Rimfire Bride

by Sara Luck

  “Oh my! Was anyone hurt?”

  “No, not even a scratch on anybody. Those cars could have all turned over you know, or worse, they could have telescoped. That’s when folks get hurt bad, and most often killed, when the cars telescope in on each other.”

  “It sounds like it was a miracle,” Jana said.

  “I think it was. They say only the tender turned over. Say, what picture do you want to paint today?” Mr. Watson withdrew a stretched canvas from under the counter.

  “I don’t think I’m going to paint today. Mrs. Watson asked me to translate a melodrama from German into English, so I’ll be doing that.”

  “Ah, yes, for the Reading Room. Well, since it’s Fern askin’ you to do it, go right ahead. But do change dresses at least a couple of times. You won’t have to do any selling on the floor today; far be it from me to get in the way of one of my wife’s projects.” Mr. Watson chuckled.

  Jana chose a comfortable morning wrapper to start the day. The marine-blue cashmere felt soft against her skin, and she hugged herself to feel the sensuousness of the fabric. The frog-looped gold braiding that stretched down the front from her neck to her hemline made her think of a uniform as she took her place in the window, and with the strong wind blowing, her perch was quite drafty. Before sitting, she rearranged her window, placing the table that held her art supplies in position as a desk.

  As she was moving the furniture, a passing gentleman quickly came to assist her. “Miss Hartmann, it ain’t fittin’ for a lady to be movin’ furniture, especially one as pretty as you are. Let me help ya.”

  “Why, thank you, sir.” Jana moved aside, letting him put her table in place. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you.”

  “Liam Flannery’s the name. I’ve been meanin’ to get meself over to the Custer, but the little woman, she don’t much want me to be doin’ that.” His face began to turn a shade of red as he looked toward his feet.

  “It’s good that you’ve got a good woman to take care of you, Liam, and thank you again for helping me.”

  “Ma’am, ye could be a doin’ something to help me out, too, if you don’t think I’m a might too bold to be a askin’ ya such a thing.”

  “If it’s something I can do, I’ll be glad to help you. What do you need?”

  “I’m one of the lads that hold back the fiend, and we’re trying to raise some money to help the cause.”

  “The fiend? I don’t understand.”

  “Just look around ya. Bismarck’s pretty much a wooden town, and if a fire gets started, the whole town’s gone. That’s why me and the boys at the firehouse call fire the fiend. Once it gets started, it’s hard to stop it.”

  “I see. I’ll be happy to donate to that cause.” Jana turned toward the store.

  “No, no. I don’t want money, least not your money as such. It’s the dance. The one on Thanksgiving night. We’re raising money to help pay the standin’ reward. The first team that gets to the firehouse when the alarm bell rings gets a whole ten dollars, and that’s real money.”

  “Oh, Mr. Flannery, I don’t think I can give you ten dollars.”

  “No, no, the boys think ye’d be the one that raises the most money, if you took a turn in the—the, aw shucks, Miss Hartmann, the kissing booth.”

  “The kissing booth?” Jana gasped.

  “I tol’ ’em ye wouldna do it. Ye was a finer lady than that.” Liam turned to leave, knocking over a chair.

  “No, wait.” Jana righted the chair. “I’ve never been asked to do something like that before. Thanksgiving’s just a couple days away, so let me think about it for a while.”

  “That’s fair enough. If you show up at the dance, I’ll take it ye thought about it and said yea to me askin’, and if ye don’t come, there’s no harm done.”

  “I agree. That’s fair enough.”

  Jana smiled as she watched Liam walk down the street. She was thankful he had left her a graceful way out of the dilemma he had set for her. No way was she going to a dance. First of all, she had never been to a dance in her whole life, and second, she would not go alone. Though not brought up in a social environment, she certainly knew that a single woman who wanted any kind of a reputation did not attend a social function alone. And to be asked to participate in a kissing booth?

