by Merry Farmer
“I thought I might ask Wendy Montrose if I could go to work at her dress shop,” she went on, revealing her plan.
Solomon’s brow rose. He put down his coffee. “You don’t need to go to work to support me.” His tone was almost laughing.
“It wouldn’t only be for that reason.” She went back to the table, standing beside him with hands on her hips. It felt nice to be able to stand up for something without worrying about being beaten back down again. “Remember, I said I wanted to make beautiful things to be remembered by. Dresses are beautiful, and I’m quite good at making them.”
“You’re good at making other things too,” he replied, taking a big bite of the cinnamon muffin she’d gotten up early that morning to make.
“There are all sorts of things I think I might be good at that I’ve never had a chance to try,” she said, ignoring the fact that she only had so much time to try them all for the moment.
“And I’m glad for it.” Solomon winked and finished his muffin before going on with, “If sewing for Wendy is something you honestly want to do, for your own satisfaction and not just for me, then by all means, do it.”
“Really?” Honoria clapped her hands together, then flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, Solomon. No one has ever let me have my way like this before. You make me so happy.”
Solomon stood, and she kissed him soundly before she could check to see if the hint about her miserable past had registered in his expression. Solomon wrapped his arms around her and indulged in the kiss. So much so that by the time he leaned back to take a breath, they were both hot and panting.
“This is not a good indicator of whether I’ll be able to get the bank opened on time.”
Honoria laughed at the teasing. The fact that he could tease in the midst of so much trouble lifted her spirits. “I’ll go speak to Wendy right away. If she’ll have me, I want to start working today. If not…”
“Any woman anywhere in this country would be honored to have you sewing for them,” he said before she could go on.
She kissed him once more quickly, then spun around to rush out the door.
Wendy Montrose had come to Haskell as a mail-order bride the year before. She was intended for Cody Montrose, but as soon as Cody saw that Wendy was black—a detail Mrs. Breashears at Hurst Home in Nashville had forgotten to mention—he refused her. His brother Travis had stepped in, marrying Wendy instead, and a happier couple was hard to find. Wendy had been forced to fight against the same prejudice that Solomon was facing now to prove that she was a talented seamstress who deserved her own dress shop, but fortunately, she’d proven to the town and everyone within several counties that she was as brilliant with a needle as the finest seamstresses in Paris. Honoria should know. She was the one who had sewn most of Melinda’s gowns when her angry sister had challenged Wendy to a dressmaking contest.
Wendy had her own shop on Main Street now—a shop given to her by Howard as the prize for winning the competition. The windows were filled with delectable creations—a couple of full gowns along with intricate bodices, bolts of fabric, and even a few hats she’d ordered from catalogs to sell along with her dresses. Honoria peered through the front door to see if Wendy was downstairs before knocking. Wendy had recently given birth to her and Travis’s first child, a beautiful baby boy, but she was still up and moving around the shop.
“Come in,” she called as Honoria knocked.
With a bright smile for the baby, Honoria swept through the front door. “How is the little treasure today?”
“Hungry as usual,” Wendy laughed. She bundled the baby into Honoria’s arms as she came near. “You don’t have to knock, you know. Not only is my door always open to you, as I’ve said before, it’s a place of business, not an inner sanctum.”
“Old habits,” Honoria explained, her voice pitching higher as tiny Emanuel Montrose blinked and snuggled into her arms. “Good morning, sweet boy,” she cooed.
She reached down to tickle Emanuel, and her heart leapt in her chest as he grabbed her finger. At the same time, part of her wanted to weep. There was little chance that she would be strong enough or last long enough to give Solomon a child before she died, but if she could…
“How can I help you today? Wendy asked, blessedly allowing Honoria to push that thought aside. “Are you looking to buy a gown?”
“No,” Honoria laughed. “Actually, I was coming to see if you needed help sewing.”
