My Heart Belongs in Ruby City, Idaho

by Susanne Dietze

  “That’s no way to speak to a lady, Wilkie.” Tad propped his hands on his knees, indicating he’d stand if he had to, but Wilkie wouldn’t like it if he did. “And you don’t own this bench.”

  “It’s outside my store.” Wilkie blinked. “Who are you, lady?”

  She’s my wife. The words almost blurted out, and they would make Wilkie scuttle back into his barbershop. But it wasn’t correct, exactly. Tad sighed. He would have to deal with Wilkie, but now, with Rebecca here, wasn’t the best time.

  To his shock, Rebecca hopped to her feet and extended her hand. “I’m Rebecca Rice from Missouri, sir.”

  Wilkie eyed her dainty hand before grunting and re-entering his barbershop. Rebecca turned to Tad. “Something I said?”

  He burst out laughing. Then he stood and led her from the barbershop. “Sorry about that. Wilkie’s our barber, as you guessed. He’s—”

  Unhappy. Lonely. A drunk.

  “Troubled,” Rebecca finished for him.

  “It’s been tough for him since his wife and baby died, not that I’m excusing his behavior. In fact, I’ll have words with him once I escort you to the post office.”

  “Not on my account.”

  “Well, I’d like to see him sober for his own sake. He’s missing out on a lot, living the way he is, but while I can encourage and support him, I can’t change him.”

  He’d learned that lesson the hard way, thinking his affection could heal Dottie’s brokenness and win her to a life away from the wildness she’d shown.

  Her head tipped. “You’re kind to help such a troubled man. Him, and Longbeard, too.”

  “And you’re kind for showing such patience, considering Wilkie was rude and Longbeard almost started a gunfight.”

  “With a fork.” She sighed. “Thanks for listening to my story about my father, Tad, and for understanding.”

  “We’re family.” Cousins, once she married Theodore. “Friends, too, I hope.”

  “Friends.” There was her pretty smile again. “Speaking of family, though, I’d best mail this letter to Johnny.”

  He nodded and bid her farewell. It was good that they’d be friends. Maybe it would help resolve things between him and Theodore. Once they got out of this marriage, that is.

  It’s not like Rebecca would ever have chosen Tad. Even if he, instead of Theodore, had been the one to answer her advertisement in the matrimonial magazine, she would never have married him because of his profession.

  He’d known she was going to marry Theodore, but still, the realization settled into a clump in his stomach, like cold oatmeal. Had he harbored a hope he hadn’t admitted to himself, that their accidental marriage hadn’t really been a mistake after all, that maybe he and Rebecca—

  No use thinking of it. It was over before it ever began. Tad returned to work.

  After the post office, Rebecca returned to the boardinghouse, prepared dinner, cleaned the parlor, and started a savory lamb stew for supper. Then she made her way back to the mercantile.

  Theodore looked up from behind the counter and grinned. “Rebecca, am I glad to see you.”

  “You are?” A quick glance assured her the store was empty of customers, and Cornelia wasn’t in sight. Maybe now she and Theodore would chat. When he untied his apron and hung it on the peg, indicating that he was leaving the store or closing it, her heart skipped a beat.

  “Now that you’re here, I can collect on a bill. You’ll watch the store, won’t you?”

  Oh. She’d thought he was happy to see her because she was his intended, not because he needed a pair of hands. It was no small thing to mind the mercantile, however, and it indicated his trust in her. Off came her bonnet. “Of course. Thank you for showing faith in me.”

  “You shouldn’t have any customers, but remember, money goes in the till. Receipts in the stack, alphabetized if there’s time.”

  That was like saying shoes went on her feet or the sun traversed the sky. He must still be sore over the earlier receipt incident. That made two of them, although Rebecca was trying not to think uncharitable thoughts of Cornelia. She forced a smile. “This will be my store, too, remember. I have to be alone here sometime.”

  “What a wise woman I’m marrying.” Theodore stood before her, smiling, the space between them charged, like maybe he wanted to squeeze her hand or even kiss her.

  Rebecca was thinking maybe a lot, trying to determine Theodore’s motives. It would be such a relief to know him better and not second-guess his every action or lack thereof. “Go on. Everything will be here when you come back. Unless it sells, of course.”

