by Carol Arens
“It’s only six thirty.”
“Yes, and the sun has been up for forty-five minutes.”
“Beg a cup of coffee for me from Miss Fitz and I’ll be right down.”
Ten minutes later he was in the parlor with his coffee, dressed in his suit for those who wanted to complain to the mayor, and wearing his badge, gun, and Stetson for those needing the help of the sheriff.
From the way things were beginning, it was going to be an interesting day.
The sooner he went to his office and got out of her way, the happier his mother would be.
Glancing about, he didn’t see his wife. She must still be in the yard supervising the building of the dance floor, or reading the mysterious note.
He’d better not take time to find her. He could only imagine that if people were searching him out at home, they must be ten thick at both his offices.
He opened the front door to go out. Sunshine in a bright yellow dress filled the doorway.
“Gosh almighty, Bill! This is some grand house you’ve got here!” Ivy stepped inside, holding her baby in her arms. The child gave him a quick smile then buried her face into her mother’s shoulder.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen anything so elegant since the last time I was on the Queen,” Ivy declared while turning in a circle to take in the foyer and all its fancy trimmings.
Travis came in behind her, shook William’s hand, patted him on the back.
It struck him suddenly that this man was his brother. He’d always wanted a brother and was glad it was Travis Murphy.
Behind Travis came Agatha’s uncle Patrick and his wife, Antoinette. Antie had been Ivy’s social instructor when it had been necessary, for the sake of the Lucky Clover, to transform her from a riverboat pilot in training into a lady.
It was good to see that she was still as much river queen as she was social belle.
“Say! Where’ve you stashed my sister?” Ivy placed the baby girl in Travis’s arms. “Hope you’ve been watching over her good.”
“I’ve done what I could.”
“She isn’t sick, is she? Stuck in a chair somewhere?”
“Ivy!” came a shriek from the top of the stairs.
He turned, saw a flood of blue fly down the steps.
Yellow and blue mingled then broke apart when Agatha dashed over to hug Travis and kiss the baby’s cheek. Next she stepped into her uncle’s embrace, then Mrs. Malone’s.
Love given and received, Agatha went back to Ivy to hug her again.
“I can hardly believe what these old eyes are telling me.” Patrick Malone snatched the pipe from between his lips, grinning.
“Mais oui, mon mari. This is our poor sweet girl.” Antoinette hugged her husband’s arm, tugged on his sleeve until he bent his ear down to her. “But, she has fallen in love, has she not?”
She said this while looking at William, sending him a wink.
That little wink went straight to his heart. It touched him that the woman approved of his marriage to Agatha.
Within five seconds, the parlor overflowed with the guests who followed his mother to greet the new arrivals.
Miss Valentine rushed past them all, jumped on Ivy’s skirt, then on Travis, and at last upon the Malones.
Agatha scooped the dog up. “Have you brought Little Mouse?”
With a grin Ivy drew a pouch from between the folds of her skirt.
“Knew you wouldn’t mind it, Bill. We did discuss it once as I recall.”
They had, and he’d said he wouldn’t mind. It was hard to imagine his mother feeling the same about having a rodent in the house, pet or not.
“Here, let me hold her.” Agatha shoved Miss Valentine at her sister, took the pouch and opened it.
A small white nose emerged, sniffing the air. Lifting the bag, his wife stroked the mouse between its black eyes.
Apparently Miss Valentine liked the rodent, too, just not in the same way.
The dog lunged, the mouse leapt off Agatha’s hand. Several female voices screeched.
Agatha turned to run after the animals but Ivy caught her hand.
“No need to worry. There’s no creature on God’s great earth quicker than Little Mouse. Better at hiding, either.”
William had never seen his mother pale or speechless. Right now she was both.
“I need to take off these fancy shoes before my toes fall off,” said Ivy. “Reckon I’ll loosen the corset, too, if we’re just going to be home.”
Lark and Dove watched Ivy walk past them, their mouths twin circles of astonishment.
Ivy grasped her sister’s arm, “You know, sister, I didn’t want you to leave home—then I got the letter telling me you married Bill! And now—look at you!”
His wife looked so very pleased at her sister’s approval. He couldn’t help but be pleased as well.
“Tomorrow morning I’ll show you where I run with the horses—well, near them anyway.”
Horses! What horses?
Miss Valentine pressed her nose to the edge of the couch, huffing and snorting.
It seemed that Mother, watching the dog, was about to do the same.
Looking up, she caught his eye, crooked her finger and waggled it at him. Answering the summons, he crossed the room.
“A word please, William.”
He kissed her cheek. “Got to go, Mother. Folks will be waiting at my offices by now.”
Going out the front door he heard the murmur of many voices, but one stood out among the rest.
Agatha’s. She mentioned Mrs. Bea, her instructor in everything carnal.
Hell, Ivy was going to discover his failure as a husband.
