Chances (2 page)

“I’m so sorry. You must have loved Biscuit very much.”

“He was our best friend.” Molly sniffled.

Sarah squeezed the girl again then pulled out of the hug. “I think a friend like that deserves a decent burial, don’t you?”

Kate and Molly nodded, their faces solemn.

“Then we’d best make our way over to the depot and see about talking my boss Jim into carrying Biscuit over out of here before someone claims the bounty, and the dog wagon shows up.”

She ushered the girls toward the station and offered a silent prayer that she’d be able to get their situation settled soon. As it was, she’d have a stack of telegrams to tackle, and her favorite work skirt was stained with Biscuit’s blood.

“You work here? At the train station?” Kate asked as they neared the door.

Sarah nodded.

Inside, Jim glanced up, his eyes widening at their appearance. “Them boys sure did leave a mess.”

“Kate and Molly here would like to take Biscuit home and bury him. Can we get him off the street?”

“You just mind the ticket counter while I load him up in the wheelbarrow and bring him back. You got four wires in.”

Kate watched Jim exit the building, then turned to Sarah. “Ma’am, I think Molly needs a drink and somewhere to sit.”

Sarah pointed to the ceramic water cooler in the center of the now empty waiting room. “Help yourselves,” she said. “Take any seat.” She smiled at them and entered her small office.

A stack of four papers lay on the counter next to the telegraph key. Sarah scanned them, noted that Jim had carefully recorded them in the logbook, and prepared them for delivery.

“Ma’am?” Kate’s refined voice interrupted from the doorway.

Sarah turned. “Yes?”

“I don’t think Molly should sit on these leather seats, ma’am. Not with her dress all stained. May she sit in here?”

Sarah sighed and nodded. “Just move those boxes off that stool.”

Moments later, she heard the box hit the wooden floor and the rustling of cloth as Molly climbed onto the stool. She hoped the child didn’t chatter. It was late morning already, and she had several telegrams scheduled to be sent before noon. Taking the first of them, she counted the number of words it contained and added in the category “Day Letter,” then began clicking out Morse code.

“Miss?” Molly’s polite tone was an echo of Kate’s.

“Yes, Molly?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sending a telegram.”

“But it’s just a bunch of clickety clack.”

“Molly, mind your manners,” Kate chastised.

“It’s all right, Kate.” Sarah finished the letter, then turned to the girls.

Molly sat on the wooden stool, watching Sarah with bright brown eyes. Her brown hair, like Kate’s, was curled into tidy ringlets. Kate stood beside her, craning her neck toward the telegraph.

“It does sound like a bunch of clickety clack unless you know what to listen for. Every letter in the alphabet has a certain pattern of dots and dashes, short clicks and long clacks, if you will. You just need to know what’s what.”

“How come you know all that?” Molly asked.

“I went to school just to learn it.”

“I’ve heard of telegraphers before,” Kate added, curiosity finally getting the better of her. “Papa gets telegrams, sometimes. But I’ve never heard of a lady telegrapher before.”

“There aren’t many of us, Kate, but our fingers can transmit code as well as any man’s can.”

“Papa says ladies belong in the home.”

Sarah nodded. She’d heard that comment many times. “Well, Molly, some ladies do and some ladies don’t. It all depends on the lady.”

“Sorry to interrupt your little suffrage meeting, Miss Sarah, but Biscuit’s all loaded up. I reckon it’s best to get him and the girls on home before the one o’clock rush starts.”

Sarah shook her head at her friend’s familiar teasing and smiled. “Thank you, Jim.”

“I covered him up with an old blanket.”

              She nodded, then shifted her glance to the telegraph key.

              “Go on, take them home,” Jim told her. “I can’t be leaving the station for that long. I know more about telegraphing than you do about ticket selling anyway. Shouldn’t be too heavy, and I know better than to assume you can’t handle it.”

“Thanks.” Sarah turned back to her young charges. “Now, Misses Kate and Molly, I need to know who your papa is and where to find him.”

“His name’s Daniel Petterman and he—”

“Petterman? The undertaker?” A twinge of foreboding began to gnaw at Sarah.

“Yes, ma’am.” Kate nodded.

“And he’s at work?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“He’s not out of town?”

“No, ma’am.”

Sarah bolted to the basket of telegrams waiting for delivery. It was empty.

