Mayme snorted and swatted her with the towel. “You’re incorrigible.” She leaned against the table and sighed. “You’re probably right. Anyway, I should do it sooner rather than later so no one else gets the job.”
“Mom will go over to Mrs. Cornelius’ tomorrow night. I’ll cut it after she leaves. But then you’ll have to skip breakfast so Mom and the others don’t see you. I’ll make up some kind of excuse that you had to leave early for work.”
“Okay. It’s probably best your mom doesn’t know . . . until I get the job anyway. I’ll have to tell Mr. Smart I’ll be late for work the next day. Otherwise he’ll suspect something is up.”
“Good idea.”
“This is getting really complicated. I feel a little guilty for all the lying I’m having to do.” She drew her shoulders up and tucked her elbows into her sides.
Not for the first time did she wish she were born a boy. She sure wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble to get a job as a Post Rider. Then again, if she were a boy, her father would’ve taken her under his wing like she’d seen so many other fathers do. Boys were given a slap on the wrist and an excuse that they were learning about life. So in hindsight, she reasoned, were she the opposite sex, she’d never have this opportunity.
Chapter Eleven
MAYME FELT A slight tug as Iris lifted the first tuft of her hair.
“Last chance,” Iris said.
The sheer blades squeaked against each other as she opened and closed them.
Mayme drew a deep breath, swallowed hard, and nodded.
“There’s no going back after I cut it you know.”
“Just do it and get it over with.” Mayme jiggled her knee up and down.
The blades made a gritty sound as Iris made the first cut.
Snip. Squeak. Snip. Squeak. Snip.
Mayme closed her eyes and crinkled her nose. She felt the lock of soft hair hit the tightly clasped hands in her lap. After a few minutes she got brave enough to open her eyes. A small pile of hair had accumulated on her lap. She shook her hands and swiped it onto the floor. She looked down and realized how light her head felt with each snip of the sheers.
“Boy, you have a lot of hair. I could make a pillow out of it.” Iris giggled.
“How do I look?”
“I’ll let you know after I’m done. Right now you look like something the dog dragged in and then the rats made a nest in.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Don’t worry. When I’m finished, you won’t recognize yourself.”
“With a description like that, I’m sure not.” Mayme ventured running a hand through the hair she had left. She was shocked to feel how short it was. But at the same time, she had to admit it kind of felt good. “Can I see?” She looked around for the hand-held mirror Iris had taken from her mother’s room.
“Not yet. Give me a few more minutes.”
Snip. Squeak. Snip. Squeak. Snip.
“Okay. Close your eyes,” Iris said after a while.
Mayme did as told. She abruptly felt the handle of the mirror touch her palm. She hesitantly grasped it. She slid her right eye open and then the left, wavering between curiosity of what she looked like, and procrastination of how badly she might appear.
The boy who stared back at her in the mirror looked vaguely familiar. His eyes and nose looked like hers. But that was where the similarity stopped. His hair was understandably short and youthfully wavy. Her revelation came as she realized she nearly didn’t recognize herself. She ran her hand back and forth over her scalp, enjoying the cool sensation.
Iris walked around in front of her and stared open-mouthed. “Forget, Billy. Wow. You’re a handsome lad, Mayme.”
“Oh my God. That’s the one thing I haven’t thought about. My name. I can hardly go by Mayme.”
Iris chuckled. “No. No you can’t.” She grabbed her chin between her thumb and index finger. “Hmm. How about Nathaniel?”
“That’s a bit long, don’t you think?”
“You could go by Nathan, or Nate for short.”
Mayme looked at her thoughtfully. “Where’d you come up with that?”
Iris clasped her hands in front of her mouth. “It was my dad’s name. My mom used to call him Nathan, but most people called him Nate.”
Mayme stood up and wrapped her arms around Iris. “I’d be honored to be known as Nathan. Thank you.”
She could tell by the smile on Iris’s face that she’d just cemented their future as lifelong friends.
MAYME’S EYES FLEW open in the middle of the night. The room was dark but for the stream of moonlight that beamed down onto the floor. I need a horse. And a gun. She was already familiar with the cost of a carbine from the mercantile. From what she’d earned so far, she could almost afford it. But a horse. How in heavens can I pay for a horse? Suddenly she remembered the money Betty had given her the last night on the train. She threw the covers back and slid out of bed. She lit the oil lamp and lowered the wick. Annie sometimes got up in the middle of the night and she didn’t need her seeing the light beneath the door and then knocking.
She pulled the bottom drawer of the dresser open and reached deep into the back, beneath the dress she’d arrived in. The money was still wrapped in a kerchief just like it was when she’d stowed it. She had never counted it, thinking it too rude. And besides, she’d had all intentions of returning it to Betty once she figured out how to get it to her.
She held the small wad closer to the light, unwrapped it, and began to count. With each flip of a note, her eyes grew wider. Two hundred dollars? “Where did Betty get all this money?” She shook her head in disbelief when she recalled what Betty had given her was just a small portion of the roll she had. “Ho-lee cow.” She looked up and stared at the darkness. She had more than enough money for a rifle, horse, saddle and bridle, bedroll and possibly some extra clothing befitting a boy.
