Lariats, Letters, and Lace

by Agnes Alexander

  “Jamey took care of us.” She could’ve added, “when he didn’t traipse off to a saloon”, but preferred not to remind Matt of Jamey’s penchants for cards. “According to my records of the weekly deposits, we should be ahead by fifty dollars. That should be enough to get by for the next few months, not counting the money the shop will bring in.”

  Matt let out a harried sigh, like a kettle letting off steam. “If we have any slow days, we won’t need to fret none.”

  Chapter Two

  Chantilly dreamt about Matt gambling. She shouted, “Leave the saloon, now,” but her voice wouldn’t work.

  She woke up shivering and pulled up the blanket under her chin. Then she turned to her back, her side, her stomach…but couldn’t sleep.

  Finally, she wrapped a thick quilt around her shoulders, got up and walked the few yards to the kitchen window. She pulled aside the curtain. The moonlight shone brightly on the silhouette of a rider leaving the stables.

  Blaze.

  She envisioned Blaze’s affable smile, his smoky gray eyes, his muscular arms.

  Suitors had been few for her. Once she turned sixteen, young men didn’t come calling more than a couple of times. Her drunken father scared them off.

  Losing attractive and engaging Charlie from the assayer’s office still hurt. She had stepped out with him the third time on Valentine’s Day. He brought her flowers, held her hand as they watched a play, and walked her to the door. How romantic her first kiss would have been under the moonlit night.

  But her father ruined her fantasy, coming outside crocked and waving a shotgun. He yelled, slurring his words, “My daughter’s too good for the likes of you.” He put the butt of the gun against his shoulder and aimed. “Get out, before I shoot.”

  Six months later, Charlie married a farmer’s daughter.

  Last year, Daniel Braddock asked to call on Chantilly. She turned Jamey’s friend away. Her father had gone from an obstinate drunk to having a violent, unpredictable temper. After being clobbered with an iron skillet, she’d learned to stay out of his way.

  She’d prayed, countless times, that her once-caring father would come back. But before that could happen, Pa had died, only five months earlier. Three days ago, Jamey joined him.

  “Hey, sis.” Matt went to the stove and poured a cup of coffee from last night’s pot.

  “Have a seat. I’ll make you breakfast. A neighbor sent us this basket of eggs and a slab of ham.”

  “Reckon I could eat.” Matt sat at the weathered table with a boyish smirk that made his eyes sparkle.

  “Never saw you turn down a meal.” She finished cooking and put down the plates. “Got much work for today?”

  “Make a set of buggy wheels. Patch a shovel and a few pots and pans. Repair a wagon’s axle.”

  He sounded just like Jamey, Chantilly thought.

  ****

  Ten minutes later, dressed in denim pants, her father’s old shirt, and fairly new boots, Chantilly followed Matt into the shop.

  Jamey’s leather apron hung on a hook. Her brother, who’d been a fixture there, would never again wear that apron. Four years older, he seemed so wise. Since she’d been knee high to a caterpillar, he’d patiently taught her the proper way to work with horses’ hooves. Why’d he have to get killed?

  “Howdy, Miss Walsh.” Old Man Caruthers voice distracted her thoughts. “Can you fix Buttercup’s new shoes?”

  “Sure.” Chantilly had worked with the swaybacked nag. Once the horse whinnied, she’d cooperate. “Should have her done within the hour.”

  “Much obliged.” The man scurried away.

  She tethered the horse, picked up the foot and trimmed the hoof.

  Matt plunged a red-hot shoe in water. Its hissing made the horse nervous.

  She softened her voice. “No need to get worried, Buttercup. It’s only Matt.” The horse settled. The chestnut coat and mane were matted. If she had time, she’d give her a good brushing.

  She dreamed of living on a ranch where Matt would be away from the town’s temptations. Her handsome husband would encase her in his arms. She pretended it was Blaze.

  Slim walked up. “Blaze said to give this to you.” He handed her a sealed letter with her name written in simple handwriting.

  Her cheeks warmed, she slipped the letter in her pants pocket and went back to work.

