Ophelia

by Charlene Raddon

  The boy's eyes lit up. “Truly? You're gonna feed me?”

  “I sure am. If you're hungry, that is.”

  He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I reckon I could eat a bite or two.”

  Garnet chuckled and led him into the back.

  “Brody, that poor boy has no parents,” Ophelia said.

  “What makes you so sure of that?”

  “You saw him. No mother would let him go out like that and he's too skinny. I don't think he's eaten in days.”

  Garnet emerged from the kitchen with steaming dishes of food. “Here's your dinner, fresh off the stove.”

  “Thank you, Garnet.” Brody dug right in.

  Ophelia noticed the woman didn't leave right away and asked, “Is there something else, Garnet?”

  “Well, I'm wondering if that Safe Haven of yours takes in little boys?”

  Ophelia had never thought about taking in stray children but why not. They would have a baby there in a few months. There would be women there to mother them and kids could help around the place to earn their keep. She glanced at Brody.

  “Do what you think best,” he said.

  “When the boy is through eating, have him wait for us and we'll take him to the Haven.”

  Garnet grinned. “Thank you, Ophelia. I knew you would never turn your back on an orphan.”

  “Are you sure he's orphaned?”

  “Yes, he says his parents died when their wagon rolled over off an embankment. He has scratches and bruises all over him, so I figure it's true.”

  “We'll take care of him.”

  “Probably should take him to the marshal,” Brody said. “Aubrey will want to know where that wagon is and make sure the bodies are taken care of.”

  “You're right. The kid could be wrong too. His folks might be alive.” Garnet returned to the kitchen.

  Another couple came in and sat at a table across the room, nodding to Ophelia and Brody. Ophelia had seen them before but didn't know them.

  The moment Ophelia and Brody finished their meal and stood up Garnet came out with the boy. He'd been cleaned up and even had on a new shirt.

  Ophelia knelt in front of him. “Hello. I understand you need somewhere to live. Would you like to come with us, and we'll take you to a nice house where some women will take care of you?”

  “I'd be mighty grateful, ma'am.”

  “Good. Now, do you really have a dog?”

  “Yes, ma'am. Can he come too?”

  Ophelia looked at Brody who shrugged.

  “I'll tell you what, bring him along and we'll see what the ladies at Safe Haven say about it. You'll have to take care of him, though. Feed him and keep him clean.”

  “I been doing that for weeks, ma'am, ever since my folks died.”

  “Very well, then. What's your name?”

  He straightened and lifted his chin as if proud of who he was. “Calder McPherson.”

  “I'm glad to meet you, Calder. My name is Mrs. Crane, and this is Mr. Duvall.”

  Calder nodded at Brody. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “You let me know if you need anything those women can't provide,” Brody said. “All right?”

  The boy smiled. “Yes sir.”

  Ophelia took his hand. “Let's go, shall we?”

  Thanking Garnet, the three left together, walking to the jail, the dog trotting along behind them. Aubrey talked to the boy for a quarter of an hour. When Brody, Ophelia and Calder reached the Haven, they found Ruby packing her things.

  “You have another job?” Ophelia asked her.

  “Not yet, but I will.” Ruby sneered at Calder. “Who's the brat?”

  “This is Calder McPherson. He's alone in the world so we brought him to Safe Haven.” Ophelia smiled brightly for the boy's sake, while giving each of the ladies an intense stare designed to let them know what she wanted from them. “I know you will all welcome him and watch over him.”

  “Hello, little man.” Pearl leaned over and shook his hand, smiling. “I'm Pearl. You need anything, you let me know.”

  He stared up at her. “I ain't never seen a nig—”

  “Calder!” Brody growled. “That is not an acceptable word. You will apologize to Pearl for calling her that.”

  The bright hopeful look fled from the boy's face, replaced by one of horror. Moisture gathered in his eyes. “I didn't mean nothing. Nobody told me before that… that word was a bad one. I'm sorry, Miss Pearl. I'm really, really sorry.”

  Tears dripped down his cheeks. Pearl gave him a smile. “I forgive you, Calder. Ain't too often I see a man with the guts to apologize when he's wrong. I think you and me'll get along just fine.”

