by Zina Abbott
“Of course, Mr. Cauley.”
“This is my manuscript for a novel I sent off just before I left Salt Lake City. I knew I would be in Wildcat Ridge before I received a response, so gave General Delivery in Wildcat Ridge as my return address. Much to my disappointment, the publisher returned the manuscript as rejected. I paid them for the return, just in case, so I could mail it to my next choice of publishers. Unfortunately for me, they took the liberty of marking up the pages. I need to figure out why they disapproved of my words and redo the thing before I can send it out again.”
Diantha stepped closer. “Do you mind if I see it? I would enjoy reading what you wrote.” She watched Hank hesitate again before, with trembling fingers, he gathered up several pages and tapped them into a neat pile. He next took a stack of what appeared to Diantha to be writing supplies off of a chair in the far corner and placed them on the floor. He brought the chair over to her.
“Please, take a seat, Mrs. Ames. These are the first few pages. I hesitate to say anything about my writing to anyone. Not all have kindly thoughts about those who aspire to be authors. I know my father thought my writing endeavors to be foolish.”
“Have no fear of such opinions from me, Mr. Cauley. I admire people who can write for hours to create either an article or novel worth reading.” Silently, Diantha began to read the manuscript as Hank once again sat in his chair. Aware that, instead of returning to his task, Hank watched her while she read, she did her best to ignore the excitement dancing through her insides and focus on the words. Soon, the words before her captured her full attention. She soon finished the pages given to her.
“What did you think, Mrs. Ames?”
Diantha offered Hank a smile. “I find the story so far quite intriguing, Mr. Cauley. I hope you will allow me to read the rest.”
“If you wish. Anything else?”
Diantha returned her gaze to the top page. “Your penmanship is excellent, Mr. Cauley. The finishing academy I attended placed a great deal of emphasis on penmanship. I would say yours rivals any I’ve seen among the instructors and young ladies with whom I shared penmanship classes.”
“Yes, my instructors in school also valued good penmanship. I made it a point to excel in this field. Of course, my father felt my hours of practice were a waste of time. One did not need good penmanship to manage a brickyard. That was for lowly clerks.”
His forearms crossed in front of him, Diantha watched Hank lean across the table toward her. She looked up and noticed an intense tightness about his eyes.
“Mrs. Ames, along with your kind words of praise, I sense there is a ‘but’ in there. Why do you think my manuscript might have been rejected? I am too close to it. It is important I know so I can make the adjustments that might lead to success.”
Diantha looked down and fanned the pages in her hand. She chose her words carefully. “Mr. Cauley, from what I can see, most of the marks made on these pages refer to grammatical or punctuation errors. There are a couple of spelling errors, also. I did not excel in penmanship to the extent you have, but I learned the proper use of English grammar quite well. If it is agreeable with you, I will be happy to read over your pages and make notations of my suggestions on how to improve your sentence structure and punctuation. Perhaps I can start with the first few chapters, and then you can look them over before you rewrite them for your next submission.”
Worried that she had insulted the man, Diantha kept her head down as she glanced at Hank out of the corner of her eye. He wore an expression of incredulity on his face.
“You would be willing to do that for me, Mrs. Ames? I don’t want to take you away from the time you need to run your hotel. I know grammar was not my best subject, but I thought a publisher would focus on the story and make any necessary corrections of that nature. However, after receiving this rejection letter with the notation there were too many errors that must be fixed before it is resubmitted, I decided I need to pay closer attention to that sort of thing.”
“I would be happy to do that for you, Mr. Cauley. I’ve discovered, with business as slow as it is, I am able to maintain my hotel and still have extra time on my hands. I would welcome the opportunity to read your book in exchange for correcting any errors I find.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ames, but that is not an exchange that is fair to you. Here…” Diantha watched Hank almost knock his chair over in his haste to cross the room. He picked up the box of stationary she had admired and handed it to her. “Please, accept the stationary as a thank you in advance. Anything else I have you need—a new journal for your hotel accounts, paper for business correspondence, please let me know, and it is yours. You see, Mrs. Ames, I have been aware all along I will never make my fortune selling stationary and books. It is by getting my novels published I hope to earn the majority of my living. However, beside it surrounding me with items I enjoy, the type of store I operate, with its low customer volume, provides an excellent atmosphere for pursuing my writing. If your corrections of my errors will help me become published, I will be forever in your debt.”
