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Authors: Delynn Royer

Always (6 page)

BOOK: Always
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Even now, as a man, Ross could look back and admit that no matter what else they had been to each other, no matter all the heartache and troubles that plagued their relationship in later years, Emily Winters was probably the best friend he’d ever had.

But it hadn’t started out that way.

 

Chapter Four

 

May 1855

It was Saturday. As Ross swept the floor around the job presses, he whistled a few bars of “Turkey in the Straw” and pretended not to notice as Emily Winters strutted by on her way to the front door. Once she was past him, however, he stopped his work and fixed her pointy shoulder blades with a narrow-eyed glare. The little weasel.

Like most Saturday mornings, she’d been hanging around the print shop since it had opened, poking into things and making a nuisance of herself; and, like most Saturdays, at quarter to eleven, she was headed out the door with a burlap sack slung over one shoulder. Ross was always glad to see her go. Today, however, he was even happier to see her stay true to her usual Saturday routine. He had a plan.

Propping his broom against the wall, Ross pulled off his work apron and hung it on a peg in the rear of the job department. Yesterday, she’d nearly gotten him fired. After school, he’d carefully organized and tied with twine several orders of sales circulars, menus, billheads, and carton labels for delivery. He’d made the mistake, however, of leaving the two tied bundles unattended on the worktable for ten minutes. When he’d returned and pulled them from the table, he’d realized immediately something was wrong, but it was too late. His meticulously packaged print orders burst loose from their tied bundles and spilled to the floor. Ross had stared at the paper disaster at his feet, then at the ropes that dangled from his fingers. They were still knotted at the top, but the bottoms had been cleanly sliced.

“This is the end of the road for you, Miss Weasel,” Ross muttered as he pulled open the front door and stepped out onto the busy sidewalk. He spotted Emily ahead and set out to follow her at a safe distance.

The cut twine incident had been only the latest in a series of suspicious mishaps since Ross had gotten his new job. Spilled ink. Lost orders. Ross had known it would do no good to tell Mr. Winters that his own daughter was behind these misadventures. At worst, it would have sounded like a lie, at best, petty. But yesterday, Mr. Winters had finally called Ross into his office. He’d grimly shut the door behind them, and Ross’s heart had sunk into his shoes. He was sure that his new job and his entire future in newspapering were about to go up in smoke, but then Mr. Winters had fixed him with a gruff look. “My daughter, Emily Elizabeth, she wouldn’t have some bone to pick with you, would she, son?”

It was then Ross realized that Mr. Winters knew the truth. But that alone, apparently, wasn’t going to solve Ross’s problem.

“I’m running a business here, Mr. Gallagher,” he said sternly, “I do not have the time or money to afford such shenanigans.”

Ross swallowed hard. “No, sir.”

“A man is innocent until proven guilty. I assume you are aware of that tenet. It is the basis of the criminal justice system in these great United States of America.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But a business is not a democracy.”

“No, sir.”

“My father had an old saying, Mr. Gallagher. It’s easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar.”

Ross was confused. “Flies, sir?”

But Mr. Winters opened his office door, dismissing him. “And I believe it was Mr. Franklin who said, ‘Time is money.’ I suggest that you give both those old sayings some serious consideration.”

Oh, Ross had given them some serious consideration, all right. Mr. Winters wasn’t about to banish his own daughter, even if she was a spoiled, bratty nuisance. It was up to Ross to smooth things over with the little hoyden. And soon.

Ross continued to follow Emily as she headed out of town on the Columbia Pike. He felt sure she was on her way home. His plan was to wait until she turned off the pike to confront her, but after she did turn off, she surprised him by cutting through the Brenners’ woodlot instead of continuing on the road toward the covered bridge that would have led to her home.

Where was she going?

When she disappeared into the woods, Ross followed, keeping her blue calico dress in sight through the trees. He stopped at a break in the thickest part of the woods to see her picking her way up a steep, rocky incline. By then, his curiosity was really up. The nimble manner in which she zigzagged up the hill told him she’d tested her best paths many times before.

