Ten

Don’t work too hard,” Caleb said before leaving Em at Margaret’s door. Walking to the train station, he reflected on the morning. It hadn’t gone as planned. Some of it had. He felt as though he was getting somewhere with Alroy and his gang. Then there was the reading lesson, which had gone well. He had no doubt Em would catch on quickly. She was smart, and it irked him that she’d never been given a chance as a child.

And then she’d let him in. Opened up about her pain, shared with him the burden she carried. Watching her struggle as she remembered had tortured him. Every part of him had wanted to do something, anything, to fix it. All the years of loneliness, the struggle she’d endured to survive, the misery of living apart from the only family she had—each piece of her story was tragic.

Kicking at the loose rocks on the road, he battled his own emotions. Life was full of so much suffering. So much pain and hardship. So many trials. As he thought about the despair and unfairness of it all, a drop of water that had managed to evade the heat of the sun—like a message from above—ran down his forehead. He pictured the brook. There they had not just mourned their losses but laughed and celebrated their loved ones. Leaning on each other for a moment had been good. More than good. Since meeting Em, he’d felt more connected to Reggie and Sam and Marvin. And she’d smiled, remembering Lucy. Em understood pain and loss, and he’d felt safe sharing with her.

He’d never expected to find a friend in her. But he had. And now he hoped his impulsive kiss would not frighten her off. He hadn’t planned to do it; it’d been an instinct. Seeing her grief had made him want to help, even in some small way. What did she think of him now?

He worried over it the entire way to the train station.

“How much is a ticket to Beckford?” he asked the man behind the counter.

“Depending on the season, should cost you between six and seven dollars. Could be a little more or a little less if they change prices before you leave. When you planning on traveling?” the agent asked. His long mustache shook as he spoke.

“Not for a few months. Maybe longer.”

“You’re welcome to check back anytime and see if the fares have changed. And when you’re ready, we’ll get you booked.” The man pulled out a little notebook and began writing in it. Caleb couldn’t think of anything else to ask, so he walked away.

How long would it take Em to earn six dollars? Weeks or perhaps months, maybe longer—hopefully longer. No, that wasn’t fair. He wanted her to find Lucy and yet he wasn’t sure he wanted her to leave. Without meaning to, he’d become used to her. He enjoyed her. Plus, she needed help with her reading, and Mae and Milly would be sorry to have her gone.

As he headed back across town, he hoped she was enjoying her first day at work. He looked for her but did not see her as he walked past Margaret’s boardinghouse.

For a moment he stared at the bright yellow house until he remembered all the many things he was supposed to be doing. He had a telegram to send and the Alroy case to work on.

But first he was going to have a word with Silas at the saloon. Today he’d remind the worthless man how women were supposed to be treated. Parts of his job gave him a great deal of personal pleasure.

“You’re on time,” Margaret said as she opened the door. “From now on, you just come right in. No need to knock.”

Em stepped inside, ready to dive into whatever work Margaret needed done. She looked around for a spot to set the pail that held the meal Abigail had so lovingly packed for her.

Margaret must have noticed her darted glance. She stepped closer and looked into the pail. “That looks like it hasn’t been touched. Best sit down and eat it quick before we start. Rumor is you were shot not so long ago. I won’t have you losing strength on my account.”

Margaret motioned her into the dining hall. Em took a seat on one of the long wooden benches and then began pulling out the contents of her meal. Bread, cheese, and meat. She paused when she pulled a napkin from the pail. Such a simple luxury. She placed it in her lap and began eating as quickly as she could so she could get to work.

“No need to swallow it all at once. I’ll go and butter a roll and enjoy it with you.”

When Margaret returned, she sat herself right next to Em. “It’s been far too lonely since my Scarlett left. This place can get awfully busy, but it’s usually a houseful of starving men who aren’t much for conversation. Sometimes a woman just needs to sit and talk to another woman.”

“I’ll be glad for the company too. Although I’m not sure I’ll have anything interesting to say,” Em said between bites.

“Of course you will. I have a feeling you’ve a far more interesting story than most of the townspeople. You’ve probably seen things I never have.” Margaret winked at her. “In fact, I think I would be entertained just hearing about your morning.”

Em gasped. Her morning of tears and memories and the brook. “I . . . it was . . .”

