by Yvonne Jocks
“Alone?” Ham's voice cracked, and Jack decided he ought to go see to something—anything—out back. Now. Checkers crunched under his boots as he escaped.
He had enough of his own concerns to chew on—what Audra had revealed of herself at church, what he'd revealed about himself right here—that he didn't need to tangle himself further in Ham and Lucy's. Still, despite his usual penchant for not interfering, he was glad he'd brought it up.
Someone shot at the store that night and took out an upstairs window with buckshot.
It was time they did something. What they'd do was a whole separate issue.
Chapter Twenty-three
Teachers should set aside a goodly portion of their earnings for their benefit during their declining years, so as not to become a burden on society.
—Rules for Teachers
“Does she know where she'd like to go?” asked Audra, savoring Jack's company from across the counter even more than the sweet tang of the candy stick he'd given her. She felt bracingly rebellious simply by returning here; accepting the candy came easily in comparison.
She tried not to think about slippery slopes off righteous paths.
Even Jack had questioned her propriety when she arrived, after school on Thursday, to ask after their health and safety. Even if Mr. Hamilton and Miss Wolfe were married, as she'd heard rumored, that alone would be a scandal without Jack sharing their residence.
She'd attempted to stay away for the week, not just because of Aunt Heddy's disapproval but to prove to herself that she could. Stay away, that was. That she could be Jack's friend without letting her standards of behavior fall by the wayside, as she had before. But when Jerome Newton
announced at school that someone had shot up the mercantile, standards of behavior fell in importance next to ascertaining her friend's continued well-being.
So here she was—with nobody else to hear them talk, not even by the cracker barrel.
Jack, leaning his elbows on the counter and his cheek on one fist, watched her mouth with an inordinate amount of interest when she sucked on the candy stick. “What's that, darlin'?”
She took the stick out of her mouth to answer him, as seemed only polite, and he raised somewhat glazed eyes to her own. “Miss Wolfe. Does she—” Then she realized that she already had the answer to one of the gossips' many speculations, right there. "You did not cal her Mrs. Hamilton; you called her Miss Wolfe. Does that mean that they . . ." She flushed, hesitant to speak of such things. But if she could ask this of anybody . . . “Does that mean they have not married?”
He sat up slightly, clearing his throat. “Only in the ... uh ... basest sense.”
“Oh.” Her face burned with embarrassment. “That's too bad.”
"Neither one's completely set against it, mind you. Ferris is talking 'bout pulling up stakes, relocating somewhere safer, maybe up north. But that takes money, and he'll be lucky if the store doesn't go under first. Lucy—Miss Wolfe, I mean—just wants to ..."
For some reason, when she started to suck on the hard candy again while listening to him, Jack's attention seemed to wander. This time, even when she withdrew the candy from her mouth, Jack continued staring at her lips for a long, intriguing moment. He seemed fascinated and
uncomfortable at the same time, somehow different from when he meant to kiss her.
Testing her observation, Audra tentatively licked the tip of the candy stick.
Jack squeezed his eyes shut as if pained. When he opened them, he reached across the counter and touched her wrist, guiding her hand—and the candy—gently away from her mouth.
“Maybe”—his voice cracked—“maybe you ought to save that until later, after al .”
Oh! He'd been the one to suggest she have the treat there, but she must have behaved rudely anyway. She offered the stick to him. “I'm sorry. Do you want some?”
Jack pressed his lips together, the oddest expression on his face, and shook his head.
When Jack Harwood ran out of words, something was amiss. “What's wrong?”
He had to take a deep breath, deep enough to raise and drop his shoulders, before he attempted answering her. "Tell you what, darlin'. Someday you'll get yourself married. When you do, you ask your husband what could be so fascinating about a lady eating a candy stick the way you do, and he'll “—he cleared his throat—”I imagine he'll clarify things further."
The idea of her marrying—marrying anyone but the wonderful, dissolute man across the counter from her, in any case— disturbed her so much, she didn't bother to pursue his strange explanation.
