“All right,” Paul said as he shifted forward once again. “That’s why he’s in a mood. What’s your excuse, Abigail?”
“As if you didn’t know,” she snapped.
“Bring me up to speed.”
The little wagon rocked a bit as she made her way to the front and hung on to the sides with both hands. “You treated me like a child,” she whispered. “In front of Michael.”
Leaning toward her, Paul whispered, “You are my child, Dumplin’.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You are my child . . . Abigail. And if you can think of one father who would be so quick to let his daughter sneak off into the woods with a boy, I’d like you to introduce me to him.”
“Why?” she asked. “So he could tell you how to trust your daughter?”
“No . . . so I could talk some sense into him.” Sensing that she was on the verge of scampering to her brother’s side and staying there, Paul quickly added, “You’re too young to be keeping company with a boy like that.”
“Just the other day, you were twisting my arm to talk to Michael Willis. Now you’re chasing him away!”
“Talking is one thing,” Paul explained. “You should talk to more people than just Becky, and it’s natural for a pretty girl like you to talk to a boy. You’ve had your eye on the Willis lad for a while and I know it makes you happy to share his company. But walking away to be alone with him . . . that’s something else entirely.”
“I know, but—”
“No,” Paul snapped. “You don’t know. You can’t know. You may think that you do, but you don’t.”
There was obviously a whole lot brewing behind the girl’s eyes, but she kept it to herself. Paul could feel the tension rolling off her like heat from a rock that had been baking in the sun. At the first sign of a cooling period, he said, “I’m only looking out for you, Dumplin’.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“What about the rest of what I said? Do you understand that, at least?”
Reluctantly she replied, “Yes, Daddy. I just don’t know why you changed your mind about Michael that way. We weren’t doing anything in those trees. We were just talking.”
“At first you were talking. Later, there might have been more.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But he was entertaining the notion.”
“How do you know?” Abigail snapped. “You haven’t even properly met Michael yet.”
“I know because I used to be a young man myself and they tend to keep their manners when they know they’re bein’ watched. When they’re off alone, their minds tend to wander . . . along with their hands.”
“The only thing he touched was my arm,” she assured him.
“Good.”
“I don’t even know what you expected to happen so close to a church picnic anyway,” she said in a huff.
Paul smiled and stretched out to wrap an arm around his daughter. He couldn’t reach much of her from where he was sitting, but Abigail met him halfway by resting her head on his shoulder. He believed that she truly didn’t know what else could have happened with Michael, and he thought a quick prayer to thank God above for that. Since she didn’t know that, she didn’t need to know how much he’d gotten away with when he was Michael’s age after leading pretty girls away where nobody could watch them.
“You’re a good girl, sweetie.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore, you know.”
“I didn’t say little girl. I said you’re a good girl.”
“Right,” she said, “but you treat me like I’m little. Littler than him, even.”
Paul checked on David to find the young boy sitting at the back of the cart. He’d been watching his father and sister, but as soon as Paul looked at him, the boy quickly twisted around to put his back to them both.
“I guess I always will,” Paul admitted. “If your mother was here, she’d understand better and would give you a bit more slack. But . . . she’s not . . . so you’re stuck with just me.”
“Wonderful.”
“On the bright side,” Paul added, “you’ll have two strong men to keep the boys in line when they come to court you.”
“Well,” she said loud enough for her voice to carry, “more like one strong man and a string bean.”
“I heard that!” David said.
“There’s some good news,” Paul said cheerily. “The boy’s not deaf.”
For a good portion of the rest of the ride, David proved to his sister that he wasn’t mute either.
Chapter 5
The trail went all the way to Colorado Springs and probably well beyond. All Paul cared about was that it first led to a small trading post just under ten miles away from Keystone Pass. After a steep incline where the trail dipped into a shallow slope, the trading post appeared as if it had been hiding until the last moment from anyone approaching from the south. After having made this ride so many times, Paul could have found the trading post in his sleep. Although the children weren’t overly excited to see the small cluster of buildings sprouting like weeds beside a crooked stream, David and Abigail were anxious to get inside one of the three stores to see what new sweets had been put on the shelves since their last visit.
“You two stay close to me,” Paul said as the wagon drew closer to the trading post. “Don’t go wandering off.”
“What if Mr. Prescott isn’t there yet?” Abigail asked.
“Then maybe you can look around, but you’ve got to stay close. We’re not going to waste a lot of time when we’re here to work.” Pivoting around to glare at both of his children, Paul added, “And don’t think for a second that you’ll get out of loading this cart just because we can’t find you. If me and Mr. Prescott have to do all of the lifting, you two will be up to your ears in chores for years to come. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” they both said in unison.
