“I wrote Faith. Told her all about you all.”
Ginny knew Temperence had a sister by the name of Faith, living in New England.
“You’ve never said much about your family.”
Temperence nodded. “It was hard for me to talk about them, for a while. My mother and father died very close to one another. I was left with nothing and was forced into the life I was leading when Josh found me. He never judged me for it, and neither have any of you.”
“We do what we have to do in order to survive.”
“My sister had married before our parents died.”
“She’s older, am I right?”
Temperence nodded and took a sip of wine. “She’s older by eight years. I wrote her when Ma and Pa died. She wrote back and asked if I needed help, but I never wrote back. I knew she would try to send money, which she didn’t have. They live on a small farm in Vermont and have very little money. I knew she might want me to move there to live with them, but they have four children and I knew they didn’t have the room for me. I was determined to survive on my own, without being a burden. What a fool decision that was, but I was fifteen and thought I knew more than I did.”
Ginny sighed. “So do most of us, at fifteen.”
Ginny had another sip of wine. “This household is yours, Temperence. You are now the lady of the house, as of tomorrow. You’ve earned it.”
“But, Aunt Ginny, I feel like I’m somehow stepping into your place.”
“Nonsense, child. My time here is done. It’s time for this house to be yours and Josh’s. I’ll be moving into town, to be with Addison. We haven’t made any announcements yet because I didn’t want to take anything away from the joy and excitement of your wedding. But in two weeks, Addison and I are going to have a small ceremony right here. I’ve talked to Johnny about it. Tom will officiate.”
“Oh, Aunt Ginny.” Temperence put a hand on Ginny’s. “I’m so happy for you.”
“And I for you.”
Both wine glasses were about empty.
“You know,” Temperence said, “I think I can sleep now.”
“Me too. Let’s turn in. Tomorrow will be the biggest day of your life.”
She and Ginny walked through the parlor. At the foot of the staircase, Ginny said to her, “I want you to know something. You’re like a daughter to me.”
Temperence said, “Oh, Aunt Ginny,” and they pulled each in for a long hug.
Ginny said, “Now get upstairs. Josh will never forgive me if his bride is falling over tired at the church tomorrow.”
Temperence giggled. “You’re right. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Ginny watched Temperence climb the stairs. Ginny looked at her own bedroom door but realized sleep was still a long way off. After all, she had so much going on in her life now. Her upcoming marriage to Addison, which was in itself like a fairytale come true. There was also the expansion of the Second Chance into a full-fledged restaurant as well as a saloon. And in the morning, she would be coordinating the preparation of the wedding party.
The stone hearth was standing dark and cold, and she found herself thinking of all of the evenings a fire had blazed to life in there. She lowered herself into her rocker, and allowed memories to flow through her mind. Memories of how the family had sat before the fire and talked and laughed. Now she was sitting in the rocker for the last time as the lady of the house.
After a time, she rose to her feet and with her memories warm in her heart, she went to her bedroom and let sleep take her.
15
The following day, the church in Jubilee was preparing for the wedding of Josh and Temperance. However, Bertram Reed wasn’t staying around for the festivities. The stage now rolled through Jubilee every day, and he climbed onto the morning’s stage with a carpet bag packed for one night.
As the stage driver shouted, “Giddyap!” and the stage started forward, Reed gave a glance out the window at the church. He saw some sort of lacey ribbon twirled around the railing that led to the front door.
Two girls stood by the railing, applying the finishing touches to the ribbon. Both were in formal-looking gowns. One, a light-haired girl, he knew was the young wife of one of Johnny McCabe’s gunfighter sons. The other, a dark-haired girl, was McCabe’s daughter. The one who had beaten the stuffing out of Aloysius Randall the summer before.
The stage moved on and the church was gone from his view. He settled in for the long, jouncy ride down to Bozeman. He pulled a newspaper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it.
A man sat beside him. Gray-haired and a little heavy-set.
“Bound for Bozeman, are you?” the man said.
Reed gave a little sigh of exasperation. He was not in the mood for conversation. But he said, “That I am. Business trip.”
The polite thing would have been for Reed to ask the man about his trip. Was Bozeman his final destination, or was he bound for Cheyenne, or some other place back East or further west? But Reed didn’t really care. He wanted a few moments of peace. Just him and his newspaper.
The man didn’t take the hint. He said, “Me, I have family out in Carson City. Ever been there?”
Reed had been through Carson City on his way to San Francisco. Not much to see in that part of the country. Mountains and a huge lake. He had never been one to see the aesthetic beauty in a mountain. He looked at a mountain in terms of potential mineral rights, and like McCabe had said, he looked at trees in the terms of board feet. In a lake, he saw water rights.
Reed focused on his newspaper and the man finally left him in silence. The scenery rolled by out his window, and the stage hit ruts and rocks and bounced its way along.
When they pulled up in front of the stage depot in Bozeman, Reed found himself thinking the railroad couldn’t get to Montana soon enough. It was more expensive than a stage but gave a much smoother ride.
Bag in hand, he didn’t go to the hotel where he had reserved a room, but headed directly to a restaurant. The name of the place was The Bozeman, and it was the closest you could find to real fine dining between St. Louis and San Francisco. Which meant the food was more than just glorified home cooking and the wine was actually aged more than six months.
