Mountain Angel

by Patricia McAllister

  “If it’s true, don’t you think you should warn her?”

  Rachel shrugged again. “Mother’s a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions, however foolish. I don’t care to follow in her footsteps and be forever lecturing everyone else about propriety and appearances. For heaven’s sake, Angel, I was nearly an old maid because of her. She chased all my suitors off before they could screw up the courage to approach me.”

  Rachel smiled at the memory, then said, “Neal is the first man she’s taken a liking to, though she despairs over his ‘humble calling’ and lack of ambition. Actually, I think I would like it if she were taken down a peg or two.”

  Rachel looked smug, and Angel wisely refrained from comment, thinking to herself poor Mrs. Maxwell had no idea of the revolution brewing right there beneath her own roof.

  TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, Angel was shopping in the Oro General Store, busily absorbed in comparing an emerald-green bolt of muslin with a practical gray wool. She had already decided on yard goods for Rachel’s present, including several lengths of lace and dress collars, which she had already embroidered for her friend. She’d also purchased a bag of peppermints and horehound candy to titillate Rachel’s sweet tooth, and a small bottle of lavender water.

  For Neal, she had chosen a pair of simple cuff links and plain white handkerchiefs. And for Holt, though the effort would surely be wasted, Angel had sewn shirts of heavy winter flannel, in both red and green. Neal could take the presents back to Holt when he went back up the mountain, she supposed. But she would never see the expression on Holt’s face when he opened her gifts.

  With a nod to herself, Angel decided on the green cloth. Rachel needed something spring-like to cheer her up, and the color would complement her. For too long she had worn the grays and browns dictated by Prudence Maxwell. Rachel was only a mouse because she let her mother dress her like one. It was time she showed her pretty skin and eyes to advantage, Angel thought. This beautiful material was perfect.

  Feeling elated herself at the thought of Rachel’s impending delight, Angel moved to lift the bolt and carry it to the front of the store. She first caught a whiff of attar of roses. Then she felt the nudge of an elbow and whirled around to look into a pair of twinkling green eyes.

  “Lily.” Angel spoke without thinking, forgetting everything but the woman leaning across the bolts of fabric.

  “Hello, chick. Making yourself a new dress?”

  Angel shook her head. “It’s for Rachel.” She was surprised to see nobody else in the store was minding their exchange. But then, it was crowded before Christmas as everyone anxiously sought gifts for loved ones. Nobody paid attention to two young women apparently comparing cloth in low voices. Too, Lily was dressed more conservatively than usual, in a dark green gown buttoned all the way up to her neck. Her red hair was drawn back in a sleek chignon, emphasizing her classic cheekbones.

  Angel felt unaccountably dowdy, though she knew her blue merino walking suit was one of the smartest she owned and brought her own blond hair to vibrant life. There was no comparing herself to Lily, she thought. No wonder Holt wasn’t apologetic about continuing his old association.

  In her musical lilt, Lily mused, “I’d have thought to find you and Holt all snuggled up in this foul weather. Don’t tell me he booted you out of bed to go Christmas shopping.”

  Angel fought the blush threatening to steal over her cheeks. Really, the woman was entirely too brazen.

  She said coolly, “Holt is up at the mine. He won’t be down for the holidays.”

  “Oh?” Lily’s green eyes widened. She looked as if she would ask something else, then apparently thought better of it. “Well, chick, it was nice to see you again.” She briefly pressed a gloved hand down on Angel’s. “You have a Merry Christmas, now.”

  The words were as insincere as Lily’s smile, Angel thought. But she nodded politely and, clutching her bolt of fabric like a drowning woman, hurried into line to escape the knowing eyes of Holt’s “old friend.”

  GLASS SHATTERED EXPLOSIVELY, LEAVING a dark trail of liquor down the velvet-flocked walls. Red Garrett was in an ugly mood. Nobody watching the sheriff in the saloon dared dispute it, as another shot glass prepared to meet its end.

  “That’s enough, Red.”

  Lily’s silky voice rang out with enough authority to cause the man’s aim to waver. He spun around, eyeing her with narrowed, bloodshot eyes.

  “No whore tells me what to do.”

