by AmyFleming
“I saw you come out here with the sheriff. Where did he go?”
“Off doing sheriff work, I imagine. He seems like a man with a mission.”
“Only here three days, and the sheriff wants to talk to you. What have you been up to?”
“He wanted to ask me about Eileen McArthur. It’s so strange how she just disappeared like that.”
He was silent for a minute. “People around here have been talking about it. Wondering if she went off with one of the miners or went back to Texas where she came from.”
“Did you know her very well?” Charlotte asked.
“Who me? No. I don’t think she had time for a simple cowboy.” There was an edge in his voice.
Charlotte thought something must have happened between Luc and Eileen McArthur but she said, “I think you’re a whole lot more than a simple cowboy.”
“Do you?” he asked, pleased. He took one of her blond ringlets and twisted it around a finger. He tugged on it gently. When she didn’t resist, he slid his hand over her cheek and under her chin. Charlotte gazed into Luc Branigan’s eyes and for a moment, she felt lost in them. This was exactly the same way she had felt when Gilbert looked into her eyes, a little dreamy, happy.
Luc slid his free arm around her and pulled her towards him. Taking his time, he kissed her.
She hoped he wouldn’t taste the smoke on her lips, but if he did, he never said. Luc Branigan was a way better kisser than Gilbert.
But he wasn’t Gilbert. She pulled away gently. “I’ve only been here three days,” she said, giving his words back to him. “We should go inside.”
He smiled down at her. “Indeed,” he said. He slid his arm down her back and let it rest for a moment at her waist. He turned her and guided her back towards the pavilion. She liked the possessive way his arm felt on her back.
Chapter Eleven
Back at the ranch, Charlotte closed the door quietly behind herself. She wondered if she could get into bed without waking up the whole house, and especially Maud and Elyse who shared her bedroom.
As she crossed the floor to the staircase, the door to Otto Dredger’s den flung open.
Startled, she gave a little gasp. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Dredger.”
He stood in the doorway and said. “I’ve startled you, I see.”
“I thought everyone was in bed,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“Come in here and tell me about your evening,” he said, retreating into the den.
Charlotte was happy but bone tired. “It must be really late,” she said, as she followed him. “The dance went on until midnight, and then we took the stagecoach back to Bandit Creek.”
“Close the door,” he said. “We don’t want to wake up everyone.”
She closed the door and sank into a chair. He had a bottle of whiskey open and two glasses. Without asking her, he poured her a shot and passed it over to her.
Was he waiting up for her?
“What time is it?” she asked, taking a small sip of the whiskey. It burned her throat.
Mr. Dredger took his gold pocket watch out and opened the case. “It’s just going on two. You’ll have a hard time in the morning when the children all get up. Hard to keep them quiet.”
Charlotte looked over at the watch. Mr. Dredger loved to play with it, opening it and closing it. “It’s a beautiful watch,” Charlotte said.
“Yes,” he handed it to her to have a better look. “It was my grandfather’s. He gave it to me back in Texas.”
She traced her finger over the shape of a thistle carved into the back of the watch. “Was he Scottish?” she asked.
“No, why would you think that?”
“Scotland’s emblem is the thistle.”
“Well, he wasn’t Scottish. He was German,” Mr. Dredger said. “And this is my sister, Laura,” he said, opening the watch and looking at a picture of a girl. “She was pretty and smart. She was a schoolteacher, just like you.”
“You must miss her,” Charlotte said, thinking for a minute about all her younger brothers and sisters. “Did something happen to her?”
“No, no.” He snapped the watch closed before Charlotte could see the picture more closely. “Nothing happened to her. She’s still back in Texas.”
Mr. Dredger hunched his shoulders together for a moment and then gave Charlotte a strained look. “Tell me all about the dance tonight.”
“It was wonderful. Have you been to the Atherton Pavilion?”
He nodded.
“Well, then you know what it’s like. There was a turkey dinner and then we danced until midnight. Everyone was friendly and I danced almost every dance.”
“Was Luc Branigan there?”
“Yes,” she said, slowly, wondering why he was asking. She continued, “So many people have warned me about him.”
“Who?
“You for one, Sheriff Forrest, for another.” That wasn’t strictly true. Luc had said the sheriff would warn her about Branigan, but they hadn’t talked about him at all. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re a beautiful girl, Charlotte. Pretty and smart like my sister, Laura. A lot of men would want you for their own.”
She took a drink of her whiskey and wished she could have a cigarette.
He reached over and stroked her arm. “A lot of men would want you,” he repeated.
Suddenly she felt very much alone, in a house filled with people. “It’s late,” she said. “I should get to bed.”
He put out the lights and followed her up the staircase. He caught her arm as she was about to open the door to her bedroom. “Sleep well, sweet Charlotte.” Before she could stop him, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. It was almost as if he was kissing his daughter goodnight.
Almost.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning over breakfast, Charlotte made plans to go into town to work on the Thanksgiving Pageant. She already had some marking to do. Otto Dredger told Charlotte she could ride Eliza’s horse into town, if she liked. Charlotte looked over at Eliza, who merely smiled and said it would be good for the horse to have someone riding her.
