The room was spotless. Green ferns thrived on the side tables, their lacy tendrils reaching for the rays pouring in through a curtained window. Books were lined neatly on the mantle and logs were set in the fireplace, ready for a chilly evening. Intricate tapestries brightened the walls and Maxwell peered at one more closely, intrigued. The workmanship is incredible, he mused. Tom imagined himself spending time here playing checkers or reading while Claire worked on one of her pieces of needlepoint. With a start he realized he’d never imagined himself in a domestic scene with any other woman. It both startled and amused him. Was she beginning to break down his defenses?
Claire entered the parlor and interrupted his train of thought. He glanced up and smiled softly. She’d put her hair in an upsweep and changed into the green dress that set off her eyes so well. Jade earbobs completed her ensemble.
“You look very nice. Shall we go?” He stood and put his Stetson back on.
Claire nodded. She led him through the back door, locked it, and took his arm. They strolled down the street to Rose’s Café, enjoying the warm evening.
The restaurant was busy, but the two managed to snag a table in the back. Maxwell sat with his back to the wall so he could keep an eye on the clientele and the front door. Claire realized that he was looking for trouble. His demeanor was so calm that she sometimes forgot he was a lawman. He turned and lamplight glinted off of his badge. This man is a lot more complex than I realized. I really don’t know him at all. Maxwell glanced at Claire and took a swallow of coffee.
“This is nice, really nice.” He had decided earlier that this would be a good opportunity to get to know Claire better.
“Miss Secord, I know that Virginia and Richard were your aunt and uncle, but I know nothing of the rest of your family. Tell me about your home back east. Was it difficult to leave your family?”
Claire paused, a forkful of potato raised to her mouth. “Sheriff, don’t you think it time we called each other by our first names?” She chewed slowly and waited for his answer.”
“Why of course, Miss Secord, I mean Claire. I’d really like it if you called me Tom. The only person to call me Thomas is my mother and when she says it I feel like I’m five and have been caught playing in a mud puddle again.”
Claire smiled at the image of Maxwell as a child.
“To answer your question, Tom,” she said pointedly, “Gin and Richard were my aunt and uncle on my mother’s side.” Forcing the sudden lump in her throat down she continued. “Gin was my mother’s sister. My parents both died during the war. My mother had always been fragile and she caught a bad cold a couple of winters ago. It developed into pneumonia and, well, the doctors couldn’t save her. My father simply lost his will to live. He was so distressed by the country being split apart and then with Mother’s passing that I think he didn’t want to go on without her.” She paused and took a sip of water. Tom reached over and took her hand. She continued.
“I am an only child. After their deaths, I sold their house and settled their debts. There wasn’t much left. I kept a few mementos, a quilt, some jewelry, a pistol…”
“That, I know about,” he interrupted, a wry grin on his face.
“Well, yes, I suppose you do,” she blushed. Turning somber again she said, “I secured a position as a tutor for a family in Gettysburg. I’d always done well in school and in Pennsylvania if you apply and pass an exam you can get a teaching certificate. I needed to keep busy because, you see, I was waiting for my fiancé to return from the war.”
Tom pulled his hand back.
“You have a fiancé?” His voice wavered a bit. He blinked and sat straight up in his chair.
“Had a fiancé,” Claire corrected. “He didn’t return from the war. I waited and waited but Caleb never returned. He’s dead or at least I suppose he must be. In all these years there’s been no word from him and there are no records from a hospital or a prison camp.” Her hand grasped the half heart gold necklace at her throat. Tom noticed but made no comment. He wondered if she wasn’t really over this man, this fiancé of hers. He cleared his throat.
“Well, I guess I should tell you a bit about my past, too. I’ve been the sheriff for four years. During the war I was in the Union army. I was a captain under General McDowell and saw action at the First Battle of Bull Run, Shiloh and Vicksburg. After the war I returned home to Missouri, since my folks still live there, but I couldn’t stay. I guess I’d seen too much of this country, done too many things to go back and pretend it never happened.” He reached for a glass of water and drained it.
“So I came to Omaha. Nebraska was a territory until just a couple of years ago and I wanted to be a part of the growth. I had experience leading men in the war and I handle myself pretty well so when the mayor asked me to be sheriff, I agreed. And, well, it’s worked out pretty well.” He looked up from his hands clenching the water glass. Claire was listening intently, her meal forgotten.
“You never married? Had a family?” She glanced down at her lap wondering if the questions were too personal.
“No… I’ve courted a few ladies in town but they all seemed so silly, too self-involved. I’ve never met anyone who I could see myself in front of a fire with, quietly reading and watching the flames. Until now, that is.”
He searched her face, looking for a reaction. He realized he was leaning forward and forced himself to sit back in his chair, hoping he hadn’t scared her by being too abrupt. He tried again.
“I just mean that I feel really comfortable with you, Claire. I feel like we could become very close. You’re not like other women, all fussy about their clothes and hairdos and scared of every little insect and mouse. You’re pretty and humble, yet you’re strong. You got so much confidence that you don’t expect anything could happen to you. I mean this is a rough town; strangers pass through all the time. You oughta be on guard in your store. Have a man in there with you. Maybe hire a fella to help you clerk. Just think about it.”