  To her credit, Lily didn’t flinch. “In my place, with my liquor, I’ll damn well tell you what to do,” she retorted.

  The others watching let out a collective sigh of relief as Lily strode forward in her low-cut silver gown and pried the glass from Garrett’s clutched fist. Setting it down with a thud on the nearby bar, she said, “Now, Sheriff, I’ve heard of starting off the holidays with a bang, but this surely takes the cake. What’s the problem?”

  Red snorted, but the fight went out of him as he faced the singer. Her steady gaze offered understanding, which was something he wasn’t accustomed to.

  “Aw, hell, Lil. Justine done threw me out again. On Christmas Eve, no less, right in front of my own kin.”

  “What happened this time?”

  Red rubbed his bristly jaw. “She found out somehow ’bout the little sweetie I keep over to Clear Creek. Tina weren’t amused.”

  “No, I imagine not,” Lily said, imagining his poker-faced wife’s reaction to her husband’s public infidelity. Of course, Red had been stepping out on Justine for years and everyone in Oro knew it, but everyone was also wise enough to look the other way — or, in Lily’s case, keep her mouth shut.

  The sheriff looked closer to defeat than ever she had seen him. Why, the old coot was crying, Lily thought with surprise. Seems he actually loved the viper he’d married.

  “Now, Red,” she said in her most sympathetic tone, companionably slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders and steering him toward the stairs, “there’s nothing so bad a little tumble can’t cure. Why, my Celia’s been asking about you. You haven’t favored her in a mighty long time, you know.”

  Red immediately stopped sniffling, evidencing the true depth of his emotions. “Ya don’t say, Lil? Where’s the little sweetie now?”

  Lily smiled, patting his arm. “All tucked away upstairs, waiting for you. I declare, Red, you must of spoiled Celia for other men. She won’t have a thing to do with any of those old cowpokes anymore, just you.”

  Red gave Lily’s waist a squeeze of thanks, then released her and began his uneven ascent up the stairs. She watched long enough to make sure he wouldn’t fall back down them, then motioned for Joe to send a pint of her “special” up to Celia’s room.

  When Garrett was in a melancholy mood he was at his most dangerous. He was also inclined to talk a lot. With her special brew, and the help of the warm and understanding young woman upstairs, Lily was certain she could get the necessary information on the sheriff’s latest activities and turn a nice profit at the same time.

  A TAP CAME AT Lily’s stage door at close to midnight. Distracted, she called out, “Come in,” as she fussed with the neckline of her hostess gown. Lily was changing costumes after her performance, preparing to move out and mingle with the customers. She was in a reasonably good mood. Her bawdy rendition of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” had resulted in a standing ovation. Her only regret was having to spend the holidays alone.

  Lily’s dressing-room door opened and a young woman slipped in. She was wearing a nearly sheer white wrapper and her dark hair was tangled wildly around her shoulders. She was trembling so badly she couldn’t speak at first.

  “Celia.” Lily rushed to the girl, anxiously searching for bruises. “Did that jackass hurt you?”

  Wordlessly, the girl shook her head, grabbing the hand offered her and gripping it until she could find her breath. “Mr. Murphy,” she gasped.

  Lily felt a chill grip her at the name. She felt like shaking Celia but, realizing i
t wouldn’t help in the slightest, she gritted her teeth and tried persuasion instead. “Did Red talk, Celia? Was it about Holt?”

  Celia nodded shakily. With a soft oath, Lily released the girl and grabbed a nearby bottle of gin and a shot glass. Filling it rapidly, she shoved it at the girl.

  “Here. This’ll loosen your tongue, honey.”

  Celia held the glass and looked at Lily uncertainly. “B-but we’re not supposed to d-drink on the j-job …” she stammered.

  Lily was starting to worry this could take all night. “I’ll make an exception this time, Celia,” she said, urging the young woman to down it all in one gulp. Celia complied, and a minute passed as she choked and gasped and stamped her feet.

  Lily pounded her on the back, then demanded, “What marked card has Red got up his sleeve for Holt now?”

