by Carol Arens
Matt hadn’t noticed Mrs. Sizeloff come into the store. He’d been so involved in watching the ribbon picking that the world had gone on without his notice.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Matt took off his hat and twisted it in his hand. Mrs. Sizeloff cradled a newborn in the crook of her arm while her son, Charlie, tugged on her skirt urging her toward the counter displaying hard candies.
“I was telling my Josie just last night that you and Mrs. Suede looked near as happy as we did on our wedding day. Oh, my, weren’t those happy times?” The preacher looked dreamy for a moment, then seemed to notice the tugging on her skirt. “You’ll call on me when it’s time for a christening, won’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” How big of a sin was it to lie to a preacher? He needed to remember that Emma’s display of affection for him was no more than a show. Even if it weren’t, that christening would never happen. He and his wife were traveling the same trail only until fall.
Mrs. Sizeloff followed Charlie to the candy counter and listened to him recite the many sweets that he wanted to take home.
Emma and Lucy had finished with ribbons and moved on to the bolts of fabric stacked near the window. After some discussion, Emma picked out a bolt. She carried it to the counter with Lucy trailing behind, toting a pair of ribbons and a smile.
Mr. Wright took the bolt from Emma’s arms and set it on the counter. She greeted Mrs. Sizeloff, then handed her list to the store owner. He looked it over two or three times.
“I’ve got most of the things you need. Let me just tally up the price for your husband.” He put on a pair of spectacles and reached for a pencil.
Matt approached the counter. He wasn’t concerned about the cost. He owed Emma more than a house, and he’d been able to put a fair amount away working the roundups. He could take care of Emma without touching what he had put away for Lucy.
“Before you add that up,” Emma said, “I wonder if we might do a little bartering, Mr. Wright?”
What was she up to now? Matt took a step back, curious to see what this sweet as a flower, clever as a whip woman was up to.
“What did you have in mind?” Mr. Wright slid his glasses down his nose and set the pencil on the counter.
“Dr. Coonley’s Patent Medicine. I have a full case of it. I’ll give you a bottle for every two dollars you take off that bill.”
She wanted to trade snake oil for durable goods? Who was this woman he had married? She looked like nothing less than an angel, standing there holding Lucy’s hand, smiling like sunshine and all the while selling sin in a bottle.
“No offense intended, but folks can get all the spirits they want next door at the Long Branch,” Mr. Wright said.
Emma gasped and pressed her fluttering hand against her breast.
“Mr. Wright! I’m offering you pure Orange Lilly. Why, there’s not a single harmful ingredient in it. Lands, I take it myself on a monthly basis.” Emma leaned across the counter and did that whisper of hers that carried far and wide. “Orange Lilly is for female complaints.”
“I’ll give you two dollars for it,” Mrs. Sizeloff said. “I’ve been feeling out of sorts since little Maudie was born.”
“I’ve seen that happen to some of the ladies I’ve worked for over the years. Why, they’d cry and take on for no reason at all after a birthing.” Emma touched Mrs. Sizeloff’s elbow where it cradled little Maudie. “We’re staying at Mrs. Conner’s boardinghouse tonight and we’ll be here a good part of the day tomorrow. I’ll bring a bottle by the church if you’ll be there.”
“Bless you, Mrs. Suede, that would be kind.”
“It’s not kind, really. It’s business. Orange Lilly will have you feeling better in no time and then you’ll tell your friends.”
If Emma won over Mrs. Sizeloff, the ladies in town would wear a trail to the homestead looking for healing in a bottle.
He paid Mr. Wright for the goods, then escorted Emma and Lucy out into the afternoon sunshine. It beat down on the sidewalk like a son of a gun.
“You just sold snake oil to the preacher, darlin’.” He touched a golden curl that looped alongside her cheek and drew it around his finger. She had the look of a petal blowing in the wind, but apparently she was as wily as any cowboy in Dodge. “You’re some kind of a woman.”
