Much Ado About Madams

by Jacquie Rogers

  “You’re awful quiet,” Gus commented. “I didn’t say something wrong, did I?”

  “No, I was just thinking what to tell the ladies if they ask me where I live, which I have no doubt they will. If I tell them I’m from Dickshooter, they’ll probably know that there’s only a saloon and a brothel there, so I’ll just have to tell them the truth.”

  “And that is?”

  “That I’m working on a plan to raise women of the lowest social strata to be capable of taking their places in positions of respectability through education. A woman should never be forced to sell her body to make a living, and she certainly shouldn’t have to rely on a man to provide her with place to live and food to eat.”

  “You’ve set your sights pretty high, saving all those whores. Do you think Miss Anthony will agree?”

  That was a very good question. Probably not, but her own reputation might be saved if they thought she had a plan for helping women, albeit prostitutes, rather than finding out she was beholden to Reese.

  Of course, she’d been paid for a month and had the money to return, but after some thought, she realized that St. Jo held nothing for her. The Rev. and Mrs. Hurndall would be just as happy never to see her again, and even though Miss Hattie might take her in, she’d only be a charity case. Miss Hattie had created the teaching position for her before—an unnecessary one, Lucinda knew—and she refused to inconvenience the kind woman again.

  Gus pulled the team to a halt in beside a stream and a stand of cottonwoods. Nestled within the trees was a rickety cabin with rotted gaps in the plank walls and a saggy roof. Beside the shack and away from the stream stood a weather-beaten privy and an old shed that could’ve used a little shoring.

  Lucinda didn’t see a soul around. “This place looks abandoned. Why are we stopping here?”

  “Water the horses. We can eat while the horses are resting.” He offered his hand to help her down, but she was perfectly capable of doing so on her own accord.

  While Gus took care of the animals, she ventured inside the musty cabin and busied herself cleaning the rough-hewn table enough to spread the tablecloth. Just as she set out the food Sadie had packed and went to call Gus, a rider approached, leading another saddle horse packing a venison carcass. Reese!

  He tipped his cap at her. “Ma’am.” He dismounted and led his horse to the old barn where Gus was fussing with the team. A few minutes later, both men came into the cabin.

  “Gus has a lot to do at the Comfort Palace, and I have business in Silver City, so it makes sense for me to drive you. He’ll have a bite to eat, then ride back.”

  Lawsy! That meant she’d be spending at least three days with the man who haunted her thoughts, and the last man she should be thinking about. Or any man at all.

  She dutifully turned her thoughts to the suffrage meeting. What would Reese be doing?

  * * * * *

  Reese checked the wagon for soundness. Axles, wheels, load—all in good working order. No grease needed. Brakes, harness, ribbons were fine as well.

  Gus pulled the tarp over the load. “There’s a wagon wheel and a tongue that need fixed while you’re in town, and Fannie has a list of supplies she wants.” He pulled a paper out of his pocket. “Says these things are wants, not needs, but I reckon if she wants something, I need her to have it.”

  “Smart man.” Reese hated driving the wagon but Gus wasn’t a fighting man and anything could happen between Dickshooter and Silver City, especially with a pretty lady on board.

  “Be alert. You could run into road agents, Paiutes, and opportunists of every unsavory sort.”

  “I’m more worried about Hannibal Hank.”

  “He headed to Montana.”

  “Last time I saw him, he said he was going to Montana, but he rode out toward Silver. That’s outta his way by a far piece.”

  Gus pushed his hat off his forehead. “You sure?”

  “Yep. And another thing—how did the ladies find out about a suffragist meeting? It’s not as if the Comfort Palace customers are on the campaign trail. This morning, Fannie was fidgety.” At first he thought it could be because she felt uncomfortable about setting him up by buying that damned dress. While hunting, he decided otherwise. Hunting was a good time to think, and he’d done lots of it.

  “You think the whores are up to something?”

