Lorraine laid a hand on each side of her face. “We were so stupid, it’s a wonder we didn’t kill him but, thank the Lord, we didn’t. I get cold chills remembering, though. I had a slingshot and my cousin had shown me how to use it until I was good. I shot a rock at Horace that knocked him out. Remembering the thud and him falling still makes me shiver.”
“Like David and Goliath?”
“Yes, but remember Goliath died. I’m thankful Horace didn’t.”
“Is that all?”
Lorraine shook her head. “We slid a flour sack over his head—it no longer had flour in it but wasn’t particularly clean. Then we stuffed his feet into a cotton sack and pulled it up until he was inside. I don’t know if you’ve seen those, but they’re long and narrow and cotton pickers drag them along as they fill them.”
Didamia nodded. “I’ve picked cotton and know exactly what you mean.”
“We’d already wound a chain around a tree limb. We hooked a rope through the sack’s handle and over the limb. Then we tugged until we had him high enough to slip onto a large hook at the chain’s end. Believe me, that boy was heavy but we couldn’t ask for help. Then just like in the penny dreadfuls, we took switches and brushed out our footprints so no one could tell who’d been there.”
Didamia chuckled. “I can picture two fancy-dressed girls swishing out your tracks. Where did you get the chain and the cotton sack?”
“Ahhh, we stole them from Horace’s dad. He kept them in a storage building behind their house. We used stuff from their property so no one would know we were involved.”
“How long was he up there?”
“A couple of hours. We’d practiced on ourselves. Remember, he was strong. We thought he would wake up and rip off the flour sack then climb out of the cotton sack, but he didn’t. He wasn’t tied up or anything but he was much larger than us. I suppose the sack’s width kept him prisoner.
“He stayed there yelling for help until we didn’t know what to do. We couldn’t give ourselves away yet we couldn’t leave him there alone. About the time we were going to abandon our hiding place and go for help, other children heard him and went for his father. By then, he’d wet himself and the other children saw the stain. They never let him forget either.”
Didamia appeared to relax. “So the bully became the victim after that? I hate bullies and it serves him right to get a taste of the way he treated others.”
“I hope he was the better for his experience but I’m still embarrassed and sorry for my part. Now that we’re old enough to realize all the terrible things that could have happened, Katie and I have been horrified at our actions. We’ve never told anyone until I just told you.”
Didamia grinned. “All I can say is I hope you never get mad at Vic and me.”
Lorraine held up a hand as if swearing a vow. “Don’t worry, I’m reformed.”
“One of the things that attracted me to Vic is that in spite of his size, he’s gentle.”
“Rachel said he has a good sense of humor, too.”
Didamia looked at the cover of Frank Leslie’s Magazine. “I’m willing to bet what you wrote in here is nothing like the story you just told me.”
“Not even close. That’s a fictionized account of the men who ambushed and slaughtered the soldiers and then tried to rob our bank. Knowing that, see if you think any reader would know where the events happened.”
Didamia still stared at the magazine in her hands. “I’d at least like to read your story, even if Vic and I decide not to tell you ours.”
“That’s your copy. Rachel already has hers and I have more for Margaret, Ruby, Lupe, and Zillah. I hope you’ll agree to tell me your history, but whether you do or not, I’m still your friend, Didamia. You’re an amazing person and I would never do anything to damage our friendship.”
A smile chased away facial lines and set Didamia’s blue eyes sparkling. “You know words to soothe a body. I’ll think about what you asked and will tell you soon. Right now, I have to get home and fix Vic’s dinner.” She stood and walked toward the front.
Lorraine accompanied her. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you tea or lemonade. I haven’t been able to come up with a way to have tea, coffee, or lemonade here.”
People relaxed with a cup of tea or glass of lemonade or cider. Sharing food helped too. The sheriff might have enjoyed a cup of coffee.
Didamia opened the door. “I came here to see you, not because I was thirsty.”
For a few seconds, Lorraine watched her friend walk toward the freight office and the guards’ homes. With a sigh, she put the “Back in a Moment” sign up and locked the door. She hurried to the outhouse, hoping it would be at least halfway sanitary.
Chapter Six
At lunch, she walked to the café and purchased the roast beef dinner. Buying her lunch took most of what she’d make for the day, but she wanted to experience what eating out on her own was like. People smiled and many greeted her. They acted as if they knew who she was and those who commented made clear they knew she was working for Grant.
Her food was delicious. She noticed a lot of the business owners dined there so this would be a good place to speak to them. Except, she decided, she should let them eat in peace. She’d call on them later.
If she could increase advertisers, perhaps Grant would reconsider his opinion of her usefulness at the paper. She’d made a list of businesses and the possible targets of their advertisements. Last night she’d come up with the idea of a sale that would last all month. If only she could interest others in the plan.
As soon as she finished her meal, she set out to visit potential advertisers for the remaining half-hour of her break. Rustling up her confidence, she opened the door to speak with Mr. Horowitz, the butcher.
***
At Lydia’s that evening, Lorraine sat between Rachel and Prudence at supper.