  “I'd like that,” he said.

  Lavinia came forward. “Welcome to Safe Haven, Calder. I'll help take good care of you. See, I'm alone too.”

  As she spoke, she looked up at Ophelia and Brody, her expression telling them she meant what she'd said.

  Emerald and Amethyst greeted Calder, and Ophelia released a tense breath, relieved that they'd done the right thing, bringing him here.

  Outside, a dog barked.

  Pearl walked over to the window. “Reckon it ain't just little boys who wanta live here. I think that dog wants in.”

  “That's my dog, Mikey,” said. “Can I let him in?”

  “Why, sure, you can.” Pearl glanced at Ophelia as if for approval.

  “It's all right as long as no one has any objection.”

  “Now, I'm gladder than ever that I'm leaving,” Ruby groused and left the room.

  Pearl made a face at the girl's back causing Calder to laugh. “She don't count,” Pearl said. “She's moving out.”

  She let Mikey in, and the girls immediately decided he needed a bath. “You too, Calder,” Pearl said. “I'll start some water heatin' up. Henri left a bit ago to take the last of his things to the hotel.”

  Grinning at the way the women were taking over with the boy, Ophelia kissed him on the forehead, one of the cleaner spots on his face. “I'm glad Henri is getting moved in. We'll be leaving now, but we'll come back often to visit and see how you're doing.”

  “You don't live here?” he asked.

  “No, we live across the street at the big hotel. You can come and see us there any time, all right?”

  He appeared disappointed but Pearl put a hand on his shoulder. “He'll be fine right here, won't you, Calder.”

  He smiled up at her. “I think so. I like you.”

  “Well, I like you too, so we're even. Come on, now. We'll go pick out a room for you and get you cleaned up. You got any clothes besides what you're wearing?”

  “No, ma'am.”

  Pearl frowned.

  “Take him to the mercantile after his bath,” Brody said. “Tell Mr. Tweedie to put whatever he needs on the hotel's tab. If he requires anything else in the future, let us know.”

  “We'll do that. Say thank you to Mr. Duvall, Calder.”

  “Thank you, sir. I'm real glad you brought me here.”

  “You're welcome. We'll see you soon.”

  Pearl led him from the room and Ophelia and Brody took their leave.

  “I was truly worried whether that would work out,” Ophelia said as they crossed to the hotel's back door.

  “So was I. Let's just hope no problems crop up.”

  Chapter Tweleve

  Mortimer rode hard, hoping to reach Wildcat Ridge before the town closed for the night. If the blasted train had been running, he'd have traveled that way, but it wasn't running today. Midnight had come and gone by the time he rode up to the stable behind the Gentlemen Only Salon. After taking care of his horse, he walked around the salon to the hotel's rear door. Angry to be so late, he yanked on the handle so hard he ripped a fingernail half off. Hopping around and sucking on the throbbing finger, he cursed a blue streak.

  Why in thunder was the door locked? Must be Ophelia's doing, the witch.

  When the pain eased, he walked around to the alley beside the hotel to use the priv
ate door that led to his suite.

  “What the hell?” Several boards had been nailed across the door. This, for sure, was Ophelia's work. She must be mad at him to do this.

  He stomped all the way around the building to the front entrance. At least, this door opened for him. The bell rang, but he quickly reached up and stopped it. He didn't want his wife to know he was there until he was ready.

  Where would she be? His suite, most likely. Taking the steps two at a time, he ascended the stairs and marched down the hall to his private quarters. A sign on the door read Private: Servant's Quarters.

  The witch had hired servants and given them his rooms? Damn her. She was begging for a beating, stupid woman.

  He stalked up and down the corridors wondering which door she might be behind, until he realized he was wasting time. Exhaustion had dulled his thinking. He returned downstairs and tried the door off the kitchen that led to the rooms for the cook, housekeeper and manager. Again, locked, his keys useless.

  If he broke the manager's door down, would he find Deuce sleeping inside? The idea of murdering the man in his sleep truly tempted him, yet he decided against it. Mortimer wanted the bastard to look him in the eyes as he died.

