CHAPTER 32

Gert packed two pies in the bottom of her large carrying basket. She took a light wooden platform Hiram had built for the purpose and carefully fitted it over them, lowering the legs between the pie plates. On top of this she put two more pies.

“There. If you can carry the other two …”

“Oh yes.” Apphia Benton put one of the remaining pies in a smaller basket and picked up the other. “Ready?”

Together they went out Gert’s back door and around the path to the boardwalk.

“Thanks for helping.” Gert felt a twinge of guilt at asking her morning caller to lend her a hand. “It would have taken me at least two trips alone, and I’m dead tired.”

“You poor thing,” Apphia said. “At least my husband and I got a few hours’ sleep after the fire was out.”

“Well, I’d promised Isabel, and she’s just starting to act friendly to me and some of the other ladies. I didn’t want to give her an excuse to back off, even if I had to hurry things up and used canned fruit for two of the pies.”

“They’ll be delicious, I’m sure.” Apphia smiled at her. “I’m glad Isabel’s venture has gone so well, but not pleased that it means even more work for her, poor woman.”

Gert had to agree. Word that the boardinghouse was reopening had already led to the rental of both bedrooms the women had helped renovate. Now her father demanded that she open up four more rooms. All passengers, as well as the stagecoach drivers and shotgun riders, must know that clean, comfortable rooms at a respectable lodging house were now available in Fergus.

“In the old days, folks didn’t care much where they slept,” she said. “Hiram told me the miners coming through town would sleep five or six to a room at the boardinghouse. But nowadays people think they should have a nice room to themselves, like they would at a hotel in the city.”

“And Mr. Fennel is taking advantage of that.”

“No surprise to me.” Gert looked over at the minister’s wife. “I don’t mean to speak ill of Mr. Fennel. I suppose most would say he’s done a lot for this town. He’s stuck around here since the boom days and through the bust. He mined for gold and ran the assay office; then he bought a ranch and got the stage line’s business through these parts. He’s had a hand in most of the enterprises in Fergus. Now he’s just turning his hand to a new vocation. He’ll make it succeed.”

“He will, or his daughter?” Apphia shook her head. “Seems to me that Isabel’s doing all the work.”

“True. Her pa bankrolls it, but she’s seen to the labor.”

“And her friends have helped her.” Apphia’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure we’re doing Isabel a good turn. The more we help her for free, the more her father will let us.”

“I know.” Gert sighed. “Hiram won’t do any more without being paid. Not for Isabel. She’s going to pay me for my pies after today, and I know she’s paying Augie for his cooking, too. I keep telling myself not to go over and help her scrub anymore, but then I think of her trying to do it all herself, and I feel sorry for her.”

“She’s hired Myra Harper to help serve meals and wash dishes and laundry, so don’t trouble yourself anymore.” Apphia paused as they came to the small street that cut between the jail and the boardinghouse. The Bentons’ new home lay a block to the east on this narrow street.

“Almost there,” said Gert. “Let’s take them around to the kitchen door.” She led Apphia to the back of the boardinghouse. “I do think Isabel’s father’s coming around a little. He sent two of his coach riders to set up the bedsteads and move furniture for her. Told them they could work off the price of their rooms doing it. And yesterday he thanked Hiram for fixing the steps and offered to pay him to make a sign.”

“I’m glad to hear she’s getting some help,” Apphia said. “I fear the women in this territory often fall into the category of forced labor.”

Gert opened the door, noting that all the windows on the back of the building were now free of extra lumber and sparkling clean.

Isabel, wearing a voluminous apron over her dress, looked up from where she peeled potatoes. “Oh, Gert, bless you! I wasn’t certain you’d have time.”

“Sure did. And Mrs. Benton came along and offered to help me truck the pies over here.”

“Set them right here on this table. I can’t begin to thank you enough.” Isabel indicated a small table near the door to the dining room, and Gert and Apphia set their baskets down.

Myra Harper came into the kitchen carrying a stack of ironstone plates. “These are the ones we’re using for lunch, right, Miss Fennel?”

“Yes, and call me Isabel. We’ll be working too closely for formality.”

