The Sailor and The Shrew

by Laura Stapleton

  “Boys, come here for an announcement. We have a new stable hand to show around.” At the owner’s first few words, the three jumped into action, hurrying to where the four of them stood. “He’s Bert DuBoise from San Francisco. Treat him like a brother.”

  The tallest young man shook his head. With his hands in his pockets, he said, “Aw, heck, sir. I’m sure you want us to be nicer than that.”

  A smattering of chuckles swept the group as Bromley reached out as if to cuff him. “For the first couple of days, yes. Let him think you all are decent before he knows better.” He addressed Bert. “This wiseapple is Asa Wells. His brother, real one, is Clem. Last on the right is Sam Lawson.”

  “But not least.” Sam came up to Bert. “Good to meet you.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Clem shoved Sam out of the way to shake Bert’s hand, too. “He’s just glad you’re the new guy instead of him. Last man on duty is the first one with the shovel.”

  Bert laughed. He’d take moving manure here over any day spent gutting fish on the Black Heart. “Fair enough.”

  “Let him get settled in so he can start work first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Will do,” Asa replied. He examined Bert before saying. “We’ll find you something less fancy to work in. Sundays are taken pretty seriously around here. You’ll want to wear what you have on to services.”

  “I have a change of clothes packed.” Bert held up his bag before letting it fall again. “These duds are just for first impressions.”

  “You’ve made a fine one, son.” Reverend George beamed as Joan gave Bert a hug. “We’ll let you get started but, remember, we’re your advocates when you need us.”

  “Plus, you’ll need to attend church so we can see how well you’re doing,” Joan added.

  “Will do, ma’am, sir. Thank you both for helping me.” He glanced back at the other men before facing the couple once more. “I appreciate your support.”

  Joan gave him another hug before letting him go. “It’s always our pleasure to help youngsters find their way in life.”

  Reverend George nodded, putting an arm around his wife. “We should be going to let them sort out their work.”

  “I’ll see you out,” Bromley said as he made his way to the outside. “It’ll give us a chance to talk about other charities I’ve been interested in.”

  When the trio left, trepidation crept into the middle of Bert’s chest. Were these people as nice as they seemed? Only one way to find out. He asked Asa, “Do I have a place to stow this? Somewhere safe?”

  “You do.” He tilted his head up toward the loft. “I’ll show you. You can change out there.”

  Asa climbed up in a flash with Bert following. First Sam, then Clem trailed behind them as the two strolled along the catwalk to the rooms. Asa opened a door. “You probably haven’t seen a setup like this. I hadn’t, until coming here.”

  Bert peeked in before taking the hint of Asa’s gesture to go on in. The small room was simply furnished with a bed, skinny chest of drawers, a washbasin, pitcher, and a wooden chair. Nothing hung on the walls, but the quilt on the bed seemed cheery enough with its blues mixed with yellow accents. He liked the room. Best of all, he didn’t have to share a bunk with anyone else. At least, he didn’t think so. “Is this for me, or is someone sharing the room, too?”

  “You’re one of those sailors, aren’t you?” Clem asked.

  Bert nodded, wanting to get the discussion of why he was at the Bromley Hotel over with sooner rather than later. “I am. What of it?”

  “Nothing. We were just wondering,” Asa replied. “You don’t have to share. None of us does. We each get our own room, even me and Sam.”

  Sam snorted. “First time ever. All my life I’ve had to share with him. Bromley’s is the best place I’ve ever been, thanks to Asa.”

  Bert ignored the two trading arm punches between them. He focused on his new bedroom, instead. The area seemed a lot larger now that he knew it was his alone. “I don’t mind sharing when I have to, but am glad this is mine.” The scuffle had stopped with an “Ow!” Now, silence hung heavy in the air behind them. The trio waited for him to add anything more. Feeling their anticipation, he grinned. “Especially since I snore like a freight train.”

  Chuckles broke out among them as the tension dissipated. Clem playfully punched him on the arm. “You’ll get along just fine around here.”

  “Want to get a coffee before the evening rush?” Sam asked.