  What he needed was sleep. He'd think more clearly in the morning. Crossing the alley, he walked to the Gentlemen Only Salon. Just like his men had said, the old sign no longer hung over the entrance. Why had Ophelia taken it down? Now, instead, a sign in the shape of a lock and key read Safe Haven, Refuge for Women in Need.

  Refuge for women? What nonsense was this? He spat at the ground, climbed the steps and tried the door. Locked.

  Was there no place in this confounded town open to him? A town he owned. This had to be his wife's doing. No one else would have the nerve. It surprised him to realize she did. She'd pay for her impertinence; he'd see to that.

  Maybe he needed a drink to help his tired brain work better. He started for the stable and the bottle in his saddlebag, then remembered the one place no one would dare to lock him out of, unless his wife had shut it down as well. What would she turn it into, a playground for brats? He'd soon find out. Mounting his horse, he rode to his saloon at the other end of town. He could get a drink here and might gain some more information about the situation as well.

  As he'd expected, the door swung inward at his touch and he stepped inside. His barman, Rube, stood behind the counter. Two men stood at the bar, and three more sat with the dealer at the faro table.

  “Mr. Crane,” Rube called out. “Welcome back. Been a long time since we've seen you in here.”

  He strolled over to the unoccupied end of the bar. “'Lo, Rube. What's new?”

  “Not much.” The barman poured him a drink. “Heard your wife's in town and that she might be staying.”

  “We'll see about that,” Mortimer muttered, picking up his glass. He studied the men at the faro table. “You know a man called Arkansas, Rube?”

  “Naw. Someone you're looking for?”

  “He works for me, but I haven't seen hide nor tail of him lately.”

  Rube refilled Mortimer's glass, not the rotgut served to most men, but the good stuff reserved for the boss. “Heard somebody ambushed the manager at your hotel and he fired back. Marshal hunted for the shooter but all he found were hoof tracks and a few drops of blood.”

  Mortimer pursed his lips. That wasn't good news. Arkansas might be lying dead or dying in the woods somewhere. “Tell me about this manager of mine. I haven't met him. Had a lawyer hire him for me.”

  “Names Duvall. Good looking sort, the kind women go for.” Rube picked up a glass and polished it with a cloth. “Some folks think he's wooing your wife.”

  “That's what I heard too. Give me a bottle.”

  Rube set the whiskey on the counter. “Figured something important brought you to town, your visits being pretty rare these days.”

  One of the other men at the bar signaled for a refill and Rube went to tend to business. When he came back, Mortimer asked, “Anyone using that room in the back?”

  “No. Don't have any girls here now.”

  “Good. I'm going to catch me a nap back there.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Tired, Mortimer made himself at home in the room where waitresses could make extra money entertaining customers—when they had a waitress. He lay on the bed pondering ways to deal with Ophelia and Deuce Duvall, until sleep overcame him.

  “Have you been over to see Calder today?” Brody asked as he joined Ophelia at the check-in desk where she was standing in for Angie while the woman went to the mercantile for supplies the next morning. Every day when he first saw Ophelia, Brody felt as if he'd been starved for a glimpse of her. Today, she wore a lavender silk dress with her golden hair piled in curls atop her head. And, as she usually did, she gave him a big welcoming smile.

  When he reached her side, she went up on her toes to kiss his cheek. She seemed to be making a habit of greeting him that way, which he enjoyed.

  “Yes,” she said. “He seems to be adjusting very well, and the girls are crazy about him. They were arguing over who would fix his oatmeal.”

  Brody shook his head, amusement in his voice as he said, “I'm glad to hear that. I wasn't worried about them accepting him, but it's good to know you were right.”

  “You're always right and you know it,” she chided.

  “Am I?” Doubt shadowed his eyes. “I was wrong when I decided to leave you alone after I learned you'd married Mortimer. I should have fought for you.”

  “What good would that have done? I didn't know then how rotten he was, so I wouldn't have left him. I believe in loyalty.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “I'm counting on that. For my sake.”

  She kissed him again, this time on the lips. “I'll always be faithful to you, Brody.”