  He chuckled. “Money in the till, receipts in the stack.”

  There was no maybe going through her mind at that one. Where else would she put the money? Her ears? And those receipts would never go anywhere but the stack, especially after earlier. She nodded, biting her lip.

  Rebecca circled behind the counter for an apron. She was tying it in a bow about her waist when the bell over the door rang. A reed-thin young blond crept inside, her gaze darting about as if she expected the place to be stocked with snarling guard dogs. Two small girls clutched at her faded skirt, their eyes wide, their cheeks hollow.

  “Good afternoon.” Rebecca smiled, hoping she looked professional yet welcoming. “How can I help you?”

  Everything about these females was pale: their cheeks, their bloodless lips, and their wash-worn calico dresses. The mother’s bony fingers clutched a tattered shawl and a torn basket. “I need a pound each of corn and rice and a half pound of dried fruit, whatever kind is most reasonable.”

  Good, inexpensive choices for someone with little funds, as Rebecca well knew. She’d dined on similar fare the past few years. “Certainly.”

  She loaded the items into the woman’s basket, pricking the side of her finger on a jagged piece of straw. Rebecca held back her grimace of pain. The woman clearly couldn’t afford a new basket, and it would only insult her to draw attention to it. Gathering the receipt pad, Rebecca looked up. “I’m new to town, so pardon me for not knowing your name. I’m Rebecca Rice.”

  “Evans is the name.”

  Rebecca wrote it down. Then she checked Theodore’s chart, written in the neat penmanship she’d come to admire from his courtship letters, which stated the prices. She spoke them aloud as she wrote. “Ten cents for the rice, fifty for the corn, and twenty for a pound of dried apples, so half of that is ten cents. Seventy cents.”

  Her mouth dried, uttering that total. The apples were double what she’d paid in Missouri for dried fruit. True, it cost more to transport food to Ruby City, but she’d no idea it would cost that much.

  “I only have sixty cents.”

  The younger of the two girls hopped to her toes. “That gang took her purse that had five dollars in it.”

  “The Gang of Four?” Rebecca dropped the pencil.

  “Met ’em about a week ago when I was off gem hunting. It was foolish of me to wander off alone like that, but I just thought—well, it doesn’t matter.” Mrs. Evans blinked. “Put back the apples, please.”

  “But you said we could get somethin’ sweet.” The older girl’s voice was thin and high.

  “Not today, dumplin’.” Mrs. Evans met Rebecca’s gaze for the briefest of moments.

  The girls didn’t protest further. Their gazes swooped back to the ground.

  Rebecca removed the fruit from the basket, wishing she could do something to help the family, who clearly didn’t have much. How could she get them the fruit? She could say she added sums wrong and quote a lower price, but that would be a lie. She could offer a discount, but Theodore would be angry if she did that.

  What about offering a tab? Theodore had offered credit to Jeroboam Jones for the coffee. Rebecca’s chin lifted. “I met up with the Gang of Four, myself, and it caused me a heap of trouble, so here’s what I’ll do. I can set up an account for you. Pay the sixty cents, and you can pay me another ten by the end of the month.”

  Mrs. Evans l
ooked up. “I could do that?”

  “Sure.” Rebecca didn’t know Theodore’s policy, so she had best get some information, to be safe. “What’s your address?”

  “One of the mining camps up yonder.”

  “War Eagle? Florida?” Rebecca had overheard snippets of miners’ conversations about the mountains, but she still knew little of the area.

  Mrs. Evans shook her head. “Not quite. But Donald, that’s their pa, he or I will be back next week with your dime.”

  Rebecca jotted down Donald’s name on the receipt and returned the apples to the basket. “See you then.”

  The littlest girl skipped out of the store. Rebecca felt like skipping, herself. Her first customer, and she’d not only found a way to keep from losing a sale but to get a little more nutrition into those girls’ bellies. She was still smiling when Theodore and Cornelia entered the store together, sharing a laugh.

  Rebecca joined in, clasping her hands under her chin. “What’s the joke?”

  Cornelia spun to gather her shop apron, her red looped braids flapping over her ears. “You wouldn’t understand, Mrs. Fordham. I mean, Miss Rice.”

  “Why not?”