  “Hell, yes. The minute that schoolmarm set foot in Dickshooter, they’ve finagled ways to throw us together. I doubt Miss Sharpe knows about their schemes, but I know, and frankly, I doubt there even is a suffragist meeting in Silver City.”

  “Your meal is ready,” Lucinda called. She stood in the cabin doorway, pretty as a picture. Gus grunted but still fiddled with the wagon and load.

  Reese washed up as best he could in the horse trough. He took off his hat as he stepped through the doorway. Lucinda fussed over the cold meat and vegetables, placing it in a careful arrangement as if she were hosting a fancy dinner party.

  “Looks like Sadie loaded you down with plenty of food.”

  “She did. Please, take your place at the table.” Lucinda sat and spread a napkin on her lap. “What’s Gus doing?”

  “Still checking things, I guess.” Some best friend—he was probably in on Fannie’s plan. Reese’s stomach growled. Maybe he’d be in a better mood once he got some food in his belly.

  Gus finally did join them, ate, and took the spare horse and venison back to Dickshooter. Reese brought the wagon to the cabin while Lucinda cleaned up.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded and climbed onto the wagon without waiting for him to help her. Her blue calico dress settled against his leg.

  “What time will we get there?”

  “Three or four hours, depending on the road and weather.”

  They drove for another hour without conversation. Her nearness brought his awareness to her sweet lips, soulful brown eyes, and her shape could bring any man to his knees. Intelligent, pretty, and caring—caring for the women, at least. Her opinion of his low nature bothered him, warranted or not.

  “Rough country out here for a lady like you.” The road had been cut from the side of a mountain, and there was barely room for the wagon to navigate. The right wheels scraped the sagebrush growing out of the side of the mountain, and the left wheels had no room to spare. When he looked down, he saw a whole lot of nothing for a couple hundred yards.

  “Rough country for anyone.” She raised her chin slightly. “Environment should not determine deportment.”

  “Shouldn’t, but I’ve seen some fancy-raised gents turn into mongrels out here.”

  “You?”

  “My mother taught me manners.”

  “I thought so.”

  He offered her the canteen. “You need a drink? You haven’t had any water since we left.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “How long has it been since you washed it?”

  Rocks crashed together from up the mountain, a sound he knew all too well. “Whoa!” He reined the horses to a stop, pushed Lucinda down and covered her with his body just before pebbles, dirt, and sticks rained down on them. Reese sat up and used one hand to control the team while holding her down with the other.

  “What was that?” Lucinda yelled, her voice on the shaky side.

  “Landslide.” He let her up. “I think it’s over now, but we have a pretty good heap blocking the road.” Just then, a two-man boulder crashed into the top of the landslide and rolled off down the side of the mountain.

  Lucinda covered her head with her hands and leaned into him, but he couldn’t hold her because the team was spooked, and just six inches of sideways movement would send them down the cliff to certain death. Smaller rocks continued to rain down, only pebbles striking the horses. The animals snorted and stomped their displeasure. “Easy, there,” Reese said, trying to soothe them.

  He set the brake and wrapped the ribbons around the handle. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” Lucinda’s wan face and white knuckles belied her c
alm answer.

  “I have to check the road and make sure the horses’ hooves are sound. Will you be all right while I do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which means I have to get off on your side.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s a cliff over here and that first step is a bit worrisome.”

  “Oh.”

  “You stay still and I’ll try not to jar you.”

  She leaned back to give him room to pass. The wagon and the mountain left him just enough of a gap to step sideways toward the horses, his shirt snagging on the rocks and brush. Once he reached the team, he murmured soothingly, and once the horses were calm, he patted the fetlock of the right front horse and the animal lifted his foot. Reese brushed the grit and dirt away from the inside of the hoof. All looked well so he let go, patted the beast’s rump, and checked the others.

  “The horses appear to be fine.” He sidled to the front of the team to examine the road.

  “But I’ll have to do a lot of digging to get us out of here.”

