Montana Maverick

by Ramona Flightner

  Jessamine watched with a hint of amusement as she took Sorcha’s measure. “This is my shop. I decide who stays and goes. I’ve never known you to visit me here before.”

  “I’ve never wanted to visit the woman who’s made my brother’s life a livin’ hell. The woman who would rather spin lies and half-truths rather than tell interestin’ stories about the people who populate our fine town.” She gave a derisive shake of her head as she glared at Jessamine. “I will never understand why my brother would think ye deservin’ of the MacKinnon name.”

  Jessamine stood taller under the verbal attack. “I’m more deserving than you’ll ever know. But, unlike the majority in this town, I don’t want nor need your family. Not for its connections.”

  Sorcha’s look turned pitying as she stared at Jessamine from head to foot. “Ye are a fool. Ye had the love of a good man, an’ ye tossed it away as though it were worth no more than a two-bit story.” She leaned forward. “How can ye be so heartless?”

  “He got what he wanted from me.” She gasped when Sorcha gripped her arm.

  “Nae, he did no’. Do ye ken who he’s buildin’ one of those houses for?” When Jessamine watched her with absolute boredom, Sorcha stomped her foot in agitation. “You, ye daft woman. He wanted a proper home for ye after he hoped to wed ye.”

  Jessamine snorted. “Well, now he can bring his whore there, and they can live quite contentedly.”

  Sorcha shook her head. “Watch ye tongue or I may have to treat you like some errant man. The woman Ewan won is Annabelle’s sister. An’ there’s every chance she willna live through the horrible shakes as she is denied laudanum.” Sorcha bit her lip. “We dinna ken what to do for her.”

  “Fidelia is free?” Jessamine whispered. “I could not obtain confirmation from the Madam or anyone else at the poker match who the whore was who had been bartered.”

  “The Madam is afeared of losin’ her customers. Especially the man who paid the most for time with Dee.” Sorcha shook her head. “The new doc says to just give her more medicine. The risk is too great to her without it.”

  “No!” Jessamine gasped. “Don’t give her more. See her through it. Keep her away from it.”

  Sorcha frowned. “What do ye ken about takin’ too much laudanum?”

  Jessamine shook her head as she attempted to clear her vision of tears. “Too much. Help her through her nightmares. Help her through her cravings. But don’t give her more.”

  “What if she dies?” Sorcha whispered.

  “She would die anyway if you kept feeding it to her.” Jessamine turned away and gripped the edge of her desk.

  “Would ye come to the house an’ help us? It seems ye have a knowledge about such things that we dinna.”

  Jessamine shook her head. “No, I can’t. I can’t bear to watch that again.” She blinked, a tear snaking down her cheek. “Forgive me.”

  Sorcha frowned as she watched the previously confident journalist crumble in front of her. “Are ye all right, Miss McMahon?” She let out a deep breath. “I ken I can act beastly, but I thought ye a worthy opponent.”

  Jessamine half-laughed, half-snorted. “I am on most days. I’ve not been myself lately.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I can’t come to your house, but I fear that would only cause problems for me. For Ewan.” She met Sorcha’s worried gaze. “Take care of Fidelia. Don’t leave her alone, for she’ll try to sneak out to obtain more. Ensure she has plenty of water.” Jessamine shook her head as though banishing memories.

  Sorcha nodded. “Aye, I’ll do as ye say. If I have need of yer knowledge, I will visit ye again. The doc isna much use.”

  Jessamine squinted after Sorcha’s last statement. “He’s of little use except peddling laudanum-laced medicine.”

  Sorcha shrugged and pulled her shawl tightly about her. “Mind what else I said, aye?” After a few moments of silence, Sorcha left, the door sounding with her departure.

  The Story Behind The Punch

  If you are like me, you have wondered about the delicious, albeit sweet, concoction offered at every town gathering. After inquiring, I discovered the flavorful libation to be from a secret recipe, handed down over generations in Mrs. Guerineau’s family. Fortunately for the residents of Bear Grass Springs, she has generously shared this drink with us.