Wendy’s eyes went wide. “Do I ever! I’ve got more orders than I can handle, and with this little one begging for so much attention, it’s all I can do to fill them in good time.”
“Oh, I hoped you would say that.” She laughed harder at her words. “I mean, I’m not happy that you’re struggling, but now that I’m…” She stopped herself from hinting that she was dying and shifted to say instead, “Now that I’m married to Solomon and free from my family, more than anything, I want to sew for you.”
“What an incredible compliment!”
Little Emanuel began to fuss, so Wendy took him back and settled him against her shoulder, rubbing his back to calm him. His skin was a shade or two lighter than Wendy’s. Honoria tilted her head to the side and wondered what delicious color her and Solomon’s children could have been. It gave her a sudden boost to know that they wouldn’t be the only children of mixed race in Haskell.
Of course, they wouldn’t be, but for a moment it was nice to dream.
“What a lovely smile,” Wendy commented. “I have to say, Honoria, I’ve never seen you looking so happy and so well in all the time I’ve been in Haskell.”
“I—” Honoria didn’t know how to answer. There was no way to explain the truth. As far as she could figure, her improved appearance was just a temporary effect of having things settle into place.
“I also have to say,” Wendy went on, preventing her from having to come up with some sort of awkward excuse, “that I’m ridiculously glad we’ve finally been able to become friends. I’ve been praying almost a year for this day.”
“Me too.” Honoria beamed. Another wonderful side-effect of getting away from her family and marrying Solomon was that she now had more friends than she’d ever had in her life. “And since you’re my friend,” she rushed on, “I insist you show me what you’re working on right now so that I can help.”
Wendy chuckled and gestured for her to follow her to the back room. “I’ve just had an order for a wedding trousseau for a rancher’s daughter out near Laramie. She wants everything embroidered.”
The two of them shared a look of mock dread for the complicated task in front of them. In truth, Honoria couldn’t have been happier. It was almost as if she wasn’t sick at all and she had the world stretching out in front of her.
“…and one, two, three, four, five.” Solomon finished counting the bank’s cash drawer under his breath. “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be,” he told Horace.
“I think that most of the major ranch owners close to Bonneville have already come in,” Horace said. He touched the edge of the second box they’d set up for the account cards of men who had withdrawn their funds. What worried Solomon was that the box that held cards for open accounts was still much fuller.
He huffed an ironic laugh, shaking his head. “Give him time. Bonneville is persistent. We probably haven’t seen him in town because he’s out there rallying people to his cause.”
Horace gave him a sympathetic look and put the account boxes and the main ledger away. “It’ll all work out, boss. People will get over this fit, and when they see what a nuisance it is to take their money all the way to Everland or Rawlins, they’ll be back.”
“I hope you’re right,” Solomon sighed.
The bank’s door opened, and once again, the uncomfortable pinch of worry in his gut over whether this next customer was the one who dealt the death-blow hit him. His relief was epic when he saw it was Howard and Gunn.
“Solomon!” Howard boomed as Howard did. “We’ve come to take you to
lunch.”
That pinch in his gut twisted to something entirely too sentimental. He’d always had friends, but for some reason that fact felt so much more important now. Honoria’s sweetness and feeling must be rubbing off on him.
Which was just fine as far as he was concerned.
He headed to the gate and crossed into the lobby. “Normally I would turn you down. There’s so much work to do. But I can’t deny that I’m grateful for your presence today.”
“Good.” Gunn nodded. “That’s as it should be.”
Solomon thumped Gunn’s back as he met his two friends at the door. They headed out into the hot summer day. Instead of turning left to head up to the hotel, they turned right and walked a few doors down to The Silver Dollar. The choice put a smile on Solomon’s face. Sam didn’t serve much in the way of food in his saloon, but he too was a good friend. At the moment, that was more important than fine dining.
