Past the saloon, Babcock brightened when he saw Susanna approach. She stopped to talk. Had that been her aim all along? Albert scowled when her laughter reached his ears. All his good feelings evaporated like steam. Floria’s letter couldn’t come quick enough to suit him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Monday came and went with agonizing slowness. Violet Hollyhock closed the gate to her chicken yard as the first rays of the new day peeked over the distant ridge. Being mindful of the eighteen fresh, still-warm eggs nestled deep in the dishtowel of her basket, she stepped prudently. Buttercup, one of the older hens Thom Donovan had graciously given her for her birthday almost two years ago, ran up to the gate, followed by eight scampering chicks, little fluff balls of chirps and cheeps.
Using the fence post to steady her, Violet squatted, unable to keep a wide grin from her lips. She stuck a finger through the chicken wire and the hen sidled up close, letting her scratch her neck. “Go on, Buttercup. I can’t stay out here all mornin’ playing with ya, no matter how much you’d like me to.”
Every so often, out of guilt for stealing their eggs each morning, Violet let one of the founding matriarchs of the flock keep her clutch until it hatched. This had been Buttercup’s turn, a sweet-natured chicken, and Violet’s favorite. Violet’s flock had grown to twenty-five hens, which gave her plenty of eggs to feed herself and any guests she might have, as well as supplying the mercantile and Hannah’s restaurant. Pansy was the only rooster she kept. The others were sold or butchered.
Violet turned and gazed at the inn nestled in the trees beside the road that led to Logan Meadows. Her life had been full since coming here.
Thank you, Lord.
Her heart lifted at the simple prayer. Another day to enjoy the things and people she loved. She’d gotten into the habit of praying herself from one celebration to the next, last being Brenna’s wedding, and in a few weeks it would be the May Day social. Each day she opened her eyes in her soft, cozy bed was a gift. Sometime soon, those gifts would stop. She was ready, and yet she’d miss so many people. A tiny prick of sadness made her heart thump against her ribs. Will I ever see my boy Tommy again? I always believed I would someday, but now that I’ve grown so old. . .
She pushed away the disquieting thought. It wasn’t for her to question God’s ways. She had people to look after, and she’d best get moving.
Several days had passed since the terrible train accident, and the town was finally settling down into a halfhearted routine of sorts. Thank heavens, two of her guests, one being a giant of a man who ate his weight in food, had departed yesterday, leaving in her care only two adults, their child, and Beth Fairington, the woman who’d followed her to Logan Meadows from their old home in Valley Springs. As temperamental as her old mercantile clerk was, Violet was happy to have Beth’s help—even if it wasn’t much. This calamity had taken its toll on her decrepit old bones. For the first time ever, she was feeling every day of her eighty-six plus years.
Crossing the yard, Violet went to open the back door, but one of her guests beat her to it. “You should have told me you were going to the chicken yard, Violet. I’d have been happy to collect the eggs for you.” Laine Sadler carefully took the basket from her hands. “You go sit by the fire. I’m taking care of breakfast this morning.”
“I can’t let ya do that, Laine. You’re my guest. You’re supposed ta be enjoyin’ yerself.”
Laine gently took Violet by the shoulders and guided her into the living room, already toasty from the fire in the hearth. She sat her in her favorite chair, then placed her knitting needles into her lap. “You can, and you will. Besides, Beth will be up soon—or should be—and she can help me. You’ve been cooking and cleaning and keeping up with this houseful of unexpected visitors.” Laine looked deep into her eyes. “There, how does that feel?”
“Like I’m luxuriatin’ when I should be workin’.”
Laine laughed, the delight going all the way up into her eyes. Violet liked this young woman a lot. Reminded her of herself when she was in her twenties. She’d shared with Violet that they were on their way to look after her father, who was old and feeble, after her mother had passed on. It was a homecoming for her, and her father would finally get the chance to meet his grandson for the very first time. Laine was a worker, and a doer, and had a heart as large as the moon. She didn’t sit around for someone else to take up the slack, not like Beth. Sadness squeezed her chest at the disparaging thought of her dear young friend, still asleep when she should be up greeting the day. What will become of her once I pass on? Ain’t likely any man here’ll take her on. Kinda hard to warm up to a prickly pear.
