The livery. He’d said his mule needed a shoe and her hide needed salve. She looked up and down the street and found the livery not far away.
The owner was wearing a big apron over his clothing. A thick black beard hung nearly to the middle of his chest, and she noted specks of his breakfast still evident in it. His beefy arms worked two huge bellows to stoke the flames in a roaring pit. “Good morning,” she called.
He looked up, his eyes assessing her. “Mornin’.”
“I was hoping Mr. Cooper was still around.”
The man shook his head. “Had me check his mule for a broken shoe and treat her hide, but she was in fine shape. He went on a bit ago.”
Tears formed in her eyes, emotion she’d managed to stave off until now. Never could she remember feeling so hopeless, so alone, so helpless. She didn’t like the mood.
“Can I help?”
“No. Thank you. I thought…I just thought I’d walk with him a ways if he was still around.”
Nodding, the man turned to stoke the blazing fire even hotter. She left the building and walked on. Where to now? Back to the house? She couldn’t. There was nothing left there, not even a blade of grass. And there were thieves roaming around. Mother had taught her to pray when trouble arose and she had, day and night, but so far her misery had only increased.
She dropped down onto an empty bench in front of the general store. How could the heat still be rising? She picked up a paper fan to stir the air, studying the colorful advertisement on the back. It pictured a coffin laid out in style with the words “We make the final journey memorable” written in script beneath. The Undertaker. Knock loud.
As though the journey itself wouldn’t be noteworthy.
She fanned the humid air, her gaze skimming the nearly empty street.
What about Dwadlo?
The thought came to her suddenly. Benjamin Cooper had said that her aunt had gone to Dwadlo…but she had surely passed by now. Trinity counted back and came up with a staggering number. Pauline Wilson would be ninety-four—much too old to still be living. But she could have left an inheritance. Unless Trinity was mistaken, she was the last of the Wilson kin. The thought stung. Her bloodline had run out. There was no family left.
People did live to be ninety-four, but not often. She had known a woman in Sioux Falls who claimed to be ninety-nine and she chopped her own wood, carried her own water, and plowed her cornfield every spring, so she guessed it was possible.
A couple passed and she glanced up. “Excuse me—can you tell me how far it is to Dwadlo?”
The gent paused. “Dwadlo…North Dakota?”
“Yes, sir.” She hoped it was so far that she couldn’t at least investigate the possibility that Aunt Pauline was there.
“About a hundred miles? I don’t rightly know, but it’s a fer piece.”
Not that fer—far, she mentally corrected. Sioux Falls was a lot further, and she’d made that journey without incident. She glanced at the bills crumpled in her hand. Twelve dollars would surely be enough to purchase a train ticket to Dwadlo.
Trinity’s eyes pivoted to the train track that ran behind the back of the undertaker’s. Swiveling, she noted the sign tacked to the door of the general store: Train Tickets Inside. Slowly rising, she straightened her shirt and trousers and went inside to purchase a ticket to Dwadlo. There was no need to go home and pack. She had nothing but the clothes on her back. That, and hope. If by some miracle her aunt was still alive, she would surely know what to do.
And surely she would loan her the money to get home.
Four
Mae Curtis glanced up at the sound of the backfiring. The obnoxious noise shattered the summer morning stillness and the dogs went wild. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she stepped to the general store’s front door and watched her best friend, Lil, climbing off the funny-looking contraption she’d been working on lately. “Lil!” Mae called. “You’re stirring up the animals!”
Her friend climbed off the strange machine she had built, removed her grimy gloves with her teeth, and started up the steps, grinning all the while. Both cheeks and a strip of her forehead sported dark grease. “Boy, she’s running like a top today!”
“Everyone in town is sick of that—what do you call it?”
“Motorcycle.”
“Murdercycle’s more like it. Either you’re going to break your neck on that thing or someone is going to wring it. You rile up the old folks and the animals every time you ride that thing to town.”
Lil shrugged, still grinning. “How long have we been friends?”
“Most all our lives.”