  Mrs. Guerineau was born and raised on her father’s large sugar cane plantation near New Orleans, Louisiana. She recalls running through the canes, playing hide-and-seek with her brothers.

  Her family’s sugar cane plantation provided one of the main ingredients for the drink shared at our festivities. She remembers joining her mother in the kitchen before parties, memorizing how to make the punch. Her mother admonished her to never write down the recipe, lest it be stolen by a jealous guest, only to share it whenever possible.

  Although promised to wed a neighbor’s son who would one day run a nearby plantation, Mrs. Guerineau fell in love with his younger brother. He was not wholly acceptable to her father as he had settled in the North, and her father considered her beau to be a Yankee. However, after weeks of silent defiance on her part, her father relented, and she married her love. They settled on a farm in Ohio.

  After many years there, her husband thirsted for adventure. Convincing her to travel to Montana with him, they set out in 1876 for the Territory. Tragedy struck on the wagon ride, and her husband of forty years died on a river crossing. Not one to succumb to her grief, she showed the tenacity of spirit needed to continue the journey, handling a team of oxen with help from those on the wagon train. Mrs. Guerineau arrived in Bear Grass Springs with a determination to thrive and to celebrate life. As Mrs. Guerineau said, it’s her way of honoring her beloved husband.

  She honors him, her native Louisiana and her mother’s memory every time she makes her punch for us.

  Jessamine smiled as another patron purchased her paper. When she had sold the last copy of her current edition, she closed the door and rubbed at her head in confusion. The day’s edition had contained a small section on news updates and the large story on Mrs. Guerineau. There had not been space for an N&N or F or F section. She moved to her desk and sat as she continued to contemplate the day’s successful sales.

  She turned as the door opened and frowned at her visitor. “I see no reason for a visit from the lawyer today, Mr. Clark. There could be nothing worthy of complaint in that innocuous edition.”

  He smiled as he moved around a stack of newsprint toward her cluttered desk. “How do you work in such chaos?” At her shrug, he focused on her. “This is the type of article, the type of paper you should write, J.P.”

  She frowned as she shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand why this was more of a success than the others. There was no intrigue. No scandal.”

  “Intrigue and scandal will always sell. However, I’ve found that, when we champion the moments where we triumph over adversity, we inspire others.” He smiled at Jessamine. “Your paper sold out today because you inspired the townsfolk. You showed them an inspirational hidden story. Not one shuttered away out of shame.”

  Jessamine harrumphed. “I like to believe I understand human nature, but I find I’m more confused than ever here. When I was in Saint Louis, I knew what to write. I knew what was expected of me.” She rubbed at her temple. “Everything is more complicated in a small town.”

  Warren laughed. “No truer words …” He motioned for her to rise. “Come. Join me for a meal at the café and allow the townsfolk to see you enjoying yourself with another, rather than alone and listening in on what they have to say.”

  She flushed. “I thought I was subtle.”

  “As a brick through a window.” He helped her don her cloak and then opened the door for her.

  They entered the café and met the beaming smiles of Harold and Irene. One of Jessamine’s papers was on an unoccupied table, and had been handled over and over again by the smudges and wrinkles along its edges. Harold motioned them to a table. “I bet you could hav
e sold twice as many papers today.”

  Jessamine flushed. “I could always print more for tomorrow, but I think I’ll plan better for when I write another article similar to that one.”

  Irene brought out water glasses. “I’d write similar articles once a week and then have a section for comments in the next paper.”

  Warren shared an amused smile with the café’s patrons. “She’s having trouble believing that the current edition could be successful without scandal or intrigue.” He nodded to Jessamine. “Her words.”

  Harold laughed. “Most of us have had enough scandal and intrigue in our lives. Sometimes we need to be reminded of the good that exists among us.” He smiled with pride at Jessamine. “And Mrs. Guerineau is a fine woman. She’s known hardship, but she refused to become bitter due to it.”

  Jessamine’s eyes glowed with wonder. “She’s a fascinating woman to speak with. I thought she’d be filled with rancor, but instead she constantly gives thanks for the time she had with her husband.”

  Harold sat with them and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Irene and I always try not to pry, but it seems a shame the poor woman has no children.”

