“Well, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”
“Yes, sir.”
The bell above the door rang and a group of Chinese women and their children entered the store. Mr. Smart assisted the adults and Mayme kept an eye on the kids. She caught one shoving candy into his pocket and two others dipping their hands into a bag of sugar and sucking it off their fingers.
There was a steady flow of customers in and out of the mercantile for the remainder of the day. It came as quite the relief when they brought the tools in from outside, locked the door, and turned the window sign to show the store was now closed.
Mayme’s feet hurt and her shoulders ached from constantly waiting on customers. It’d been a heck of a first day, but admittedly, despite being tired, she’d enjoyed herself.
Chapter Seven
“YOU MET BILLY Prescott?” Iris covered her mouth with clasped hands. “He is so handsome.”
“Kik yer ooling.” Annie rolled her eyes.
Mayme shrugged. “He seemed like he thought he was all that and a cup of sugar. He actually had the audacity to wink at me.”
Iris gasped. “Oh, Mayme, you’re so lucky. What I wouldn’t give to have him even look at me.”
“Oh buggar.” Anne shook her head, rolled her eyes again, and then laughed.
“Oh brother is right.” Mayme chuckled. “He’s so arrogant, I’m surprised he can breathe with his head tipped back so far.”
Annie snorted and giggled. It was the most animated Mayme had seen her. She always seemed like she was in a bad mood.
“One day you two will change your minds. I want to be married by the time I’m twenty so it’s important to keep looking.” Iris went back to peeling potatoes and seemed to ignore them.
Mayme glanced at Annie and rolled her eyes, which elicited a chuckle from them both.
LATER, AS MAYME lay in bed waiting to fall asleep, she thought about Iris’ ambition to be married. She’d been exposed to pretty much the same mentality at boarding school. Most of the girls went there just to bide their time until an appropriate suitor came along. Then within months they’d be married and shortly after that with child.
She sighed and wondered if there was something wrong with her that she didn’t share that same enthusiasm. She didn’t feel peculiar. It just didn’t elicit any emotions or desire to follow a path leading to courtship, marriage, and eventual child bearing. She scrunched her nose. No, she was definitely not ready for that kind of life. It was even possible she never would be. Maybe after a time.
An incoming breeze lifted the curtains and brought with it the scent of pine and the howl of a single coyote from far off. Despite her fatigue, she felt a restless stirring, as if something was calling to her. She was missing her rides on Blaze, exploring the countryside and in actuality, the serenity that accompanied it.
She rolled onto her side and pulled the blanket up to her chin. The coyote barked and howled once more. Maybe he was trying to find his place in life too.
THE WEEKS FLEW by at an amazing pace. The constant parade of customers through the mercantile door kept her and Mr. Smart on their toes and running. She wondered how he had managed before hiring her. But then she supposed he had welcomed the exhaustion at the end of the day so he could sleep soundly without the nightmares of losing his family.
When she asked about the increased business, Mr. Smart had simply replied he was sure a few new yellow veins had been discovered in the gold fields. Merchandise seemed to go out the door faster than it came in and they eventually began taking orders and simply waiting for the train to deliver the goods.
“Well, Mayme,” Mr. Smart said Saturday afternoon. “It looks like we’re going to have to close shop until Monday.”
Mayme separated the final four bags of beans and walked to the counter. She’d been evenly spreading the various goods so it wouldn’t look like the shelves were empty.
“Is that when we’ll finally get the delivery we’ve been waiting for?”
“The supply train arrived but it won’t get unloaded until sometime Monday morning.”
“That’s ridiculous. What’s the holdup?”
“Other than the fact that railroad people suddenly become religious on Sundays and claim a day of rest, the train was robbed.”
“Oh no. Was anybody hurt?” She bounced the fingers of one hand against her lips.
“No. Not this time. They were bandits intent on stealing money. But the railroad wants to make sure nothing else was taken so they’ll do a quick inventory before they unload.”