* * *
Emma stared after Matt while he strode toward E. C. Zimmerman’s to order the lumber and other supplies they would need to begin building her house. Had she been insulted or praised?
It was hard to tell by the question in his gaze while he stood in front of the mercantile touching her hair as if it was something special. A grin—or a smirk—had flashed across his mouth, but his eyes had sparked with admiration. If she wasn’t mistaken, silent laughter cramped his lungs.
Imagine calling pure Orange Lilly snake oil! Why, in a week or so ladies all over town would be free of the female humors plaguing them. At two dollars per humor, well, she’d just see what Matt Suede would call it then.
“Come along, Lucy. There’s nothing sweeter for ladies young and old than an afternoon respite.”
Hopefully the child would take a nap. That would give Emma an hour or so before dinner to review the list of supplies she’d need to provide for the extra people she would be caring for.
Lucy slipped her hand into Emma’s. Having just turned four years old, she still had plump baby fingers. That was one of the things Emma liked about four-year-olds. While they’d grown out of needing constant attention, the blush of babyhood still lingered about them.
The boardinghouse was still three blocks away when Lucy’s steps began to drag.
“I’m tired.” She rubbed one curled fist over her eye and yawned. A sticky smear of peppermint stick glittered on her lips and fingertips. “Would you carry me, Mama?”
Emma stooped and picked her up. She settled her on her hip. She’d done this so many times with other children that she was sure the curve of her hip had become a chair.
Lucy snuggled her head on Emma’s shoulder. The scent of sugar and peppermint made her anxious for the nice dinner at Del Monico’s that Matt had promised.
“Lucy, I think you’re one of the nicest little girls I’ve ever met, but I’m not really your mama. You and your papa will be moving back to town when summer’s over and I think you should remember that I’m only Emma.”
The rhythmic sucking on the peppermint stick slowed, then stopped altogether. A sticky hand dropped from Emma’s neck to her waist.
Emma took the candy from the relaxing fist. She held it in the same grip as the parasol and adjusted the angle so that the shade covered the sleeping child.
“I suppose that’s a talk we’ll have later.” Unless she could get Matt to do it.
When she turned off Front Street to make her way up the hill to Mrs. Conner’s place, a shadow fell across the boardwalk. Cigarette smoke snaked through the air an instant before a man stepped out in front of her.
Emma tried to walk around him, but he countered and blocked her way.
“Madame.” The greeting blew out of the man’s mouth along with a whirl of smoke. “Might I congratulate you on your marriage?”
He might, but she’d rather he didn’t. Any dot of respect she might have held for Lawrence Pendragon had died when she’d learned of his indifference to Lucy.
“Thank you.”
Once again she tried to step around him, but he flicked his smoldering cigarette in her path, then stuck out a shiny black shoe to grind it out.
“The word about town is that you’ve turned a pair of my best cowboys into homesteaders.”
Emma shifted Lucy’s weight on her hip and wished that she’d dropped the candy a block back. A woman’s full sway was diminished by peppermint dripping down her wrist. “I’d be obliged if you’d let me pass, Mr. Pendragon.”
“I’m delighted that you know my name.” That blamed shiny shoe continued to take up the sidewalk. Sunlight spit bullets of glare off it as if it was some kind of weapon. “We didn’t properly meet
outside the land office yesterday.”
That’s because he’d paid her no more mind than a fly buzzing in the shade. Did he even know that the child asleep on her hip was the baby of the man who had saved his own daughter’s life?
“This little girl is getting mighty heavy. Would you mind stepping aside?”
“I beg your pardon.” The shoe ground once more at the cigarette but didn’t move a hen’s feather out of the way. “I have some business I’d like to discuss with you. Here, let me take the little angel while we talk.”
“I can’t imagine what business a fine gent like you would have with a simple homesteader.”
Emma lowered her parasol, shielding Lucy from his outstretched arms. The wonderful thing about a parasol wasn’t the shade it provided, but the wicked point on the end. If those long, manicured fingers moved an inch closer to Lucy, he’d find that out.