  Asa shrugged. “Might as well. Won’t get a chance once supper starts.”

  “What do you mean?” Bert asked, following the others to the ladder where they made their way to the ground.

  “People come in around evening time to roost for the night,” Sam said. “If we don’t grab something now, we won’t get a chance until tonight.”

  Clem grumbled, “We just need to brave The Shrew.”

  “Who?” Bert said, although he suspected who they meant.

  “He means Matilda,” Asa responded. “She’s not the kindest woman you’ll ever meet.”

  “Ah.” Bert waited until Sam went into the hotel’s hallway ahead of him before saying, “Yes, we’ve met.” He hesitated before adding, “She’s a bit unfriendly.”

  Asa winked at Bert before saying, “A shame, too, because her face is appealing enough.”

  “I like her hair. Her eyes, too.” Clem chimed in as they drew closer to the restaurant. “Still, she ain’t pretty enough to endure her lack of charm.”

  The dining area only had an older couple in the far corner reading their menus. The men sat at a table close to the kitchen. After Asa waved at Matilda, she favored them with an eye roll before walking to the coffeepot. Bert looked from the young man to the server. “I guess you all have a routine?”

  “Yeah.” Asa leaned back in his chair. “We always come in before the rush begins. She’s too busy to be just mean to us.”

  “Just mean?” Bert asked, grinning at the sheepish expressions of the younger men.

  Clem shrugged before peering over Asa’s shoulder to reply, “She’s not ornery. We don’t have to worry about salt in our coffee or sugar covered pickles.”

  Bert couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d had far worse on the Black Heart. Plus, he liked how innocent these boys seemed to be. Seemed being the key word because if they knew the Jones, they’d probably had stories as rough as his own, which left him to wonder about Matilda. He heard her talking in the back with a man he assumed was the cook. Pans clanged as their voices grew louder. He nudged Sam. “How long has she worked here?”

  “Longer than any of us. A year, maybe?” The clanging dimmed so Sam added, “She’s nice enough to the cooks back there, but we call her ‘Shrew’ for a reason. She’s even mean to the bellboys. I’d figure she’d be a lot more agreeable to them since those two are way posher than any of us. Everyone’s nice to them.” Sam ignored Asa’s signal to keep talking. Matilda approached them during the young man’s next words. “’Tilda ain’t worth a tinker’s dam.”

  Everyone but her gasped, but her frown deepened. Bert waited for the woman’s temper to explode. She set the coffees, then glasses of water on the table. Sam gave her a wan smile before saying, “Um, hello.”

  She didn’t reply, instead placing the drinks in front of each man. He cleared his throat, adding, “Thank you. Nice day we’re having, ain’t it?”

  She positioned the last glass of water in front of Bert. “My name is Matilda. Not Tilly, Tilda, or Mattie.” After pausing for a couple of seconds, she said to Bert, “You’d be better off making up your own mind instead of letting these hooligans tell you what to think about a woman. Grown men shouldn’t be hanging around, gossiping with boys, anyway.” She pivoted on her heel, skirt swirling, before marching into the kitchen.

  As soon as she left, laugher broke out among the others. Bert didn’t care. Her flashing eyes, pink cheeks, accented by her rosebud mouth had kept him distracted from her cranky words. Coaxing a smile from her seemed imposs
ible, yet he wanted to do nothing more than try to get into her good graces. He couldn’t help but grin. “Well, I guess she told me.”

  Asa put a hand on Bert’s shoulder. “Don’t feel special. She treats us all the same.”

  “Yeah, bad,” Sam added. “Real bad.”

  Chapter Three

  Matilda Macbeth scrubbed the last dirty table. The dining area was empty, the doors closed. Late evening was her favorite time of day. The Swan’s main room was so empty; the walls echoed any noises from her work. No one to keep her guard up against lingered nor did anyone come along to mess up her clean tables. She scooped up the rag before walking to the kitchen. The cook, aptly named Stew, had rushed through his own cleaning before starting his prep for tomorrow.

