Summer Lightning

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  “I’m sorry. I guess I was worried. You did come mighty near to fainting last night.”

  Instantly, Edith drowned in guilt. This was after all the man to whom she owned unreturnable bounties. To mistreat him was not only rude, it was ungrateful.

  Before she could apologize abjectly, he looked past her at the mayhem strewn around the room. “Good, all that stuff came. What do you think?”

  “It’s all wonderful, but you know I cannot accept it,” she said, turning from the mirror.

  “Kind of thought you might feel that way. But . . .”

  “For one thing, I can’t afford it. All I have in the world is what you will give me for this business. And, Mr. Dane, I’m not even sure I can do what you want.”

  “You won’t know 'til you give it a try.” He bent and picked up the barmaid’s second shoe. “Are you going to wear this? Or one of these other ones?”

  “Those, of course. These others will have to go back.” She couldn’t help sighing over the pale gray shoes with the pink rosettes that would have so well set off her dress. “If you’ll give me a moment to change, I’ll be with you at once. Oh, I must pack all these things into their boxes again.”

  Hurriedly, she picked up one of the nightdresses. She tried to smooth out the wrinkles it had collected while lying on the bed. “Oh, dear. Perhaps Mr. Dilworthy can find someone to press it.”

  Jeff took the dainty thing from her. “Never mind that. Look, you have to keep these things. A couple of nice, Christian ladies picked ‘em out and you can’t throw their kindness back in their faces. I know you’ve got your pride . . .”

  “Nice ladies?”

  “Sure. I wouldn’t know what to buy you. Gwen used to tell me I was no more use than a steer when it came women’s stuff. Even when she’d described what she wanted right down to the ruffles, I’d still come home with the exact wrong thing.”

  Edith realized she should have known better than to let her imagination get away from her. Of course Mr. Dane had not wasted his morning selecting which garments would flatter her most. He’d turned the matter over to clerks.

  “So anyway, I mentioned to Mrs. Waters what had happened to you ... I mean, the building burning down and all your worldly goods gone to smash. After that, I just got out of her way, like I would have if she’d been a runaway train. She grabbed her mother, told her the whole tale, and next thing I know, they’re off to the store, gabbling away like mad.”

  “But the stores are all closed on Sunday. They couldn’t have gotten in, let alone . . .” Edith waved her hand at all the “worldly goods” piled up on the bed.

  “Considering that Mrs. Waters' father is Mr. Milvoy and her uncle’s Mr. Filch, she didn’t have much of a problem. Mrs. Milvoy got the key and shoot—they were gone.”

  Edith put the back of a shaking hand to her temple. “To think that two wealthy women would do this for a stranger, utterly unknown to them. I just can’t take it in.”

  Gently, Jeff said, “Maybe you should write them a little note or something.”

  “Yes, I will. At once.”

  She turned to approach the small writing desk in one corner of the room. Jeff reached for her arms to stop her. She quivered at his touch and held still, her head half-turned.

  He glanced over her from behind. The loose knot was far more appealing than the tight bun she usually wore. Some tendrils had sprung free to tease the nape of her neck. Jeff’s hands tightened above her elbows. A violent desire to press his lips against the white skin before him alarmed him with its primitive strength.

  Sternly, he reminded himself that he had been a widower for too long. These feelings, this heat, arose only from his celibacy. Added to his abstinence, the romantic circumstances of their meeting made for a hell’s brew of lust. It had nothing to do with Edith Parker, pitiable, penniless and patently virginal.

  He forced his hands to open. “There really isn’t time for you to write now, Miss Parker. I’ve reserved a table at Mr. Waters’ restaurant, the Beauville down on Chouteau, and we best be getting along.”

  “All right. I’m ready.” Going to a restaurant with Mr. Dane didn’t feel like going out with a stranger.

  He glanced over her as she turned again to face him. As his lips twitched into a grin, he felt the carnal fit pass off. Her dainty feet in white stockings peeked out from beneath the hem of her simple dress.

  “It’s up to you, but do you really want to go barefoot?”

