Under the Summer Sky

by Lori Copeland

  Board securely in place, the two men stepped back to admire the work. Taking a hanky from his pocket, Fisk wiped the sweat off his brow. “She’s comin’ along real nice.”

  Tom’s critical gaze ran the length of the building site. He had to agree. “That she is. Come fall, Pauline and the others should be able to move in.”

  Fisk grinned. “The old lady getting under your collar?”

  “A little,” Tom admitted, and then flashed another smile. “Pauline’s a fine woman, but…”

  “But newlyweds need their privacy.”

  “It’s better now that Miz Farley took her in until Mae gets to feeling better. She’s been a little under the weather lately and the two get to stepping on each other’s toes.” Uncorking a water jug, he poured a stream over his head, letting the coolness trickle down his collar. The last three months had been the best in his life. When he’d come to Dwadlo last winter he’d never imagined that instead of kin, he’d find the woman of his dreams.

  Pauline Wilson had turned out not to be kin, but the point was moot. He was as fond of the ninety-four-year-old woman as any family member he’d ever known, and by fall she would be safely tucked away by the Missouri River in a brand new home for the aging.

  Then it would only be Jeremy, Mae, and him.

  The men turned as they heard a rider approaching. Tom lifted his hand against the sun’s glare to see the new arrival. “Must be more help coming. We could use it this morning.” Dropping his hammer, Tom stepped out to greet the rider, an even wider smile breaking across his tanned features when he recognized the man. “Jones?”

  The visitor reined up and slid off his horse, and the two men pumped hands. “Jones, you old son-of-a-gun! It’s good to see you!”

  “I’d hoped to be here sooner, but a rainstorm delayed me a couple of days.” The newcomer’s eyes assessed his friend. “Marriage agrees with you.”

  “I highly recommend it.” Turning, Tom introduced Fisk. “Fisk, meet one of my best friends and coworkers, Jones.”

  Jones stepped up and shook the man’s hand. The blacksmith nodded a greeting, then returned to his work. Tom and Jones fell into step. “Work holding up in Chicago?” Tom asked.

  “Have more than the line can handle. By the way, did I mention that I rented your old room when I heard you weren’t coming back?”

  “Lucky man. Bessie Helman sets a fine table. She still make those fat cinnamon rolls for breakfast?”

  “Every Wednesday morning. You can set your watch by it. Six dollars a week and a man’s got all he can eat and a clean bed to sleep in every night.”

  “Chicken and dumplings every Thursday night?”

  “With hot rolls right out of the oven.”

  Tom shook his head. “She’s one fine woman. Too bad she’s in her sixties.”

  “When I’m slathering butter on those steaming rolls I’m tempted to overlook her age,” Jones confessed with a chuckle. His gaze roamed the strip of land they were walking. “So this is the new project you gave up the single life and the big city for.”

  “The land didn’t have anything to do with my decision. It was a feisty young postmistress with dark blonde hair and toffee-colored eyes,” Tom admitted. “But by necessity, I have been rebuilding track in addition to the new town.”

  “I understand the hair and eyes thing, but something puzzles me.”

  Tom paused. “And what’s that?”

  “How did you manage to derail two locomotives in the span of a few weeks?”

  “It wasn’t easy.”

  The two men burst into laughter. The cost wasn’t a laughing matter—the railroad had lost its shirt—but both were accidents, albeit mighty costly ones.

  “Heard you never want to see a piece of herring again.”

  Tom’s laughter faded and his stomach churned at the thought of all the herring that had been destined for Joann Small’s wedding. The shipment had derailed, and Dwadlo had smelled like rotting fish for weeks. Joann’s mother had had to serve beef at the wedding reception, and she was still harping about it.

  The men matched long strides as they walked the banks of the river that ran along the back of the new rest home, catching up on recent developments with the railroad. “I was grateful for the advancement,” Jones was saying, “but I’ve got to say I still have a lot of learning to do.”

  Tom reached over to slap him on the back. “I was glad to hear you’d replaced me. It’s a well-deserved promotion.” Jones had joined the railroad three years after Tom, and together they’d watched the business grow and prosper. “But what’s this I hear about a piece of land you want to buy?”

