The Blacksmith’s Bravery (7 page)

“Peter!” He threw the door open, but the postmaster-mayor was no longer behind the counter. He stepped to the inner door and pounded on it.

Ellie Nash, Peter's wife, opened it. “Hello, Mr. Bane. I thought you came for your mail earlier.”

“I did.”

“Well, Peter's out back tending the—”

“What day is it?”

“It's Monday.”

“No, no, what day of the month?”

“Oh. Let's see, I believe it's the fourth.”

“October fourth.”

“Yes, that's right.” Ellie eyed him curiously.

Griffin ran his hand through his thick beard. He still hadn't trimmed it. Why on earth hadn't Evelyn telegraphed him with this
news, not to say asked permission to send the boy? He had to get to Mountain Home by tomorrow to meet his nephew, and Mountain Home wasn't even part of his branch line. He'd have to ride up to Boise and change to the main line there. That or ride a horse across country. But then what would his nephew ride back on?

“Mr. Bane? Are you all right?”

“What? Oh. Yes, thank you.” He turned and staggered out the post office door and down the steps. Where would he keep the boy— Justin? He checked the letter to be sure he had the name right. His bed wouldn't hold both of them. He could give it up for Justin, he supposed. But why should he? Yet there wasn't room in his small lodging for another bed.

Could he let the boy sleep in the loft over the livery? The stage drivers slept there before the boardinghouse opened. But he'd be so far away, Griffin wouldn't hear him if he cried out in the night. How old was the lad, anyway? Evelyn hadn't said. She'd mentioned smoking.… He must be at least fifteen.

Griffin scrunched up his face, recalling the first and last time he'd tried smoking. His father had caught him out behind the barn and tanned his backside but good. He'd been twelve.

What was his sister doing to him?

His breath came in quick gasps, and his boots thunked loudly on the boardwalk. When he came even with the Wells Fargo office, Annie Harper had pulled her wagon over and was letting the shooting club ladies climb down. He ducked quickly inside the office and shut the door.

How could he go to Mountain Home tomorrow? He was still shorthanded. He needed to round up a shotgun messenger for tomorrow's run to Silver City, and if the man who came in on the Boise stage wouldn't do it, Griffin would have to do it himself. And what if he did go to Mountain Home? What if he got all the way over there, and Justin didn't show up? He sat down heavily. There must be a good way to handle this. It occurred to him that he didn't pray much, but now might be a good time.

Uh, heavenly Father… uh… I know I don't talk to You as much as I should. But I'm thankful for… for everything You do for me. And I was
wondering… well, could You help me figure out what to do with Evelyn's boy? It's too late to tell her not to send him. Uh… thanks
.

A soft knocking sounded on his door, and he jerked his head. “It's open.”

The door creaked on its hinges. Vashti Edwards stood there in her usual crinkly finery. He guessed that was all she had to wear—satins and taffetas left over from her saloon days, but no soft cotton housedresses like the ranchers' wives wore. She was probably being frugal, wearing her old dresses until they wore out, but it was distracting.

“What do you want?” He pushed himself to his feet, not caring whether he sounded rude. He had a family crisis to deal with.

“Mr. Bane, I wondered if you'd reconsidered letting me learn to drive the coaches. I'm willing to—”

“No.”

“Please, Mr. Bane? I've done a good job for you here in the office, haven't I?”

He looked her over grudgingly. “Yes, you have, but that doesn't mean you could handle a team. Besides, at the moment it's not a driver I need.”

“What do you need, sir? Maybe I can help.”

“I need a place for a boy to stay. And a shotgun rider for tomorrow's run to Silver City.”

“A boy?”

“That's right. My nephew is coming to stay here for a while.”

“That's wonderful.”

“It is?”

Vashti smiled. “Of course. You have family. That's a mighty precious gift, Mr. Bane.”

“Well, I suppose so.” It was a long time since he'd thought deeply about family. “My sister's husband kicked off, and she doesn't know what to do with all the kids, so she's sending me her big boy.”

“Does she want you to apprentice him?”

Griffin snapped his gaze to meet hers. “I didn't think of that. She wants me to keep him in line, I guess. Keep him out of trouble. She didn't say anything about teaching him a trade.”

“Seems to me that would be the best thing for him.”

“Well… it would take a lot of time.”

She stepped farther into the office and stood before the desk. “Yes, it would, but you know you need someone to help with the forge work. Once you've taught him, he could maybe take that over one day. Or if he wants to move along, he'd have a skill so's he could support himself when he's grown. How big is this boy?”

“I don't know.” Griffin eyed her uneasily, fearing she would berate him for neglecting his kinfolk, but she seemed deep in thought. “I don't even know for sure he's on the stage,” Griffin added, “but he's supposed to come in to Mountain Home tomorrow. Guess I'll have to ride over there and fetch him.”

“Where's he coming from?”

“Salt Lake. Took the train that far.”

Vashti smiled. “Why don't you telegraph the Wells Fargo division manager in Salt Lake and see if he boarded the stagecoach there as scheduled? It would be worth the money the inquiry would cost you. If he's on the stage, you go get him, or else tell them to send him on to Boise. It would be easier to get him there. And if he's not on board, you won't waste the trip.”