  Theodore tied his apron on, too. “Corny’s mother just offered me a prairie that Corny made, instead of a pastry. But I’d eat a prairie anytime, if it had that cherry filling. You make good pastries, Corny.”

  Cornelia chuckled. “I think you still have some cherry on your chin, Mr. Fordham.”

  “Do I?” His fingers swiped his jaw, laughing when they came away clean. “You’re teasing me.”

  “Just a little.” Cornelia settled behind the counter.

  Rebecca’s hands fell. “I thought you went out to collect a bill.”

  “I stopped at Corny’s on the way back. There’s always something delicious in the Cook kitchen. Your surname is apt, Corny.”

  Another round of giggles filled the mercantile, but Rebecca didn’t join in this time. When Theodore glanced at her, his laughter subsided. “I should have thought to bring you a pastry, too. Sorry.”

  “That was the last prairie, anyway.” Cornelia smirked.

  Rebecca didn’t appreciate Cornelia’s attempt to keep the laughs going. All of a sudden, she wanted to get out of the mercantile. Her fingers busied with her knotted apron strings. “I should check on Mrs. Horner—”

  “What’s this?” Cornelia held up a receipt.

  Rebecca had placed it on the stack, as Theodore requested. “I made my first sale.”

  “What’s wrong, though, Corny? Didn’t she put the receipt in the stack?” Theodore dashed to the counter. “Is the money in the till?”

  She was right here and capable of speaking for herself. “Everything’s where it’s supposed to be.”

  “Not quite.” Cornelia showed the receipt to Theodore and pointed.

  “You started a line of credit, Rebecca.” Theodore frowned. “For a miner.”

  Rebecca tugged off her apron. “Did I set it up incorrectly?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Theodore rubbed his forehead. “We don’t offer credit to miners.”

  “You offered it to Jeroboam Jones.”

  “He’s a wood hauler, but he has a history with us. Miners are transient. They move a lot,” he added, as if she didn’t understand the word.

  Cornelia rolled her eyes. “Miners up and leave town, dodging bills all of the time.”

  Wasn’t Cornelia’s pa a miner up on War Eagle? Rebecca’s arms folded. “I was trying to find a way to keep the sale and help them at the same time. She and the children were hungry.”

  “Folks tell you that to get you to feel sorry for them.” Theodore’s pitying look unspooled something in Rebecca.

  “I know what hungry looks like, and I know twenty cents a pound is too high for dried apples.”

  Theodore dropped the receipt back on top of the stack and held up his hands, as if imitating Tad’s tactic to keep peace. “Remember how hard it was for you to get here on the stagecoach? Up hills, lonely roads, bandits? Imagine hauling food over those same roads—some of them toll roads. I pay extra for what I sell on account of the difficulty, Rebecca. I need to make a living on top of that, too.”

  “I know that.” But he’d told her in his letters how he padded things to take advantage of the miners. It was one thing to make a profit but another to charge such exorbitant sums that a parent couldn’t afford to feed her children. It was no use arguing the point anymore, though. “Add the price of the apples to my tab, then.”

  Rebecca didn’t think anyone would take her seriously, but Cornelia picked up a pencil. “Ten cents to Mrs. Tad Fordham’s tab,” she said as she wrote. “I mean, Miss Rice’s tab.”

  Rebecca brushed past Cornelia to hang her apron, stuffing down more uncharitable thoughts about Cornelia’s gleeful smart talk. One day soon, Rebecca might not be able to hold back a retort. She should quietly speak to the young woman about her attitude, before she snapped.

  But not now. She was too angry to open her mouth. Muttering about returning to Mrs. Horner’s, she marched to the door. And stopped at the window.

  Longbeard Pegg lumbered up the street, stooped and bone-thin. His mouth worked, like he told a story, but he had no companion as he shuffled past. His tattered boots and lonely manner ached her heart. She should go talk to him—

  A brawny man shoved Longbeard’s shoulder as he passed, knocking him sideways before he jogged into the bank across from the mercantile. The moment her foot lifted from the ground to hurry to Longbeard something clicked in her brain and her muscles froze, locking in place. The big man was familiar, frighteningly so. His shoulders were so wide, his head looked a pinch too small for his body.

