The Bride's Prerogative (28 page)

Ethan said. They came to the dooryard, and he stopped. “Did you lock up when you left the house?”

The mayor scowled at him. “Lock up? Never do.”

“Well, then, just let me take a look around before you go in.”

“You think—”

“I don’t think anything.” Ethan shot a glance at Mrs. Walker’s sharp features. “I just want to be sure it’s safe.”

He walked slowly to the front steps. Nothing seemed amiss, and the door was shut. He mounted the steps to the porch and reached out for the knob but stopped. Something caught his eye on the mat at his feet. He bent and picked it up, running his finger along the smooth edge. He didn’t take time to examine it closely. No use getting the Walkers all upset. He opened the door and went inside.

Ethan walked through the entire house, room by room. So far as he could see, nothing was out of place. Mrs. Walker was a persnickety housekeeper. It would have been easy to see if someone had rifled the place.

At last he went out and called to them, “Seems all right. You can come in.”

“Sheriff, what’s the meaning of this?” Charles Walker said as he puffed up the steps. The fire had singed off half his eyebrows, and his bald spot held a sprinkling of sweat drops.

“Just checking,” Ethan said.

“Do you think the same person set the fire tonight as set the one at the Paragon?” Orissa stared at him through narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know, but it’s possible. I wanted to be sure the arsonist wasn’t up to other mischief while we were all over at the fire.”

“Good thinking, son.”

Ethan smiled grimly. The mayor had never called him that before. He wondered if they’d still replace him if he didn’t unmask the killer in the next twelve days.

“Well, good night, folks. We’ll keep watch at the warehouse, and I’ll be sleeping at the jail tonight. If you need me, you’ll know where to find me.”

“Sure enough.” The mayor wheezed in through the doorway.

“Thank you, Sheriff.” Orissa followed him.

Ethan strolled slowly down the street. The stench of smoke still hovered. People exited the emporium in clusters. Through the front window, he could see Florence, Ellie Nash, and Bitsy helping Libby straighten up. Peter Nash and Augie Moore stood to one side talking with cups in their hands.

Ethan stood for a moment watching until he was reasonably sure the Dooleys weren’t in there. He ambled on down the street toward their house. The Nugget was quiet, and the whole north end of the street lay subdued. No piano music, no laughter this morning. The sun eased up above the houses and the livery stable. He followed the path around to the back door of Hiram’s house and knocked.

“There you are.” Trudy stood in the doorway with her hair all loose about her shoulders and a spotless white apron over her blue dress. Ethan’s throat ached, not from the night of breathing in fumes, but from the sight of her, so calm and content, waiting for him.

“Sorry I’m so filthy.”

“Come in. I put Hiram in the bathtub, and when he’s done, you can have a turn. I’ve got more water on the stove.”

Ethan started to say there was no need but abandoned that notion. If he’d ever needed a bath in his life, it was now.

He followed her inside. She turned and leaned against her worktable with her arms folded across her chest, saying nothing but watching him. The light streamed in the window behind her, sending little glimmers off her hair. It looked almost golden, not the flat straw color he usually registered when he looked at her.

Her eyes crinkled. “What?”

“Nothing. Just … I appreciate it. Seems to me you hauled a lot of water in the last few hours.”

“We all did.”

“Well, you needn’t have done more for me.”

“Hiram carried most of the bathwater.” She turned to the stove and picked up the steaming coffeepot. “Did you get coffee at Libby’s?”

“I did, but I wouldn’t be against having more. My throat still tickles.”

She poured him a cup, and he took it from her. He didn’t want to sit down with his trousers crusted in soot and grime, so he leaned against the edge of the sturdy pine table.

“Thank you, Trudy.”

She smiled. “I’m glad I can do it.”

He took a sip and savored it. “Did I ever tell you, you make good coffee?”

“Seems you might have.” She waited a moment then raised her chin. “So tell me, who set the fire?”

Ethan dug his hand into his pocket and brought it out again. “Whoever left this on the Walkers’ doormat.”

She caught her breath and reached for the penny. “Eighteen-sixty-six?”

“You tell me. I didn’t want them to see it, so I didn’t look yet.”

She took it over to the window and bent close. Her hair took on more golden highlights, and her face glowed. How could he ever have thought she was plain?

“That’s the year, all right.” She straightened and held it out to him.

Ethan took the penny, flipped it in the air, caught it, and returned it to his pocket. “Anyone could have gone over and left that on the doorstep while we were all at the fire.”