Claire was silent as she tried to absorb everything he’d just said. Did he just complement her and then turn around and criticize her in the same breath? Was he saying he cared for her safety or was he just telling her how to run her business?
“Tom, I appreciate your concern for my safety. I just can’t afford any help right now. I have to keep making my loan payments or the bank is going to try to steal my business and home again. Besides, no one’s going to rob me. I’m friends with the sheriff. Close friends I hope.”
She hoped she was reassuring him with her careful words. For his part, Tom tried to push away the worries running around in his head.
“Alright ‘close’ friend, you just be careful.” Tom replied, “I’d like nothing better than to get to know you better. Now let’s eat up before it gets too cold and you can tell me more about what it’s like to be a school marm.”
They dug into their suppers of beef steak, roasted potatoes, and string beans. The couple topped off their meal with thick slabs of apple pie and more of the hot fragrant coffee. Both kept the conversation light, but there was a strong undercurrent of
chemistry; any slight brush of hands drew sparks, and Claire felt hot spots of color on her cheeks. After supper, they walked through the town as dusk crept in. Tom smiled and nodded at passing citizens, and Claire noticed how alert and focused he was as he monitored the community. She felt safe, and content by his side. Omaha had become her home and she was a part of something young, raw, and exciting.
She’d overcome some trials: Gin’s unexpected death, suddenly having to own and run a new business and home by herself, and an attempt to cheat her out of her new livelihood. She’d done okay so far and had made some good friends in Connie Rose and Tom Maxwell. And she had plans. A lot of plans. She stole a look at the handsome sheriff walking beside her. Her pulse quickened and her tummy fluttered. He glanced down and gently tucked her arm into his. She felt as though she could go on walking with him forever.
“Claire, I’ve been thinking¼”
“Don’t worry, I can find my way home.” She patted his arm and smiled reassuringly. Suddenly the pleasant evening took an ominous turn and a chill ran down her spine. Would it always be like this, courting a law man?
He nodded and took off running down the street, Simonson galloping ahead of him. Claire turned the corner and hurried home, letting herself in through the back entrance. Mindful of their earlier conversation she was careful to bolt the door. She fastened the windows and doubled checked the lock on the heavy front doors of the store. Satisfied she returned to the cozy kitchen.
I wonder what he was going to say, she mused. Well, it’ll just have to wait. Maybe a cup of tea would help settle my nerves.
She lit the kindling in the cook stove and put the kettle on to boil. The rooms seemed chilly, so she lit a fire in the parlor as well. She looked around and a sudden sense of loneliness overcame her. It is so very quiet here. Perhaps I should get a pet for company. A cat would be nice. A good mouser would be handy for the store, too.
I haven’t felt this way in such a long time. It must be because the evening ended so quick. The shrill whistle from the tea kettle interrupted her thoughts and she shook off her gloom.She curled up on the sofa with the fragrant brew and a piece of needlepoint. She stitched on a table runner and was calmed by the tea and the relaxing stitches. The vibrant red, gold, and green yarns that slipped through the cloth came to life in the shapes of leaves and berries. Claire had decided to fix up the shabby bedroom and the runner would be lovely on Gin’s old dresser. Her first home was beginning to show her tastes and personality. Claire was putting down roots.
At 10:00 she rose, yawning, banked the fire, and went to bed. She wondered where Tom was and prayed for his safety. Hoping this was an isolated incident and that the town wasn’t getting more dangerous and unlawful, she wound her father’s watch and placed it on the side table. After punching her pillows and tossing and turning, for what felt like hours, she finally drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER TEN
Omaha, Nebraska, May 1868
Maxwell and Simonson quickly squelched the barroom brawl. A couple of rowdy cowboys had gotten their tempers up and started taking swings at one another. The two lawmen threw them into jail cells to sober up and cool off. Come morning, the drunks would be best friends again. Tom sent the deputy home and stretched out on his chair, his long legs sprawled out on the beat-up desk. It looked like another night of prisoner watch. Percy would spell him in the morning and he could catch a couple of hours of rest in his own bed.
Maxwell owned a mortgaged ranch on the outskirts of town. In just a few years the property would be paid off, something Maxwell was looking forward to. The town was growing and someday it would catch up to his place. They were already building a road, Center Street, and when it was complete it would make his place all the more valuable. It was a nice piece of ground, with gentle hills and the wide Saddle Creek stream running through it. Tom had built a comfortable home there in his spare time.
The house boasted a large open kitchen and living room area, two bedrooms, and a full-sized attic. Trees from the property were used to build and shingle the house. Rocks from Saddle Creek made a sturdy floor-to-ceiling fireplace that warmed the entire dwelling. Colorful wool blankets covered the beds and the large horsehair sofa. In the kitchen, pots and pans hung from pegs on the wall and blue gingham curtains decorated the windows. A matching cloth covered the sturdy oak table. The entire place was masculine, and immaculate, reflecting the owner’s structured military background.
Maxwell didn’t spend a lot of time at home, but when he was there he wanted to be comfortable. After several years spent in the army, where privacy was non-existent and personal belongings few, the notion of home was important to him.