Rachel opened her napkin across her lap. “How did things go with Didamia?”
Lorraine had finally let her friends know she wrote stories. “She was upset at first and I had to reassure her that I hadn’t pretended to be her friend. She came back this afternoon and spent three hours relating her life story. She’s an even more amazing woman than I realized.”
“Come on, tell me.”
Shaking her head, Lorraine picked up her fork. “You’ll have to wait for the story to be published. I’ll admit to being excited about it. I’m eager to complete it and get it mailed to the magazine.”
Prudence leaned in from her other side. “Maybe you should wait and make a book of the series.”
“To tell the truth, I’ve thought of that. I’m only signing over my first rights. That means the story belongs to me and I can reuse it, but only after it’s appeared in the magazine. I learned the hard way to negotiate those rights.”
Prudence stabbed a bite of potato. “I figured coming up with the stories was difficult, but I never dreamed about the other parts of writing.”
Lorraine smiled at her friend. “Me either. It’s been a learn-as-you-go process for me. I love writing so much that I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.”
Rachel nudged her. “How about marrying and having a family?”
She sighed wistfully. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? I guess that’s what each of us hopes for, except for Josephine—one of the first to marry.”
They joined in laughter.
That night, Lorraine had trouble falling asleep. No matter how hard she tried to rest, Didamia’s story filled her mind. Giving up, Lorraine rose and gathered her writing materials. Tiptoeing downstairs, she set her things on the small desk in the parlor then lit the lamp.
She resumed writing where she’d left off earlier. Pages and pages later, she finished. Slowly, she reread the story from the beginning to the end. After addressing an envelope, she slid the papers inside. Tomorrow before she went to the office, she’d stop by Didamia’s house and leave the article for her and Vic to approve before she maile
d it. Lorraine was confident the two would enjoy their personal narrative.
The grandfather clock struck three. She gathered her belongings and hurried to her room. She had only a few hours in which to get rested for the coming day.
***
Before and after work, she spoke to those businessmen who were still open. She spent the bulk of her lunch hour speaking to the others. Most of those she contacted agreed to give advertising a month’s trial.
On Friday, she distributed the week’s Tarnation Gazette edition Grant had printed early. People were surprised to see the paper since almost everyone knew he was at the fort.
Lorraine called at the hotel desk. “Hello, Lemuel. Do you have Mr. Pettigrew’s wires?”
Lemuel Gamble, owner of the Traveler’s Rest Hotel had insisted she call him by his first name. “He has a handful plus there’s one for you.”
“I’ve never received a telegram.” She quickly opened the message.
Office early Wednesday. Stop.
His telegram tickled her. “When he has to pay by the word, he keeps the message short. I’m surprised he can afford all these from New York.”
Lemuel rubbed at his chin. “Well, you see, I ’spect them New Yorkers worked out a special rate. That’s what I’d of done. Pettigrew pays those folks a monthly fee and they keep a certain amount of the news coming this way.”
“I’m impressed he can include as many current news stories as he does. Guess I’ll take this lot to the office for him. Thank you.”
“You take care now, Miss Stuart.” Lemuel resumed reading the latest edition of the Gazette.
By the time Grant came to work on Wednesday, she would have the advertising campaign set. Surely that would encourage him to keep her working for him. She wrote stories when possible but she needed a job to break up the days. This one would help her get better acquainted with Grant. Perhaps he might even come to depend on her.
Of the men she’d met—both here and in Virginia—Grant Pettigrew was the only one who made her pulse flutter. Why did he have to be as stubborn as a mule? She was determined to win his admiration as well as convince him she was an asset at his precious Gazette.
He must at least have enjoyed talking with her or he wouldn’t have asked her to keep the office open while he was away. Would he? He could have asked any of the other women staying with Lydia—except for Angeline and Josephine, who had taken other jobs right away.
Several of her new friends were already married. Would her turn come with Grant? Surely his entrusting her with the office meant he liked her and had confidence in her. That was hardly a proposal but hope blossomed inside her.
She wanted to throw up her hands and shout. Instead, she demurely walked to the Gazette and let herself inside. She was turning the Closed sign to Open when the sheriff stopped.
She opened the door for him. “Come in, Sheriff.”
He gestured over his shoulder. “Saw you coming from the hotel and wondered if you’ve heard from your boss.”
“He’ll be at work Wednesday.” She showed him the brief wire.
Adam chuckled. “Doesn’t waste words, does he?”
She stepped behind the counter, wishing again she had coffee to offer the sheriff. “Not when he’s paying per word.”
“I hear you’re doing all kinds of good with your advertising campaign. Grant’s going to be pleasantly surprised.”
That he’d heard surprised her. “You saying that is very encouraging. I hope he’s pleased with the results. I wanted to do something to help and he said I could solicit advertisers.”
He leaned against the counter. “That’s what keeps the paper going. How many do you have lined up for him?”
“Fifteen, counting those five who already have advertisements listed each week. Several of the new ones are likely only being good sports and may not choose to continue. They’re each booked in for a full month, though.”
