Sourdough Creek

by Caroline Fyffe

  Sam looked around the woman to the door. The one-legged man stood there, his hat in his hands. “I’m sorry to hear about David,” he said to her. “Such a sorrowful shame. And the two of you to be wed next week.”

  The woman straightened, as if gathering her courage. “That it is, Mr. Fennimore. Thank you for your kind words, but now time is of the essence. Can you hurry?”

  He slapped the tattered, black hat back on his head and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  She closed the door. “If you could get me some tepid water, Sheriff Ridgeway, I’ll give her a little bath while we wait. That will help cool her.”

  ***

  Air caressed Cassie’s face, causing her eyelids to flutter. She was so warm and comfortable, languishing in a sea of utter euphoria. Then a strange sound made her eyes pop open with a sense of urgency. Someone was lurking nearby. She lay still.

  Where was she? Nothing looked familiar. Was this somebody’s house? Fatigue, stronger than her fear, drifted over her like a heavy blanket, numbing her limbs and immobilizing her. Then another bump on the windowsill made her catch her breath.

  “Meoooow.”

  Cassie pushed up on her elbow and looked up. Ashes! Not only alive, but standing right there in the bedroom window. The cat jumped down effortlessly and started rubbing against the carved leg of the big mahogany bed, mewing her every complaint.

  Cassie reached for the cat and held her close to her face, relishing her warm, soft-as-silk fur. “I thought you were dead! You aren’t hurt, are you?” she asked, quickly turning her upside-down and rolling her back and forth, looking for any type of wound.

  Ashes purred all the louder, obviously happy to be reunited. Cassie set her on the quilt and the cat flopped over instantly, her paws kneading the cover. She stared at her mistress in a long, shuttered gaze.

  “I’m glad you woke me up,” she said quietly to the cat. “I may have slept all day if not for you.” She slipped her boots on and tied up the laces.

  Halfway down the staircase Cassie stopped, an unfamiliar voice drifting up to her. It wasn’t Annabelle. And it certainly wasn’t Josephine. Cassie took a slow step, listening to the soft, silky, unhurried words, her hand tracing down the hallway railing as she went. She stopped in the doorway. A woman stroked her sister’s forehead with a rag and then dipped it into a basin of water. Although she didn’t think so, Cassie must have made some sort of sound because the woman turned around.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Is everyone here?” Sam asked Jonathan in the back of the saloon, the morning well underway. They’d pulled some chairs into rows so they could have a meeting without the attendees thinking too much about drinking.

  Sam had eaten a portion of the blackened bacon and plenteous flapjacks that Frank had gotten from the Blue Bell, leaving more than enough for the remaining people in the house, including Cassie.

  The doctor’s fiancée had prepared his plate, smothering the warm, doughy cakes in melted butter and syrup from the doctor’s icebox, making Sam feel a wee bit uncomfortable at being helped to another man’s provisions. He’d been hungry though, and had eaten his fill at her encouragement.

  Jonathan looked around. “This is everyone.” It was the same group as before, with two additional young men around the ages of Frankie and Bill. The two drunks slept on in the corner, never having left the saloon at all.

  “Wake up those two,” Sam directed.

  Frankie went over and picked one of the men up off his face using a handful of hair and began firmly patting his cheek. When this failed the bartender handed the boy a bucket of water and the youth dumped it over their heads. They came up sputtering.

  “What the heck,” Larry cried, blinking and trying to figure out what just happened. When he saw Chester in the same condition he was in, he began to laugh.

  Sam cleared his throat. “Men, thanks for coming back. As you know we have some planning to do. We don’t know when the outlaws will make their next move, but I believe it will be sooner rather than later.”

  Walter had removed the white apron he’d had on the last time Sam had seen him banging the gavel on the bar top, and now had two six-guns strapped to his hips. In one hand he held a rifle and in the other a biscuit, crumbs from which dotted his mustache.

  Sam looked at a stout farmer with his bulging legs and arms. “Your name?”

  “Broxton Lee. But I go by Brox.”