  Jessamine nodded but remained silent. She took another sip of water and met Harold’s curious gaze with a blank stare.

  Harold and Warren exchanged a glance, and then both men smiled. “Seems it truly is a momentous day,” Harold said as he stood to attend other patrons.

  Chapter 12

  Ewan entered the kitchen and frowned as the conversation among Cailean, Annabelle, and Sorcha ground to a halt. “What is it?” he asked. He tensed as they shared guilty stares.

  “I had to go to the Merc before supper. Right before it closed.” Cailean cleared his throat and met his brother’s impatient stare. “I saw Jessamine entering the café with Warren.”

  Ewan shrugged. “It doesna matter who she decides to consort with.” He glared at his sister as she snorted at his use of the word consort. “She has no interest in me. I willna attempt to force her to change her mind.”

  “Ye ken the woman wants ye, Ewan,” Sorcha said. “She would never have written what she did if she didna.”

  “Nae, she is a reporter after a story. Mine was the beginning of her sentimentalist twaddle. She used me to show the townsfolk she had changed. After her harsh attack on too many of them, including Bears and Helen, she had to find a way to show her change of heart. I was the perfect candidate as I was her constant target.”

  Annabelle frowned as she watched him. “I hate that you’ve become so cynical, Ewan. This isn’t like you.”

  He snorted. “Perhaps this is truly how I am, an’ I’ve finally decided to show ye what I’m like.”

  Cailean rolled his eyes. “Ye are no’ a chameleon, ye bluidy idiot.” He exhaled through his nose as he attempted to calm his temper. “You are angry with her. With good reason.”

  “Aye, an’ learnin’ she’s having dinner with another man does no’ soothe it.” His eyes flashed for a moment with anger and hurt before he pasted on his mischievous smile. Ewan pulled out his chair and sat. “What is for dinner?”

  “A heaping of common sense,” Annabelle snapped. She waddled to the stove and extracted a haunch of venison, which Sorcha promptly took from her. Bears had successfully killed a deer two days ago, and they had fresh meat for a few days.

  Cailean watched his brother and correctly sensed that he would not discuss further the conversation that needed airing. “How long until the smokehouse is finished?” Cailean asked.

  “I’ll have it done on Sunday.” Ewan ignored his siblings’ disgruntled stares and helped himself to a piece of venison. “We are lucky Bears is such a good hunter. We’ve always had to depend on the butcher for meat before.”

  “Yes, although I must learn new recipes.” Annabelle smiled at her family as she sat down, ignoring the empty chair at the table.

  “You’ll relish the challenge, love,” Cailean murmured, smiling when his comment provoked a pleased flush on his wife’s cheeks.

  “How is Fidelia?” Ewan asked. “I ken ye want to ignore how she refused to come for supper again. I worry I forced her into a life she doesna want and resents me for it.”

  Annabelle gripped her fork tightly and shook her head. “She is miserable. Says she misses her old life, although she does not make any attempt to return to the Boudoir.” She met Ewan’s worried gaze. “If she did, I would not stop her. She has been granted the greatest gift, and, if she is not able to recognize it, there is nothing more I can do.”

  “Nae, I did little except free her from that woman. Yer gift is far more valuable, Anna. For ye love her, no matter what she’s done. Few would admit to that.” Ewan looked down at his plate as his sister-in-law fought strong emotions.

  “I do not know how to cure her of her desire for laudanum. I fear that, when the terrible lassitude filling her eases, she’ll try to obtain it any way she can.”

  Cailean patted his wife’s fretful hands. “You spoke of her love of embroidery. Would that entertain her thoughts while she is fighting off the laudanum?”

  Annabelle sniffled but sat taller. “I may see if either of the mercs can order some goods for me.”

  Sorcha shrugged. “I’ve heard that many of the Beauties at the Boudoir are suffering a similar fate.”

  Ewan nearly growled. “Don’t let that quack doctor near Fidelia or Annabelle. Call the midwife if needed.”

  “Seems the new doc is having a hard time replenishing his stores, and they’ve run out of their source of medicine.” Sorcha met her brothers’ incredulous stares. “They talk to me when I deliver baskets. They are people.”