  The day flashed by. She and Matt put away the tools, locked up, and walked out the shop door toward the back. Pumping water from the spigot, they each washed up at the outdoor basin.

  Matt smiled. “We had a good day. Earned three dollars and a loaf of bread.”

  “That’s wonderful.” A splinter of happiness tickled her heart. From here on out, she and Matt would be fine.

  Slim said to her brother, “Think you could check the shoes on my Morgan?”

  “Of course.” Matt ran off.

  She’d be able to read the letter alone. Dashing inside her quarters, she flopped on her bed and leaned her head back on her pillow. She broke the envelope’s waxed seal.

  Dear Chantilly,

  I thoroughly enjoyed last evening. The memory of you will carry me through the next five days on the road. I will anxiously anticipate Saturday, when I see you again.

  Respectfully yours,

  Blaze

  Giddy, as if she were a schoolgirl and not a grown woman, Blaze’s words went deep into her heart. But then she thought about Jamey, cold in his grave. She had no right to be happy.

  ****

  Saturday afternoon, Blaze whistled as he rode along the Main Street in Carson City. His buffalo skin coat, covered by an oilskin slicker, kept him tolerably warm and dry.

  The route had been brutal. Snow crystals mixed with icy sleet and heavy snowfall, creating slippery roads, snow drifts and winds whipping through the canyons. But he didn’t mind the job. Enough twenty-five dollar weeks, and he’d be able to stay in New York City or San Francisco indefinitely.

  Passing the blacksmith shop, he hoped to catch a glimpse of Chantilly. For the past five days, he’d been pondering about the pretty gal. He aimed to come courting tonight, if she’d let him. Saddle-worn, he’d get gussied up, first.

  Dusk settled against the horizon as he dismounted at the Pony Express station and handed Slim the mail pouch and saddle.

  “I may need a buggy for tonight. Think you can get it ready?”

  “Got one returned an hour ago. I’ll wait to put it away till well after dark. You taking out the little lassie?”

  “I hope to.” Blaze didn’t want to jinx tonight by saying more. “Which way’s the barber shop?”

  Slim gave him a knowing grin. “Down the block on the left.”

  About five minutes later, Blaze spotted the red, white, and blue striped barber pole. He entered the shop.

  “You the new Pony Express rider?” The dark-haired barber’s wide flap-winged moustache bounced as he talked. “Seen you riding through town.”

  “Name’s Blaze Steele.” He shook the barber’s hand.

  “My friends call me Cut. What can I do for you?”

  “Short and clean shaven.” Blaze sat in a red leather chair.

  The barber clipped. Inches fell to the floor. Fascinated, Blaze kept his eyes on the beveled mirror. In minutes, his hair was styled just how he liked it.

  The man dipped the comb in a watery solution, parted Blaze’s hair on the side and combed it back. “This okay?”

  “Perfect.”

  The barber suggested, “With more snow expected, you might want to keep that beard for extra warmth.”

  “Not tonight.”

  The barber dipped a brush in shaving soap, lathered up Blaze’s face, sharpened a straight blade on a strap and with one stroke at a time shaved off his beard. “You look like a new man.”

  Blaze paid the man two bits.

  He went back to the hotel, ordered a bath, and washed away the grime.

  ****

  Blaze knocked on Chantilly’s door and waited. He hadn’t s
een her for five days. She’d never actually agreed to dinner, but a confident intuition said she’d go.

  She appeared, her dark hair covered with the hood attached to her long woolen jacket. “Blaze? You got your hair cut.”

  “Yep. It was getting pretty scraggly.”

  “Something else is different.” She smirked, tilted her head to the right and the left, and scrutinized his face. “Your beard’s gone. Makes you look younger.”

  “Hope that’s good.”

  She nodded.

  “You look beautiful this evening.” More than beautiful. She looked ravishing. Her cheeks were reddened from the cold, her eyes sparkling, her stance proud. Moths seemed to momentarily clog his mind. Seconds later, he asked, “Is the Warm Springs Hotel suitable for dinner?”

  “To be honest, I have never dined in that new establishment.” The corner of her lips turned up, obviously satisfied.