Margaret patted her hand. “You don’t have to tell me now. But in time I hope we become dear friends. Then I’ll tell you my secrets and you can tell me yours.”

“I’d like that.” Em tucked her napkin back into her pail. “I’m finished. What can I do first?”

Nodding her head, Margaret said, “The bedrooms. All of them need the sheets stripped from the beds. Then we’ll boil them and hang them on the line. If we work quickly, we should be able to put them back on the beds before dinner.”

“I can do that.” Em nodded, then made her way up the stairs to the bedrooms and busied herself.

She worked hard and fast, her hands doing what she told them to as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, her mind constantly disobeyed her and wandered back to the brook.

Within her mind’s eye she saw the clear water and the morning sun. She saw the trees and she saw Caleb. Handsome, kind Caleb. Men had always scared her, except for her father, but he’d been dead so long she had few memories of him. Caleb was different. He was big and strong like other men. Capable of tearing her apart if he wished or at the very least belittling her, making her feel worthless and unimportant, like other men she’d known. But he hadn’t done that. He had held her, even when she cried. And then he’d kissed her, but not like the vicious kisses she’d witnessed in the city. No, his kiss had been full of kindness, as though he wanted to kiss the pain away.

Someday Caleb would find a beautiful princess to marry. They would live happily ever after just like in all the stories. Em hoped he would get his stretch of land for them to grow old on. Land with a tree and a brook. When he was married and settled, she would be happy for him. Of course she would, he was her friend. Friends are supposed to want good things for each other, aren’t they? No matter what the future held for Caleb, Em knew she would hold the memory of being in his arms and the feel of his kiss on her forehead in her heart always.

Daydreaming as she worked, she allowed herself to pretend he had kissed her because he cared for her and thought she was the most eligible maiden.

“What has you smiling? Or do you always smile while you work?” Margaret asked, pulling Em from her fantasy.

“I . . . I’m just happy to have a job. Never have I had a job like this, with regular hours and pay.”

“And I’m very glad to have you. But I think you’re smiling about something more.” Margaret tugged off the last sheet and together they walked through the house and out the door, settling in a spot behind the building to start washing and hanging them on the line. “I saw a similar look on my Scarlett’s face only months before she up and married Benjamin. You aren’t planning on running off with some beau are you?”

“Me? A beau?” Em was shocked that Margaret thought it even possible. “No, there’s no one. I have no plans to ever marry.”

“No plans to marry? Certainly you have plans to marry. Being married to a good man, toiling with him day in and day out. Laughing together about things no one else is a part of. All of it, the good and the bad, is where you find real joy.”

Picturing her ma kissing her pa, Em frowned, knowing it was a fate not meant for her. “I’m sure there is joy in it. I don’t doubt that. I’m just not convinced there will ever be a good man who wants me. And I’ve no desire to marry a man who’s cruel just so I can share his name.”

“Oh, nonsense. There will be a man out there who thinks you are the sun and the moon, the stars—everything. Judging by that smile, you’ve already met him.” Margaret’s wild curls bobbed as she spoke.

Em, flustered, tried to think of a way to turn the conversation. “Do you attend the socials?”

“I do. Everyone does. I don’t even serve a meal on social nights. I tried to once, but no one came and I missed the fun. I won’t be doing that again. I was left with a mountain of food. I’m glad you brought it up. On the day of the social, we will clean but we won’t be cooking. We’ll work fast so we have plenty of time to freshen up before the fun.”

“I suppose work cannot be my excuse for missing the social.”

The cauldron was boiling. Margaret stirred the sheets with a big wooden paddle. “The socials are fun—all the young people love them. You will too. Is there someone you’re looking forward to dancing with?”

Em stood by the drying line. “I won’t be dancing. I never danced as a child and I certainly never danced during the years I lived near Hollow Creek. I don’t know a thing about it. I’d only make a fool of myself. If I had my way, I’d stay away from the social entirely.”

“Dancing isn’t so hard. It’s fun too. When Wyatt was alive, we danced every dance at the socials. He was so good at leading, and I felt like I was floating the whole night.” Margaret’s hand slowed. “Dancing with Wyatt was pure bliss.”

“Wyatt was your husband?”

