CHAPTER 21

Libby and Vashti waited outside the schoolhouse for Miss Fennel to dismiss her class. They could hear the children reciting their lessons. Isabel’s voice broke in as she spoke sharply to one of the Ingram boys. Vashti rolled her eyes skyward, and Libby smiled.

“I recall my school days with fondness, but something tells me this isn’t Willie Ingram’s favorite way to spend his time.”

Vashti chuckled. “I never did more than three grades all told. We moved around so much, I never stayed in one place long enough to finish a reader.”

Libby wondered how the girl had separated from her family and come to work at a saloon in an Idaho mining town gone bust. Vashti’s enthusiasm for the shooting club had surprised her, and Bitsy had allowed her extra time off this afternoon to fulfill the duty Gert had assigned. Without her cosmetics and lurid costumes, Vashti might almost have passed for a schoolgirl herself. Libby doubted she was older than Florence Nash. The thought that wholesome girls like Florence and Myra Harper wound up working in saloons all over the country grieved her, but she had no idea what she could do to change that. Getting to know Bitsy and her girls through the shooting club had altered her attitude toward them.

The schoolhouse door burst open, and a handful of boys pounded down the steps. They paused and stared at the two women.

“Good afternoon, boys,” Libby said. “We’re here to see that you get home safely.”

“Ha! That’s a good one.” Willie Ingram, his little brother, and Tollie Harper breezed by them and ran toward town. The girls and a couple of smaller boys emerged from the building at a more moderate pace.

Behind them, Isabel Fennel stopped in the doorway and eyed Libby and Vashti. “May I help you, ladies?”

“We’ve come to see the children home safely,” Libby said.

Vashti nodded with vigor. “Sheriff Chapman assigned us this duty.”

“What’s that?” Isabel frowned and came down the steps.

Libby looked after the children, who had gained the road and would soon be out of sight. “The Ladies’ Shooting Club is taking on some civic duties, one of which is to ensure safety for the school children and women who live alone. Would you like us to walk you as far as your home?”

“No, thank you. That’s not necessary.” Isabel looked them over as though not quite sure what to do with them, especially Vashti. Libby wondered if she even recognized the saloon girl. Perhaps she was trying to place her.

“Well, your father’s ranch is close by,” Libby said. “If you’re sure you don’t want an escort, we’ll go after the children.”

“Thank you, I’ll be fine.” Isabel’s upper lip rose into a little peak on the left side as she spoke, and she swept Vashti with a disapproving gaze.

So, she had catalogued the bar girl. Libby nodded and turned away.

“‘Bye,” Vashti called and scurried after her, muttering. “Did you say something?” Libby asked. “I said, ‘Fussy old bat.’ “

“Oh!” Libby shot her a sideways glance. “We’d better hurry. The children are so far ahead of us, I’m afraid we won’t do any good.”

“We’d best tell their mothers what we’re doing, so they can tell the kiddies to wait for us tomorrow, no matter what that priggish old stick does,” Vashti said.

“Yes,” Libby said. “Er, I can inform the mothers.”

“Can you? That’s good, because I’ll need to get ready for work soon.”

Libby held up her skirts and kept pace with the saloon girl.

Milzie tried to hold the Hawken steady as she aimed, but her arms shook. Was it because the gun weighed so much, or because of the hunger that gnawed at her belly? The jackrabbit hopped a few steps farther. He blended in so well with the low brush that she could barely see him.

She braced herself and held her breath, lining the sights up with the ornery critter. But he hopped again. Now or never. He’d soon be out of sight. Milzie pulled the trigger and fell back from the recoil.

“Oof.” She sat up, rubbing her shoulder. Must have forgotten to hug the stock up close like Gert had shown her. The rifle lay a couple of feet away. She hauled herself shakily to her feet and walked over to where the rabbit had been. Clean missed it. No surprise.

Oh well. According to Gert, if she’d hit it with this load, she’d likely have blown it to bits anyway. She’d have been lucky to find any bits to put in her stew pot. She shook her head and trudged back toward where she’d stood when she fired. Now, where’d the Hawken got to? It was right here, wasn’t it?

