Sage chuckled. “She’s my wife, and we’ve been on the trail a long time. Pants make an easier ride for a woman.”
The clerk reddened. “I see! Well, I didn’t mean any insult, ma’am.”
“None taken,” Maggie answered. She repositioned her gun belt.
“You figuring on getting into a shoot-out?” Sage teased.
Maggie waved him off. “I’ll shoot you if you keep making fun of me,” she answered.
Sage turned to look at a variety of tobacco under glass. “Look around, and see what you need.” He glanced at the clerk. “You got any good face creams?”
“Oh, yes, sir.” He pointed to a shelf to Maggie’s left. “Right over there, ma’am.”
Maggie glanced at two old men who sat near a heating stove in the center of the small store. A pipe from the stove ran through the ceiling, and a kettle of water sat on top of the wood burner. The two old men looked her over, grinning. Maggie wasn’t sure if it was out of kindliness, or humor at her appearance. The plank floors creaked as she walked to the shelf of face creams. She studied them, while Sage ordered tobacco and cigarette papers, as well as four flasks of whiskey.
“We’ll also need about ten pounds of potatoes, three or four cans of beans, five pounds of flour and sugar, lard and bacon, a couple of large towels, laudanum, and ammunition.”
“Yes, sir.” The clerk called to a young boy in back. “Sammy, come out here and start filling this man’s order.” He turned back to Sage. “What kind of ammunition do you need?”
Sage rattled off the caliber of bullets and shotgun shells he needed—bullets for Maggie’s Sharps and his repeating rifle. Maggie picked out a jar of cream then noticed several spools of brightly colored ribbon, thinking how she’d like to tie them into her hair. She had some money of her own left, and she asked Sammy to cut some of the ribbon for her. Maybe tonight she’d wear a real dress and put one of the ribbons in her hair… for Sage.
“Ma Pilger still have a rooming house a couple blocks north?” Sage asked the clerk.
“Yes, sir, she’s still there. Do you know her?”
“I do. It’s been a few years though. I wasn’t sure she’d still be around.”
“Are you here to stay awhile, or are you passing through?” the clerk asked.
“Passing through.”
“Well, sir, if you’re here at least for tonight, you might want to take your wife to the spring barn dance. It’s just about the equivalent of four blocks east. Ma can tell you where it will be. There’ll be food there, lots of desserts. Perhaps if you’ve been on the trail a long time, your wife would enjoy putting on a dress and going to a dance. You’re certainly welcome.”
Sage began rolling a cigarette. “Well, now, that’s not a bad idea. We were going to go out to eat, but if we can get the same thing along with some socializing, I think my wife would like that just fine.” He glanced at Maggie.
“A dance and homemade eats sounds wonderful,” she told him. She walked back to the counter with the cream and the ribbons. “I don’t know if I have a fancy enough dress though.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Sage told her.
Maggie wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he seemed pretty sure of it, so she decided not to question him in front of others. She looked at the clerk. “How much are these ribbons?” she asked, reaching into her pants pocket.
Sage grabbed her arm. “I’ll get it all. You don’t need to be spending that money I gave you, honey.”
Honey? Sage gave her a warning look that reminded her that a wife wouldn’t be paying for supplies when her husband was with her.
“Go pick out some peppermint,” he told her, “and some rouge, or something like that if you need it.”
Maggie did just that, stifling an urge to burst out laughing. They finished with their supplies and paid. When they walked out to pack them onto Sadie and Rosa, Maggie noticed the two women were gone.
“We’ll unload this stuff at Ma’s, and I’ll take the horses and mules to a livery—have their hooves and shoes checked, feed them some oats, and give them a good rest,” Sage told Maggie.
She faced him. “We can really go to that dance tonight?”
Sage kept his cigarette at the corner of his mouth. “If that’s what you want.”
“I’d love it.”
“And I’ll be there with the prettiest girl.”
Maggie put a hand to her freckled cheek. “I sure don’t look it right now.” She frowned. “And what did you mean about taking care of a dress for tonight?”
“Don’t worry about that. Let’s get you to Ma’s and get you a bath and some rest.” He grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her onto Smoke’s back. “And try to remember, we’re married. Don’t be paying for things yourself when I’m along.”
