Yapper Jim rubbed coffee drops from fleshy lips that hid behind his full beard. “I keep tellin’ him his quiver’s about full. You know, for a man of his advanced years.”
“We want one more after this,” Quiet Jim added. “Five is a nice number, don’t you think?”
Dacee June strolled by her brother, allowing her elbow to poke him in the ribs. “Yes, I think it’s a nice size family. What do you think, Todd?”
He turned his back toward the woodstove, coffee mug in hand. “I think I’m going to get to running a store while you parade around town looking like some Paris fashion model.”
Dacee June put her right hand behind her head and strutted a lap around the stove. Then she traipsed after Todd, catching up with him halfway across the store. “When is Carty coming to work?”
“I told him to wait until ten. He worked late helping me inventory that new freight.” Todd continued toward the wide empty wooden counter at the back. “Why do you want to know?”
Dacee June propped a boot up on a nail keg and rubbed her ankle. “Because these shoes are grieving my feet something horrible. But I don’t want to change them until he sees me.”
Todd stooped and yanked a ledger from under the counter. “So, you dressed up in order to impress Carty?” He dipped his pen in the vile of black India ink, then wrote in the ledger without looking up.
“I am not interested in Carty Toluca! There’s a young man working at the International Hotel who has a quite fetching smile. Perhaps I dressed this way for him. But I wouldn’t mind making Carty regret all those mean things he did to me.” Dacee June glanced down at the ceramic mug on the counter. “Do you need a refill?”
“Might as well, my tongue’s calloused now.”
Dacee June carried Todd’s mug over to the stove as the conversations continued.
“Hey, what do you hear from ‘Professor’ Edwards?” Yapper Jim was asking.
“He wrote to say the Ambrosia trifida was abundant this year,” Brazos answered.
“The what?” Dacee June queried.
“Ragweed. Said they’d be home . . .”
Todd squatted down and spun the dial on the safe. Dad has his pals. Every morning of the year they are here . . . to laugh, tease, plot, plan, dream, and reminisce. Maybe that’s what’s missing in Deadwood for me. I’m not one of the old-timers. I’m not one of the newcomers. I’m somewhere in the cracks in between. I’m always in the corner of the room, watching the action.
Maybe Rebekah’s right. A new town. A new start. Where we’ll be the old-timers some day.
Dacee June found Todd in the back storeroom. White shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, gray wool vest unbuttoned, and black tie loosened, Todd Fortune finished cutting the last of twenty-four eight-by-ten-inch replacement glass panes for the International Hotel.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider firing Carty Toluca,” Dacee June quizzed, resting her hands on the ruffled folds of her dress waist.
Todd rubbed his light brown goatee. “Did he steal money from the cashbox?”
“No, of course not,” she frowned.
“Did he cheat a customer?”
“No.” Her scowl almost brought her dark brown eyebrows together above her nose.
“Did he talk back to Dub Montgomery?”
“No.”
“Well, I reckon I’ll just keep him on.” Todd grinned as he began to crate the small pieces of glass. “He didn’t pull your hair or slip a chink of ice down your dress, did he?”
“He hasn’t done those things for years!”
“Well, what did he do?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing!”
Todd layered each slice of glass with a piece of heavy brown paper. “You want him fired for doing nothing?”
“Oh, I don’t really want him fired. I just wish he’d find a job some other place. He aggravates me every time I come into the store.”
“Aggravates you? I thought you said he did nothing.”
“And he said nothing. Not one word. Look at me, Todd Fortune. Am I ugly? I mean, I know I’m not beautiful like your Rebekah or Robert’s Jamie Sue, but I’m not ugly, am I?”
“Dacee June, don’t beg for compliments. You know that I think you’re the cutest girl in the Black Hills.”
“Perhaps he has poor eyesight,” she blurted out. “Do you think there’s anything wrong with his eyes?”
“I take it he didn’t say anything about your dress?”
“Not my dress, my hair style, my shoes, my perfume, my lip rouge . . . he said absolutely nothing.”
“Some boys are embarrassed by beautiful girls.”
“They are?”
“Sure. The prettier the girl, the more nervous they get trying to talk to her. The extremely attractive are so striking, some fellas just get tongue-tied.”
Dacee June’s eyes widened. “I bet that’s it. He’s used to my, well, my average daily beauty, but when I’m polished up like this, he’s speechless.”
“Could be.”
“Thanks, Todd. It sure is good to have at least one brother around.” Dacee June seemed to float toward the storeroom door, then turned back. “It’s going to be fun next week, staying with you and Rebekah. She promised to teach me to . . .”
Todd straightened up. “Staying with us?”
“She’s going to teach me to draw people and animals. She sure is good at drawing. Yes, isn’t it fun? I get to stay for at least two weeks. Of course, I only live next door, and I’ll go home and sleep in my own bed, but I get to eat with you two.”
Todd tacked a wooden lid on the crate of glass panes. “I think I missed something. Why are you staying with us? Where’s Daddy going to be?”
“Oh, you know . . .” Dacee June squinted at a cloudy mirror fastened to a post next to the workbench. “He’s going on that hunting trip with the Jims.”