Ross followed until he came to the top of the hill. The trees were scarcer down below and there was another rocky knoll across from him. A grassy creek bed nestled in the niche between the knolls. Ross guessed the little stream was an offshoot of Mowrer’s Creek, which ran west of his family’s farm and right by Emily’s house.

Ross hunkered down to watch Emily down below. She’d dropped her burlap sack near the creek and now stood at the base of an old oak. Rubbing her hands together, she jumped to grasp the lowest limb and hung there, her stockinged legs swinging free above the ground. Then she did something Ross never expected. She skinned the cat.

Penduluming back and forth a few times to gain momentum, she swung her legs all the way up to push through the narrow space between her arms. For what seemed like a long time, her legs stayed that way, sticking straight out over her head at a perpendicular angle from the tree limb.

Ross had to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. Her white drawers were in full view up to the waist, and her faded blue dress and white petticoat hung straight down like a tent. There was no sign of her head at all, just the tufted ends of two black braids pointing to the ground below the hem of her topsy-turvy dress. Like all boys, Ross had skinned the cat many times, but this was the first time he’d seen a girl do it.

Emily’s legs started to wobble as she strained to extend them farther, tipping downward as if trying to touch the ground behind her. Ross was sure she was going to break her neck, but then, with a jerk, she pushed her legs and hips the rest of the way through the space between her arms and flipped around, turning loose of the limb and landing on her feet. Her dress dropped down to her knees, and she brushed off her hands, shaking her braids back into place behind her shoulders.

Ross shook his head. So, all right. She was good. For a girl.

Emily strolled over to her burlap sack and pulled out what looked like a large journal. After spreading the empty sack out on the grass, she settled on the ground, crossing her legs into an eight beneath her skirt. For a long time, her head remained bent as she worked in her journal. At first, Ross assumed she was writing, maybe because he was a secret writer himself, but then he noticed her long, bold pencil strokes and realized she was drawing. It was time to approach.

Ross tried to be quiet as he started down the slope, but it was steep and there were loose rocks. He was about three-quarters of the way down when his heel jammed on some loose soil, sending a shower of pebbles down the slope, himself along with them.

“Whoa! Look out!” Ross called, losing his balance and regaining it again a split second before he would have landed on his behind at the bottom of the hill.

Emily was already on her feet, wielding a long, pointy stick. “What are you doing here?”

Ross grinned and brushed himself off. “A better question. What are
you
doing here?” He started toward her but stopped when she raised the stick.

“Get away! You’d better leave me alone or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Ross challenged, then added smugly, “And anyhow, does your pa know you come here every Saturday?”

Emily’s fierce expression faltered, but only for a split second. She didn’t lower the stick. “Sure he knows. What business is it of yours?”

Ross snorted. “Why do I have the feeling that you’re being less than completely truthful?”

“Why don’t you just go away and leave me alone?”

“You can put the stick down. I’m not going to hurt you.” Ross narrowed his eyes. “Although maybe I should, considering it’s been you pulling those tricks on me at the shop.”

She blinked. It was the only sign that she might be worried. “You don’t have any proof of that.”

“I don’t need any. Your pa knows, too.”

At this, her forehead crinkled. “He does?”

“Put down the stick. You couldn’t hurt a mouse with that thing.”

Emily evaluated her meager weapon, then lowered it cautiously. “Did he say so?”

“Not in so many words, but he knows.”

“You’re lying. If he knew, he would have given me the dickens for it.”

“I hope he does.”

Emily threw down the stick. “Well, I’m his daughter, and you’re just an errand boy. We’ll just see which one of us lasts longer.”

“A business needs an errand boy more than it needs a pesky little girl hanging around.”

“Pesky?” Emily stiffened her spine. “Papa lets me help out a lot. I even know how to set type. Do you?”

“Not yet, but I’ll learn soon enough. I pick things up pretty quick.”

“Ha! You’re pretty full of yourself, I’d say. Why don’t you go on home?”

“Because I don’t feel like it.” He glanced down where Emily’s journal lay open on the grass. “So, what’s this?” He bent to pick it up.

“No!”

Emily sprang, trying to snatch the journal. She was fast, but Ross was faster. He turned his back, raising it out of her reach. “Ooooh! What have we here?”