  She stared at him, puzzled, then glanced down. “Oh, my.”

  “I’ll wait outside.”

  When she came out, she was as neat as a window dummy. There could have been nothing more correct than her hair or more tidy than her clothing. It almost hurt his eyes to look at her.

  He left her standing in the lobby while he went to check the desk for letters. He hadn’t thought to stop before going up to see her. He’d just headed at once for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  The day clerk handed him three letters. Two went right into his pocket. The one from home he kept in his hands. “I’ve got a cab waiting,” he said, coming back to her.

  “Don’t mind me,” Edith said, glancing at the letter.

  “It’s all right. I know what’s in it.”

  He escorted her outside. As they went through the wide doorway, Edith glanced back into the lobby. Several people must have risen from their chairs the moment she and Mr. Dane had left. They stood together in a knot, the desk clerk raising the large access panel in the counter to get out and join them. As she peered at them as she walked away, she saw them staring back. One raised a hand, not in a wave but in a fist.

  Climbing into the cab, Edith debated mentioning the odd incident to Mr. Dane, sitting opposite her. But he had opened his letter and was apparently engrossed in it. Once in a while he chuckled.

  “Was it what you expected, Mr. Dane?”

  He glanced up, his eyes smiling, flecked with gold. “My girls like to write to me. But as both of them are a little shaky in that department, I get to help them. And, of course, to get in here before I leave for home, they’ve got to mail it before I leave home. So it’s always what I expected, but never just the same as I remember it.”

  Glancing down, he read the end again, grinned and shook his head in wonder. He folded the page and stuck it in his pocket. Foolishly, Edith felt excluded, like a dog left out in the yard.

  After all, she scolded herself, staring unseeingly out the window at the passing city scene, his children were nothing to her. Mere names without substance, not vibrant little girls with interests and excitements she knew nothing about. She would meet them for a week, and no doubt they’d be scrupulously polite to her and then forget her the moment she boarded the train. That was how it should be. Edith ignored the way her hand had itched within its glove, itched with the longing to read those words of love and farewell.

  The restaurant was all fumed oak and brass. The saloon on the other side was open to the restaurant but shielded by an etched glass panel. Raucous laughter penetrated the dark interior as men ate a free lunch while drinking their five-cent beers. After Jeff and Edith sat down, a waiter approached, mustache well waxed, his round tray tucked under his arm.

  Jeff asked, “Should I order for you?”

  Edith nodded. “Please. I’ve only rarely eaten in a restaurant before.” Going to a restaurant with a stranger, a thought that had scandalized her yesterday, seemed an unimportant detail today. She’d already drunk whiskey, sung in public, and accepted the charity of strangers. In short, she’d experienced more variety in twenty-four hours than in twenty-three years. What was a mere restaurant after all that?

  After he’d given their order, Jeff faced Edith, his elbows on the square table. His dark eyes studied her. “What did you do after your aunt died?”

  “I went on with the service. Hardly anyone noticed that the torch had been passed on.”

  Sitting up more correctly in her chair, Edith concentrated on his questions. He hadn’t really
interviewed her before and she was sure he wanted to check her credentials. After all, she was coming to stay in his house with his two no-doubt impressionable young daughters.

  “You really enjoy your work.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Now explain here. Say I write you a letter, telling you what kind of girl I’m looking for.”

  “Go on and tell me,” Edith said, satisfied. Two could interview each other at the same time. She wanted to know more about his “choices” and more about him. Though certain now he was no white slaver, she still wanted to be sure everything was aboveboard. Telling herself it was part of the job lessened her shame when she realized that all she really wanted was to hear him go on talking.

  That, and the steak spluttering on the grill. Edith kept swallowing to prevent the overflow from the juices that filled her mouth every time she thought of that steak. How long had it been? Six months? A year? Turning many a hard-boiled egg into a pheasant supper with her imagination was a simple matter, since she had no idea what pheasant actually tasted like. It might very well be egg-like. But once having supped on reality, no imaginary wizardry could turn any lesser food into a beefsteak.