“About time you three got here.” Sheriff Trey Knighton was waiting with Sam at a table near the bar along with Travis Montrose and Luke Chance. The saloon didn’t see a lot of business in the middle of the day, and that day was no exception. Aside from Solomon’s friends, there were only a few tired vagrants snoozing in the corner. Sam habitually let men who were down on their luck take shelter in the saloon. The thought crossed Solomon’s mind that as rough as Sam was, he should really find himself a good wife too. Hurst Home was still a fine option for a man looking to marry. Quite a few girls had come from there to marry ranch hands and tradesmen since Franklin Haskell started the trend.
“We saved you a seat.” Travis tugged one of the chairs away from the table with the toe of his boot. He wore a confident, almost teasing smirk.
“Gentlemen.” Solomon greeted the circle of his friends with a nod, but was instantly suspicious. “What’s this party all about?”
Luke slapped his back as he reached the empty chair. “We figured we had a few things to discuss.”
“Is that so?” Solomon sank into the chair.
The others quickly followed suit. Sam brought over a round of beers before sitting himself, making the table designed for eight feel like a boardroom. Domenica and Pearl from Bonnie’s place marched out of the back room with trays of stew and fresh bread, as if the saloon was suddenly a restaurant and they were waitresses.
“No, seriously. What is going on here?” Solomon grew serious.
“We all know that you’ve got a heap of trouble on your hands,” Trey started. “And we are all committed to making sure it goes no further than it’s already gone.”
A mix of gratitude and embarrassment to have caused so much disturbance sat uncomfortably in Solomon’s stomach. He sipped his beer to try to dispel it.
“None of us is willing to see anyone get hurt,” Travis continued. “We’ve been trying to keep an eye out for you in an informal way these last few days.”
“So I’d noticed,” Solomon drawled, arching his brow.
“We want to make it a more formal arrangement,” Trey went on. “As sheriff of this town, I can’t allow any of its citizens to bully any of the others, or worse.”
The “or worse” was spoken almost as an afterthought, but every one of them knew it was the more important concern.
“I thank you for your concern, gentlemen,” Solomon began with a wince, “but I can’t ask you to go out of your way for a problem I created.”
Luke snorted. “You didn’t create any of this. Bonneville did.”
“All you did was marry the girl that anyone with eyes could see you’d been longing for these last few years,” Travis added.
Solomon sat straighter to fight the wave of awkwardness that rippled through him. If they only knew. “Regardless, I’m not asking you to untangle the knots I created by following my heart.”
An unexpected pang hit him. Would he have broken down and pursued Honoria even if she hadn’t come to him with her plight? Would he have had the courage to follow his heart without her prompting? He wasn’t sure, and that devastated him. To the world, Honoria appeared meek and retiring, but she was strength personified. In just a week, she’d become the core of his strength.
What would he do without her when she was gone?
“I know that look,” Trey went on with a lop-sided smirk.
No, Solomon doubted he did, but he kept his mouth shut.
“You’re a proud man, Solomon, and we all admire you for it, but there comes a time when even the proudest man would do well to accept the help of his friends.”
Solomon drew in a breath and crossed his arms. “What do you have in mind?”
The others shook off some of their tension and lit with enthusiasm.
“Gunn and I are here to help with the financial end of things,” Howard explained.
Solomon nodded, growing more uncomfortable—and more grateful—by the second. “I managed to sell a chunk of stocks, and the proceeds have been trickling in for the last day or so.”
“I’ve sent for some cash as well,” Gunn added. “It will be there if you need it.”
“We have a bit saved up too,” Domenica surprised them all by speaking out in her sonorous, Spanish accent.
“I couldn’t ask you to part with your hard-earned money,” Solomon said with a smile. He instantly regretted calling the money hard-earned. Chances were that any money coming from Bonnie’s girls was as bitterly won as possible and more.
Domenica shrugged. “I will speak to the girls.” She headed back to the saloon’s back room.
The men watched her go with admiration. “She always was a fine woman.” Luke grinned.
Sam swatted him. “You’re a married man, Luke!”