Embarrassed, but at the same time gratified by Hank’s effusive appreciation for her offer to help edit his manuscript, Diantha decided to accept the box of stationary. “Thank you, Mr. Cauley. This will be enough. I am delighted to help.” Holding the gift, Diantha rose from her chair and watched Hank gather and sort his papers. Once he had them in what she realized was a rather thick stack, he turned with them in his arms.
“This is heavier than it looks. I will carry the papers to your door for you, Mrs. Ames. If you can return small bundles periodically as you find time to go through them, I can begin the process of rewriting my manuscript.”
With her door closed behind her, Diantha immediately sat down at the desk where she had stacked Hank’s manuscript. Taking a pencil from the center drawer, she began writing her suggestions for corrections on the pages she already read in his store. She decided she would read a chapter at a time for the pure enjoyment of the story. Only afterwards would she go back over each page to make her corrections. With no other tasks to see to, except to take her plate of sugar cookies out to the registration counter, and to cover the front desk in case a new hotel guest arrived, she spent the time until then editing.
Before she returned to the front desk in the middle of the afternoon, she walked two chapters of corrected pages over to Hank and handed them to him.
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Chapter 16
~o0o~
October 4, 1884
H ilaina, her hands on her hips and a frustrated expression on her face, watched Buck as he shoveled coal into the bin for Mrs. Loftin’s Boardinghouse. “Ain’t you about done, Buck? I figured on us going to the Harvest Festival. It done already started.”
“Today? Still a workday for me, Hilaina. I’m about finished with this wagonload. I have three more wagonloads of coal to fetch for folks, and need to do it before the snow gets too deep.”
“Not today, you ain’t. I got me an apple-raisin pie in the pie contest. I’m counting on you being there when they pick the winners. Tomorrow’s Sunday with me and Ma. Ain’t you figuring on waiting to Monday to get more coal? If we get us a mite of snow next week, you just take them wheels off and put the runners on. Reckon then old Charley and Mabel will pull a load of coal right smart.”
“What time does the judging start?”
“About three o’clock. After, they aim to sell pie by the slice. Ain’t you going so you can buy a slice of my pie?”
“Sure, I’ll buy a slice of your pie. But, didn’t you make a second one for Sunday dinner?”
“What if I did? I figured on you eating my pie at the festival and bragging on it to all them folks.” Hilaina bit her lip as she watched Buck dump the final shovelful of coal in the bin. He tossed the shovel in the back of his wagon and walked towards her with his arms outstretched.
“Give me a hug, Hilaina.”
Hilaina back-stepp
ed away from him as she threw up her hands to ward him off. “You ain’t touching me, Buckley John Kramer. You’re plumb covered with coal dust, and this here is my good winter dress I wore special for the pie-judging and dance tonight. Best you head for the bath house and get clean clothes on. Ma and me are fixing to get a bite to eat afore we go to the festival. We got plenty for you, if you don’t drag your feet none.” She felt her annoyance over his delay tactics soften as she realized he studied the dark peacock blue of her wool gown with appreciation.
“I’ll take care of Mabel and Charley and go to the bath house. After that, I’ll come to the house and take you and your ma to the festival. And don’t you worry, Hilaina. I’ll be sure to brag on your pie.”
“When you taking me firewood cutting, Buck? Ma says I’m free to go this Thursday.” She watched as Buck looked toward heaven and shook his head.
“If I get my last three coal orders delivered, I can cut wood Thursday. Still not sure you going’s a good idea, Hilaina. It will be cold and a lot of hard work.”
Hilaina harrumphed. “And you think washing sheets ain’t hard work? Me and Ma do it all the time. As for keeping warm, I figured on you helping with that.”
