Crazy Woman Creek

by Welch, Virginia

  “Your husband was a smart homesteader, Mrs. Rose. He chose one of the best parcels before they got all gobbled up by the big ranches. Having that North-East Creek run across your whole eastern edge—might as well be liquid gold flowing across your property.”

  “You are right, Mr. Morehouse. My husband is a smart homesteader,” said Lenora, correcting his tense. “Too smart to sell.”

  Mr. Morehouse flinched as if she’d spat on him. “I don’t mean to insult, Mrs. Rose.”

  “Of course not.”

  “But you will have to make some difficult choices by and by, if your husband does not return.”

  Well that was true. But selling their homestead was not one of them.

  “All of your wealth is tied up in that land. How else will you manage if you don’t sell?”

  I have no idea. Right now all she could think of was how much more bulbous Mr. Morehouse’s fleshy nose looked now that he was sitting directly across from her instead of behind his desk. And how tired she was of men in this town second-guessing her. And how she needed money to hire a ranch hand.

  “We’ll see what the future brings,” she said, unsmiling. She stood up to leave.

  Mr. Morehouse stood up too. “In the meanwhile, Mrs. Rose, if there’s anything I can do, or the bank can do, to assist you during this difficult time, I hope you will contact me immediately. We are here to help.”

  “What I would like, Mr. Morehouse, is to withdraw fifty dollars from our account.”

  #

  Lenora clutched her navy silk reticule a little more tightly than usual as she walked along the boardwalk on Main Street on her way to the general store. Fifty dollars was a lot of money. Her parents had spent that much on clothing and shoes for her in one shopping trip in the past, but never had she been personally responsible for so much cash. Certainly she had never carried such a large sum on her person.

  She was still thinking about the treasure in her bag and how to make it last when she heard a ruckus of men’s voices. She looked in the direction from where she heard the sound to see a crowd of men clustered in front of one of Buffalo’s six saloons.

  Nothing good here.

  Curiosity propelled her toward the noise nonetheless. On the opposite side of Main Street Lenora saw two men, one heavy set, the other of slight build and unusually short stature, trying to lift a third man onto a horse. All three were dressed like ranch hands with their wide-brimmed hats, oversized neckerchiefs to protect their mouths from trail dust, dungarees, dark shirts that never seemed quite clean, and rough boots. From their clumsy movements and slurred speech, Lenora deduced that they had spent a good part of the morning in one of the saloons.

  But what fascinated Lenora was that the heavy man had the third man over his shoulder, his arms about his friend’s legs and, absurdly, was trying to throw the poor pickled soul across the saddle. The little man was doing his part by valiantly pushing on the third man’s backside.

  “One, two, three!” said the heavy set man. On three the two men gave all they had into a united umphf! hoisting their friend onto the horse in one quick but sloppy movement, whereupon he slid to the other side of the beleaguered animal, landing head first on the ground, flopping limply onto his back in the dirt with a sickening thud. His overly large black hat fell off and rolled a few feet away in the dust. The crowd went crazy, whooping and laughing, cheering on the drunks, urging them to repeat the stunt.

  “You blashted jackass. Get up!” yelled the big man to his friend on the ground, as if the intoxicated man laying supine in the dirt had the capacity to do anything other than bask in the sun on a fine spring day. The heavy set man uttered a few cuss words Lenora had heard before along with a few particularly purple ones that surely no dictionary on earth contained. Inexplicably he aimed most of his ire at the little man, who defended his manhood with equally purple prose and obscene finger gestures. Lenora was embarrassed to be watching and listening to such a ribald performance, but the three men were so funny she found herself laughing right along with the crowd.

  After cursing the prone man and vainly ordering him to stand several times, the heavy set man motioned to the little man to help him, once again, to push their friend onto his horse. Lenora watched as the heavy set man repeated his routine, picking up the third man and throwing him over his shoulder.

  “Heave! Heave!” cried the heavy set man.