What kind of a man had smooth pale fingers with long gleaming fingernails, anyway? Mr. Pendragon should pay so much attention to his teeth. Behind the condescending smile he bestowed on her they were as yellow as butter…greasy butter.
“It’s the homestead I’d like to discuss with you.”
“There’s not much to it at the moment.” That sallow-toothed worm had land enough of his own. He didn’t need to give hers another thought. “I’m sure it’s not worth a discussion.”
“I’m in control of most of the land out your way. There’s not an acre of ground that my cattle don’t graze over. I had intended to have one of my men file on that land you took. In another week it would have been part of my spread.”
Lawrence Pendragon reached into his vest pocket and took out a small case that reflected enough sunlight to burn Emma’s eyes. He took a cigarette out of it, lit it and snapped the case closed.
He took a deep draw, then let out his breath with a curly white hiss.
“Pass the word on to your husband that I’d like to make a fair offer for his place.”
“My land isn’t for sale.” Emma took a half step forward hoping to dislodge the shoe. “Good day, Mr. Pendragon.”
“Why, yes, it is a lovely day.” A warm breeze snatched his trail of smoke and blew it into the street, cooling the sweat gathering under her hair at the same time. “You should enjoy this day while you can. You may not have many more like it.”
Emma gripped the parasol so tightly that her fingers tingled. She bristled at the threat beneath the cultured tones of the man’s voice. A fine accent couldn’t hide everything.
“And why is that?”
“It’s simply the nature of prairie life. One never knows from day to day what might happen. I’ve seen storms come up in the night that carry homes right away with them. There’s drought, there’s cattle roaming at will, often over hard-won crops.” He lowered his voice. The fingers of one hand twitched against his vest while he stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette. “Anything can cause a prairie fire. A bolt of lightning…or even a careless smoker. So many of my cowboys smoke.”
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Pendragon?”
He twisted the end of his mustache and pursed his lips. “I’m simply pointing out the danger that homesteaders face. Wouldn’t it be better to accept a generous sum of money in exchange for that dried-out piece of earth, little lady?”
“That’s my dried-out piece of earth, and I’m not selling it to anyone!” She’d had all she could take of the glittering shoe, so she made a stab at it with the tip of her parasol. Mr. Pendragon took a startled jump backward. Emma hurried past him, but couldn’t resist one backward glance.
“And that’s Mrs. Matthew Suede to you.”
“For the moment.” That slowed Emma down. How would he know that? She kept walking, only pretending not to hear if he had something else to say.
“Once Angus Hawker is free, your man is better than dead. You and the little girl will be all alone out there.”
* * *
Mrs. Conner’s boardinghouse sat atop the rise of a low hill. The front porch overlooked the ruckus going on in town this late July night. Emma sat on a rocker in the dark listening to an argument between a pair of cowboys. Their curses and threats drifted up with the breeze. Farther down the street, rowdy laughter drowned out the bawdy tune being hammered out on a piano.
Emma had no business wondering what her husband of one day was up to, but she did it, anyway. Was he keeping time with a woman he had known before she’d trapped him in the livery, or was he perhaps at the saloon gambling and drinking and listening to the tawdry music?
He could be doing anything. All she really knew of him was that he robbed banks, lived by his word and kissed a woman to steal the heart right out of her bosom.
A shot rang out on Front Street. Four more popped like a string of firecrackers. Cowboy hoots and hollers made Emma long for the quiet of the prairie.
Lucy slept deeply and soundly in one of the two rooms that Matt had rented from Mrs. Conner. Emma had watched her sleep for a while before coming downstairs. The child sucked her thumb and curled her fingers about a bit of satin on her nightgown, apparently oblivious to noise outside.
If it hadn’t been for her meeting with Pendragon earlier in the afternoon, Emma would have crawled into bed beside Lucy and closed her ears to the noise as best she could. But anxiety over his comment about a man named Hawker had left her uneasy. In the end, she’d turned down the lamp and left Lucy to sleep in a beam of moonlight shining through the window and onto the bed.
