There was no breeze, not a leaf stirred in the trees as the sun crept up over the distant mountains. Where was she now? What was she doing? Thinking of him? Not likely, even though she had claimed to love him.
Was it such a terrible thing she had done he suddenly wondered? Alone and obviously desperate Maryanne was equally culpable for becoming a Mail Order Bride when she was in love with another man. All the strange things about Merry were clear now. She was running away from something terrible. And it must have been bad for her to contemplate taking such a drastic step. The whole situation was one unholy mess. He couldn’t understand why he was torturing himself like this.
Arriving at the brickworks, he reported into the office to sign in. He wouldn’t mind working in here out of the elements. The middle-age woman sitting there, like God presiding over judgement day, was related to the owner’s wife. Hard faced and snappy he had never known her to smile. A typical, bitter, dried up old spinster, left on the shelf and hating it, and making everyone else suffer because of it.
Only a week ago she had sent an older man back to the pit after the foreman had realized he was sick. Another man she had sent to the furnaces that fired the bricks, had dropped dead after only a few hours in the searing heat. She had purposely sent him there, knowing full well it was the worst place in the brickworks.
He unbuckled his gun belt and handed it to her to put in one of the rows of wooden boxes in the office. Men from the outlying ranches like him always wore their guns. The company had a strict no firearms policy, reasonable enough in the volatile environment here.
“Thank you.” He hated even looking at the woman, let alone speaking to her, but dared not fall foul of her. One of the other men on his first day here had warned him not to antagonize her. She could make a man’s life a misery if she took a dislike to him.
If she wielded such power, he wondered why she was doing a lowly job like this. Walter Johnson soon set him straight. She could and sometimes did, alter the times a man signed on or off on his card so his pay would be docked.
He didn’t try to ingratiate himself with her, on the other hand, he was careful not to aggravate her. Wicked old biddy.
He collected a pick and a shovel and set off. The yawning hole where he worked was about fifteen feet deep. The men had to clamber down ladders to get there, then dig out the clay and fill wooden trolleys hitched together like the carriages on a train. A small engine then pulled them through a cutting where, well, he wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but they were eventually turned into bricks. The driver of the little steam engine sure had it good.
“They still haven’t caught those prison escapees,” Walter Johnson said as they readied themselves to climb down the ladder into the pit, as everyone called it.
“I’m sure they’ll be caught eventually, probably miles away from Laramie by now,” Nate said. “How’s the cough going?”
“Not so good.”
Nate went first and Walter followed him. By the time Walter got down into the pit, he coughed so hard it left him struggling for breath. He shouldn’t be working in these harsh, dusty conditions. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man didn’t have consumption after being held in the Confederate prisoner of war camp at Andersonville.
If the old biddy in the office ever found out, it would probably mean instant dismissal. Walter needed this job as he had a wife and large family to support that’s why he helped him to fill his trolley each day.
It was back breaking toil doing his own work, but when he felt obliged to shovel clay into Walter’s trolley when the supervisor wasn’t looking, so he could meet his quota, it made things a hundred times harder. A couple of the other men used to throw in a few shovelfuls now and again to help as well. They were ex-army, too, so it was probably a matter of one soldier helping a fellow soldier.
It wasn’t fair, a man gives up his health for his country and ends up working in a place like this. The injustice of it all burned through him. At least it took his mind off his own problems.
As he toiled in the hot sun, perspiration poured from his body. There were barrels of water set out at intervals, so at least he could have an occasional drink, but stopping work too often meant his quota mightn’t be met.
At the twenty-minute luncheon break, Nate opened his tin of beans using his knife and ate off the blade as well. He sat with a couple of other men, under an overhang of rock, a deadly endeavor if it happened to fall, although worth the risk to get out of the blazing sun.
Walter wolfed down a couple of pieces of bread with nothing on them. What a way to live. He hoped he never got into such a pathetic state. He wouldn’t if he could just get ahead with his payments to the bank.
“Seems strange, a rancher working here,” Walter said.
“I need the money to pay back the bank.”
“I thought you said you got one of those free Government land grants?”
“I did, but I bought the property next door and that’s what I’m trying to pay off by working here.”
“I was brought up on a ranch,” Walter said. “Wife was too. If it wasn’t for the war and our families losing everything, I wouldn’t be working here. If you ever get prosperous enough to hire men for your ranch, keep me in mind.”
“Yeah, I will. Do you live in Laramie?”
“At the settlement near the cemetery. Do you know it?”
“There?” Nate knew exactly what the settlement was, a cluster of tumbledown houses where the desperately poor lived, eking out a miserable existence. Most people kept away from the place it was so shocking. He had heard about a few of the church ladies delivering food to the women and children. Walter, his wife and their large brood lived there. He couldn’t suppress a shudder.
