by Craig, Emma
“Well, well, well,” Mac said again. “In fact, I’d venture to guess that the two o’ ye might even have decided that ye like each other, after all.”
Both Joy and Elijah turned toward the voice.
Standing in a puddle of sunlight and sparkles at the door, and observing everything with his twinkly blue eyes, Alexander McMurdo took his old black briar pipe from between his lips, threw back his head, and laughed.
# # #
Joy served up a nice dinner of chicken, fricasseed with onions, potatoes, and carrots. The apricot kitten, who’d grown quite a bit in the several weeks since Mac had brought him into her life, sat on the floor next to Mac’s chair, its expression one of happy expectancy. Mac reached down and scratched it behind the ear. “Cute little guy, this. Has he caught any mice?”
Not having anticipated the question, Joy paused on her way to the table with the bread basket. “Mice?” She glanced at Elijah.
He said, “Mice?” and blinked. “Er, I don’t know. Joy?”
When her gaze locked with his, she felt a rush of heat spread through her body. Jerusalem, what a fool she’d made of herself in front of Mr. McMurdo with Elijah Perry. She was surprised, albeit grateful, that neither man had teased her about the kiss she and Elijah had shared in front of their small audience.
She had a difficult time tearing her glance away from Elijah and aiming it at Mac. She knew it was sinful, but she was sorry her idyll with her patient had come to an end at last. A small arrow of disappointment pierced her heart, and she wondered if she’d ever experience joy again. She shook herself and set the bread basket on the table.
“I haven’t seen him catch any mice, but he’s out in the barn a lot. I suspect he’s hunting in there.”
Mac nodded. “I expect so. What did you name him?”
“Killer,” Elijah said promptly.
“Apricot,” Joy said at the same time.
Mac laughed and peered down at the kitten. “So you’re a Killer Apricot, are you? I’d say that’s a fine name for an orange kitten.”
“Killer Apricot?” In spite of all her doubts and insecurities, Joy broke into laughter.
Elijah grinned. “I like it.”
Joy filled a plate and handed it to Mac. “I think I do, too. How funny.” She stopped carving and gazed at Mac closely. “How’s little Katie doing, Mr. McMurdo? She’s such an adorable little girl. Does she like her new brother?”
Elijah waggled a finger at the chicken. “Keep carving, Joy. Can’t you work and talk at the same time?”
She stuck her tongue out at him, realized immediately what she’d done, and blushed. She recommenced carving the chicken, however, keeping her head lowered and hoping neither man had observed her lapse in manners.
Mac pretended not to notice this display of pleasantries between two people who, when he’d last seen them, had been on the verge of killing each other. “Oh, aye, wee Katie loves her brother. Arnold’s fond of her, too. Already knows when she’s there and goos at her.”
With a sigh, Joy handed Elijah his plate. “It must be wonderful to have two such sweet children.” She wished she hadn’t said that out loud when Elijah shot her a curious—it actually looked cynical to her—glance. She wanted to stick her tongue out at him again, but restrained herself.
“Aye, Cody and Mellie are happy about it, that’s for sure. It’s a grand place to start a family, out here.”
Joy looked up from carving her own piece of chicken. “Is it? It seems rather, ah, far removed from the rest of the world.”
Mac grinned broadly. “Oh, aye, it is that. But that’s one of its beauties, you see. There’s lots of wide-open spaces for children to run around in. Mellie likes it because it’s so clean. She grew up in a rough neighborhood in Boston, y’know, and the sanitation wasn’t the best back there.”
Joy frowned. “But there isn’t any sanitation at all out here. At least none that I’ve seen.”
Mac’s grin widened still further. “Aye, that’s true, but there’s plenty of unpopulated space to dump your garbage in.”
“I suppose so.” Joy took a bite of chicken and was happy that it was so tasty. She might not be good for much, but at least she could cook a decent meal. She ought to be able to cook well. The good Lord knew, her mother had browbeaten kitchen skills into her for years. By this time, Joy could make bread blindfolded and wring a chicken’s neck, pluck it, and cook it without blinking an eye.
“This place needs a hotel.”