Boots crunched the dirt, beginning the climb up the hill.
“You ain’t my pa.” Emma recognized Red’s voice.
“I’m the closest thing you’ve got to it, and I say you’ve got a few more years before you’re ready for the Long Branch.”
“I’m close on a man. I’ve got a job and I’m near as tall as you.”
“Sweeping up at the land office is a pastime. You get on up to your room and I’ll let you know when you’re old enough to spend time in the saloon.”
“Evening, Emma,” Red mumbled in passing. Even with the front door closed behind him, his footsteps sounded heavy on the stairs.
“The boy doesn’t know how much growing up he’s got between here and manhood.” Matt sat in the rocker beside her and stretched out his long legs with his boots crossed at the ankles. “What are you doing out here in the dark, darlin’? It must be close to midnight.”
“Half past.” Emma watched Matt through the darkness. He took off his hat and shook his hair free of the constraint.
Moonlight shadowed the weary-looking lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Her husband was a stranger to her. There was so much she wanted to know about him.
“How many children have you adopted, Matt?” From the way things were going, half the town might start to call her Ma.
“Red’s not so much adopted as taken in hand. He came to Dodge about three years ago, ready to face off with the first gunslinger he came across.” Matt sat straighter in his chair and propped his elbows on his knees. He gazed down at his hands dangling between his thighs as though the story he was about to tell lay hidden in his fists. “He was almost as wild as I was at his age. Out here in Dodge, when a boy gets off to a bad start, it usually ends in an early grave.
“The first time I saw Red he was about thirty seconds from getting a hole blown in him.”
“That’s frightful! What happened?”
“I did what needed doing.” Matt looked up from his balled-up fists. Midnight shadows couldn’t hide the regret in his eyes. “Look, Emma, since we’re going to be joining our lives for the rest of the summer, there’s some things I expect you have a right to know.”
Silence stretched long and thin while he looked out over the nightlife in Dodge, then back at her.
“Sometime or another you’ll hear someone call me Singing Trigger Suede. That’s because I used to sing while I practiced my quick draw. When I was a kid, I was wild and full of fire and my gun was faster than anything people had seen before. When I w
as fourteen a man heard about my gun and came to town looking for a fight.
“We faced each other, right down there on that street.” Matt grew quiet for a moment, as though he could see it happening again down the hill in the dark. “I was singing through my sweat and my shaking knees, but I knew I could take him. All of a sudden the man turned his back on me and said that he didn’t shoot babies. I’d be dead now if he hadn’t walked off. It wasn’t but an hour later that the man faced someone else at the very same spot. I watched the life blink out of his eyes while he lay there bleeding.
“I put away my gun that afternoon and took to cattle herding. It took some time, but most folks forgot about how fast I could shoot a gun.”
“But they still call you Singing Trigger Suede?”
“Some do, the ones who have lived here for a long time. But most folks are newcomers and don’t know about my past.”
“What about your folks?”
“I hardly remember my pa. He was killed in an accident on our ranch when I was six. My ma tried to make a go of it, but she never took to the hard life out here, even when my pa was alive. When I was sixteen, she said we were leaving for a civilized place or she’d go insane.
“I’ve seen it happen to women before. Sometimes the land snatches away their joy in life. I didn’t want to be civilized, so I stayed here. My ma took off for San Francisco…I can’t blame her for it. She’s remarried and living the life of a fine lady, just like she always dreamed of. We write to each other now and then.”
“You’re a lucky man, Matt. You had your mother for a time. Even now you have her letters. I was raised by other people’s mothers.”
It was comfortable talking to Matt. Maybe their time together would pass pleasantly, in friendship. The ruckus down in town seemed to grow distant on this peaceful porch in the dead of night. Conversation and moonlight made everything feel right.
“I never knew my real ma or pa. I think I was born in New York. I showed up in a basket on some church steps. I was cared for by an older couple. They raised me for as long as they could, but in the end I wound up on an orphan train. I was seven then.”