It wasn’t hard to find. Shovels, pick axes, and other tools lined the outside wall on both sides of the door. A few dresses and an assortment of material were displayed in the window. The want ad was nailed haphazardly to the door frame and fluttered quietly in the breeze. As she passed by, she yanked it off and walked in.
It was a decent sized, dark, cozily atmospheric shop. There was a larger assortment of tools just inside. It looked like everything, including the windowsills were decorated with a light coating of dust from the road.
A few women milled about, looking at and selecting goods to place in the woven baskets held in the crook of their arms. Two stood in line to pay for their items. Mayme thought it best to wait until the man behind the counter was free before approaching him. So she wandered about. It would be a wise move on her part, she thought, to familiarize herself with the store. A row of stools sat against the counter near the huge, clear glass jars of candy. Kerosene lamps hung from the tin ceiling. The orange glow added to the shop’s character. Its shelves and narrow aisles were crammed with sundries: chewing tobacco, slabs of jerky, bread, and bolts of material and other sewing supplies. A closet-sized area on the opposite side was filled with boxes of nails, more tools, and gold-panning inventory.
“Can I help you, young lady?”
Mayme looked around and realized she was now the only person in the shop, other than the shopkeeper.
He was a muscular, short man with eyes that gleamed. His voice was deep but not quite harsh. His round faced was ornamented by a handlebar moustache which stuck out quaintly under the tip of his rigid nose.
She took an easy breath, looked him directly in the eye, and stepped forward with an outstretched hand.
“I think I can help you. I’d like to apply for the open position.”
He shook her hand and cocked his head. “You would, would you? Do you have any experience?”
She straightened her shoulders and held her chin high. “No. Not yet.” She shot him a confident smile. “I took some business courses in school and have been well trained in etiquette. I’m a very fast learner and am sure I will become a useful asset.”
“Go on. I’m listening.” He crossed his arms over his chest and squinted his eyes.
Mayme leaned toward him slightly. “I can help you with your inventory presentation. For instance, if you put the boxes of nails in the order of size, customers will have an easier time finding them. And if you move the chewing tobacco away from the bread, it would be more appealing.”
He huffed. “And where do you suggest I put it?”
“Well, I would move the bread away from the window so the sun doesn’t cause it to stale fast. And the chewing tobacco—” She tapped her chin thoughtfully and looked around. She grinned when it came to her. “Why not on the other side of the counter with the matches and cigarette papers?”
The man frowned. He turned and stood beside her.
A wave of panic ran through Mayme. “I’m sorry if I’ve insulted you. I only wanted to help.”
He remained silent for a moment with his gaze focused toward the counter. “What’s your name?”
“My—Oh. Mayme Watson, sir.”
“Okay, Mayme Watson sir. I’ll try you out for a week to see how you do. The pay is two dollars a week to start.” He looked at her and smiled. “You can start tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”
She pressed fingers to her smiling lips. She was overwhelmed in a good way and she felt her chest expand with self-pride. This was her first job ever and she’d gotten it without the help of anyone. Not her father or even her last name. She nodded. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.” She rose up on her tiptoes and surveyed her place of employment.
“I’m Smart by the way.”
Mayme looked at him questioningly. “Uh, so am I.”
“Didn’t you just say your name was Watson?”
“Sir?”
He smiled playfully. “Call me Mr. Smart. That’s my last name.”
“Oh. Oooh. Of course.” She raised her eyebrows and giggled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Smarty. I mean Smart.”
Mr. Smart laughed heartily.
Two men walked through the doorway, one of which went straight to the counter.
“Okay, Miss Watson. I have customers to wait on. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.” Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the counter.
“Yes, sir. Tomorrow. I’ll be here,” she said to his back.
Chapter Six
MAYME RETURNED HOME and found Mrs. Randall making a cup of tea in the kitchen.
“I got a job!” She rose onto her tiptoes and bounced with excitement.
Mrs. Randall’s back stiffened. She turned to face Mayme with a forced smile. “Young lady, you were supposed to consult me before you approached a business owner.” She took a sip of tea and waited for a response.
Mayme pushed loose hair away from her face and bit her lower lip. “Well,” she began, suddenly feeling flustered by Mrs. Randall’s less-than-ideal response, “I didn’t want anyone else to get it.” She looked downward and shuffled her feet.
Mrs. Randall went to the table and sat down. “Have a seat and let’s talk about it.”
Mayme nodded hesitantly, pulled a chair out, and settled into it.
“First of all, I’m not going to reprimand you. I merely wish to explain why the rules are valid. Not every girl is right for a certain type of work, and likewise, not every type of employment suits every girl. For example, no matter what the circumstances, I wouldn’t allow a young girl such as yourself to work for the local saloon. Even if the position paid well to only mop floors. It’s not appropriate and certainly far from safe. I apologize for not making it clear when we spoke yesterday.”
“Yes ma’am. I understand and I can assure you I did not approach the proprietor of the saloon.” She took a deep breath, debating whether to explain why. In the end she decided it would be too personal of a story, not to mention accentuate the heartache she’d lived with every day since her expulsion and banishment from her home.