  “Then, it’ll be a first time for each of us.” He hoped this to be a long line of firsts.

  “It’s awfully cold out for such a long jaunt.” She took his arm. “It might be best to choose somewhere closer.”

  “I rented us a buggy.” He led her next door to the livery.

  “You didn’t have to go to such trouble.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” He liked doing things for her.

  Slim came out of the livery. “Everything’s ready.”

  Blaze helped her up to the padded seat. Since the carriage was open, he handed her a quilt, and took his place to her left. He flicked the reins, and the horse moved down Main Street to the far end of town. Kerosene lamps lit the saloons, dentist office, general store, bank, and assayer’s office.

  Wishing for a witty line, “You warm enough?” popped out of his mouth, and he cringed.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  They rode in silence.

  He parked the carriage off to the right and offered a hand to help her down. Then, he escorted her up the five steps and held open one of the hotel’s double doors.

  Inside, the hostess approached them, wearing a long black dress and a white apron. “Welcome to the Warm Springs Hotel. Are you here to dine or secure a room?”

  “We’re here to dine.” He glanced at Chantilly. Her blushing cheeks amused him.

  The hostess took their coats and hung them on a rack.

  Chantilly’s blue flowered dress gathered at her tiny waist. His breath hitched. He longed to hold her close and breathe in her flowery perfume.

  Brought to a table with a window view, Chantilly gazed around the room. “What an elegant place. Look at that incredible crystal chandelier. I love the landscape painting. The horses frolicking in the grass seems so realistic.”

  “I agree.” Not knowing much about fancy things, he switched topics. “Think it’ll snow tonight?”

  “Hope not. I’m tired of being cold.” She shivered.

  “Heard Los Angeles is always sunny. Hope to go there someday.”

  She picked up her menu and stared at it intently. Had he said something wrong?

  A young server’s skirt swished as she brought out a basket of bread. “Are you ready to order?”

  “I’m not certain,” Chantilly said. “I’m torn between the fried chicken and beef stew. What would you recommend?”

  The server smiled. “On a night like this, I’d go for the stew.”

  “Then I’ll have the stew.”

  “Make that two.” Hungry, Blaze would be happy with any hot meal.

  The woman dashed off.

  He remembered the gift in his pocket and fished it out. “Found this at the outpost in Buckland’s Station and thought of you.”

  Carefully pulling off the tissue wrapping, her eyes widened. “A handkerchief. My, it’s the finest lace I’ve ever seen. Blaze, it’s too much.”

  “With a name like Chantilly, the handkerchief just seemed to fit.”

  She sighed and gazed at him. “What a lovely thing to say.”

  “Thank you.” He offered her bread and took a slice for himself. Their stew arrived. He said, “I know you work with horses. Do you have a favorite breed?”

  “The palomino. Their golden coat and ivory mane make me think of royalty.”

  “I’ve never thought of Palomino’s that way, but I can see it now.” He liked her unique perspective. “Draft horses fascinate me.”

  “I've read about the Scottish Clydesdale.” She appeared pensive. “Heard they are enormous, but gentle.”

  “They’re suppose to be a great help plowing. The newspaper says some’ll be imported on the east coast, come summer.” He watched her delicately sample her stew. “Have you ever had a pet?”

  “I had a cat named Whiskers. Besides being sweet, she was a great mouser.”

  If she liked cats, he’d have to find her a kitten. “I had a hound dog named Sam. Left him behind when I came out west.”

  “Did he have a funny bark?”

  “Not a bark, more like a howl. You should’ve seen him when he found a gopher in his hole. Must’ve howled for hours, but never did catch the pesky rodent.”

  Her laugh had hints of playfulness.

  He liked that their awkward beginning had become more comfortable. “Have you lived in Carson your whole life?”

  “Since I was ten.” She bit her bottom lip. “It used to be a nice little town. Folks stopped as they headed west. If silver hadn’t been discovered, it would still be a quiet place to live.”

  “Once the boom ends, it should go back that way.” He put his hand on top of hers, surprised at how tiny her fingertips were, compared to his.