“Bates came back and took them out while you was across the way,” Jim explained. “There a problem?”

“I had a wire for Petterman. Bates told me he was out of town.”

“This about the body you were talking about?”

Sarah nodded.

“Silverman came for it just after the train pulled in. Said the body had no name, and he’d take it right on up to the graveyard and bury it with the rest of the unidentifieds.” He glanced at Sarah and raised his bushy eyebrows. “Something tells me Petterman knows who it is and that he don’t belong in Potter’s Field.”

* * * * *

Sarah followed Kate and Molly up Blake Street to a tidy white building. At the front, a lettered sign declared it to be the establishment of Daniel Petterman, Undertaker, the man who should have received the body from the train.

She set the back of the heavy wheelbarrow down and waited as the girls called out for their father. Biting her lip, she cursed Frank Bates for playing her for a fool. He’d told her Petterman was out of town, and she’d taken his word. Now she’d need to confess to making a mistake that she hadn’t really made and pray that Petterman was an understanding sort.

The front curtains wavered slightly, then a slender, chestnut-haired man burst from the door of the coffin shop and down the front steps, two at a time.

“Molly, Kate. Are you hurt?” He knelt next to the girls, touching them and eyeing Molly’s blood-soaked dress with concern. “What happened?”

Kate shook her head. “Molly’s fine, Papa, but Biscuit’s dead.” Her lower lip trembled and tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.

“Biscuit?”

“Miss Sarah’s got him in the wheelbarrow,” Molly added, pointing. The tears poured down Molly’s face but the little girl held her earlier sobs.

Petterman drew his daughters close. “Thank you for taking care of my girls,” he said hoarsely. He hugged them for a moment, then glanced up at Sarah, staring with the most amazing eyes she’d ever seen, an unremarkable hazel in color, but piercing and intense.

Sarah fussed at her stained brown skirt for a moment, then straightened. Lord, she hated it when men perused her that way, like she was some
thing
rather than an intelligent and capable woman. And she hated even more that she had reacted by immediately fretting about how she looked.

She wiped her dusty right hand against her thigh, then offered it to him. Let him think what he wanted. “Sarah Donovan, Mr. Petterman.”

“Daniel Petterman,” he answered, somewhat warily. He stood, eyebrows raised, then shook her hand. She saw disapproval in his expression and bit her tongue. If he didn’t like women introducing themselves, he should have offered his hand first.

“I’m afraid one of the local gangs caught up with Biscuit and claimed him for the bounty,” she explained, “and I also need to—”

“They shot him?” Daniel barked, stepping toward her.

Sarah nodded. Clearly, the explanation about the body would have to wait. “Twice.”

“In front of my girls?” He paced until his breathing slowed. Once again composed, he turned back to Sarah. “I apologize for the outburst, Miss Donovan.”

Sarah glanced at Molly and Kate. Kate’s earlier words echoed through her mind.
Papa wouldn’t like us making a scene.
Heavens, somebody shot their family dog, and he was worried about being angry? Though he should, he’d probably never think about the girls needing more than just physical comforting.

She leveled her gaze on Daniel and sighed. “I thought Kate and Molly might want him to have a proper burial instead of him being hauled off.”

“Thank you, Miss Donovan.” His probing eyes took in her disheveled clothes. “It looks as if my girls made quite an impact on your day. May I arrange for someone over at Hop Alley to clean that skirt?”

Sarah shook her head at his businesslike tone. “Oh, that’s really not—”

“Yes, it is, Miss Donovan. I don’t shirk from my responsibilities. I only hope the stain will lift out. Send it to Su Ling, and I’ll take care of the costs.”

“Papa?” Molly tugged at Daniel’s hand. “Can Biscuit have a casket?”

Daniel stiffened and shook his head, his face full of unease. “Well, Molly, I’m not sure—”

“I don’t think Biscuit would be very comfortable in a casket, Molly,” Sarah interrupted, wondering where in the world the sudden urge to rescue Daniel from his discomfort had come from. “When he gets to heaven, I’m sure he’ll want to run and play. Does he have a favorite rug? That would be real nice for him, a familiar place to sleep.”

“Oh, Miss Sarah, what a grand idea.” Kate hugged Sarah impulsively then quickly pulled away, straightening her dress. “Isn’t that a fine idea, Papa?”

Daniel glanced at Sarah, as if trying to figure her out.