  Jones sobered. “The owner is wanting a fortune for the property. It’s prime, Tom, and sitting exactly where we need to run the line.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Jones shook his head. “Can’t bring myself to spend the money when I know it’s worth half the amount.”

  “Maybe in your eye, but you have to consider the railroad’s need.”

  “I don’t hold with highway robbery, and the price they’re asking is pure thievery.”

  “You’ve bartered?”

  “All that I’m going to, and the owner won’t budge.”

  “Then pay the price.”

  “That’s easy to say.”

  “Only because of where I’m standing today. I refused to pay the price for this particular piece of land. I walked away, the railroad built where I bought property instead, and the result was two lost engines, fourteen boxcars, six passenger cars, and the cost of rebuilding a town. Give them what they’re asking.”

  By late afternoon, the men had covered the entire railroad property line. Jones admired the new rest home and even added a board or two, and the sun was starting to ease to the west. Tom picked up a few scattered tools. “I’d offer you a bed tonight, but our place is small. I can set you up at the café, though. They have four boarding rooms on the second floor now.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And you’re coming home to have supper with us, of course.”

  “Not until I have a hot bath and shave,” said Jones.

  “Fair enough. I’ll take you by the café and you can rent your room, clean up, and come over around six. Our place is over there.” He pointed to a white bungalow enclosed by a neat white picket fence. “Mae’s little brother fries a mean pork chop.”

  Jones flashed a grin. “Does he make pie?”

  “Pie, cake, anything you want. Mae’s a fine cook herself, but Jeremy does most of the household chores. He’s a little on the slow side—he had a birth injury, I think—but a finer kid you’ll never meet.”

  “You’re on.” The men shook hands. “I’ll be there at six.”

  Pausing before a glass storefront, Trinity checked her hair. According to the clock on the bank tower it was precisely two minutes until six o’clock. She wanted to be neither early nor late for her first Dwadlo dinner engagement. Mae Curtis seemed helpful and friendly, and she’d need both qualities tonight.

  Her gaze roamed the Curtises’ homey porch with its wide white railings. Three rocking chairs and a comfortable wicker chair sat empty. Six pots of geraniums lined the railings, lending bursts of color to the home. A buzz caught her attention and she spotted a hornet’s nest tucked deep in the rafters. Stepping back, she squinted, leery of the insects darting in and out of a hidden nest. She swallowed back the urge to run. She’d been stung by the critters more often than she cared to remember, and afterwards her face would always swell like a dead pig in the hot sun. A hornet darted her way and she ducked and covered her head. The insect flew past in a whir.

  Straightening, she readjusted her hair and was about to knock on the Curtises’ front door when another hornet buzzed past. Then two.

  Then a swarm.

  She shrieked, furiously batting at the attackers. Hornets poured from the rafters, joining the assault. The ruckus attracted the dogs and they came running, howling all the way. They hit the porch and a
ll bedlam broke out. Barks. Shouts.

  Trinity’s screams turned to screeches when a bucket of cold water hit her full in the face. The hornets thinned but quickly regrouped. Gasping, she pushed the wet hair back from her eyes before a second bucket of water knocked her to her knees.

  This time she sat down.

  The hornets retreated and a steel arm jerked her upward. Water blinded her and she staggered beside the assailant, allowing herself to be dragged through the front door like a sack of grain. The door slammed and a male voice rang out. “Tom!”

  Pushing the soggy strands out of her eyes yet again, Trinity peered out from under her drenched hair, her jaw dropping. Him? Again? The same brute who had shoved her in the barrel and allowed her to go over the rapids?

  This was not happening.

  A tall form appeared in the kitchen doorway, a broad grin forming on the man’s handsome features. “Jones! I didn’t hear you knock.” His eyes switched to Trinity.

  “I didn’t. Tom, you have hornets in the rafters.”

  “I know. I’ve been promising Mae to burn them out…ma’am? Can I get you a towel?”