Both Joy and Mac stopped chewing, looked up from their plates, and stared at Elijah. He gazed back, his brow beetling with his frown. “Well, it does.”
Joy swallowed her bite of chicken. “Do you really think Rio Hondo could support a hotel?”
His frown deepened. “I don’t see why not. It’s not going away, you know. And it’s growing all the time. It’s not like one of those California gold camps that dried up as soon as they’d dug all the gold out of the surrounding countryside. This is turning out to be great cattle country. Rio Hondo will only get bigger. The ranchers need it because there’s no place else to stop over for hundreds of miles. Businessmen will be investing down here more and more, and they’re going to want to come out to investigate their investments. And I’m sure the cowboys and ranchers would like a decent place to stay when they come to town.” He shot a glance at Mac. “I mean—not that your wagon yard isn’t useful and decent—”
“I know what you mean, lad.” Mac grinned at him.
“Well . . .” Elijah cleared his throat. “Anyway, I think Rio Hondo could use a hotel.”
Mac nodded soberly. He reminded Joy of Solomon, and for some reason she recalled the passage out of the Song of Solomon that had plagued her when she first began tending Elijah: How beautiful are thy feet. She tucked her chin in again so neither of the men eating with her could see the color blooming in her cheeks.
“Aye, laddie, I expect you’re right. More settlers are moving to the territory the time. Pretty soon, we’ll even have churches and schools.”
Elijah smiled and nodded. Joy lifted her head and gaped at Mr. McMurdo. “Churches and schools?”
“Aye. Why not? Folks need such things when they set out to civilize a place. Women and children, especially, like to socialize. Where better to do it than in church?”
“I, ah, had never thought about churches in exactly that light, Mr. McMurdo.”
Mac laid his fork on his plate and reached over to pat Joy’s hand. “I’d consider it a kindness on your part if ye’d call me Mac, Joy. I truly would.”
“You would?”
“I would.”
Joy believed him. How odd. She said, “Mac,” and smiled at him. He smiled back, and she felt perfectly wonderful all of a sudden. She attacked her chicken with renewed vigor.
“Well? So you want to open a hotel here, do you, Elijah, m’lad?”
“Open one? Me?”
When Joy glanced up, intrigued by Mac’s suggestion, she saw that Elijah was staring at the old man, a look of wonder on his face, as if he’d suddenly been blinded by a heavenly light. She peered quickly from Elijah to Mac and back again. “Why, what a splendid idea, Mr. McMurdo—Mac. You told me once that the only time you can recollect being happy was when you were helping out in your uncle’s hotel, Elij—Mr. Perry.”
Elijah turned his head and looked at her as if she were a total stranger who’d spoken to him in Hindi or some equally foreign language.
Mac said, “I don’t think the fellow minds if you call him Elijah, Joy, m’dear.”
Joy hardly heard him. She was too busy trying to figure what was going on in Elijah’s handsome, albeit graying, head. She saw him tilt it to the right. His eyes took on a glassy cast. She saw that his chewing slowed and then stopped. She hoped he wasn’t feeling ill. He swallowed, reached for the glass of water Joy had set at his place, and took a hearty gulp.
“Open a hotel,” he murmured, set his eating utensils on his plate, and stared at the wall behind Joy’s should
er. “Build a hotel.”
Joy and Mac exchanged a glance. Mac’s eyes shone like blue diamonds. “I do believe the lad’s given himself something to think about, Joy.”
She peered at Elijah for a couple of seconds. “I do believe you’re right.”
Elijah’s head jerked, as if he were shaking himself out of a dream, and he went back to his dinner. “Anyway, this place needs a hotel.”
“Indeed it does.” Mac reminded Joy of a cheerful elf.
“You may be right.” She wanted to ask Elijah about hotels. She wanted to know what he thought would go into the building and the running of one out here, in Rio Hondo, in the great emptiness of southeastern New Mexico Territory. Did he really think so many people were going to populate the area that they’d actually need a hotel? The notion seemed unlikely to her, but what did she know about it? Or anything else, for that matter? She’d been so sheltered from the real world in her lifetime that she knew little about it.
