Texas Twilight

by Caroline Fyffe

  John helped Lily with her chair as Dustin did the same for Harriett. After thanking Dustin again the three went up the stairs and then, at their room, Lily produced the key from her bag and put it into the lock.

  “May I talk to you for a moment?” John waited until Harriett went inside after kissing him on the cheek.

  “Of course.” She followed him back a few steps to the balcony railing that overlooked the lobby.

  “What happened at the bank today? I know you didn’t tell the whole story this afternoon.”

  “Mr. Shellston is…an arrogant, cold-hearted man. He has let the building out to someone else because he can get more money for it.”

  “But, you said he’s finding you another shop?”

  “I am ashamed to admit that I lied to keep Tante Harriet from worrying. He is not finding another building for us and he is not refunding the year’s rent that my aunt sent to Mr. Bartlett. He said he had never received any funds and he was in no way going to return money to us.”

  “So. What now?”

  She shrugged. “I am not sure. I do not know exactly how much money my aunt has, except that it is not much. She keeps it from me so I will not worry. But, I am worried. Somehow I need to find a new building and discover a treasure chest full of money at the end of a rainbow. Nothing impossible, mind you.” Her hands were placed on her hips and her expression resolute.

  John racked his brain for a solution. “I wish I knew more people around here. There has to be somewhere you can use at least until I get that banker to return your money.”

  “I do not wish to keep involving you with my problems. You have done so much already. And for hearing me out tonight. A problem shared is half the problem solved.”

  “Come on,” he said, turning and going over to her door. “Get some rest tonight and tomorrow things will look brighter. And I’ll also see what can be done with this matter.”

  “Be sure to look after yourself.” She gestured to his wound. “I think you are busy doing for others. Do not forget to do for yourself.”

  He waited till she closed the door, then descended the stairs and went out into the dark street.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A candle flickered on the nightstand as Lily went directly to the screen in the corner of the room and slipped behind it. Her emotions were too close to the surface to let her aunt, who was already in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin, notice her distress.

  Reaching behind her back, she unclasped the row of hooks and eyes holding the green muslin fabric of her best dress together, and let it fall away, feeling the cool air glide across her warm skin. She lifted the garment, which she’d made herself, over her head and hung it on a peg on the wall next to Tante Harriett’s gown. Taking the wide-mouth pitcher from the wooden shelf, she poured water into her basin.

  Gooseflesh raised up on Lily as she stood, barefoot in her pantaloons and chemise, and washed her face and neck with a clean cotton rag dipped in the cool water. After rinsing the cloth, she went about washing her arms. Stripping off her underclothes, she finished up the rest before donning a long sleeping gown. Lastly, she brushed her teeth and quickly braded her hair, not caring if she missed a strand or two.

  She peeked around the screen. She didn’t want to talk tonight. She didn’t have any answers for the questions her aunt might ask. Thankfully, Tante Harriett had rolled to her side and seemed to be sleeping soundly.

  Lily went to the open window and sat in the chair, thinking. Dinner tonight had been special. She had enjoyed John’s company very much. And, if she were honest, Dustin’s too. Would Emmeline really come from Boston to a town like Rio Wells? John believed she would. Feeling a bit melancholy, she sighed. A breeze wafted down off the mountains that rimmed Rio Wells from the north, cooling her skin and making the lanterns that stretched across the street sway gently.

  A shot rang out. The piano music stopped abruptly and the double doors of the saloon swung open and smacked against the walls with a bang. Two men ran out, darted into the alley between the buildings and disappeared into the night.

  Harriett sat up in bed. “What was that?” she asked, frightened. “Lily? Lily, dear, are you there?”

  Lily ran to the bed and sat down. “I’m here. I’m here. Don’t be scared.”

  Tante reached for her spectacles on the bedside table and put them on with trembling hands. She then took Lily’s hands into her own. “Did you hear something, Lily?”

  “Yes. Something happened next door in the saloon.”

  “Was it a gunshot?”

  “That’s what it sounded like. But, maybe the cowboys are just having some fun.” I will never get used to America. Dime novel stories are a far cry from the grisly reality of dead bodies riding in a stagecoach.

  “Oh.” Tante Harriett blinked several times and looked around the darkened room. She lay back onto her pillow and smiled up at Lily. “I’ll be so happy to move out of here, Lily. Think about it. Our own home again. It will be good to get settled and set up the shop. Don’t you agree?”

  Lily, still holding onto the older woman’s hand, patted it softly. “Of course. It will be just as we planned. Soon all the ladies of Rio Wells will be coming to us for their clothing needs.”

  “I haven’t seen too many ladies, Lily.” Anxiety was back in her tone.

  “No worries tonight. They are just hiding away, out of the hot Texas sun. Once we set up shop they will be flocking to see our newest creations.”

  Tante Harriett nodded. Her eyes shown with tenderness before slowly drifting closed. “You’re such an angel, dear. I don’t know what I would do without your pretty smile,” she mumbled.