  ****

  By the time he brought her home, she seemed at ease.

  He helped her from the buggy and walked her to her door. “I hate for the evening to end. Wish I didn’t have to deliver an important message tomorrow.” He sighed, then plunged ahead. “I heard there’s a dance next weekend. I’d love to escort you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He couldn’t resist running his thumb along her chin and forcing her to look up. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The brief contact sizzled hot sparks throughout his body. He pulled away.

  She might not be smiling, but the corners of her mouth turned up plenty.

  Without hesitation, he said, “See you Saturday.”

  Chapter Three

  Monday morning, Chantilly awoke early and lit the lamp on the desk. She sat in the chair, determined to find the deed, quite certain she’d last seen it when the top had been rolled down. Instead, she picked up an official-looking paper with a Nevada seal.

  Nevada Property Tax Bill. The amount of $100 is hereby due December, 31, 1860.

  Uncertainty threaded through her. Before Jamey died, he acted closed off. Not quite himself. She rubbed the side of her temple, fighting a headache.

  Footfalls came closer, interrupting her thoughts. She glanced up.

  A concerned look colored Matt’s face. “What’re you doing, sis?”

  She turned the bill over. “Looking for the deed.”

  “You check all the drawers?” he asked.

  “Only the top one.”

  “I’ll check the bottom drawer. You try the middle.” Matt took out the contents and piled the papers on the kitchen table. He plopped into a rickety chair. It squealed in protest.

  She pulled out a handful of papers. Her grandfather’s name was written in flowery script on the envelope. On yellow parchment, she found a woman’s name on the bottom, presumably her grandmother’s maiden name. Stashing it in one of the cubicles on top, she thought she’d read the letter later when she had time.

  Next, she found a newspaper clipping announcing the opening of the blacksmith shop in 1845. She placed the article next to the letter.

  Pulling out a small rectangular paper, she read it to herself.

  May 8, 1860. Bank of Comstock. Pay to Jamey Walsh. One hundred dollars.

  Sure she must be seeing things, she read it once more. “You’re not going to believe this!” />
  “You found the deed.” Matt’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Not exactly, but this is a draft for a hundred dollars.” Excitement coursed through her.

  “You’re joshing.”

  “See for yourself.” She handed him the draft as giddiness washed over her. “I’ll take this to the bank as soon as it opens.”

  “Jamey must’ve won this.” His eyes lowered. “He played cards nearly every night.”

  “I knew about his gambling. I didn’t like it, but what he did with his portion was his business.”

  “He taught me to play Faro. Sometimes, he brought me along. I usually just watched.” Matt puffed out his chest. “Once, I turned five dollars into twenty.”

  “Matt, please stay out of the saloons.” She wanted to add, “They’re lascivious and dangerous,” but kept those thoughts to herself.

  “I’m fifteen. I can do what I want.”

  Like her, Matt grieved. She had to be careful not to step on his pride. “It’s hard. After Pa’s death, and now Jamey’s, I’m not certain of anything, anymore.”

  “Me, neither.” He got up and set his hand on her shoulder. “I miss Jamey.”

  “I miss him, too.” If she could help it, Matt would never follow in Jamey’s footsteps or her father’s. This wicked city wouldn’t corrupt her last remaining brother.

  Once she found the deed, she’d talk Matt into selling their property. It should fetch enough to settle in a civilized city, or they could purchase a ranch or farm.

  ****

  Chantilly changed into the same flowered dress she’d worn when she accompanied Blaze to the hotel. She let his name light on her tongue. Blaze: full of adventure, full of lively stories, full of kisses.

  She brushed her hair, braided it, wound it into a respectable bun.

  As she exited out her door, Slim greeted her. “Blaze told me to give this to you first thing. He’s quite a fellow. Seems to make you smile.”

  She thanked Slim. Unable to forget Blaze’s kisses, she opened the letter.

  Chantilly,

  Every minute I spend with you, I become more enchanted. Can’t wait for the dance and another chance to hold you close.

  Loving regards,

  Blaze

  Blaze’s romantic words made her heart twitter.