  “I’m heaving, I’m heaving,” complained the little man.

  Just then the third man, half on, half off his horse obediently and heartily heaved his breakfast, fouling himself, the heavy set man, and the horse tack. The crowd guffawed.

  Useless.

  Lenora couldn’t take her eyes off the spectacle. She chuckled with the crowd as she watched the heavy set man ungraciously dump his smelly friend on the ground like a discarded old coat, and then, while filling the spring sunshine with ever more colorful English, proceeded to swat the sticky filth off his shirt with his hat.

  “A merry heart is as good as medicine.”

  With heart-stopping alarm, Lenora instantly recognized the owner of that masculine timbre and knew he was close. She spun around and was mortified to realize she had been observed by the handsome deputy as she laughed at the antics of drunkards.

  “Deputy Davies.” Lenora could feel a full-blown crimson rush rising to her eyebrows. How long had he been standing behind her?

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Rose,” said Luke, tipping his hat.

  “I do believe you speak that verse out of context,” she said, trying to paint a religious gloss on her profligate behavior.

  “I doubt if the good Lord begrudges us a chuckle now and then, though some people might call their condition sad,” he said, nodding toward the drunken ranch hands.

  “I thought you’d be searching the North-East Creek for a ghost today with the others,” said Lenora, deftly changing the subject.

  “Sheriff Morris didn’t think he’d need many men, seeing how they’ve narrowed it down to just the creek. He took a couple of volunteers with him. He asked me to stay behind and keep an eye on things in town.”

  “It must be a handy character quirk to always be so sure of oneself, like Sheriff Morris,” said Lenora.

  “Folks might say the same thing about you.” Deputy Davies gave her one of his look-into-her-soul gazes again.

  What did this man want from her? She bristled. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, Deputy Davies, I have an errand to finish before I get back to my ranch.”

  “I’ll accompany you.”

  “Oh that’s quite alright. I’ve managed quite well by myself up till now.”

  “I’m sure that’s true, ma’am. But I’ve been thinking about some things that might help with our investigation. We need to talk.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Time is insufficient for questions, Deputy Davies. I have a ranch to run.” Lenora busied herself as she spoke, fiddling with her gloves as if his investigation was not worth her full attention.

  “I understand about ranching. I’ll just walk with you while you finish your errand.”

  “Deputy Davies,” she said, meeting his eyes, her dander fluffed like a duck about to take flight, “if you intend to put me through another interrogation, you might as well know right now that I have every intention of withholding my cooperation. I have told you everything I know. I will not suffer another inquisition.” She lifted her chin defiantly.

  “For a rancher’s wife you sure use a lot of big words.”

  “I should hope so. My parents paid a princely sum for me to learn those big words.”

  Deputy Davies cocked his head, prepared to listen in his patient way.

  “I attended private school in New York,” she explained, “Mrs. Bindleton’s School for Young Ladies. Diction was prized, as was deportment, along with the classics, of course.”

  “Your parents must have been mighty disappointed when you flunked deportment.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

 
“You know what I’m talking about.” Luke’s humorless declaration seemed to make Mrs. Rose even more perturbed. He could see it in the flash of her eyes. Luke saw something else there that he itched to uncover. What did she know that she would not reveal? Cyrus was right about one thing. The odds were that Mrs. Lenora Rose wasn’t inclined to harm another human being, especially her husband. But she had maintained from the beginning that her husband was not dead, or at least, that he had not drowned. If she was right, where was he?

  “I must repair to my ranch now.” Lenora started to step around him.

  “You said you had an errand.” Luke took a quick step toward her, blocking her passage with his body. That was a mistake. Her nearness caused a warm wave of desire to flow over him. He clenched his fists at his sides in a foolish effort to stop a heightened sense of arousal from reaching his brain, as if tensing hand muscles could give him control of the rest of himself. “Where shall I escort you first?” he said, his voice husky and flat as he strived to cool the flaming effect she had on him.