Down in the barn, Charlotte found Lee and asked him to help her saddle up the mare. He took a sidesaddle down from a bar.
“I don’t ride sidesaddle,” Charlotte told him.
“You ride like a man?” he asked incredulous. “I don’t know what Mr. Dredger would say about that.”
“Well, my mother and father let me ride astride and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Okay,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She was out of the barn and down the road before anyone else could express an opinion about how a lady ought to ride a horse. Really, this was 1911. Only last year, Two Gun Nan Aspinwall had ridden astride all of the way from San Francisco to New York. If anyone objected to her split skirts when she rode through their town, she shot up the place until everyone left her alone.
Charlotte thought for a moment about her little gun in her purse. She couldn’t imagine shooting up Bandit Creek if anyone gave her any trouble about riding astride. No proper teacher would do that.
*****
Sheriff Forrest slowly paged through the papers on the Teacher’s desk in the schoolroom for the second time. He noticed the new teacher, Charlotte Fraser, had taken all of Miss McArthur’s things and put them into the bottom drawer. Charlotte’s notes and lesson plans covered the desk. There was nothing new to find. He got up to leave and Charlotte rode by the window on her horse.
“Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” he said. The young women in this town gave him no end of trouble and it looked like Charlotte would be no exception. The girl was riding her horse like a man.
He went outside and watched her slide off the horse. She turned around to tie the horse to a rail, and Alec could see the outline of her bottom through the back of her pants.
“What in hell are you doing in those pants?” he yelled at her.
“It’s
a skirt,” she said, turning around to show him the front of it. He had to admit she looked really cute in her riding outfit, but that wasn’t the point.
“What are you doing in my schoolroom?” she asked.
“Listen to me, Charlotte. You can’t go around here riding your horse like a man. It’s not seemly. Before you know it, Mrs. Miles will be over here insisting that I arrest you. And what are you wearing?” He waved at her skirts. She had sewn a split in the back that let her ride astride.
“In a town where there are prostitutes living over the bars, why on earth would anyone care how I ride a horse?”
“Because, Charlotte, you are the teacher. You’re not one of those dance hall girls, although you’re giving me about as much trouble as some of them do.”
He watched the conflicting emotions run across her face. It looked like she was trying to decide if she should keep arguing with him or not.
She was silent for a minute. “It’s not right. To even mount a horse sidesaddle, you always need someone to help you.”
He saw the defeat in her eyes. Now he felt terrible. Why did he have to be the one to disappoint her? He wanted to be out catching bandits, and hunting for Miss McArthur, not enforcing a dress code. “It may not be right, Charlotte, but you have to decide if you want to live in this town or not,” he said as gently as he could manage.
“How do you expect me to get back to the ranch if I can’t ride this horse?” she demanded.
He sighed. “After you’re finished up here at the school, come by my house.” He pointed out a house down the road from the school. “I’ll take you back to the ranch. We can lead your mare behind my car.”
*****
Charlotte spent the day working on the Thanksgiving Pageant. Every student, even the little ones, needed to have at least one line to say.
The script was the place to start. She took a history book from the shelf at the back of the room and turned to the first Thanksgiving. She needed characters to be Indian princesses and native men. She needed Pilgrim Fathers and Pilgrim women and children. Charlotte made a list of characters and started on the script.
She drew some hats for the Pilgrim Fathers on brown paper. The children could cut them out and color them. She made another list of things to do and things to make, paper dresses for the Indian princesses and headbands for some of the boys.
Charlotte drew a picture of a turkey for the Thanksgiving meal and had the idea that some of the smaller children could dress up as pumpkins and turkeys to show the first Thanksgiving meal.
She pondered over what to use for the Mayflower, but the pageant was coming together. She was excited about the whole project and could hardly wait for Monday morning when the children would start working on it.
*****
Charlotte was about to knock on the sheriff’s door, when he came out of the house.
“There’s trouble over at one of the bars,” he said. “Go in and make yourself at home. I won’t be gone long.”
She wanted to complain about having to wait for him again, but she was intrigued by the opportunity to check out his house. The house was a bungalow, with built-in bookcases and pillars separating the living room from the dining room. At the back was a little galley kitchen, and Charlotte put on the teakettle. She searched among Alec’s books for something to read while she waited. The bookcases were filled with classics. Imagine that, an educated sheriff. His manner was brusque, so the piano was a real surprise. She leafed through some of the music in the piano bench and found the music for one of her favorites, the Merry Oldsmobile song.
Charlotte played a few bars of the music and then repeated them. She worked her way, line by line, though the song until she could play it smoothly. The next time through, when she got to the chorus, she began to sing.
“Come away with me Lucille, in my merry Oldsmobile.” Charlotte heard a noise and turned around to see the sheriff watching her.
“That was my mother’s favorite song,” he said. “My parents had an Oldsmobile.” He took a picture from the mantle above the fireplace and handed it to her. In the unframed picture, a man, a woman, and a boy stood beside a car.
“It’s my mom and dad,” he said. “And me. On our way out west.”
