by Cindy Myers
“Are you kidding? I’d love it. At least with a show like that, I’d have a chance of being noticed. When we were growing up, everyone was focused on you; they completely ignored me.”
“That’s not true,” Shelly said. “You were always involved in something—cheerleading, then pageants and plays.” She had loved seeing Mindy command her parents’ attention for a change. Unlike Shelly, Mindy loved being the center of attention.
Mindy shook her head. “It didn’t matter how many beauty contests I won or plays I was in, I couldn’t hold anyone’s attention more than a few days,” she said. “They always zeroed back in on Baby Shelly. I finally gave up. At least by writing this book, I’ll get a big paycheck, and a chance to tell my side of the story.”
“You don’t need me for that.”
“You know that’s not true. No one wants to hear about me unless they get to hear about you first.”
“I’m sorry about that, then, but I can’t help you. I finally escaped that circus and I get to live a normal life. I won’t destroy that just so you can fatten your bank account.”
“Right. Just like always, it’s all about you.”
They had reached the library, so Shelly parked in the side lot, next to Tamarin’s Kia. There was no sense arguing with Mindy; she’d never see things differently. Then again, she’d been raised to see Shelly as the family meal ticket. Mindy had been a little kid, a baby even, while their mother was building up the Baby Shelly legend. Though the adult Mindy had been a willing player in what Shelly saw as the selling out of her sister, could Shelly really blame her for doing what she’d been led from birth to believe was right?
Mindy opened the car door to get out and Shelly put a hand on her arm. “Listen, I’m sorry this hasn’t been a better visit for you,” she said. “Even though I can’t help you with this book project, I want us to be friends again. I’m sorry I stayed away from you and I’ll try to be . . . more welcoming.”
Mindy looked wary. “Okay.”
“Can we start fresh?” Shelly asked.
Mindy shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.”
Not exactly an enthusiastic endorsement, but Shelly would take what she could get. “We’d better go in,” she said. “Cassie gets snippy when the meeting starts late.”
As it was, Shelly and Mindy were the last ones to arrive at the meeting, everyone else already in place around the conference table. Shelly braced herself for a dressing down from Cassie, but instead, the librarian greeted her with a big smile. “Shelly! It’s so good to see you,” she exclaimed. “I have some wonderful news to share with you.”
“Uh, sorry we’re late.” Shelly settled her tote bag on the table. “Everyone, this is my sister, Mindy. She’s in town visiting for a few days.”
“How nice.” Cassie’s eyes flickered to Mindy, then settled back on Shelly, like a bird fixed on a juicy bug, ready to pounce. Shelly suppressed a shudder. Cassie acting all chummy like this was even scarier than when she was on the warpath. At least when she was upset with you, you knew what to expect. Cassie tapped her little gavel on the table. “Everyone, take your seats and we’ll get started.”
Mindy sat in a chair along the wall, while Shelly settled into her customary position at Cassie’s right. Cassie stood at the head of the table, still beaming. The librarian smiled so seldom that seeing her with that expression now was unsettling. What was going on?
They dispensed with the minutes and the treasurer’s report in short order, then moved to new business. “Of course, the main topic for tonight’s meeting is the Founders’ Pageant,” Cassie said. “I’ve decided that this year we need to make the production even bigger and better. In light of that, you’ll see I’ve made some adjustments to the casting.”
Cassie handed around stacks of papers, which turned out to be new scripts, topped by a sheet marked Cast List.
“Cassie, we’ve already been rehearsing the old version for two weeks,” said Doug Raybourn, who had the starring male role as Cassie’s great-grandfather Festus. “You can’t just change things in midstream like this.”
“The changes don’t substantially affect your role,” Cassie said. “As for the others, I have confidence the cast will rise to the occasion.”
Shelly stared at her own name, just under Cassie’s on the list. Schoolteacher, suffragette and pioneer Hattie Sanford, played by Shelly Frazier. She flipped through the pages of the script. As far as she could tell, this Hattie character was in every scene. “Cassie, what is this?” she asked.
“Who is Hattie Sanford?” Doug asked. “I never heard of her.”
“There wasn’t a real Hattie Sanford,” Cassie said. “Consider her a composite. She’s representative of the type of women who made this town great.”
Mindy snorted, but quickly composed her expression when Cassie looked her way.
“I appreciate the compliment, but I really don’t want such a prominent role,” Shelly said. “Maybe someone from the drama society could take it.”
“But I wrote the part especially for you,” Cassie said. “And I’ve already ordered the posters and playbills printed, with you listed as costar.”
“You’re giving up top billing?” Doug asked. He waggled his eyebrows at Shelly. “What have you got on Cassie?”
“I really don’t want to do this.” Shelly pushed the script away. She’d only agreed to take the small role she had—as one of the townswomen—because it wasn’t a speaking part. It only required her to stand on stage, wearing a period costume, and cheer when Festus Wynock gave his speech about founding a new town.
“It’s too late to back out now,” Cassie said. “If you do, you’ll be letting down the whole town.”