He found his employer at a corner table. He was working on a steak, and a goblet of red wine stood before him.
Not many people in Jubilee knew that Bertram Reed had an employer. In fact, Reed didn’t think anyone knew. Even the men who worked for him didn’t know.
His employer’s name was Aloysius Randall.
Randall looked up as Reed crossed the room.
“Bertram,” he said.
“I am sorry I’m late,” Reed said. “The stage left Jubilee later than planned, and the road is still a little rough.”
Randall waved his fork in the air, dismissing the notion. “It’s to be expected. The trails in this backwater part of the world haven’t been open that long from the winter snows. Sit. Please.”
Reed sat and placed his hat in an empty chair. A waiter scooted over and Reed ordered a vodka.
In most saloons in the vast wasteland between St. Louis and San Francisco, if you ordered a vodka, the bartender would look at you blankly. But here, the waiter actually asked him which brand. Reed didn’t know how far he could push his luck but he thought he might try.
“Do you have Absolut?” he asked. A fairly new brand, started up two years earlier in Sweden.
The waiter didn’t bat an eye. He was in a tie and jacket and spoke with a hint of the aristocratic Boston. “But of course.”
Reed smiled. “That would do nicely. Thank you.”
The waiter crossed the dining room, moving as though with a purpose.
Randall said, “Vodka. You have European tastes.”
“Indeed,” Reed said. “This is one of the few places you can get it within a thousand miles.”
The waiter returned and placed a drinking glass in front of him with two fingers of clear liquid in it. He also gave Reed a menu. It didn�
�t take him long to order. The porterhouse that Randall was cutting into was making his mouth water.
When the waiter left with his order, Randall said, “Did you know Vodka actually originated in Arabia? It was introduced to Russia in the thirteenth century.”
Reed said, “No, I didn’t know that.”
Which meant, to anyone who knew Reed, that he actually had no interest but was being polite. After all, Randall was his employer and was paying him a good deal of money. This was partly how he was able to afford Vodka imported from Sweden.
Reed took a sip of his vodka. It didn’t burn. Vodka that burns is a sign of inferiority. He expected nothing but the best from Absolut.
Randall said, “Strange thing about the world. Russian vodka actually comes from Arabia. The Texas longhorn, from Spain. Gunpowder, which we all identify as being American or European, was actually invented in China in the twelfth century.”
Reed had read more than one source that dated gunpowder back to the ninth century, but he wasn’t going to correct his employer. The last thing most people wanted was to be proven wrong.
Randall chewed on a piece of steak and washed it down with a very civilized sip of wine. He didn’t chug it or slurp, like so many did on what Reed considered to be this God-forsaken frontier.
Randall said, “My point being, I suppose, that seldom something that is highly identified with a certain place is actually from that place. If you dig deeply enough into history, everything is from somewhere else. Like we Americans, for instance. We believe this land is ours to take. Manifest Destiny, and all of that. But the Indian was here first. And if you look at an Indian, if you actually look at him, you can see distinct Asian qualities in the face. I was speaking with an anthropologist from Oxford a while ago and he speculated that in ancient times, the Indians made their way across the Bering Strait from Russia to Alaska. Not that I’ve ever been to either place or have any desire to actually go, but he showed me a map and it’s a surprisingly small body of ocean that separate Russia from Alaska.”
Reed waited patiently. He took another sip of vodka. He had little interest in history or anthropology. His interests were in business law, and profits and losses. But Randall was his employer so he listened as though he had an interest.
Randall said, “Take the little town of Jubilee. For a long time, it was McCabe country. Even the little hamlet that preceded Jubilee was called McCabe Gap. When people think of that part of the territory, they think of the McCabes. In fact, they think of Johnny McCabe in particular.”
Reed couldn’t help but think about the fact that Randall had been knocked almost unconscious by McCabe’s daughter the previous summer, and she had left him bruised and banged-up. It was weeks before the man was fully recovered. It made Reed want to laugh, but he held back that laugh by taking another sip of vodka. It doesn’t do you a lot of good to laugh at your employer. Randall was giving him the equivalent of a cowhand’s yearly salary every week. That kind of money you didn’t laugh at. You could listen to a lot of rambling if you were paid like that.
Randall said, “But my intention is that before long, the McCabes will be gone. And I, the newcomer, will be the one people associate with the town of Jubilee.”
“With all due respect,” Reed said, “I have to ask. Why Jubilee? It’s a very small pond for a man who has a lot of financial and business interest elsewhere.”
“Because they stopped me. They stood in my way. They challenged me and made me look small.”
You made yourself look small, Reed thought. Randall made unwanted advances toward a young girl and refused to take no for an answer. But she didn’t need to go get her father or brothers to give Randall the violent thrashing he needed—she did it herself. Such a thing could be expected from a McCabe girl. The fault was all Randall’s. Reed didn’t see how Randall could consider himself the wronged party.
Randall didn’t even dare show his face in Jubilee. This was why Reed had to meet him in Bozeman. He was partially afraid McCabe or one of his sons might decide to settle their score the old-school, vigilante way. With a bullet. But Reed suspected Randall was also afraid of the girl.