“Excellent. Now let’s discuss your potential employment.”
“Potential? No I think you misunderstood. I already accepted Mr. Smart’s offer.”
“Mr. Smart?” Mrs. Randall touched her throat and let out a bark of laughter. “Of the mercantile?”
“Yes. He seems very nice.”
Mrs. Randall shook her head and smiled broadly. “You must’ve made a huge impression on him. He has resisted hiring help for the last four years.”
“But he had a sign that said ‘position available’ taped on his window.”
“And that sign has been there for four years,” Mrs. Randall said over her cup of tea before taking a sip.
“I don’t understand.” Mayme tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips.
“It’s a sad story, really.” Mrs. Randall sighed and put her cup down. “Fred. Mr. Smart and his family journeyed by wagon train from Saint Louis about five years ago. Along the way a gang of criminals ambushed and overpowered the men. His wife and unborn child were trampled to death when the driver of one of the wagons tried to escape.”
“Oh no. How horrible. That poor man.”
“Sadly, his ten-year old daughter was also a casualty. She was killed when a bullet ricocheted off a rock and hit her while she was hiding beneath a wagon. Mr. Smart has been alone ever since.”
Mayme covered her heart with a hand. “That’s horrible. Did they ever catch the men who did it?”
“Yes. But seeing justice done didn’t bring Mr. Smart’s family back to him. I believe he’s been in mourning ever since. Because of his sadness he’s been reluctant to let anyone close, let alone work for him for fear it would remind him of his losses.”
Mayme was speechless for a moment. To see his family killed right before his eyes was much more traumatic than what she’d been through with hers. At least she knew her parents were obviously still quite alive despite her exile and su
pposed inability to ever see or contact them again.
“Then why do you think he hired me?”
“Personally, I have no idea. But let’s hope that you live up to whatever standards he requires. I don’t know whether to advise you to tread lightly around him or just be yourself.”
“Well, for me it would be easier to be myself. I mean, I was when I met him and besides, that’s easier for me than to be a fake when I don’t know what I’m supposed to be faking.” Mayme closed her mouth and waited.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Well, congratulations are in order then. I only have one huge requirement.”
Mayme swallowed hard.
Mrs. Randall sniffed the air. “If you’re going to be assisting the mercantile’s customers, then I want you to smell better than them. You need a bath.”
Mayme smiled with relief. “Oh, yes, please.”
SHE ARRIVED OUTSIDE the mercantile the next morning, just minutes before Mr. Smart lit the lamps and unlocked the door. She was grateful she hadn’t had to wait long. The morning chill peppered her arms with gooseflesh and she’d crossed them over her chest to keep warm.
“Good morning,” she said as he braced the door open with a milk jug. She rubbed her arms briskly and tried not to look sensible.
“Well, that’s a good sign. You showed up and made it on time.” He rested his hands on his hips. “The first thing you do in the morning is put some of the tools out here. You can handle that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come find me when you’ve finished.” Mr. Smart turned and disappeared inside.
She stood momentarily confused for a moment. He almost seemed displeased to see her. I hope he hasn’t had second thoughts about hiring me. Grabbing a shovel in each hand, she began the assigned task, recalling how the tools had been arranged the previous day. She stood back and briefly admired her work before going inside.
Mr. Smart stood behind the counter, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pencil held between his thumb and index finger in the other. He tapped the pencil against his forehead twice and then scribbled something on a pad of paper.
“What would you like me to do next?”
He looked up and blinked, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there.
“Do you drink coffee?” He picked his mug up and slurped it.
“I did when my parents weren’t looking. They told me it would stunt my growth and not to until I was old enough. But they never explained what they meant by old enough. I tasted my mother’s one morning when she went to the toilet and decided I liked it.”
Mr. Smart snorted through his nose and a hint of a smile appeared on his face. “Help yourself to a cup in the back if you want. Then I’ll show you how to use the register.”
The back he referred to was little more than a closet. A tiny wood-burning stove blared heat through the open doorway. The coffee pot sat on a granite warming plate with a tin mug beside it. A small pile of wood was neatly stacked next to a door she assumed led to behind the store. The only light source was from the lamp hanging just outside the room. But even in the shadowy room she could see the wrinkled photo hanging by a nail on the opposite wall.
She poured the inky liquid into the mug. As she blew over the top of it she turned and examined the picture. The light-haired woman sat on a bench and smiled toward the picture-taker. Her long white dress was tastefully spread in front of her. She wondered if it was a wedding photo.
“My wife.”
Startled, she barely avoided sloshing the hot liquid onto the floor. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”
But Mr. Smart had already left.
She glanced at the photo and then followed him out and received the lesson on the register. It was quite easy to push the numbers in for a transaction. She’d just have to remember how to avoid getting punched in the chest when the money drawer shot out. Although the mercantile worked purely on a cash basis for the transient crowd to ensure payment, she was also instructed on how to add totals to the account book for regular customers. Since she was good at math, she found it a quite easy lesson to learn.