  As she thought about it, she laughed out loud. She—the woman the firemen thought would bring the most money at a kissing booth. What would they pay if they knew she could winnow mowed hay with the best of them, or shock corn as fast as any man in Madison County, Illinois? Or even better, what would someone pay for a kiss from her if they saw her in a butcher shop behind “the Yards” stuffing wurst in casings? And now, some people were looking down their noses at her for displaying herself in a store window to sell fancy clothes, or, even worse, living in the Custer Hotel.

  Drew Malone. He was one of those people. I’ve never known a woman to stay there. That’s for railroad workers and transient army officers. It’s not a place for a woman. Those were his words.

  Maybe she would go to the dance and be a part of the kissing booth. Surely the dapper Mr. Malone and his darling wife, Elfrieda, would come to a charity dance to benefit the firemen. He had wanted to kiss her for free on the night of the election. Let him pay for the privilege.

  When Drew went to work the next morning, he saw a new picture on the wall, a painting of a wheat field with a homesteader’s shack in the background. One lone tree shaded the house, and colorful clothing fluttered on a wire stretched from the house to the tree, while a woman dressed in a white waist and a dark skirt surveyed the scene. The woman’s hair was just a shade darker than the ripened wheat, and the tall, willowy figure reminded him of someone but he couldn’t immediately place who it was.

  “How do you like the new picture?” Frank asked.

  “It’s very nice.” Drew examined it more closely. “It’s more than very nice. It’s quite good. Where’d you get it?”

  Frank smiled. “I bought it from a local artist.”

  “A local artist?” Drew shook his head. “I didn’t know we had somebody this talented living in Bismarck. Who is he?”

  Frank laughed. “What makes you think it’s a he?”

  “You’re right, I was making an assumption.”

  “An assumption, my learned friend, that you would never make in a courtroom, as it is not supported by fact.”

  “Touché,” Drew said. “All right, who’s the artist?”

  “Jana Hartmann.”

  “What?” Drew was surprised by the answer. “You mean the woman . . .”

  “Who works for Walter Watson. Yes, that’s exactly who I mean.”

  “Well, how did you come by this painting? How’d you know she did such a thing?”

  “It’s not a big secret,” Frank said. “While she’s sitting in the window at Walter’s store in his fancy clothes, she’s started to paint pictures. Most of the time it’s fruit or flowers that she paints, but when I saw this one, I thought it would be appropriate for the office, seeing as how we probably handle more land-claim business than any other law firm in town. It’s sort of representative of the immigrant, don’t you think?”

  Drew touched the painting. “It’s really quite good, isn’t it? Where do you think Miss Hartmann learned to do this?”

  “I think there’s more to that lady than meets the eye. Caroline tells me Fern Watson’s got her translating a classic play from German to English for the Ladies’ Christian Union to present sometime soon. And besides all this stuff, with working for Walter and all, she’s helping her sister serve meals in the saloon over at the Custer.”

  “No doubt she’s making a lot of connections,” Drew said, thinking of her work with the woman who called herself Little Casino.

  “Evidently, she is. I know that Walter has been just real pleased with her.”

  “So”—Drew rubbed his hands together—“do I have some work piled up?”

  “You do indeed. You’ve been off pla
yin’ cowboy for two weeks, but maybe that will come in handy. Have you ever heard of the Marquis de Morès?”

  “No, I can’t say that I have.”

  “He’s someone you’ll probably get to know quite well. He’s a French nobleman, married to the daughter of a wealthy American. He’s contacted the Northern Pacific about finding a tract of land for him, and they’ve contacted us because of you.”

  “Me? What do I have to do with all this?

  “Because of Rimfire, or that’s what the NP said, but I think the real reason is because of your father. This de Morès fellow intends to do things on a grand scale, and the Northern Pacific is just making sure he can get to a high muck-a-muck if he needs help from Congress.”

  “Well, that’s just hunky-dory! That’s all I need. To play nursemaid to some European dandy who thinks he’s a bigwig. Especially now, when I’ve decided to . . .”