But with the kind of money Reed was being paid, if Randall felt he had a bone to pick with the McCabes and wanted Reed to assist him, then so be it.
Reed told him about what had transpired in Jubilee and the adjoining valley occupied by the McCabes. Reed had been willing to offer as much as two dollars per acre, an obscenely high figure given the current price of real estate, but had been refused.
Randall took another sip of wine, apparently taking a moment to let everything Reed had told him roll around in his mind.
He said, “They’re taking a herd south to Cheyenne.”
It was a statement more than a question.
Reed said, “That’s the talk around town. I’m not sure when they’re departing, but I believe it’s soon.”
“And Johnny McCabe and his sons will be taking the herd themselves. They’re not hiring drovers.”
“Apparently not.”
“Bertram,” Randall said, “you have an assignment. I don’t want those steers to arrive in Cheyenne. I don’t care what you have to do. You have carte blanche. Scatter the herd to the hills. Destroy it if you have to. And if none of the McCabes return alive, I won’t be disappointed.”
16
Johnny had walked Haley down the aisle, and now he was going to do the same with Temperance.
Johnny stood in a suit and tie, and he was clean shaven and his hair was tied back. He left his gun back at the ranch.
Johnny found Temperance made a beautiful bride. He hadn’t been to many weddings in his life, but no bride stood ahead of her. The gown was white and lacey, designed by Ginny based on something she had seen in some sort of magazine out of Paris, and sewn together by her and Haley.
Bree had never been much help with a needle and thread. She was more at home dealing with livestock. Evaluating horseflesh. She couldn’t thread a needle, but Johnny had seen her light a match with a rifle shot from three hundred feet away. Josh had stood a match in a crack in an old stump and they marched off what they estimated to be three hundred feet. Johnny stood and watched while his daughter jacked a cartridge into her rifle. The first two shots missed, but on the third shot, the bullet struck the top of the match and a little lick of flame flickered to life on it. Johnny thought it was some of the finest piece of rifle-shooting he had ever seen.
Bree looked at home with a stetson pulled down over her head and a pistol at her side, but she also could bring a gown to life, and she now looked elegant as she stood with Haley at the back of the church. She was in a mint green dress with white lace and a neckline that fell off the shoulder. She had a long, graceful neck, and those hands that could hold a Winchester like they were born to it were now in white gloves, and she looked every bit as natural this way. Her hair was pinned up and she looked like something out of a magazine from back East.
Ginny was with them. She was the wedding coordinator and was busy with final touches of on Temperence’s the hair, and making certain the bride’s bouquet was put together just right.
Ginny said to Johnny, “I think we’re about ready to start.”
“All right. Let me take a quick walk up front to make sure everything’s all right up there.”
Johnny walked up the aisle. The pews on both sides were full. Josh was standing in front of the altar and Tom was with him. Josh had decided against cutting his hair, and it fell long and to his shoulders.
“You ready?” Johnny said to his son.
Josh said, “More than ever, Pa. She’s the woman for me.”
Johnny nodded. “I know. You know how?”
Josh shook his head.
“Because you two look at each other the same way your Ma and I used to.”
Josh was grinning wide. Johnny thought he saw his son’s eyes sparkling a little.
Johnny held his hand out and his son shook it.
Johnny said, “You
’re a fine son and a good ramrod. You’re going to make a great husband and father.”
“Coming from you,” Josh said, “that means the world.”
Johnny gave a nod to Lettie, who was sitting at an upright piano. The church hadn’t yet acquired an organ, but Tom had gotten the piano second-hand from a saloon down in Bozeman. Some of the parishioners objected to having a saloon piano in the church, but Tom had said, “Don’t turn your nose up at the Lord’s bounty. He works in mysterious ways. We should be thankful.”
Johnny walked back down the aisle and then Lettie’s fingers began working over the ivories, producing the Wedding March.
Cora walked down the aisle first. Johnny was now standing with Temperence, but he could hear the shuffle as everyone in the church rose to their feet. Cora held a basket in one hand, and her job was to toss red rose petals to the floor as she moved along. Josh had gotten the petals from a wild rose bush that grew on the valley floor.
Dusty was standing out back with Charles. Josh had needed a third man to stand with him, and had chosen Charles. Both were in a tie and jacket. Dusty’s hair fell freely about his shoulders, where Chuck’s was short. When Johnny had first come West, many men had worn their hair long, and oftentimes with sweeping mustaches and full beards. Now, among the younger men, there were fewer beards and when there was a mustache, it was short and tidy, and hair was usually cut short. The result of the West becoming more civilized, Johnny figured.
Charles was one of the tallest boys Johnny had ever met and was built like a fence pole, but Ginny had gotten him a jacket and trousers and then found some way to adjust them so they fit him.
When Cora was halfway down the aisle, Charles began forward and Haley was beside him with her hand resting gently in the crook of his arm. Then when they were partway toward the altar, Dusty and Bree began down. Dusty was the best man and Bree the maid of honor.
Trail Drive (The McCabes Book 5) Page 7