Mrs. Allen had seemed very happy with Sam’s house upon her tour when they arrived. Sam had shown her around, and she appeared very pleased until her eyes settled on the large piece of furniture covered by a white sheet.
Meg was confused by the awkward silence that followed for a few moments.
“Is that what I think it is, son?” She pointed to the piano.
Sam rubbed his forehead before answering. “Yes, Mother, it is.”
“And it’s covered because…”
Meg held her breath, anticipating the answer that would come, but her shoulders sagged when Sam spoke.
“I’ll show you to your room, Mother, and Meg can start heating the water for your bath.” He picked up Mrs. Allen’s suitcase and headed up the stairs, clearly expecting his mother to follow.
Mrs. Allen turned to Meg, but all she got in return was a shrug as Meg headed into the kitchen to heat the water. “There are clean towels on the vanity for you, Mrs. Allen,” she said as Sam’s mother turned and started up the stairs behind her son, clearly as confused as Meg.
As she stoked the wood stove to heat the water, she wondered what could possibly be uncomfortable about the subject of the piano. Sam had mentioned he read music, and she assumed he could play if he had a piano in his house, but couldn’t guess as to why he didn’t want to. Maybe he’d just been too busy, although the sheet did appear to have been there for a very long time.
Sam entered the kitchen and said, “I can take the water up if you’d like.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he sat down at the table.
“Thank you, but I think I should. I can then pour the bath and see if she needs anything else. I’m surprised that it’s been a little challenging already, and that it hadn’t occurred to us to come up with a story about how we’d met.”
Sam looked up at Meg as he smiled. “You did a great job of that one. Very quick.”
Meg’s stomach fluttered at his words. “Thank you, but you didn’t hear the first part when I practically stuttered. I thought the truth would be out in the first five minutes.”
“That would have been awful. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome, but it doesn’t bode well for the rest of the visit, that there are topics we haven’t even considered that may come up in conversation.
“I suppose we’ll just have to take it each day at a time.”
“Or each minute at a time, more likely.” Meg laughed as she readied the pail for Mrs. Allen’s bath.
“Would you mind if I walk over to the Occidental for a bit while Mother is resting? I wanted to explain to Tripp what’s happening, and when he might expect me back. Hopefully, this week will be the fastest to pass in history.”
“Of course. I’ll start supper.”
“I thought maybe we could take her to the Occidental for dinner.”
“Oh, dear. Might that be a little risky? All the patrons there know you’re the bartender. They might ask you for a drink. Or at the very least, a chat. She might get suspicious.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Sam said, his chin falling into his hands as his elbows rested on the table.
“I’ll ask your mother what she’d like to do, depending on how tired she is. It’s a fairly rigorous trip.”
“That’s true. She just might want to have an easy night.”
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.”
“I’ll just put something together for supper. I have several options,” Meg said, rolling over in her mind what she’d like to make. She certainly wasn’t as good a cook as her mother had been—no one was, but Tripp—but she’d learned a fair amount and could put something together that she thought Mrs. Allen would enjoy. She had yet to cook for Sam, as there hadn’t been time, and she looked forward to the opportunity to please him, too.
“Thank you, Meg. You are truly a help in all this. I couldn’t do it without you.”
As Sam took his coat and hat from the rack and opened the door, Meg sighed, happy for Sam’s gratitude but also hoping that they were getting to know each other better, and that he would see they were the perfect couple—just as she’d known all along.
As Sam left for the Occidental, she carried the pail of hot water upstairs. She knocked quietly on Mrs. Allen’s door and twisted the knob as she heard, “Come in.”
Meg couldn’t help but stare as Mrs. Allen sat at the vanity, brushing out long, beautiful black locks, her hat on the peg and hairpins on the vanity. She suddenly wished she’d had more time with Clara to learn how to do more than brush and plait it, with the one exception being the simple style Clara had taught her.
Mrs. Allen had unpacked her suitcase and hung several lovely, intricately sewn dresses in the wardrobe. She followed Meg’s eyes and said, “I think I may be a little over-dressed here. I hope not. I wasn’t at all sure what to bring.”
“Oh, no, your dresses are lovely. They are perfectly appropriate in Tombstone. So many new people come every day as the mine grows, and they wear dresses like that.”
“But you don’t?” Mrs. Allen said, and Meg glanced quickly down at her simple, blue cotton dress and apron.
“I suppose, for more special occasions. Gathering eggs and milking cows calls for a different type of dress.”
“My, do you and Sam have cows and chickens?”
Meg opened her mouth, then shut it as she realized that she had been referring to her previous life—all of three days ago—and that now, she did not, in fact, do those things.
“Oh, no, my sisters have taken that task over for me at the ranch. I work mostly now at the mercantile, and even there we have a bit of physical labor to do. Satin doesn’t suit the job.” She laughed, hoping that Mrs. Allen thought her story plausible, and she poured the pail of hot water into the bath so as not to give her any more cause for suspicion.
“That certainly makes sense. I love a practical attitude like that. In fact, when Sam’s father…” She turned quickly back to the mirror, not finishing her sentence. “Let’s just say that I had to have several different types of dresses at the ready at all times. For my different duties.”
Meg wasn’t sure what she was referring to, as Sam had told her that his father worked much of the time, and when he wasn’t working, he was practicing—at what, she didn’t know. Not wanting to pry, she turned toward the door.
“There are clean towels over there for you,” she said.
“Thank you, dear. You’re taking very good care of me and I’m grateful.”
“I’ll be working on supper, and won’t disturb you in your rest. Feel free to come downstairs when you’re up to it.”
“Thank you. But I’m not sure I’ll be able to rest much. I’m terribly anxious to get to know you better, and see what you both do here in town.”
Meg forced a smile and a nod, then closed the door behind her, falling back to lean against it as she let out a big breath.
Another close call. She thought it would be easier than this—it was already a bit harder than she’d expected. What was she thinking? Would they ever be able to do this? Shaking her head, she walked down the stairs of her home—Sam’s home—hoping that nothing else would throw her off balance tonight. At least for one night.