  Nuzzling his mouth into her sweet-smelling hair, he murmured, “And I to you, love.”

  At the click of a six-gun behind them, they broke apart and whirled toward the back door.

  Mortimer stood not ten feet away. “My, what a tender picture the two of you make. I should have known you'd show up sometime, Deuce. Bad pennies always do.”

  “He's not the one who's a bad penny, Mortimer,” Ophelia said, moving in front of Brody. “Of all the rotten, low down, cheating, lying mongrels, you outshine them all.”

  Irked that she felt she should protect him, Brody took hold of her and set her aside. “If it's me you're bent on venting your anger on, Mort, let's go outside.”

  “Oh, I intend to punish you. Both of you. When I'm ready. Where are my children, Ophelia? Are they here?”

  “No, they're not. Dom is at seminary in Pittsburgh and Eliza is with her husband in Salt Lake City.”

  Mortimer blinked. “Eliza's married? She's only a child.”

  “She's seventeen. Two years older than I was when I married you, fool that I was.”

  “A fool, huh? I treated you like a queen, gave you everything. You've lived high off the hog, thanks to me.” Spit seeped out the side of Mortimer's mouth. A red flush covered his face. He looked ready to explode. “I suppose you did nothing to disabuse our son of the insane notion of becoming a preacher?”

  “No. Why should I have? It was what he wanted to do.”

  Mortimer muttered vile curses and swept his arm across the table, sending dishes, glassware and papers flying.

  Brody's one thought was to get the man away from Ophelia. And Marzda. The girl would be down any minute. He must protect her too. “Come on, Mort. Let's….”

  Marshal Bowles and Owen Vaile appeared in the doorway. Brody let out a breath of relief and allowed himself to relax slightly.

  “Mortimer,” Owen said, “I thought I saw you riding down the hill late last night. You've saved me a trip to Cranesville.”

  Mortimer turned toward them. “What do you want with me? Haven't you caused me enough trouble?”

  Owen grimaced, though his eyes twinkled, exposing his true feelings. He step
ped forward and held out a large envelope. “I guess not. Here, I have something for you.”

  “I don't want anything from you, Vaile.”

  “Take it anyway,” the marshal said.

  Glowering at them both, Mortimer took the envelope, opened it and scanned the contents. He whirled toward Ophelia. “Divorce papers? You're divorcing me? After all I've done for you?”

  “You rescued me from a whorehouse, Mort, and for that I will always be grateful. You provided me with two children and a beautiful home, and you were good to me…at first. But in the last ten years all you've given me is infidelity and lies. Why wouldn't I want a divorce?”

  “Fine, you ungrateful witch,” he snarled. “I'll give you a divorce, but you won't get a penny from me. You're on your own from now on; which reminds me, what the devil do you think you're doing, changing the name of my hotel and locking me out of my own businesses?”

  He whirled toward the marshal. “Can't you arrest her for defacing my property? She has no right to change the names or the locks. This hotel and the Gentlemen Only Salon belong to me. I want you to lock her up in jail immediately.”

  “It's not your property, Mortimer.” Ophelia smiled. “It's mine. You gave it to me, the hotel, the Gentlemen Only Salon, Wildcat Ridge, all of it…mine.”

  “The devil I did!” he ranted. “I built this town. It's belongs to me.”

  Owen walked over to stand beside her. “I'm afraid she's right. Don't you remember back five years ago when you were being sued for causing the death of one of your miners at your mine in Nevada?”

  Mortimer's eyes widened. His face paled.

  “You signed everything you owned—'all your properties in the Uinta Mountains of Utah Territory'—over to Ophelia. Not very wise, Mortimer. You see, that means she also owns Cranesville and the Gold King II.”

  His eyes widened. “N-no. She's my wife. W-what she owns, I own.” The fear in his eyes turned to anger. A bit of his color returned, and he gave a macabre grin. “She doesn't have anything.”

  “You should have hired a better lawyer when you drew those papers up,” Owen said. “He neglected to tell you that the law changes when you sign property over to your wife. It takes the property out of your control. You owe Ophelia for every dime you've taken from the Uinta Mountains.”