Satisfied that he’d sufficiently frightened his young ones, Paul rode straight up to the largest store and climbed down from the driver’s seat. His legs ached and his back was stiff as a board after the ride, which had taken the better part of the afternoon. The building directly in front of him was more than just a store. It was also part restaurant, part saloon, and even had a stagecoach ticketing office tacked on to one side. As soon as someone opened the door to step out, he could smell the enticing aroma of beef being cooked in a pan of sliced onions. He suddenly couldn’t get inside fast enough.
“Hey there, Paul!” a woman with wispy blond hair said from the small dining room near the entrance. “Knew you’d be stopping by, so I cooked up your favorite. Steak and onions.”
“You’re an angel, Dorothy.”
“Speaking of angels, it looks like you brought a few with you.”
The blond woman was still looking at the front door, where Abigail and David had filed in to stand behind their father. While Paul had his sights set on the corner of the main room where a few round tables were set up near the kitchen, both of his children were studying the other half of the room, which was filled with shelves of various merchandise for sale. The store was about twice the size of Meakes Mercantile but felt even larger because of everything that was crammed inside it.
“They’re waiting to find new ways to spend my money,” Paul said warily.
“Then by all means,” the blonde replied, “turn them loose.”
“Thank you, Dorothy,” both children said.
Glaring at the blonde, Paul said, “You’re only telling them that because you own a piece of this place.”
Dorothy shrugged. “I’m not about to deny it.”
“Is Prescott here yet?”
“He’s meeting with Trace about some wine or such. They’ll be bartering for a little while yet.”
Trace was the owner of that store and had a piece of the neighboring one as
well. David and Abigail knew that and watched their father expectantly. Although they often had a great deal of sway over his actions, Paul was more affected by the enticing aroma of the special that had been prepared in the kitchen.
“All right,” Paul sighed. “You two have got until I finish my steak to have a look around.”
“Thanks, Daddy!” Abigail said as she rushed to wrap her arms around him. David joined in as well, looking happier than he had for the last few days. After robbing him for a quarter each, they abandoned him to explore the aisles with which they were already so familiar.
Sitting down at one of the tables, Paul asked, “How is Trace?”
“Feeling the pinch from Territorial Mining just like everyone else.”
“Uh-huh.”
“They made a real good offer, but . . . are you listening?”
Paul froze while tucking a napkin under his collar as if he’d been caught leering into the blond woman’s bedroom window. “Sure I am,” he was quick to say. “Mining company. Feeling the pinch. I got it.”
“Why don’t I fetch you a plate of food?” she sighed. “After that, I know I’ll have your undivided attention.”
“Sounds like a good plan!”
Dorothy fixed him one of the daily specials with an extra helping of onions and a scoop of mashed potatoes. Since there weren’t many other customers in the place at the moment, she pulled up a chair and sat with him as he ate. Instead of discussing the mining company’s offer, they came up with more pleasant things to talk about, such as the weather and how their children were doing in school. She did most of the talking since Paul’s mouth was almost always too full to form any understandable words. He did speak on occasion, however. In fact, Paul enjoyed talking to someone closer to his age for a change of pace.
Setting down his fork and knife, Paul asked, “What’s for dessert?”
“Finished already?” Dorothy chuckled. “I’m surprised you didn’t eat the plate as well.”
“Throw down enough gravy from those potatoes and I just might.”
“I’ve got a few pies in the oven if you don’t mind waiting.”
“He can check back later,” said another man who’d just stepped into the dining room. “Depending on how well things go, I might even join him.”
The man was tall and gangly of limb. He wore a suit that was frayed at the cuffs and a bowler hat to cover a bald spot that overtook more and more of his scalp every time Paul met up with him. The full, well-trimmed beard and the grin beneath it, however, rarely changed.
“Why, if it isn’t Leandro Prescott,” Paul said as he pushed away from the table and got to his feet. “As I live and breathe. Dorothy, when did you start allowing undesirables like this into your fine establishment?”
“He eats almost as much as you do,” she replied while gathering up the dishes that had been left in Paul’s wake. “We can’t afford to turn away money like that.”
Paul stood toe-to-toe with the other man, straightening up to make Prescott’s height advantage appear just a bit smaller. Naturally Prescott straightened up as well to look down at him as though he were perched atop a mountain. “Speaking of money,” Prescott said, “you ready to part with some of yours?”
“Not nearly as much as you’d like.”
“We’ll just see about that.”
After a bit more posturing, Paul cracked a smile and slapped Prescott on the shoulder. “What’ve you got for me this time?”
“A few suits that should fetch a good price from some rich banker, a real nice set of silverware and matching china, a dozen lace tablecloths—”
“Get to the good stuff.”
Raising his eyebrows, Prescott asked, “You recall that fella from back east selling all those gadgets at such a high price?”
“You mean the one with them picture cards of New York City that looked like the real thing was right in front of your face?” Paul asked anxiously.
“No. The one with all of the things meant to keep ladies feeling pretty.”
Paul’s excitement faded as quickly as it had arrived. “Oh. The corsets and the box that makes those sparks?”