  “What do I want in a wife?” He tipped back his chair and studied the ceiling. “I’d like her to be kind of sassy. A little spark keeps a man’s interest. Young is good, but not too young. I don’t want her to be some featherbrain. And she should have some experience with children. Mrs. Green would be good for that. She has two boys—fine strapping cubs both.”

  “Mrs. Green being . . . ?”

  “She’s one of the three ladies—you know—back in Richey. Her husband was a good friend of mine. Asked me to keep an eye on her and his boys.”

  “And you have done so!” She knew without being told that he’d been the soul of charity.

  “I’ve done my best.”

  “And the other two?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He rubbed his left eyebrow vigorously. “Look, can’t this wait until we get there? Names aren’t going to tell you anything.”

  Edith smiled enigmatically. “Please continue. The more I know about each lady the easier I shall find it to be fair.”

  “Okay,” he answered, shrugging his big shoulders in his pale jacket. “Miss Climson has never had a man to call, never called on a man, and has never once been chased into the berry bushes during the Founder’s Day picnic. She’s the school teacher.”

  “Ah, that would explain it. She had to adjust the tableaux that follow the parade. At least, that is what my teacher always did, and there were lots of men waiting in those rose bushes behind the school.”

  “And then there is Miss . . .” He glanced at Edith. Had she just made a joke?

  “Wait! What about Miss Climson?”

  “I told you everything.”

  “No, you haven’t,” she protested, leaning forward to catch every word. “How old is she? What does she look like? How does she dress? What are her dreams, her hopes? What does she see herself doing in five years’ time?”

  “Good heavens, I didn’t know that much about my wife!”

  “Were you happily married?” She hadn’t meant to ask that. The words just slipped out.

  “Yes. We were very happy. For a while, after she died, I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again.”

  “How long ago . . . ?”

  “Three years. She never recovered her strength after Maribel was born. Gwen just kept getting weaker and weaker. Dr. Samson never could tell me why.” He gazed off at nothing and seemed to be speaking more to himself than to her. “For a while there, I lived on black coffee and grief. I hated to go to sleep, ‘cause I’d always find her in my dreams. Pa took care of that, in his own way.”

  He smiled at her, his eyes coming back to the present. “He poured a slug of laudanum into my coffee and I dropped where I stood. Slept for three days and got a heck of a talking-to when I woke up. He reminded me that my girls needed me. I still remember him saying that life won’t let people get in the grave with their dead. It keeps tugging at you, making you live, forcing you along until you give in.”

  Edith felt the message Mr. Dane was trying to convey. Obviously, he thought she’d buried herself with her aunt. Edith had to admit the justice of his judgment. How long had it been since she’d had a rational conversation with another person? Dream people didn’t count, although she’d enjoyed talking to them. Perhaps she’d enjoyed it too much. The kings, queens and harem girls had become more real to her than any living person.

  “You said your father lives with you?”

  “Good ol’ Dad. You’ll like him. Miss Parker. But don’t believe half of the stories he tells. He didn’t really save General Grant’s life, or lead the charge at Gettysburg. He was shot by a woman while scavenging meat for his troop.”

  “For which side did he fight in the late war?”

  Jeff scratched his head, giving a slow grin. “That’s not real clear. Sometimes he says it’s one, and then the next thing you know it’s the other. I remember him going off in a blue uniform, that’s all I can tell you.”

  He glanced up. “Here comes our food. Now, you tuck into that, Miss Parker. You still look kind of peaky.”

  Though the steak smelled delightful as it spluttered next to the white mounds of potato, the flavor was gamy and the texture tough. Edith’s jaw ached after the first bite. Nevertheless, she nodded her approval when Jeff asked her how she liked it.

  “Well, you’re wrong, Miss Parker. This is no good.”

  He raised his hand to summon the waiter. “Lookee here, son. You go and tell the cook to put these steaks back under his shoes. What’s the matter with ‘em? Well, I’ll tell you. I respect old age too much to want to eat it for lunch. And this young lady was looking forward to something a sight tastier than this old boot.”

