by Sharon Sala
Fannie was smiling when she opened the door.
Myron took one look at her and found himself dumbstruck. He still couldn’t believe he’d never noticed her in this way before. He took off his hat and combed his fingers through his hair.
“Evening, Miss Fannie, something sure does smell good.”
Fannie beamed. “Come in, come in,” she said. “It’s just fried chicken and apple cobbler.”
Myron groaned. He hadn’t had anything but steak, eggs, and beans in so long he had almost forgotten there were other kinds of foods.
“I’m at your mercy,” he said, as he entered the house and let Fannie hang his hat on the coat rack in the hall.
Then he saw Orville walk into the hallway and knew that they’d been arguing. Probably about him. He nodded.
“Orville… haven’t seen you in a while. Heard you’re keeping company with the Widow Lewis.”
Fannie turned and looked at her father as if he was a stranger. She hadn’t known he’d frequented the saloon but she did now.
“Well then,” she said. “Since you two are old friends, I’ll go dish up the food. Supper will be ready in about five minutes.” Then she pinned her father with a look that left him both nervous and startled. “Father… perhaps Mr. Griggs would like a sherry before dinner?”
“Yes, of course,” Orville muttered, then waved Myron into the sitting room as Fannie disappeared.
“Nice house,” Myron said, and then pointed toward a gilded mantle clock. “My mother has one of these back in Philadelphia.”
Orville’s complaint died on his lips as he turned around.
“You are from Philadelphia?”
Myron nodded. “Born and raised. Youngest of four sons. Father expected me to go into the business with him, but frankly, there were already too many Griggs in the company as it was.”
Orville eyed Myron curiously, wondering what else he hadn’t known about the man who sold liquor and women on a daily basis.
“What business was your father in?” Orville asked.
“Not was in. He’s still in business,” Myron said. “Cotton, actually. The family owns and operates a dozen cotton mills along the coast as well as the cotton exchange in Philadelphia.”
Orville’s mouth dropped. “Your family is well-to-do?”
Myron grinned. “I suppose so, but then one never really thinks of one’s family in that way, you know. After all, your mother and father are just that. Nothing less. Nothing more. Don’t you agree?”
Orville nodded. Not because he necessarily agreed with the man, but for the life of him, he couldn’t find the good sense to form a sentence of complaint.
“About that sherry?” Myron asked.
Orville frowned. “To hell with sherry,” he muttered, and took a bottle of whiskey from the sideboard and poured two generous shots into two glasses. He handed one to Myron then took the other for himself.
Myron lifted his glass in a toast. “To Fannie,” he said.
Orville stared a moment, then shrugged. “What the hell,” he muttered, and the glasses clinked. “To Fannie.”
They didn’t know she was standing in the doorway, or that her heart skipped a beat when she heard them toast her name.
“Supper is ready,” she said.
Myron downed his whiskey neat and then headed for her with a smile. He offered her his elbow.
“Miss Fannie, may I escort you to the table?”
Fannie smiled primly. “Yes, thank you.” She looked back at Orville, who had yet to taste his drink. “Father, are you coming?”
“Yes,” he said, and once they were gone, not only drank his whiskey, but refilled the glass and emptied it again.
Hard Luck And Honeymoons
Harley Charles ran a comb through his mustache, grooming it carefully until it curled just right at the ends. Satisfied that he looked every inch the handsome gentleman he perceived himself to be, he still turned from one side to the other, admiring his reflection in the mirror. Judging himself fit, he settled his hat at just the right angle and headed for the door.
He’d put in a hard day out on the range with his two hired hands, separating bull calves that were to be castrated from the herd. The summer had been hot and dryer than normal, and the dust, mingled with the scent of blood and bawling calves, had been wearing. Even so, he’d spent the day looking forward to riding into Dripping Springs. There was a woman named Lola at Griggs Saloon who set his teeth on edge in a very nice way.
Just thinking about what awaited him in town made him lengthen his stride as he hurried out the door. It occurred to him only after he was mounted up and riding away that it was Wednesday night—the night he normally spent with Fannie Smithson. Now he was torn between duty and desire. He didn’t want Fannie, but he wanted Fannie’s dowry, and to get it, he’d sold his soul to Orville Smithson, the devil in disguise. Orville had paid him a thousand dollars to propose with a promise of ten more when they were wed. He figured any woman, no matter how homely, was worth that much money. And once he had the money in hand, he was going to sweet-talk Widow Taggert into selling her land to him, which would double the size of his ranch and make him the rich man he intended to be. But since he needed Fannie to make this all happen, he reluctantly gave up the idea of Lola, and set his mind to endure the evening of whist that lay ahead.
Fannie got up to refill Myron’s coffee cup while eyeing the plate of rapidly disappearing chicken as her father and Myron ate in relative silence.
Orville was still in shock that this man was eating at his table, and didn’t know what to make of it all. He kept eyeing Fannie, uncomfortable with the constant smile on her face, and the warm, almost familiar tone in Myron Griggs’ voice as he praised Fannie’s cooking.