Todd laid down the tack hammer. “What hunting trip?”
“Over in the Bighorns.” She stood on her tiptoes and sucked in her stomach.
“The Bighorns? That’s a hundred-and-eighty miles. When did they decide on that?”
“This morning. Didn’t Daddy tell you?” Dacee June threw her shoulders back and her chest forward as she continued to look in the mirror.
“It must have slipped his mind,” Todd mumbled. “When are they leaving?”
Dacee June made a face at the image in the mirror. “After lunch.”
“Today?” Todd rolled down his sleeves and refastened them. “Did he talk to Rebekah about you staying with us?”
“No, but I did. Daddy said I could go with them, but I think he needs to get along without me once in a while. After all, one of these days he’ll be on his own, you know, when I have my own family to tend to, and then . . .”
“You going to have that family soon?” Todd chided.
“No, not soon!” she snapped. “Frankly, I think those old men just want an excuse to check out the gold discovery over in Devil’s Canyon.”
“That’s Crow land. No one’s allowed to prospect in there,” Todd cautioned.
“That didn’t keep them out of the Black Hills, either. They said it sounded like the early days of Deadwood. But they don’t intend to prospect. They just want to hunt and look around.”
“Where’s Daddy now?”
“He went to the livery to rent a pack string.”
“Is he coming back to the store?”
“I don’t think so. I think he’s just going to gather his gear and leave. I already told him good-bye.”
Todd pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s almost noon. Think I’ll take a break and find him. Would you have Carty pack this crate of glass over to the International?”
“I could take it.”
“It’s too
heavy.”
“I could go over to the International and have one of their clerks come pick it up.”
“The one with the fetching smile?”
“Oh!” she beamed. “I never thought of that!”
“Have Carty do it.”
“Perhaps you could write down your instructions for him.”
“Why?”
“Because I have no intention of talking to him until he gives me a compliment about how I look.”
“Does he know that?”
Nebraska Livery stretched along Whitewood Creek, between Sherman Street and the east side of the gulch. Brazos Fortune reclined on the split rail corral fence when Todd ambled up and rested his elbows on the top rail. “There’s a rumor flying around Deadwood that you’re pulling up stakes and drifting west.”
Brazos’s eyes were aimed at the animals in the corral, but his gaze seemed to drift across some memories. “Figured I was due for a huntin’ trip with the boys.”
Todd stared down at the corral dirt. “Who are you talking to? Is there anyone within shouting distance that believes that line? You aren’t tracking a couple hundred miles just to go hunting.”
“Them Bighorn Mountains is full of game.”
“What do you intend to hunt with a gold pan, shovel, pick, and a jar of mercury?” Todd challenged.
“Yapper Jim thought we ought to pack those along. But I’m not a prospector, you know that.” Brazos shot a quick glare at Todd, then returned to his scrutiny of the animals. “Never have been.”
“You claim you aren’t a businessman, either. But you own a few buildings and a store.”
“You can run the store without me a few days. Shoot, you can run the whole thing without me for a year. Ever’one knows you’re the businessman of the family.”
Todd noticed his father was wearing his revolver under his suit coat. “It just seems strange for you to make plans about leaving without checking with me first.”
“I’m checking with you now. Do I have your permission to leave town for a couple weeks, Son?”
“You don’t need my permission.”
“Then what’s this conversation about?”
“Dad, look . . . I’d just like to know what your plans are ahead of time, so I can make arrangements.”
“Shoot, Son . . . I don’t even know what my plans are ahead of time. That’s the joy of havin’ you here in Deadwood with me. It’s mighty comfortin’ to have a partner in the store and know I don’t even have to show up. Say, can lil’ sis board up with you and Rebekah? She doesn’t want to travel with me like she did when she was young.”
“We’ll take care of Dacee June.”
“I knew I could count on you,” Brazos nodded. “Think I’ll take these two brown jacks.” He pointed out at the corral. “What do you think?”
“Depends on whether you plan on carrying meat or gold dust.”
“I told you I’m not interested in startin’ back into prospectin’, if that’s what you aimin’ at.”
“Come on, Dad, you and the boys are getting restless. I can hear it in your conversations every morning. It’s crowded, almost civilized in Deadwood. Movin’ on is in your blood. You know that.”
Brazos pointed up toward White Rocks. “No more. Beneath that Dakota Cross . . . this is home. I’ve got friends up on Mount Moriah. More and more ever’ year. This is where I dropped anchor, and this is where I’ll stay. I’m not movin’. Not to the Bighorns. Not back to Texas. Not up to western Montana, though the Lord knows it’s a wonderful country up there. But jist because a man don’t dance is no reason he can’t enjoy the music. I’m goin’ out there to listen to a new tune. That’s all.” Brazos’s eyes sparkled.
“Well, take care of yourself, Old Man. You’ve got a daughter you’re not through raising and a prodigal that still needs to come home.”
Brazos’s shoulders slumped. He suddenly looked ten years older. “You and Rebekah haven’t heard from Samuel, have you?”
“Not since Christmas. I wouldn’t hold that back.”
“I know, Son . . . I know.” Brazos rubbed both corners of his eyes with the same hand. “He’ll be back. I know he will.”