  “Ambush,” Celia wheezed, then caught her breath and said, “Sheriff said his men are gonna jump Holt up on the mountain. Everyone knows Holt isn’t leaving the mine for the holidays. They figure it’s the best time to bump him off once and for all. He’ll be outnumbered …”

  Lily cursed soundly and crossed the room to retrieve her hooded cloak and gloves. “Damn fool,” she raged, and Celia wondered if Lily referred to the sheriff or Holt.

  As Lily shrugged on her outerwear and exchanged her satin shoes for riding boots, she asked briskly, “Did you drug Red like I told you?”

  Celia nodded. “He’s snorin’ like an ol’ billy goat.”

  “Good. Make sure he stays down. Hopefully when he doesn’t show up later, Red’s boys will be a little too cold and confused to carry out his orders tonight.” Lily smiled as she opened a closet and pulled out a heavy, sawed-off shotgun.

  Celia’s eyes bulged. “Lordy.”

  “Now, Celia, you know I don’t tolerate using the Lord’s name in vain,” Lily scolded her. “If you have to cuss, girl, there’s plenty better language than that. Now get back upstairs and make double sure our good sheriff is indisposed for the night. If you have to, tie him down. Poor old Red likely won’t remember anything in the morning, and you can tell him things got a wee bit rambunctious, understand?”

  The younger woman nodded, then bit her lower lip. “Miz Valentine, you gonna hold off all those bad men on your own?”

  Lily laughed huskily. “‘Course not, Celia. But there’s an old saying that half the advantage in a fight is the advantage of surprise. I want to find out if it’s true.”

  “Oh, Lordy — I mean, gracious, Miz Lily, be careful, won’t you?”

  Celia, like all the girls at Valentine’s, liked Lily immensely. She was firm but fair with them, and more of a mother than most of them had known.

  Lily smiled kindly at the worried young girl. “Of course I’ll be careful, chick. Now get upstairs and back under those covers. You don’t want to catch a chill before Christmas, do you?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  IN THE WEE HOURS of Christmas dawn, Angel hugged her happy little secret to herself. She would never forget the shock and uncertainty roiling through her the day before, but in the meantime she came to accept and even rejoice over the news.

  She chuckled at the thought of telling Rachel when her friend awoke, but then she didn’t want to overshadow everyone else’s Christmas. Besides, Rachel had avoided her since she thought Angel had the stomach flu, and it might prove a feat to convince both her and Mrs. Maxwell the illness she had wasn’t at all the contagious type, and would likely lessen in a couple months, anyway.

  Those were the doctor’s words, near as Angel recalled, though it was hard to remember much of anything past the initial announcement.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Murphy, you’re going to be a mother.”

  A mother, a mother … the phrase rang over and over in Angel’s mind now, ominous and exciting, echoed faintly by the prophetic words Okoka had spoken over a month ago. Nine moons, she had said. Now less than eight moons to go.

  Why did Angel ever suppose she could sleep? With laughter she rolled over and lit the kerosene lamp beside the bed. The warm orange glow soon filled the guest room, and she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Then she tentatively touched her stomach again. It was still deceptively flat, but soon it would blossom with life. The life of hers and Holt’s child.

  Humming softly, Angel threw back the covers and found her robe and slippers. She was ravenously hungry and could already detect the aroma of cooking downstairs. Mrs. Maxwell had hired a cook for the holidays, at a dear price, no doubt, but she was determined to impress her new beau, Mr. Brindle, when he arrived for the noonday meal.

  As she dressed in a ruffled white blouse and a festive red wool skirt, Angel glanced over the neatly wrapped packages she had hidden in her portmanteau. Everything was in order, including a last-minute gift for Mrs. Maxwell and her male guest. She imagined Prudence’s appreciation of the gold-stamped Bible Preacher Murphy had autographed, and no matter his own religious background, Angel suspected the bottle of rare sherry would be appreciated by Mrs. Maxwell’s gentleman friend.

  Angel especially enjoyed choosing a present for Rachel’s feisty Aunt Clara. The mercantile kept a goodly supply of tonics and liquid remedies, and she’d chosen several that would no doubt come in handy whenever Clara felt “puny,” as the old woman was wont to say.

  Giddy with excitement, Angel finished dressing and slipped down the hall to knock on Rachel’s door. Her friend was still abed but awake, and regarded Angel warily when she started to come close.