She nodded slowly. “Or before he went to the fire.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “I hadn’t considered the mayor a suspect before. But you’re right. He could have done it. He skipped church last night.” He smiled ruefully. “I was about to embrace your theory, you know.”

“Cyrus?” Her brows arched like the wings of a soaring hawk.

He nodded. “He went late to the prayer meeting.”

“Yes, I saw him come in after the first couple of hymns.”

“Bitsy and I met him on the street. He’d just come out of his office, and we hadn’t spotted the fire yet. That fire must have been started at least several minutes before we saw it. By that time, it was putting out a lot of smoke.” Ethan drained his coffee cup.

“So Cyrus could have set it and then gone back to his office.” Trudy drew in a deep breath. “What now, Ethan?”

“I don’t know. Most of the men in town have nearly as shaky alibis. Someone could have set that fire twenty minutes before church time. Just got it going and walked away. Or even ten minutes before time for the prayer meeting.”

“And then showed up to help put it out when you and Bitsy sounded the alarm.”

“Sure.” He wagged his index finger at her. “So you be careful, won’t you, now? I don’t want anything happening to you.” He touched the tip of her nose.

Her eyelids lowered as she looked at his finger. He drew it back and winced.

“Sorry. My hands are still dirty.”

She smiled. “I’ll be careful.”

Hiram appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room in his stocking feet, wearing a clean plaid shirt and shabbily comfortable trousers. “Well, Eth, how’s everything?” He scrubbed at his damp hair with a clean towel.

Ethan laughed. “Fine, just fine.”

Hiram spread his arms, indicating his outfit. “Gert made me put on all clean clothes, even though I haven’t been to bed.” He shook his head. “Women.”

“Oh, hush,” Trudy said. “You can’t sleep all day. There’s too much to do. To start with, you can carry that pan of hot water into your bedroom and heat up the tub for Ethan. I didn’t think it was possible, but he’s even filthier than you were half an hour ago.”

Hiram grinned. “Good thing I had the first bath.”

Ethan picked up the potholders Trudy had left on the work counter and turned to the stove. “I’ll get it. But I don’t have any clean clothes to put on.”

“I put out a shirt for you,” Hiram said. “Don’t think my britches would fit you though.”

“Thanks.” Ethan winced. “I’ve got a few things at the jail. Should have brought them.”

“I can run over there for you,” Hiram said.

“I appreciate that. What all do you two need to do today?”

“It’s Isabel’s opening day,” Trudy said. “I promised her six pies by noon, and Hiram’s going to take another turn on watch over at the fire.”

“That’s right. So you think Isabel will go ahead and open, what with all the excitement over the fire?”

Trudy shrugged. “The stagecoach will still come in at quarter to noon, fire or no fire.”

“True. Well, I’ll get in the tub. Meanwhile, Trudy, you tell your brother what I found over at the Walkers’.” When he turned around with the steaming pan of water in his hands, Hiram was stifling his laughter, but Trudy nodded at him with a complacent, wistful smile.

“I’ll do that while I make my pie crust.”

Hiram winked at him. “Don’t forget to wash behind your ears.”

CHAPTER 32

G
ert packed two pies in the bottom of her large carrying basket. She took a light wooden platform Hiram had built for the purpose and carefully fitted it over them, lowering the legs between the pie plates. On top of this she put two more pies.

“There. If you can carry the other two …”

“Oh yes.” Apphia Benton put one of the remaining pies in a smaller basket and picked up the other. “Ready?”

Together they went out Gert’s back door and around the path to the boardwalk.

“Thanks for helping.” Gert felt a twinge of guilt at asking her morning caller to lend her a hand. “It would have taken me at least two trips alone, and I’m dead tired.”

“You poor thing,” Apphia said. “At least my husband and I got a few hours’ sleep after the fire was out.”

“Well, I’d promised Isabel, and she’s just starting to act friendly to me and some of the other ladies. I didn’t want to give her an excuse to back off, even if I had to hurry things up and used canned fruit for two of the pies.”

“They’ll be delicious, I’m sure.” Apphia smiled at her. “I’m glad Isabel’s venture has gone so well, but not pleased that it means even more work for her, poor woman.”

Gert had to agree. Word that the boardinghouse was reopening had already led to the rental of both bedrooms the women had helped renovate. Now her father demanded that she open up four more rooms. All passengers, as well as the stagecoach drivers and shotgun riders, must know that clean, comfortable rooms at a respectable lodging house were now available in Fergus.

