***
“Did all the girls get home safely?” Millie asked as Adam walked in the door after his evening walks around town.
“Yes, the women are all home. You worry about those six more now than when they were grade-school age,” Adam answered as he hung his hat and jacket by the back door. His gun belt stayed on him until he retired upstairs for the night. Just in case... But luckily, Adam hadn't had any cause for a firearm in a few years. Well, that was because Kaitlyn used her peashooter on the last man who needed capture.
“I just don't want anything to happen to our nieces or their friends,” Millie gave her excuse.
“Our nieces are ranch-raised, Helen's girls have been taught how to take care of themselves, and Reuben Shepard would shoot anyone who touched a hair on Amelia's head,” Adam countered back.
“Helen's girls? Aren't they women too?” Millie smiled up at her husband to tease him.
“Oh, you know what I mean,” Adam huffed as he walked into the kitchen for his final cup of coffee for the night.
“Got any cake to go with the coffee?”
“Of course, you know I do.”
Millie had been known for her baked goods since she arrived in town nearly twenty-years ago. Wedding cakes were now her specialty, and she was itching to bake six wedding cakes in the near future.
They sat down across the table from each other as was their evening ritual now that their children, Ben and Beth, were almost grown. Each had a cup of coffee, and a slice of cake or pie, and discussed their day.
“What did you think of the pairing of our nieces at noon today?” Millie asked as she sliced off the first forkful of her burnt sugar cake. She always brought this cake to potluck dinners because everyone raved about it.
“Maisie's the type that's going to be the boss of the family, and it won't be with Barton, the oldest Miller,” Adam said after a sip of coffee.
“Molly?” Millie asked because Adam was a good judge of character.
“If she doesn't go back to the ranch, Molly needs to be with whoever takes over the livery. That girl needs to be around horses to be happy,” Adam answered with his mouthful of cake and frosting.
“Maggie?”
Adam sat back, swallowed his cake, and stared at Millie for a long moment.
“That's a tough call. She needs a passel of kids to take care of. Her future husband better be able to finance a large family.”
Millie worried the most about Maggie. When Maggie was about seventeen, she confided to Millie that she'd like to work with an agency to find homes for orphans. But eight years later, she was still taking care of her sisters instead.
“I’m just glad our Beth is only thirteen and not part of your crazy scheme,” Adam shook his head with relief.
Millie coughed in her hand to cover her laugh because their daughter was starting to like boys. Adam would be patrolling the streets hunting down her admirers sooner than later. Watching the courtship rites of his three nieces will get him ready for their daughter’s future suitors because Millie guessed it could be complicated before she made their wedding cakes.
Chapter 4
Sweat trickled down Peter’s forehead, burning his eyes with the salty wetness. This was not how he planned to spend his days in Clear Creek.
It was a cool fall day, but the heat from the forge made him sweat. How hot would the fire make the blacksmith shop on a hot summer day?
Peter had worn his oldest trousers and shirt, knowing they would be dirty and sooty by the end of the day. He hadn't planned on burn holes though—not only through his clothing but on his skin too.
“You hit the metal too hard this time. See how the horseshoe is twisted instead of flat?” Kiowa told him as he inspected Peter's work.
“It's not the right shape either,” Elof Lundahl, the area farrier, added. Kiowa had made Elof’s horseshoes for him.
Both men spent the morning with Peter, showing him how to build a fire in the forge and work with the tools and metal. And they kept demonstrating the same techniques over and over to him, just to make a simple horseshoe.
They had to be frustrated with his lack of knowledge, and a few times they might have muttered a cuss word in their first language. Elof’s in Swedish, and Kiowa in his native language.
At least he knew they hadn’t said “Oh Deuteronomy,” which Peter learned firsthand was the Reagan family’s preferred cuss word.
How was he supposed to fix gates, chains, buggy steps? Elaborate farm implements with moving parts? His mind endlessly thought of everything made of metal and how he had no clue how to fix them. Well, he had a clue now seeing the tools and working with them, but he didn't have the finesse or touch to make the hot iron bend and twist the right way.
Give him a pair of scissors, and he could cut precise lines in the fabric. But figuring out just the right bang with the heavy hammer to bend the metal a quarter of an inch was beyond his skill.
“Stick it back in the fire and heat it up again,” Kiowa instructed Peter.
Peter was sure they thought he’d figure it out after a few more tries, but the potential passion for the work wasn’t going to happen.
He hated being hot, sweaty…and he had an innate fear of flames that was never going to go away.
Peter took a deep breath and stuck the iron back in the flames, trying to avoid looking directly into them.
“The iron’s hot enough, try it again,” Kiowa instructed.
Peter laid the glowing red-orange shoe on the anvil and slammed the hammer down with what he knew was too much force. He was frustrated, with the work and the memories this morning was bringing back.
“You’re left-handed. Maybe this set up is wrong for you since I’m right-handed,” Kiowa mused, although Peter knew Kiowa was saying that to give Peter an alibi.
“Move on the other side of the anvil.”
Peter did as Kiowa instructed and reached out to the fire with the tongs holding the iron. Even though he had on heavy leather gloves and apron, he could feel the heat against the right side of the body.
