Ruby removes a cake from the oven with two large mitts she fashioned from an old horse blanket. She’s prepping for a houseful tonight. The inn was closed all week while Ruby made the trip to Tucson. No one needs to know the real god-ugly reason. And she’s still getting over Fletcher high-tailing it out of town while she was gone. Not even a note.
“Happy Birthday, Virge,” Ruby says. She’s babied Virge, yes. You don’t have a lame child and not do so, if you’ve got a momma’s heart. Still, it’s hard to let go. He’s fourteen now. Clayton and Fletcher took off not long past that age, so she knows it’s not far off, Virgil wanting to spread his wings. But never would be too soon for Virgil to leave. She won’t have it.
“You can dig into this cake later. First, I’m making your favorite supper.” Ruby flips the oven door shut with her elbow and hip. “Chicken, mashed potatoes, all the fixings.”
Virgil slurps coffee. Smiles. Roger is curled up under his feet waiting for scraps.
“I’ve invited half the town, hope you don’t mind.”
“Ma!”
“No ‘Ma’-ing me, young man. You only have a birthday once a year and I aim to see this one come and go in fine style. You only turn fourteen once.”
Sam finishes his oatmeal and scrapes his bowl. He reaches for another nickel and balances it on an already high stack beside his place at the small table. It wobbles before righting itself.
Virgil reaches across the table to topple the stack.
“Don’t be like Fletcher. Did either of you see him leave? Tell me.”
The boys shake their heads.
“He didn’t even say goodbye?”
Again, no.
“I’m seeing to it that you two don’t up and leave, ever.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Ma,” Virgil says. “I’ve got a good job right here.”
Sam looks up with hooded eyes.
“And that goes for you, too, little mister,” Ruby says.
A thunderous boom shakes the earth.
“Damn, that one was loud,” Ruby says. “Hope they’re hitting pay dirt today.” She doesn’t mention the possibility of bodies mangled in the mine. You’ve got to get out of here, Perce. If you don’t end up hung for sleeping with me, you’re gonna end up dead up at that mine.
“You alright, Ma?” Virge asks.
Ruby can’t get the image of Perce out of her mind. She shakes her head no, then yes. “Sorry, boys, don’t what came over me. Now go fetch me some water, Sam. And you, Virge, run up to Mr. Burton’s for me, will you? Put a sack of potatoes and a pound of butter on my tab. Check if they have fresh cream while you’re at it. But first, can you reach that crock for me up there? Yes, that one. Damn if I’m short.”
Virgil hands Ruby the crock and reaches into his vest pocket. “Forgot to tell you, Ma. This came for you.” He hands a letter to Ruby.
Ruby takes one look at the return address—Chicago—and puts the letter in her apron pocket. “Here, Roger.” She tosses the last of the bacon to the dog. “Now get on with it, boys. I’ve got more to do than a mule today. Dinner won’t cook itself.”
RUBY’S TABLE IS FULL. SHE RARELY does a head count of dinner guests. Doesn’t make sense. Someone you thought was a sure thing begs out; another you didn’t expect shows up in a tie.
Tonight, for posterity’s sake, she surveys her table, the crowd crammed around it loud and boisterous, the way she likes it. Virgil, Sam, Divina, Sheldon, and Wink, bathed and dressed for the occasion in an oversized suit. Surprisingly, Margaret Stern has joined them, along with shopkeepers Harvey and Mae Burton and their two daughters, and the new preacher Charles Dowd and his prim wife, trying hard not to show she’s in the family way. The Dowds’ twelve-year-old daughter Elizabeth picks at the corner of her plate. One of her eyes wanders, so you never know which one to focus on.
Doc Swendsen sent his regrets. A hard labor up the street has kept him tied up for hours. Ruby will save a plate for him, in case he shows later. She didn’t get a response from Dog Webber other than “on deadline,” his usual excuse. Hell, he might show up, you just never know. There are enough chairs. Ruby has learned from years and years of serving up that the walls will hold them all.
Ruby has set the table with her best linen and silver and china and stemware, her first purchases when she opened the inn in 1900. She passes platters heaped with browned chicken and bowls of steaming potatoes, beets, and peas. Everyone has wine tonight, even the children.
