Shadow of Legends

by Stephen A. Bly

  “Oh?” Todd retrieved a wedge of pear from a glass jar and popped it in his mouth.

  “If you’re going to talk about the queen contest, I’m going into the other room,” she pouted. Dacee June grabbed Amber’s sticky hand and scurried to the social hall.

  Todd turned back to Rebekah and Mrs. Speaker. “I take it she didn’t win?”

  “She did finish third,” Thelma offered. “That was nice, don’t you think?”

  “How many were nominated?” he asked.

  “Four,” Thelma reported.

  “No wonder she was a little crushed.”

  “She beat out Irene Seltzmann by one vote. Of course, Irene has a touch of ague and couldn’t come tonight. Little Amber Gordon won second,” Thelma Speaker continued her report. “It was Dacee June who nominated her. My, how that little girl can dance and sing.”

  “And who was the lucky woman who gets to reign as queen of the church Raspberry Festival for a whole year?” Todd asked.

  Thelma Speaker smiled like a midwife delivering a baby to its mama. “Why, your Rebekah, of course!”

  “What?” Todd exclaimed.

  Rebekah bit her lip and tried to hide a sheepish grin.

  “You were elected queen and I wasn’t here to see it? I didn’t know you were even running,” Todd said.

  “Neither did I. Mr. Olene nominated me at the last moment,” she reported. “I thought it would be discourteous not to go along. Besides, I was confident that I had no chance of winning.”

  “And young Mr. Toluca seconded Mr. Olene’s nomination,” Thelma piped up.

  “He did? No wonder Lil’ Sis doesn’t want to talk about it.” Todd slipped his thumbs into his brown leather belt. “She’ll take it as a conspiracy.”

  “It was this dress that did it,” Rebekah added. “Anyone who wore this dramatic, raspberry-colored dress would have won. I imagine we could have sold a dozen of these dresses tonight. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Speaker?”

  “Oh, yes. I’d love one myself.” Thelma dried her hands on a limp tea towel. “However, I have a good idea I’d look fifty years old, no matter what I wore.”

  “This is the first time I’ve ever been selected queen of anything,” Rebekah said as she fastened lids down on the jars of fruit.

  “I find that hard to believe,” Mrs. Speaker replied.

  “Well, it’s the first time I ever ran for queen of anything. I have a difficult time relaxing and enjoying something like this. So, I have always avoided getting involved. I take things far too seriously. Perhaps that’s my mother’s influence.” ‘Save your best beauty for your husband. The rest of the world has not earned the right to enjoy it.’ Dear Mother, I still do not know what that means.

  Thelma patted Rebekah’s hand. “How long has she been gone, Dear?”

  “About five . . . five-and-a-half years.” Rebekah’s voice was very soft.

  “It’s a shame she never got to see you in this beautiful dress. It’s one of the things I miss about my daughters living in the East. I don’t get to stare at how they look. Isn’t that funny? They are both grown and married, and I miss looking at them. I suppose that’s a mother’s heart, don’t you think, Dear?” Thelma looked at Rebekah’s face. “Oh . . . my . . . that was inappropriate, wasn’t it? You’ll understand some day, I’m sure.” Thelma Speaker tapped her hands nervously in front of her. “She does make a beautiful queen, doesn’t she, Todd?”

  He sensed Rebekah’s ill ease, too. “Did you know that Mrs. Speaker was the county fair queen of Coryell County, Texas?”

  Rebekah let out a deep sigh and relaxed her shoulders. “It doesn’t surprise me a bit,” Rebekah mused. “Many a younger woman in Deadwood has told me they hope to look as nice as Mrs. Speaker when they get . . .”

  “When they get elderly?” Thelma proposed. “Do you know why I’m not offended? Because every last one of you cute young ladies will get old some day. We all have our turn.”

  Thelma Speaker glided out into the social hall to retrieve more dishes.

  “That was a very nice compliment you gave Mrs. Speaker.” Todd stepped up next to Rebekah and slipped his arm around her waist.

  “It was true,” Rebekah added. “Now behave yourself, young Mr. Fortune. We’re still at church.”