“All right. Shall I set the tables, or do you want the plates out here?” Myra asked.

“Go ahead and set up for six at the big table. We’ll take the serving dishes out, and folks can serve themselves.” When Myra had left the room, Isabel brushed back a strand of loose hair and turned to Gert and Apphia. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I have to make so many decisions. If we get a lot of customers, I suppose we should take orders and fill their plates in the kitchen as they do in restaurants. But I want people to feel that Fennel House is like a home. If they want seconds, the dish will be on the table.”

“That sounds right,” Apphia said. “You want your guests to feel contented and cared for, not like someone you’re only out to earn money off.”

Isabel nodded slowly. “Yes. That’s it. Father doesn’t understand. He wanted me to buy the cheapest blankets the emporium could get, but I told him that if he spends a little more and puts pretty quilts on the bed or nice, commercially milled bedspreads, the patrons will see us as more than a second-rate boardinghouse. I’ve been praying this venture will succeed and”—she flushed and looked down at the paring knife in her hand—“and that people will say we’ve made a good addition to the town.”

Gert smiled. “Other folks have been praying for you, too, Isabel.”

Apphia walked over to her and patted Isabel’s arm. “My dear, you’ve put a great deal of thought and effort into this. Perhaps you have a special gift of hospitality.”

“Do you think so?” Isabel sighed. “I do want to go back to teaching though. I told Father he has three weeks to find someone else to do this. When the summer term opens, I want my class back.”

“Are you sure?” Apphia asked.

“Yes. I don’t mind the hard work, though cooking was never my strongest talent. And Myra’s been a tremendous help. But I don’t like the thought of men milling around. I’ll have to please the paying customers, even if they’re difficult. But I told Father that if any of his stage line employees try to take liberties with me or Myra, I’m done.”

“I’m sure he’s instructed them to behave as gentlemen when they come here for refreshment or for their rooms in the evening.”

“Well, I’m not staying here nights.” Isabel raised her chin. “There is absolutely no way I’ll room here when there might be all men for guests some nights. At least Father saw the sense to that. He says he’ll take me home to the ranch each evening.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Apphia said. “My dear, you know I’m just around the corner. If you ever feel unsafe here, I urge you to dash out the back and come to me and Mr. Benton.”

“Thank you.” Isabel sniffed. “That’s very kind. I don’t expect to be working here long though.”

Gert walked over closer. “The Ladies’ Shooting Club can make this a regular stop. I’ll ask the sheriff to look in evenings, too.”

“Thank you. Father felt at first that someone responsible should be on the premises at night. When I suggested he might start sleeping here … Well, he didn’t take kindly to the notion. Besides, that would leave me alone at the ranch, and I don’t like the isolation of it when he’s not around.”

“Absolutely right,” said Apphia. “If the venture pays, I hope he’ll hire a trustworthy couple to live here. Meanwhile, we shall continue praying for you and sending our club members to check on you. And now …” She looked at Gert. “We know you and Myra have a lot to do, so we’ll leave you.”

Relieved they had not been pressed into doing chores, Gert followed Apphia to the back door. “Good-bye, Isabel. And do call on either of us if you need anything.”

Ethan breathed deeply as he left the Nugget on Saturday evening. It was good to get out into the fresh air. He didn’t know how those men could stand it in the close atmosphere of the saloon. The smoke, the smell of liquor, the bar girls’ cheap perfume. Give him a clear whiff of prairie air anytime. A light breeze brought him a hint of scorched corn through the twilight, but the smells from the warehouse fire had pretty much abated over the last three days.

He ambled past the boardinghouse. Instead of a blank, echoing hulk, it now showed signs of life. The windows were no longer boarded. Soft light glowed from the dining room and parlor, and candlelight shone dimly in an upstairs front window. Cyrus had paid Hiram to make an attractive sign: FENNEL HOUSE, ROOM & BOARD. The town was mending and regaining vigor.