  She rinsed out her rag to hang over the bucket to dry until the morning. The night was hers now, not that there was much left to do but go to her room. Early mornings or late nights suited her just fine. She lowered the one lamp’s wick, leaving the kitchen for the night. The days were full enough of people. Evenings meant she could relax, blissfully alone.

  Once in the dining room, the double doors opened, stopping her. The new stable hand strolled in as if he owned the place. He noticed her standing there, watching him. When his face turned red, irritation mixed with shame filled her. She hated being so curt to the other workers. Yet, being nice to anyone just led to overfamiliarity, which led to trouble. She had plans for her life. None of them included being friends with anyone else, even if they were a tall, sandy-haired, somewhat easygoing man. Better to help him with whatever he thought he needed and then send him on his way.

  Matilda stepped up to the new guy. “Yes? The kitchen is already closed. The cook is gone, so you’re better off coming back when he’s here.”

  He nodded before staring up at the ceiling. “Good, because I don’t need anything except to apologize to you. You were right earlier.”

  His words took the angry winds from her sails. She exhaled, leaving all the arguments swirling in her mind unsaid. “What?”

  “I’m sorry.” The young man crossed his arms as if to guard himself against her refusal of his apology. “You’re right about my listening to others before forming my own opinion.” He reached a hand out to her with a grin. “My name’s Bert, by the way. Just in case you want to know who to cuss when I’m late to dinner or not stopping the boys from being rowdy.”

  Matilda smiled before catching herself. It wouldn’t do to break all of her rules just because some man with lovely green eyes said nice things. He smiled far too easily as well. She shook hands with him before hiding them in her apron. “I’m Matilda, as I think I said earlier.” The letter from earlier today crinkled under her fist in a pocket. The paper reminded her that she had her reasons for being aloof, especially now that she’d heard from Gloria about their former home. She didn’t even know Bert’s full name, yet her resolve weakened around him far too fast. “Also, thank you. I’m glad you’re a man who can see sense. Do you need anything from the kitchen before you leave?”

  His grin didn’t fade. “Nope. I reckon not. Just wanted to stop by before bed. I suppose I’ll see you later.”

  “Good night, then,” Matilda replied, resisting the urge to talk any more than necessary. She scooped up her cleaning rag to finish wiping the table. If he’d been a little surly like the other men, she might not have this odd feeling of being mistaken. Being friends might not be so bad. Except, “might” was a powerful word. No way was she going to trust a man, ending up like her momma. She shook her head, staring at the double doors he’d left through.

  In any other life, she’d like the tall man with kind eyes. Until he hired one of her friends or God-forbid, her mother for a romp. She glanced at the kitchen door. She needed to reread Gloria’s letter one more time before burning it since no one here needed to learn of her upbringing.

  “You about done?”

  She startled at Stew’s voice from the kitchen. Clearing her throat, she hollered back, “I am. One of the hands came in, distracting me.”

  As Matilda came back to the kitchen, Stew asked, “Oh? Everything all right?”

  “It’s fine.” Her face felt hot enough she didn’t want him to see her blush. “One of the older boys was a little mean today. The new guy took it upon himself to say sorry for all of them.”

  “That’s nice of him,” Stew said over his scrubbing the stove sounds.

  She focused on rinsing out the cleaning rag in the dishwater. “It is.”

  “But you were short with him?”

  Stew’s noises stopped. Matilda’s conscious stung a bit because the censure came through in his tone. She liked Dean, the other cook, just fine but Stew was her favorite. He had kind dark eyes, enjoyed his food a little too much, yet was always there if she needed help. If Matilda ever wanted an older brother, Stew would be her first pick. She bit her lip, realizing he waited for her reply. As difficult as it was to admit she’d been wrong, she said, “Maybe.” Taking a chance on him seeing her embarrassment, she snuck a peek over at him. He grinned with their gazes met, so she tried to be gruff. “Fine. I might not have given him a long thank you. So, I was polite, but not friendly.”

  Stew stopped cleaning long enough to toss his scrubber over at her. “Accepting an apology isn’t the same as accepting a marriage proposal.”

