by Zina Abbott
Nissa sighed and turned away from the sheets hanging on the line. She chided herself for ruminating how life had turned sour for her. Complaining about what couldn’t be changed would not make things any better. It was best she focus on the good things life had brought her and be grateful.
One of life’s blessings tugged on her skirt. She looked down at her daughter, who gazed up with sad eyes.
“Mama, Sadie is sick. I need you to help me make her all better.”
Nissa smiled and stroked Molly’s fine hair, the color not far different than her own. She understood the hidden message behind her daughter’s claim. Left to play with her brother or entertain herself while Nissa washed laundry, the little girl craved more personal attention from her mother.
Nissa took the offered doll from her daughter’s hands and, assuming an expression of concern, checked the toy over thoroughly. “I think all she needs are kisses to make her better.” While Molly giggled, Nissa kissed Sadie in several places, including her fabric face, her button eyes and her yarn hair.
“I think Sadie’s Molly needs some kisses, too.” Molly’s soft chortles exploded into full-throated laughter as Nissa also kissed her daughter multiple times, and then handed the doll back to her.
“Mama, I’m going to the creek to sail my boat.”
Nissa looked over at her son. She watched as he waved a piece of flat kindling he had probably found from among her firewood. “No, you will not go to the creek just yet, Jamie. Let me dump this dirty wash water, and then we’ll go together.”
Jamie huffed with impatience. “But I can go by myself. I’m big enough.”
Nissa did not want her son to go off by himself. Besides there being strange men in town, some of whom might not be up to any good, there was the issue of a few trouble-making orphans who had no place to live and no adults to take care of them. Already, Jamie had been teased and close to a fist-fight with some boys older than him before she and another woman stepped in and shooed the boys away.
“No, young man, you will wait. If not, you may spend the rest of the day inside the shed. We’ll go when I say, and all three of us will stay together.”
Nissa ignored Jamie’s grumbling as she continued to straighten up her work area so it was ready for the next time she did laundry. She removed the clothes wringer from the edge of the tub of rinse water and stored it inside the shack. While the children stood at the corner of the building and watched, she hauled the first tub of used rinse water and took it to a grassy area next to the creek and dumped it. She prepared to heft the tub of dirty wash water on her hip to do the same when she heard a male voice behind her.
“Can I lift that for you, ma’am? If there’s someplace special you’d like me to take it, I’d be happy to.”
Nissa pulled her hands away from the tub and spun around to see who belonged to the unfamiliar voice. Before her stood a man not overly tall, but several inches taller than her, holding a bulging canvas bag. It was his barrel chest and the breadth of his shoulders that gave him the appearance of size and strength—a strength she might have found intimidating if she had not looked into friendly brown eyes set in the tan face beneath medium brown hair. His shirt, leather vest and leather hat with its wide brim marked him as a cattle rancher. She guessed him to be almost a decade older than she was.
Once she faced him, the man smiled wide enough to show his teeth. “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to startle you. My name’s Dallin Walsh. I’m staying here at the hotel until the horse auction. When I asked Mrs. Ames about getting some laundry done, she referred me to a Mrs. Stillwell. Have I found the right person?”
Self-conscious about the floppy-brimmed hat she wore to protect her face against the westerly sun, Nissa removed it and held it behind her back. She swallowed and found her voice. “Yes, sir, I’m Mrs. Stillwell. I’ll be happy to do your laundry. I believe I have enough sunlight I can get it washed and dried today.”
“No, Mama! You said we could go to the creek and sail my boat. We’ll never get to go if you wash clothes first.”
Nissa spun to face her son. “Hush, Jamie. Work first before play, remember? We’ll have time to go to the creek while Mr. Walsh’s clothes dry.”
“Aww!” Jamie stamped his foot and glared, first at Nissa, and then at Dallin.