The little jail where Ethan presided loomed dark and silent. He walked past it toward the cozy house beyond. He smiled with anticipation. Trudy had promised to patrol with him for two hours at sunset to fulfill her commitment as a deputy. He’d looked forward to it all day. Of course, they would keep it businesslike, but he’d still get to walk with her, and no doubt they would converse. These days, talking to Trudy always left him feeling warm and hopeful that something good would happen.

He strolled around to the backyard as usual. Hiram came from the barn with a bridle slung over his shoulder.

“Evening, Hi,” Ethan said.

Hiram nodded with a half smile.

“Trudy ready to go patrolling with me?”

“I expect so.”

Ethan let him go up the steps first and open the door to the kitchen. The oil lamp burned low on the table, but Trudy wasn’t present. Hiram looked at him and shrugged then shuffled off into the parlor. Ethan leaned against the doorjamb and waited, enjoying the snug hominess of the kitchen.

A moment later, Trudy entered. He straightened and smiled.

“Hi.”

“Howdy.” She wore a dark skirt and light-colored blouse with a short jacket over it. She’d tied her hair back, and while he waited, she reached for a bonnet. Frowning, she stayed her hand. “I like to be able to see, especially when I’m on watch. Those bonnets are good for keeping the sun off, but they block a good part of your vision, too.”

Ethan chuckled. “Like blinders on a horse?”

“Something like.” She looked over her shoulder toward the other room then snatched Hiram’s sagging felt hat and popped it onto her head. “Come on. He won’t miss it.”

She reached for the Sharps rifle that stood in the corner between the cupboard and the door.

“You’re taking his rifle, too?” Ethan asked.

“We are on duty.”

“Well, yes, but it’ll get heavy, don’t you think?”

She hesitated. “I suppose I ought to get a pistol, but we haven’t had much cash come in lately. I don’t like to ask Hiram to lay out money for something extra.”

“I thought he had a six-shooter.”

“He used to, but he traded it a year or so ago.”

“Well, I’m armed.” Ethan patted his holster.

“What good is a deputy without a gun?”

He considered that. “Another pair of eyes.”

“All right. Let’s go then.”

It was almost fully dark outside when they walked out to the street.

“Which way?” she asked.

“I just came from the Nugget, and things looked peaceful at the boardinghouse. Let’s head down the street as far as Bitsy’s place.”

She fell into step beside him on the walkway. “Did you see Isabel at the boardinghouse?”

“No, I didn’t go in. But I saw her father at the Nugget.”

“So he hadn’t picked up Isabel to take her home yet.” Trudy scowled at that, and Ethan didn’t blame her. Cyrus had been seeing Isabel home to the ranch every evening, and the sprinkling of boarders, which now included the coach drivers and shotgun riders, were left to have pleasant dreams on their own.

“Wonder if she had many guests tonight?”

Trudy said, “I took her two pies this morning after the Boise stage came in, and she was bustling around getting lunch. Myra Harper was helping her. She said she’d have two people staying tonight for sure, and maybe more off the Silver City coach this afternoon.”

“Cyrus made a good decision to reopen the place.”

“Yes, but Isabel’s afraid he won’t let her go back to teaching.” She stepped down at the break in the boardwalk between a vacant house and the haberdashery. “This fella we’re watching out for.”

“What about him?” Ethan should have known her thoughts would go back to the criminal who eluded them.

“He seems to like fire.”

He offered her a hand up onto the sidewalk at the other side of the alley. “I reckon that’s true. That seems to be his weapon.”

“That and bashing people’s heads in.”

“Yes.” They walked on in silence to the front entrance of the building where the church services were held. Ethan paused and shook the locked door to make sure it was secure. He’d long since found cracks in most of the shutters or planks nailed over windows in town. These allowed him to peer into the interiors of the unused stores and houses to make sure no flames sputtered within. Two fires so far—at the emporium and the warehouse. And who knew but the Pearts’ cabin fell to arson as well? But he tended to think that was carelessness with the stove on Milzie’s part.

“Maybe we should walk around the back of these places,” Trudy said.

“Sometimes I do. Let’s make a circuit of Main Street. Then maybe we’ll go the long way around, one street over.”