  It will be easy to remember his name, Sam thought fighting a smile. It rhymed with ox, an animal he resembled.

  “You?”

  The one-legged man stood a little straighter in response, his suspenders taut on his shoulders.

  “Jasper Fennimore.” He sniffed and looked around the room importantly. “Friends call me Jasper.”

  A few men laughed and Sam held up a hand. “As of now we know we have three men outside of town and one in the jail. That’s not a solid number—there could be more. Those are just the ones we’re sure about.”

  As he looked from face to face, Sam felt as if he had a boulder in the pit of his stomach. What were their odds against a bunch of outlaws? He needed to keep Cassie and Josephine and the rest of these townsfolk safe.

  “We all saw what kind of men we’re dealing with by the one who rode in here this morning shooting at anything and anyone. Not to mention murdering the sheriff and brutally beating the doctor to death. They don’t care who they kill in their quest to free their leader. Now, I’m not thinking we have many sharpshooters here. Am I right?”

  Walter elevated his rifle.

  “I saw this morning just how sharp you are. It’s a wonder your wild shot didn’t kill an innocent bystander,” Sam said, leaning over and pressing the rifle back to the bartender’s side. “What we have to remember is that this is a town filled with women and children, and these houses aren’t made of rock. Every shot has to count. I don’t want any unnecessary shooting on our part, sending bullets everywhere. That’s why we’re going to do things a little differently from the usual shoot-out. If it came to that, we would be outnumbered and out-gunned. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “What exactly are you thinking?” Jonathan asked. His hat was tipped back, eyes earnest.

  “Brox, you have a couple of strong horses you use for plowing?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “I want you to go get them.” Sam motioned to the group of boys sitting together. “Take one of these fellows to help you. On your way back find a couple of big logs and bring them along.”

  Broxton stood. “Come on, Danny.” The boy jumped up importantly and took off after the farmer, who was already out the door.

  Sam looked at the remaining town folks. “Who has some extra livestock, preferably young horses?”

  Walter, Jonathan, and Jasper all nodded.

  “From what I’ve gathered, there are two roads into Rosenthal, is that right?”

  “You’re correct,” Jonathan replied.

  “Okay, good. Walter, take the yearlings and tether them, one on each end of the town, as far out as you can, but where a lookout will still be able to see them from the rooftops. I believe that’ll be about a half mile.” He glanced to the boys. “You’ll be the lookouts.”

  Jonathan nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he followed Sam’s line of thinking.

  Sam continued, “Bill,” he gestured to the boys again, “you’ll watch on the east end of town. Frankie on the west. We’ll get a good five to ten minutes’ warning, if it goes as it should.”

  Bill and Frankie stood up, all smiles.

  “This isn’t a game, boys,” Sam said, fixing them with a powerful stare. “If anyone lets down, even for a moment, and doesn’t fulfill his responsibilities, the whole plan could fail. That would mean a lot of bloodshed.”

  Their smiles faded and brows dropped, all traces of tomfoolery gone.

  Larry stood up and, still a bit drunk, knocked his chair over in the process. “Hey, what about us
? What’s our job?”

  “You sober?” Sam asked, sizing up the two men.

  “Purt near.”

  Sam looked at Jonathan, who only shrugged.

  “I need you to dig through the trash and collect all the empty bottles you can find, take them into the back room and break them in a barrel. When you’re done, take the whole thing over to the back door of the jail house, but keep it covered. And take your friend with you.”

  Both men wobbled to the back door of the saloon and out into the alley.

  That left Jonathan, Jasper, and a boy named Pug. And, ashamed of himself for thinking it, Sam knew how the boy had gotten that name. He had a face only a mother could love.

  “Jasper. Pug. Make the rounds and quickly tell everyone what’s going on. They need to take cover and stay inside if any shooting starts.”