She peered all around at the grass and shrubbery. Nothing. She turned and looked toward where she’d seen the rabbit. Maybe she was a few steps this way…. Or had she stood farther away?

After twenty minutes, nearly ready to give up the search, she stepped on the gun’s stock. The barrel lay all but invisible in the grass. Exhausted, she crumpled in a heap beside it. Better rest awhile before she tried to tote it home. Must be near a mile. And better stick to foraging. At the end of a day’s picking through trash piles, she’d have more to show than she had today.

Gert had just hung up her dishpan after doing Tuesday’s supper dishes when a frantic pounding came at the front door. Her pulse thudded. She glanced at Hiram, who sat at the table. He looked up from the new Bible she’d bought before the fire at the emporium.

“Who can that be?” she asked.

Hiram only raised his eyebrows. Gert wiped her hands on her apron and hurried across the sitting room to the seldom-used front door. She opened it, and Isabel Fennel all but fell in. Gert seized her arm to steady her. The schoolteacher stared at her, gulping in quick, shallow breaths.

“Isabel. Come in. Is something wrong?”

“I’m frightened.”

Isabel’s pale blue eyes looked bigger than usual in her pinched face. Her hairdo showed the wind had been at work during her short walk to town, and her shawl lay askew over her shoulders.

“Come sit down,” Gert said. “What’s happened?”

Isabel took the offered chair and put one hand to her brow. “Nothing, really. I shouldn’t have come.” She stirred as though to rise. “Forgive me for intruding.”

“You’re fine.” Gert laid her hand lightly on Isabel’s shoulder. Isabel had recovered herself somewhat and had thought better of blurting out her troubles. “I was about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you join me? My mother always made tea when things seemed a bit out of kilter.”

“Well …” Isabel looked around the dim room toward the kitchen, where the glowing lamp illuminated Hiram at the table. “I don’t want to disturb you and your brother. I saw your light….”

“You’re most welcome, and you won’t disturb us.” Gert lit the small lamp on the side table and hurried to the kitchen before Isabel could change her mind. Her heart still pounded from the jolt of Isabel’s interruption as she took down two teacups. The kettle steamed on the stove, and she quickly measured loose tea into the pierced tin ball and lowered it into her plain brown teapot.

Hiram watched her in silence for a moment then bent his head over the Bible. How could he be so calm when a woman who had never entered their home before came pounding on their door? That seemed to happen a lot lately—maybe he’d acclimated to it better than she had. Gert took a deep breath and fixed a tray with two cups, the teapot, and the sugar bowl. If Isabel asked for milk, she’d have to go out to the root cellar.

She carried the tray carefully to the sitting room and nudged aside a few of Hiram’s tools so she could set her burden down on the bench beneath the window facing the street. “Do you take sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

Gert hesitated but knew it would be impolite not to ask. “Milk? I have some—”

“Just black, please,” Isabel said.

Gert exhaled and sat down opposite her with a smile. “Here you go. Careful, it’s very hot.”

Isabel raised her cup, blew on the surface of the liquid, and took the tiniest of sips. “Thank you.”

“Now, tell me.” Gert waited, wondering what had brought Isabel here. Cyrus Fennel’s daughter had never sought out either of the Dooleys for company, though she was about Hiram’s age. So far as Gert knew, she hadn’t befriended Violet either, but preferred solitude or the company of the older women in town. She must have had a terrible fright to come here for refuge.

“I … I walked into town this evening looking for my father.”

“Oh.” Gert sipped her tea to cover her confusion. Apparently Cyrus hadn’t shown up for supper at the ranch, which lay outside town, barely half a mile beyond the Nugget Saloon. “Did you look in the stagecoach office?”

“Yes, I went there first.” Isabel swallowed and looked away. “He wasn’t there. His office door wasn’t locked, but …”

Gert nodded. She could guess where Cyrus was, but she didn’t like to say it.

“I …” Isabel cleared her throat. “I thought I’d stop at the emporium, but apparently I was a few minutes too late, and Mrs. Adams had just closed. As I came back along the boardwalk past the alley …”

“Yes?”