Before the shop opened and the first customers arrived he gave her a quick run-down on the tools. She was familiar with most of them from her work at the stable, but the gold mining supplies and a few of the farming tools were new to her. She worked hard to commit to memory all he told her, but knew she’d have questions if put on the spot.
Mr. Smart had taken her suggestions to heart and she kept busy arranging the boxes of nails in order of size and moving the chewing tobacco and bread. She’d voiced her opinion that customers would more likely buy the bread on impulse as they were checking out. Several loaves had already gone out the door.
Later that afternoon, the bell above the door rang as she moved the last of the bread loaves onto the counter. Mr. Smart had left the store to carry some heavy boxes of supplies out to a wagon for an elderly customer. It was the first time she’d been left alone in the store.
The man’s face was nearly hidden by the shadow of the cowboy hat sitting low on his head. A few errant locks of blond hair sprouted out from under it. He was tall, lean, and a bit bow-legged, indicative of long hours in the saddle. A worn saddlebag hung loosely over his shoulder. His spurs jangled when his boot heels hit the wooden floor as he strode up to the counter. He removed his hat, revealing a jagged scar running from his ear to the corner of his mouth. Although Mayme couldn’t begin to guess how he’d received the horrible wound, she did think he might be close to her age based on his round childish face.
“Hello,” she began as she walked behind the counter. “How can I help you?”
“I need some SAA forty-fives.”
Her mind raced as she tried to recall if Mr. Smart had ever mentioned the whatever-he-just-said. She knew it wasn’t foodstuff, so it must be a tool of some sort.
“Uh, yes. Well, I believe you’ll find them over there.” She smiled and waved a hand in the direction of the tools.
“They aren’t over there, missy.” His blue eyes seemed to laugh at her.
She frowned at him in annoyance and then absently rubbed her cheek. She suddenly stopped, horrified that he might think she was mocking his scar. She felt the heat of a flush creep up her cheeks as she fiddled with her dress sleeves. Indecision, confusion, and embarrassment rolled into one and gathered momentum like a wind-blown tumbleweed.
“Um, are you sure?” She looked toward the door, hoping to see Mr. Smart so he could help. But the doorway remained empty. She realized she needed to buy some time until he returned. She started out from behind the counter. “I’m sure I saw them over there just this morning while I was tidying up. Let’s look, shall we?”
“I’m telling you they aren’t over there.” He made no effort to move away from the counter.
She stopped short in front of him and placed her hands on her hips. “Well, then, why don’t you tell me exactly where you think they are?”
“You work here. You should know.” He flashed her a toothy grin.
Annoyed at his arrogance, she sighed heavily and clenched her jaw.
“What brings you in here, Billy?” Mr. Smart said from the doorway.
Billy winked at Mayme. “I need some bullets.”
She barely refrained from growling. The idiot couldn’t have just said bullets, could he? Of course she had no idea where they were kept. But that was beside the point.
Mr. Smart went directly behind the counter. “The usual?”
“Yes, sirree.” Billy shoved his tongue into his cheek. She knew he was barely containing laughing at her.
She wanted to throw something at him. Something big. And hard.
“How long are you in town for?” Mr. Smart reached below the counter and opened a drawer Mayme hadn’t noticed before. He placed a box in front of Billy. Sure enough, SSA .45 was lettered in bold ink.
Damn. Boy do I feel stupid. She averted her eyes from the bullets and pretended to focus on the account register.
“Not long I think. I quit Harrison’s cattle station so I’m heading off to explore other possibilities.” Billy tossed some coins onto the counter and shoved the box of bullets into the saddlebag. He placed the hat back onto his head and shoved it down. “See ya.” He patted the counter once, turned, and walked toward the entrance.
“Take ’er easy out there, boy.”
“It’s what I do.” Billy raised a hand in a backward wave and disappeared out the door.
Mr. Smart sighed and gazed after him. “He’s a good boy, that one.”
Mayme glanced to the front of the store and then focused on Mr. Smart. “Do you know him well?”
“As a matter of fact I do. He and his family came west the same time I did. Same wagon train.” He lowered his eyes and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Did his family survive the attack?”
Mr. Smart whipped his head around to stare at her.
Mayme covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories. It must be hard.”
Mr. Smart’s eyes bore into hers.
“I should just stop talking now.” She broke eye contact, closed the book with a slap, and turned away.
“Wait.”
Mayme stopped walking, paused, and then pivoted around. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Sometimes seeing Billy so grown up makes me wonder what my daughter would look like right now. Mary and Billy were the same age. My wife and I used to joke about them giving us our first grandchildren.”
The prickle of tears behind her eyes made her blink hard. She had no idea what to say.
“I guess you’ve heard the entire story already, so there’s no need for me to explain. Let’s get back to work, shall we?”
“I didn’t know where the bullets were kept,” she said quickly.
“Ah, I must apologize for that. I knew there was something I’d forget to tell you.”
“That’s okay. I wouldn’t know the first thing about them anyway.” She scuffed her feet against the floor.
After a Time Page 5