  Cailean shook his head in wonder. “I never thought to see the day my sister or wife would visit the Boudoir daily.” He grunted as Annabelle elbowed him in the side.

  “You know it’s for deliveries. Now that Dee is no longer there, I’m considering curtailing the amount I sell them.”

  Sorcha shook her head. “Dinna do that, Anna. The women love yer treats, even though they might not eat as many due to the Madam and Ezekial.”

  Ewan frowned. “What happened to her other henchmen?”

  “Oh, she didna pay them, and they left. Moved on to other towns. Her finances have only worsened since yer card game.” She shrugged. “Ezekial is committed to the Madam for reasons I dinna understand.”

  The brothers shared a long look. “I will continue to hope you remain in ignorance,” Cailean murmured.

  Ewan nodded as the rumors of the Madam’s intimate relationship with her head henchman were widespread among those who frequented the Boudoir. “Aye, ye dinna need to ken anything further. An’ ’tis her own fault she’s having financial problems. She should have a successful business. Instead she gambles away the profits and does little to protect the women who work for her.”

  Annabelle sighed as she ran a hand over her belly. She looked at the ceiling at a crashing sound. “I fear Fidelia is having nightmares again and thrashing about. I should tend to her.”

  Ewan rose. “Nae, I will. I brought her here, and I willna have her harmin’ ye in an opium-fueled fit, when ye are to have a bairn.” He nodded to his brother who smiled his thanks. He walked to the hall and up the stairs. When he turned left to enter Alistair’s old room, he paused at the sound of Fidelia’s pitiful moaning.

  “Fidelia,” he murmured as he eased open the door. A glass of water had shattered, and shards of it lay on the floor. He ignored the mess for now and wet a cloth in the water pitcher on the bureau across from the bed. He approached her shaking, shivering form on the opposite side from where she had knocked over the glass.

  “Shh,” he murmured. “Dinna fash yerself so.” He swiped at her face and clammy neck, jerking out of range as she swiped an arm in his direction. He chuckled as she muttered swear words under her breath. “Calm yerself, Fidelia.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” she rasped as her teeth rattled. “Just let me die.”

  He paled at her
pleading words, his jaw firming and any levity fleeing his gaze. “Nae, I willna. Too many care for ye and would be filled with pain and agony at yer passing. Especially yer sister.” He sat on the chair by her bed, holding her hand. “Ye are stronger than that damn poison.”

  “I’m not,” she cried, her body convulsing. “I just need a little, and then I’ll be better.”

  He tsked and continued to talk to her in a soothing tone.

  Fidelia swore at him and turned away, but the constant hum of his low voice formed a counterpoint to her moans and trembling. He frowned as she failed to slip into a restful sleep, and he stared at his brother when he poked his head into the bedroom.

  “She’s bad,” Ewan whispered after he rose and joined his brother hovering near the door. “I think one of us should go for the midwife and someone should sit with her tonight. Perhaps tomorrow too.”

  Cailean nodded. “I’ll find the midwife and can remain with Fidelia tonight. I’ll see if Sorcha can sit with her tomorrow.”

  Ewan frowned. “Ye have work, Cail.”

  Cailean shook his head. “Fidelia’s more important. Besides, with Bears and Alistair, they will survive without me for a morning.”

  Ewan slapped his eldest brother on the shoulder. “Well, sit with her now, and I’ll find somethin’ to clean up the mess.” Ewan watched as Cailean sat beside Fidelia, smiling as Cailean recounted stories from the past year before Ewan left to find a dustpan and broom.

  Two days later, after the midwife made a follow-up visit to check on Fidelia, Ewan poked his head into her room. He nodded with relief to find her resting peacefully, no longer shaking or quivering. As he was on the verge of closing the door, her low “Wait,” caused him to turn and meet her stare.

  Rather than long, shiny chestnut hair that gleamed in candlelight, her dull hair was ratted on her head. Sunken cheekbones, sallow skin, and sky-blue eyes devoid of emotion met his stare. “Have you taken inventory?”