  She caught the rolled up rough cloth but just barely. “Land’s sakes, I hope not!” Dunking the scrubber, rinsing it in the cold water gave her a little bit of recovery time. “I barely know his first name, plus he didn’t owe me an apology as much as the others did.” She shook out the water from the rags, wringing them before laying them out on the counter. “They’re the ones who should say sorry or beg my forgiveness, not Bert.” She picked up the bucket of dirty water. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take care of this for you despite your lectures.”

  “Thank you, smarty.” He put on a worn over shirt. “Manners never hurt no one, not even you. We all gotta get along around here for the customers’ sakes.”

  “I know. Grouchy people mean grouchy guests.” She led the way out of the room before waiting as Stew locked up. “Mrs. Bromley should cross stitch the saying for the Mister’s office.”

  Stew snorted a laugh. “She should.” He tilted his head, giving her a nod. “Good night. See you in the morning.”

  “G’night.” Matilda headed toward the far edge of the property. She flung the water from the bucket over a bare patch of ground in an effort to encourage plant life. The earth soaked up the liquid almost before the last of the water hit the dirt. She shook her head. The wild beauty awed her with every sunset but the dryness beat anything she’d ever seen.

  Stew had been right. She needed to accept Bert’s apology sincerely. None of the others had ever been brave enough to take back some of the unkind things they’d said. Being mannerly with him didn’t need to lead into a friendship. She started for the stables, thinking all of them might be there so late in the evening.

  Unless… Matilda stared into her pocket. Her steps faltered. Unless, they had all gone somewhere like the saloon or the bordello. Every man she’d known growing up had been a customer of her mother’s. Visiting houses of ill repute were just what idle men did. She didn’t want to believe Bert could hire a woman to use, but then, she didn’t want to believe a lot of things.

  The bucket’s handle dug into her palm from her grip. Bert was probably gone but since she was out here, she might as well try to accept his apology with a little more grace. Especially if tomorrow, Stew mentioned her being curt with Bert. She might not have had the best upbringing, but she wasn’t a liar.

  Matilda went to the stable, peering inside the open door. Lanterns illuminated the interior. Bert stood with his back to her as he brushed a horse. His pale, mangled skin caught her eye as his hand rested against the animal’s darker neck. Bert was missing the upper half of his fingers. As he petted the horse’s coat with the injured hand, she shivered a little at the pain the accident must have
caused him.

  She didn’t know for sure, but after first meeting him with the Jones’, she imagined he’d been injured at sea. The Jones’ were well known for taking in shanghaied sailors. Bert had to be one of the rehabilitated men who’d found a new life here in Cheyenne. The dusty hay tickled her nose. She sneezed. “Oh, sorry.”

  He glanced back at her. “Bless you.” In the warm lantern light, his hair gave him a halo around his head.

  “Thank you. I didn’t mean to disturb your work.” Matilda took a couple of steps toward him. “I’d just caught the lights on in here.”

  “Yeah, the others bunked down already, but you’re wrong. This isn’t work. This is because I enjoy caring for horses.” He smiled before returning to brush the horse. “I enjoy being around most animals, really.”

  His left hand was at his side, no longer highlighted by its former position, but Matilda couldn’t keep from asking. “I noticed your injury. Does it still hurt?”

  He clenched his maimed hand into a fist before burying it in his pocket. “No.”

  “Oh.” She’d crossed an emotional line with him but didn’t know how to fix her mistake. “Well, good. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  When he looked at her again, he frowned. “Yeah? Are you done checking up on me? Don’t tell me you’re here needing to go somewhere this time of night.”

  “No. Not at all.” She took a few steps forward into the stable. His sharp movements as he worked betrayed his anger. She bit her lip, continuing, “I just wanted to talk about earlier, but if you’re busy, I suppose it could wait.”

  “All right. Let it wait, then.” He didn’t face her, keeping his hand concealed. “Makes no difference to me.”

  Matilda frowned. Was her gruffness equally as hurtful to others as his was to her? She needed to ponder the idea later, certainly. “I could wait, or I could say I accept your apology, then thank you for it.”