  As they left, Sam started for the street. “Come on, Jonathan. We’re going over to the jail to do a little carpentry.” He chuckled at Jonathan’s confused look. “Bring some hammers, nails, and a few blankets, enough to cover the front window and to make a partition between the cell and the office. I don’t want Spencer to see what we’re doing.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cassie felt her face warming under the woman’s sympathetic stare. “Who’re you?” Cassie asked, when she finally found her voice. She felt shabby in comparison to this woman, whose spotless white eyelet apron was tied around her tiny waist and blossomed in a perfect bow at the small of her back. Expecting to find Sam or Annabelle caring for Josephine, this complete stranger had her mind whirling.

  “I could ask the same question of you.” Her voice was soft and compassionate.

  At that moment, Annabelle came out of the bedroom. Her eyes were red and swollen and her hair a mess. When she saw the woman, she gave a cry of joy and fell into her arms.

  “Oh, Grace!” Annabelle gasped, hugging herself to the woman. “Poor Daddy! They killed him.” She gasped and she set into another bout of crying, holding her friend and sobbing inconsolably.

  Cassie hurried past the two of them over to Josephine’s side, where a fresh supply of ice had been administered. “How is she?” she asked, ignoring Annabelle’s hysteria. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel bad for the poor girl, because she did. There were just other things to worry over.

  “About the same since I’ve been here,” the woman replied, looking at her over Annabelle’s head. “But I’m just about to make up a goldenseal poultice and some tea. I’ve had good results with it in the past.” She smiled. “Never lose hope.”

  Cassie shook her head. “No, I’m not.” She was grateful that this woman seemed to know what she was talking about. “How can I help?”

  “First things first. Sam, I mean, Sheriff Ridgeway gave me explicit orders that you were to eat as soon as you came down. Come on,” she said, proceeding to the kitchen and pulling Annabelle along after her, “you must be famished. I’ll put the herbs on to steep while you two have some breakfast.”

  Cassie was starved. It felt like an eternity since the meager little breakfast they’d eaten before packing up and hitting the trail yesterday morning.

  “I’m Grace Hearthgrove, the school teacher here in Rosenthal,” she said, putting water in a pot and stoking the fire. “You see, ‘To teach is to learn twice,’” she added with great flamboyance. Her imitation French accent was stilted by her southern drawl. “My great uncle, Joseph Joubert from France, said that. After his death, his works were even published.”

  Cassie took a seat at the table next to Annabelle and put a flapjack on her plate. She helped herself to the butter and syrup in the center of the table, and to the bacon, too. She began eating, trying to keep some semblance of etiquette even though she longed to wolf it down.

  “David and I,” the woman continued, “Dr. Hershey—” At that her voice caught, and she paused, her hand shaking as she pulled some of the herb from a cloth bag and put it in the pot. “We…were to be married next week.”

  Cassie wiped her mouth quickly with her napkin. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” She thought about the doctor. He looked as if he’d been a kindly man, and even with their difference in age, Cassie could picture the two of them together.

  Finished with her task, Grace turned. “I guess we’ll be having a funeral this afternoon.” Her voice was filled with sadness. “But first we have a poultice to make for Josephine and hopefully get her to take some of the tea.”

  Annabelle just stared out the window, sniffing and wiping her eyes with shaky hands, between bites.

  “Thank you…” Grace’s expression was expectant and Cassie realized she hadn’t yet told her her name.

  “I’m Cassie Angel. And Josephine is my sister,” she said, looking toward the examination room.

  “And Sam?”

  That was an excellent question. After last night in his arms, with moonlight all around, she wondered that herself. She must keep her head about her, though. “He’s a friend. He offered to help us travel to Coloma.”

  It sounded strange even to Cassie’s ears—a man, a stranger, really, being so inconvenienced for a couple of girls he didn’t even know. “He knows our Uncle Arvid,” she added quickly. “Arvid Angel.”

  “I see. Sam Ridgeway seems to have a big heart. That was kind of him. But why Coloma? Family?”

  The pot jiggled on the stove top, the water obviously boiling. Grace took hold of the handle and stirred the contents.

  “No. No more family except our uncle.” Cassie dropped her eyes, remembering the last visit from Uncle Arvid. Even if he hadn’t said it, she could tell he’d been out of sorts about something. In the morning, he’d been gone, as was his usual mode. “And, we don’t even know where he is,” she finished.