“All right. We can go check the livery and go up the back of that side as far as the burned warehouse, at least.” A horse nickered nearby, and Trudy turned toward the street. “Look at that. Horses lined up from the Spur & Saddle all the way down here.”

“That’s right. It’s Saturday night. Bitsy’s place will be full. It was early when I stopped in at the Nugget, but quite a few men were in there getting primed. Probably by the time we get back down to that end of the street, it’ll be starting to get rough.” He eyed her ruefully. “Maybe Saturday night’s not the best time for a female deputy to patrol.”

Trudy stepped over to the edge of the boardwalk and patted one of the horses at the haberdashery’s hitching rail. “It’s early, like you said. If it gets too wild, you can take me home and make Hiram go with you. I just hope Cyrus goes for Isabel before it gets noisy.” She made her way down the row of horses, patting each one on the nose.

Ethan smiled as he watched her. Sometimes he forgot she was a girl. She was so competent and levelheaded. She never threw a fit of hysterics.

“Isn’t this Ralph Storrey’s paint?” She stroked the nose of the horse on the end of the row.

“Sure enough.” The rest could have been anyone’s, with all the dark colors blending into the night. The bays and chestnuts all looked black, but the flashy pinto’s white patches stood out.

“I always notice him when Ralph rides down Main Street. He looks so … I don’t know … happy. And eager.”

“He’s a good horse, all right.” Ethan felt a little disloyal, comparing this animal mentally to Scout. While Scout had gotten a little long in the tooth and wasn’t as fast as he used to be, he was a good horse, too, and they’d have several good years together yet.

Trudy stepped down off the boardwalk beside the paint. “Hey, fella. You tired of waiting for your master?” She rubbed his snout and slid her fingers up his broad face to scratch beneath his forelock. The gelding nickered and tried to rub his head against her arm.

“No, you don’t. I don’t want you slobbering all over my clean clothes.”

Ethan laughed. Had she changed her clothes for him tonight? She looked good.

She rejoined him, brushing her hands together. They continued on until they reached the front of the Spur & Saddle. The place was bright with lamplight. A half dozen horses dozed at each of the two hitching rails out front. Gentle music and laughter floated out to them.

“That sounds like a piano,” Trudy noted.

“Bitsy’s got a nice one in there.”

Trudy cocked her head toward the sound. “It sounds real pretty.”

“Yes.”

“Who plays it?”

“One of those bits of girls.” Ethan felt his face flush. He hated to admit he even knew girls lived and worked here. “Goldie or Vashti?”

“I dunno. The one with the blond hair.”

“That’s Goldie.”

“Mm.” He shrugged.

“She’s not bad at it, is she? I wonder if she practices every day.”

“I don’t know. The cowboys come in on Saturday night to hear her play.”

Trudy gave a little bark of a chuckle as though she doubted the music was the main attraction.

Ethan shifted his weight to his other foot. “I usually go in and ask Augie if things are peaceful.”

“Let’s do it.”

He gulped and stood rock still. “You can’t … you can’t go in there. Not now.”

“What do you mean, Sheriff?”

“I mean that ladies don’t go in there on Saturday night.” It came out louder than he’d intended.

Trudy’s eyes, dark, stormy gray in this light, sparked up at him. “What’s the difference? Saturday night, Sunday noon, it’s the same place.”

“Yeah, but …”

“Same people running it.”

“Well, yes.”

“And I’m a deputy sheriff.”

“I can’t deny it.”

“Then let’s go.”

It dawned on him suddenly that she wanted to see the place. “Uh, Trudy, have you ever been inside?”

After a moment’s silence, she shook her head. “Never ate Sunday dinner here?”

“Nope. Hiram and I usually stick to home on Sunday. I don’t think my brother’s ever been inside either saloon.”

“Uh … I don’t think you should go in. For all the reasons you never have before.”

She held his gaze for a long time. At last she exhaled and reached up to settle Hiram’s hat lower on her brow, shadowing her eyes. “Lots of women go there on Sunday.”

“I know. And if Hiram wants to take you, he can.”

She nodded, her lips tightly compressed. “All right. I’ll wait here. Get going.”