Fannie basked under the compliments while trying to appear as stunned as she felt that Myron Griggs had told her she was a handsome woman and, in his words, “a damned fine cook”. It did her good to see people enjoy her food, but she wasn’t accustomed to compliments. Even so, Myron Griggs had done nothing but compliment her tonight—from the attractiveness of her hair, to her way with biscuits, and she knew her father was seething. That, in itself was a satisfaction she hadn’t expected. Seeing her father furious, but helpless to act upon it, was oddly satisfying. As the meal progressed, she began to relax more and more. By the time they got to the apple cobbler, she was heady with the power of being somewhat in control.
“Father… Mr. Griggs, would either of you care for some clotted cream on your serving of apple cobbler?”
“Yes, please,” Orville said, while Myron only shook his head and shook his finger at her in a scolding but playful manner.
“I’ve told you twice already to call me Myron, and I would love clotted cream on my cobbler. I haven’t had anything this wonderful since I left Philadelphia.”
Orville wanted to be pissed about the unwanted guest, but he couldn’t rid himself of his curiosity. Who would have ever guessed that the owner of the saloon was a Philadelphia blue-blood?
Fannie picked up the cream pitcher then, instead of pouring, dipped the thick, sweet cream onto the servings of warm cobbler.
Still curious, Orville leaned forward, ostensibly to put a spoonful of sugar in his coffee, but it was to give himself something to do while he thought about how to form his next question. He dropped the sugar into the cup and then began to stir.
“So, Myron… you say your family is still in cotton.”
Myron nodded. “Yes. I get letters regularly from Mother and occasionally from Father. My two oldest brothers run the cotton mills we own in Boston and New York City, and the brother just older than me works with Father in Philadelphia.”
“So you’re not ostracized from the family or anything like that?” Orville asked.
Myron laughed, which made Fannie stop what she was doing and stare. She couldn’t remember thinking a man’s laugh a sensual thing, but Myron’s exuberance was so delightful she couldn’t help but smile with him.
“Lo
rd no,” Myron said. “Oh, initially they weren’t pleased when I wanted to do something besides work in the family business, but they understood my desire to strike out on my own. In fact, I’ve been having Father invest some of my money over the years. He thinks my business of choice quite ironic.”
“Why is that?” Orville asked.
Myron laughed again. “Because it’s whispered in our family that great-great-grandfather Dupree, on my fraternal grandmother’s side, was a privateer.”
Fannie chuckled. “Don’t you mean a pirate?”
Myron’s eyes twinkled in appreciation of her forthright manner.
“Why yes, Fannie, I suppose that I do.”
Then he laughed again, and this time Fannie felt it all the way to her toes, while Orville frowned.
“I see nothing humorous about thievery,” he muttered.
“Of course you don’t,” Fannie stated, and set the bowl of cobbler at her father’s place. “Enjoy,” she added, and handed him a spoon.
Then she gave Myron his cobbler, laid the spoon neatly beside the bowl and stifled a giggle when he winked.
Myron quickly scooped up the first bite and then moaned in ecstasy as the tastes exploded on his tongue.
“Absolutely delicious,” he said, chewing and talking at the same time.
Fannie ignored the faux pas in manners to bask in her moment of glory.
“Thank you, Mr…” She stopped, blushed, and corrected herself. “Thank you, Myron. I’m pleased you enjoy it.”
Orville was decidedly uncomfortable with their constant byplay of flirtatious remarks, and tapped his spoon against his cup to infer his displeasure.
Fannie glared at her father, yet maintained a cordial tone to her voice. “Is there something you need?”
“I would like some more cream on my cobbler,” Orville said.
“Here, man, serve yourself,” Myron said, and shoved the cream pitcher toward Orville’s bowl. Then he waved his spoon at Fannie. “Aren’t you having any? It’s quite good, you know.”
“Why yes, thank you, I believe I will,” Fannie said, secretly enjoying being the center of attention, and left her father to add his own cream.
Orville sputtered and snuffed about, muttering beneath his breath, and shoved the cream pitcher away without adding any to his dessert.
Fannie had just seated herself and was chewing her first bite when a knock sounded on the door. Almost instantly, she realized it was probably Harley, and suffered first a moment of panic, before reality set in. The meal that she’d just shared with Myron had been more fun than she’d ever had with Harley in their two years of courtship.
When the knock sounded again, she arched an eyebrow at Orville.
“Father? Are you going to answer the door… or shall I?”
Orville shoved his bowl aside and stood up. “You know who it is,” he said cryptically.
“Was that a question or a statement?” Fannie asked.
Orville tossed down his napkin and stomped out of the room.
Myron swallowed the bite he was chewing then laid down his spoon.
“Is something wrong?”
Fannie shrugged. “Not from my perspective.”
“Then who’s at the door?”
“Well, since it is Wednesday, it’s most likely Harley. It’s the only day other than at church on Sunday that I ever see him. The rest of the time I believe he is frequenting your place… and your women.”
Myron’s face reddened. He wasn’t aware that Fannie knew of Harley’s rather public indiscretions.
“They’re not actually my women. They consider themselves self-employed and I’m sorry,” he said, and laid his hand over Fannie’s clenched fist.