The rooster crowed again, and one of the bedroom doors opened and closed none too gently. Footsteps tromped toward the living room.
“Violet! That rooster has got to go!” Beth screeched from the hall. “No one can get a bit of peace with it crowing every few minutes.” Her dingy nightcap topped her head like a giant mushroom. She clutched a small lap robe firmly around her thin frame, and her bare feet were exposed beneath her too-short gown.
Behind her, Laine laughed, making Beth’s eyes widen in surprise. “It keeps crowing because it’s time to get up. You wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re a lazybones, would you?”
Beth whirled around, having missed the guest in the kitchen when she’d made a beeline for Violet.
“Go on now and get dressed,” Laine commanded. “We’re going to whip up some breakfast before the others are up.”
Violet sucked in a breath and prepared for the explosion she knew would follow.
Beth sputtered at the direct order. Laine was much more forceful with Beth than Violet dared. There was just something about their guest that Violet couldn’t put her finger on. A look in her eye, or the way she carried herself with authority. She got things accomplished.
Beth straightened as if preparing for a fight. “What time is it?”
“Five-thirty.”
She looked down her long nose at Laine. “I don’t rise until seven.”
“That’s ridiculous and no never mind to me. And I’m sure it’s because Violet’s been carrying the load around here for far too long. Today dawns a new schedule at this inn. It’s you and me, Beth, so just get used to the idea.”
It was all said very calm and controlled, and in a nice tone. Violet almost laughed at the determined smile on Laine’s face.
“I work at the mercantile today, at nine. That doesn’t leave me time to—”
Laine stopped drying the bowl she held in her hands and arched an eyebrow. “There’s plenty of time if you quit your caterwauling and get a move on.”
Violet imagined the red line creeping up into Beth’s face, the one that appeared on the rare occasions she met confrontation.
“I can’t cook, dress for my day, and be to work on time. It’s just not possible. Violet usually—”
“Yes, I know,” Laine cut her off. “But starting now, things around here are changing. You can help, and you will help, even if you have to rise two hours early every day to do it. The inn will be your first priority, and then your job. If you can’t do both, quit the mercantile. Do I make myself clear?”
Beth’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’ll not be ordered around by the likes of—”
“Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?” Laine stood as straight as any soldier Violet had ever seen, not in the least bit cowed, and actually more than a bit intimidating. Violet wouldn’t want to take her on.
Violet set her knitting aside and straightened her creaky bones. Much to her surprise, Beth, completely white faced with anger, held her tongue. She stomped down the hall, her footsteps sure to wake up everyone clear to Logan Meadows.
Wallace Sadler passed Beth in the hall as he pulled his suspenders up over his thick shoulders. He turned and watched her disappear into her room.
Turning back, he gave his wife a long look. Although he’d washed his face and combed his hair, he still looked half-asleep. “What in blue blazes
is going on out here? Sounded like rabid squirrels grappling over the last pine nut.” He nodded friendly like to Violet.
“Never you mind, husband,” Laine said, placing a mug of hot coffee into his hands. “Just as soon as you have some hot vittles in that belly of yours, would you please chop some more wood? That stack out back has been dwindling since our arrival.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek. “I’ll be happy to, dear.” He took a long guzzle, then winked at Violet. She’d miss this nice couple when they left, as well as their darling little boy. That was a day she hoped would be a long time in coming.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dalton approached the Red Rooster Inn on a horse Win had generously offered. He had one hour before he was scheduled to relieve Chase at the bank, and decided to follow up on the information Susanna had given him. Smoke from the chimney filled the air with a woodsy scent, and the sounds of someone chopping wood echoed from the back of the dwelling.