“Yes, sir.”
A big, bearded man in a black coat and hat rode up just then. Maggie watched Sage stiffen as he stepped away from Smoke and watched the man dismount and tie his big roan gelding to the hitching post. The man turned, and for a tense moment, he and Sage glared at each other. Finally, the bearded man grinned.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned if it ain’t Sage Lightfoot,” he said, pushing his coat behind his gun as though he might need to draw it. Maggie cautiously moved her hand to her own six-gun.
“Leave it be, Maggie,” Sage told her, as though he could see her from the back of his head.
The bearded man glanced at her. “You got a woman protectin’ you now, do ya?” he asked Sage.
Sage moved away from Maggie and the horses, keeping his eyes on the bearded man. “More like me protecting her from the likes of you.”
The man chuckled. “Well, I heard you married some fancy woman from San Francisco a while back and was all settled on that ranch stocked with stolen cattle, Sage.” He glanced at Maggie again then back to Sage. “She don’t look like no fancy San Francisco woman. Fact is, she don’t look like a woman at all. You takin’ a fancy to the young ones now?”
Sage took the cigarette from his mouth and stepped it out. “What have you been up to over these years, John?” he asked. “You still robbing and killing? Still beating up on innocent women?”
The bearded man lost his smile. “Ain’t a whore alive who’s innocent, nor one who don’t expect a man to be a little rough once in a while. Some of ’em actually like it.”
“I asked what you’ve been up to.” Sage looked around as though making sure the man didn’t have some friends about.
“The usual… same as when you run with us. Not a bad life, Sage, if you remember. Money when you need it, plenty of liquor and cards, all the women a man could ask for.” John put his hands on his hips. “Which makes me wonder how in hell you go from bein’ married to a fancy lady and settled on a ranch to showin’ up here in outlaw country with a little whip of a woman who looks like she’s tryin’ to hide her curves under boy’s pants and a big hat.”
“None of your business. We’re only here for tonight so stay out of my way.”
The man snickered. “Oh, I’ll do that, all right. Last time we mixed, I ended up with a broken jaw, a broken nose, cracked ribs, a broken wrist, and according to the doctor, I had a punctured lung and a lacerated liver—but I didn’t have my gun on me then. A gun makes a big difference.”
“If I hear you’ve done anything like what you did last time we mixed, fists or guns, it won’t matter. You’ll be in worse shape… most likely, dead. I was hoping that’s how I left you back then.”
Maggie could tell the bearded man was only pretending not to be afraid. He glanced at Sage’s gun then backed up slightly. “Hey, Lightfoot, it’s only by chance that we happened into each other after all these years. You’re goin’ your way for your own reasons, and I’m goin’ mine, so no sense in us tanglin’ at this late date.”
Sage nodded. “Glad you understand that. And the woman on that horse is my wife, so get your filthy eyes and thoughts off her. You already know I’ve got little patience for a woman beater. W
ouldn’t take much for me to be offended at one who looks wrongly at my own wife.”
The bearded man tipped his hat to Maggie. “Ma’am…” With one last glance at Sage, he turned and walked into the store. Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. Sage mounted Storm and took the reins to both packhorses.
“Let’s go,” he told Maggie.
Maggie followed him up the street. She could already see a sign that read Ma Pilger’s. She cantered Smoke up beside Sage’s horse. “Who was that?” she asked Sage.
“Just somebody from my past,” he answered. “Name’s John Polk, and he doesn’t have much respect for women… decided to beat the hell out of a prostitute we all used to do business with down at Brown’s Park. I decided to show him how it felt to get beat on. I liked that girl. The other men had to drag me off him. By the time I’d got done, I thought maybe I killed him, but he obviously survived. We all rode off without him after that, and I never saw him since… till now.”
Again Sage’s violent side came into perspective. From the injuries John Polk mentioned, it must have been quite a beating… and over a woman. If Sage could beat such a big man so violently over a prostitute, what would he do in defense of a woman he loved enough to marry?
“Do we need to worry about him?” she asked Sage.
