Shadow of Legends (16 page)

“This evening's the Raspberry Festival at the church,” Todd reminded him. “I don't think even that bunch would take potshots at a church meeting.”

“I reckon we'll find out.” Bullock pushed his hat back and meandered out into the street.

The lady at the door donned a smile as wide as her face. The burgundy-collar silk dress with black velvet shawl swished as she strolled into the store. Her black straw hat with French flowers was at a waggish tilt.

“Good morning, ma'am,” Todd grinned.

“It's well past noon, Mr. Fortune,” she lectured.

Todd pulled his pocket watch out of his vest, and glanced at it. “Yep. Did you miss me at lunch?”

“With Dacee June and two children, we hardly knew you were gone,” Rebekah admitted.

“You look mighty nice for going to visit a sick friend,” he grinned. “You aren't sneaking out dancing, are you?”

Rebekah laughed. “If I would have known a dress like this was so captivating, I would have sewn one up years ago.”

“You didn't need a dress like this to captivate me last night,” he murmured.

“You, Todd Fortune, are a pushover. I love it.” She waltzed down the hardware aisle as if actually inspecting the merchandise. “This is the day Abigail's mother and daughter arrive. I might get so busy later that I won't have time to change clothing.”

“I figured you just dressed that way to torment me.”

“Did it work?”

“Yep.”

“Good. Besides, I like the way this dress makes me feel. Like I'm someone important.”

“You are important.” Todd shook his head. “I still can't figure you out, Rebekah Fortune. After the shots were fired at the store last night, I thought you'd be depressed for a month. I thought you'd be in tears. Instead, I come home to find you . . .”

With gloved hands she examined a mule shoe. “Just how did you find me, Mr. Fortune?”

“You know . . . all friendly like. Sometimes you're a puzzle.”

“A lady of mystery? I like that. You never know what she might do. On the other hand, some things are predictable. Have you reserved a carriage for our drive to Rapid City on Sunday?”

“Eh, no . . . I figured that maybe . . .”

“Maybe I'd changed my mind? Mr. Fortune, when a lady of mystery changes her mind, you will be the last to know!” She turned and strutted toward the front door.

A worn-out Quiet Jim greeted Rebekah when she arrived at their Lincoln Street home in the Ingleside district. He opened the big glass and oak front door wide and ushered her into the parlor.

“Did Baby Sarah fuss last night?” she asked.

“Sarah fussed, Columbia moaned, and I stewed around after I checked out the shootin' down at the store. I reckon I didn't sleep thirty minutes all night.” At five-foot six, Quiet Jim measured only a fraction taller than Rebekah. When he leaned close, they stood eye to eye. His eyes were tired and red. “Don't tell Columbia that Seth thinks those stage robbers are still on the prowl. She's got enough worries without that.”

Rebekah hugged the slight-framed, mostly gray-headed man like a favorite uncle. “Don't worry about a thing. You go on and stretch your legs. Get some air. Check on the lumber mill. Stop by and have coffee at the store. That stove has been very lonesome since Daddy Brazos left.”

“It ain't the only thing that's missed that old man.”

“We all miss Daddy Brazos, don't we? He kind of holds the clan together.”

“Yep, and if they stay away a few more days, I might even start missin' Yapper Jim, too.” A sly grin crept across Quiet Jim's narrow lips.

“If you want to, go on up to the house and take a nap. You won't be able to keep this up night after night,” she said.

“Some days I feel like a complete fool for marryin' a gal twenty years younger.”

Rebekah laid her hand on his arm. “Columbia loves you dearly, Quiet Jim.”

He looked away and wiped a tear from the furrows around his small gray eyes. He cleared his throat. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Are Quintin and Fern behavin' themselves?”

“They act their age. It's delightful. Dacee June enjoys them immensely.”

“That Dacee June is golden. Ever' Fortune in the Black Hills is pure gold.”

Columbia reclined in the center of the high-post red mahogany bed with ruffled white cotton sheets tucked around her. There were ruffles on the comforter, ruffles on the curtains, ruffles on the pillow slips, ruffles on her nightgown, and ruffles on little Sarah's nightshirt.