That didn’t mean she would disapprove. There wasn’t a whole lot she put ahead of her sister’s well-being.
He carried that thought, felt vindicated by it all the way to town.
* * *
William longed for the month of October when the weather would cool off. For that more pleasant time when sweat would not dampen his shirt even while he sat in the shade.
He’d begun the day by spending an hour in the sheriff’s office then an hour in the mayor’s office. By eleven o’clock frustrated folks had gathered at both places, becoming more irritated than they already were.
In the end, he’d taken the sheriff’s shingle and the mayor’s shingle then nailed them to the wall of the general store. He set a pair of chairs on the boardwalk.
It only took a couple of hours for his ears and his voice to become worn out by all the listening and talking he’d done.
People did a lot of complaining about the saloon and the gamblers drifting in for the big tournament. Some of them looked decent and others, like criminals.
Since there was not enough lodging for his mother’s guests and the gamblers, many of the gamblers had taken to sleeping behind buildings, or even in private yards.
Mrs. Peabody had rattled on for half an hour because the man sleeping in her flowers had returned and brought a friend with him. Now, not only were the pansies ruined but the petunias as well.
Most of the complaints were trivial, but not all of them.
Decent women were being mistaken for Pete’s girls. Not that they looked like they were, but because Pete’s customers tended to be so drunk they could not tell the difference. A woman was a woman and therefore fair game.
Which led to fisticuffs between the town’s men and the drunks.
It couldn’t be long before his mother marched over to the saloon, pitchfork in hand to present her own grievance.
Of which there were many. Today she was worried that the saloon’s bawdy music would be so loud that the musicians she hired for the reception would be drowned out.
“Good afternoon, Mayor English, Sheriff.”
Dr. Connor sat down in the chair beside him and wiped his brow on his sleeve.
“I didn’t come to complain. Just needed a place to sit in the shade for a spell. Mrs. Parson is in labor and it’s awfully hot upstairs.” He indicated a house on the other side of the blacksmith shop with a nod.
“It’s going well, I hope.” William prayed.
“She’s not as strapping as your young wife. But I believe she’ll come through it fine. Not sure about her husband, though. I trust that he’s going to faint a few times before the baby comes.”
“What do you mean ‘as strapping as my wife’?” The doctor really did need a rest in the shade.
“Mrs. Parson is not as healthy. When the time comes for your wife she’ll do quite well, barring the unexpected.”
“How do you know she will?”
Bushy gray eyebrows arched. “Why, because of the results of her examination.”
“Of course,” he said, not wanting the doctor to know he was ignorant of the visit.
“Yes! I’ve seen her twice now. The second time only to give her the letter verifying her excellent health. I imagine you were relieved to hear the good news.”
The day had been hot before the doctor sat down, but now he felt blistered from the inside out.
Agatha had sought the doctor’s advice without telling him? Blatantly ignored how he felt about her bearing children?
“She confided in me about her life before. If you are worried that she might take up drug use again, rest assured that I find it unlikely. I imagine this time next year you’ll be calling upon me to help your own child come into the world.”
“Do you?” His voice sounded clipped, nearly rude when it was not the doctor’s fault.
A scream came from the upstairs room of the house across the street. It sounded like Mrs. Parson was dying. Oddly, the doctor smiled.
“I better get going. It appears I’ll be needed soon.”
Less than an hour later, a newborn’s cry cut the afternoon. He lost track of what his current grumbler, a gambler with a black eye, was going on about.
Something having to do with Pete running a crooked game, he thought.
William could not keep his gaze off the window. Had Mrs. Parson survived? Had Mr. Parson?
The child clearly had: its lusty wails went on and on.
“Watered-down liquor...”
Then there he was. The new father stood in front of the window rocking back and forth with the squealing bundle in his arms. Judging by the width of his grin William guessed everyone had come through the ordeal.
“And the women are too medicated for a man to get his money’s worth.”
His attention snapped back to the speaker so fast he felt his neck creak.
“Drugged?” he asked stupidly. Hilda Brunne was there. Of course they were being drugged.
“That’s not what the old woman calls it. ’Course, if you ask me she’s touched.” The gambler pointed to his bald head, tapped his finger on it. “She’s looking all over the place for someone named Maggie. Must be a fairy or something since she’s always searching under pillows, or behind chairs. Once she even tipped over someone’s straight flush, thinking that Maggie was under the cards.”
“What happened?” There had been shootings over lesser offenses.
“We all got a free drink. Ole Pete, he just laughed it off. Said the old lady didn’t mean any harm.”
She did mean harm—to Agatha.
Luckily, his wife was a sensible woman. Knowing what Brunne was capable of, she would keep to the house.
Wouldn’t she?
Certainly, with all the guests about, Brunne would not dare come to the mansion again.
He needn’t worry. If anyone knew better than to confront the witch, it was Agatha.
No, he need not worry—much.
* * *
The guests were napping.