  Just then, another rock, about a foot around, slammed in the the right rear wheel, jarring the wagon another inch toward the edge of the road. “Damn!”

  Miss Sharpe sat stiff as a board, her face pale, and her eyes wide open. “Mr. McAdams, would it be in my best interest to disembark?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But you’ll have to go over the load and get off the back. I’ll turn around and you can hitch up your skirts so you don’t hurt yourself.”

  * * * * *

  Lucinda took a deep breath to try to calm her pounding heartbeat. While a suffragist could meet any challenge, a four-foot pile of dirt and falling boulders had to be beyond a simple obstacle. Nevertheless, she would appear to be calm no matter how her insides quivered.

  “You can turn your back now.” When he did, she stood, gathered her skirt and petticoats around her waist, and swung one leg over the seatback. She didn’t know what was under the tarp, so she carefully placed weight on one foot to see if it was stable. Holding her skirts in one hand and using the other hand to balance, she picked her way to the tailgate and jumped down.

  “I’m off the wagon,” she told Reese, not too loudly because she didn’t want to alarm the horses.

  “Good.”

  “Um, the wagon’s back wheel is just about to go off the cliff.”

  “Not good.”

  “And...” He seemed so very far away. Only a team and wagon separated them but she felt very alone. “I don’t know what to do to help.”

  “Look under the tarp and get the shovel. Gus might’ve thrown in a pick and if he did, I need that, too. Put them on top of the tarp. If you shove them forward as much as you can, it’ll be a little easier for me to reach.”

  With his back against the cliff, he inched his way to the wagon.

  She retrieved the shovel, propped it against the wagon, and on further inspection, found the pick Gus had brought. It barely moved when she tugged the handle. She’d seen men swinging picks but she had no idea they were so heavy. Finally, she dislodged the cumbersome thing and hefted it onto the tarp along with the shovel.

  Reese grabbed the handles of both with one hand as if they weighed nothing at all. “You might as well make yourself comfortable. I have a lot of dirt and some big ol’ rocks to move up here.”

  As if she could rest on a settee with a nice cup of tea. “All right.” She stepped toward the mountain side of the road. The cliff side was too daunting. Everything seemed so big—the mountains, the deep canyon, the sky—and she felt very small.

  After a minute or two, she heard digging, the steel-hitting-rock kind. Thud after thud, plink after plink, of the heavy pick demonstated Reese’s strength. But he wasn’t the only one responsible. No self-respecting suffragist would stand there like a baby when work needed to be done.

  Then she noticed the back right wheel looked cock-eyed. Closer examination showed the wheel was actually straight, but one spoke had cracked. She elected not to mention it at the moment, with all the scraping, clanging, cursing and grunting going on in front.

  Instead, she gathered up her skirts and with her back against the cliff, made her way past the wagon. Scooting past the horses was a bit more intimidating. This close, they seemed larger, smellier, and their hooves more dangerous. But she sucked in her breath and continued on.

  What she saw was even scarier. A wagon-sized pile of dirt, brush and boulders rendered the narrow road impassable. Reese swung the pick at a rock on the mountain side of the road.

  “I’ve come to help.”

  Reese stopped work and stared at her as if she’d grown feathers. “This isn’t a job for ladies.”

  “A suffragist can meet any challenge.” She tugged on her gloves, wishing she’d worn leather instead of the cooler cloth. “Where should I begin?”

  “In the wagon, looking pretty.”

  Pretty? He thought she was pretty? Bah! This was no time to dwell in silly things, and besides, he probably would’ve said that to any woman.

  “I fully intend to assist you, Mr. McAdams. Either you tell me what to do or I’ll take it upon myself to do what looks to be necessary.”

  He leaned on his pick. “All right. Get the shovel and start throwing dirt over the side while I break up these rocks that are too big to lift.”

  “Why don’t you just roll them off?”

  “And risk gouging the side of the road? We barely have enough room as it is.”

  Her stomach churned at the idea of working so closely to the edge.