“I’m impressed and I’m sure Grant will be.”
“I hope he’ll decide I’m an asset and ask me to continue working for him.” She could dream, at least.
“Well, I’ll be off on my rounds, Miss Stuart.” He tapped the brim of his western hat and left.
Once again Lorraine lined up the advertisement information, each business listed on a separate piece of paper. What would Grant think?
Chapter Seven
Wednesday morning, Lorraine’s apprehension had her worrying over each detail. Dressing carefully, she chose her dark green sprigged muslin dress to highlight her eyes. After she’d wound her auburn hair into a figure eight at her neck, she tied a ribbon in her hair.
Would she would be able to work now that Grant had returned? She’d have to at least explain about the marketing she’d done. Grant was bound to be grateful for all her hard work. After all, she’d brought in considerable new income for him—guaranteed for at least one month.
When she arrived at the newspaper office, he was standing at the counter. As she entered, he held up the stack of publicity she arranged.
He scowled. “What’s the meaning of all this?”
She hastened to stand beside him. “I wrote out the information quite clearly. They’re advertisements booked for June. I came up with the idea of monthly themes starting with summer for June. Then, in July there’d be patriotic slogans, in August the slogans would be about the heat, and so on through the year.”
He leaned both hands on the counter. “Where do you get off telling me how to run my business?”
She stared at him in astonishment. “But, Grant, I’m not telling you how to run your newspaper. You told me I could sell advertisements and that’s what I did. I thought you’d be pleased.”
He spit out, “Pleased? Pleased that you went up and down the street hawking wares like a . . . a—”
She narrowed her eyes. “Be very, very careful to choose your next words carefully, Grant Pettigrew.”
She advanced on him. “Do you remember telling me I could sell advertisements for this newspaper?”
He stepped back and nodded, surprise on his face.
She advanced again, punctuating her comments by poking her finger in his chest. “How can you be so rude? You are the most stubborn, inflexible, misogynist I have ever met. You have no appreciation for someone working hard to help you.”
“I-I—”
“Don’t think for one minute I will ever, ever lift a finger to help you again. You and your newspaper can rot for all I care.” She whirled and left, slamming the door behind her.
Recalling she had his key, she removed it from her purse and opened the door. “I won’t need this again.” She threw the key without being aware he had come toward the door and her missile hit him center of his forehead.
He called, “Miss Stuart? Wait….”
She didn’t. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if steam poured out her ears as she strode down the sidewalk. Her facial expression must have been a frightening sight because people she met on the boardwalk leaped out of her way. No matter, for she was in no mood for polite conversation.
Knowing herself, she had to get to her room quickly before her anger turned into tears, as it always did. Disappointment over her dreams’ burst bubble hit hard. What a fool she’d been to let herself weave a nice life with Grant Pettigrew at the center.
Would he have ever let her write for his newspaper? No, never.
Would he hire her as his advertising manager? No, never.
Would he want her for his life’s partner? No, never.
She let herself into Lydia’s home and slinked up the back stairs, hoping to avoid anyone else. When she got to her room, Prudence was sorting the herbs and poultices she used in healing. Lorraine leaned against the closed door and tears poured down her cheeks.
Prudence hurried to her and clasped her hand. “What on earth is wrong? I thought you’d be at the newspaper office impressing Grant Pettigrew with your amazing resourcefulness.”
Lorraine gulped. “H-He . . . he didn’t l
ike my ideas.” She plopped onto her side of the bed.
“How could he not?”
She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at her cheeks and eyes. “H-He accused m-me of haw-hawking my wares up and down the street.”
Prudence fisted her hands on her hips. “He what? I’ve a good mind to go down there and let him know what I think of him and his language. The nerve of that man!”
Lorraine lowered the handkerchief long enough to shake her head. “Wouldn’t make any difference. Lydia warned me he was slow to change. I should have realized implementing a campaign without his approval first would be dangerous.”
“But, he said you could get advertisers and you were helping him. Surely he can see that.”
“Apparently not.” She rose and poured cold water from the pitcher into the bowl on the washstand.
She splashed her face then dried it and looked in the mirror. “Oh, you can tell I’ve been crying.”
Prudence guided her to the bed. “Lie down. I have something to reduce the swelling.” She dabbled cream around Lorraine’s eyes. “Lie there quietly for ten minutes. I’ll lay this cool cloth over your forehead.”
Lorraine sighed, grateful for her roommate’s knowledge and care. “Knowing so much about herbs and medicine must be fulfilling.”
“Usually. There are people who don’t believe in my remedies and that creates problems.”
“You mean like that handsome doctor?”
Her friend snapped, “Exactly.”
Fighting another bout of tears, Lorraine wailed, “Oh, Prudence, we chose terrible men, didn’t we?”
“No, they’re nice men with terrible attitudes. I hope we’re smart enough to change the way they think about us and embrace the things important to us.”
Lorraine lifted the cloth from her eyes. “Do you really believe that’s possible?”
Lorraine Page 6