He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

Ethan bounded up the steps and entered the saloon, determined not to leave Trudy standing in the street more than a minute.

Two men came out of the Spur & Saddle. Gert eased back into the shadows under the overhang of the eaves. They lurched down the steps and headed for the hitching rail. After untying his horse, one couldn’t seem to get the momentum he needed to bounce into the saddle. He led the horse over to the steps and mounted from the second stair. They never saw her but turned their horses toward the road that led out past Harpers’ farm.

Gert left her place of concealment and walked to the hitching rail. She didn’t recognize any of the horses for sure, though one compact dun looked a lot like the one Starr Tinen rode to the shooting club. Maybe her husband had ridden into town to hear the piano music. She curled her lip and patted the dun’s sleek neck. “It’s not your fault if your owner has bad habits.”

Across the street, a solitary figure left the boardwalk and came toward her. Gert backed up until she stood once more in the shadows beneath the saloon’s eaves. With her brother’s hat pulled low, she watched from beneath the brim.

The man paused and looked northward, the length of Fergus’s principal street. Perhaps he considered visiting the Nugget instead of the Spur & Saddle. He faced toward her, his thin shoulders slouched. Mayor Walker. His friend Cy Fennel was down at the Nugget, by Ethan’s account. Still boycotting Bitsy’s establishment. As Walker approached, Gert shrank down and hoped he didn’t notice her.

He reached the boardwalk before the saloon and lifted his foot to the first step. Gert noticed movement beyond him. Down the street, between the closed telegraph office and the old haberdashery, a dark figure stepped out from between the buildings. He stood still. She wondered if he was as indecisive as the mayor on where to buy his whiskey.

She saw a flash of light. The bang of a gunshot cut through the air and echoed off the fronts of the buildings on the far side of the street. Mayor Walker spun around and fell on the steps. Gert’s heart squeezed, and she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to duck down behind the stoop, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the dark shadow that flitted toward the prone man. Would he shoot again to make sure the mayor was dead?

Without thinking of her danger, she jumped up and dashed to the front of the steps. She was a deputy sheriff. If he wanted to make sure he’d done the job right this time, he’d have to go through her.

“Leave him alone!” She threw herself to her knees beside the mayor.

The other man stopped several yards away. Light from the windows glinted off the barrel of his pistol. For a moment, Gert feared he would shoot at her. Why, oh why had she listened to Ethan and left the rifle home?

He gaped at her. His dark hat shadowed his face, and she couldn’t see his features, but it looked like he’d tied a dark cloth over his mouth and chin. He raised his other hand over his head and thrust it toward her as though throwing something.

Everything happened so fast, Gert barely noticed the men pouring out the door of the Spur & Saddle. All she could take in was the mayor lying on the steps gasping, the small click as a tiny object hit the stair tread beside his body, and the shadowy man fleeing down the boardwalk. He ran to the horses tied before the telegraph office. In a flash, he had unhitched Storrey’s paint horse and leaped into the saddle. Gert turned her attention to the mayor. He sucked in a big breath and shut his eyes. The other man disappeared with only staccato hoofbeats testifying to his flight.

“Trudy! I heard a shot. What happened?” Ethan crouched beside her. “Is that the mayor?”

She looked up and nodded. Her eyes filled with tears, multiplying the images of a dozen men who stood above her, staring.

Augie thundered down the steps with a linen towel in his hand and knelt by Walker’s other side. He pulled back the mayor’s jacket.

“He’s bleeding bad.” Augie stuffed the towel over the wound. “I think he’s breathing.”

Ethan looked up at the other men and singled out Ezra Dyer. “Go get Bitsy. Ask her where we can put him.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff.” Ezra turned and clumped through the throng.

Ethan slid his arm around Gert’s waist. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“The penny man,” she gasped. He stared at her. “Wh—you sure?”

She nodded. His strong arm felt so warm and reassuring, she didn’t want to move. But she had to, before they lost track of the evidence. She leaned across the mayor’s body and picked up the small object by Augie’s boot. It had bounced off the step above, spun, and lodged against the stair riser. She held it up to Ethan.

He turned his palm upward, giving her a place to drop the penny.