But at least the heat didn’t bring pain this time, he had to tell himself. And his left hand was away from the fire, keeping it from being burned too.
Although he didn’t remember the details of the fire that had made him an orphan, he remembered seeing flames, feeling pain, and hearing screams.
His right hand was burned in that fire, leaving permanent scars. Years had changed the appearance of his hand, so the thickened, discolored skin wasn’t as noticeable. Peter could grip items with his right hand, but it didn’t have the dexterity to hold and control small items.
That’s why his patient adoptive parents made him a left-handed tailor.
Peter took a deep breath, concentrating on the force and angle of his hammer against the iron. The crash and clang of the hammer hitting the metal vibrated through his head, and he stopped a moment to close his eyes to calm his nerves.
He opened his eyes and saw Kiowa staring at him. Not to judge him, but to figure out what was bothering him, as if sensing it was something other than lack of coordination.
“I can’t be your blacksmith. There’s just no way. When I was young—” But Peter couldn’t tell the men about his past. It didn’t define who he was, and he wouldn’t use it as an excuse now.
“Barton’s adoptive father had a smithy on his farm and repaired machinery. Barton could have made dozens of horseshoes in the time you spent trying to teach me how to make one. He should be your blacksmith, not me.”
Peter dropped the tools on the anvil and stepped back to give him some distance from the fire and the tension it caused.
Kiowa nodded his head, always displaying his cool demeanor.
“What did your family do for a living?”
“My adoptive father was a tailor, and I learned his trade.”
“That’s why your Sunday suit fit so well,” Elof mentioned, probably to ease the tension in the shop.
“What did you do in the army?” K
iowa asked, keeping his steady gaze on his face.
“Several things over the five years but being the post barber was probably what I was best at.”
Kiowa finally gave an exasperated sigh. “Why didn’t you guys state what you wanted to do, trained on your past experiences then?”
“Our sponsors assigned us these jobs at the Sunday meal.”
Both men gaped at him with open mouths a second before each began laughing out loud. Peter stood with folded arms and pursed lips, waiting for them to finish their outburst.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” Kiowa said as he wiped his thumbs over his eyes. “The Peashooters are dear hearts and mean well, but they will run roughshod over you if given a chance.”
“What do you mean?” Peter shifted his gaze between the two men.
“Oh, we don’t have enough time in the day to list all the times the women took over a newcomer’s life when they came to town, mine included,” Elof said with another laugh.
Elof looked up at the sky, then pulled his pocket watch out of his vest.
“It’s almost noon, and Linnea will be looking for me. Since I travel around to area ranches, we don’t always get dinner together.”
Peter thought of stopping for the noon hour to go home to have lunch with his future wife. And it wasn’t going to be in the back living quarters of this blacksmith shop either. He wanted the barbershop and the apartment above it.
“Kiowa, I’d like to be the town barber once we get the building in shape.”
“Can Barton verify you’ve been a good barber?” Kiowa asked.
“I cut all their hair before we arrived. Did you see any bad haircuts in the group?” Peter challenged him.
“No, and Pastor and I even commented on how clean-cut you all were when you arrived.”
Kiowa held out his hand and Peter took it with his right, knowing Kiowa probably felt the scars on his palm.
“I’d like to offer you the barbershop, Peter. Can you come over to my house after lunch to talk about the details?”
“Yes, sir. And I’ll tell Barton to talk to you about the smithy. Right now, he’s helping Mack, and I know he’s not enjoying it.”
“Why”? Barton seems like he’d be good with tools of all kinds.”
“Oh, that’s true, but he’s afraid of heights,” Peter explained.
Kiowa burst out laughing again.
“No wonder his head was barely over the edge of the barbershop roof when he and Mack were up there looking at what needed to be repaired. Barton was lying flat on the roof, and Mack was standing there looking straight down without a thought he was two stories off the ground.”
“Sorry, but Barton’s always been that way. Squires is the one that’s fine with heights. He grew up in a flour mill and is used to checking and fixing things in the air.”
“Talk to your group during your dinner together and see who wants what jobs. We want men who will do their jobs well and stick with them. That was part of the deal of taking on you six.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”
“Do you think anyone would prefer to leave instead of taking on a job they might not like?”
Peter had to think about that before answering. He would have said yes for himself if blacksmithing was his only occupation choice.
“I can’t say for sure. Our goal was to stay together, but we all need to make a living,” Peter answered honestly.
“That’s a fair answer. Are you going back to the apartment to eat lunch? I ask because I don’t want to leave the fire going if you are.”
“No, it’s alright to leave it going. Gordon was making sandwiches, and we were going to meet here to eat together.”
“Good. How about you tell Barton to come to visit me first before you leave the smithy to come see me? Elof really does need horseshoes made,” Kiowa said as he held out his hand again.
Peter really liked the man. His dedication to the town and his patience with everyone, himself included, was admirable.
“I’ll see you this afternoon,” Peter shook Kiowa’s hand again. This time Peter wasn’t self-conscious of his disfigured palm. Someday, Peter would tell Kiowa of his past, knowing the man would understand.