~o0o~
That night, at the Harvest Festival dance, Buck closed his eyes and whistled under his breath along with the tune played by Mr. Tweedie on the violin with Dub Reilly from the Rafter O Ranch playing the banjo. He loved the feel of Hilaina in his arms. He wondered what it would be like to have his arms around her every night. He caught himself before he let his thoughts take him too far down that road. He still needed to make sure he could support a family before he thought more on asking Hilaina to marry him. Moneywise, he was doing all right now. However, once winter began in earnest, and the snow piled too deep for even Charley and Mabel to manage the road between Wildcat Ridge and Curdy’s Crossing, his income might dwindle. Everything depended on if he could earn enough with the repairs that invariably needed doing due to the harsh winter weather. For now, he enjoyed the dance and looked forward to when Diantha would play some even slower music on her piano so he could hold Hilaina tighter.
Buck gazed around the room that appeared much as it had in June. He had been in Hank Cauley’s store once after Hank set out all of his inventory. Since he could not read or write, none of it was anything of value to Buck, but it looked nice. Well, Hank did have a few dime novels he put on a back table, and Buck liked the pictures on the front of a couple of them. He had every intention of buying one sometime so Hilaina could read it to him on a cold, snowy night when it was too chilly to do anything other than sit by the fire. Of course, if they married—when they married—there probably were other things they would want to do on a cold, snowy night. Again, Buck told himself he needed to steer his thoughts in a different direction and limit himself to the pleasure holding Hilaina while they danced.
It suddenly occurred to Buck that Hilaina had not said a word in a very long time. He straightened up and looked down at the expression of disappointment on her face. He bent over to speak quietly in her ear. “Awful quiet, Hilaina. You still pouting about only getting second place on your pie, even with all the bragging I did on it?”
Hilaina leaned back and swatted Buck’s arm. “I ain’t pouting!” She huffed in resignation. “Well, I reckon a mite. Ma says Susannah won fair and square and there ain’t nary no reason for me to be discomfited about it none. Still ain’t sure it’s right they let the owner of the Sugar & Spice Bakery join the contest. She’s got them spices Ma and I cain’t always afford.”
Buck pulled her close again, and she rubbed her cheek against his chest. He spoke for her ears only. “You tell me the spices you need, and next time I’m in Curdy’s Crossing, I’ll buy them for you. I’ll get the benefit of them when I eat your pies and cakes at Sunday dinners. No need you fretting about your pie. I only got one bite, but I liked it right fine. Looking to eating more at tomorrow’s supper.” Buck felt the movement of her spine as she heaved a sigh.
“Reckon I best forget about it. Ma says it’s the wrong kind of pride me wanting to be the best so you could brag on me.”
Buck buried his lips in the hair on top of her head. “I’m already proud of you, Hilaina. Nothing else you got to do to make me proud except to be you.” He paused. “Your pies don’t hurt, though. I’m mighty fond of your cooking.”
“I’ll pack us some good vittles for when we cut firewood this Thursday.”
Buck shook his head. He had a feeling there was no way he could talk Hilaina out of going with him when he cut wood. A part of him longed for her to be with him, but another part worried about her freezing after being hours in the snow. He fretted she could get hurt working with the wood.
Buck looked up as the front door to the lobby hit the side of the wooden chair by the front window with a loud thud. Young Tommy Bridges burst in the room. He started in the direction of Hank’s store, which is where the dancing was being held, but he spun back and pushed the door closed as several voices called out complaining of all the cold air he let in. He held up a paper as he searched the crowd.
“Is Mr. Henry Cauley here? Got a telegram for him. Pa said it’s important.”
Before Buck could say anything, he turned in time to see Hank leave his position by the mail sorting case. All the rest of his papers and books from his store had been removed somewhere out of sight. However, he had spent the day guarding the mail cabinet to see that people did not set things on it, kick it in passing, or accidentally damage it in other ways. With one hand reaching in his pocket for a coin and the other reaching for the telegram, Hank hurried toward the teenage son of the town’s telegraph operator. After the exchange and Tommy left the hotel a bit quieter than how he entered, Diantha rushed to Hank’s side as he stepped away from the celebrating crowd and walked to the far end of the lobby to read the telegram in relative quiet.