  The waiter blustered a little and then said, “I’ll get Mr. Waters for you, sir.”

  “Good, you do that.”

  Edith whispered, “It’s all right, Mr. Dane. I don’t mind. There’s no need to make a fuss.”

  “Never you mind, Miss Parker. It’s an insult to serve meat like this to a God-fearing cattleman.”

  But when Mr. Waters, a florid gentleman with a stomach his watch chain almost failed to span, came over, Jeff stood up, his grin spreading. Shaking hands, he said, “Here I am again, Jack. And ready to prove my point.”

  “You don’t give up easily, Jeff. I respect that in a man. What’s the trouble?”

  “Sit down and take a bite, man.”

  His cheeks abloom with confidence, Mr. Waters did as Jeff asked. Like Edith, he soon began chewing more and more slowly, each grind of his teeth a greater effort. He fought to swallow his bite. “So all right, that particular steak is a mite . . . stiff. But I’m sure . . .”

  “You want to try the young lady’s?”

  “As they came from the same side of beef . . . But you get the occasional tough cow from the wholesaler. Could happen to anyone.”

  “And your cook takes the tougher stuff and gets a kickback from the supplier, or charges you for the prime stuff and puts the difference in his own pocket,”

  “That happens too.”

  Some vulgar shouting echoed from the saloon, words no gentleman would utter. Mr. Waters glanced at Edith, a frown drawing down his heavy brows. “Beg your pardon, miss. Gotta take care of that one of these days.”

  “Look, Jack,” Jeff said in a reasonable tone. “You want to attract a better class of customer, right? You want the society ladies to eat here, and to bring along their high-rolling husbands. You want the businessmen, the big boys, to make their deals here and drop the cash they carry around.”

  “Sure, that’s what every restaurateur wants.”

  “So stop serving meat that the customer needs to cut with a hacksaw. This cow’s been driven from Texas, losing weight and fat with every step. He’s lean, so lean that all the flavor’s gone, ‘cause all he’s had to eat is scrub.”

  “True.”<
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  “Now take one of my beefs. He’s been living on lush Missouri grass for two years, never having to walk further than the stream running through the bottom of the field. Then for the last six months of his life, he lives like a prince on the finest grains and corn. He’s fat, Jack, fat and contented.”

  “I kinda envy him,” Jack said, his broad hand resting on his stomach. Edith nodded in agreement.

  Jeff went on, “Then he takes a little ride on a train. The track’s laid, you know. Then he’s put down humanely at my brother-in-law’s place at the St. Louis stockyards. Harlan also takes care of the aging, and he’ll see you get what you pay for.”

  “That’ll make a change, all right.”

  Jeff put his hand on Mr. Waters’ shoulder and gave him a searching glance. “And when you serve your customers,” he said, “they’ll get a steak so juicy, so tasty, you know they’ve got to come back for more. ‘Specially as every other restaurant in town’s still serving Texas beef.”

  “All right ... all right.” Mr. Waters pushed himself up from the table. “You’ve sold me. But I want exclusive rights in St. Louis. Let’s say, for a year. By that time, either I’ll have the best place in the city, or be bankrupt. And dang me, if I don’t close down the bar!”

  The two men shook hands again. Mr. Waters nodded to Edith before returning to his office. Jeff sat down. “Sorry about that,” he said, shaking out his napkin. “Shouldn’t deal in front of a lady.”

  “Don’t apologize. I was fascinated. Is that why you came to St. Louis?”

  “I’ve had this idea for a while. But I’ve been stymied by the greed of men like Waters who want to hang on to a dollar.

  Longhorns are big critters, cheap to raise, and so cheaper to buy. On the other hand, that Texas beef is usually as bad as can be. That’s why you’ve got to stew so many cuts of meat to make it eatable. Either that or see a dentist regular.”

  The waiter came back, carrying two new platters. “Here you are,” he said, laying them down. “You should have told me you were friends of the boss.”

  In a very few minutes, Edith laid down her knife and fork. Sitting back in her chair with a soft sigh, she smiled dreamily at Jeff. ‘That was wonderful.”