Amon

by Kit Morgan

  “‘Miss Whitman’ would do fine,” she said.

  “Mmmm … don’t like the sound of that. ‘Sides, you won’t have that name much longer.”

  She blushed, looked at Amon, then back to Cutty. “Very well, then. You may call me Nettie.”

  “Isn’t that improper where you come from?” Amon asked.

  “This isn’t England, Mr. Cotter, as we both well know. Take Mr. Cutty, for example. He doesn’t even have a surname.”

  “Then why are you calling him, Mr. Cutty?”

  She shrugged. “Habit. Besides, when we’re on a less formal basis I can just drop the Mr.”

  Amon smiled at the joke. “You have a point. I like it.”

  She smiled and blushed again. “Show me what you have in your wagon, sir.”

  He turned and pulled a freshly-made chair, not even varnished yet, from the buckboard. “I’ve got three more – I made them for Mr. Mulligan.” He set the chair on the ground, then turned back to the wagon. “And this,” he said, putting his hand on a chest of drawers, “is for Mrs. White. After we’re done here I’ll drive out to their place and deliver it.”

  Nettie walked over to the wagon, reached up and touched the beautiful piece. “It’s lovely,” she said, her voice soft. “And what is that there in the corner?”

  “That’s a chest I made for Jefferson Cooke.”

  “It looks like a sea chest.”

  “It is.”

  “What’s Jefferson want with a sea chest?” asked Cutty.

  “I have no idea,” Amon said. “People ask for things and I make them.”

  “You’re very good,” Nettie remarked and looked at him. “How long have you been doing this?”

  “I always liked carving things as a child. The things I created were decent, but I got really good at it over the last few years. Good enough to help build the hotel and do most of the interior’s woodwork.”

  Nettie turned toward the hotel and, even though she couldn’t see it from where they stood, recalled the intricate scrollwork, the beauty of the balustrades and other furnishings. “You did all that?”

  “Not all of it, but most.”

  “It must’ve taken you forever!”

  “No,’ he said with a chuckle and shake of his head. “A lot of the furniture I made in Oregon City. We brought it by wagon.”

  “Oh, I see. I can only imagine what you could do if you built a house.”

  “Except I have built one,” he said solemnly. “In my head, at any rate.” He looked at her then. “Up until now I haven’t had a reason to bring it to life.”

  She blushed and looked away. Cutty glanced between them and tried not to smile. “Yer gonna have to build one now, ain’t ya?”

  “We’ll see.”

  That got Nettie’s attention. “So are you saying that if you don’t get married you won’t build your house?”

  Amon stroked the dresser in the wagon. “I guess it sounds like that, doesn’t it?”

  “Course it does!” Cutty griped. “Now look what ya done, ya got her all upset!”

  Amon quickly turned to Nettie. “Did I?” He placed himself in front of her. “Have I upset you?”

  Her eyes drifted to his. “Your remark, Mr. Cotter, is of no consequence. After all, we don’t even know if we will suit. From what I understand, you had no plans to marry before I came along, and even now your reasons for courting me are vague at best.”

  “Oh? I thought I made myself quite clear to your brother.”

  “To my brother, yes, but not to me. Frankly I don’t know why you’re here.”

  Cutty gawked at her. “What? The man’s gonna marry ya! Of course he wants to get to know ya first!”

  “He doesn’t genuinely want to get married though,” she countered.

  Now Cutty gawked at Amon. “What?! What in Sam Hill’s goin’ on here? Why ya wastin’ this little gal’s time if’n ya don’t wanna get hitched?”

  Amon sighed heavily. “Stop it, both of you. I changed my mind! Can’t a person change their mind?”

  “Yes, but what changed it?” Nettie asked with an accusing tone. “Mr. Moresy?”

  Cutty eyed her. He knew that Clinton had caused her trouble and Amon stepped in and defended her, then offered to marry her. She did have a point. But did Amon offer to marry her only in the heat of the moment? How was he going to feel a few days from now when he cooled down? What if Clinton left town and there was no need to worry anymore? Cutty bristled. “Just what are yer intentions towards my … er … toward this young lady?” he demanded.