Draping an arm over Paul’s shoulders, Prescott led him to the front door. “I know such things don’t appeal much to you and me, but the womenfolk can’t get enough of them! Why do you think that easterner was so hard-set on his high prices?”
“What is this stuff anyway?”
“Are you going to pay your bill or should I just wait until you come back?” Dorothy asked from the dining room.
“We’ll be back,” Prescott replied. “And the man who strikes the best bargain will be the one to pay for the feast. Deal?”
“As always,” Paul said.
Dorothy didn’t have the first notion how the men came to their agreements about who’d gotten the better of the other. All that mattered to her was that they did and the bill always got paid. Shrugging, she allowed them to step outside without another protest.
“These aren’t just corsets,” Prescott insisted as he and Paul took their discussion to the wide front porch outside the trading post. “They’re specially designed to make a woman not only appear slim but shed unwanted girth through the advancement of modern engineering.”
“Engineers?” David said as he stepped from behind a stack of toy wagons and hurried to catch up to them. “Like the ones who drive trains?”
Prescott turned toward the boy and tussled his hair. “Not exactly. You’re getting tall!” Looking past David to a short bench at the corner of the building, he smiled and added, “And you’re prettier than ever, Abigail!”
When she stood up, she made it look like an afterthought. The reluctant smile Abigail gave him was just as disinterested as the ones she frequently gave her father. “Hello, Mr. Prescott.”
His eyes narrowed before he said, “You look about the right size for some of the items I brought for sale today.”
“She doesn’t need any corsets,” Paul said.
“I’m talking about some nice blouses and shawls,” Prescott amended. “The kind worn by the women of high society.”
Although Abigail’s interest was piqued, Paul’s obviously wasn’t. “I didn’t come all this way for shawls. Usually you’ve got the sort of things I can’t get anywhere else.”
“What do you think about devices that are said to cure most anything from a fever to back pains?”
“What now?”
“Daddy,” Abigail said as she drew closer. “I want to see the clothes.”
“And what about the train drivers?” David whined.
Paul waved both of his children into silence without taking his eyes off the salesman directly in front of him. “What’s this device you mentioned?” he asked.
“That box with the sparks,” Prescott explained. “It’s supposed to use electrical current to realign . . . something or other. There’s plenty of literature that goes along with it. What’s important is that it’s been fetching top dollar in all the big cities from the same folks who buy all those other medical machines, like the lanterns with the colored lenses that are supposed to promote peaceful sleep and any other manner of pleasantness.”
“Sounds dumb,” Abigail mumbled.
“All scientific advancements seem dumb at first.”
“Yeah, well, I’m inclined to agree with her,” Paul said.
Prescott shrugged. “Me too, actually. All we’ve got to believe is one thing and that’s how much people are willing to pay to take a chance on curing their aches and pains. If you’ve seen any papers from New York, Chicago, or Saint Louis, you’d know I’m right.”
“I’ve seen plenty of advertisements for those gadgets,” Paul said. “And they do fetch a high price.”
“My prices aren’t nearly so bad,” Prescott said with a silver tongue. “Leaves plenty of room for profit on you
r end.”
“What are those corsets you mentioned?”
“I’ve got some in my wagon. It’s parked a short distance from here.”
“Why didn’t you just use the livery?” Paul asked.
“Because then Trace might get a chance to see my wares before you do,” Prescott replied. “I can’t abide such fine products landing at this trading post before giving my good friend Paul Meakes a chance to get a crack at them.”
Paul stared at the other man with a critical eye. Before long, Prescott added, “I might also have some trouble brewing with some of the tribes in the area.”
“Indian troubles?” Paul asked.
That brought David rushing over to them, his eyes wide and his breath coming in excited gasps. “Indians? Where? Do we get to see Indians?”
“Quiet,” Paul snapped. “What sort of trouble, Leo?”
“Nothing too dramatic. Just some disputes over a batch of tobacco I sold them. It’s a simple matter, but it behooves me to be ready to get moving as quickly as possible.” When he saw Paul’s eyes dart toward his children, Prescott added, “You can leave them here if you like. I’m sure Dorothy wouldn’t mind watching over them. She’s got plenty of her own, you know.”
Paul nodded. “You two go back inside and mind Miss Dorothy. If you want something to eat, tell her to put it on my bill.”
Neither of the children needed any more reasons to get back into the trading post, where they could resume looking at the store shelves and decide what dessert they wanted to try first.
When his young ones were gone, Paul asked, “You’re not trying to unload more stolen merchandise, are you?”
“No!”
“You did that to me once before.”
“No need to remind me about that,” Prescott said. “I got into much more trouble than you did over the affair. It only happened that once and I swore to you it wouldn’t happen again.”
“Swear it a second time.”
“You have my word, Paul,” the salesman said earnestly.
“And what about this trouble you’re trying to avoid?”
Prescott let out a slow breath. “I’m not even certain it’s anything more than a stretch of bad luck, to be honest.”
The Dangerous Land Page 3