“There was a man in there. In the alley, I mean.” Gert put her cup down. “Just … loitering, or walking through the alley?”

“As I walked by, I noticed him leaning against the wall of Papa’s office. He was in the dark, and I couldn’t see his face, but he frightened me.” Isabel shuddered.

“Perhaps he was waiting for your father to come back.” Yet if the office was unlocked, why not wait for Mr. Fennel inside? It did seem odd. And Libby used that alley often to get from her back door to the street. What if the man was watching the emporium? Waiting for the emporium’s lights to flicker out and Libby’s apartment lights above to come on? There was a small window on that side in Libby’s kitchen, Gert was sure. She’d seen it the day after the fire, when she’d eaten lunch with Libby. It overlooked the low roof and false front of the Wells Fargo building. The idea caused her pulse to take off again, though Hiram had repaired the back door of the emporium and installed a new lock and a sturdy bar as well.

Isabel leaned back in the chair, curling her fingers around her teacup. “I didn’t like to walk all the way home alone. I thought of going to the Walkers’, but I’d have had to pass the alley again, and … well, I looked across the street and saw your light.”

“I’m glad you did,” Gert said. “Isabel, you’re welcome here anytime. And if you ever feel uneasy to be alone, I hope you will call on me or another of the shooting club women. We want to make sure all the women in this town feel safe.”

Isabel took a sip of her tea and swallowed before she met Gert’s gaze again. “Yes, Libby Adams and … and a girl came to the schoolhouse yesterday and again this afternoon to see the children home. Will they come every day?”

“Someone from the club will come all week, morning and afternoon.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I shall accept the offer of walking with them tomorrow. Of course, school recesses on Friday for a month’s vacation.”

Gert nodded. “We’ll come anytime you need us. The sheriff has approved our schedule of checking on people in pairs. If we can help you in any way …”

In the kitchen, Hiram’s chair scraped the floor softly, and a moment later he stood in the doorway.

“Would you like me to fetch your pa, Miss Fennel?”

Isabel turned her head and stared at him. Gert suppressed a smile. She could almost hear her thoughts—He talks!

“I …”

“It’s no trouble,” Hiram said.

“I’m not sure where you’ll find him.” She looked down at the rug Gert had braided during her first long winter in Idaho Territory.

“This town’s not very big. I’ll find him.”

Gert considered jumping up and telling him how Bitsy had revealed Cyrus’s defection to the Nugget during the past few weeks but thought better of it. Hiram probably knew that, seeing as how Ethan stopped in nearly every day and told her brother all his official business.

Hiram went silently out the back door. Stillness settled over the house. Gert sipped her tea and cast about for a new topic.

“This shooting society,” Isabel said at last. “Can just … anyone … join?”

Gert pulled in a sharp breath. Did that question have a right answer? After all, the club’s members included several saloon girls and the new minister’s wife; elegant Libby and slatternly Milzie. “We’re open to just about any female.”

“And do the women supply their own firearms?”

“Yes.” They sat in silence for a long moment, and Gert scarcely dared breathe. Was Isabel interested in joining their ranks, or was she simply probing into something she found incomprehensible?

“I believe I should like to come next week after school is out.”

Gert exhaled and reached deep for a smile. “You would be most welcome.”

“I doubt Papa will approve.” Isabel frowned and set her cup on the side table. “I could buy a small gun, I daresay. They can’t be too expensive. And I’ve saved the biggest portion of my salary for more than ten years.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Adams can help you find something suitable,” Gert murmured. Indeed, Libby had educated herself over the past few weeks, devouring catalogs from gun manufacturers. She’d told Gert ruefully that she had to limit herself to make sure she didn’t spend more time reading up on guns than she did studying the scriptures before bedtime.

Isabel met her gaze. “And do you instruct those who’ve never …”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re bringing all the ladies along to where they feel confident in handling their weapons.”

“If you’re sure no one will object, then I’ll look forward to next Monday.”

“Oh, absolutely certain. We meet at—”

The back door burst open and Cyrus Fennel strode through the kitchen.

“Isabel! What’s the meaning of this?”