He dismounted, tied his horse to the hitching rail, and walked up the stairs to the porch. He gave a sturdy knock on the front door.
“May I help you?” a young woman asked after opening the door, a dishtowel in her hands and a smile on her face.
“Yes. I’m looking for a couple with a small boy who is staying here. Their names are Mr. and Mrs. Sadler.”
The woman’s smile grew. “You must be Mr. Babcock. My husband and I want to thank you for what you did for our boy. Not everyone would have taken the time to bandage his head and soothe his fears in the midst of all the confusion, as you did.” She held the door wide. “Please come in and have a cup of coffee. We’ve just finished with breakfast but have leftovers if you’re interested.”
“No, thank you, ma’am, I’ve already eaten.” A mouthwatering aroma lingered in the room. “But I’m sure it was tasty. The scent alone is making my stomach rumble.”
She nodded appreciatively and preceded him into the kitchen where a dour-faced woman who looked vaguely familiar glanced over her shoulder from the sink, her hands deep in a wash bucket. The old woman he’d seen at the makeshift infirmary sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee.
Her face crinkled into a mass of wrinkles when she smiled. “Mr. Babcock, it’s good ta see ya.”
Mrs. Sadler’s face all but glowed. “Mr. Babcock is the man who tended to Terrence during the accident.” She glanced back and forth between him and Mrs. Hollyhock. “Let me fetch Wallace, Mr. Babcock. He’s out back at the woodpile with our son.” She hurried off, leaving him with Mrs. Hollyhock and the woman at the sink. Drying her hands, the familiar but nameless woman took a few tentative steps in his direction.
“Mr. Babcock, is it?” Her uncertainty made him feel uncomfortable. “You’re the man from the train who’s guarding all that money. Am I right?”
“You are. Difficult to keep something like that a secret.”
She stepped a bit closer, her avid gaze taking in his every detail. “My name’s Beth Fairington,” she said. “I work at the mercantile on Main Street and I’ve seen you out front. We’re right next door with just the small appraiser’s building in between.”
That’s where he’d seen her. “Ah, yes. I’ve noticed you sweeping the boardwalk.”
Her sharp features softened. She smiled, her thin lips stretching almost across her whole face. “Yes. That was me. When Maude leaves at noon, I run the place until closing. It gets mighty lonely. Perhaps you can stop in sometime and say hello?”
Mrs. Hollyhock cleared her throat. “Beth, why don’t ya get Mr. Babcock a mug of coffee? That’s the least we can do fer the kindness he showed our little Terrence.”
Miss Fairington all but flew across the room. With shaky hands, she took a mug off the shelf and sloshed some coffee inside from a pot on the back of the stove. Her polite smile did little to calm his growing discomfort at all the attention she was showing him.
She handed him the cup. “I s-suppose you’ve heard about the social the town is planning on May first. It’s going to be a festive day.”
“I haven’t. But I doubt I’ll still be in Logan Meadows by then.” The quickness at which she batted her eyes almost made him dizzy.
“I hope you are.”
“I wonder if they’ll even still have it, with all the tragedy that’s befallen us?” Mrs. Hollyhock said from her seat at the table.
Beth shot the old woman a look of irritation. “It’s a way to make everyone feel better, Violet. Maude was speaking about this exact subject in the store yesterday. Plans are still underway.”
Thankfully, the back door opened. Mrs. Sadler entered, followed by her husband and the boy he instantly recognized. The bandage was gone and the hair around the wound was clipped short. The boy ran to his side lickety-split.
Dalton set his mug on the table and hunkered down. “I’m glad you found your parents.” The boy’s inquisitive gaze made him chuckle. “How’s the head feel?” He took a moment to look over the healing gash.
“Sort of better. Hurts some still when I touch it.”
Mrs. Sadler cleared her throat, then placed a hand on his shoulder. “I told you not to touch it, Terrence. We want to keep it clean.”
“Well, it looks good. I think you’ll mend just fine.” Dalton smiled at Terrence, and then stood.