“Young man, I’ll not tolerate your temper tantrums. You have embarrassed your mother and behaved rudely towards Mr. Walsh who has asked to do business with me. If you ever wish to be able to go to the creek to play, I expect an apology to Mr. Walsh right now!”
His head down, Nissa barely heard her son’s apology. “I’m sorry, Mr. Walsh.”
Chapter Five
D
allin watched the young woman, her reddish hair peeking out from beneath a headscarf, scold her son. With the hint of a smile, he nodded his acknowledgement. “Apology accepted, young man. I remember when floating boats down the creek was important to me, too.”
“Thank you, Jamie. Now, go fetch some kindling and small pieces of firewood so I can build up the fire again.”
Dallin felt like his eyes were glued on the laundress, still a pretty woman in spite of being bedraggled with work and a mite too slender for his tastes. He watched as, with her face still pink with embarrassment, she turned to face him.
“I also am sorry, Mr. Walsh. I’ll get your laundry washed and to you just as soon as possible. How long it takes depends on if the sunlight holds and if you need anything mended. Mending will be extra, but I’ll be happy to do it if you wish.”
Dallin almost winced at her offer. His union suits he had brought for her to wash—one in particular—did need mending. He made a mental note to himself to buy a new set before he returned home. “Yes, ma’am, and it might take a while since I’ve been on the road longer than planned. Some are mighty grimy, and some could use the benefit of someone talented with a needle and thread. Unfortunately, my elderly housekeeper passed earlier this spring, so I’ve had no one to take care of personal things around the ranch house. Please, mend whatever you see needs it and let me know how much I owe you.”
“I’ll mend everything after your clothes have been washed and dried and figure the total then.”
“That sounds acceptable, Mrs. Stillwell. Where do you want my things? In this tub, since you haven’t thrown the water out yet?”
“I’ll take them and sort them. I’ll use this water for a presoak if some of them need it while I heat water for a fresh tub of wash water.”
When Dallin asked about a laundress, he had hoped he would be referred to a matronly woman with decades of experience washing men’s drawers. He felt slightly uncomfortable asking a woman as young and attractive as Mrs. Stillwell to take on the task. However, with no woman at the ranch now that old Señora Sanchez was gone, his clothes no longer got mended. He made do or bought more when he could get to town. He wished he had found a laundress while in Evanston. Then again, he felt a sense of uplift and anticipation that the need for clean clothes led him to meeting this woman and her little family.
With nothing better to do, and drawn by the woman’s appearance, Dallin stood with his back against the wall of the hotel and watched this woman who fascinated him. He knew many men claimed they did not like redheads, insisting their tempers tended to be too fiery. However, Dallin was partial to redheads. His mother had been a redhead—not auburn like Mrs. Stillwell but more reddish brown. Seeing the flashes of sunlight turn her hair to the color of dark burnished copper, he remembered the stories of how his Scots-Irish ancestors had been sent from Northern Ireland to the North American colonies in the south centuries before to settle the frontier. They acted as a buffer between the British who lived on tidewater lands and the Cherokee angry over the intrusion onto their hunting grounds. Later, his kin had migrated to Kentucky where he had been born.
Old enough to enlist the final year of the Civil War, once it ended, he decided not to return to the land where his mother lay buried and the over-worked, depleted soil his family ow
ned failed to produce enough to support both him and his brother. In addition, too many of his neighbors had sons, husbands and fathers that fought for the Confederacy. Instead, he turned his face west to Kansas and learned to work cattle. He even drifted south to Texas for a couple years of cattle drives, although his Northern accent made it hard for him to be accepted by native Texans. He saved until he could afford to homestead his own place in a remote region between the Front and Vasquez Ranges in Grand County, Colorado just west and south of the Continental Divide. Nearby mountain-fed streams watered enough open range to allow him to run cattle.