  He gave her a squeeze and stepped back.

  “Don’t you think it’s true that Mrs. Speaker is an attractive woman?” Rebekah pressed.

  “And it’s also true you look beautiful tonight.”

  Rebekah rolled her eyes. “That’s what you tell me every day, Todd Fortune.”

  “I have to tell the truth. It’s a law in the Fortune family.”

  “Good, then you can tell me what those two men wanted.”

  Todd squinted his narrow eyes and leaned closer to her. “What two men?”

  “The tall one with blond hair. And the shorter dark-complected man with the thick beard.”

  Todd glanced around the narrow church kitchen as if looking to find someone lurking on the shelves. His hand slipped to the revolver holstered at his side. “Where are they?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Where are they?”

  “I have no idea. They stopped at the church right after you and the sheriff drove off. I told them you’d be back soon, but they didn’t want to wait. Did they come and find you?”

  Todd rubbed his mustache and goatee with his fingers. “No. What did they want?”

  “I think they wanted to pay off an account, or something. They said something about a debt they owed to Brazos Fortune and they were looking for his kid.”

  “Did they know you were my wife?”

  “They left before I could introduce myself.”

  Todd paced the gray-painted wooden floor of the church kitchen. “Did Quiet Jim see them?”

  “I don’t think so. They came to the back door and asked for Brazos Fortune’s kid. I assumed they meant you. Quintin got sick at his stomach and Quiet Jim took both the children home early.” She pulled him out of his pacing and slipped her arm in his. “Who were they, Todd?”

  “It sounds like the two . . . ,” he stammered and turned his head away.

  Rebekah’s hand shot up to her mouth. She released his arm. “The escaped stage robbers? The ones who busted the window at the store? But they were soft-spoken and polite. I can’t believe I stood right here and talked to them.”

  “I’m going to Quiet Jim’s. You tell this story to the sheriff when he shows up. No, maybe I’d better wait for you, then we’ll all go together.”

  Dacee June waltzed back into the kitchen with Thelma Speaker, both carrying a stack of dirty plates. “I’m going to take Amber home and clean her up before Abigail and her mother return,” she announced.

  “No!” Todd barked. “You aren’t walking home in the dark.” He marched over to the back door of the church kitchen and locked it.

  Dacee June rolled her large round eyes and folded her arms across her flat chest. “It’s not that far to walk.”

  He marched straight at her, pointing his finger. “We are all going together. Stay in here; I need to check around outside.” Todd hustled into the social hall.

  Dacee June looked over at Rebekah and scowled. “Oh, brother, what’s eating him?”

  Rebekah set the last stack of dirty dishes into the sink full of water. “He thinks maybe those two stagecoach hold-up men who busted the window at the store are back in town tonight. They stopped by the church looking for him.”

  Dacee June rushed over. “Really? It’s a good thing I’m carrying my revolver.” She patted her dress pocket.

  “You are?” Rebekah snatched the teapot off the woodstove and coursed the boiling water over the dishes in the sink.

  Dacee June dropped a handful of dirty forks into
the scalding water. “Aren’t you?”

  “Of course not!” Rebekah replied. The day I have to start carrying a gun is the day we move!

  “Don’t worry. Stick with me,” Dacee June insisted. “I’ll protect us.”

  Carty Toluca carried a huge, empty punch bowl into the kitchen. “Mrs. Speaker said this never got used. Where do you want me to put it?”

  “Dacee June, show him where that goes,” Rebekah instructed.

  “I do not wish to associate with that traitor,” Dacee June pouted. “He betrayed me.”

  “I jist seconded Rebekah’s nomination. I thought I was bein’ polite.”

  “You can tell him it goes on the big shelf above the plates.”

  “She said that . . .”

  “I heard her. I ain’t deaf. And I ain’t stupid, neither. The sooner she starts treating me nice, I reckon I’ll do the same.”

  Dacee June’s face grew as red as her lacy blouse. “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. Tell Mr. Toluca I treat him just the way he deserves. I’m going home.”