The boy’s father reached out his hand. “We can’t thank you enough, Mr. Babcock,” he said as the two men shook hands. “Those frightful moments will stay with us for a good long time.” He glanced at his wife and a look passed between them. “We’d like to reward you for your kindness.”
This couple looked like their every penny was precious. Besides, he’d never take money for doing the right thing. “No thank you. My reward is seeing that Terrence here is doing fine. I just wanted to stop in and say hello.”
A pleased expression warmed Mr. Sadler’s eyes. “That’s very kind of you. How’s the fella you brought in on the buckboard, the other guard? Poor man looked in bad shape.”
“Don’t know if he’ll make it,” Dalton replied, a bit discouraged. “Hasn’t come around at all.”
She shook her head. “Such a shame.”
Miss Fairington looked bored with the whole conversation now that it had shifted from her to other topics. Without a word, she turned and made her way down the hall, much to Dalton’s relief.
Terrence pulled on his hand.
“Can I see your horse?”
The boy’s inquisitive eyes were impossible to deny. Besides, Dalton still had a few minutes to spare. “Sure can. I’ll even give you a ride.”
Feeling hopeful, Albert stepped into the mercantile and let his eyes adjust, determined to keep his thoughts positive. The important papers from Floria would unquestionably be in his slot today. This torture had dragged on long enough. Surely she had come to her senses, and wanted to be free of him as much as he did her. If there was nothing from her, then there would be something from Corey, updating him on the situation.
Maude was at the far wall helping a group of women who were examining her shelf of footwear. A few others meandered around the store aisles, which looked uncommonly bare. He started to the back counter where the mail slots were bolted to the wall. From halfway across the store, he could see that his box was empty.
Damnation! Disappointment gripped him hard and all his positive thinking fizzed like a drop of rain on a hot stove. Would the letter ever arrive? Would he never be free of Floria’s manipulations and falsehoods? Not even a letter from his brother. He fisted his hands and tried to remain calm. There was a small possibility Maude had been busy and hadn’t gotten around yet to putting it out.
Susanna didn’t deserve this! He’d done his best to make Floria happy—that was, until he learned she’d only wed him to spite the man who’d jilted her. When he stumbled upon them kissing in his own house, he’d been blindsided. The interloper had actually laughed in his face, saying he didn’t want to give her up, just didn’t want to marry her. Said he didn’t mind sharing. A
lbert had packed that day, and never looked back. Floria had promised him a divorce, but since then, a game of cat and mouse had ensued. He was tired of her lies. She’d only held on to him for the money he sent home.
At the mail counter, he drummed his fingers in frustration. She had gone back on her promise again!
“Do you need something, Sheriff?”
He pivoted. Deep in thought, he hadn’t heard Maude approach. Her gray hair was styled in a bun on the back of her head and a plethora of wrinkles grooved her face when she smiled a welcome. “Have you put out today’s mail?”
She gave him a curious look. “I’m surprised, you know it’s too early for the stage. And you were just in yesterday. Something special must be on its way.”
“Just a letter from my brother.” Or from a lawyer. Someone!
“Is there trouble back home?”
“Nothing like that.” He tried to smile but his emotion felt forced.
“Well, good. You know if you do get mail, I always walk it down to you in case it’s important—I won’t forget. But, I’m glad you came in. I’ve been wanting to tell you what a fine job you’re doing in the face of all this misfortune.” Her scanty brows pulled down in concern. “Do you know when those poor people will be laid to rest?”
“Later today. Pass the word to anyone you see that we’ll be having a group service at three o’clock.”
Maude shook her head. “Such a shame.”
“Yeah. I’m getting pretty sick and tired of all this death.”
She nodded. “I agree. But I’m mighty proud at how well Logan Meadows has pulled together during this tragedy. How’s Susanna? I haven’t had a moment to look her up. That girl of yours is a hard worker. Hannah told me she and Brenna have done a fine job looking after the injured. Thank goodness for that. Not everyone is cut out for nursing.”
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