  “Life is funny, you know,” Grace said. “Sometimes it brings us the strangest things. You see, my papa is the minister here in Rosenthal. He’s old now, but when he was young, my mama died, too.”

  She glanced at Cassie before going back to her work, “I was just seven years old at the time. We struggled along by ourselves for a few years, but it was hard. I tried to take care of him and the household and also go to school. A girl needs a mother around to teach her about the world. And about life. How to be a lady and what men expect from them. Men don’t think the same way we do at all.” She laughed. “God made us quite different, and I’m not speaking about the obvious difference.”

  Cassie felt her face warming. She liked Grace and felt a kinship growing.

  “So, he married again, giving me a mother.” She glanced at Cassie. “She passed on three years ago from influenza.”

  “Siss…”

  At the barely audible call from the other room, Cassie dropped the fork she held and bolted from her chair, running to Josephine’s side.

  “Josephine!” she pleaded, picking up her sister’s hand. “Did you say something? Josephine, are you awake?”

  Grace and Annabelle hurried after Cassie and went to Josephine’s other side.

  “She called for me. Did you hear it?”

  Grace and Annabelle shook their heads. Josephine’s face was warm but she no longer had beads of perspiration on her forehead.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Grace offered, with an apologetic look. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t. I’m going to get the tea and poultice. They both should be ready by now.”

  Sam came through the door at that moment, his hat dangling from his fingertips. The brass hinges squeaked as he closed the door gently behind him. He looked into Cassie’s face.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Sam,” Cassie breathed, her eyes searching his face, and the hint of a hopeful smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Josephine is waking up.”

  “That’s the best thing I’ve heard for three days.” The sight of even a glimmer of happiness in her eyes did funny things to his insides. “I’ve been worried about her, and that’s no lie. But the truth is, more trouble is headed this way soon enough. None of you women are
to leave this building. This afternoon, when we have the funeral, will be the only time. Cassie, I’ll have one of the boys stay here with you and Josephine.”

  “What’s this I hear about the funeral?” Grace asked. She came into the room carrying a white porcelain bowl with a spoon protruding over the top. “What time?”

  “Three o’clock,” Sam answered. “Someone’s bringing a coffin over now and others are at the cemetery digging—well, uh, taking care of things.”

  Cassie hovered around Josephine, seemingly unaware of the others in the room. She stroked her sister’s cheek as she whispered into her ear, “Come on, Josephine, open your eyes. I know you can do it, sweetie. I heard you speak just moments ago. Come on, honey—do it for me.”

  Grace set the bowl on a cabinet behind Cassie. “As soon as Cassie and I have this poultice on Josephine’s arm, I’ll prepare his body. I haven’t had a chance as of yet.”

  Sam put his face close to the bowl and sniffed, pulling away quickly. “I thought I smelled something rank.” His eyebrows arched and his mouth pulled down in a grimace. “What is that, anyway?” He quickly stepped away. “Never mind. I’ll take care of the doctor; you three take care of Josephine.”

  When Grace opened her mouth to object, he put up his hand. “No arguments. I’m the new sheriff, and I’m calling the shots.”

  “Sheriff?” Cassie asked, surprised.

  He was still standing by the bedroom door. “Oh, I guess you haven’t heard. The men have appointed me sheriff while we’re dealing with the outlaws.”

  “Sheriff,” she murmured, turning back to Josephine. “That sounds plenty dangerous.” Cassie took a small amount of the warm poultice and gently patted it in place on one of the welts. She repeated the process several times, then wiped her hands.

  Grace was back with a china teacup and clean dish towel. Cassie began slipping an arm under Josephine’s shoulders.

  “Here, let me.” Sam came forward and lifted Josephine’s head and shoulders up slightly, freeing Cassie to do the rest. With a teaspoon, Cassie dribbled a tiny amount of the tea between Josephine’s lips. “Come on, take a little. Try to swallow it, Josephine. It’s good.”