*
Peter sat on the ground in the shade provided by the side of the blacksmith shop. He was soaking wet, not only because of his sweat but because he’d filled a bucket of water from the water pump behind the building and poured it over his head. He'd clean up and change clothes before talking to Kiowa again, but he needed to drink a jug of water and eat some food first.
He turned his head to watch his friends meet and wander down the street to meet him for lunch. Gordon, carrying a crate holding their food, walking beside Barton who had been working inside the barbershop with Mack. Tobin scurried out of the mercantile and tailed behind them. Peter could hear his voice floating down the street, but he couldn’t make out his words.
The livery was close to the blacksmith shop, but Squires was the last to arrive. The young man looked dejected and worried.
“How’d your first day at work go, guys?” Peter asked, knowing what their answers would be.
Within a few minutes, the men had stated what they wanted to do. Barton was happy to hear he could take over the blacksmith shop since Squires wanted to be a carpenter with Mack Reagan.
Tobin sighed with relief that he could work with the animals in the livery instead of the Taylors at the mercantile.
With a coin toss, since the other two men didn’t care which job they did—Gordon took over the mercantile and Wesley was going to work at the Paulson Hotel.
Now with their jobs decided, they could get to know the townspeople, especially the six young women they’d met at Sunday’s dinner.
Chapter 5
Three weeks later
Tooooot! Toot! Toot! Tooooot! Toot! Toot! Tooooot!
“Get out here, Peter!” Charlie Moore yelled from the front room of the barbershop. Peter was in the back room but hurried to his side as the man reached for his crutches.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked as he looked Charlie over. The man only had one leg and was getting on in years.
“Didn't you hear the train engineer? He's got an emergency and needs help!”
“I heard the blasts but didn't realize he was giving the town a code,” Peter told Charlie as he opened the door for the older man.
“Go ahead and meet the train. I'll catch up,” Charlie waved him to go after the older man had cleared the door.
Peter looked down the street and realized people were coming out the doors from most of the downtown buildings. Doctor Pansy ran down the boardwalk, holding up her skirt with one hand and clutching her leather doctor's bag to her chest with the other. Avalee, with an armload of towels, was barely keeping up beside her since the doctor had such long legs.
The café patrons were flowing out of the building, one man with his cloth napkin still tucked in the collar of his shirt.
Peter ran to the mercantile to tell Gordon about the town emergency, but Kaitlyn Reagan, was already at the doorway to get Gordon.
“What's going on Mrs. Reagan? Doctor Pansy was running pell-mell down the street,” Peter asked.
“There's trouble on the train. It's been years since the engineer tooted the horn like that. Go help Tobin hitch up a horse and wagon. There might be passengers who need to be moved to the doctor's office.”
Peter jogged down the boardwalk for a little way, then ran into the street because there were so many people on the boardwalk hurrying to the depot when he was going the opposite direction.
Ethan and Wesley were leaving the hotel as he ran by. Peter pointed a finger toward the blacksmith shop, and Wesley took off to get Barton. Whatever the situation was, he and his friends army training and strength might be needed.
“Haw! Haw!” Tobin's high tenor voice yelled to the horse team as they pulled the wagon right onto Main Street. Mack sat on the bench seat with Tobin, and Squires was standing in the back of the wago
n holding onto the back of the bench.
Peter stood out of the way of the wagon, then waited for Wesley and Barton to catch up with him.
“What's going on? Why's everyone running to the depot?” Barton asked as he jogged beside the other two.
“Ethan said there must be injured people on the train,” Wesley added.
The west-bound train was braking, slowing down as it neared town when the three of them arrived.
“Half the town must be here,” Wesley huffed while catching his breath.
The depot platform was crowded with people, but most everyone stood back except for Angus, Doctor Pansy, and Avalee—apparently ready to board the train when it stopped
Peter, Wesley, and Barton moved over to the side of the platform where Tobin was backing the wagon against the loading dock.
Squires jumped out of the back of the wagon and joined them as soon as Tobin pulled the brake.
Peter gave Tobin a nod of his head when he looked up. His friend handled the team and wagon through the chaos of people with calm ease.
Gordon left Kaitlyn's side after the Pastor arrived from the parsonage and took Kaitlyn’s arm. The older couple was ready to help wherever they were needed.
Peter realized he truly felt like a member of the town as everyone stood together, waiting to help whoever needed it. He'd questioned if he wanted to stay with his friends, but at this moment, he didn't want to be anywhere else.
The conductor was already on the bottom step of the second of two passenger car stairs as the train braked to a stop.
“Got injured people in this car!” the conductor shouted to Angus Reagan, knowing he was the depot manager.
Peter strained to listen above the noise of the steam engine when the conductor jumped off to confer with Angus.
Doctor Pansy pushed past the men to climb up the stairs, with Avalee following right behind her.
“Wait, Gordon. Avalee needs to do her job,” Barton cautioned his newlywed friend as he started toward the train steps to follow his new bride. Gordon and Avalee had just married last Sunday.
Maggie Shifts Her Gent Page 3