Emily grabbed at his arms. “You worm! You pig! It’s mine!”

Ross laughed as he pulled loose from her scrambling fingers and dodged her next attack. “Such
baaad
words from such a nice little girl!”

She kept coming, her arms flailing. “Give it to me! It’s mine!”

Ross eluded her and ran a short distance away, turning his back to steal a look at what she was so hell-bent on hiding. The journal was open to a pencil sketch of a rabbit. And it was good. Darn good. At first glance, he thought it looked more like the illustration in a real book than the work of a child.

There was a bloodcurdling holler. Before Ross could turn around, something huge struck him from behind. He staggered forward, a little stunned by such unexpected force and weight. He had been butted once by a billy goat. He had also been attacked by a shrieking, foul-tempered rooster. This was like a nightmarish combination of both.

She had jumped him and now had her spindly, bony legs wrapped tight around his middle and her arms locked around his neck, and he had the fleeting thought that he’d never known a girl who acted like this before, either.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, “what are you do—
accckkk
!” She was squeezing his windpipe on purpose!

“Drop it, Ross Gallagher! You drop it right now!”

To shake her off, he started turning in circles, but she clung like a bloodsucking leech.

“Drop it!”

He didn’t drop it. Darned if he was going to now! He hugged the journal to his chest, and with his free hand, reached up to wrest her arms from his neck.

She shrieked into his ear.
“Let it go! Dad blast it!”

He was now half deaf, not to mention near choking, so he did the only thing he could under the circumstances. He dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back, pinning her beneath him.

The air rushed from her lungs and her grip around his neck went limp. She went deathly still. Cold panic lanced through him. No! What if he’d squashed her? How would he explain it to Mr. Winters?

Alarmed, Ross rolled off of her. By the time he sat up to check if she was still alive, though, she was coming back at him. Ross raised both arms to ward her off. “Cut it out!” he yelled, but she didn’t seem to notice that he’d dropped the journal to protect himself.

Ross collapsed onto his back, grabbing blindly for her arms, but she went for his face. Her fingers entangled in his hair. “Ouch!"

Well, she’d made one humdinger of a mistake that time. He would never stoop so low as to hit a girl, but two could play at this game. Ross tugged hard on the braid that hung above his face.

She screeched. “Ouch!”

Her nails scratched his scalp, her fingers tangling deeper into his hair.

He yelled, “Ouch!”

He pulled again. Harder this time. Her eyelids clenched and her mouth pulled back into a grimace. “Stop it!”

“No,
you
stop it!”

Emily hesitated. It was her turn, yet she didn’t move. A slow minute ticked by as they glared into each others’ eyes, their faces mere inches apart.
Stalemate
. Ross could see that she was trying to think her way out of this, but there
was
no way out. If she was smart, she would let go. If she was stupid, they could be here till dark.

She growled in disgust. “Aw, dad blast it!” Her fingers slipped from his hair, then she rolled off of him and collapsed onto her back in the grass.

Ross closed his eyes. His scalp tingled where she had pulled out a hank of hair. He tried to remember how all of this had started. The journal. The rabbit.

“You shouldn’t have taken my sketchbook,” she said.

Ross opened his eyes. Through the oak tree branches overhead, he could see puffy white Saturday afternoon clouds loitering in the bright blue sky. “I reckon I shouldn’t have, but you shouldn’t have played those tricks on me, either.”

He heard a snort, then she giggled. He turned his head to see she had one hand clapped over her mouth.

“What’s so funny?”

When she looked at him, her eyes glinted with mischief. “We’re even.”

He snorted. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Sitting up, she shook her head to send loose dirt and grass blades flying. One of her braids, the one Ross had yanked, had lost its ribbon. Emily stood and frowned down at her smudged and wrinkled dress. One of her stockings had sagged down to her ankles and the white drawers visible below her hem were grass-stained. “Dad blast it,” she muttered. “My dress is ruined. My mama’s going to kill me.”

Ross pushed up to his feet. “Just tell her you fell on your way home.”

BOOK: Always
3.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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