  Amon’s brows went up. “The best intentions, I think. I …”

  “Well? Spit it out, boy!”

  Nettie took a few steps back. “Right, this is going well …”

  “It sure ain’t!” Cutty squawked. He wedged himself between the two of them, facing Amon. “Are your intentions honorable? Are ya just doin’ this because of Clinton? How do you really feel?”

  Amon was shaking with nerves. “F-feel?” He finally managed.

  “You heard me,” Cutty sneered. “Feel! When did ya get a feel for her?”

  “I just met her!”

  “Exactly!” Cutty shot back. “So why do you want to marry her?”

  “And does this conversation even have a theme?” Nettie muttered to herself.

  “Why are you so concerned?” Amon asked Cutty, ignoring her remark. “It’s not as if she’s your daughter!”

  Cutty stumbled backwards and spun to Nettie. He bit his lower lip, then turned back to Amon. “Well if’n I had a daughter, I’d be askin’ the same questions. A man courts because he’s interested, because a woman sets his heart to sparkin’ for her. Does your heart got a spark for her, boy?”

  Amon looked at Nettie, really looked at her, his eyes roaming over her at length. His heart went blank, void of emotion. But … but he had felt something, that click, the day before …

  He looked at Nettie one last time, then turned to Cutty in bewilderment. “I’m not sure.”

  Nine

  Nettie stared at Amon in shock. But then, what did she expect him to say? How could he be sure he felt anything for her? They’d just met! The only reason he currently had for marrying her, really, was that she was the only single woman around for miles. If Amon Cotter didn’t marry her, someone else most certainly would. She’d like to be able to get to know him, though. It was why they were standing out behind a livery stable looking at the fruit of his labors.

  “What?” Cutty blurted. “Ya mean ya ain’t got no spark for the gal?”

  Mr. Cotter sighed. “Cutty, we’ve only just met. I’ve got no more spark for Miss Whitman than any man would if he’d sent off for a mail-order bride. For Heaven’s sake, August, Ryder and Seth didn’t even get to exchange letters with their brides. Nor did Levi, or Chase, or Deputy Bran. It’s not like things are never done this way.”

  Nettie stared at Cutty to see what he would do next. He seemed to be championing her in this endeavor, and she found his effort charming in a cockeyed sort of way. “He’s right, you know,” she told him. “I can’t expect him to have any sort of an attraction for me.” She looked at Amon. “Nor I for him. I have about as much ‘spark in the heart,’ as you call it, for Mr. Cotter as he does for me. So at least we’re starting off with an even score.”

  “Oh, I see,” Cutty said, calmer now. “Well, then … carry on.”

  Nettie tried to hide a smile. The old coot was adorable. “Thank you.”

  Amon frowned. “Are you done interrupting the proceedings, Cutty?”

  Cutty scrunched up his face. “Just makin’ sure everythin’s on the up-‘n-up! It’s my job, ya know!”

  Amon laughed. “You’re doing a fine job so far. Much better than if Grandma Waller had taken it on.”

  “Grandma Waller?” Nettie said. “Who is that?”

  “Trouble with a capital T!” Cutty grumbled.

  “She’s the local doctor’s wife,” Amon explained. “Harmless, a very wise woman – but her
idea of chaperoning is to disappear and let the chips fall where they may.”

  Nettie raised one eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Never mind – we’d best not get on that topic,” Amon told her with a sheepish smile. He glanced around. “It’s growing warm. Why don’t we go see if Mrs. Upton has any lemonade?”

  Nettie nodded her agreement. “I could do with some refreshment.” He offered her his arm and she took it without hesitation. They began heading back toward the hotel. “I must say, Mr. Cotter, but you speak very well for a … well …”

  “A laborer?”

  She blushed. “A craftsman.”

  “Ya mean a backwoodsman!” Cutty interjected from behind them.

  Amon rolled his eyes and sighed. “I thought chaperones kept their opinions to themselves.”

  “Ain’t heard no such thing,” Cutty growled.

  Nettie giggled. “I do find his company rather enjoyable.”

  “That’s because you don’t know him yet,” Amon quipped.

  “Might I point out, Mr. Cotter, that I don’t know you yet either.”