“And you’d better be here waiting for him,” Todd insisted.
Brazos climbed down off the corral fence. “Two weeks. We’ll be back in two weeks.”
“Who’s going with you? Dacee June said the Jims might tag along, although I can’t imagine you running off with Grass Edwards out of town.”
“I’d like to have Grass, but he’s tied up a lecturin’. But, it’s boiled down to just me and Yapper Jim. Quiet Jim . . . well, he’s got to help Columbia with the children, her bein’ infirm and all.”
“You leavin’ this afternoon?”
“As soon as we get gathered up, I reckon,” Brazos said.
“You going to say good-bye to Mrs. Speaker?”
“Why don’t you tell her for me.”
“Daddy . . . she’s looked after us . . . including you . . . since she got to the hills. Stop and tell her good-bye. As you would say, it will satisfy her bones.”
“You’re right.” Brazos punched his hat back with the thumb of his right hand. “Thelma’s a fine lady. She’d be an even finer lady if her husband wouldn’t have died.”
In his office on the second floor of Fortune & Son Hardware, Todd closed the ledger. In front of him were two pages of concise, neatly written inventory to be ordered. The afternoon sun reflected through the window and revealed tiny dust particles that seemed permanently imbedded in the stuffy air. He walked over and opened a window facing Main Street. To the northeast he spied the double freight wagons of an ox team plodding up the street.
I hope it’s not one of ours. That’s not true. We need the inventory. It’s just . . . I’m tired. I want to go home, kick off my boots, and relax. Just me and Rebekah . . . and Dacee June!
Lord, I’m almost thirty. I’ve got a fine wife. A business to run. Good standing in the community. When Dad’s around, I whine to You about standing in his shadow. Then as soon as he leaves, I miss him. It’s easier to take the center stage when I know he’s in the wings. I should be over that by now.
Could I even run a business by myself?
Or a bank.
If your daddy dies young, you surely find what you’re made of a lot sooner. But then, you miss all those great years together. Robert’s made his mark in the cavalry. None of the boys in blue, down on the border with General Crook, call him Brazos Fortune’s baby boy. And Sam . . . well . . . along that owlhoot trail in the Indian Territory, it’s a cinch they don’t know about his daddy.
That leaves the oldest boy, the one who is supposed to follow the old man’s footsteps.
He watched the stagecoach rumble in from Cheyenne. The stage stopped at the Merchant’s Hotel owned by Professor and Mrs. Grass Edwards. The cloud of dust it generated scurried down the street. Three men rode up top with the driver. At least eight passengers climbed out of the coach.
I think I’d be a whole lot more content if Rebekah was satisfied. She misses her daddy. She misses her Chicago. She misses her friends.
Get to work, Fortune. Melancholy doesn’t become you. Your mother, bless her soul, told you that.
He rebuttoned his sleeves, straightened his tie, and slipped on his jacket before he descended the stairs at the back of the store. The assistant store manager, Dub Montgomery, met him at the counter, twisting his rakishly curled waxed mustache.
“The man with the bowler is looking for you.” Montgomery, as tall as Todd, but weaker in the shoulders, pointed toward a man near the front door.
Todd glanced across the room at the gray haired man with hat in hand, the suit layered with a tinge of red road dust. “Is he a drummer?”
“Didn’t say,” Montgomery
added, finally releasing his mustache. “I’ve never seen him before, but if he’s got boiler plating we’ll take every section he can ship.”
Todd surveyed the busy store. “It’s getting desperate for plating, isn’t it?”
“The DeSmet and the Evergreen Mines will shut down if they don’t get their steam engines repaired soon,” Dub announced.
“I’ll go talk to him.”
The man was about four inches shorter than Todd and looked as old as his father. His bushy sideburns seemed to get wider and wider until they reached his chin . . . which was clean shaven. His hair reflected an equal mixture of black, gray, and red.
“Are you Mr. Fortune?” he asked.
“I’m Todd Fortune, the son in ‘Fortune & Son’.”
“I’d like to speak with your father, please.”
“He’s gone. What can I do for you?”
“Probably nothing until your father returns.” He pulled a tiny ledger from his vest pocket and studied one of the pages. “May I set up an appointment with him for tomorrow?”
Todd could smell the man’s shaving tonic. “He won’t be around for a couple weeks . . . or more.”
“No! What a disappointment! I came all the way from Cleveland and he’s gone for that long. Is it possible to telegraph him someplace?”
“He’s on a . . . eh, hunting trip to the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming. I run the store. Perhaps I might be able to help you.”
“Well, it’s certainly store business. But I have to talk to the owner.”
“I’m a co-owner. Are you a drummer? What’s your product line?”
“I hardly look like a salesman. My name is Tobias Olene.”
“Olene Steel and Assembly of Cleveland, Cincinnati, and St. Louis?” Todd asked.
“Yes, that’s us.”
“We really need all the boiler plating you can ship in here. We can pay extra shipping if you’ll send it up the river to Fort Pierre, then down by mule train rather than ox. We need quarter-inch, three-eighths, and half-inch, plus . . .”
Shadow of Legends Page 7