Luke’s expression dropped to mock offense. “Yeah, one who never patronized Bonnie’s girls in the first place, Sam Standish.” The name was an accusation, and Sam had the good grace to blush and glance over to the other side of the room.
Trey cleared his throat and went on. “Before we start arguing over who does and doesn’t spend time over at Bonnie’s, I propose we set up a rotation of guards for the bank and for Solomon and Honoria’s home.”
The others hummed and nodded in agreement. Solomon sighed and rubbed his face. “Honoria isn’t going to like it.”
“No?” Howard asked.
“She’s a newlywed bride.” One whose health would begin to decline any day now. In fact, Solomon was surprised that with a diagnosis of consumption, she was able to breathe as deeply and make the glorious sounds she did when they were in bed. The thought pinched his brow and started him wondering.
“I bet she’d rather know you were safe than be certain there were no ears nearby to hear,” Luke said. “I know Eden would prefer I was wrapped up in cotton-wool and tucked in her pocket than worry about me getting hurt.”
“True,” Solomon sighed. “I still think that privacy is important to Honoria.”
“And I would humbly suggest that you are more important,” Gunn added.
It was a stirring thought, one that put a smile on Solomon’s face in spite of the situation. But yet again, the pain of knowing he would lose her before they’d so much as begun a life together put a damper on the joy he so badly wanted to feel.
“What if—”
He was cut off as the saloon doors opened and none other than Rex Bonneville strode in. Not only that, he was accompanied by four men in suits that marked them as something other than rough ranch hands or hired thugs.
“Well, well.” Rex sauntered up to the table, the others following. “We were told we’d find you in here. I just didn’t think it would be quite such a social event.”
Solomon stood to prevent Rex from towering over him as he came closer. Everyone else at the table stood as well. If it wasn’t for the professional dress and demeanor of most of the men staring each other down, any outside observer would think there was about to be a shoot-out.
“Eastman, what are you doing here?” Howard barked, narrowing his eyes at one of the men standing behind Rex. “You t
oo, Lamb.”
Solomon blinked in surprise. Howard knew these men?
The one Howard had addressed as Eastman stepped forward, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his brocade vest. “The WSGA got word that there’s a bit of trouble here in Haskell. Seems some crooked darkie is trying to swindle good people out of their money.” He glared at Solomon.
As the picture came clearer for Solomon, he tensed. The WSGA. They were Bonneville’s trump card, and a vicious one at that.
“There is nothing of the sort going on,” Howard growled in reply. “In fact, what’s really going on is a case of outright bullying by a man who disagrees with the decisions his daughter has made.”
One of the WSGA members glanced anxiously between Howard and Bonneville. The other three kept their gloating, petty expressions and their airs of superiority.
“We’ll see about that,” Eastman said.
“We’re here to conduct an investigation,” one of the men who hadn’t shared his name yet said. He was tall and rail-thin, and had the look of a vicious schoolmaster about him.
“And who are you?” Howard snapped. “I don’t know you.”
“Jim O’Brien,” the man said. “Special council. The WSGA hired me to audit Mr. Templesmith and his bank.”
“Mr. O’Brien is here to determine if Mr. Templesmith’s business is strictly aboveboard,” Rex said with a smirk.
“If it’s not, well, we might just have to take things into our own hands,” Eastman finished.
Solomon wasn’t fool enough not to know what that meant. He’d seen far too many of his black brothers swept away in the middle of the night never to be seen again, or worse, to be found in trees.
“I can assure you, sirs, that my bank is run within strict guidelines set forward by the National Banking Act of 1863,” Solomon replied, summoning every bit of authority he could manage.
“We’ll be the judge of that,” Lamb said, eyes narrowed.
They all stood there, staring each other down, for several tense seconds. If Rex and his WSGA men were at all intimidated by the show of solidarity from the Haskell men, they didn’t let on. They were, however, the first to break.