Mother and daughter were sleeping as Rebekah slipped into the wooden rocker beside the bed without a sound. She pulled off her black straw hat with burgundy French roses and laid it on the table beside her. She fussed to make sure her long hair was still neatly tucked into her ebony combs. She brushed down the skirt of her dress, then folded her hands in her lap and began to rock.

The chair squeaked and Columbia's eyes flipped open. Her face was thin and pale, but her complexion was perfectly smooth. Not one wrinkle in her face, not even around her eyes. Her black eyelashes were the longest, most dramatic that Rebekah had ever seen. On more than one occasion Columbia had batted those lashes and paralyzed every man within one hundred feet.

She smiled faintly through tightly drawn lips and studied Rebekah.

“Sorry . . .” Rebekah whispered. “I didn't know the chair was noisy.”

Columbia glanced at the sleeping eighteen-month-old next to her. “Us ladies decided we needed a nap . . . again.” She glanced back at Rebekah. “Did you come over here to shame me?”

Rebekah leaned toward the bed. “Shame you?”

“I'm teasing, Mrs. Fortune. You look absolutely beautiful in that dress. Suddenly, I don't mind missing the Raspberry Festival. I would feel horribly plain.”

“You? Everyone knows you are the most glamorous woman who ever set a dainty foot in the Black Hills.”

Columbia's smile widened. Anxiety seemed to melt from her face. “It just struck me how contradictory it is to talk of anything in the Black Hills as glamorous.”

Rebekah found Columbia's grin contagious. “Perhaps, but you're our best hope.”

“At one time, that mattered,” Columbia sighed. “But now . . . what beauty I have fades a little more with each child. And you know what, Rebekah? I don't mind one bit. It's a good trade.”

“You haven't lost a thing, Columbia.” Rebekah reached over and held her friend's hand. It was very warm, almost moist. “You just gained a blush that makes you even more enviable.”

Columbia patted Rebekah's hand. “You are a most charming liar. I'm fat, miserable, short-tempered, and horribly grouchy. If you don't think so, just ask my Jim.”

Rebekah sat back, allowing her arms to rest on the arms of the wooden rocker. She started to rock, glanced at the sleeping baby, then stopped. “Your Jim figures you're the reason God made the earth.”

Columbia glanced at the baby. She brushed her eyes with a corner of the sheet. “He spoils me something terrible,” she murmured.

“That is not the way he sees it,” Rebekah said.

“This is much too maudlin a conversation.” Columbia brushed her black bangs out of her eyes. “How are my other children? When do I get to see them again?”

“Dacee June hovers over them. She guards them like they were the treasure coach on its bimonthly run. She said she'd bring them over before going to the Raspberry Festival.”

“Why doesn't she leave them home with me during the festival?”

“Quintin would be crushed. He insists on devouring an entire pie tonight. Besides, Quiet Jim said he was coming home right after the auction. We'll send them then, if you feel up to it.”

“Yes, yes, please do. I miss them dearly. I just want to make sure I don't wear out my dear husband.” Columbia propped herself up on her elbows.

“What can I get for you?” Rebekah asked.

“That damp cloth would be nice.”

Rebekah scurried across the room for the damp green cloth. “I've never heard Quiet Jim complain of anything you and the kids do.”

Columbia wiped her face, then her hands. “My Jim never complains. He comes from a generation of men that believe complaining is a sign of weakness of character and lack of trust in the Lord.”

“Not a bad trait,” Rebekah said.

“It's wonderful.” She handed the damp rag back to Rebekah. “My Jim has his weaknesses, but I wouldn't want him to change.”

“Quiet Jim has weaknesses?” Rebekah raised her eyebrows. “Whatever could those be?”

“He's too tranquil sometimes,” Columbia reported. “He believes that he doesn't have anything important to say, and the truth is, he makes more sense than any man I've ever met. But sometimes I have to beg and plead to get him to give me his advice.”

“He definitely lives up to his name.”

“And then, of course, there are ‘the boys.' Daddy Brazos, Yapper Jim, and Grass Edwards. I feel in constant competition. My Jim acts as if he couldn't survive a day without them. He was broken hearted when he couldn't go with them.”