She heard a creak of the floor outside her door. She tucked the money back into the drawer, extinguished the lamp, and crept quietly back into bed. After her mind ceased racing with possibilities, she drifted off to a dream-filled sleep.
A QUIET KNOCK on her door woke her before sunup. Iris stuck her head in. The lamp she held cast a stream of yellow light onto Mayme’s dresser.
“You’d best get up and get going,” Iris whispered. She set a thick slice of bread onto the dresser. “This should hold you over for a while. Good luck.”
“Thank you.” Mayme’s mouth watered at the sight. The bread was smeared with butter and blueberry preserves.
Iris soundlessly closed the door, leaving Mayme to alternately dress and take bites of the bread. Last night, knowing she’d have to hurry in the morning, she’d laid out the chest wrap, underwear, trousers, and the flannel shirt Iris had given her.
She’d finished dressing and looked down at her feet. Fortunately the trousers were long enough to cover the shoes she’d don when she got outside. She mentally added chaps and a pair of boots to the list of necessities to buy. She checked her reflection in the mirror and mussed her hair up a bit more. Satisfied, she finished off the last bite of bread, picked up her shoes, and opened the door. She was convinced the pounding of her heart would awaken the rest of the house as she descended the stairs. She slipped out the front door and sat outside on the porch, finally able to take a breath. So far so good.
The first orange hued rays of sunrise kissed the tops of the mountains and reflected off the already dust laden air. A robin serenaded the morning with its cheerio-cheeriup song from a tree near the church.Mayme barely noticed the cool breeze.
She took her time walking down the road. It was difficult to avoid falling in the ruts while concentrating on walking like a boy. Her heart nearly leapt into her throat as Mr. Smart passed by in the wagon. Ox flicked his ears back and forth and his nostrils flared as he went by. Mayme was convinced she didn’t fool the horse. He knew exactly who she was.
The routine of opening the mercantile never changed. She knew Mr. Smart
would be moving tools out onto the porch just as she did every morning. She still felt guilty for feeding him the little white lie about having to go to the doctor for women’s reasons. But she thought he’d understand when she finally revealed herself to him.
If Ox hadn’t nickered to her as she rounded the back of the building, she would’ve stridden right in without a thought. She quickly realized her error and turned on her heal in the direction of the front.
She took a minute to gather her nerve. She slowed her breathing and practiced deepening her voice a bit. It’s now or never.
Unbelievably Mr. Smart was already waiting on a customer. He glanced up and nodded to acknowledge her as she walked through the door. He’d taught her early on that if a customer knew they’d been seen, they’d be less likely to walk out before they were tended to.
She nonchalantly walked to the counter and with renewed interest, examined the guns. Which one should she buy? The obvious choice was the Winchester Mr. Smart taught her to shoot with. Not only did she know the ins-and-out of it, she was comfortable handling it.
The bell on the cash register rang, signalling the end of the transaction with the other customer.
“What can I get for you?” Mr. Smart moved closer but didn’t obstruct her view of the guns.
“I, uh—” She nearly panicked but held fast. She took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in her throat, and said the first thing she could think of. “I need a box of SSA’s.”
“SSA’s?”
Realizing her mistake, she cleared her throat and quickly corrected herself. “I mean SAA’s.”
Mr. Smart cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “What kind of gun do you have, son?”
She cast her eyes down and tried to remember what kind of gun Billy carried. Oh no. Those bullets are for pistols and I know nothing about them!
Mayme laughed nervously. “I mean I need some bullets for my rifle. It’s, um, a Winchester lever action. I guess I need those kind.”
“Right.” He made no move to retrieve the bullets from the drawer. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around in these parts. Hey, I do remember.”
Mayme nearly wet herself.
“That was you on the road earlier, wasn’t it?”
She nodded.
“I figure a fella dressed like you should be riding. You do have a horse, don’t you, son?” Mr. Smart crossed his arms over his chest and stood directly in front of her.
Mayme could feel his scrutinizing gaze drift over her.
“I’m going to be buying one soon.”
“When? After your doctor’s appointment? What the heck are you up to, Mayme?”
Mayme’s mouth fell open. She stared at him incredulously. She finally found her voice. But it was Mayme Watson’s voice, not Nathan—She realized another mistake. They hadn’t come up with a last name for her.
“Mayme?”
She slapped her hips and stomped a foot. “Gosh darn it. You weren’t supposed to recognize me.”
“May I ask why?”
There was no point in lying anymore. She needed Mr. Smart’s help. She had to come clean and tell him the truth.
“Because I’m going to get a job as a post rider. Just like Billy.”
Mr. Smart snorted. “You can’t be serious. Besides, the flyer specifically said they only wanted boys.”
Mayme watched as realization crossed Mr. Smart’s face.
“I could do that job. I’m an excellent rider. And a good shot. You said that yourself.”
Mr. Smart turned abruptly and disappeared into to the back room.
Mayme gawked open-mouthed for a moment and then followed. She found him staring at the photo of his wife.
“Mr. Smart?”
He didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry for lying to you. I just really want this job and since you know me, I thought I should test my disguise on you.” She sighed. “But it obviously didn’t work. I don’t know who I was trying to fool more. Probably me.” She realized she was babbling and closed her mouth.
It seems like hours passed before Mr. Smart said anything, although the first sound from him was a heavy sigh. He smoothed the sides of his moustache down around his mouth in long strokes.
“If I were your father, I’d probably ground you for even thinking about such a ludicrous thing, let alone attempting it.”
“But—”
He raised a finger up. “Let me finish.”
Mayme slouched down on a stool used to get thing off high shelves. She dropped her chin to her chest and folded her arms against her middle. Her posture mirrored that of the girl in Chicago who’d been lectured to for hours by an enraged father and an inebriated mother. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. How did she ever think she could get away with something so preposterous? She would give up any notions and do exactly what Mrs. Randall had suggested: bide her time for a husband. Her stomach churned with the idea. She’d rather crawl into a hole, shrivel up and move on to the next life.
“I’ve told you before how I wished my daughter had known how to shoot. Lord knows I pushed her to learn everything else: gentle a horse to ride, build a fire, cut firewood. I wanted her to be as self-sufficient as possible. She was just taken from me too soon.” He took the photo off the nail and slid his back down the wall so he sat directly across from Mayme. “I’ve come to think of you as a daughter, Mayme. Which puts me in a difficult predicament. My first inclination is to absolutely forbid you to carry on with this idea. But I don’t have that right, now do I?”
Mayme raised her head and studied him. He looked more serious than she’d ever seen him. He spoke carefully and seemed to choose his words meticulously. She thought he might be doing his best to understand and at the same time, reason with himself. The difference between her father and Mr. Smart was the fact that the later did not appear angry.
“Before we had children, my wife and I agreed we’d never hold them too close. Whether we had boys or girls, we wanted them to build a life, not just live it. Do you understand what I mean?”
Mayme shook her head.
“When you’re growing up, you tend to get told that the world is the way it is and you can’t change it. Your purpose is to live your life inside of that world. Try not to get into too much trouble, go to school, get married and have kids. But life can be a lot broader than that if you realize one simple thing. You can build your own life that others can live in too.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with what I want to do.”
Mr. Smart got to his feet and returned the photo to its place on the wall. “Mayme, I’m trying to tell you that, although I’ll worry myself sick about you, I won’t hold you back. Instead, I’ll help you with whatever you need. Since you came here, you’ve helped me to step out of my grief. I too am learning something new about life.”
Mayme jumped up and before she could think, threw her arms around him. A moment later, Mr. Smart hugged her in return.
“Thank you.” She fought the tears at first and then gave in to them.
“Promise me one thing.”
Mayme stepped back, sniffed, wiped her eyes, and nodded.
“You be damned careful out there. And if you need a place to stay when you’re in the area, I have an extra room. You’ll always be welcome.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Come with me.” Mr. Smart walked out and stopped behind the counter next to the guns. He unlocked the security chain and removed the Winchester. “You’ll need a firearm.” He opened the ammunition drawer and took out two one-hundred-count boxes of bullets. “At least now when you apply for the job, you’ll look the part.”
“That’s the one I was going to buy. I’ll bring the money in tomorrow.” Mayme took the rifle and then shoved the bullets in the pockets of her trousers and flannel shirt.
“Nope. I won’t hear of it. Consider it a gift from a good friend. If you get the job, we’ll talk about what else you’ll need.”
Mayme knew better
than to refuse. It’d be useless. Instead she said, “I wish you were my father.”
This time Mr. Smart had a tear in his eye. “Go on now. Tomorrow morning I want to hear you got that job.”
Mayme smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Twelve
SHE WALKED THE length of town and then some to get to the post office. It was housed in a white-washed shack close to the railroad station. She cussed silently as she navigated the rutted road. Weighted down by the rifle and what felt like ten pounds of bullets, trickles of sweat seeped from her chest wrap. By the time she arrived, her shirt had plastered itself to her skin. Except over her covered breasts. She pulled the material away and flapped it to dry as best she could. There were a few people waiting in line, so she took the opportunity to splash some water on her face from a water trough used primarily by the stagecoach horses. By the time she dried her face and brushed the dust off her clothes, the post office was free of customers.
Feeling refreshed and more confident, she took a bold hop onto the porch and walked in.
The man looked up and her heart skipped a beat. He was the very same man who ran the ticket counter for the train. She hid her surprise and strode up to the counter. So far she saw no recognition on his face.
Counter to ceiling iron bars completed the cage in which the man sat. A wooden structure with a series of square compartments lined the back wall. Several were filled with envelopes and assorted scrolls. To the right was a framed Postmaster certificate. She assumed he was the named Lawrence Heyburn noted.
“May I help you?” Lawrence peered over the top of his glasses.
“Yes, sir. I’m here to apply for a post rider job.” Mayme rested the gun in the crook of her arm.
“Can you ride fast?”
“Yes, sir.” Mayme thanked her lucky stars he didn’t ask if she had a horse.
“Can you shoot?”
“Yes, sir. Exceptionally, if I do say so myself.” Mayme kept her eyes locked on his.
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