  “Once I get these rocks broken up, you can rest while I shovel the rest of the debris off.”

  The shovel felt awkward and heavy in her hands. Digging wasn’t in the curriculum at Miss Hattie’s School for the Refinement of Young Ladies. With a mighty thrust, she plunged it into the dirt pile and managed to get a little dirt. Not wanting to get too close to the edge, she flung the dirt as hard as she could in that direction. Instead, most of it landed on Reese’s back.

  “You call that helping?” he muttered without breaking his swing.

  “I just need to refine my technique some.” A lot, actually, but she’d get this figured out.

  “Just don’t spook the horses more than they already are.”

  The team had calmed down but even a city girl could see their ears were pinned back and they’d probably bolt at the slightest provocation.

  “I’ll be more careful, but if your clanging doesn’t spook them, my shoveling shouldn’t.”

  “These horses are used to noise, but no beast likes dirt thrown in its eyes.”

  She shrugged and got back to the business of digging. Her next attempt gained a little more dirt on the shovel and she ventured closer to the edge to throw the dirt off.

  “That’s more like it, Miss Sharpe, but you’re back’s gonna be mighty sore if you don’t use your legs to lift the load. You have knees—bend them. That’s what they’re for.”

  “I do not care to discuss my anatomy with you, Mr. McAdams.”

  “We’ll see about that in an hour.” He swung the pick at the boulder, the clang hurting her ears, but she’d get used to it. And she’d shovel so much dirt he wouldn’t have to finish up for her.

  Half an hour later, her back ached, sweat was running down her corset, and she’d worn holes in her gloves. Blisters stung her hands, her throat was parched, and her legs wobbled from weariness. Still, she carried on, having cleared only about a fourth of the dirt. She straightened, put her hands on her waist, and stretched her back.

  “Getting to you?” Reese smirked and slammed the pick into yet another rock, his swing just as powerful as his first.

  “Of course not.” Although she was about ready to turn in her suffragist card. “I shall continue until we’ve completed our project.”

  He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “I’m done with the rocks. You want me to watch you shovel or are you gonna let a man do it?”

  It wasn’t a real question because h
e took the shovel, and she let him have it, even though somehow it felt like a humiliating defeat. If she’d had an ounce of energy left, she’d show him what a real woman could do.

  “I’ll get some water, and then we can take turns with the shovel.”

  “As you say.” He touched the brim of his hat, then started work. Each shovelful contained three times as much dirt as she could manipulate, and by the time she sidled along the side of the mountain to the wagon and retrieved the canteen, he’d already made quite a dent in the pile.

  She uncorked the canteen and offered it to him.

  “Naw, you can have the first drink. I’m not sure that water’s going to last long, and it might be a while before we find any more.”

  Lucinda looked at the battered canteen. Her notions of cleanliness dissipated with the dryness of her throat. All qualms aside, she took a few swallows. The water tasted like canvas and dirt, but it was wet—heavenly, in fact. Heeding Reese’s warning of the impending shortage, she limited her intake and handed him the canteen.

  “While I scoop this pile off, you can go up the road and throw off any rocks larger than a couple inches.”

  “Is that just something to do to keep me out of your hair?”

  “It’s something that will keep the horses from going lame.” And with that, he resumed his shoveling.

  “I’ll leave the water here for you.” She placed the canteen beside a sagebrush against the mountain. Picking rocks wouldn’t have been such a chore if her back wasn’t ready to break and her hands weren’t so sore, but it was easier than shoveling.

  Still, it was hard to resist taking a peek at Reese, who’d unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. His muscles bulged with every scoop of the shovel. Without a doubt, no woman could resist a look now and then.

  He straightened and leaned on his shovel. “You like watching other people work?”

  Just him. “Um, I wanted to remind you to take a drink before you get too thirsty.” Ah, quick thinking. She set back to work picking rocks and flinging them over the side.

  Chapter 12

  Reese worked hard for the next hour or so, judging by the movement of the sun.