By the end of his shift, Nate felt worn out, but poor Walter barely had the strength to clamber up the ladder. At least he didn’t have to walk home, as one of the other men and his son, who always drove a beat-up old buckboard, used to pick him up outside the cemetery on their way to work, then drop him off on their way home. They used to help Walter fill his trolley too. It couldn’t go on, Nate didn’t know much about how the brickworks ran, but knew that the day would soon come when Walter couldn’t work down in the pit. He needed fresh, clean air to breathe, not the fetid dust that clogged a man’s mouth, his eyes and his ears, and clung to his clothing.
If he could afford it, he would give Walter a job, let him live in Eddie’s old place, which was a hundred percent better than where he lived now, but much and all as he wanted to, he couldn’t.
After they had signed out, the men went their separate ways. Nate collected his guns, and wearily made his way to where his horse was kept. At least the company let men like him leave their horses in a shaded paddock with water on it. They treat the horses better than us he thought as he mounted and prepared to ride away.
He waved to Walter as he passed the dilapidated buckboard drawn by a nondescript horse who was not far off being crow-bait.
Would he go to the diner first? Of course, he couldn’t, he would have to wash up a bit as he was filthy. Steve at the livery would let him have water to wash in when he picked up the buckboard. What if Merry hadn’t left it there? Had taken it? She might be a liar, but was she also a thief? He didn’t think she was, but how could he know after the way she duped him?
The pain of betrayal was like acid eating into his gut. He had to stop thinking about her. What they had shared. It was gone. Finished. She had lied, while he had said such vile things to her, once he had calmed down, he couldn’t believe such vicious words had fallen from his mouth.
Given time he might be able to forgive her, although she certainly wouldn’t forgive him. No woman would after the way he had spoken and acted.
At the livery, he was surprised to find Steve wasn’t there. He’ll be back in about an hour, the snowy haired boy told him.
He had never seen the kid before. “Oh, do you think he would mind if I washed up here?”
“No, he won’t care
. What do ya want to see him for?”
“My buckboard was left here a couple of days ago. I’ve come to pick it up.”
“I dunno nuthin’ about it.” The boy scratched his head. “Ya have to ask Steve.”
“All right, thanks.” What a nuisance. He was hoping to pick up the buckboard, pay Steve and head straight home after he finished eating. Now he would have to call back here and waste more time.
He washed his face and hands in a bucket of water and dried them on a grubby piece of towel, dusted down his clothes and headed for the diner, and a fat juicy beef steak with all the trimmings. For once he would be extravagant. He sure deserved a treat after the last few days, even though he begrudged paying out the money. If the bakery was still open, he could buy a loaf of bread to have for breakfast in the morning and to take to work for his lunch.
A young waitress met him at the door. By the way she wrinkled her nose at him she wasn’t impressed with his appearance. “I’m sorry if I appear dusty and disheveled, I’ve just come from work.”
“Nate! What are you doing here? I heard you got hitched.”
“I did.” He grimaced at Evie, the middle-age owner. “It didn’t work out.”
“What a shame. Nate’s okay, let him in, I’ll look after him.” She waved the girl aside.
“What will you have?”
“I’ll have a beef steak with all the trimmings.”
Evie raised her eyebrows.
“After the week I’ve had, I deserve a treat.”
“And you’ll get one. I’ll give you a piece of apple pie as well, on the house.”
“It’s kind of you, but I you don’t have to.” Evie and her husband had owned the diner from before he came here. They were a nice couple. He wondered whether the waitress was one of their daughters the rude little minx.
Evie directed him to a table at the side of the open door, away from everyone else. Suited him, he hadn’t liked the denigrating looks cast his way by a couple of other well-dressed diners.
The steak, when it arrived, hot and sizzling, made his mouth water. There was fried potato, corn, carrots and greens. Not to mention a small jug of rich, aromatic gravy. He didn’t know what Evie put in it, but it certainly smelt inviting. He tucked in with enjoyment. How much nicer it would be if Merry was sharing it with him. Stop thinking about her, he ordered with himself. Their marriage was over and done with. He was tempted to find the preacher and ask him if it was legal. He would have to contact Millicent Crenshaw and tell her things hadn’t worked out. No point going into detail and letting her know what a fool he’d been. A man had his pride, after all.
Once he finished the steak, Evie went away and returned with a slab of apple pie and topped up his coffee.
“Thanks, the steak was delicious.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.”
“I’ll pay you now, then if you’re busy when I want to leave I can. I’ve got a few things to do before I head home.” He handed over the money. “I can pay for the pie.”
“No, I told you, Nate, it’s on the house. You look exhausted, what have you been doing to yourself?”
“I got a job at the brickworks.”
“You did what?”
“Yeah, I borrowed from the bank to buy Eddie’s place, so I want to get ahead on my repayments, and working there for a few months will do it.”
“It’s not worth killing yourself over.”
He shrugged. Another customer caught her attention and she hurried off. The crust on the apple pie almost melted in his mouth. After he had finished eating, he stood, waved to Evie and walked out.
At the livery Steve was back. “Howdy, Nate.”
“Howdy. What do I owe you for looking after my horse and buckboard?”
Steve gave him a puzzled stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your buckboard isn’t here. Never was.”
“What!” Nate rocked back on his heels with shock. “After all she’s done to me, she goes and steals my buckboard as well.”