  After a moment, Lily removed her aunt’s spectacles and set them back on the tabletop. Tomorrow she would find a building come heck or high water. She had to. They needed a safe place where gunshots and piano music didn’t disturb. Rio Wells was wilder than anything she’d ever read about, and she’d only been here for one day. She circled the big bed and climbed in on the other side. Looking across the room to the open window, she knew it would be hours before sleep would come.

  Finished checking on Candy and her mother, John was just about to climb the stairs when a gunshot shattered the stillness. He crossed the room in three strides and opened the door, stepping cautiously out onto the front boardwalk. He couldn’t tell from which direction the sound had come, but he looked up and down the street for anything suspicious. Dry Street was quiet, except for a black cat that jumped from a barrel to the shed roof of the mercantile next door. Antsy from his first night in town, he decided to take a short walk down to the livery and check on his horse. The breeze blew in from the north, bringing with it a feeling of rebirth.

  When he arrived in the livery the animals were dozing with their heads hanging over the stall doors. Several chickens nesting in the hay clucked nervously as he approached, pulling their heads from under their wings and blinking their sleepy eyes in his direction.

  “You’re out late tonight, John.” Cradle, the owner of the livery came in through the back doors of the barn, pulling his suspenders up over each shoulder.

  He seemed like a genuine sort with the way he handled John’s horse with gentleness and affection. He must have noticed him walking past and into the front doors of the livery from his residence on the second floor.

  “Heard a gunshot earlier and thought to take a look around,” John said. “This town always this noisy?”

  Cradle lowered his hefty body onto a sawhorse and stuck a clean piece of straw between his teeth. The moon’s light shining through the loft opening gave John ample luminosity to see him.

  “You know, I just have a feeling. A niggle deep down in my gut,” the smithy said. “Seems like I’ve seen a few strange faces these past two days. More than I should.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not the usual newcomers arriving on the stage like you and Miss Anthony. I’m talking about the kind of man you don’t want to run into in an alley at nig
ht.” Cradle got up and went over to the hay he kept in the corner, giving each expectant horse a handful. He stopped at the last stall and ran his hand down the animal’s neck.

  “You’ve met Lily Anthony and her aunt, then?”

  “No. No, I haven’t. But news travels fast when a young, single woman comes to town. Especially one as pretty as she’s reported to be.”

  John pushed away from the wall and went and looked out at the corrals where a few horses dozed. He turned back. “How’d you come by the name Cradle anyway? Don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

  Even in the moonlight John could see Cradle’s face take on a wistful expression. “I guess my pa had a sense of humor. I was a big baby when I was born. Gave my ma a horrible time, almost killed her. Right from the get go I was bigger than the cradle my pa had built. He started calling me that over the protests of my ma and it just stuck. Real name is Herman.”

  “Cradle,” a man said, walking into the barn.

  “Sheriff.”

  John swung around to see a tall man walking his way. So this was the sheriff, Dexter Dane. John had stopped at the sheriff’s office today as it was right across the alley from his back door. He’d met the deputy, Pete Miller, but the sheriff had been out. John stepped forward. “I’m Dr. John McCutcheon, sheriff. “ He put out his hand.

  Sheriff Dane took it into his own. “I heard of your arrival but haven’t had a chance to drop in. I went out to the Wells Fargo swing station today to get a statement from Chester about the three passengers and two employees who were killed. I’ll want to get your statement too, in the next day or two.”

  The sheriff was an older man, probably his father’s age. He was tall and thin with a pitted face. He must have been in a fight sometime in the past because several of his front teeth were missing.

  “Well,” John said. “I need to get back to my patient. You know where to find me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The smell of coffee drew John out of his sleep. He stretched, relieving all the tensions that had been building in his body for the past week, then laid back, staring at the ceiling of his new, tiny room. After a moment, he found a match and lit the lantern by his bed. Checking his pocket watch, he found it was almost five o’clock.

  He pulled on his pants and a shirt and descended the stairs to find Tucker in the kitchen, reading the paper with a hot cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

  “Morning.” John ran his fingers through his hair as he looked around the quiet kitchen. “You’re an early riser.”

  “Reckon so.”

  John motioned to the examination room with a nod and asked, “They awake yet?”

  “Haven’t heard a peep.”

  John glanced around the kitchen.

  “Bottom shelf of the cupboard.”

  John went to the back of the kitchen and retrieved a cup. He filled it with dark, fragrant liquid. The first sip burned all the way down, just the way he liked it. At the table he pushed some of the clutter to the side and sat down. “You like doctoring?”

  Tucker looked up. He nodded and reached for his cup. “Yup. I do.”

  The row of books in the other room caught John’s eye. “Read any of Bixby’s medical books?”

  The boy straightened, as if surprised John was interested in him. “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  John sipped his coffee then asked, “Really. Which ones?”

  “Robley Dunglison’s Practice of Medicine.”

  “Mmm, that one is good.”

  “Elements of Surgery, by Robert Liston and Samuel Gross. Really liked that. It has a lot of good illustrations.”

  John was impressed. Those two books were hard reading and took attention and determination to get through. Only someone who really loved the subject would be able to complete them. “Any others?”