He gave that a full five seconds of consideration. “Not a bad idea. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

He rose and stepped toward the doorway, but Vashti moved into it and stood her ground. She tipped her head back so she could look up into his face. “If you write out the telegram, I could run it over to Mr. Dostie for you, and I'm sure Mrs. Thistle would have a vacant room a young man could stay in, if that suits your situation.”

Griffin frowned down at her. Why was she being so helpful?

She smiled. “As to the shotgun messenger, I'd be happy to fill in for your man tomorrow. I'm a pretty good shot, if I do say so. I won the ribbon for personal best at today's shooting club meeting.”

He stared down into her new-leaf-green eyes. After a long moment, he said, “I can take care of the telegram myself. And I suppose I could put him up at the boardinghouse for a few days 'til I figure out something better.”

Vashti didn't move out of the way. “What about the Silver City run? I'd love to do it.”

He huffed out a breath and shook his head. “You don't understand, do you? I cannot—I
will
not hire a woman on my stage line. I'd be laughed out of Idaho Territory. Besides, I have a responsibility to the U.S. Mail.”

“But you're in a bind. You said so yourself. It's only for one day. One run. And I can do it. Just ask Trudy Chapman or Bitsy. They'll tell you I'm a good shot.”

“I don't doubt that. It's just—”

“I know. It's because I'm a girl.”

“Well, yes. I don't know any other way to put it. Do you think a gang of outlaws would hang back and say, ‘Oh my, look at that! They've got a lady on the box today. I guess we'd better not rob that stagecoach'? Of course not! They'd be nudging each other and saying, ‘Look, Billy. Easy pickings today, and a pretty little skirt, too.'”

Vashti's face paled, and he immediately regretted the words. “I'm sorry. Shouldn't have said that.” His own face began to feel warm. “I'm just trying to make you understand why I can't let you do it.”

She squared her shoulders and hiked up her chin. “And I'm telling you they would never get near that coach with me on the box.”

“Sure. With your fiery hair and shiny satin gown calling out to them.”

Vashti stamped her foot. “I'll put my hair up under a hat. I'll even wear
your
hat if you want. They wouldn't think a lady would be wearing
that.”

“What's wrong with my hat?”

“Just everything.”

“Ha!”

“And I'd borrow a drab-colored dress from Isabel Fennel or Apphia Benton. They've got enough of them.”

Griffin chuckled. Feisty little thing, she was. “Tell you what, Miss Pushy, I'm going to go send my telegram. You mosey on over to the Fennel House and see if Mrs. Thistle could put my nephew up for a few nights. If she says yes and if I get a telegram back saying Justin's on his way, I'll take what you said under consideration.”

Her eyes glowed. “Really?”

“Said so, didn't I?”

“Oh! Thank you!” She squeezed his wrist and tore off across the street.

“Wait!”

She stopped and turned in a swirl of skirts. “Yes, sir?”

“If
this happens, and I'm not saying that it will, you'll have to fill out some paperwork required by the Wells Fargo company for all employees.”

She grinned. “I'll come back after I speak to Mrs. Thistle.” She tore for the Fennel House.

Griffin stared after her. Was he nuts? Well, at least he hadn't promised her. Maybe he could back down later. Or maybe Justin was delayed, and he wouldn't have to go to Mountain Home, or even Boise. But if he did…

He shook his shaggy head. He had to be crazy to consider this. He'd actually listened to her and halfway said she could ride the stage tomorrow with Bill Stout. How could he have done that?

Must be the green eyes
.

CHAPTER 5

T
hat evening after the supper rush of six diners, Vashti pondered long over the paper Griffin had given her. Goldie came in about six thirty, after her stint at the emporium, and found the plate Bitsy had put by for her in the kitchen. She carried it over to the rough table where Vashti was seated and plopped down across from her. “Whatcha doing?”

Vashti sighed. “Mr. Bane has practically agreed to let me ride shotgun on the Silver City stage tomorrow, but I have to write down all kinds of information first.”

Goldie frowned. “What sort of information?”

“Well, name, age, address—I can do that. But the last question is ‘Next of kin.' What do I put down?”

“Don't you have any kin?”

“I'm thinking on it.”

Goldie bowed her head for a moment, asking the blessing on her food. As she raised her head, Bitsy breezed in from the dining room. “Mr. Dooley and Mrs. Adams just came in wanting pie and coffee. This is turning into a good night for us.”

Vashti pushed her chair back. “Want me to help?”

Bitsy waved her offer aside. “I can serve two pieces of pie and two cups of coffee with one hand tied to a bucking horse. Relax and eat.”

“Did you know Vashti's riding shotgun tomorrow?” Goldie asked.

“She told me.”

“What do you think?”

Bitsy took half an apple pie from the pie safe. “Not my cup of tea, but if that's what she wants to do…”

“I think she's very brave.” Goldie dove into her roast chicken and baked potato.

Bitsy put two plates on a tray and reached into the crock of forks. “I said to her, ‘That could be a step toward the job you really want.' I think it's progress.”

Vashti smiled her thanks across the room. “Now, if I can just figure out who to put down as next of kin.”

“What's that for?” Bitsy frowned with her knife hovering above the pie.

“In case I get killed on the job, I reckon.”

“Humph.”

Goldie nodded. “That's what I think, too.”

Vashti looked down at the paper again. At the top, she'd written as neatly as she could,
Georgia Edwards, age 24, Fergus, Idaho
.
But for “next of kin,” she had few options. The one relative she could think of was the last person she'd want notified on her behalf.