Talk, talk, talk, and not limited to the thermometer, mercury ninety-five in the shade. Ruby fans her face with a plate and shoos Roger out of the dining room. She’s wearing one of her new white blouses and a comfortable suede split skirt. Once she sits, maybe she’ll kick off her boots.
Wink leans in toward Divina. The sheriff holds court at the far end of table, telling a story of when he first came to Jericho. Sam teaches the Burton girls the signed alphabet. Laughter, tinkling of cutlery, more wine. Where is Fletcher by now?
Wink’s hands fly as he converses with Divina. In polite company, he might be too close, but Divina nods as he rambles on. She leans on her fleshy elbow and bends her head toward him.
“How is it that you know your Shakespeare?” Divina asks.
“Looks can be deceiving, my dear.” Wink gazes at Divina like the bloom is still on the rose, although both are nearing sixty. “University of Chicago,” he says. “Theatrics. ‘All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.’”
“As You Like It,” Margaret Stern says.
“Act 2, Scene 7.”
“What brought you to Jericho?” Margaret asks.
“Ah, my dear lady,” Wink says. “‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’”
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Margaret says.
Wink nods. “Touché. What this town needs is a playhouse. Do you agree, Miss Stern?”
“A grand idea. Musicales, theatricals, forums …”
“And dances!” Wink beams.
“A playhouse would smarten up this town,” Divina says. “That, and a library. Even Jerome has a playhouse and a library. And we don’t want to be bested by Jerome, or anywhere, for that matter.”
“You must be a mind reader, Miss Sunday,” Margaret says.
“Palm reader, Miss Stern,” Divina says. “If I could read peoples’ minds, I’d be a whole heck of a lot richer.”
Harvey Burton pipes up. “Put women in charge and we’ll have a maypole at the center of town.”
“Honestly, Harvey,” Mae Burton says.
Margaret ignores Burton. “What do you say, Mrs. Burton? And you, Mrs. Dowd? We could form a chapter of the Arizona Federation of Woman’s Clubs right here in Jericho.”
“Sign me up,” Mae Burton says.
Mrs. Dowd looks to her lap.
“We’re here for another purpose,” Reverend Dowd says.
“Good luck with that,” Sheldon says. “You’ll be lucky to have a half dozen in the pews every Sunday, yourselves included. We can’t keep a preacher here more than a year. I say we start a petition for a library, right here tonight. Ruby, do you have a pen?”
“I’m glad to hear your interests run deeper than law and order,” Margaret says.
“His interests run deep over at Judd’s,” Harvey Burton laughs.
The preacher’s wife blanches.
“You’ll hold your tongue right there, Burton,” Sheldon says.
“Did you hear there’s a colored woman at Judd’s now?” Mae interrupts. “Don’t know what this world is coming to. Or why anyone would want to cavort with coloreds.” She glances at Ruby.
Harvey Burton stabs a large piece of chicken. “Keep your thoughts to yourself, Mae. For once.” He turns back to Miss Stern. “The sheriff here is the master of vigilante justice. There’s no ‘law and order’ in these parts.”
“Beg your pardon, Burton,” Sheldon answers. “Order comes before the law every time. Horse thieving, cattle rustling, claim jumping—they all require swift justice.”
Burton barrels on. “Where do you stand on turf wars, Sheriff? Can’t keep sheep ranchers and cattlemen in the same room at the tavern, or there’s bound to be a fight. It’s a battle for grass and water every day. Stupid animals don’t know the difference. Heard you favor the cowmen. Now’s your chance to set the record straight, seeing as I’m partial to mutton men.”
“We’ll take up this conversation another time, Burton. This is a young man’s birthday party tonight.”
“Heard we’re getting a new deputy,” Mae Burton breaks in. “Isn’t that right, Sheriff?”
“News travels fast in this town, Mrs. Burton.” Sheldon steers the conversation away from her husband. “Bart Gallagher’s his name, big guy, not one to mess with. Just arrived from Kansas City. Took a while to find the right fit, but I knew as soon as I laid eyes on him. Hired him on the spot. But I told him to enjoy Tucson for a week and not get himself shot. He’ll be here next Wednesday.”