“Does that make you jealous?” Rebekah questioned.

“Oh, sure . . . sometimes. I would like to think I am all my husband needs. They remind me it just isn't so.” She reached over and ran her fingers through little Sarah's fine, light-brown hair. “But that's not much to complain about, is it?”

“I suppose not.”

“Yes, that's about all I can say about my Jim . . . oh, sometimes his incessant generosity peeves me.”

“Helping anyone who comes along?”

“Yes. There are so many who seem to take advantage of him.”

“Todd and I have the same struggle with Daddy Brazos,” Rebekah said. “What is there about the boys of the Texas Camp of '75? They figure they owe every drifter in the Black Hills a grubstake.”

Columbia glanced out the north window at the bright, clear June day. “I've just left it all to the Lord. I'll have to trust Him that we won't go broke and have nothing left for the children.”

Rebekah sighed. “We have to let them be what they are down inside.”

Columbia glanced across the room. “Yes, and that includes these dreary Black Hills.”

“Don't tell me you tire of the gulch?” Rebekah tapped her fingers on the wooden arms of the rocking chair.

“I don't know about you, Rebekah Fortune, but this is not my idea of a perfect locale.” Columbia sat up slowly and stretched her arms and neck. “Stamp mills boom day and night . . . dirt hangs in the air all summer, unless it's raining . . . there is violence in the street, and no level place for the children to play . . . do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do. Have you and Quiet Jim ever talked about moving elsewhere?” Rebekah asked.

When Columbia lay back down, she gently rubbed her round stomach that pressed tight against her robe.

“Are you all right?”

“Mrs. Fortune, I look forward to you having children . . . then I won't have to try and explain what this feels like.”

“You might not have to wait too long,” Rebekah answered.

Columbia sat back up. “Really? When?”

“It's just my intuition now, so don't you go tell a soul.”

“You cheered up my whole day!”

“You just want someone to share the misery.”

“I'll come and visit you, and I promise not to say you're fat. Oh, my . . . this is such good news I forgot what we were talking about.”

“I asked if you and Quiet Jim ever considered moving to a better place for the children?”

“Oh, no! My Jim has an almost sacred attachment to these hills. It would break his heart and his spirit to leave here. Of course, when we first got married and I was expecting little Quint, I fussed about moving out to Spearfish or Miles City . . . or Cheyenne.”

“What did he say?”

Columbia laid back and gingerly turned on her side, facing Rebekah. “His lips said he'd go anywhere on the face of the earth, just as long as he could be with me. But his eyes told me he would shrivel up and die without these hills. It was through sacrifice, pain, danger, and the blood of his friends that these mountains were settled. He feels like a caretaker. It dawned on me one day that these hills are part of what make my Jim the way he is. And I don't want to change one thing about him. No, we'll never leave.”

Rebekah rocked back quickly, causing the chair to squeak.
Lord, did you send her just to shame me? But Todd's different. He isn't one of the boys of '75. He didn't get run out of the hills by General Crook, nor did he fight the Sioux with his pards alongside. That makes it completely different, ­doesn't it, Lord? Would he be a different Todd if he was forced to leave the hills?

Sarah blinked her wide eyes open and immediately sat up, pointing to Rebekah.

“Mrs. Fortune came to visit us, dumplin',” Columbia cooed.

“Pretty,” Sarah squealed.

Columbia turned to Rebekah. “Where in the world did you get that silk dress? I want one just like it. That is, when I'm not so fat.”

Rebekah held out her arms to model the dress. “I borrowed it from a friend.”

“Well, I get to borrow it next! Which friend? Who in this town has such a elegant dress?”

“Her name is Mrs. Gordon, but she goes by the stage name Abby O'Neill.”

“At the Gem?”

“Yes.”

“I didn't know you knew her.”

“It's a rather new friendship.”

“Well, how cordial, Mrs. Fortune. Now, I really feel homebound. I've never known an actress in my life.”

“I've never seen her act, but the newspaper said she carried the cast. I don't know her well.”

“Well enough to borrow a dress.”

“And baby-sit,” Rebekah added.

Sarah crawled over and poked at her mother's stomach. “Baby,” she announced.