Chapter 4

 

“Will that be all for you today, sir?”

Ethan Kane nodded his blond head. “I think that’ll do me for a while. I’m not much on fancy meals out there by myself. A little coffee, along with some beans, bacon, and biscuits suit me pretty well,” he answered.

Wally figured on his paper pad, his lips moving silently as he added. “That’ll be two dollars and twenty-nine cents.”

Ethan pulled a small leather pouch from his pocket and began the slow task of counting out his money.

The door of the store opened and the storekeeper spoke to the tall man that stepped inside. “Afternoon, Mike. How are things going for you?”

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. Mike would be a diversion for Wally while he figured the correct change, mentally adding and subtracting in his head. Something he had never been good at doing.

Mike Enos shrugged and came to stand beside Ethan, briefly glancing at his task at hand. “Looks like I’m going to have to get some repairs done on my plow. You don’t know anyone wanting to hire some help, do you? I could use a little cash.”

Wally adjusted his apron and nodded. “Matter of fact, Hallie Bolton was in yesterday and said she was needing some part-time work to be done out on her ranch. Can’t pay much, of course.”

Mike shook his head. “Sounds like a long-term thing before I’d see any cash. Oh well, I’ll keep looking.” He laughed as he turned. “Besides, a woman for a boss doesn’t sound like a good thing to me,” he added, closing the door behind him.

“I believe this is right.” Ethan handed the coins to Wally and waited while the store owner counted out the change.

“That’s it exactly,” Wally smiled, opening the register and dropping in the jangling metal. “Have a good day, Mr. Kane.”

Ethan stepped out of the mercantile and deposited his goods in the wagon. Enough coffee, flour, beans, and bacon for a month or two. Shopping was the next thing to torture, in his mind. Having to deal with clerks and counting out change was nothing but trouble for him. Especially when they started recommending some new brand of coffee or other food, showing off a nice tin of the product. It meant nothing to him and always made his decisions harder.

Grabbing hold of the wooden seat, he began to pull himself up, then paused, putting his foot back on the ground. The long drive ahead had no appeal at the moment. He glanced around the street. Millie’s Restaurant was still open, but he felt uncomfortable sitting in there, sipping his coffee, among the families and businessmen that congregated at this time of evening.

But that was no problem. Bailey kept a hot pot of coffee going in the saloon day and night. Ethan had never cared much for liquor, but a man could do with several cups of coffee a day. And there was always a game of dominoes, or cards to keep you entertained. He used to play himself, but not anymore. Someday, if he kept to his plan, his ranch would be successful. Too many men had been ruined by gambling and he intended that he would not be one of them.

The saloon was quiet when he stepped inside, the piano silent. Probably the man’s break time, he guessed. A pity, as he enjoyed the lively music. Ethan glanced around the room and noticed only one table occupied. A few of the locals that seemed to spend most of their time in there.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Kane?” Bailey asked from behind the bar.

A brief smile touched Ethan’s lips. Bailey knew he’d never purchased anything other than coffee. “A cup of your black brew will do me.”

Bailey smiled and reached for a tin cup. He poured the dark liquid and handed it to Ethan. “So how are things out on your place?”

Ethan shrugged and took the cup, blowing across the top of the steaming coffee before taking a sip. “About usual I guess.”

The bartender, done with the niceties, nodded and turned back to polishing the bar.

Ethan took his cup and tossed a few pennies across the polished surface, before he wandered over to the game of dominoes. Fred Harley was winning, as usual. What possessed the others to challenge him was a mystery. Ethan grimaced to himself. Loneliness. It was pure loneliness that sent a man begging for more punishment. Well, not him. No amount of solitude would drive him to give his hard earned cash away on a foolish game of chance.

He stopped at the table just as Fred began a new conversation. “Guess you fellas heard about Chip Howard’s new wife.”

Stumpy Stern shook his head. “Not me.”

The others turned their attention to Fred.

The man paused a moment for effect, waiting for their complete attention. “Got her out of the newspaper.”