“Fancy car,” she said.
He smiled briefly. “That Oldsmobile was my dad’s pride and joy.” Then his smile disappeared. “Probably the reason they were shot.”
“What?” asked Charlotte, shocked. He sounded so matter of fact.
“They were shot in a hold-up. The bandits let me go. Probably because I was just a kid. The sheriff here in Bandit Creek, Dan Wilson, took me and made me a deputy. He let me help him hunt those bandits down.”
“How old were you?” Charlotte asked.
“Thirteen, but small for my age. If I’d been any bigger, they probably would have shot me, too.”
Charlotte let out a little breath. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to see his parents shot in front of him. She softly played a chord on the piano and then she said, “It must have been really tough. Hunting down the men who killed your parents.”
“It took us about a year to get them all. We shipped them off to Missoula for trial. I had to testify against every one of them.” He still sounded so matter of fact. Charlotte realized he didn’t want to show any emotion. In a small way, it was the same way as she felt about losing Gilbert. But losing Gilbert hardly compared to what the sheriff had lost. She wished there was something she could do to make him feel better.
“Why did you stay here? If it was me, I would hate to stay here after what happened to your parents.”
“The sheriff, Dan Wilson, who took me in, made me go to school. The town became like a family to me. Once we rounded up all those bandits, it seemed like this was my home.”
He was quite a man. So strong, so lonely...she knew exactly how he felt. She wanted to go over to him and stroke his brow. Instead, she played a few more bars of the song, and then she asked him, “Do you want me to stop.”
“No,” he said. “I like it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday morning, Charlotte rode Eliza Dredger’s horse to church and back. Sidesaddle. Otto Dredger was riding too but he wanted Charlotte to go on ahead. She passed the wagon carrying Eliza Dredger and the girls. She wondered where Tommy was. Her spirits were low because she was riding sidesaddle, but apparently, it was necessary if she was going to be the teacher in Bandit Creek.
It was the first time she had ever ridden sidesaddle, considered the only proper way for a lady to ride. She had more control of the horse than she expected, but she needed to use the whip instead of leg commands on the other side of the horse. At first, she felt unsteady, but finally she found the right combination of balance and posture to feel secure in the saddle.
With the wind in her hair, she relaxed for a moment and enjoyed the sunshine and the sound of melting water. The snow that had been on the ground since she arrived in Bandit Creek was beginning to recede. The roads would turn into a bumpy washboard. Charlotte had a moment’s thought for Eliza Dredger who was riding over those bumpy roads in the carriage. If that didn’t bring the baby on, Charlotte didn’t know what would. She felt bad for the woman. Mrs. Dredger clearly didn’t want to make the trip to town this morning, but Mr. Dredger had insisted. He reminded her that she wouldn’t have many chances to get out, after the baby came. Eliza had resisted but in the end, her husband’s concern for her happiness overrode her hesitation and off she had gone with the girls.
Charlotte got to the church early to meet the Reverend Miles, who was going to lead the prayers at the Thanksgiving Pageant at the school. He told her that the Thanksgiving Pageant had become a tradition in Bandit Creek. It was always in the morning so that everyone could go home and be with their families on the special day.
She mentioned she didn’t know what to do about the Mayflower, but Reverend Miles told her he had built a replica and painted it a few years earlier. They stored it the
Church basement and the older boys would know where to find it.
She could not help but look amused when he told her he had built the Mayflower and he noticed her expression. He smiled back at her and told her that ministers could be just as handy as anybody else.
*****
Charlotte was the first one back from church and Lee, one of the ranch hands, helped her down from her horse. He led the horse over to a fence so she could climb down. It was still cold and Charlotte’s horse was covered with sweat. Charlotte told Lee she would take care of the horse and she led it around the corner to the barn.
Ahead of her, Charlotte could see the unmistakable figure of Annie Hamilton crossing the ranch yard into the barn, young Tommy hanging on to one hand.
Charlotte followed Annie and Tommy into the barn. Annie was kneeling on the dirt floor of the barn comforting the boy.
“Mommy, I want to come with you,” Tommy was saying.
“Remember this is our secret,” Annie said to the boy.
“I can keep secrets,” the boy said.
Charlotte was equally amazed and horrified. “You’re his mother?” she asked. Then she added, “Tommy is too young to keep a secret. It’s not fair on the boy.”
Annie looked around at Charlotte impatiently. Then she turned back to the boy. “Go back into the house now and wait for your mother.” Annie gave the boy a final hug and whispered something in his ear. Tommy looked around and ran out the barn door.
Charlotte pulled the horse closer to her. “Mother? Mommy? The boy must be confused.”
“He can keep this a secret,” Annie said. “He has to.”
“It’s not fair to the boy,” Charlotte said again.
“You need to keep this to yourself,” Annie said.
Charlotte just looked at her.
“Don’t you be looking down your nose at me like that,” Annie said. “It’s for Tommy’s sake. If folks around here knew I was his mother, life would be really hard for him.”
“He’s eight years old. How can you expect him to keep a secret like this? How has he kept it this long?”