  Lenora sighed. “I’m trying to locate a hired hand named Sam Wright. I hear he does odd jobs for several ranches in the area, and quite economically.”

  “That’s your Sam right there.” Luke turned a half-turn and pointed toward the three-ring entertainment in the street. The ranch hands were still fussing with the horse, but the crowd around them was a little thinner now.

  “Right where?”

  “There, passed out by his horse.”

  Lenora turned back to look at the street. As she did, a bouquet of her exquisite cologne, as sweet as a basket of Georgia peaches, wafted into Luke’s nostrils. I bet she perfumes her hair. A woman who smells this good could make a man give it all away for just one night. Luke shook himself. He must keep his mind on his work. If he was not careful, his investigation of Mrs. Rose would become as dubious as the fox’s guard duty over the henhouse.

  At times he worried it already had.

  “The big one is his friend, Buck Jennings. He’s the mean one of the three. The little one is Mitchell Pendergrass, also known as Pea-Pod Pendergrass. All part-time itinerant ranch hands, part-time jail birds.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I guess I’d better wait till he’s sober.” Then Lenora turned again and stared at the drunken man a moment, as if the knowledge of who he really was had trouble sinking its way into her mind.

  “Good idea.”

  “The general store,” she said, still staring at Sam Wright, “then home.”

  Together they walked the few doors down Main Street to Aeschelman’s Mercantile. A bell tinkled over the door as they stepped into the cool and dusty retail shop. After a few seconds its proprietor, Mr. Faustus Aeschelman, appeared from behind a rough brown curtain that separated the rear storage area from the shelves heavy laden with sundry foodstuffs and dry goods.

  Aeschelman’s was a feast for the eyes, a dazzling cornucopia of material delights for adults and children alike. Every surface—even the ceiling where Mr. Aeschelman had suspended odd-shaped items too difficult to crate—called to the shopper to handle, taste, or smell. Barrels, boxes, and tins of foodstuffs, farm and household tools, bolts of cloth and boxes of sewing notions, toys and dolls, and colorful glass jars of various candies, hard and soft, were crowded into this marvelous emporium. All those sweet and savory smells mingled together to create a shopping sensation that could only be described as musty goodness.

  After the duo had exchanged the usual greetings with the storekeeper, Lenora ordered what she came for and waited while Mr. Aeschelman assembled her purchases on the scuffed oak counter and rang up the sale. Luke stood by silently, watching and waiting like a body guard hovering around his assignment. Mr. Aeschelman glanced at him occasionally, as if he were searching for a clue as to why they were shopping together, but Luke’s eyes gave nothing away. He kept his eyes on Lenora most of the time.

  “I’m so very sorry about your wife, Mr. Aeschelman. Aleida was a saint.” Lenora accepted her change from Mr. Aeschelman and dropped the coins with a muffled clink into her bag.

  “She angel now,” said the plump German proprietor as he pointed toward Heaven. The forlorn widower smiled behind his frothy white beard, but his smile did not reach his eyes. He said no more as his sausage-like fingers assembled Lenora’s purchases into a tight bundle: coffee, sugar, ten yards of lustrous daffodil taffeta and thread to match. She watched him cut a length of stiff brown paper, place her purchases in the center, and then expertly fold and refold the edges into a neat package. He secured it with firmly twine.

  “You gave her a beautiful farewell, Mr. Aeschelman. Aleida liked pretty things. She wouldn’t have been disappointed.”

  Mr. Aeschelman looked stricken, nodded silently, and pushed the package toward Lenora. Luke picked it up before she could reach for it, nodded to the storekeeper, and he and Lenora left the store, the bell over the door tinkling as they exited.

  After the shadowy interior of the mercantile the noon sunshine seemed very bright. Few shoppers were in the street because it was time for the noon meal for most folks. Luke pulled his hat down a little lower in front of his face. Lenora pulled her frilly blue bonnet from behind her back and tied it with a bow under her chin.

  “What happened to his wife?” said Luke, taking Lenora’s arm and guiding them toward Olathe’s.