  “Todd said to wait for all of us,” Rebekah cautioned.

  “Well, he’s my brother, not my father. I’ll walk home if I want to,” Dacee June stormed. “I have not enjoyed this evening nearly as much as I thought I would.”

  Carty strolled over next to her. The wispy whiskers on his chin made his face look soiled. “I’ll walk you home and protect you,” he offered.

  Dacee June’s small round nose was pointed in the air. “And who will protect you?”

  There was indignation in his voice. “Who do I need to be protected from?”

  “From me,” she exploded as she pushed Carty back.

  Thelma Speaker carried a large pitcher to the sink.

  Rebekah’s voice resounded across the room like an irate mother. “You’ll wait for Todd like he asked.”

  Dacee June stomped toward the social hall door.

  “Where are you going?” Rebekah called out.

  “To finish clearing the tables. Is that all right, Queenie?” Dacee June sneered.

  Thelma Speaker slipped her arm around Dacee June and ushered her back to the social hall. “Snootiness does not become you, Dear. Righteous indignation is always good. And if you can’t come up with that, you might try laughter. Laughter shows how generous you are with sharing honors. It makes quite an impression. Trust me. But a selfish pout ruins one’s complexion. And you have such a lovely complexion.”

  The adjoining door swung close. Rebekah stared down at the jars of fruit. Lord, I think I’ve entered my last queen contest. She’ll pout for a week, just like she did after our wedding. Why did I ever let them enter me? This is just what I’ve always tried to avoid. If I hadn’t entered, then Dacee June could have ended up . . . in second place! Oh, my . . . wouldn’t that be disastrous.

  The voice of laughing ladies brought Rebekah out of her contemplation as Abigail Gordon and her mother entered the church kitchen.

  “I’m surprised to see you so soon,” Rebekah called out as they approached.

  “We finished a delightful supper in Central City, then took a ride up to Lead and back around to Deadwood,” Mrs. O’Neill reported. “The Black Hills are so beautiful, even at night. It’s such a peaceful area. I’m quite impressed.”

  “Except for the stamp mills, some spots are more peaceful than others,” Rebekah concurred as she continued to wash dishes. “I’m pleased you had a nice time.”

  “How was my Amber?” Abigail probed.

  “She and Dacee June were inseparable.” Rebekah glanced at Abigail’s soft, easy eyes. Just two ladies at church, visiting about children. That’s a little shocking for both of us. “She is very precocious and outgoing. She is quite at ease visiting with adults.”

  “I’m afraid that is mostly my fault,” Mrs. O’Neill added. “There aren’t many children in my neighborhood in Omaha. She spends most of her time talking with me and my friends who come over to play hearts. She’s quite a good player herself.”

  Mrs. O’Neill reminded Rebekah of a gray-headed Louise Driver Edwards. “I’ve been busy in the kitchen most of the evening, so I didn’t get to spend as much time with her as I wanted. Your Amber won second place in the Raspberry Queen contest. She charmed the entire crowd. You would have been proud of her, Mama. She’s got actress in her bones.”

  “I certainly hope not. It’s a dreadful disease of which one is never cured.”

  “You love every minute of it,” Rebekah prodded.

  “See how dreadful it is?”

  “Well, little Amber certainly got my vote.”

  “I wish we could have seen it,” Mrs. O’Neill added. “By the way, who was selected queen of the festival?”

  Rebekah hesitated.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Abigail blurted out.

  Rebekah pulled her hands out of the dishwater and spun around modeling the outfit. “It was your dress that did it. I’ve never been queen of anything.”

  Abigail took her hands. “Nor have I,” she added.

  “I’m shocked. With your stunning looks, I would have guessed otherwise.”

  “She was a very, very thin girl,” Mrs. O’Neill reported. “If I would have let her bob her hair, she could have passed for a boy until she was eighteen.”

  “Thank you, Mother, for bringing up those painful memories.”

  “You’re welcome, dear.”

  Rebekah released Abigail’s hands and stepped back. “Well, no one would make that mistake now.”