“Have you heard from your missionary friends, Joy?”
Joy’s head snapped around so quickly, she nearly broke her neck. “What?”
Mac’s twinkle became more pronounced. “Your missionary friends. You know, the ones who went to preach to the natives in South America. Surely you remember Mr. Thrash?”
Mr. Thrash. Joy gulped. Oh, yes. How could she have forgotten Mr. Thrash? She’d believed herself to be in love with him, hadn’t she? “N-no. I haven’t heard from them. Yet. I . . . I guess they’ll write.” She glanced at Elijah for some reason she couldn’t put a name to. “I think they will, anyway. At least, I hope so.” With a shock, she realized she didn’t care if she never heard from Mr. Thrash or the rest of those people again as long as she lived.
Elijah frowned. “You’re not going to tell me you still want to tramp off to the jungles and make those poor Indians miserable, are you?”
She bridled. “We didn’t intend to make them miserable, Mr. Elijah Perry. We intended to show them the glories of God’s healing light. And medicine. And, anyway, why shouldn’t we? Don’t you think they deserve to hear the Word of the Lord?”
With a shrug, Elijah buttered a piece of bread. “I expect they have their own religion, Joy. Why do you want to mess up whatever works for them with Jesus and Mary and all that?”
Suddenly all of Joy’s recent happiness fled. The ache in her chest, which she hadn’t felt for almost two solid weeks now, returned like a sour stomach. Her mother’s voice came out of her mouth: “Because Jesus and Mary are the truth!” She slapped a hand to her lips, appalled. Had that awful sound come from her? Her gaze flicked between Elijah and Mac, who grinned as if he’d never seen or heard anything so funny in a month of Sundays.
“Ah, leave them alone, for the love of God. I’ll never understand why folks are so eager to go where they don’t belong and tell the people who live there how they think they should live. As if your preacher friend knows anything about South American Indians.” Elijah poked a hunk of chicken into his mouth to keep his buttered bread company and chewed on them hard.
“I . . . I . . .” Joy didn’t continue because she realized with horror that she wanted to agree with him. Good heavens! She glanced up at the ceiling, almost expecting to see her mother there with a hairbrush in her hand, ready to paddle Joy’s behind with it. She cleared her throat. “I don’t believe I want to talk about it at the supper table, Mr. Perry.”
He slammed his fork onto his plate. “Elijah! My name’s Elijah, Joy. You’ve been calling me that for three weeks no.”
“Elijah,” she muttered, feeling confused and beleaguered.
Mac beamed at the two of them, as if he were presiding over a comedy of his own making.
Which he was.
# # #
The next morning, Mac and Joy stood behind the counter of Mac’s mercantile store, where Joy had dragged him right after breakfast. Conscientious to her toenails, she wanted to explain to him how his business had prospered during his absence.
She’d kept the books up to date, and was actually rather pleased with herself, although she’d never say so aloud. Her mother’s lessons in how worthless she was still haunted her to that degree, even if they didn’t intrude into her thoughts more than five or six times a day anymore.
“Ye’ve done wonders, Joy, both with my store and with our patient there.” Mac gestured with his pipe toward the pot-bellied stove, where Elijah sat on a chair, fingering The Woman in White, and brooding about something Joy couldn’t imagine.
She dragged her attention from Elijah to Mac. “Thank you. The spring cattle drives have started, and the business has been booming.”
“I can see that.”
“I’ve kept track of all the sales, and made notes about the kinds of supplies I believe you need to order from Santa Fe and Saint Louis.”
Mac nodded contentedly. “You’re a good businesswoman, Joy. You’d be a fine at running a business of your own someday.”
A business of her own? Startled, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. She’d never considered herself to be much good at anything. Sure as sunrise comes after sunset, nobody’d ever complimented her on her business acumen before.
“Aye. Maybe ye can partner up with Elijah over there. When he builds his hotel, don’t ya know.”
Joy’s glance shot to Elijah, whose head had snapped up. “What?” He looked grumpy. Joy frowned. What did he have to be grumpy about? She’s the one who’d been doing all the work around here. Of course, that was because he’d been shot all to blazes, but that wasn’t her fault, either.