“Ruby, we have to get to Tucson again soon,” Divina says. She mops up her gravy with a heel of bread. “I could enjoy myself there for a week myself. Maybe more if I had Bart Gallagher as company.”
The minister’s wife by now has her hanky pressed up to her nose. Her cross-eyed daughter stares at Divina like she’s just opened a banned book.
Ruby bites her lip and stifles a laugh.
“What’s the talk of statehood in Tucson?” Miss Stern asks.
“We were otherwise engaged, weren’t we, Ruby?”
Again, Ruby bites down a laugh.
“No way in hell will anyone agree to that hare-brained idea,” Sheldon says. “Joint statehood with New Mexico? Not a chance. Might be 1910, 1920—who knows—before Arizona becomes a state. Last hold outs we are here.” He pounds the table.
“And proud of it,” Ruby says. She places refilled platters on the table.
“A body could starve here, Ruby,” Sheldon says.
“Isn’t this what you have for supper most nights?”
“If it doesn’t come out of a can, I haven’t met it.”
“That’s a poor way to ask for an invitation more often.”
“Just the truth, ma’am.”
Ruby comes up behind Sheldon and whispers in his ear. “You’re lucky you didn’t come to supper a couple of weeks back, Sheldon. Two guests swore they had food poisoning, but I think it was a trick to get a free meal. So don’t go trying that one on me.”
“Let me see that hand of yours.” Divina takes Wink’s hand and arches her eyebrows. Wink relaxes in Divina’s grip like a schoolboy. “First, I need to decipher the lines. This one here,” she touches Wink’s upturned palm, “is the heart line …”
Ruby finally sits and kicks off her boots. She takes the last of the chicken from the platter and slathers it with oily gravy. By now, the tablecloth is stained with wine and the noise level borders on cacophony. Ruby wouldn’t have it any other way.
Between bites, Ruby turns to Reverend Dowd. “Of the San Francisco Dowds, did I hear you say? Divina and I aim to get to San Francisco as soon as we rustle up enough money.”
“And time,” Divina nods. “Why is it you left there, Reverend?”
“I didn’t exactly choose it, ma’am. Were sent here because—”
“Let’s let the guests enjoy their supper,” his wife interrupts.
“I hope you know what you’re in for here,” Burton says. “There’s not a more wicked town you could’ve landed in. I’ve heard it said the Lord destroyed Jericho. Well, He’ll never get away with that here.”
“Hold your tongue, Burton,” Sheldon says.
“That’ll be the day,” Mae Burton says.
“Jericho has burned twice already,” Sheldon says. “And rebuilt finer than before each time. If you mean, sir, that Jericho is indestructible, I’ll agree with you there.”
Ruby goes into the kitchen and bursts out a half-minute later, leading into the dining room with her backside out of the swinging doors. Who has swiped a piece from the cake? She turns the plate around so the missing piece doesn’t show as she enters the dining room, candles blinking from the top of it. “Happy Birthday, Virgil!” She leans down to whisper into Virge’s ear. “Don’t know who dug into this, but I have an idea.” She looks at Sam, who is still busy signing with the Burton girls.
Everyone around the table claps and cheers. “Here’s to you, Virgil!” “Happy Birthday, Virge!” “Make a wish!”
Virgil blows out the fourteen candles in one big exhale.
“What did you wish for?” one of the Burton girls asks.
“Ain’t supposed to tell,” her sister answers. “If you do, it won’t come true.”
“Aren’t,” Margaret Stern says. “You aren’t supposed to tell.”
“Hogwash,” Ruby says. “You girls probably think St. Nicholas comes round each year. Down the chimney.”
The Burton girls look at each other, and then at Mae.
“Doesn’t do any good lying to children.”
The girls look at each other and then to their mother, their eyes wide.
“And we don’t need to keep our birthday wishes secret,” Ruby says. “Do tell, Virge. Let’s spread a little good news around once.”
Virgil stands, his hands steadied on the table. “I’ve been thinking, Ma. About what’s been going on here lately at Jericho Inn.”