The outbuildings consisted of a good sized barn with attached room, a chicken coop, a necessary, and even a tiny ice house that straddled the creek. It was used to keep butter, milk and cheeses cold with the cool running water. Ice was packed in sawdust for use all year long. It was a treat to enjoy cold drinks in the summer and occasionally even home-made ice cream.
The idea for the ice house had been Linus Mason’s. Linus was the ranch hand that minded Maxwell’s place while he was in town. During the war Linus had been under Tom’s command. Just a teenager, he’d run away from home to join the army and experience the great adventure that he’d heard about. Trouble was when Linus was forced to actually fight, he had been shocked, horrified, and just plain scared. At 15, he’d seen more of death and suffering than most men did in their whole lifetimes. Tom took notice of the youngster and protected him as much as he could. He assigned Linus to be his personal aide, effectively removing him from the front line. Instead, he stayed in the back and took care of Tom’s tent and personal belongings. He prepared meals for Tom and the other officers, did their laundry, and cared for their horses.
Linus was not real sociable, but he worked hard. He made himself useful and won the admiration of many men, but he was not cut out to be a soldier. He just didn’t have the instinct to kill. Like many young men who had been eager to go to war, he thought it was going to be a big game. They had to teach those rebel scum a lesson, teach them not to insult their president, their Union. He hadn’t thought of the war in terms of people actually dying until it was already started, and much too late to turn back. The fighting, suffering, and dying around him was something Linus couldn’t brush off. Even still, he could have taken advantage of a dozen opportunities to escape the destruction, desert his camp and fellow soldiers, but Linus held fast. He kept his courage and braved that war until the last.
When the war ended, the young man returned home to Kansas, but he just couldn’t fit back into his large family. The commotion and noise of so many people crammed into one house preyed on his mind. Nightmares haunted him and he knew he had to get away. Because Maxwell had always looked out for him during the war, he found his way to Omaha, hoping his former captain could find a place for him once more. Together they had raised the buildings and cleared the land for a few acres of crops and a garden. At 19, Linus was a young man but he saw Maxwell as a father figure, regardless of the fact that he was less than a decade older. Linus didn’t want to be around people so the solitude of the ranch was perfect for him. He was happiest caring for the cattle, the beautiful Morgans, and Tom Maxwell.
It was a good arrangement for the sheriff as well. His job kept him away from home for days at a time and he knew Linus was there, watching the place. Without his help, Maxwell knew he never could have built or maintained a ranch in the first place. He would still be living a life of solitary bachelorhood, still renting a room in town with no plans to settle. With a home to return to, Maxwell saw possibilities open up for him, especially concerning the beautiful Miss Secord.
Tom woke with a start. He glanced at his pocket watch, 2:00 AM. He stretched and went to check on his prisoners; both were snoring loudly.
They’ll have terrific hangovers in the morning, he thought ruefully. They never learn. He shook his head. That rotgut was hard on a man’s insides. He’d seen enough of that during the war and now nearly every day as sheriff.
Restless. He was getting restless. Long hours and bad food came with his job, along with too much over-boiled thick-as-syrup coffee. Maybe it was time for a change. He’d been lucky so far. He’d been able to handle any trouble that came his way. He was a fast shot, but he knew there were some quicker. So far he’d been in a handful of shootouts and only been grazed a couple of times. Next time he might not be so lucky. Most sheriffs in frontier towns only lasted a couple of years before they either quit or were killed. He’d
been the town’s top lawman for four years. Was he pushing his luck? Besides, he was thinking of settling down. A sheriff had no right being married. It wouldn’t be right to subject a wife to the dangers. A sheriff was a target and a wife would also be in jeopardy. She would never know if or when her husband was coming home.
The ranch was finally beginning to show a profit. The herd was growing and the crops were thriving. He and Linus had started having conversations about how to capitalize on the railroad running through Omaha. They talked about getting involved in the stockyard and sending their beef back east to towns like Chicago and Springfield, and even as far as New York, Philadelphia, or Baltimore. There was a huge market for grass-fed Midwestern beef. He just had to find a way to make it pay out for him. A wise man once told him that there was a lot of money out in the world, a body just has to find a way to reach out and grab it. Maxwell was working on it. Besides, a rancher could afford a wife and not have to worry about every two-bit crook who wandered into town.
Claire came to mind, again. Lately she was all he could think about. Her trim figure, warm smile, and shiny brown hair made him lose his breath, his heart pound. What would it feel like to run his hands through that hair? Still thinking of Claire, Maxwell wriggled into a more comfortable position in his chair and fell back to sleep.
He awoke a few hours later to the loud thunk of the front door opening and Deputy Simonson standing in the doorway.
“Morning, Tom, I’m here to relieve you,” he smiled, looking disgustingly bright-eyed.
Maxwell swung his stiff legs off of the desk and reached for his coat, yawning.
“I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep at my place and check on my stock. I’ll be back by noon. Kick those drunks out when they wake up but give them a strong warning. Next time they cause problems we’ll leave them in jail for a week and forget to feed ‘em.”
Faith of the Heart Page 8