  “Goodness, Angel, shouldn’t you be resting? The flu is nothing to toy with.”

  “Oh, Rachel, I’m simply bursting. I couldn’t wait any longer to share my news. I wanted to tell Holt first, but since he isn’t coming down for Christmas … I had to tell someone.”

  Rachel looked alarmed. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

  Angel shook her head, a merry smile teasing her lips as she sat down in a wooden rocker beside Rachel’s bed. “No, I daresay I’ll be staying as long as the Territory will have me. I’m going to have a baby, Rachel.”

  “A …” Comprehension widened her friend’s hazel eyes. Rachel flung back the covers and squealed with glee. “Truly? Oh, you goose. You had us all so worried. What with Mother fretting you were seriously ill, and all the guests coming … why, it’s wonderful news, Angel. I can’t wait to tell everyone.”

  Angel shook her head. “Not a peep, Rachel. Not until Holt knows first. He’ll be furious if he finds out from someone else.”

  Her friend pouted. “Can’t I tell Neal?”

  “Especially not him. With those two working so closely together now, it’s bound to slip out if you do. No, my news will have to wait until Holt comes down the mountain. Maybe he’ll come for New Year’s.”

  “Well, I should hope so. If he stays away much longer, there won’t be any secret left,” Rachel said cheekily, with an envious glance at her friend’s stomach. Then she frowned. “Oh, but what will we tell Mother? She’ll keep you in bed all day.”

  “Let me handle her,” Angel said with far more confidence than she felt. “I don’t look sick, do I?”

  Rachel peered at her closely in the poor light. “Well, you’re awfully flushed, but it’s to be expected with all the excitement. Maybe if we go downstairs together I can distract her. She’s in a terrible state over Mr. Brindle coming. She thinks he’s going to propose today.”

  Angel smiled with genuine pleasure. “How wonderful.”

  “Yes, it is. He certainly keeps Mother occupied. Do you know she didn’t say a word about the brooch Neal gave me? Normally she’d refuse to let me accept anything from a young man.”

  “Well, you two are engaged now,” Angel reasoned.

  “That doesn’t stop Mother from trying to orchestrate everything,” Rachel said wryly. Then she glanced at the ormolu clock on her bed stand. “Heavens. It’s after seven. I’ve got to get dressed. Which dress should I wear, Angel? My brown calico or my gray muslin?”

  Angel considered the two choices poor a
t best, but happily thought Rachel would soon have new, prettier yardage and could make a new dress.

  “The gray, I think,” she said at last. “It has a finer patina that will reflect the tinsel on the tree.”

  “Of course,” Rachel cried. “Whatever would I do without you, Angel? Will you help me dress my hair? I have a red velvet ribbon left over from wrapping my presents for everyone, and it would be the perfect touch.”

  As Rachel chattered on, Angel forced herself to be caught up in the excitement and magic of Christmas morning, deliberately ignoring the small well of loneliness deep in her soul, where those still waters reflected the face of Holt, so far away.

  RACHEL WAS RIGHT; MRS. Maxwell barely noticed Angel, except to say primly she hoped her home would not be turned into a hospital ward by the end of the day. As the hired cook presided over bubbling kettles and baked ham in the kitchen, Angel and Rachel volunteered to trim pies and set out a colorful array of preserves and relishes for the guests.

  Neal arrived first, bearing gifts and a bevy of hugs for all the women, along with a whispered apology to Angel for Holt’s absence.

  Her smile frozen in place, Angel nodded understanding although her heart plummeted to her toes. She knew Holt had said he couldn’t come, but she had foolishly hoped he would change his mind.

  Before noon a number of widowed ladies from the church congregation arrived, and some single older men Prudence considered respectable enough to grace her table.

  It was obvious she intended to play matchmaker during the holidays, and wanted to force her own happy fate on everyone else. Angel wondered if poor Mr. Brindle had any notion of what was in store for him.

  According to Rachel, he had just moved to Oro, and already he was to be subjected to the terrifying combined scrutiny of the townsfolk. Well, Angel decided philosophically, she had survived the initiation herself, so this would merely be a test of Mr. Brindle’s mettle.