Shelly tried to think of a way to point out that she couldn’t very well be backing out of something she had never agreed to in the first place, but Cassie was already plowing ahead. “I’ve scheduled the next rehearsal for this Friday at seven. We’ll meet every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening until the premiere Saturday during the festival. The initial costume fittings are next Friday.”
“Cassie, no!” Shelly stood, her chair scraping back. “I can’t do this. I’m not an actress. It’s too big a commitment.” The last thing she wanted was everyone staring at her while she stumbled through her lines.
“Oh, go ahead and do it,” Mindy said, leafing through the script. “You’re in pretty much every scene, and you’ve got some great lines. Listen to this: ‘Eureka should set an example of equal suffrage. A vote for women is a vote for peace and prosperity.’ ”
Cassie applauded. “Excellent. You can help your sister prepare for the role.”
Mindy beamed. “She hasn’t had any training, the way I have, but I could probably teach her a few tricks.”
“Why are you so determined for me to have a part in this play?” Shelly asked. “Why now?”
“We want to draw attention to the Founders’ Pageant,” Cassie said. “We want people to realize that what’s most important about the festival isn’t brutes pounding hammers at metal drills, but about the men and women who brought a civilizing influence to the region. What better way to do that, than to feature a woman who has survived tragedy and come back stronger?”
“What the heck are you talking about?” Doug asked. He looked at Shelly. “What tragedy?”
“Yeah, what tragedy?” Tamarin’s expression was a mixture of hurt and accusation.
“Cassie’s talking about Baby Shelly,” Mindy said. She waved away the horrified look Shelly directed at her. “There’s no sense keeping it a secret anymore. My sister is the golden-haired toddler who was trapped underground for five days, twenty-five years ago. The whole world went gaga over her, but she’s been hiding out for the last ten years, so everyone’s crazy to know what happened to her.”
“When word gets out, I’m sure we’ll have an influx of visitors to town,” Cassie said. “The timing couldn’t be better to garner attention for the pageant.”
They were talking about Shelly as if she wa
sn’t standing right there; she might have been back in Texas, listening to her parents debate the best way to slant her story this year. Should they play up her bravery in overcoming the handicap that lingered from her time underground, or emphasize how the transformative experience of her rebirth at such a tender age had made her kinder and more mature than the average teen? “But I don’t have a handicap,” Shelly had protested, but her mother told her to shut up. She didn’t have to actually show a scar to reporters in order for them to believe she’d been somehow permanently marked.
“No,” she said, loudly enough that they all stopped talking and turned to stare at her. “I won’t do it. You can’t force me.” Then she turned and fled, before her tears fell and made her look more foolish. All her worst fears were already coming true. People no longer looked at her and saw Shelly Frazier, wife, mom, and friend. Instead, they saw Baby Shelly, someone they could manipulate and use for their own gain.
She’d hoped Eureka would be different, a place where she could live an ordinary, normal life. But there wasn’t anything normal or ordinary about what was happening now. People wanted to relive the glory of her rescue, but couldn’t they see that every time they did that, they were putting her back underground again?
As places went, goat herder Daisy Mott sized up Eureka as a pretty fair town. Touristy, but what place in the mountains wasn’t these days? When scenery was the only thing you had to sell, you had to accept that survival depended on catering to visitors, who enjoyed the view then moved on.
When she’d called Thursday morning, the mayor, Lucille, had been as honest and straightforward as Daisy herself, admitting up front that Daisy won the bid because she was the only person who could stomach their low rates. The mayor had offered her a shady spot at the back of the town park, and permission to plug into power at the storage shed. Daisy had agreed to arrive Friday and sure enough, a crew of two young men had been waiting when she pulled up. Right now they were setting up the plastic posts and electric wire that would keep her twenty-five brown, black, and white goats from eating the lilac bushes or wandering into the street.
“How does that look, ma’am?” The younger of the two workers hefted the mallet he’d been using to pound in the stakes onto his broad shoulder and looked back at her.
“It’ll be fine,” she said. “Alice does most of the work of keeping them out of where they don’t belong.”
At the sound of her name, the blue-eyed Australian shepherd pricked up her ears and wafted her plumed tail back and forth. Her gaze stayed fixed on Daisy as she moved to the rear of the trailer where the goats kicked and bleated impatiently.
“Do you want us to move those picnic tables out of the way?” the young man asked.
“No. The girls will eat around them.” And they’d enjoy climbing on the tables, though she thought it best not to mention this. She lifted the latch on the trailer door. “You might want to stand back now. They’re anxious to see their new home.”
The man eyed the trailer apprehensively and took three steps back. Daisy swung the gate open and the first of the herd trotted down the ramps she’d set up earlier, into Ernestine Wynock Park—or so the sign at the entrance identified the place, although the mayor and everybody else she’d talked to just called it “the town park.”
Sophia led the way, her long snout extended to catch the whiff of green grass and flowers, followed by Belle and Sassy and Kate and all the other does in the herd, some with kids gamboling at their sides. Alice ran back and forth alongside and around the herd, barking and sometimes snapping to keep a wayward goat in line. Sophia stopped about halfway into the area, put her head down, and began to eat. The others followed suit.