“Sure was. He died a few years back—same fever took him that took the Howells’ boys. Now I have to wait for someone to ask me to dance and none of the other fellows are as good a partner as Wyatt was. I still go though.” Margaret sighed. “Every time I go I feel a little closer to him. I don’t want to forget him, so I look for anything that reminds me of him—and dancing always will.” She pulled a sheet out with the paddle, dipped it in the bucket of cool water, wrung it out, and handed it to Em.

She hung it on the line, her mind drifting to her morning again. The brook and the memories of Lucy had made her sweet sister seem closer. “I think I understand your wanting to remember him. Wanting him to feel close.”

“We all grieve differently. I want to have him all around me. I do too. In little ways he’s all over this house. In fact, that’s one reason I can never paint the house a different color.”

“Because he loved the yellow?” Em asked.

Margaret laughed. “Because he hated it. I hired two men to paint the building while he was away. When he came back, he stood in front of it and stared. Then he asked me what in blazes I was thinking. When I told him I thought it was cheerful, he just laughed. Then he swooped me up in his giant arms and carried me inside. He told me he must love me more than he ought to, to let me keep the house that color.”

Smiling up at the house, Margaret said, “I keep it yellow because every time I look at it I can hear his deep voice saying he loves me. Every day after that when Wyatt walked home, I’d see him pause in front of the house, shake his head, and laugh. The yellow reminds me of him.”

What would it be like to share so much with a man?

Margaret added wood to the fire. “I like reminders of him. But not everyone grieves like me. Others close the door like Abigail. She tries to lock it all deep inside. Those boys were something special. She knows it and can’t figure out how to remember them without hurting.”

“What were their names?” Em asked.

“Ask her sometime. Maybe she needs to talk.”

“Seems everyone has lost someone.”

“I think we all did between the war and the fevers that came through here. How about you? Did you lose anyone?”

Em wiped her wet hands on her sides. “I’ve lost everyone. I’m hoping to find one of them though.”

“You will. You’ll find what it is you’re looking for. I can see a fighting spirit in you. I don’t think you’ll give up until you do.” After wringing out the last sheet, she handed it to Em. “Let’s hurry with these so we can get started on our dinner preparations.”

Shaking her hands in the air, Em hoped to find a little extra strength in them. The pile of potatoes she’d peeled already looked like enough to feed all of Azure Springs. And so many more were waiting to have their dirt-stained peels removed. How many people were they feeding?

“You’ll get stronger. I hired you knowing the pile would be more than you could handle at first.” Margaret was kneading bread. “You’ve done remarkably well. I thought those thin arms of yours would take weeks to build up strength.”

Em picked up another potato and started scraping the skin from it. “I’ll finish them, even today I will. But I hope to get faster.”

“I believe it was providence that brought you here.” Margaret’s voice interrupted her peeling. “We two are a similar breed. A challenge always makes me want to fight harder. When Wyatt died, no one thought I could keep this place running. Every time they said I couldn’t, I grew more determined. It’s been years now and the deed’s still mine.”

“I haven’t succeeded at everything I’ve set my mind to,” Em said, scraping harder. “I wish I had.”

“Yes, but you’re a fighter. The future may not work out how you’ve planned or dreamed, but it will work out.” Margaret had a way of making anything seem possible.

“I like to believe it will,” Em said. “I daydream of happy endings for myself. I’ve hoped more since living here than I did before.”

“You’re here in Azure Springs with a job, and from what I overheard Abigail saying, you have endeared yourself in the hearts of that family.” Margaret began shaping the dough. “It’s easier to believe when we have people cheering us on.”

“I have been blessed as of late. More than I deserve.”

“Nonsense. You’re entirely deserving. I don’t know much of your story, but I know it’s been a rough road for you. Keep enduring. Sometimes the steepest roads lead to the grandest views. Now, before the crowd arrives, I must warn you about a few of the regulars.”

Em looked up.

“There are always a few strangers just passing through, and we will learn about them together. But there are some regulars you can count on. There’s Old Man Garret. He’s been coming every night since his wife died two months ago. He’s harmless but doesn’t hear well. Be sure to talk where he can see you so he can read your lips. His manners could use some brushing up, but he’s a good man.”

“How will I know him?”