  Just like that member of the Gang of Four who’d reached for her, the one she’d tried to stab with her letter opener.

  “Help.”

  She didn’t think she’d spoken aloud, but the prayer must have left her lips because Theodore came up behind her. “Something wrong, Rebecca?”

  Her muscles thawed and anxiety thrummed through her veins. She had to move. Now. She spared Theodore the briefest of glances over her shoulder. “I need Tad.”

  It wasn’t until she was out the door, gripping handfuls of her skirt so she could run to the livery, that she understood why Theodore’s face had purpled at her words.

  It was unfortunate that she’d given him the wrong impression, but she’d explain later. This was urgent, and only one person in Ruby City could help her. She couldn’t help it if the deputy was also her temporary husband.

  Tad finished wiping down a bit with a rag and was about to set it on the workbench when he heard movement from the livery’s wide doors.

  “Tad?” Rebecca stood in the threshold, blinking as if she adjusted to the dim light of the barn after being out in the bright sun. Clearly, she couldn’t see him yet.

  He stepped toward her. “Right here, Rebecca.”

  “Oh, there you are.” Rebecca rushed forward. “That member of the Gang. Remember, I told you about him?”

  On their wedding day, right after she got off the stagecoach. “He’s a boy, you said.”

  “No, I mean the biggest one.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not being clear. The one who tried to touch me? I think I just saw him walk into the bank.”

  His blood iced. “He’s here?”

  “Maybe.” Rebecca’s hands curled to her chest, in fear or embarrassment, Tad wasn’t sure. “The Gang wore bandannas over their faces, but it could be him. I need to see his eyes to be sure.”

  Here, in Ruby City—could it be that easy? Rebecca could have been mistaken, but Tad would rather err on the side of caution than let the opportunity slip away. He brushed past her, grabbing his Boss and his gun belt. “Stay here.”

  “Be careful, please, Tad. I’m so sorry.”

  “What’s this?” Pa leaned out of the office, a sandwich in his hand and his gaze on Tad’s gun belt.

  “One of the Gang might be in town. I need y
ou to keep an eye on—sorry, this is Rebecca Rice, Pa. Theodore’s intended.”

  Pa’s eyes widened, but he clearly understood Tad’s need to hurry, as well as his desire for Rebecca to be protected. Pa set down the sandwich. “I’m Giff Fordham, your father-in-law for the time being, but you can call me Uncle Giff, since that seems more suitable for the long term.”

  “Hello.” Rebecca smiled, but her repeated glances at Tad were fearful.

  “Stay here with Pa. I’ll be back.”

  She offered a tiny nod.

  “Have lunch yet, Becky?” Pa asked as Tad dashed outside. Becky? Rebecca didn’t go by it; she’d said so at their wedding. Tad shook his head, clearing his thoughts. The brawny fellow in the Gang could be finished at the bank by now, but he couldn’t have gone far.

  Tad kept his pace casual, his posture relaxed, but his gaze fixed on the faces of folks he passed. While it was true that Silver City attracted more folks of late, Ruby City stayed plenty busy. The discovery of gold and silver a few years back brought investors and prospectors hoping to make their fortunes out of the hills, as well as those who made their livings off of them: gamblers, reporters, soiled doves, and businessmen of all types, including the Fordham family.

  Not that Tad hadn’t tried his hand at mining. He’d done his share of gem hunting, and the best he’d found was the opal he’d had set into a gold band and given to Rebecca on their wedding day.

  His gut jumped into his rib cage, just like it always did when he thought of Rebecca. He hated that she felt unsafe. Maybe today, God willing, he’d get a start at stopping the Gang of Four once and for all, and she’d be able to rest easy knowing they couldn’t hurt her or anyone else again.

  Tad pushed open the door of the bank, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim. It didn’t take long to make out the mahogany desk by the window with its green-shaded lamp and inkwell, or the long counter separating the bank in two. Two male customers stood at it—neither of them particularly large. Ebenezer Cook, the father of Theodore’s employee, Corny, was a short fellow with a paunch and fading red hair. Donald Evans stood behind him, waiting his turn. He was a widowed miner with two girls and a sister to feed, but by the skin-and-bones look of them, he hadn’t fared too well in the mines.