“And didn’t I clean up real nice and put a silly ribbon in my hair and wear a pair of them fancy boots for your weddin’ three months ago?”
“You did. You looked beautiful.”
“Then why does anything I do surprise you? You’re just upset because you don’t have the nerve to ride my machine.” She flashed an ornery grin and reached into the barrel for a root beer. “When Cousin Bert shipped the material for me to build it I wasn’t sure I’d be able to ride it, but she’s a jewel.”
“It’s a loud, three-wheeled nuisance,” Mae grumbled. “Fix that motor so it doesn’t keep backfiring. Miss Prawley is going to drop dead of heart failure and you’ll be the cause.”
Mae’s husband, Tom, had laughed when he’d seen her friend’s newest gadget. Mae claimed her best friend had finally lost her mind, but Tom admired the three-wheeled, iron-banded contraption and its charcoal-fed two-cylinder engine. He said the whole thing was a “bonecrusher”—and Mae didn’t doubt it. But it was junk, noisy junk, and Lil was going to break her foolish neck.
“Well,” said Lil, popping the lid off the bottle, “it ain’t the newest motorcycle they got—they’re building ’em better now—but Bert had the parts left over from a machine he built a couple years ago. He showed the machines at the circuses and thought I’d like ’em, and I do.” She drank deeply from the bottle.
“For heaven’s sake, Lil, you’ve turned into a hoodlum.” It wasn’t enough that she kept an elephant as a pet and took in every stray that Pauline missed. Now she had to build a motorcycle.
Lil eyed her friend. “Where’s Tom this morning?”
“Where he always is lately—working with the crew building the new rest home.”
“Rest,” Lil chortled. “That’s a good way of pulling the wool over a body’s eyes. Rest. They’ll be resting there all right.” She took another swallow. “How many do you suppose will live there?”
“Hard to say, but right now there are four people on the waiting list. When word spreads there’s a new facility to care for the aging, I imagine the list will grow.”
“Fifteen rooms ain’t all that much.”
“It’s a start.” Mae stepped to the postal cage and sorted the day’s mail. The trains were running again after two major derailments in the past months, and life in Dwadlo was slowly returning to normal. Well, nearly normal.
Lil’s eye caught something out the front window. “Well, lookee there!”
Mae glanced up to see a horse and rider pass the mercantile. The stranger was trail-worn, but a coat of dust and grime couldn’t disguise his uncommon good looks. “Looks like we have a visitor.”
“Shore does.” Lil wiped absently at the grease streaks on her face. “Could be he’ll stop for a meal.”
“Could be you’ll have time to wash your face and comb your hair,” Mae noted pleasantly. Lil was the salt of the earth, but Mae had long ago faced the fact that her friend was a tomboy to the bone. She had a heart as big as the Rockies, but when it came to matters of the heart she didn’t appear interested—unless she was fussing with the blacksmith and livery owner, Fisk. Those two mixed like oil and water, and yet Mae had seen a spark of romantic interest lodged in both sets of dueling eyes. But Fisk had lost his wife the year before, and he didn’t yet have eyes for anything but his work. Especially a redheaded pig-raising tomboy named Lil. She got under his skin like a deep splinter.
The outsider rode back into view and reined up in front of the store, then dismounted. Lil’s eyes were fixed on him.
“Looks like he’s coming inside,” Mae noted. She handed Lil a cloth. “You have grease on both cheeks.”
The front door opened and the man stepped inside. He removed his dusty hat, revealing a thatch of damp, curly black hair. “Afternoon, ladies.”
“May I help you?” asked Mae, pausing in her mail sorting.
“I’m looking for Tom Curtis. Would you know where I could find him?” The man’s gaze shot to Lil, who was frantically scrubbing both her cheeks.
“You’re looking for my husband?” said Mae.
“You’re Mrs. Curtis?”
Mae’s smile broadened. “For three months now.”
The man returned the smile, revealing a set of even white teeth. “Congratulations, ma’am. I’m proud to meet the woman who’s able to corral Tom Curtis.”
Mae leaned in close. “I’m right proud to be that woman,” she said, then extended her hand to him. “You must be the friend Tom is expecting.”