  “When you’ve decided to do what?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Drew went into his office and closed the door.

  Drew put in a full day of work, much of it in pouring over section maps, putting together a suitable piece of land for the marquis, whose full name was Antoine-Amédée-Marie-Vincent Manca de Vallombrosa, Marquis de Morès.

  On a whim, Drew decided to drop in at the Custer Hotel Saloon. He had not visited the saloon since Addie’s death, and from the moment he entered, the change in the atmosphere was noticeable.

  The last time he was here, it had been filled with railroad workers, riverboat hands, and soldiers from Fort Lincoln. He recognized a few of the railroad employees who had stayed behind once the building of the track had advanced farther west, and he saw a couple of riverboat captains who were wintering over in Bismarck. In addition, there were some military officers from Fort Lincoln. When he had been here before, only the enlisted men had been customers.

  Before, the atmosphere had been loud and often crude, but the demeanor of the customers now was as refined as if it were a gentlemen’s club. Drew saw two women present, Jana and another woman, who looked so much like Jana that he would have guessed the two were sisters, even if he didn’t already know that she had a sister.

  The two women were standing behind a table covered with a red-and-white-checked tablecloth. Jana was ladling soup into a bowl, and her sister was cutting off pieces of freshly baked bread, its aroma wafting throughout the saloon. A line of amiable men were filing by the women.

  Drew joined the line and watched as Jana interacted with the men, smiling and calling most of them by name. She seemed to have some personal comment for just about everyone. When he got to the table, he picked up an empty bowl and held it out toward Jana, a big smile on his face. He wondered what her reaction to him would be when she saw him.

  But if he had expected a joyous welcome, he was mistaken. The expression on Jana’s face changed immediately, and she didn’t speak at all.

  “Ah, Kartoffelsuppe. I love potato soup. Elfrieda makes it often,” Drew said to cover the awkwardness.

  “I hope it measures up to what you’re used to,” Jana said curtly.

  Drew found her action puzzling because, to the very next man, she was as friendly as she had been before Drew approached her. Her reaction was quite clearly intended just for him.

  Jana’s sister, on the other hand, flashed a bright smile as she sliced off a big piece of bread. “You’re a newcomer.”

  “I am. And you must be Jana’s sister.”

  “Yes, I’m Greta, but you know Jana?” Greta looked toward her sister with a questioning look.

  “My name is Drew Malone, and I had the pleasure of meeting her very soon after you arrived.”

  “Oh, yes, you’re the one who helped Jana get her job.”

  “I did,” Drew said, looking back toward Jana.

  “Sir, we have others waiting to be served,” Jana said. “Will you please take a seat? If you’d like something to drink, you can get it at the bar.”

  Drew was puzzled. Why was she making it a point to be unfriendly toward him when she was so friendly to everyone else? If she was really working for Little Casino, maybe, because he was a lawyer, she saw him as a threat.

  Drew found a table and ate his potato soup, all the while keeping an eye on Jana. If he had come here to talk to her, he certainly wasn’t making any headway. As he watched her with the other men, he saw a warm, open woman, but with him it had been so different. What could he possibly have done to her?

  The last man was served and Greta came to remove bowls and glasses from a table near Drew.

  “Miss Hartmann, the soup and the bread were both delicious. Which did you make?”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Malone. I did both, but I am not Miss Hartmann. I am Greta Kaiser.”

  “Oh,” Drew said, his eyebrows rising inquiringly, “is there a Mr. Kaiser or perhaps a Mr. Hartmann?”

  Greta laughed. “There is a Mr. Kaiser, but he’s my father, and there was a Mr. Hartmann, but he passed when Jana was three years old.”

  “Well, that’s useful information.”

  “That’s a strange comment, Mr. Malone. How do you plan to use that information?” Greta asked, striking a coquettish pose.

