perfectly for me, Mrs. Ames. I will probably need to find a place to store some of these tables and most of the chairs. Quite frankly, as much as I welcome customers and those coming for post office business, I do not wish to encourage people to sit and talk endlessly for hours. The piano—will you move it, or do you wish to leave it here?”
“If we were to agree on you leasing this room, Mr. Cauley, I’m not sure where I would put my piano. I used to play for supper guests on Fridays and Saturdays. I have not practiced much since then, except the night of the dance held here earlier this summer. I suppose I could shift furniture around in my private quarters and move it there.”
“That is up to you, Mrs. Ames. It is fine where it is. I would keep tables around it to protect it.” He walked to the front of the room and surveyed the window coverings. “These draperies are beautiful.”
“Yes. My husband had them made and installed right before his passing.”
The bitter tone that entered her voice prompted Hank to spin around and study her. Her expression had not changed except for tightness around her eyes and lips. Evidently, the draperies were a source of unhappiness for her. “How much do you want from me to lease the room, Mrs. Ames?” He waited her out, noting her reluctance.
“I cannot let you have the room, Mr. Cauley. I promised the ladies of the Harvest Festival committee they could use this room for some of their activities. The festival is October second through the fourth.”
Hank rolled his eyes and forced his voice to remain patient. “Then, perhaps what I can do so that you can honor your agreement with them is this. I will move the mail sorting case and my retail business to another room and out of the way those days.” He turned and pointed to the door in the back of the room. “Where does that lead?”
“To the restaurant kitchen. Beyond that is the cook’s quarters that are no longer used.”
“May I see them?”
Upon viewing the two rooms, Hank grew even more excited. Surely, the cramped cook’s quarters, with minimal furnishings and no amenities, would be cheaper to rent than one of the upstairs rooms. He turned to Mrs. Ames, who stood in the doorway between the cook’s room and the kitchen. “How much is the rent for this room, Mrs. Ames? I would prefer it, since it is close to the kitchen, and I could prepare my own meals.”
A look of dismay on her face, Mrs. Ames stepped back. “Oh, this room is not for rent, Mr. Cauley. As for use of the kitchen—that is quite impossible. I don’t have a separate kitchen in my own quarters. I’ve always used this one.”
Hank walked back into the kitchen, prompting Mrs. Ames to retreat. He pointed at a door opposite the one leading to the outside. “I assume that entrance leads to your private quarters. Do you keep it locked?”
“Of course.”
“What time do you take your meals? Perhaps we could set up a schedule so I could use the kitchen during the times before your breakfast and after your supper. I will avoid infringing on your privacy.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Cauley. It seems highly irregular. I did have Mrs. Stillwell here for several months and she used the kitchen. However, I cannot allow it with a gentleman.”
Hank debated for several seconds, grateful that she had at least referred to him as a gentleman. He hated divulging his situation to anyone in town. However, he felt his back was to the wall. He had to throw himself on the mercy of this woman before him—the one from whom, in a sense, even though it was not directly his doing, he had stolen the post office contract. He hoped she would cooperate with him so he could succeed here in Wildcat Ridge where he had failed in Salt Lake City. As upset as he now knew her to be over the loss of that source of income, he suspected she was a kind-hearted woman. “Mrs. Ames, can you keep a confidence? If you agree to hear what I have to tell you, will you promise to keep what I say to yourself?”
She blinked before she answered softly.
“Of course, Mr. Cauley. If there is something you feel you need to share with me, I will keep your confidence.”
Hank gestured in the direction of the former dining room with its golden-papered walls and draperies of matching fabric. “Let’s step in the other room. That way, if someone enters the hotel, you’ll hear them.” He led her to a chair and offered his hand to assist her. He placed a chair across from her, sat down, and leaned forward. “Mrs. Ames, I am the black sheep in my family. They consider me a failure. The inventory I have coming here is from my store in Salt Lake City that went belly up. My father wants me to work under my brother in the family brick-making business. I did work for my brother and his business this past summer as a common laborer to pay off my debts and get a little money ahead. Because I refuse to work there permanently, but I turned down a foreman job. My brother—more to the point, my sister-in-law—sought this position for me in order to bury me in the middle of nowhere, which is how they view this town. I am not as reluctant about coming to Wildcat Ridge as I led them to believe, because I need a place to start over. However, until I get established here and my first drafts from the Post Office Department come to me, I have limited funds. I must live as inexpensively as possible, which means not eating out. That is why I ask you to work with me by allowing me to rent the back room and have access to the kitchen.”
“Not that I wi
sh to lose a potential customer, Mr. Cauley, but in all honesty, Mrs. Loftin two blocks to the west runs a boarding house and offers two meals a day. Perhaps that would serve your needs better.”
Hank smiled in response. “Thank you. However, it would be even cheaper for me if I prepare my own food. I did so when I lived above my store in the city, and I managed not to kill myself with my cooking.” He paused as Mrs. Ames looked off to the side, as if considering. He pressed forward with his argument. “Like I said, Mrs. Ames, assuming we can come to an agreement on how much you wish to charge me for a lease on this room, I can make a deposit but cannot promise to have the funds to pay more towards any monthly rent until I get my first draft from the Post Office Department. I was told they pay quarterly, but I don’t know if they will pay separately for September or tack it on to the payment for the fourth quarter.”
“If I agreed, you would have to pay for your own heating and lighting, Mr. Cauley.”
“Of course. I do not intend for you to suffer a financial loss by allowing me to be here. In fact, I wish for just the opposite. During the slow times, I will be happy to help you with any maintenance on the building you need done. After all, an attractive building inside and out will benefit both your business and mine.”
Grateful that women—his sister-in-law, Della, excluded—tended to be more sympathetic than men, Hank sensed it was his offer to help with building maintenance that tipped the scales in his favor. Relief flooded him when Mrs. Ames turned to him with a smile.
“What do you think is a fair rate for this room and living quarters in back, Mr. Cauley?”
They dickered over the price and terms.
“One condition I must insist upon, Mr. Cauley, is that you will remove the gold-colored draperies from the windows. I will find something you may put them in, and then perhaps you will be willing to help me move them in my attic storage.”
Hank suppressed the urge to demand why she wished to remove the draperies. He guessed she had a personal reason for doing so, since they set off the room beautifully and would help keep the heat in during the winter. “If that is your wish, Mrs. Ames. The windows with only the lace curtains covering them will allow a better view of my inventory, anyway.”