“Is there anything you’d like me to do in the meantime?” She envisioned having time to herself. Since she’d started work, her days had been occupied with nothing but. Afterward, she had chores to do at the house before dropping exhausted into bed, only to start all over again the next morning.
“As a matter of fact, there is.” Mr. Smart’s eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. “I think it’s high time you learned how to shoot.”
“Really? Do you think I’m able?” She bounced on the balls of her feet.
“Young lady, in these times, I think everyone should learn how to handle a gun. Now, there are some old timers that are dead-on thinking a firearm has no place in a woman’s hands. But I’m of the mind that if the women in my wagon train had been able to shoot, we might not have lost those we did.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment before shaking his head as if to stop the memories Mayme had no doubt he was reliving.
She stayed silent, waiting.
“And besides,” he finally said, settling his gaze on her, “I want to catch the look on some of those same old geezer’s faces when they see you handling the guns and ammo with the skills of Annie Oakley.”
Mayme brightened at the mention of the famous female shooter. “When can we start? Can we go now?” She swallowed a shout of glee but couldn’t contain her excitement. She grinned widely and clapped her fingertips together. “Can we?”
Mr. Smart laughed. “I was thinking Sunday afternoon. I’ll meet you here after lunch and you can help me load the wagon. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect.” She just had to figure out how she would explain her absence to her housemates.
“Oh. One other thing. Don’t tell anyone what we’re doing. We don’t need an audience or any poo-pooing by the nay-sayers.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fueled by the day’s events, she decided to forego her usual route home along the road. She turned the corner onto a path used mainly by delivery wagons servicing the adjoining businesses to the mercantile.
Since it was late in the afternoon and the town was nearly empty of the constant influx of miners, she had the trail to herself. Her sense of adventure pulled to her like a magnet. It’d been a while since her heart raced with possibilities of new finds.
A line of tall flowering lilacs formed a barrier between a house and the rest of town. The scent was intoxicating. She stopped and put her nose to a bunch of the fragrant flowers and breathed in the aromatic bouquet.
She looked around to make sure no one was watching, pinched a swatch off the bush, and continued on her way, frequently bringing it to her nose to sniff.
Soon she found herself wandering through prairie grass that slowly rose to her waist. She held her hand out and touched the feathery tops of the tussocks with her palm as she moved, delighting in the soft tickling.
But for the soft swishing caused by her movements, a hushed placidity surrounded her. She marveled at the quiet of the day. It was a wonderful break, leaving the noise and commotion of town behind and embracing the tranquility. But yet the perpetual silence of the evening was sometimes unnerving. During a sleepless night it was less peaceful. The bedsprings would squeak and complain from her constant tossing and turning. Her only desire was to get the repressive dark hours over with and welcome the light of day. Perhaps it was her impatience to see what the future would bring.
Mayme sidestepped the remains of a firewood pile and entered the house through a
back door leading into the kitchen.
Iris and Annie sat at the kitchen table with various pieces of clothing in their laps and threaded needles between their two fingers. Iris looked up from her sewing and smiled at Mayme. Annie’s brow was furrowed as she seemingly concentrated on a particular stitch.
“Hi,” Mayme said as she walked by them. She went to the sink and pumped water into a glass. “What are you doing?”
Iris sighed and dropped her hands into her lap. She stretched her neck from side to side. “Drawing blood mostly. I don’t mind sewing until I prick myself.”
“Ow!” Annie dropped her needle and shoved the offended finger into her mouth.
“Maddie used a cork to protect her fingers.” Mayme took a long swallow from her glass.
“Who’s Maddie?” Iris rubbed the tips of her fingers with her thumbs.
“Oh, she was our maid.”
“Ew ad a maig?” Annie’s eyes grew big.
Iris swiveled around and faced Mayme. “You come from money?”
Mayme winced and slid down onto a chair. “Not anymore.”