“Yes, ma’am. The name’s Jones.”
“Jones?”
“Just Jones.” He flashed a boyish grin. None of the single women in Dwadlo were going to be safe around that grin.
“Tom’s most likely working on the new rest home,” said Mae. “Follow the street down the road a piece and you’ll see the activity.”
Dwadlo was small. Most of the homes and businesses were built of brand new lumber. At one time the town had been so cramped that if a body sneezed their next-door neighbor reached for a hanky, but when the train derailed last winter, taking out the whole town, they had been forced to rebuild. Now the businesses and residents had good-sized yards and picket fences, all thanks to the CN&W Railroad.
“Thank you.” The stranger’s glance slid back to Lil before he turned and started back out the door. “Morning, ma’am.”
“Hey,” Lil mumbled.
There was a low rumbling in the distance, and the whole building shook as the train pulled into town and released a noisy whoosh! of steam. One thing in Dwadlo remained the same: Every train arrival jarred the teeth of anyone close by.
The stranger seemed not to notice the racket. “That’s a strange contraption sitting outside the store. Is it yours?”
Lil’s face turned four shades of crimson. “Yes sir. How did you know?”
He flashed that boyish grin again. “Just a hunch. It’s a motorcycle, isn’t it?”
“Shore is. Folks here usually call it a bonecrusher, but motorcycle is the proper name, and it’s a right fine thing”—she slid an accusing eye toward Mae—“that some folk have the manners to call it by that name.”
Jones nodded. “Didn’t know you could buy one yet.”
Lil stood up straighter and Mae cringed, noticing that Lil had only managed to smear the grease instead of removing it. “I didn’t buy it. I built it.”
Jones let out a slow, appreciative whistle. “Is that right. How many hours have you got in it?”
“Not exactly finished yet. I’m gonna switch out the charcoal-fired carburetor and put in one of those new spray ones.”
He whistled again. “Hear they have a two-wheeler now that uses a five-cylinder engine built as the hub of its rear wheel.”
Lil nodded, eyes aglow. “The Millet. The cylinders rotate with the wheel, and the crankshaft starts the rear axle.”
He replaced his hat and adjusted the brim. “Nice machine. Well…hope to see you around, ladies.” He nodded a polite goodbye and turned to leave.
Mae stepped to the front window, watching as he paused to inspect the funny-looking contraption. A moment later he mounted his horse and rode off.
“Now there’s a prime example of a very nice looking man,” she said. “And he appears to share your…passion for progress.”
“You’re not supposed to be looking at men anymore.”
“I’m not. I’m merely observing on your behalf.”
“Well, I ain’t blind.” Lil set her empty root beer bottle on the counter and left the store, and it wasn’t long later that Mae heard the familiar earsplitting backfire.
Honestly. There wasn’t a ladylike bone in that woman.
The door had barely closed behind Lil when Mae looked up to see a customer trying to enter the store. Pauline Wilson’s pack of dogs barked and leaped on the newcomer as she tried to squeeze through the narrow screen door. She was a pretty little thing—she had Lil’s red hair and deep brown eyes—but she was dressed in a man’s shirt and trousers. Mae hadn’t seen her around before. She must be new to town. She didn’t have any letter in hand, so this would likely be store business, not postal.
“May I help you?”
The young woman jumped as if she’d been shot when Lil roared past the store again, motorcycle backfiring as usual.
“I’m sorry.” Mae flashed an apologetic smile. “The noise is on its way out of town.”
The young woman crossed the room, seeming uncertain as the ruckus faded into the background with one final bomb blast. “I…I came in on the train and I wonder if you could point me to a boardinghouse.”
Dropping her pen, Mae eased around the counter with an extended hand. “Of course. Welcome to Dwadlo.”
The girl flashed a travel-worn smile. “Thank you.” She removed a hanky and wiped her brow. “The town seems very… lively.”
“Not on most days, just when Lil comes in from her pig farm. And those dogs are a nuisance, but they won’t bite. Usually.” Mae studied the girl’s attire. “You’re not from these parts.” Women around here wouldn’t be caught dead in men’s clothing, she thought privately.