“Well I’ll be damned.” The young worker removed his cap and scratched his head. “They go right to work, don’t they?”
“When they’ve had enough to eat, they lie down and chew their cud,” Daisy said. “Then they get up and eat some more. In three days, there won’t be a weed left in this park.”
“Anything that saves me from chopping and digging the things is good news,” the young man said. “If you need anything, just call the mayor and she’ll get somebody over to help you.”
“Thanks, but I doubt I’ll have to bother her. Alice and I have been doing this a while now, and we seldom have any trouble.”
The young man and his older helper left in a rusting green pickup with TOWN OF EUREKA stenciled in fading black letters on the driver’s door. Daisy unhooked a broom from the side of the trailer and stepped in to sweep out the scattered hay and droppings the girls had distributed on the drive over from the San Luis Valley.
Alice’s bark warned her that someone was approaching in time for her to look up and see an older man in canvas trousers, high black boots, and a buffalo plaid shirt picking his way among the herd, moving toward her. She paused in her sweeping and shaded her eyes with her hands. “I’d be careful, moving through the herd like that, mister,” she called. “Some of the girls don’t like strangers too close to their kids.”
“The day I’m afraid of a bunch of cud-chewing grass-eaters is the day they’d better take me out back and shoot me.” He glared at Kate, who’d sidled up beside him and was tugging at the pocket of his pants. Kate only tugged harder, until the old man swatted at her with his ball cap. “What’s she trying to do? Eat me?”
“They like the taste of detergent,” she said. “Though from the looks of those trousers, they haven’t had a close acquaintance with soap.”
“That’s rich, coming from a woman who’s up to her ankles in goat shit.” He moved closer. “What are you doing, stinking up the park with that?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m Bob Prescott.”
“Daisy Mott.” She looked him up and down, while he did the same to her. He was a little older than her, she guessed, something he’d figure out quickly enough, given the lines on her face and the white of her cropped curls. She’d never held with going out of her way to disguise the years she’d earned, though she liked a feminine touch here and there. She wore silver hoops in her ears and her western-cut plaid shirt was a soft shade of lavender, and sported ruffles on the yoke. “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, Bob, but I haven’t made up my mind about that yet.” She went back to her sweeping. “As for what I’m doing with this manure, it’s all part of my service, providing free fertilizer for the flowers.”
He stopped at the back of the trailer and turned to survey the goats, who had resumed mowing down weeds. “How long you been running this little scam of yours?”
“I’ve been renting out the herd for weed control for three years,” she said. “And as you can plainly see, they do eat weeds.”
“Hell of a way to make a living.” He spat into the dirt between his boots.
“As opposed to your job, which is apparently to hassle people who are working.”
“I manage the Lucky Lady gold mine.”
“Then shouldn’t you be off managing?” She swept the last of the manure so that it landed almost—but not quite—on top of him.
“I came to see what the city’s wasting my tax dollars on now.”
“Well, you’ve seen and you’ve made your opinion clear, so now you can leave.”
“What did you do before you got into the goat-wrangling business?”
She didn’t have to answer that question. Her personal story was none of his business. But, though she’d never admit it to him, she kind of enjoyed sparring with the old coot. A good argument kept the wits sharp. “My husband and I managed a ranch. But after he died, I decided I wanted to travel, see some new country. This allows me to do that.”
“What do you do in the winter?”
“I chop firewood and read novels.”
He stepped back and craned his neck to take in her truck and camper. “Nice rig you got there.”
“It suits me.”
“Maybe I’ll stop by later and you can cook me dinner.”
“Do that, and I�
�ll try to beat some sense into you with my frying pan.”
He grinned. “I like a feisty woman.”
“I despise men who call women feisty.”
“What if I buy you dinner instead?”
She set aside the broom and looked down on him. “First, you accuse me of being some kind of con artist, then you ask me out?”
“Do you want to go or not? The special tonight at the Last Dollar is chicken and dressing and it’s my favorite.”
It was her favorite, too. “What the heck. I won’t pass up a free meal. I’ll meet you there at six o’clock.”
“Make it six-thirty.”
“You just have to get in the last word, don’t you?”
“I figured I’d go home first and change pants. These have been gnawed on by goats.” He touched the brim of his hat in salute and sauntered away through the goats, whistling tunelessly.
Alice barked and raced up to greet Daisy as she jumped down from the trailer. “I don’t know what to think of him either, girl,” Daisy said as she watched Bob Prescott’s retreating figure. “But I think our stay in Eureka just got a little more interesting.”
Chapter 9
“Oh my goodness, look how big you’ve gotten!” Danielle scooped Angela out of Maggie’s arms almost as soon as mother and daughter stepped into the doorway of the Last Dollar late Friday afternoon. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing? I could eat you all up.” She buried her face against the child’s neck, making snorting noises.
Angela gurgled and grinned and reached up for the gold hoops Danielle wore in her ears. “Watch out.” Maggie grabbed her daughter’s chubby fist. “She’s fascinated by jewelry these days.”