Mrs. Bea, Miss Fitz and her mother-in-law hummed about like busy bees while they prepared for a casual dinner tonight.
If Victoria English was wilting under the heat, it only showed by a misting of sweat on her brow and upper lip.
Industriously, she swept the couch with a broom on the hunt for fine white fur.
“I do hope that rodent will stay confined for the rest of the visit.” Apparently satisfied that she had found every strand, she set the broom aside and settled her full attention on Agatha. “You look done in, dear. Go up to your room and rest.”
“I should help.”
“You can, by looking refreshed for your guests. It’s one of the secrets of entertaining. The hostess must appear invigorated, otherwise the guests will feel bad...like they’ve put her to too much trouble.”
“Then you should rest, too.”
“This is what refreshes me. Now scoot. Up to your room with you.”
She hadn’t known her mother-in-law long, but long enough to realize that she got her way most of the time.
In truth, Agatha did not mind going to her room for respite. It had been a long day meeting new people, smiling at them and looking poised.
However, to her surprise, it had not been the agony she’d expected it to be.
Plucking the dress away from her skin, she wondered if she would do as a politician’s wife. Given enough time, she might.
Peeled down to her shift, she flopped backward on the bed, fanned her face and chest with her hands. It would be pure torture later when she had to put her gown on again.
Her door creaked open. William stepped inside. It did not escape her that he hadn’t knocked first. For some reason that struck her as intimate.
“What are you doing, Agatha?”
Looking at the ceiling, she flopped her arms wide on the mattress. “Waiting for the sun to go down so I can breathe. Your mother says I must look refreshed.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Drawing her arms back in, she eased up on her elbows. “What do you mean?”
Judging by the master-of-all look on his face she had done something he did not approve of.
There soon would be something he did not approve of, but she hadn’t done it yet.
“You went to see the doctor.”
“It’s not against the law, Sheriff.”
“I made it clear that we would not have children.”
“Do you really think that if you act like a tyrant I will bow down to your wishes?”
Slowly, she rose to her knees, got off the bed. It was hard not to notice the pulse ticking madly in his neck.
She brushed by him.
“I know who you are,” she said, passing within an inch of his chest.
Snatching the letter written by Dr. Connor off the dresser, she shoved it at him.
“Do you?” His eyes narrowed upon her.
Having an argument with him in sheer underwear made her feel at a disadvantage. She walked to the wardrobe, opened the door to snatch out her robe.
“You are a blind man,” she stated, glancing back over her shoulder.
The look he gave her was heated, but not, she thought, because of the weather or even his rising temper.
“Not so blind,” he muttered defensively.
Of course, his blindness had nothing to do with eyesight. His gaze grazed the curve of her hip, swept over the twirl of her hair where it fell down her back, and watched while she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
She closed the door without taking out the robe. It seemed that she was not at as much of a disadvantage as she believed.
“Good.” Crossing the room, she stood in front of him, near enough that looking up she noticed the hair growing at his temples glistening with sweat. “Tell me what you see.”
He stared down at
her mutely, so she took his hand and placed it on her arm, slid it down to her wrist.
Bending her knee, she lifted her leg, pressed it against his trousers. Her chemise slid along her skin, a whisper of pink lace.
Clasping his other hand, she pressed it on her thigh, drew his fingers down to her knee, then her ankle.
“What do you feel?”
“Seduced.”
“No!” Was the man really that unaware? She set her foot on the floor with a thump. “Strength!”
Stooping down she picked up Doctor Connor’s letter from the floor where William had dropped it when she shoved it at him.
She uncurled his fingers—she had to since he had clamped them into fists at his sides—then squeezed the note into his palm.
“This is who I am—not who I used to be at the Lucky Clover, not even who I was when we married. This is who I am now.”
A fine way to make her statement would be to open the door, walk away from him without a backward glance. Since she wasn’t dressed, she could not do that.
Instead she paced to the window, anchored her arms across her chest.
“Yes, to all appearances.” He stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder, but she was determined not to be moved by his touch. “Do you know how happy I am, how proud I am of you? Coming back from where you were—not everyone could. Honey, never think I don’t see you. The thing is, what if the first doctor was right? What if he noticed something that Dr. Connor does not see?”
“I’m willing to risk that possibility.”
“And I am not.”
“I think you should go now, William.”
In her heart, she hoped he wouldn’t, that he would come to her, wrap his arms about her and tell her she was right, that he saw everything clearly now.
It was what she wished, but it was no surprise to hear the door quietly closing as he left.
Chapter Fifteen
With dinner finished and the sun gone down, William left the mansion to make his rounds on the streets of Tanners Ridge.
If luck was with him, troublemakers both from town and the saloon would be too hot to do anything but fan themselves.
The big tournament was tomorrow. It would begin at noon and end the next day at noon. Twenty-four hours. William figured after only eight hours, men would be tired, quick-tempered and remorseful over money lost.