“In the old days, folks didn’t care much where they slept,” she said. “Hiram told me the miners coming through town would sleep five or six to a room at the boardinghouse. But nowadays people think they should have a nice room to themselves, like they would at a hotel in the city.”

“And Mr. Fennel is taking advantage of that.”

“No surprise to me.” Gert looked over at the minister’s wife. “I don’t mean to speak ill of Mr. Fennel. I suppose most would say he’s done a lot for this town. He’s stuck around here since the boom days and through the bust. He mined for gold and ran the assay office; then he bought a ranch and got the stage line’s business through these parts. He’s had a hand in most of the enterprises in Fergus. Now he’s just turning his hand to a new vocation. He’ll make it succeed.”

“He will, or his daughter?” Apphia shook her head. “Seems to me that Isabel’s doing all the work.”

“True. Her pa bankrolls it, but she’s seen to the labor.”

“And her friends have helped her.” Apphia’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure we’re doing Isabel a good turn. The more we help her for free, the more her father will let us.”

“I know.” Gert sighed. “Hiram won’t do any more without being paid. Not for Isabel. She’s going to pay me for my pies after today, and I know she’s paying Augie for his cooking, too. I keep telling myself not to go over and help her scrub anymore, but then I think of her trying to do it all herself, and I feel sorry for her.”

“She’s hired Myra Harper to help serve meals and wash dishes and laundry, so don’t trouble yourself anymore.” Apphia paused as they came to the small street that cut between the jail and the boardinghouse. The Bentons’ new home lay a block to the east on this narrow street.

“Almost there,” said Gert. “Let’s take them around to the kitchen door.” She led Apphia to the back of the boardinghouse. “I do think Isabel’s father’s coming around a little. He sent two of his coach riders to set up the bedsteads and move furniture for her. Told them they could work off the price of their rooms doing it. And yesterday he thanked Hiram for fixing the steps and offered to pay him to make a sign.”

“I’m glad to hear she’s getting some help,” Apphia said. “I fear the women in this territory often fall into the category of forced labor.”

Gert opened the door, noting that all the windows on the back of the building were now free of extra lumber and sparkling clean.

Isabel, wearing a voluminous apron over her dress, looked up from where she peeled potatoes. “Oh, Gert, bless you! I wasn’t certain you’d have time.”

“Sure did. And Mrs. Benton came along and offered to help me truck the pies over here.”

“Set them right here on this table. I can’t begin to thank you enough.” Isabel indicated a small table near the door to the dining room, and Gert and Apphia set their baskets down.

Myra Harper came into the kitchen carrying a stack of ironstone plates. “These are the ones we’re using for lunch, right, Miss Fennel?”

“Yes, and call me Isabel. We’ll be working too closely for formality.”

“All right. Shall I set the tables, or do you want the plates out here?” Myra asked.

“Go ahead and set up for six at the big table. We’ll take the serving dishes out, and folks can serve themselves.” When Myra had left the room, Isabel brushed back a strand of loose hair and turned to Gert and Apphia. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I have to make so many decisions. If we get a lot of customers, I suppose we should take orders and fill their plates in the kitchen as they do in restaurants. But I want people to feel that Fennel House is like a home. If they want seconds, the dish will be on the table.”

“That sounds right,” Apphia said. “You want your guests to feel contented and cared for, not like someone you’re only out to earn money off.”

Isabel nodded slowly. “Yes. That’s it. Father doesn’t understand. He wanted me to buy the cheapest blankets the emporium could get, but I told him that if he spends a little more and puts pretty quilts on the bed or nice, commercially milled bedspreads, the patrons will see us as more than a second-rate boardinghouse. I’ve been praying this venture will succeed and”—she flushed and looked down at the paring knife in her hand—“and that people will say we’ve made a good addition to the town.”

Gert smiled. “Other folks have been praying for you, too, Isabel.”

Apphia walked over to her and patted Isabel’s arm. “My dear, you’ve put a great deal of thought and effort into this. Perhaps you have a special gift of hospitality.”

“Do you think so?” Isabel sighed. “I do want to go back to teaching though. I told Father he has three weeks to find someone else to do this. When the summer term opens, I want my class back.”

“Are you sure?” Apphia asked.