  Amon stopped, reached back and grabbed Cutty, then pulled the old codger alongside her and hooked her arm through one of his. “There, now I’ll walk behind the two of you. Let’s see how this turns out.”

  Nettie looked at him in shock, then took in the surprised expression on Cutty’s face. “Fine,” she said, her voice laced with false bravado. She looked Cutty in the eye. “Shall we?”

  Cutty looked over his shoulder. “You did this, remember.” He turned his attention on Nettie. “Yes, we shall,” he said in a perfect English accent, mimicking her.

  She laughed, as did Amon. The three of them proceeded to the hotel.

  Once there they sat in the dining room and were soon sipping lemonade and munching on sugar cookies. “Mmm, mmm,” Cutty said with a smile. “Did ya ever have such fine cookies in Sussex?

  Nettie stopped, her glass halfway to her mouth. “How did you know I was from Sussex?”

  Cutty gulped his lemonade too fast and almost choked. “I … cough … heard it ‘round town.”

  Nettie’s brow puckered. “From who?”

  “Probably Mrs. Upton,” Amon volunteered.

  “Oh yes, I’m sure it was her,” she agreed. She knew what a chatterbox the woman was, and Cutty had seen more of Mrs. Upton lately than anyone. “So tell me about yourself, Mr. Cotter. Where did you go to school?”

  He finished chewing the bite of cookie he’d taken, then took a sip of lemonade. “I was educated in Ohio. Oberlin College.”

  “Well, that explains your speech. You certainly don’t sound like one of the locals,” she commented.

  “Oregon doesn’t really have ‘locals’ – everyone moved here from elsewhere except the Indians. The Dunnigans came from Alabama, the Wallers from Missouri, Sadie Cooke from Texas, Belle from Massachusetts. Bran O’Hare and the Mulligans were born in Ireland. And of course, there’s the sizable English contingent,” he added, saluting her with his glass.

  Cutty stared at him. “So what brought ya out here, Mr. Fancy Pants?”

  “Adventure – why else would I come out west? Plus, Ohio was starting to seem a bit … crowded. And Oberlin prepared men – and women – for places like this.”

  “By teaching you how to seek your fortune?” Nettie asked with a smile.

  “He’d have gone to California for that,” Cutty offered.

  “Ah yes, California,” Nettie mused. “My brother and I heard of the gold strikes there and in Colorado. Seems a hard way of life seeking riches and glory.” She looked at Cutty. “Have you been to either place?”

  “Nope.”

  “True, many men that came west for gold dug up nothing but disappointment. But some struck it rich.” Amon thought for a moment. “What I always wondered about was if finding all that gold made any of them better men.”

  “I suppose it depends on how greedy they were when they set out in search of it,” Nettie remarked, then wiped her mouth with a napkin. “If a man is greedy before he strikes gold, how much more so afterward?”

  “Wise words, little missy,” Cutty said as he reached for another cookie.

  She smiled, then looked at Amon. “Would you ever consider seeking fame and fortune, Mr. Cotter?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then I can assume you haven’t a greedy heart?”

  “You can assume anything you want, Miss Whitman. The question is, should you?”

  Cutty’s eyes darted between the two as he munched on another cookie.

  “It doesn't hurt to make assumptions,” she countered.

  “Unless they’re wrong,” he calmly said. “For instance, I assume you hate children.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” she shot back.

  “Nothing, I just assumed.”

  “How could you assume something so absurd when I’ve given no indication that I …” She stopped and stared at him. “Oh, I see your point.”

  “Exactly,” he said with a grin.

  “And I assume the two of ya are gonna take forever to get to know each other at the rate yer goin’!” Cutty groused then turned to Nettie. “Why don’t ya tell him about your childhood, how ya grew up, what it was like going to yer first ball and all that other fancy stuff ya English do?”

  Nettie paled and swallowed hard. “Why ever would I do that?”

  Cutty grimaced and cocked his head to one side. “Why wouldn’t ya? Ya ain’t got somethin’ to hide, do you?” He turned that Amon. “Don’t ya want to hear how she grew up?”

  “I think I’d be delighted,” Amon said tentatively, but with a smile.