And of course she could not marry Jack, even if he wanted to marry her, which he surely did not.
He was leaving; and even if he weren't leaving, he was a gambler; and even if he weren't a gambler, he drank; and even if he didn't drink...
Thoughts of his other sins only embarrassed her further. The point was, she could neither marry him nor imagine marrying elsewhere. Perhaps she'd simply become an old maid—like her Aunt Heddy, but without even the past a widow could claim. The thought saddened her—no husband, no real home, no kissing, no ... marrying in the basest sense.
No children except for pupils.
She occupied herself with wrapping the candy stick in a handkerchief, so that she could pocket it without ruining her dress, and prompted, "You told me that Miss Wolfe meant to leave the area, and I asked where she would go."
“That's a fine question,” Jack assured her, sounding steadier than he had since giving her the candy. She loved the ease with which he talked to her, as if she could understand almost anything he had to tell her, as if she might even be of some use in arriving at a solution.
“It's one of several we'd best answer if she's to get safely away from here,” he continued. "Poorly as the store's doing, we'll do well to afford train passage and funds for food, much less enough to get her settled once she gets wherever she's going. And we can't figure the money until someone figures out a destination."
“How about Wyoming?” Audra asked.
Jack blinked at her. “Wyoming?”
"Where my family lives. The man who runs the laundry there—Sing Lee—used to work for us as our housekeeper until Mama invested in his business to help him get started."
As usual, Jack's smile made her insides swoop. “He was that bad a housekeeper?”
"No, silly! My mother just does things like that. She helped to get Sing Lee's wife into the country, too, despite the Exclusion Acts. So I'm sure he'd do her a favor if she asked. And he often says he could use more help. If Miss Wolfe wanted to go to Sheridan, one of my family could meet the train so that she wouldn't be alone in a strange place, and—"
Jack raised a hand. “Wait a moment, darlin'. You are brilliant,” he assured her, which, coming from a man who had faced off five drunken hoodlums with only a derringer—she'd overheard her pupils telling more of the story—flattered her considerably. "But you'll just have to waste breath repeating yourself,“ he warned now. ”Stay here and don't move, agreed?"
She nodded. He turned toward the back room, then paused, turned back, and kissed her. It was a quick kiss, not like the ones they'd lingered over in the woods, but it still tingled through her, especially when his tongue brushed her lips, as if reluctant to end things, as he drew away.
“My apologies,” he said smoothly—and not the least bit apologetic, she thought—and then he headed into the back, smacking his lips as he went. He was tasting the candy off her lips!
She'd still not stopped blushing when Jack returned with Mr. Hamilton and a reticent Miss Wolfe.
“Now tell them what you told me, Miss Garrison,” he instructed, gratifyingly more formal in their presence—but stopping to stand, tall and warm, beside her.
So Audra did, excitement at her suggestion growing.
Mr. Hamilton tended to interrupt. “Maybe she doesn't want to be a laundress anymore.”
Miss Wolfe said nothing.
Audra said, “Well ... I don't
imagine that you would have trouble getting a different job if you like, perhaps as a waitress, or a maid ...”
“Domestic work,” challenged the storekeeper, and Miss Wolfe put a hand on his arm.
“It's what I know,” she murmured, as if shy to speak at al .
Mr. Hamilton said, “You shouldn't have to work, much less as a domestic.”
Then marry her, thought Audra—which only reminded her that, in some unmentionable ways,
they were married. Audra fought back a blush by studying a selection of jewelry in the glass case, so as not to further embarrass either the nervous woman or herself.
Both Jack and Miss Wolfe dismissed Mr. Hamilton's latest protest without even arguing it. Instead, Miss Wolfe ventured a question. "You come from a fine family, Miss Garrison. I can see that. Why would your people have doings with the likes of me?"
“Why not? Papa employs colored cowboys,” Audra assured her.
Miss Wolfe twisted her dark hands in her apron. “No ma'am. I mean ...”