“No!” They all protested Fred’s statement, mumbling among themselves.

Fred nodded. “She arrived yesterday morning on the stage.”

Ethan edged a little closer. It wasn’t often that you heard an interesting story like this one. The usual talk in the saloon was of cattle, crops, too much rain, or drought. Sometimes a story about a stranger passing through. Anything to pass the time. But this seemed like a more remarkable sort of thing. Possibly a story that would continue on as the months went by.

“Yep,” Fred said, obviously enjoying the rapt attention of his fellow domino players. “He put an advertisement in one of those papers back east and got three or four letters from different women.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Chip Howard? That slovenly rancher we all know?” Stumpy asked, unbelief settling on his face. “I can’t see him able to attract the attention of more than one woman. And that would be all but a miracle for him.”

Fred laughed. “All he had to do was exchange a few letters with the woman of his choice and then send her the money to come out.

Fred, still enjoying his audience, turned and pulled a newspaper from the table behind them. “This here’s The St. Louis Times. This is the kinda paper you want the advertisement in.” Turning the pages until he’d found what he wanted, he folded the paper in half and pointed to a page of small boxed advertisements. “See, here’s what I’m talking about.”

The all stood and gathered round the speaker, Ethan included. He stared at the page Fred was pointing to. It would be interesting to know the gist of the words, but with very little schooling himself, it was to remain a mystery. It would take him an hour or so just to pick out the few words that he knew.

“Exactly what do those say?” Stumpy asked, pushing Paul back a little as he crowded in closer.”

Fred put his finger on one of the squares and began to read. “Handsome widowed rancher, 35 years. Seeks single or widowed, attractive woman. Have one small child and am willing to accept another. Must be able to cook, sew, and help with ranch chores. Only serious replies requested. Moving his finger on down the page, he pointed to the bottom third, “there’s some from women, wanting to find a husband.”

“Well I’ll be a bull frog’s croak!” Stumpy exclaimed, his short, fat fingers combing through his long, straggly beard. “I never thought about getting a wife that way. Just think of all that romance nonsense you could skip over. Might be something to think about fellas,” he added, looking around the group of men.

The swinging doors sounded and they all turned to see Gerald Mills enter the establishment. Waving to them, he stopped at the bar, then headed over to their discussion. They all nodded as he approached. “What’s going on over here, fellas?”

“Fred’s telling us about Chip Howard’s new wife,” Stumpy said.

Gerald stared for a moment, then begin to laugh, his big belly shaking like a bucket of water in a runaway buckboard. “So that’s why the man was out repairing his rail fence this morning. The thing’s been in bad shape for over three years. I didn’t figure he’d ever do anything about it.”

Stumpy nodded “Well, women do seem to keep things neater than us men.”

Laughter ran through the gathering. “That’s what happens once you let a woman be in charge,” Fred warned, folding the paper and tossing it to a nearby table.

Ethan moved away from the conversation and took a seat at the table near the back wall. He sat and leaned back, letting the chair balance against the solid board wall. He took a sip of the hot liquid and frowned at the bitter taste. Probably been in the pot since dawn this morning.

He stared at the paper on the table where Fred had tossed the item. Stumpy had a powerful point. A marriage by mail was more like a business contract than a love arrangement. It could have its benefits. No need to give your heart away. He’d done it done it once, himself, and the whole situation had turned on him. And he’d promised himself he would never do it again. But a man needed a helpmate. He was finding that out more and more every day. Maybe Chip’s story was worth thinking about.

He stood and headed to the bar, stopping to pick up a newspaper from the table. “How much for this paper, Bailey?” he asked as he shoved the cup across the polished oak counter.

Bailey picked up the cup and shrugged. “That one’s from last week. Just take it on with you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ethan nodded as he stepped to the door.

Outside, seated on the wagon, he tucked the paper up under the bag of coffee. Now, all that stood between himself and a new mail order bride was the ability to read and write a legible letter. And a conversation overheard in the mercantile had given him an idea of how that just might be accomplished.