  “I don’t want to be a bother,” Trinity muttered, mortified. Water rolled off her chin. She plucked at her shirt, holding it out to let the water run off.

  “It’s no bother. I’ll be right back. Jones, where are your manners? Show the lady into the parlor!”

  Jones nodded, mumbling under his breath, “I don’t know where his parlor is.”

  It was a moment before Mae returned with Tom, chuckling over Trinity’s appearance. “How dreadful! But I suppose a cool bath felt good on such a warm evening,” she laughed.

  “Ordinarily, yes, but…” Trinity reached for the towel and mopped her eyes. Loons. They were all loons.

  “No harm done!” Tom slapped Jones on the back. “You look better.” He bent and sniffed. “Smell better too.”

  “You need to do something about those hornets, Tom. They could kill a person.”

  “They’re pesky critters. After supper you can help me burn the nest.”

  Mae put her arm around Trinity and walked her to a small room. They had indoor plumbing, something Trinity had heard about but never seen for herself. There was a stool, bathtub, and washstand. “Tom added them when he rebuilt the house,” Mae explained. She stood back to focus on Trinity’s sopping shirt and pants. “We look to be about the same size. I’ll fetch you one of my dresses while your clothing dries.” Stepping to the small closet, she thumbed through her clothing and took out a yellow-sprigged cotton. “This one should do nicely.”

  “Thank you. But you needn’t go to so much trouble. My clothing will dry…eventually.”

  “Nonsense.” She flashed a smile. “It’s no trouble at all. Oh—I smell the biscuits. You change, and there’s a brush and comb in the top dresser drawer. I’ll be dishing up the food.”

  The door closed and Trinity sank onto the funny-looking stool, her head swimming. This was undoubtedly the strangest town she’d ever experienced.

  Six

  The occupants were already seated by the time Trinity entered the kitchen. Mae sprang to her feet as she came in. “You look lovely!” she cried.

  “Thank you.” Smoothing her skirt folds, Trinity slipped into her chair. What an entrance she’d made, dressed in Rob’s clothing. And the two hornet stings blazing on her forehead must be puffy red welts by now. Her eyes lifted and fixed on the source of her misery.

  Jones.

  The name stuck to the top of her mouth like peanut oil. What was he doing here?

  “Trinity, this is my brother, Jeremy,” said Mae, introducing the boy who looked to be somewhere in his early teens. He flashed a youthful grin in greeting, then returned to plating the pork chops he’d made. As soon as he’d finished, he excused himself and left the room. Tom frowned.

  “Has he eaten already?”

  “Yes. One of the dogs is ill, and he asked permission to stay with her until bedtime.”

  Tom accepted a bowl of potatoes. “Seriously ill?”

  May shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  After the prayer, Mae passed a basket of steaming biscuits around the table and Trinity tried to focus on the meal. The men appeared to have a great deal to discuss. Apparently Tom and Jones had once worked for the same railroad, which explained the presence of that ill-mannered beast. She gathered from snatches of conversation that Jones was in doubt about a plot of land he’d like to purchase.

  Trinity broke into the conversation. “I have a piece of land you can buy that’s well worth the price.”

  Jones glanced up. “Where?”

  “Near Piedmont. Fine land, heavily timbered, sitting on a prime water source…” She paused, meeting his eyes. “But then you know about the water.”

  “No, I don’t know much about Piedmont.” He sliced into his pork chop. “How much?”

  “How much is it worth?”

  “Wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen it, and anyway we’re not looking for land in Piedmont.”

  Tom reached for an ear of corn. “Well, not yet,” he said, “but the railroad is always looking for property. They’re not in Piedmont yet, but they could be in five years.”

  Jones smiled and handed Trinity the salt dish. “Sorry.”

  “No need for sympathy.” She sprinkled her potatoes lightly. He didn’t recognize her. He didn’t recognize her! Maybe the red welts on her face had thrown him. Or else he hadn’t really looked at her that carefully when he’d shoved her in the barrel. “But I do have an interested party who’s willing to put up a handsome price.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes. The Milwaukee Road. They should offer an attractive sum.”

