The Blacksmith’s Bravery (40 page)

“What are you wearing to the wedding?” Goldie asked Vashti on Tuesday afternoon.

“I haven't had time to think about it.” She'd just returned from the Nampa run and was preparing to bathe and help Bitsy serve the supper crowd.

“Well, come on! It's only four days away.”

“Do you think my green wool would work?”

“No! That would be too hot. It's June, Vashti! You need something lighter.” Goldie shook her head. “This is what comes of you wearing boys' clothes half the time. You've lost your sense of fashion.”

Vashti shrugged. “I don't care so much about fashion. But you don't have to worry—I won't wear trousers to the wedding. I guess I can wear the same dress I wore to Bitsy and Augie's wedding last year.”

“Don't do that. Everyone will remember that you were a bridesmaid. And you're not a bridesmaid for Miz Adams.”

“So?”

“So you want to look nice, but not as nice as the bridesmaids.”

Vashti laughed. “All right, so I have to look nice but not nicer than you.”

“I didn't mean it that way.”

“I know you didn't. Right now I'm more worried about whether Griffin's going to get the mail contract or not. He should have heard a couple of weeks ago.”

“Well, you've got plenty of pay now. Why don't you come over to the Paragon tomorrow morning and look at the ready-mades? One of the last things Miz Adams did was order in some new summer dresses, and they're very attractive.”

Vashti decided not to tell her that she'd told Griffin not to pay her last Friday. She did have quite a stash from her previous paydays, even though she'd paid Bitsy board every week and bought a few things. Griffin was finding it hard to meet his payrolls.

He'd put on an extra run each week to Silver City. Since the mining men had come through and dropped hints that a couple of the big mines up there might be reopened, traffic between Boise and Silver City had tripled. It was the one stage run that more than paid for itself with passenger fares these days.

Vashti looked on it with mixed feelings. If the mines got up to full production again, her job as a driver would be secure. But the output of the gold mines would also draw more bandits.

They wouldn't go after the wagons hauling ore down to the railroad head. It was too bulky and too hard to process. But bullion or gold dust from the stamp mills, now that was a different story.

The stagecoaches usually had passengers carrying pouches of gold dust and sometimes payrolls for the mines and other businesses. Robberies were so common that the territorial government wouldn't reimburse lost equipment unless someone was killed. Vashti wasn't sure she wanted to drive in those circumstances.

She set off on her Nampa trip Wednesday, still uncertain of her attire for the wedding. Rose Caplinger rode the stage as a passenger, going to Boise to purchase supplies for her millinery business, and Myra Harper and Ellie Nash were scheduled to go as extra messengers if seats were available.

As it turned out, Rose was the only paying customer that day. They reached Nampa in safety, and Rose got out to eat a hasty dinner before boarding again for the leg to Boise.

“Do you have a hat for the wedding?” she asked Vashti as they ate the stew and cornpone Mrs. Gayle provided.

“Oh no, I—”

“I can make you a fetching chapeau for three dollars and a half.” Rose squinted at her then nodded. “That blue dress you wear to church sometimes—it's too short, but you could add some tatted lace edging, and I can dye feathers to match the fabric.”

Vashti felt her face warm. A man sitting down the table on the other side stared at her, neglecting his bowl of stew. She realized he was listening to their conversation and trying to reconcile it with her appearance. Her cheeks burned hotter, and she lowered her voice.

“Rose, people aren't supposed to know I'm not a man. Could we talk about this when we're back in Fergus, please?”

“Oh. Of course. But you won't have time to get up a new outfit.” Rose eyed her clothing and curled her lip. “How do you stand it?”

Vashti didn't deign to answer. “Have a pleasant ride to Boise, Mrs. Caplinger. I'll see you tomorrow on your return trip.” She took her empty tin plate to the side table where Mrs. Gayle liked diners to leave their dirty dishes and went to her small room at the back of the house. Mrs. Gayle had made up a pallet on the floor so that Myra and Ellie could spend the night in her room. Myra had insisted that she be the one to sleep on the floor, and Vashti had given the bottom bunk over to Ellie. Both women came in a few minutes later.

“The stage just left, and Rose with it,” Myra reported.

Vashti had taken down her hair and was brushing the dust out of it. “I hope she has a good time in Boise.”

“Yes, and finds all sorts of notions to make hats from,” Ellie said with a smile.

“Wish I could have gone to visit the capital.” Myra sat down on her makeshift bed.

Vashti didn't ask why she hadn't gone on. She knew the nineteen-year-old had come along for the adventure and to earn a little pocket money. If she went on to Boise, she'd spend more than she earned for her ticket, lodging, and meals in town.

“Maybe someday, Myra.” Ellie sat on her bunk and opened her small traveling bag. “We're trying to economize. Peter didn't want me to come at all. He thinks it's too dangerous. But his salary as postmaster isn't covering all the expenses we've had lately, what with the two boys growing like weeds and prices going up.”