  “Oh, miss, I meant nothing by it,” Drew said hurriedly. “I was just thinking about Tom McGowan. He must be well pleased with what you’re doing for his business, and I’m sure having two unmarried, exceptionally attractive women is a big draw for his clientele.”

  This time Greta laughed infectiously. “I’m sure Hank Thompson is very glad we’re both not married. He loses a lot of sleep when he has to look out for us. If Jana doesn’t get home when he thinks she should, or if I have to go to the greenhouse to pick up some produce, he almost sets a watch on us.”

  “Don’t sell Hank short,” Drew said, picking up on Greta’s banter. “A seventy-two-year-old man can still enjoy the scenery.”

  Jana, observing Greta’s exchange with Drew, wanted to make certain her sister knew just what kind of man he was.

  “What does Elfrieda think about you taking your supper here?” Jana asked as she approached the table to refill Drew’s glass of water.

  “What does Elfrieda think?” Drew chuckled. “I don’t know. She’s probably just as glad that she only had to prepare supper for the boys.”

  “That seems a strange way for a wife to act.”

  “A wife?” Drew replied, puzzled. Then, suddenly he laughed out loud. “Jana, you think Elfrieda is my wife?”

  “I rather assumed she was. Of course, I’ve never met your wife, so I don’t really know who she is.”

  The smile left Drew’s face. “You’ve never met my wife, Jana, because . . .” Drew paused. “I don’t have a wife. She was killed two years ago in July. Elfrieda Considine is my live-in housekeeper and nanny rolled into one.”

  “Oh!” Jana gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. “Forgive me for . . . oh, I’m so embarrassed. I feel like such a—”

  “There’s no need for that,” Drew interrupted. “Because Addie’s death was such a public event, I forget that not everyone knows what happened to her.”

  “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. When Frank told me you and your two sons had gone to the Badlands, I assumed you were . . .”

  “Is that what this is all about?” Drew took Jana’s hand in his.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You mean you don’t know you’ve been ignoring me?”

  “Oh, that.” Jana lowered her eyes and a grin overtook her features.

  “Why don’t you join me?” Drew rose to pull out a chair for her.

  “I should help Greta,” Jana said, looking toward her sister.

  “You should help me do what? We’re out of soup, so that means we’re finished for the evening.” Greta picked up Drew’s bowl and turned away. “I’ll have Hank help me clean the dishes.”

  Jana slipped into the chair, and Drew sat beside her. When Jana really looked at him, his deep blue eyes seemed to burn into her consciousness as the gaslight caus
ed them to sparkle.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked.

  “The most obvious, I guess. What happened to her?”

  “It was the Fourth of July. She was walking home alone with the boys while I was going to watch a shooting match. Someone—it’s hard to say who—was shooting into the air, and when the bullet came down, it struck Addie. Within minutes she was dying in my arms.”

  “Oh, Drew, I am so sorry.”

  “It’s been hard, but it’s really been hard for Sam. He was four years old and he saw her die. Of course Benji did, too, but he doesn’t remember it. I’m not even sure if he remembers his mother at all, because he was barely two at the time.”

  “I’ll bet he does remember her, or at least when he sees a picture of her, there’s a memory.” Jana thought of the picture of her own father and mother that she had left back in Highland. “I was three when my father died, and I think I can remember him. At least I know about him because of the things my mother told me. Do you talk about her a lot with the boys?”

  “No. Not as much as I should. I guess I feel guilty for letting it happen. If I hadn’t left . . .”

  “If you hadn’t left, what? You just said there was no way of telling whose bullet hit her.”

  “You’re right. I just avoid talking about the whole thing as much as I can. While we’re clearing up conceptions we’ve had about one another, I have something I would like to ask you, if you don’t mind?”

  “Sure, if I can answer it.”

  “Do you work for Little Casino?”

  Now it was Jana’s turn to have a puzzled expression. “Little casino? What is a little casino?”

  “It isn’t a what, it’s a who.”