  “Should?” Jones laid his fork aside. “They haven’t yet?”

  She shook her head. “But my brother assured me they would.”

  Tom chuckled. “Maybe you’re being a bit hasty, Jones. If you don’t buy the lady’s land, someone else will.”

  “Buy land I haven’t seen?”

  “Speculation. It’s part of your job.”

  Jones chewed for a moment as he considered. “What’s your asking price?”

  “I’ll sell to the highest bidder.”

  He flashed that disarming smile. “And how do you know that’s not me?”

  “I don’t. Mae, will you pass the cream, please?”

  Mae reached for the white pitcher. “Trinity, tell us more about your life in Sioux Falls,” she said, apparently eager to change the subject. But Jones wouldn’t let it drop. He was baiting her and Trinity knew it.

  “How much land are we talking about?”

  “Two hundred thirty acres.”

  “Level ground, good water source?”

  “Perfect land. Especially for railroads.” She’d read enough to know that most railroads were buying any land they could get to establish future lines. So why was Mr. Fussy so reluctant to buy hers?

  “What’s your price?” he repeated.

  “My brother said it would bring seventeen to twenty—at least.”

  “Thousand?”

  She nodded, and he burst into laughter.

  She turned a cool eye on him. “Is something amusing?”

  “Your price.”

  Mae held up the bread basket. “More biscuits, anyone? Got plenty.”

  “What’s wrong with my price?”

  “You’re too high.”

  Color crept up the back of her neck. The nerve of him—and in front of Mae and Tom. “Well, no matter. I wouldn’t sell to you anyway.” She was aware that she was being very ugly, but the man stirred her fighting spirit.

  “I wouldn’t buy.” He looked at Tom. “Pass the sorghum, will you?”

  Trinity, momentarily speechless, gathered her thoughts. Rob had always addressed people with the utmost civility, but she could stoop to this man’s abrupt ways. She’d best him at his game, goad him into compromise, and then, at the last minute, refuse to sell and prove him the fool. She added a t
ouch of cream to her coffee. “What would you pay?”

  Jones dribbled sorghum on a biscuit. “Sight unseen? Five hundred. That’s two dollars an acre and a fair price, ma’am.”

  Five hundred dollars. The staggering amount bounced around in her mind. It was a handsome offer to one whose total worth was less than four dollars. Although it wasn’t nearly as high as Rob had predicted, it was more than she could dream of in her current situation.

  “I presume you’re making a joke?” she inquired lightly.

  “No ma’am.” He brought the biscuit, dripping with sorghum, up to his mouth. “I’d give you five hundred tonight.”

  She looked at Tom, and he shrugged. “It’s a fine offer.”

  She dropped her gaze to her plate. “Maybe.”

  A dark brow lifted. “Maybe?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “I don’t conduct business with maybes. Take it or leave it.” He winked at Mae. “Mighty fine food. I can see why Tom fell so hard for you.”

  Mae blushed at the praise. “Jeremy’s the cook. I just made the biscuits.”

  And with that, the subject of land purchase ceased. Mae chatted between bites, filling Trinity in on Dwadlo’s recent history. “And that’s why all of the homes and buildings are new,” she finished.

  “Yes, I noticed. Those train wrecks sound ghastly.”

  Once the men had polished off two thick slices of chocolate fudge cake, they pushed back from the table. Trinity finished her wedge and accepted a second cup of coffee.

  “I should introduce you to Lil,” Mae said. “You heard her fly past earlier today on her motorcycle.”

  Jones glanced up. “That friend of yours is quite a lady.”

  “Lady?” Mae snickered. “That’s one word to describe her. She raises hogs, keeps stray cats and dogs—she’s even acquired an elephant. Tom, you should take Jones to meet Esau. He came in real handy when we had to clear the train wreckage.”

  Jones frowned. “Your friend’s got an elephant?”

  Mae dabbed lightly at her mouth with a napkin. “Sounds like the woman for you.”

  He turned a sour eye on her. “What gave you the idea I’m looking?”