Whatever the reason, Dallin favored redheads—not bright, henna-colored hair like many prostitutes favored, but genuine reddish hair like belonged to the laundress. Add that to the pretty face that topped a figure that was pleasing, Dallin found himself wondering how he, a man who had never been comfortable interacting with women on a personal level, might get to know this woman better.
The fact Nissa had children did not faze him. As old as he was, most women his age had children in their teens, if not almost old enough to go out on their own. He had to admit, he liked her children. The sweet little girl would probably grow to be a lot like her mama. The boy had a mind of his own but in an adventurous way, not a rebellious way. Once he realized the importance of obeying, he obeyed. This woman had the kind of family he would have hoped to have if he had felt in a position a decade ago to marry. However, with limited funds, it had taken years to develop his herd, put together a good group of men and build a decent house for himself—which came last after the barn, bunkhouse for his men, and other outbuildings had been built.
Dallin watched the woman as she worked the pump into a bucket that she then dumped into large oval copper pot on the stove. She used the firewood the boy brought her to feed the firebox. Next, she pulled clothes out of his canvas sack, shook them loose, checked pockets and stacked them in two piles on a plank work table. His dark denim pants she put in the tub of existing water. She might be a laundress—a job most people would consider one of drudgery—but he could not help but appreciate the grace with which she went about her tasks.
The little girl had settled in the doorway of the rickety shack containing the stove on which the water for the laundry heated. The boy, Jamie, wandered about the yard now he had brought the firewood to his mother. When he came close to Dallin, Dallin dropped to his haunches and called to the boy.
“Jamie, is it? I’d be interested in seeing your boat, if you’d be willing to show me.”
His head down, Jamie shuffled over and handed the wood to Dallin. “It’s not really a boat. It’s just a piece of firewood. But I still like to watch them float down the creek. I want to see how far it can go before it gets caught on something and won’t float anymore.”
Dallin turned the stick of kindling over in his hand and nodded. “This is a fine piece of wood for that. It should go a pretty good distance. I’d offer to go with you to see how it floats, but I’m sure your ma would not approve since she just met me and doesn’t know me. You do know to not wander off with a stranger, don’t you?”
Jamie brushed the dirt with his toe and answered reluctantly. “Yes. Mama’s always telling me that.”
“Good.” Dallin almost said something about the boy’s father but stopped himself. Mr. Stillwell most likely had been among the miners or townspeople who were killed in the disaster. He watched as Jamie studied him with a confused expression.
“You would go with me if Mama knew you better? What kind of job do you do? It must not be very important.” Jamie’s chest puffed out with pride. “My papa’s job was too important for him to have time to float boats down the creek with me. Mr. Crane needed him to watch the miners and make sure they did their jobs right.” Jamie’s body visibly deflated, and sadness filled his eyes. “Only now Mr. Crane doesn’t have his mine here anymore, and Papa’s dead.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dallin had been watching the boy’s mother place the light clothes in another tub, fill it partway with cold water from the pump just outside the shack and shave some soap in. He realized in the morning the tubs under the wide porch cover would be in the shade. Because he had brought her his clothes so late, she would be working in the sun.
He suspected once the water on the stove boiled, she would add that to the tub. Now, arms akimbo and the sun moving to the west beating against her back, she stood within feet of him and Jamie, her back turned to him. Dallin knew she listened.
The boy’s words about his father sank in as Dallin rose to his feet. No wonder the boy seemed starved for attention. Even while he still lived, the boy’s father had used his position as a highly-placed employee with the mine as a reason not to be available for his son.
“Mrs. Stillwell?” Dallin suppressed a smile as he watched the woman jerk then spin to face him.
“Mrs. Stillwell, I’m not busy right now, and I do feel sort of guilty for interrupting your outing to the creek with your children. Why don’t you take them down there and spend a few minutes having fun with them? I’ll keep an eye on the water and dump it in that tub over there once it starts to boil. I’ll let you know when I do. Would that be acceptable?”