A few minutes later, a stricken expression on his face, Hank stepped back into the doorway and motioned for Buck to join him. With Hilaina clinging to his arm, he followed Hank to the hotel registration desk where Diantha, wearing an expression of concern, waited. Hank turned to Buck.
“Buck, by chance, are you planning on going into Curdy’s Crossing Monday for another load of coal?”
At Buck’s nod, he continued.
“Can I talk you into leaving really early in the morning and taking me with you? My brother was killed in an accident at the family business yesterday. I’ve been called home. I need to catch the train out of Curdy’s Crossing first thing that morning.” Hank shook his head. “The timing could not be worse. If this had come last night, I could have taken the Wells Fargo stage. If it won’t work out for you, I could rent a horse from the livery, but then I would have to board it until I return, and I don’t know how long it will be.”
Diantha stepped forward and placed her hand on his forearm. “Mr. Cauley, do you think you will be able to get back to Salt Lake City in time for the funeral?”
Hank shook his head. “I don’t know. It depends on how the trains are running. Either way, my father wants me home.” A look of apprehension swept across his face. “That is not a pleasant prospect for me, even without a tragedy like Louis’s death involved.”
Buck glanced at Hilaina and back. “Don’t see why not. I’m sorry to hear of your loss, but I’ll help how I can. Name the time, and I’ll have Mabel and Charley hitched up and ready to go.” He leaned down and spoke to Hilaina. “It will mean tomorrow I’ll be cutting my time with you and your ma short so I can get some sleep.”
“Don’t fret about it none. Ma and me understand.” Hilaina turned to Hank. “We’ll fix some vittles to go on the train, Mr. Cauley. I’m right sorry about your loss.”
Buck watched Hank rake his fingers through his hair.
“I’ll make it up to you, Buck. Maybe I can help you a couple of days cutting firewood.”
Buck sensed Hilaina open her mouth to protest. “Don’t say nothing, Hilaina. I still plan on taking you
wood-cutting one of these days.”
As Diantha stepped forward once more and gazed at Hank, Buck began to wonder if she and Hank were growing closer on a personal basis.
“Mr. Cauley, it’s too bad you won’t be able to finish your….”
Buck raised his eyebrows as an expression of dismay appeared on Diantha’s face. Hank responded with an uncomfortable expression.
Hank turned to Buck and shrugged. “She’s worried about a book.”
Buck first stared at Hank then he turned back to Diantha. “Seems like he’ll have plenty of time on the train to catch up on his reading, ma’am.” The way the two d wordlessly stared at each other left Buck feeling like he had missed something.
Diantha smiled and changed the subject. “Buck, I already told Mr. Cauley I would cover the mail service while he is out of town. Would you please help him move the mail cabinet back behind the registration counter?”
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Chapter 17
~o0o~
Wildcat Ridge and near Angel Hot Springs, Utah –October 9, 1884
B uck had Mabel in her harness and had started hitching up Charley when Hilaina walked into the livery carrying a large tow sack and two blankets. “You figure on sleeping while I cut wood, Hilaina?”
“No, but I done figured on keeping warm riding up there and back. Don’t you smart your mouth off at me, Buckley John Kramer, or I ain’t sharing no blanket with you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Brought enough vittles for two days and the quilt’s for the seat.”
Buck shook his head. “You’re going to spoil me, Hilaina.” He turned and drank in her face, soft with love, as she spoke her next words.
“I figured on doing that, Buck.”
Unsure he could trust his voice, Buck turned back to his task. He gathered the reins and wrapped them around the brake handle. “Hope you didn’t wear your Sunday best, Hilaina. I swept this wagon clean the best I could to get rid of most of the coal dust, but there’s still some in the cracks. Didn’t dare wash it out for fear the wood would freeze instead of dry.”