  Tucker’s cheeks deepened in color. Then, as if he’d decided to trust John, added, “Midwifery Book, by Thomas Ewell.”

  “I’m very impressed, Tucker. Good for you.” Should he encourage the boy toward medical school or would that road only lead to frustration? He didn’t know. His handicap was somewhat limiting, but sometimes a determined spirit could find ways of getting around almost anything. “I have some others I brought with me. Remind me later to show them to you.”

  The morning flew by as the two doctors and Tucker prepared the patient to go home. A buckboard for transport was rented and Martha was all smiles with the quick recovery her daughter was making. Dr. Bixby insisted on going and taking Tucker along with him, to help get the child settled in.

  The moment the buckboard rolled out of sight, John headed to the telegraph office. It took twenty frustrating minutes to learn that the lines had been down for a few days and the only way to communicate was with a letter.

  John realized in his present frame of mind he should probably eat before he went looking for the banker. It might improve his mood. Although he doubted it. The bank was just across the street and he’d like to resolve Lily and Harriett’s problem as soon as possible.

  The teller that he’d talked to yesterday stepped out on the boardwalk and lit a cigarette, taking a long draw. Their eyes met over the smoke as he exhaled. So much for having breakfast first.

  Stepping off the wooden planks, John made his way across the dusty street. The temperature was rising and a trickle of sweat slipped down the side of his face. The teller must have known by the look on John’s face that his break was over because he dabbed the top of the cigarette on the post, and put the rest into his shirt pocket.

  “Is Mr. Shellston in? I’d like a word with him.”

  “Yes he is. Let me go check if he will see you.”

  Who in the hell did this banker think he was? Grover Cleveland? No one should take themselves so seriously.

  In a moment the teller was back. “I’m sorry. He’s quite busy. Would you like to make an appointment?”

  Though John was the youngest male McCutcheon, he was known by all in Y Knot as the one with the hottest temper. Growing up, he’d gotten into trouble more times than he’d like to remember because of it, and he’d been marched out to the woodshed by his father, each and every time.

  “Absolutely,” he said in a pleasant tone. “I’d like to make an appointment for…” He flipped open his pocket watch to see the time was now eleven twenty-five. “Eleven twenty-six.”

  The teller backed off a step, peering at John to see if he was joking. “But…that’s in one minute?”

  “Exactly.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After the big night they had had the night before, it was no wonder Tante slept soundly past seven o’clock without any signs of waking. Lily snuck from the nice warm covers and peeked out into the hallway until one of the chamber maids came by. She requested some hot water and a tub sent up. In no rush to go out, Lily enjoyed bathing and washing her hair. The hotel even availed her at no extra charge a tiny bit of rose water for rinsing.

  Today she needed to “make opportunities” happen. That’s what her mother always said. People who sat around waiting for good fortune to find them never achieved anything of value. Something of worth was never gotten easily. If you depend on yourself, then you only have yourself to blame. She could go on and on remembering all the sayings. Her mother and father had been extremely hard workers, never wasting a moment of time or energy. She would be like that. She would make her opportunities happen.

  When Lily came around the screen fully dressed, she was shocked. She went to the side of the bed and gazed at Harriett. Stirrings of fear began in her mind. She bent close to her aunt’s face, checking to see if she was still breathing.

  “Tante,” she whispered, lowering herself to one knee so she could get closer. “Are you awake?” She rubbed her aunt’s shoulder, then gave it a soft shake. “Tante Harriett?”

  This had happened three other times since Lily had come to live with her aunt in Boston. Fear gripped her as she shook the small frame of her aunt with more force wit
h no result.

  Falling to her knees, she reached for her aunt’s satchel under the bed. She rummaged around, looking for the cylinder of smelling salts that her aunt usually had nearby for emergencies. Not finding it, she rifled deeper into the clutter, carefully setting aside the tiny derringer her aunt always carried, and the knitting needles that she had yet to use since departing Boston. As Lily was about to close the bag up, something new caught her eye. It was a little black lacquered box etched with flowers and a tiny pink butterfly. Lily opened it carefully, finding several little packs of paper containing a small amount of white powder. Confused, she slowly closed the lid and put it back where she’d found it next to a pair of black knitted stockings. As she pushed them to the side, she noticed that something appeared to be stuffed inside one.

  Lily sat back on her heels for a moment, thinking furiously. Slowly, she took the sock and reached inside. Her fingers closed around a wad of soft fabric. Instantly her heart quailed in trepidation. When she withdrew her hand and unwrapped the mysterious lavender cloth, a glimmering blue stone lay in the palm of her hand. It was the size of a buffalo nickel and had a little gold loop so it could be put on a chain. It looked incredibly expensive.

  Quickly, she re-wrapped it and stuck it back in the sock and replaced it in her aunt’s bag. She backed away from the bed, still staring at her aunt. She’d heard hushed stories about opium and laudanum before, but no one in her family’s history had ever suffered from any kind of dependence. Was the white powder medicinal? And where had the gem come from? Was it stolen? Was that the reason for their hasty departure?