“We'll have fun here.” Vashti nodded firmly. “There's a grocery store up the road and a new hotel.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows. “Nampa's getting to be quite a town.”

“Yes. They're thinking of digging a canal to irrigate the farmland here, and there's a doctor who's opened up a drugstore.”

“That's something,” Myra said. “The Paragon always carries basic health needs, but a drugstore! Wouldn't Doc Kincaid love to have one in Fergus?”

“I'll bet he would,” Vashti said. “Several houses are being built, too. If we get overly bored, we can walk around and see how the construction is coming.”

Myra crinkled up her face. “No, thanks. But I wouldn't mind seeing the drugstore.”

Vashti almost mentioned that the drugstore sold ice cream and phosphates, but recalling the ladies' pinched budgets, she kept quiet. If they got to the store before it closed and the right moment presented itself, she'd offer to buy them both a dish of ice cream. She smiled at the thought. Having enough honestly earned money in her pocket to consider treating her friends gave her a new sense of what she could be. She could support herself without serving drinks or
worse. In Fergus, she was accepted as respectable. She'd never be as refined as Libby or as wealthy as Isabel Fennel, but she called nearly every woman in town her friend and could sit anywhere she liked in church without getting snubbed.

“I could use a walk, too,” Ellie said. “Is it far?”

“Not at all. Just let me change into my skirt.” For the past two weeks, Vashti had carried the black skirt and a plain blouse with her when she drove. This was the third time since Trudy's trip that other ladies had ridden with her, but usually they wanted to go on to Boise. Vashti was glad for the chance to get to know Myra and Mrs. Nash better.

The only troubling aspect was that she found the more time she spent with wives and mothers—and young women from proper homes like Myra's—the more she longed for a home of her own. As grateful as she felt for what Bitsy and Augie had given her, she yearned for a true family. But that would mean a husband, and she wasn't sure she could ever trust a man enough to commit to him for the rest of her life.

She ran through a cold mist, uphill toward Fergus, but the lights of the Spur & Saddle kept sliding farther away. Behind her, footsteps pounded, and a man's labored breathing came closer and closer. She snatched a glance over her shoulder. Luke chased her through the chilly, wet darkness, carrying an impossibly huge umbrella. “Georgia! I love you, Georgia!”

“You're lying!” she screamed back. She slammed into someone. Ike Bell. He laughed and grabbed her by her arms. “Let me go,” she cried, twisting and pulling against his grip. “If you lose another harness, you're fired,” he said. She jerked her head back and stared up at him. Ike had turned into Griffin. Raindrops dripped off his beard and splashed on her face. “I love you, Georgie.”

“Honey? Wake up. You're dreaming.”

Someone shook her, and Vashti climbed slowly through the mist and confusion toward candlelight and Ellie's soft voice.

She hauled in a deep breath.

“Are you all right?” Myra asked, climbing up with her feet on the bottom bunk so she could get closer to Vashti. “You groaned.”

“I was trying to scream, I think.”

“Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. It's only a dream.” Ellie patted her hand.

“Yes. A nightmare.” Vashti tried to calm her heart's hammering. “I'm sorry I woke you both up.”

“It's all right,” Ellie said. “I'm glad we were here.”

Myra got down and blew out the candle. Vashti rolled over.

She lay staring into the darkness. How long until sunup? She didn't want to sink back into slumber. Luke might not be in her life anymore, but he'd ruined her haven of sleep. And what was that craziness with Griffin at the end? Insanity, that's what it was. She pulled the quilt up to her chin and prayed for peace.

CHAPTER 27

T
he new church was jammed with the citizens of Fergus. Folks drove into town from outlying ranches. Hardened cowpokes and old sourdoughs rode down out of the hills to see the beautiful Mrs. Adams married. Most of them wondered how Hiram Dooley had snagged her.

As he waited for the hour to strike and the parson to start the doings, Griffin monitored his pocket watch. The stage was due in from Silver City at two. After the one o'clock ceremony, the nuptial celebration would move over to the Spur & Saddle. In case they weren't done at the church by then—though Griffin couldn't in his wildest imaginings see how a wedding could last more than an hour—he'd bribed Josiah Runnels to meet the stage for him.

He wouldn't have been in this situation, but it seemed Libby had to have three bridesmaids. That in itself wasn't a problem—Trudy Chapman, Florence Nash, and Goldie Keller were tickled to serve. But someone somewhere had made a harebrained rule that said there had to be a groomsman for every bridesmaid. And Hiram had called on him.

Sheriff Chapman was his number one choice, of course. Hiram and Ethan were best friends. Ethan looked fine, wearing the suit he'd bought for his own wedding last year. Now, that wedding had been simple. One bridesmaid—Libby—and one best man—Hiram. No fuss. Where was this “got to have three bridesmaids and three groomsmen” coming from? Libby must have seen it in
Godey's Lady's
Book
or some such Eastern convention.