  Nettie did her best not to fidget. “There’s not much to tell, really. My childhood was no different from the next person’s.”

  Cutty slapped his hand on the table, making Nettie jump. “Consarnit, that ain’t no answer! Where in that Sussex place did ya grow up? Who was your governess? How did that sidewinder of a baron treat ya?”

  Amon and Nettie both stared at him in shock. “Are you chaperoning us, Cutty, or prosecuting us?” Amon asked.

  Cutty gulped. “Well … I was just tryin’ to speed things along for ya! Lord knows you ain’t doin’ a very good job of it!”

  Nettie giggled.

  “You think it’s funny, do ya?” Cutty huffed. “At the rate you two are goin’ it’ll be next Christmas before yer married!”

  Amon eyed him suspiciously. “You seem to be in an awful hurry to get us to the altar.”

  Nettie giggled again. “Are you a romantic then?”

  “Romantic?” Cutty said in disgust. “Who said anythin’ about me bein’ romantic? It’s Cotter here that needs a good dose of romance. So far I ain’t seen none.”

  Amon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Cutty, might I remind you that this is our first outing together. And that we’re specifically taking time to court. So obviously neither of us is in any rush.”

  Cutty stared at them both and sighed. “Ah, dagnabit anyway.”

  Amon laughed. “I swear, you’re turning into Wilfred!”

  “Wilfred?” Nettie asked.

  “Wilfred Dunnigan from the mercantile,” said Amon “No spinster was ever so romantic as him – or so inveterate a gossip, but that’s beside the point.”

  “I see,” she mumbled as she looked at Cutty. “Could it be, dear sir, that you crave romance for yourself? Tell me, who do you fancy?”

  “Fancy?” Cutty practically choked on the word. “How can I fancy anyone ‘round here? All the women are spoken for.”

  “Not all,” Amon said before taking a sip of lemonade, watching Cutty over the rim. “Just all the young women. There are some closer to your age, isn’t that right?”

  “Oh, really?” Nettie mused, grinning archly.

  Now Cutty began to squirm. “Ya two keep yer minds on yer business!”

  “Well, if we’re courting, then romance is our business,” Amon said with a smile. “How’s Imogene, by the way?”r />
  “Imogene?” Nettie echoed. “Imogene Sayer? Why, I believe I’ve heard of the woman. The tiger hunter?”

  “That’s the one – she accompanied some of your relatives here to be married,” Amon informed her then smiled at Cutty.

  “I don’t care how she got here!” Cutty snapped. “That woman’s a thorn in my side!”

  “One you’ve managed to put up with for weeks and weeks,” Amon said slyly. “How do you endure it?”

  Nettie leaned toward Cutty. “My my, could it be you have a spark for Imogene Sayer?”

  “I told ya before, mind yer own business, missy!” Cutty grabbed another cookie, shoved it in his mouth and folded his arms across his chest.

  Nettie smiled, her shoulders shaking with silent mirth. “I’m sorry, it seems I’ve struck a nerve. A good one, I hope. I’ve yet to meet the woman, but I have heard tales.”

  “From who?” Cutty asked, his mouth full.

  Nettie’s smile faded as she stared at the table. “My mother.”

  Cutty swallowed hard as his eyes went wide. Amon noticed. “Is something wrong?”

  Cutty slowly turned his head in his direction. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “You suddenly look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Cutty swallowed again. “What would it matter if’n I did?”

  * * *

  “Then he turned white as a sheet,” Nettie told her brother. “You’d think the man had just found out someone died.”

  Newton sat on the settee next to her, a book in his hand. “Perhaps he’s addled in the brain. Perhaps he’s not a good chaperone for you after all.”

  She’d returned to her room once they were done with their cookies and lemonade. Mr. Cotter had deliveries to make and wanted to get them done and return to the men’s camp before supper. They were going to meet again tomorrow for a drive out on the prairie, so he could show her where he wanted to build his dream house. Should they marry, that is. “No, I think he’ll be fine. He’s just … well, he’s an odd sort. Who knows what sort of life he’s had, the poor man.”

  Newton looked at her over his book. “Life out here can be quite hard. He looks like he’s had a time of it.”