“I was just tellin’ Joy here that you could use her when you open your hotel in Rio Hondo, laddie. She’s good at keepin’ the books, and she’s smart as a whip.”
Joy felt her eyes widen. Smart as a whip? Joy Hardesty? Her mother used to tell her she was as useless as dust balls. She’d probably have compared her to something even less useful than dust balls if she could have thought of anything. Her mother had never visited anyplace as wild as Rio Hondo. Joy spared a moment to be glad her mother’s sphere of operation had been the relatively small township of Auburn, Massachusetts, or she might have compared Joy to a yucca pod or something.
“Yeah, she’s pretty smart. She did a good job on me, anyway.” Elijah smiled at her.
She stared at him, too astonished for words. He must have noticed her discomposure, because he winked. Then his eyes took on an abstracted cast, and he returned to brooding. Joy wondered what he was thinking about, but she didn’t ask. She and Mac still had some accounts to go over.
“Aye, and the place looks neat and tidy, too. It’s hard to keep anything looking spiffy out here, where the wind blows all the time, and there aren’t hardly any trees to catch the grit.”
Trees. Of course. That was it. Joy wondered why she’d never considered the absence of trees as she’d battled the dust. Trees would make the place look less uncivilized, too.
“But folks’re beginning to plant ‘em,” Mac continued. “Why, I understand Mr. Chisum has two long rows of sturdy oak trees leadin’ up to his ranch house. And Cody and Mellie have planted a whole orchard full of apple trees at their place.”
“An apple orchard? Out here? For heaven’s sake.” Joy had a sudden burning desire to meet the O’Fannins, even if Mrs. O’Fannin had been divorced. An apple orchard. How . . . how . . . how optimistic of them. She realized for the first time that she’d never been optimistic about anything at all, let alone the future of a newly developed territory. A tiny flicker of ambition, banked since she was an infant by her mother’s disparaging opinion of her worth, sparked to life in Joy’s heart.
“Oh, aye. They’re not the only ones, either. Why, the Partridges have planted one field with pecan trees and another with apple, apricot, and peach trees. They live on a rise out beside the Pecos, and they’ve planted mulberries and live oaks to shade their house, too.”
“Pecans. Peaches. Apricots. Mulberries. Live oaks.” They sounded lovely to Joy, who missed the forests of her
New England home. They were about all she missed about the land of her birth, but . . .
Good Lord on high, did she really mean that? Mac began speaking again before she could muddle through her confused thoughts to find an answer.
“Aye. And Mellie was telling me she has a right fair corn patch going, too. In fact, she’s quite the gardener, our Mellie.”
“My goodness. I didn’t know anything grew out here but sagebrush and cactus.” Trying to be fair, she murmured, “Yucca, of course. Creosote.”
Mac let out with a hearty chuckle. “Oh, aye, we’ve got plenty of them things growin’ out here, too. Mellie says all you have to do is stick something in the ground, and it’ll grow.”
“Mercy sakes.”
“The place needs a hotel,” Elijah announced out of the blue.
Mac and Joy both turned to look at him. Joy noticed a strange light in his eyes, which were directed straight at her.
“Aye,” said Mac. “Reckon it could use a hotel, all right.”
Elijah’s intense expression once more faded into abstraction. “A hotel,” he muttered, to himself this time. “The place needs a hotel.”
Mac gestured at him with his pipe. “I think the boy’s growing some ideas in that handsome head of his.”
Joy smiled at Elijah. “It is a handsome head, isn’t it?” She realized what she’d said as soon as the words were out, and she jerked back to her business. “Anyway, let me show you this, Mac. I think you’re going to need more lumber. Several of the cowboys have come in asking for lumber and wire for fences.”
From the laugh Mac laughed, and from the look he gave her, Joy feared he hadn’t missed her absurd comment about Elijah Perry’s looks. Blast! What was the matter with her? She used to be so good at guarding her tongue. She sniffed. If she hadn’t been good at guarding her tongue, her mother would have been at her twenty-four hours a day instead of merely twenty-three. She decided she didn’t want to think about it.