“Why?” she said. “It’s certainly not your fault he doesn’t really care for me.”
Myron frowned. “That’s not the first time you’ve implied that.
“It wasn’t an implication, it was the truth,” Fannie said.
Myron leaned back, fixing Fannie with a curious look.
“Do you care for him?” he asked.
Fannie didn’t answer.
Myron persisted.
“You’re promised to him, aren’t you?”
“My father introduced us. My father is the one who brought up Harley’s intentions. My father is the one who set a date. If the preacher hadn’t died, I would already be a married woman.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Myron said.
“I don’t know what I feel, but I know what I want,” she snapped, and then stood up and walked away from the table.
Myron followed her to the back door, and when she would have gone outside, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
Fannie froze. It was the first time she’d ever been touched so intimately by any man other than her father. She should have been reminding him of his boldness, but instead she was surprised to discover how much she liked it.
“Fannie…”
“What?”
“What do you want? Tell me.”
She turned, and the words spilled out before she thought.
“I want what every woman wants. I want a husband who loves me. I want children, and in the years to come, grandchildren.” Then her voice softened until it was barely a whisper. “I don’t want to grow old and die alone.”
Myron knew just how she felt. It was an echo of his own sentiments.
“Fannie, dear… I—”
“What the hell is going on here?”
They both turned. The anger in the question was impossible to ignore as was the indignation on Harley Charles’s face.
“Fannie! I would like to know why you think this behavior is acceptable.”
“What behavior?” Fannie asked. “We just finished a meal. Everyone eats. Would you care for some food? There are plenty of leftovers.”
Harley doubled up his fists.
“I don’t want to eat. I want to know why my fiancé is keeping company with another man.”
Fannie put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said. “I’ll tell you after you tell me.”
Harley frowned. “Tell you what?”
“Well, I’ll tell you why Myron was having supper with us, if you’ll explain your behavior with a certain woman at Mr. Griggs’ saloon.”
Harley’s face turned three shades of red before he went pale. He stared first at Myron, then at Orville, who’d just entered the room before meeting Fannie’s gaze.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputtered.
Fannie frowned. “You mean you don’t know that you’ve been paying money to a woman for her favors? Somehow I find that ridiculous. Now you’re going to try and tell me that you’ve been doing it all in your sleep… that you’re sleepwalking when you visit Griggs’ saloon?”
“No, that’s not what I was saying at all,” Harley shouted, and then doubled up his fists and started for Myron. “It’s all your fault. You’ve been talking out of turn and—”
Fannie threw the pitcher of clotted cream in Harley’s face, which succeeded in stopping him dead in his tracks.
“You have ignored my feelings, and because I was raised to be a lady, I let it slide. You treat your horse better than you treat me, but because I was raised not to question men’s decisions, I pretended not to know. But you, Sir, do not insult my intelligence. No one had to tell me what you’re doing. I have eyes, and despite what you obviously believe, I also have feelings. I do not wish to be your fiancé anymore and since you never bothered to give me a ring, then I have nothing to fling back in your face but my words. Get out, Harley. I don’t want to see you again.”
Orville’s heart fluttered. He also had visions of dying dreams. If there was no marriage, then his plans for Henrietta Lewis were over.
“Fannie! You can’t be serious!” Orville cried.
Harley blanched. Visions of owning Widow Taggert’s land began to fade.
“No, Fannie,
you can’t,” Harley muttered, and reached for Fannie’s arm.
“Get out,” she said.
Harley grabbed her.
Myron grabbed Harley.
“Turn her loose,” Myron said.
Harley sneered. “What is this? Surely you’re not trying to pretend that you care for her, too?”
Fannie’s face flushed with embarrassment. Pretend? Dear God, how much more humiliated could she be?
“I don’t have to pretend,” Myron said. “She’s a fine figure of a woman and a man would be proud to call her his wife.”
“Wife?” Harley said, and then laughed as he looked at Orville. “How much did you pay him? More than me, I’d say for him to be so vehement.”
Fannie gasped. Paid? No, it could not be.
“Father! Please say this isn’t so.”
Orville couldn’t meet her gaze.
Fannie would have turned and fled the room had Myron not stopped her intent.
“No,” he said, and then softened his voice. “Please. Stay.”
Fannie sat down with a thump and covered her face with her hands.
Harley turned his anger and disappointment into rage as he struck out at Myron.
Myron took a step back, ducked the swing and then hit Harley square in the nose with his fist. Blood spurted. Harley grabbed his nose.
“Oh! Oh! You boke by dose.”
“Yes, I expect I did,” Myron said. “Now apologize to Miss Smithson.”
Harley glared at Fannie. “Frr whud?”
Myron hit him again, this time in the mouth.
Harley screeched and then spit two teeth out in his hand.
“Oh! Oh! You boke by teed.”
“And I shall next break your balls if you do not apologize to Miss Smithson at once.”
Harley moaned and clutched his private parts.
“Bannie… I’b zorry,” he mumbled, then spit out another tooth before turning on Orville. “Id’s ober, bud ju dodn’t get jur bunny back.”
Orville frowned. “Bunny? What bunny?”
Harley started backing out of the room, still holding his balls.