  “She died of sepsis about two weeks ago. Sad. They have six children, five boys and a girl, Anneke, who is the youngest. She’s nine.”

  “That is sad.”

  “The funeral was sadder. James and I attended. All those big boys crying, the little girl inconsolable, and Mr. Aeschelman looked so lost. He still looks lost.”

  “I know that sorrow.”

  “You do?” Lenora stopped walking and faced him.

  “My ma died when I was little.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that, Deputy Davies.”

  Luke nodded a thank-you and started walking again. “I’m long over it. I remember only a few things about her.”

  “How old were you when she passed?”

  Luke intentionally slowed his pace to have more time with Mrs. Rose. He was torn between speeding up his investigation, because she must get back to the ranch before sunset, or slowing it down to draw out his precious minutes with her. He dawdled also because he didn’t like the thought of her riding alone in her wagon the nine miles back to her ranch. The Territory was a wild place, dangerous for everyone but particularly for isolated ranchers whose spreads were far from town. Bands of Cheyenne and Sioux still troubled settlers in the area despite the fact that the U.S. government had established a military presence nearby, Fort McKinney, a year earlier to deal with the threat. Lonely and often intoxicated soldiers from the fort were problem enough when it came to a beautiful woman making her way about town without an escort. Luke winced when he thought of what a Sioux or Cheyenne warrior might do to an unprotected woman alone on an isolated ranch.

  “I was six.”

  “Deputy Davies, you speak with a touch of southern. Where do your people hail from?”

  “I was born in Tennessee. My ma’s folks lived there. Pa and Ma had a sheep and cattle ranch.”

  They stepped off the boardwalk onto Main Street, and Luke took Lenora’s arm as he guided them across. He helped her step up onto the opposite boardwalk, tipping his hat to fellow shoppers they passed.

  “How did you come to be in Wyoming Territory?” said Lenora.

  “Pa was lonesome a long while after Ma died. One day he decided it would be better for all of us to be near his folks, just outside Fort Laramie. Eight years ago he sold the ranch and moved us seven boys back here.”

  “Seven boys? Your father never had to hire help.”

  “Nope.”

  “Why didn’t you stay on the ranch?”

  “Good question.” Luke paused to think before answering. “I guess I was looking for excitement, a change.”

  “I remember feeling that way about coming here,” said Lenora.r />
  “I bet your folks had a hard time letting you go,” said Luke.

  “My mother took it the worst. I have no siblings, and Mother had a whole life planned for me. I assure you, Mother’s castles in the air didn’t include a cattle ranch in Wyoming Territory.”

  Luke glanced at the delicate woman on his arm and wondered how young she was. From the smoothness of her cheeks and her elaborate way of dress, she couldn’t have been much out of her teens. It must have been very difficult indeed for her parents to put her on a wagon bound for the many dangers of the untamed West, so far from civilization.

  “Have you written them about your husband’s disappearance?”

  Lenora took a deep breath and pursed her lips. “I have not.”

  Luke gave her a studied look. “You’re alone here Mrs. Rose.”

  “Yes, that is true. But I see no reason to distress them so early in the search.”

  “I understand your thinking, but the earlier you contact them, the earlier they can help you. I could arrange for a message to reach them. Fort McKinney has telegraph.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Deputy Davies, but that won’t be necessary. My husband will be found. And depending on his condition, at that time I will decide whether my folks—and Mr. Rose’s—should be notified. If I contact them now it will only give credence to their fears about my going west.”

  “Are you concerned about alarming them, or are you worried they’ll hightail it to the Territory and insist you go back to New York?”

  Lenora stopped walking, removed her arm from the deputy’s, and turned to face him. Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “You, sir, are scandalously intrepid in your approach to this investigation.”

  Luke stopped walking as well. “I don’t know what intrepid means, but I can read the look on your face.”

  “Oh?”

  “You don’t want your folks to know you’ve been left alone to run your ranch.”