“Papa?” Kate prompted.

Daniel’s attention returned to his daughter. “It sounds like the best one offered so far. Why don’t you take Molly in and see if Mrs. Winifred will help the two of you get changed into clean dresses? We’ll get Biscuit settled temporarily out back. We can bury him this evening, maybe say a few words.”

The two girls disappeared around the building to the side door of their private quarters, leaving Sarah and Daniel alone. “I’ll haul him around back,” he announced.

He lifted the back of the wheelbarrow, and his muscles tightened under his crisp white shirt. He straightened and the cloth stretched over his biceps.

Sarah smiled in appreciation. Daniel Petterman was obviously a fit man, his body molded by hard work.

“You managed to bring this all the way from the railroad yard?”

Sarah bristled. “I’m not a bird, Mr. Petterman, however slight I may appear.”

He ignored her and pushed Biscuit around the end of the wood frame building. Sarah kept pace, matching his long strides with quick steps of her quite-a-bit-shorter legs. It was time to tell him the other reason she’d come.

“Mr. Petterman?” she said hesitantly. “I have something else—”

“Yes?” He tipped the wheelbarrow, the dog slid forward and the blanket slipped away. The animal was a mangled mess. Ragged holes tore its flesh and its yellow fur was matted with dried blood. Daniel stared, his mouth tight. “Jesus, my girls watched this?”

Sarah’s heart caught at the emotion in his voice, and she wished she were able to offer more comfort than quiet words of explanation. “I think they tried to stop it. I didn’t pay much attention until the shots.”

“What a damned idiotic statute. A bounty on dogs. Does nothing but encourage hoodlums to kill family pets. They could have easily shot Molly or Kate.” He settled Biscuit onto his side and recovered his remains with gentle reverence.

“Then why hasn’t the statute been changed? Have you considered doing something about it?”

“I’ll file my complaint with the City.” He straightened and turned to her. “Good enough?”

“For a start, but why stop there? Don’t just complain. Write a letter to the editor of the
Rocky Mountain News
, go to the next City Council meeting, start a petition, march in front of City Hall, throw rocks at the dog wagon, refuse to allow anyone to pick up the dead dogs.”

“My, aren’t you the hotbed of ideas?” Daniel shook his head and reached for the wheelbarrow again.

“Ideas lead to action, Mr. Petterman, and action leads to change. Things don’t change when people sit quietly at home.” She followed him around the building.

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t do any of those things, Miss Donovan.”

Sarah stopped, dumbfounded. She couldn’t imagine not taking action. “Why not?”

“Businessmen use proper channels. They do not cause problems.”

“Problems? A few moments ago, it sounded as if you thought the law was a problem. Businessmen carry a lot of power, Mr. Petterman. Perhaps you ought to use it. They shot your dog, for crying out loud. What if they’d hurt your daughters?”

Daniel stopped and marched back to her. “The law
is
a problem, and I know they shot my dog.” His voice was tinged with hostility, surprising her. “It is an absurd law which incites situations like the one that killed Biscuit and endangers the public. I will handle it in my own way, not with some radical knee-jerk reaction. Don’t you dare imply that I don’t care about my girls or that I take this lightly.”

“But you won’t do anything about it?”

“I said I would handle it in my own way. I don’t
do
any of the things you mentioned, Miss Donovan.”

“Sarah, please,” she prompted, knowing he’d use her first name if she were a man. “And why don’t you?”

“Because I prefer to avoid the bother it would cause. I live my life quietly. Besides, it isn’t dignified.”

“Dignified? What kind of answer is that? Either you care about changing the law or you don’t. If you don’t care enough to do something about it, then you clearly don’t care, period.”

“We elect city councilmen to make these decisions. Our actions are taken at their meetings and at the polls. If we don’t like their decisions, we’ve only ourselves to blame.”

Sarah felt her anger rise. “Elect? I certainly didn’t elect anyone, Mr. Petterman.
I
don’t happen to have a vote.”

Daniel sighed and shook his head. “Of course not, Miss Donovan. You’re a woman.”

The remark bit into her like a slap. “This
woman
was the very one who stood out there and made sure those hoodlums left your daughters alone. This
woman
dealt with their tears and the blood and the remains. Don’t you dare tell me this
woman
doesn’t possess the ability to vote. If women had suffrage or the right to stand for office, stupid laws wouldn’t even exist.”