  Mrs. O’Neill straightened the cuffs of her dark purple dress. “Certainly not the men at the Zachary Jaque’s.”

  Rebekah raised her eyebrows. “They flirted with you, no doubt.”

  Abigail twisted her sparkling violet necklace. “Not all of them. Some of the older ones seemed to find mother quite the dish.”

  “I do like this country,” the gray-headed woman blushed. “Perhaps I should move to Deadwood.”

  A controlled panic flashed across Abigail’s face. “I’m sure she’s teasing. I keep telling mother I’ll move on to a larger town where there are more opportunities for acting, and I’ll send for her and Amber then. Anyway, we thought we’d pick up that precocious daughter of mine from the church and save a hike up to your house.”

  “Did you want to cancel our teatime tomorrow since your ­mother is here? She and Amber are invited to come, of course.”

  “Tea?” Mrs. O’Neill asked.

  Rebekah glanced at the older woman. “Oh, Abigail and I like to have a little tea in the afternoon and visit, but I know it’s a steep hike. We can certainly miss one day. I’m sure you two have much to talk about.”

  “Oh my, I don’t want to interfere with my daughter’s routine with her good friends. I’d be delighted to come,” Mrs. Gordon added, then turned to her daughter. “What time do you have tea, dear?”

  As if delivering a line on cue, Abigail turned stage left toward Rebekah and smiled. “The usual time?”

  “Yes,” Rebekah said, “3:30 P.M. seems to work best for both of us.”

  “We’ll scoot along now.” Abigail hugged Rebekah’s shoulders, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered, “You’re a better actress than I am, girl. Thanks.”

  “Your Amber should be with Dacee June. Probably over at the little pump organ. That Amber is so talented. When she sang and danced at the festival, it brought the house down.”

  “She did what?” Abigail turned to Mrs. O’Neill. “Mother?”

  “Alright, so I taught her a few things besides hearts. She has natural rhythm and timing. Just like you, Dear.”

  “And I have told you I didn’t want her growing up to sing and dance.”

  “Oh my, I hope we didn’t start something,” Rebekah said.

 
“We will discuss this matter later,” Abigail lectured.

  “I do believe Grandma’s in trouble.” Mrs. O’Neill turned to Rebekah. “Do you have a spare guest room, Mrs. Fortune?”

  “Mother!” Abigail huffed.

  Mrs. Gordon waved weakly to Rebekah as they left the kitchen.

  With the dishes done, Rebekah began hanging the tea towels to dry. Lord, I really like Abigail. I believe she would make an excellent friend. Perhaps that is why you had me stay in Deadwood to this point. But I don’t know anything about her commitment to You.

  Abigail poked her head back into the kitchen. “We can’t find Amber and Dacee June. Where did you say they were?”

  “They aren’t out in the social hall?”

  “No.”

  “Did you check the sanctuary?”

  “They aren’t there either.”

  Rebekah hung her last towel and unfastened her full-length apron. She led Abigail back out into the church social hall. She glanced around at the few people left milling in the room full of benches and chairs. “They aren’t out on the front step?”

  “No, I’m sure we would have seen them,” Abigail reported as they approached Mrs. O’Neill.

  “Carty?” Rebekah called out to the young man who was waving his arms and telling a story to two younger boys near the silent fireplace. “Have you see Dacee June and Amber?”

  Carty removed his wide-brimmed hat and meandered toward them. “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Fortune. Dacee June and Miss Amber walked home.”

  “What do you mean?” Rebekah could barely control her voice. “I distinctly told her to wait for the rest of us!”

  Carty Toluca hung his head. “Yes, Ma’am, you did.”

  “Well . . . well . . .” Rebekah clenched her fists tight enough to turn them white. “Why didn’t you walk with them?”

  Carty rolled the brim of his hat and stared at his feet. “I started to, Mrs. Fortune, but she pulled a gun on me.”

  Mrs. O’Neill’s hand flew up to the top of her plum-colored straw hat. “She what?”

  Mr. Toluca kept his chin buried in his chest, but peeked up like a scolded puppy. “She told me she’d shoot me if I tried to walk with them.”