Sage stared straight ahead. “From here on, we have to worry about pretty much every man we come across.” He glanced her way then. “But let me do the worrying. You’re going to Ma Pilger’s to rest and clean up—and tonight I’m taking my beautiful wife to a dance.” He gave her a wink and galloped Storm and the pack mules up to Ma Pilger’s place.
Twenty-five
“There ya go, honey.” Ma Pilger tucked a rhinestone comb into the last curl atop Maggie’s head. “Now, take a look. I’ve got to say, you’re the prettiest thing that’s passed through Atlantic City in a hell of a long time. You looked like a kid when Sage walked in here with you, and you’re goin’ out a full woman.”
Maggie turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror in Ma’s bedroom, where the crusty old woman had let her bathe, then take a good, long nap before helping her dress. Rather than wear the ribbons she’d bought, Ma coiffed her red hair into a mass of curls bedecked with combs and tiny flowers.
Maggie sucked in her breath. “Ma!” She literally stared at herself. Never had she felt like a pretty woman, but she did now. “I’ve never looked like this!” She touched her lightly rouged cheeks, ran her fingers along the tiny daisies that decorated the bodice of her baby-blue checkered dress, cut slightly off the shoulders—just low enough to show she was a woman without revealing too much. She put a hand to her small waist. As with her first baby, she showed no signs so far of being with child. “I’ve never seen myself like this,” she told Ma. “And my hair—” She touched the curls. “I don’t even look like myself.”
“Ain’t you ever been dressed up fancy?” Ma asked her.
Maggie smiled. “No, never this fancy.”
Ma Pilger was a sweet woman with almost comical features—skinny arms and legs, wide around the middle. Sage was right that Ma looked far older than her years. He’d figured she should be about sixty now, but she looked ninety with so many lines in her face it would be impossible to count them.
“Back on the farm in Missouri I knew nothing but farm work,” Maggie told Ma. “A trip to the closest town once in a while, but only to get what things we needed—never for something fun, and never a reason to dress fancy.”
Ma’s deep brown eyes remained bright in spite of her aging features. Her kindness and friendly personality made up for her lost looks, so much so that after a mere couple of hours of knowing her, a person didn’t notice the incredible wrinkles, and the fact that when she smiled she showed only two teeth. “Well, you’ll have fun at the dance,” she told Maggie. “You and Sage hit town at just the right time. And I sure am glad to see Sage has took a wife. I ain’t seen him since he was still a hell-raiser and ridin’ with outlaws. I’m glad to see him happy and settled.”
Maggie decided not to explain that Sage had already been married once. Maybe Ma knew, but decided not to ask questions. “Sage said he’d take care of me having the proper dress for tonight,” she told Ma. “He sure kept his promise. Where on earth did he get this? I don’t remember seeing a dress shop, but then I haven’t seen the whole town.”
She wondered what Ma’s first name really was, or if she’d ever been married herself. Sage told her no one in town knew much about Ma—only that she’d come to Atlantic City one day, paid to build a rooming house, and then settled there. By then, she was already getting old.
“Well, now, there ain’t much to the town, darlin’,” Ma answered. “Far as that dress, you’ll have to ask Sage. He said I shouldn’t tell you.”
Maggie felt a tiny sting of jealousy, suspecting the dress came from his visit to a local prostitute—maybe more than one—to find something they could use to keep Maggie from getting pregnant. He’d dropped off the dress without an explanation and left to visit a bathhouse. Maggie worried about the man called John Polk, but as far as she knew, Sage had no more trouble with him.
“I have to say, you’re lucky he found a dress small enough to fit ya’,” Ma added. “You’re about the tiniest woman I’ve ever met, ’sides Louella over at—” She covered her mouth, and her eyes widened as though she’d been caught red-handed at something. “Don’t tell Sage I said anything. And he didn’t have no choice. There is a dress shop in town, but they didn’t have anything that comes near to fittin’ you. I’m the one who told him about Louella over at… well… over at Delight Cabin. It’s a saloon. There’s only two girls that work upstairs, and I knew one of ’em was about your size. She’s right nice. Really. And Sage… I can see in his eyes how he feels about you. You shouldn’t ought to worry where he got that dress.”