“I’ll introduce you to them as they come in. Reuben Dronley will more than likely be here. He’s boarding over at the saloon. His house burnt down nearly a year ago, and he says he’s going to rebuild but doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to do so. If he’s been drinking, he’ll forget all his manners and might even cause a few problems. Don’t wander off alone with him.” Margaret pushed a few curls from her face, leaving a bit of flour on her already wild locks.

Em nodded. “I’ll forgo the evening stroll.”

“Sheriff Reynolds comes a couple times a week.”

Em perked up at his name, then just as quickly ducked her head and went to work harder than before on the potatoes.

“So you know our fine sheriff? Of course you do. He’s been chasing after the men who shot you.” She could feel Margaret watching her as she spoke. “Do you find him as dashing as the other ladies in town do? How could you not? You’d have to be blind not to. Scarlett always swooned when he was in, until she met her own man. Something about Caleb Reynolds turns all the girls’ heads.”

Margaret didn’t pressure Em for answers and went right on telling her about their other potential dinner guests. She told Em all about Spencer and Titus Weston who were twins and had lived together their entire lives and never married. Then there was Walter Pratt, a traveling surveyor who was in town for a couple weeks.

“Every night it’s like having a dinner party and not knowing who to expect. Some nights the company is very pleasant, other nights you wonder when it will ever end.” Margaret stepped back and admired her loaves of bread. “It won’t be long before you know them all too.”

They worked hard preparing the meal to feed the mob. The conversation and companionship were easy. Margaret had a laid-back and natural way of sparking conversation, and Em felt herself relax in the woman’s company. The work was not as easy or natural. Instead, it was hard and tiring.

The dinner rush, as Margaret called it, was perfectly befitting of its title. Em rushed from the kitchen to the hall, carrying bowls of food and serving one man after another. A few women were present, but it was predominantly men. Margaret walked with Em around the table once—her serving beans and Em serving potatoes—and introduced her new employee to the guests.

These hungry men seemed to have bottomless pits where their stomachs should be. The crowd ate without ceasing until Margaret walked in from the kitchen carrying an empty pot. She banged on the pot with a wooden spoon, silencing the crowd. “Dinner is over—kitchen’s closing up. Finish what’s on your plate and be on your way.”

The men groaned and scraped their plates, desperately trying to get one more forkful. They obeyed though. When not a crumb more could be found, they stood and patted their full bellies and readied to leave. Chair legs dragged across the floor as they left the table and made for the door. Some were gruff, rowdy men. Reuben staggered out, announcing his need of a drink despite the fact that he had clearly had too many before dinner.

Most thanked Margaret and complimented her cooking. A few were bold and asked Margaret what it would take for her to cook for just them. Like a seasoned warrior, she stayed perfectly calm, only laughing and pushing them toward the door.

The noise of the men leaving the large dining hall was tumultuous. They left quickly, though, and suddenly it was very quiet. Strangely quiet after the long meal. For a moment Em just stood there looking at the mess the group had left. The table had become a long mountain range of dishes.

Weary from the afternoon of hard labor, she was tempted with every fiber of her being to sit down and refuse to lift so much as one dish from the table. Margaret patted her on the shoulder. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Never look at the whole table—it will be more than you can stomach. Instead, start at one end and carry an armload at a time. One dish, then another, and then somehow I come to get more and find they’re all gone. Done for the night. That is the best feeling of the entire day.” She pulled Em toward the table. “Let’s get started. The sooner we start, the sooner you’ll get to experience that moment.”

Margaret followed her own advice. She picked up an awkward load of dishes and carried them back to the big wash basin in the kitchen. Em picked up her own load and, walking carefully and slowly, also made her way to the soapy water.

She had aching arms, shoulders, and fingers, a sore back, tired legs, and even a pounding head, but she had survived her first hours of work. Washing the dishes was hard at the end of the day, but Margaret stayed beside her the entire time, washing and drying in turn. A comfortable silence settled over the two as they worked. And then the moment came. The table was clear, the mountain range replaced by a smooth wooden plain.

With their hands on their hips, the two women stood side by side admiring the empty table.

“Do you feel it?” Margaret asked.

“I feel it,” Em said while enjoying the sublime sense of accomplishment. “You were right. This moment was worth it.”

As she walked back to the Howells’, she knew she’d given a good day’s work and was a step closer to Beckford. Hope and pride crept into her heart.

Lucy, I’m coming.