The woman appeared flummoxed, unsure what to say. “I’m not sure that would be very business-like of me, Mr. Walsh. There’s no need for you to feel guilty about asking me to provide laundry service to you. It’s my business. I don’t want to put you out.”
“You’re not, or I wouldn’t have made the offer. I’d feel better about it if you spent a few minutes with your children before you work on my laundry.”
Chapter Six
N
issa hesitated but accepted Dallin Walsh’s offer. Her son’s words stung her conscience. She had been caught up with learning to do laundry efficiently so she was able to accomplish more with as little exertion as possible. She had been fretting about her situation to the point she did not give her children the full attention they needed, even when she did have time. Perhaps she needed as much as they did to enjoy this outing with the children.
Nissa, holding hands with both of her children, walked along Front Street past the Wells Fargo corral holding the mules used to pull the stagecoaches. After crossing Chestnut, they followed a path down to the gurgling Moose Creek that flowed along the edge of town, she realized with a surety that, given the same circumstances, James Stillwell would not have extended to her the same courtesy Mr. Walsh had.
Jamie climbed along the rocks at the edge of the creek until he found a good spot to put his wood into the flow of the water. He stood and glanced back at Nissa and his sister, a big smile on his face. All three of them focused on the bobbing stick as it caught the current. Jamie stepped back onto the dirt bank of the creek and began to trot along the edge to keep sight of his boat.
“Well, lookee here. Ain’t this a sight? A pretty mama out playing with her whelps. A redhead, too.”
Nissa stiffened and turned to see who had spoken. Three scraggly, road-worn men on horseback approached on the other side of the creek as if they had come from the remains of the Gold King Mine on Moose Mountain. Based on the water dripping from the lower legs of their horses, she guessed they came out of the trees on the other side of the creek north of the Wells Fargo corral as if they followed the railroad tracks into town. She knew the type. Among the miners she had been around all her life there were those more interested in being up to no good than doing honest work. They never meant a woman well. She shoved Molly behind her.
One of the men, who appeared to Nissa to have a wild look in his dark eyes, turned to the dark-haired man who wore a moustache and several days of beard. He rode in the middle and out front. “I like this one, Snake. She’s got red hair. She’s mine.”
The man called Snake wore an expression of annoyance as he turned to the man who spoke. He assumed the attitude of being the leader and sneered back at him. “Shut your piehole, Skelly. We’re not here for that. Besides, there’ll probably be plenty of redhead
s where we’ll be staying.”
“But they’re fake redheads. I want this one, Snake. She’s got real red hair.”
When the middle man turned his head, Nissa caught a glimpse of the rattlesnake hatband that probably prompted the nickname. Ignoring the snicker of the third man, she grabbed Molly up in her arms and turned to walk quickly after her son, whose attention remained focused on his floating stick. “Jamie! Come here. It’s time we go back.”
A scowl on his face and a whine in his voice, Jamie turned to face Nissa. He pointed at the wood still traveling downstream. “But, Mama, my boat’s doing real good. Look!”
“Jamie, now!”
In spite of the edge to his mother’s voice and her hurried steps towards him, Jamie opened his mouth to protest further. Then he caught sight of the three men on horseback across the creek as they slowly followed his mother. “Who are those men, Mama?”
Nissa wished more than ever she had tucked into her pocket her derringer given to her by her father so many years ago. She did not carry it while washing laundry for fear the water and caustic soap would get in the gun and ruin it. She felt no need to carry a weapon since the laundry yard next to the hotel was a safe place—usually. Then again, Wildcat Ridge did not normally have men from all walks of life coming into town for a horse auction. Especially after the scene with Mortimer Crane that morning, and now this, maybe it was time to sew a pouch with strings attached to hold the pistol so she could tie it around her waist with the derringer resting against her back.
Nissa reached Jamie and grabbed his hand. “No one we know. We need to go back and check the water on the stove.”
“But I’d like to know you, pretty lady. I’d like to know you real well.”