Maggie almost felt sorry for her. She looked ready to cry at accidentally revealing the source of the dress. “It’s okay, Ma. I already suspected.” Maggie looked in the mirror again. “Thank you so much for doing my hair. I’ve never worn it like this before. I hate to take it back down after the dance, but I sure can’t ride the trail looking like this.”
Ma smiled, but kept her lips closed, obviously a bit embarrassed about her lonely teeth. She walked closer and tugged on one curl to make it dangle a bit longer. “You sure can’t—not in this country.”
Someone knocked on the door. Ma opened it, and there stood Sage, in clean denim pants and a white shirt with a black string tie. He looked wonderful, and the stunned look on his face made Maggie feel even more beautiful. He shook his head in wonder. “By God, Maggie, you’re—”
“Beautiful, that’s what she is,” Ma finished for him, chuckling. “Now, you two get on to the dance.” She glanced at the six-gun that hung in its holster at Sage’s side. “You gonna wear that thing? It’s a friendly dance.”
Sage glanced at the old woman, scowling slightly. “Do you really expect me to leave my weapon behind in this country, with a woman on my arm who looks like Maggie, and with the chance of running into the men we’re after? That doesn’t include the fact that John Polk is probably still around.”
Ma shrugged. “You know the code out here. Ain’t no men gonna give you trouble at that dance, ’specially knowin’ Maggie’s your wife. And from your description, I ain’t seen any of the men you told me about. You know me. I don’t miss much in this town. Ain’t like we’re a big city where nobody knows his neighbor. Far as that Polk fella—none of the other men will let him bother anybody at that dance.”
“We can’t be too careful, Ma.” He looked at Maggie again. “Ma is right. You are beautiful. I already knew that, but I didn’t expect anything like this, even after all the time we’ve been together.”
Maggie felt like crying. “Thank you… for the dance… for this dress.”
He walked closer, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Let’s go, Mrs. Lightfoot.”
How she wished that really were her name… Mag
gie took his arm.
“Wait.” Ma walked to a wardrobe and opened the doors, reaching into the bottom of the closet and taking out a lovely knitted shawl. She brought it to Maggie. “You might need this later. There’s always a chill in the air in the mountains at night. This belonged to me when I was young… and pretty… a long time ago. I haven’t worn it for years, but it’s too special to give away, so I’ve always kept it. My own ma knitted this for me.”
Maggie took the shawl, marveling at the softness of the yarn used to make it. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much.” She threw it around her shoulders, wondering at the old woman’s past and the secrets it held. “Are you going to the dance, Ma?”
The old lady waved her off. “Ain’t nobody gonna dance with me. I’ll be takin’ over a couple of pies and cakes later, but I ain’t stayin’. I’ll keep the coffee hot here for you two.”
“You’re wrong about nobody wanting a dance,” Sage told her, giving her a wink. “Most of the men in town would love at least one whirl with you, and I’m one of them.”
Ma chuckled. “Go on with you now.” She gave both a light shove. “Have a good time.”
Maggie left with Sage, wishing every day from here on could be this wonderful.
Twenty-six
Maggie couldn’t remember enjoying herself this much in her whole life. The local citizens had transformed the livery into a real dance hall, having cleaned the stalls and pushed the hay aside. A table along the back wall boasted a variety of cakes and pies, as well as a huge bowl of strawberry punch. A three-man band made up of two fiddles and a banjo played a mixture of slow tunes and fast-paced dances with moves called by a bearded man wearing bib overalls. Maggie’s only experience at dancing came from when she would whirl around her house or in the fields alone back home. This was all new to her, and being raised by missionaries and then running with outlaws, Sage’s own experience with legitimate social frolics was limited. He’d confessed that what little he did know came from dancing in saloons with not so legitimate women. Together they managed to move to the slow dances with reasonable ease, their personal emotions taking over in a natural rhythm that helped them move about the hard-packed dirt floor with few stumbles. Neither wanted to try the square dances, but others helped them learn the whirling movements and partner changes that had everyone laughing and stomping their feet.
Rosanne Bittner Page 14