So many people she knew back east boasted of their wealth. They sported it in everything they did, said, owned, or wore. She just didn’t appreciate the looks of envy like the rest of them did. More, she was embarrassed when she remembered how people like Maddie’s family lived. She, along with her husband, three kids, and elderly parents lived in a tiny ramshackle house on a pig farm outside of town. The farm’s owner kiddingly spouted he employed free slaves. Mayme never saw the humor in that.
“You must’ve done something really bad to get exiled out here,” Iris said.
Mayme shrugged. She looked at the lovely stitching in Iris’ lap. “Would you teach me to sew?”
“Like a dress or something?”
Annie snorted.
“No. I only want to learn to mend something. Nothing fancy.” Other than not wanting to look like a total imbecile she knew it would be good value knowing how to repair something.
“Do you have something that needs fixing?” Iris clipped the thread close to the material and put the scissors back into the sewing box that sat in the middle of the table.
“Oh, as a matter of fact I do. I’ll be right back.” Mayme darted out of the kitchen, raced up the stairs to her room, and retrieved a dress she’d worn during her first week at work. The bottom of it had gotten caught on a plow blade and torn as she’d rushed by to wait on a customer. She had figured on replacing it at some point, but since it was a favorite of hers, she hadn’t wanted to merely discard it. So she’d simply rolled it up and tucked into the back of a dresser drawer.
She soon discovered that threading the needle was the simplest part of it all. Iris showed her how to complete a couple different stitches. After nearly an hour, Mayme had succeeded in mending it. Although it was a bit of a makeshift patch, she was quite proud of having done it herself.
Annie had watched with some amusement at first, but then apparently grew bored and left, leaving Iris and Mayme alone.
“Did you really have a maid?” Iris said out of the blue.
“Yeah. She did whatever Mother didn’t want to. Which was everything.” Mayme refrained from commenting that her mother was usually either too drunk or too hung over to do much of anything.
“Maddie was it?”
Mayme nodded.
“Didn’t Maddie teach you how to do stuff?”
Mayme shook her head. “She wasn’t allowed to. Mother figured it’d be a waste of time learning something I’d never put to use.”
“Because you’d someday be married and have a maid of your own.” Iris frowned.
“Yes. But things change don’t they?” Mayme pulled the sewing box closer to inspect the contents. There were several spools of colored threads and an assortment of needles pushed through a cloth fold.
“What’s this needle used for?” Mayme pointed to a needle crudely bent into a half circle. A small piece of what looked like stained thread hung from the end of it.
“I can’t believe she still has that thing.” Iris pulled it out and looked at it with a mixture of disgust and wonder. “Dad put an axe into his leg once and Mom had to sew it up. She couldn’t get the angle right, so she bent it like this. I guess it worked. Mom said he didn’t scream as loud anyway.”
“Wow. I’m not sure if I could do that.” Mayme was awed by Mrs. Randall’s bravery.
“I’ve told her that too.” Iris looked up and smiled. “She just says, ‘You would if you had to.’”
Mayme thought about that and decided Mrs. Randall was right. She took a deep breath. Although circumstances were different, she had already done a lot of what she’d had to. And she was sure there were even more challenges ahead.
“That’s still Dad’s blood on the thread,” Iris said nonchalantly.
“Ew. Really?” Despite a slight feeling of revulsion, Mayme looked more closely. The thread was tinged a rusty brown. It kind of did look like old blood.
“Yep. She won’t get rid of it because she says that’s the last true part of Dad she still has. I sort of see her point. In a way.” Iris’ eyes watered a little and she quickly wiped them away.
“You still miss him.” Mayme lightly touched Iris’ leg and silently wished she could alleviate her pain.
Iris nodded and lowered her chin to her chest. “I really never got to know him because I was so young when he died.”
“At least you know he loved you and your mother.” Mayme rested a hand on Iris’s shoulder. That was a similarity that she couldn’t share with Iris about her own parents. She no longer knew how they felt about her. She could only imagine it was complete indifference.