“Oh!” Now Audra did blush. Averting her eyes from the couple, she barely caught a glimpse of Miss Wolfe's nod. To be honest, her father would be less than pleased to learn that Audra had befriended a fal en woman, much less volunteered the family's assistance.
If he learned of it, she reminded herself, not as guilty as she should likely feel.
"Well ... I thought the idea of this was to make a fresh start. Why burden people with needless information?" She slanted a secret look at Jack when she said that, pleased to see in his answering gaze, blue and dancing, that he remembered saying it.
“As long as I'm not breeding,” offered the woman, regaining Audra's attention.
Face burning, Audra nodded. “Otherwise nobody need know, my family included.”
Mr. Hamilton startled them both. “For Christ's sake, she's not a train robber!”
“Watch your language,” warned Jack, putting a protective hand on Audra's arm. He even leaned closer and murmured, “Ham's a mite tense nowadays.”
She made a conscious effort not to let her eyes drift shut at the sensation of his breath on her cheek, the tickle when his inhalation drew her hair. It kept her from reminding Mr. Hamilton that Miss Wolfe might as well be a train robber, in the eyes of society, as have a baby in the bushes.
“It will be cold in Wyoming,” she noted instead. “So if you do decide to go, we must make sure you have proper clothes and shoes. Goodness—have you ever even seen snow?”
Mr. Hamilton huffed. "Of course she has. We do get snow around here, you know—every other year, at least, and some years more than once." But they had not, that year.
“Mama wrote that for Christmas they had drifts four feet high,” said Audra.
Miss Wolfe's eyes widened. “I've never seen that much snow!”
"It's wonderful, truly. Once you get used to it. But you'll want to be dressed warmly before you reach Denver. Do you .. .?"
When she turned to ask Jack about the mercantile's stock, he stood so close to her, watching her face with such obvious pleasure, that her insides swooped again. They were not doing as well being friends as she had hoped—and she refused to consider how she should react just yet.
Instead, she cleared her throat. “Do you think the mercantile can help with that?”
“I don't think we're well-enough stocked,” he admitted, fascination drowning out any regret in his tone. "Shoes we can do, but there's not much cal for truly heavy coats around here . . . except, I'd imagine, every other year, at least." His eyes twinkled as they shared a smile, and, risks or not, she felt so very glad that she'd made up with him—and that he'd let her—that her heart seemed to swell right up against the confines of her chest.
Then she recalled herself. “I may have a solution to that, too,” she said, and looked back at Miss Wolfe. 'That is ... if you don't mind assistance from the Ladies' Aid."
“Ladies' Aid?” asked Mr. Hamilton. “What Ladies' Aid?”
“The one holding our first meeting at the church tonight.”
The men exchanged doubtful glances, and Miss Wolfe looked down at her bare feet.
“I'm not very popular around here right now,” she hedged.
“But do you mind if I at least try?”
Miss Wolfe shrugged.
Jack said, “Are you sure folks won't think less of you for doin' this, Miss Garrison?”
As usual, his concern demanded honesty. “No,” she admitted. “But you did not let that dissuade you from doing what was right when you went to help Mr. Hamilton.”
“Now, that was different. I'm a man.”
That argument, at least, she'd learned from her mother how to handle. She simply stared at him.
Jack tried again. “And my reputation wasn't in fine shape even before that.”
Her fingers itched to pat his arm reassuringly, but she held herself back. "I would hope that mine can withstand at least a little controversy, but there is only one-way to be sure, which is to test it.
In any case, I'm quite sure I'm doing what is right."
It was a heady feeling, in fact, to feel so certain. She knew she would question Jack's latest kiss later—in the schoolroom or in church or while she did chores. But helping Miss Wolfe start a new life seemed so clearly right, she could not imagine how anybody could argue it.
Jack shook his head. “I surely hope someone else figures that out as well , darlin'.”