“Yes. I don’t mind the hard work, though cooking was never my strongest talent. And Myra’s been a tremendous help. But I don’t like the thought of men milling around. I’ll have to please the paying customers, even if they’re difficult. But I told Father that if any of his stage line employees try to take liberties with me or Myra, I’m done.”

“I’m sure he’s instructed them to behave as gentlemen when they come here for refreshment or for their rooms in the evening.”

“Well, I’m not staying here nights.” Isabel raised her chin. “There is absolutely no way I’ll room here when there might be all men for guests some nights. At least Father saw the sense to that. He says he’ll take me home to the ranch each evening.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Apphia said. “My dear, you know I’m just around the corner. If you ever feel unsafe here, I urge you to dash out the back and come to me and Mr. Benton.”

“Thank you.” Isabel sniffed. “That’s very kind. I don’t expect to be working here long though.”

Gert walked over closer. “The Ladies’ Shooting Club can make this a regular stop. I’ll ask the sheriff to look in evenings, too.”

“Thank you. Father felt at first that someone responsible should be on the premises at night. When I suggested he might start sleeping here … Well, he didn’t take kindly to the notion. Besides, that would leave me alone at the ranch, and I don’t like the isolation of it when he’s not around.”

“Absolutely right,” said Apphia. “If the venture pays, I hope he’ll hire a trustworthy couple to live here. Meanwhile, we shall continue praying for you and sending our club members to check on you. And now …” She looked at Gert. “We know you and Myra have a lot to do, so we’ll leave you.”

Relieved they had not been pressed into doing chores, Gert followed Apphia to the back door. “Good-bye, Isabel. And do call on either of us if you need anything.”

Ethan breathed deeply as he left the Nugget on Saturday evening. It was good to get out into the fresh air. He didn’t know how those men could stand it in the close atmosphere of the saloon. The smoke, the smell of liquor, the bar girls’ cheap perfume. Give him a clear whiff of prairie air anytime. A light breeze brought him a hint of scorched corn through the twilight, but the smells from the warehouse fire had pretty much abated over the last three days.

He ambled past the boardinghouse. Instead of a blank, echoing hulk, it now showed signs of life. The windows were no longer boarded. Soft light glowed from the dining room and parlor, and candlelight shone dimly in an upstairs front window. Cyrus had paid Hiram to make an attractive sign: F
ENNEL
H
OUSE
, R
OOM
& B
OARD
. The town was mending and regaining vigor.

The little jail where Ethan presided loomed dark and silent. He walked past it toward the cozy house beyond. He smiled with anticipation. Trudy had promised to patrol with him for two hours at sunset to fulfill her commitment as a deputy. He’d looked forward to it all day. Of course, they would keep it businesslike, but he’d still get to walk with her, and no doubt they would converse. These days, talking to Trudy always left him feeling warm and hopeful that something good would happen.

He strolled around to the backyard as usual. Hiram came from the barn with a bridle slung over his shoulder.

“Evening, Hi,” Ethan said.

Hiram nodded with a half smile.

“Trudy ready to go patrolling with me?”

“I expect so.”

Ethan let him go up the steps first and open the door to the kitchen. The oil lamp burned low on the table, but Trudy wasn’t present. Hiram looked at him and shrugged then shuffled off into the parlor. Ethan leaned against the doorjamb and waited, enjoying the snug hominess of the kitchen.

A moment later, Trudy entered. He straightened and smiled.

“Hi.”

“Howdy.” She wore a dark skirt and light-colored blouse with a short jacket over it. She’d tied her hair back, and while he waited, she reached for a bonnet. Frowning, she stayed her hand. “I like to be able to see, especially when I’m on watch. Those bonnets are good for keeping the sun off, but they block a good part of your vision, too.”

Ethan chuckled. “Like blinders on a horse?”

“Something like.” She looked over her shoulder toward the other room then snatched Hiram’s sagging felt hat and popped it onto her head. “Come on. He won’t miss it.”

She reached for the Sharps rifle that stood in the corner between the cupboard and the door.

“You’re taking his rifle, too?” Ethan asked.

“We
are
on duty.”

“Well, yes, but it’ll get heavy, don’t you think?”

She hesitated. “I suppose I ought to get a pistol, but we haven’t had much cash come in lately. I don’t like to ask Hiram to lay out money for something extra.”

“I thought he had a six-shooter.”

“He used to, but he traded it a year or so ago.”

“Well, I’m armed.” Ethan patted his holster.