“True.” Iris sobered, rummaged through the sewing box and removed a cloth pouch. “Here,” she said, handing it to Mayme. “Mom made me a little sewing kit when I was small. I guess it kept me from getting into hers. You can have it.”
Mayme carefully undid the three buttons holding the sack closed and looked inside. The kit consisted of two small spools of thread, one black, the other white, and two needles, one large and a much finer one. She assumed the smaller was for more delicate stitching.
She pressed fingers to her smiling lips. This gift, albeit small, filled her heart with warmth.
“Iris, I have to say this is one of the nicest things anybody has ever given me.”
“You’re joshing with me.” Iris frowned. “Didn’t you get fancy presents?”
“No, I’m not at all kidding. Most of the gifts I received from my parents afforded them bragging rights about how much it cost or how big it was. It never felt like they put much thought into what I’d want so it didn’t seem like they were heartfelt.” Mayme tapped her palm against her the left side of her chest. “This is certainly from the heart.” She smiled and put her hand on Iris’s shoulder again. “Thank you.”
Chapter Eight
THE RAIN BEATING down on the roof Sunday morning tickled Mayme’s conscious awake. She snuggled deeper into the covers, letting the sound lull her into a light doze. A low roll of thunder rumbled overhead. Her eyes flew open when she realized the significance of what she was hearing. She flung the blankets back and went to the window. Sure enough, heavy drops pelted the ground. A flash of lightning in the distance drew her eyes to the horizon, past the deep puddles already formed in the grass.
The skyline seemed brighter but she figured the chances of the weather clearing were slim. A harsh wind blew from the other side of the house, the direction from which she had no view.
She sighed with disappointment, knowing her plans were undoubtedly ruined. Since she was already up, she decided to get dressed and go downstairs. She might as well make breakfast for everybody.
There were still a few hot embers in the fireplace as she stirred the ashes. She added some thin pieces of pine timber and watched as the resin caught fire and snapped alive. She set a slightly larger slab of wood on and sparks rose sharply up the chimney. Soon the bitter smell of smoke and b
rewed coffee filled the room.
No sounds came from the floor above, so Mayme sat at the table and nursed a steaming cup of coffee. She’d wait a bit before adding bacon to the blackened frying pan hanging over the fire. No sense in serving cold food.
Since it was Sunday, everybody usually enjoyed a lazy morning of sleeping in. None of her housemates were churchgoers so they all were allowed to rise at their leisure. However, once the pungent aromas of breakfast wafted throughout the rest of the house, it wouldn’t be long before she had company.
Mayme’s stomach growled as she finished her coffee. She’d need more wood to get the fire hot enough to fry the bacon. The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time she opened the door to fetch the wood. The cord was piled beneath an overhang next to the steps so she only had to reach out to load two logs into her arms.
In less than ten minutes time, flames rose hot on the bottom of a skillet permanently blackened from years of use. She placed the bacon on the hot surface and within seconds it hissed and crackled, releasing its sweet nutty, caramel-like smell into the house.
When it came to breakfasts, there were few aromas better than bacon sizzling and crisping in a pan. Mayme wasn’t surprised to see Annie and Iris wander in, both yawning and rubbing their still sleep-filled eyes.
“You had to do it, didn’t you,” Iris said through a yawn.
Mayme smiled innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Worf gan a a-arm cock.” Annie walked to the sink and splashed water on her face. She rummaged through a drawer until she found a towel to scrub her face dry with.
Mayme had no idea what Annie had said. She raised her eyebrows and looked to Iris for clarification.
Iris chuckled. “Bacon is worse than an alarm clock.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned. “What are you doing up so early anyway?”
“The rain woke me. I was supposed to help Mr. Smart with something today, but the rain fouled up our plans. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I decided to get up.” Mayme flipped the bacon with the point of a knife, creating a new round of hissing and snapping. “It’s almost ready. If someone wants to set the table, I’ll fry the eggs right after.”
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