“No. I’m from Sioux Falls, but I’ve been staying near Piedmont recently.”
“So far away? You must be exhausted.” Mae stepped to the barrel, took out a root beer, and removed the cap. “Please sit and have a cold drink.”
The young woman accepted the hospitality and drank thirstily. Moments passed before she came up for breath. “This is most refreshing.”
“Isn’t it? We sell more root beer than flour during the summer. Well—what brings you all the way to Dwadlo?”
The young woman said it all in a single breath—something about thieves ransacking her home and grasshoppers and an old prospector and long-lost kin.
“I’m…I’m sorry for the trials you’ve undergone,” said Mae when she seemed to be finished. Mae had experienced her fair share of problems in the past year. There had been the long, unsuccessful search for her elderly neighbor’s family, two train wrecks, and more bad weather than a town should have to handle. But the trials had been tempered by blessings—so many she’d lost count. “The grasshoppers haven’t come this far yet, and we’re praying they won’t.”
The young woman shuddered. “I’ve never seen the likes. They ate the fur clean off Benjamin’s jenny.”
Mae looked up, startled.
The woman nodded. “Literally.”
“How…awful.”
“It was, but at least the animal survived. She looks mighty strange, but the hair will grow back. Eventually.” She finished her drink and set the empty bottle on the counter. “How much?”
“Oh,” Mae dismissed the offer. “It’s free on your first day in town.” She noted the relief that crossed the young woman’s features. Her eyes strayed to the scuffed bag, no larger than a hatbox. Odd that she would be traveling so light.
“Do you know a reasonably priced place to stay?” the young woman asked.
“How reasonable?”
“Very.”
“Well…when they rebuilt the town the café added four rooms over their establishment. They rent for fifty cents a night, but that includes breakfast.”
She could see the girl calculating in her head. She sighed. “I won’t be able to stay long.”
“I’d be happy to walk you across the street and introduce you to the café owner.”
“I wouldn’t want
to be a bother. I can cross the street.”
“All right, then. Be sure and remind Belle that Mae Curtis sent you.”
“Mae Curtis. I’ll do that. And I’m Trinity Franklin.”
“Pleased to have you in town, Trinity.”
Trinity reached for the scuffed bag and stood up. “Thank you again for the root beer. It was most refreshing.”
Mae trailed the young lady to the door, pausing to adjust the slow-turning fan blades overhead. The slightest breeze caught the flats and stirred the dormant air. The newcomer’s winsome expression tugged at her heartstrings. It didn’t take much to see that she was alone. “Why don’t you get settled in your room and then come back and have dinner with us tonight? Jeremy—that’s my brother—he’s fixing pork chops, and when he cooks he makes enough for an army.”
“Oh.” A blush crept up Trinity’s neck. “I couldn’t…”
“Of course you can.” Mae draped an arm around the girl’s thin waist. “You can eat and return to your room early.” Leaning close, Mae whispered, “Besides, the food they serve in the café is a bit overpriced.”
The subtle reminder hit home. The girl turned pensive, and then nodded. “Thank you. I’d be glad to join you.”
“Good. Six o’clock?”
Trinity nodded.
“Six o’clock it is.” Mae smiled. “I’ll have Jeremy set an extra place, and we can all talk about helping you locate your kin. I’ve lived in these parts all my life, so I know just about everyone.”
Relief flooded the girl’s fine features. “That would be most helpful.”
“See you at six.”
“I’ll be there.”
Five
Tom Curtis hefted a two-by-four to a rafter and held it in place as the town blacksmith pounded in the nails. On sunny mornings like this, Fisk usually stood behind a forge, but not today. Today the crew was framing, and everyone that could lend a hand was here to help. Once the new rest home was built Dwadlo would be able to offer housing to the elderly, something the area sorely needed. Folks took care of their own, but those with no kin needed looking after. Thanks to the railroad, the new home had been completely funded.
Under the Summer Sky Page 3