“What are you talking about? Who stole your buckboard? Your new wife?”
“Yeah, we had a disagreement and she took off on me.”
Nate was so enraged he didn’t know how he could speak without screaming. He had married not only a liar, but a thief as well. Right, I’ll fix her.
“Thanks, I might go over and see the Marshal, see what he can suggest,” he told the livery owner.
Fuming, he strode off. By the time he got to the Marshal’s office rage almost consumed him. Merry had tricked him, lied to him and now stolen from him. What more could that woman do to him?
The Marshal listened as Nate told him about Merry taking the buckboard.
“You want to press charges?”
“Well, no, I just want my buckboard and horse back.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for it, it’s the best I can do. I’m stretched for resources now because of those escaped prisoners.”
“So, you haven’t caught them.”
“No.”
“They’re probably over the border by now. Anyway, do what you can about my buckboard, I’ll give you a description.”
“No need, I know your buckboard. Who could forget the yellow paint on the back of it?”
“It was like that when I bought it, and I never got time to get rid of it.”
“Yeah, well, you be careful riding home now it’s getting dark. I don’t think those escapees would still be hanging around Laramie, but you never know. They’re murderers, desperate men with nothing to lose.”
“Thanks, I’ll be careful.” He strode off into the gathering dusk, mounted his horse and headed for home, and an hour or two of chores waiting to be done.
****
Three days later, Nate arrived home to see his buckboard sitting in the back yard, none the worse for wear, and the horse grazing in the home pasture. Thank goodness for that. The Marshal had left a note for him.
The buckboard was found abandoned just out of Dearmont. My bet is your wife caught the stage from there.
Sounded reasonable. It would be cheaper to catch the stage at Dearmont to get to Raeburn, rather than take it direct from Laramie. He didn’t know how much money she had, but it wouldn’t have been much, he remembered her telling him that.
At least he knew she was safe, and on her way back to where she came from. He was bitterly disappointed his marriage had ended this way, and so mad he could bite himself for falling for her charms. No matter how angry and upset he’d been, he never wanted any real harm to befall her.
***
The next day at work Nate learned the escapees had been killed in a shoot-out with a posse in some obscure place he had never heard of. Thank goodness only the escapees had been killed, although apparently one deputy had been slightly wounded. A good result all round. Now people could go about their normal business and feel safe again.
Not him though. His life would never be the same. Why did he keep resurrecting what had happened? Replaying it over and over in his mind. It was finished. All he could do now was try to get on with his life and make the best of a bad situation.
Chapter Twelve
A week passed, Merry wouldn’t have known except Aggie mentioned it. For once she wasn’t in agony. The pain in her ribs had subsided to a dull ache, her vision wasn’t blurry either. She put up her hand and gingerly felt around her eyes, at least they were open now, still swollen though. What a sight she must be. Aggie had said she was black and blue all over. She could sit up now and stand with help but was so weak her knees threatened to buckle with every step she took.
Aggie’s pungent odor didn’t come from being dirty, it came from the skins she wore and the grease she daily rubbed into her face, arms and legs. She slept on the ground next to Merry and had tended her with great devotion.
I can’t stay here much longer, eating her food and disrupting her strange lifestyle. It wouldn’t be fair.
The sun was shining, the sky a cloudless blue as she stumbled over to the fire, con
tinuously burning in a rough stone fireplace. She was convinced Aggie had Indian blood, and at the very least, at some stage in her life, must have stayed with them as she could virtually live off the land.
If it hadn’t been for this old woman, she would have died from the injuries for certain. At least one rib was broken, probably more from the vicious kicking. It was pure luck her nose hadn’t been broken or splattered all over her face by Zeke’s hard fists.
At least she could see out of her eyes now. Her face had been lacerated too, even though there was no mirror to look in. Her salty tears of pain had stunk her cheeks. She must be in a shocking state. Even Aggie said so.
“You be looking real bad,” she had kept on saying.
Where was she? There was no sign of life around the soddy, birds chirped in the trees, otherwise silence reigned as she fearfully glanced around. Zeke had not only beaten her physically he had bashed out any courage she might once have had. She was now needy and scared, something she had never been before.
Finally, she saw Aggie break out from behind the trees. If you didn’t know this place existed, it would be impossible to find it if the fire went out and there was no guiding trail of smoke drifting skyward.
“I thought I’d get up.”
“That be good.”
“I need to regain my strength I can’t keep living off you like this.”
“I caught a jack-rabbit for our supper.”
“I didn’t hear any gunshots.”
Aggie gave a cackle. “Bow and arrow.”
“Are you part Indian?” This was the opening she had been waiting for.
“My mother was Sioux Indian. I don’t know who my father was. She was captured by a group of trappers and shared around.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. She didn’t mind, had plenty to eat and they never beat her. Looked after me, too.” She shrugged her bony shoulders. “Have some more of this.” Aggie mixed up a bowl of oatmeal or Merry thought that’s what it was, and insisted she eat it. After a few mouthfuls her strength was sapped, and she was glad to be helped back to bed.
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