She widened her eyes at his endearment—then noticed that neither Mr. Hamilton nor Miss Wolfe seemed the least bit surprised, and blushed. Had he called her Miss Garrison only for her sake, and not for theirs? Surely they did not know that he ... that together, they ...
It occurred to her to wonder if a few kisses would shock a couple who had... who were ... and she felt her blush deepen. This, she realized, explained why young ladies ought not associate with, wel
. . . wrongdoers. The comparison dangerously minimized one's own sins. But must she wait until she was respectably married, like her mother or the ladies who ran the Women's Industrial Home or the settlement houses, before she could even provide assistance?
Surely, if she kept tight rein on herself, she could risk it.
“We had best arrange a few more things before I go,” she said now, dropping her gaze. "But first . . . Mr. Harwood, perhaps you should stand over there."
“Yes, ma'am,” he said, his voice thick with amusement-—but he stepped obediently to the other side of the counter. She tried to feel relieved, instead of bereft of his closeness.
She could not justify his closeness nearly so well as her assisting Miss Wolfe.
Once the door closed behind Audra, Jack said, “Five will get you ten she does it.”
Ferris said, “You're on.”
Lucy continued to look at the several sheets of paper Audra had left—a rough train route, including changes; a message to Mrs. Garrison that Jack would send by telegraph the next day; a list of people Lucy could trust. She looked overwhelmed, and Jack didn't blame her—he loved Audra for many things, but until this afternoon he hadn't realized how incredibly useful—
Jack swayed against the counter as the mercantile—the whole world—disintegrated and reformed into something that looked identical and felt completely different. He loved her.
Hamilton, misinterpreting his slump, said, “Too late, friend; all bets are final.”
Jack blinked unseeingly at him. Well , of course he loved her. He must've loved her for some time.
He loved her innocence and her curiosity. He loved how solemnly she treated issues of character, which had him looking at that virtue a touch more seriously himself. Of course he loved touching her—her lips against his, her body pressed up against him, even the feathery softness of her hair against his fingers. Watching what her mouth and tongue were doing to that candy stick this afternoon nearly undid him. But now he fully understood why such artless gestures on her part packed more punch than the most experienced of seductions.
His physic
al reactions were symptoms of a bigger predicament: he loved Audra. Well , how could he not love her? How could anybody not love her?
He glared at Ferris, who looked surprised.
Lucy said, "You two ought not be wagering over that nice lady as if she were a racehorse. especially
you." She aimed an accusing finger at Jack.
What? A racehorse? Oh. Jack imagined what Audra might think of their bet and inwardly winced.
He'd done plenty of late that, while gratifying, might not exactly be loving, hadn't he?
“He is giving her the odds,” Ferris pointed out in Jack's defense.
But Jack sighed. Damned if Lucy wasn't right.
“How about,” he suggested, “five will get you ten the Ladies' Aid comes through.” He had less confidence when he put it that way, but it seemed marginal y better than betting on Audra herself.
Lucy made a disgusted sound and stalked off to the back room.
“I can't take back a bet once I've made it,” he called by way of explanation.
She stomped up the stairs by way of response.
Ferris said, “Then my five goes to the bigoted old biddies holding their ground.” He made a face.
That sounded even worse. “Or ... if you want to ... ?”
“Al bets are off,” agreed Jack, glad to break the rules this once, and they shook on it.
If he loved Audra, Really loved her, he wouldn't do anything to hurt her. Not that he would actively have hurt her before, of course. But now, how could he risk even indirectly hurting her? He couldn't talk her into meeting him in the woods again. He shouldn't have stolen that kiss in the store today—though he had no idea how he could have stopped himself, and it had been delicious.
She shouldn't even be in the store. Or, to be honest, with him.
Loving Audra, he thought glumly, would be nowhere near as fun as liking her had been.
But all he had to do was think of her—gray eyes alight with idealism, sorrel curls catching golden glints of sun, china-doll cheeks flushing with what she obviously took to be immodest thoughts—
and he knew there was nothing more worthy of protection. Even from himself.