The Bride's Prerogative (68 page)

She blinked at him, surprised at the inquiry. “I hadn’t considered not doing so.”

“And when does the next term begin?”

“In about three weeks. We’ll have a two-month summer term, then a break of three weeks during harvest, and then begin the fall term.”

“May I suggest that you take these next three weeks to rest? I know the temptation is there to busy yourself and forget about all of this—to prepare for school and perhaps overhaul the ranch house. But you need to build yourself up physically. You’ll have your father’s affairs to settle, too. He had a lot of business concerns, I understand.”

“Well yes, there’s the stagecoach line and the boardinghouse, in addition to the ranch. And he owned considerable property.”

He leaned back on the sofa. “You’ll have to think about those things, of course. But take time to rest your mind in between.” He looked around at the pleasant room, and his gaze landed on Libby’s cherry bookcases. “I see Mrs. Adams has quite a library.”

“Yes. She has more books than anyone else in town. She’s told me I may borrow any I like.”

“That’s good. It may seem frivolous right now, but if you can lose yourself in a novel for a few hours, it will help you stop thinking of your own troubles for a while.”

“I thought I might try the latest one by Henry James, though Papa might …” She broke off and smiled in apology. “I was going to say, ‘Papa might think it quite daring for a mountain schoolteacher.’ “

Kincaid smiled. “I think you would enjoy it. I’m reading Turgenev’s
Fathers and Sons
right now.”

Isabel raised one hand. “Oh, those Nihilists!”

“You’ve read it?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I understood it. I rather liked it, but I felt as though I shouldn’t.”

He chuckled. “We’ll have to discuss it when I’ve finished it. That is, if you’d care to do so….”

He must be lonely
, Isabel thought.
That wistful look could mean nothing else
.

“I should be delighted.” She swallowed hard and lowered her lashes. Papa’s words had suddenly bounced back into her mind.
I saw you staring at him at the picnic … saw you eyeing him at church, too
. Should she say something to assure Dr. Kincaid that she wasn’t pursuing him? No, if he hadn’t thought such a thing, mentioning it might make him wary. And she would dearly love to discuss Turgenev with an intelligent person.

“Are you well?” He leaned toward her and reached for her wrist again.

“Why, yes. I only … Oh, it’s silly, but I was thinking of the books we might discuss. You’ve no idea how much I’ve longed to do that. My father isn’t
much—wasn’t
much of a reader for pleasure, and while I’m sure Mrs. Adams indulges, she is so busy that we rarely meet except at church or the shooting club.”

“I should be delighted to engage in literary discussions.” He fingered his stethoscope. “I was going to listen to your lungs—”

“I assure you, my breathing is fine. I shall recover soon from all of this.” Her face must be as scarlet as a radish by now. There was no chance she would let him get any closer with that stethoscope without another female present. It would be too, too unsettling.

He took the instrument off and tucked it into his bag. “All right. Let me just write down the name of the tonic. Mrs. Adams stocks it in the emporium.” He took a small pad and a pencil from his coat pocket and began to write.

“There you go. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to come by and see you before the service tomorrow, just to be sure you’re up to it.”

“You may come, sir, but I shall be fine.”

He nodded and stood. “In that case, I’ll be off. I have a patient to visit at the Storrey ranch. But if you feel the need of my ministrations, send someone to the boardinghouse. I’ll be back there in an hour or two.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.” Isabel looked down at the sheet of paper he’d handed her. They said doctors had terrible handwriting, but she could read his script perfectly. She rose and saw him to the door, trying to keep her breathing steady and willing her heart to stop hammering like a frenzied blacksmith.

The blacksmith. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Doctor, there is one thing that troubles me. I wonder if you might give me some advice on a financial matter.”

“I’d be happy to, though I’m not an expert in that field.”

“It’s my father’s business with the stagecoach company. He had a contract running through next spring. I suppose the logical thing is to ask Mr. Bane to see it through if he’s willing. He already keeps the horses and changes the teams.”

“He seems a good businessman. Didn’t he start out with just the smithy?”

“Yes. He bought the livery when the former owner moved out of town.”

“From everything I’ve seen of Mr. Bane, he’s trustworthy. If he’s not too busy to take it on, he would probably do well with the stage line.”

Isabel nodded slowly, amazed that she could discuss Griffin Bane without becoming agitated.

“Do you know whom I should discuss it with if I were you?” Kincaid asked.

“No sir.”

“Your friend Elizabeth Adams. She’s the shrewdest woman I’ve ever met. And she’s known Mr. Bane much longer than I have. She could tell you if he’d do well in the position.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Isabel smiled as she swung the door open. “Thank you so much, Doctor. I shall put the matter to her this evening.”

She closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, puzzling over the thoughts whirling through her mind. Dr. Kincaid would call again tomorrow. She must be ready to receive him graciously. But she mustn’t throw herself at him. Indeed, she mustn’t even think of pursuing him. How unladylike and vulgar that would be. Shades of Rose Caplinger and her mass distribution of cookies to the single men of the town. And Papa was surely right that the handsome doctor would never look her way. On the other hand, Dr. James Kincaid had expressed interest in discussing books with her.

She caught her breath. She’d better dust off that volume of Turgenev and refresh her memory of the story line and philosophy between its covers. Slowly she walked into Libby’s parlor and stood gazing into the mirror between the windows. Papa was quite right. She was too thin, and her hair had always been a nondescript brown. Her pale eyes held none of the allure of Libby’s sparkling blue ones. And yet … She strode toward the bookcase but stopped in the middle of the room.

First things first. She must fetch the tonic. Surely the doctor would inquire tomorrow whether she had followed his instructions.

CHAPTER 40

O
n the Monday after Cyrus’s funeral, Hiram plied his hoe in the corn patch behind his house. So much had changed in Fergus that he needed a few hours of solitude to sort it all out. His shirt stuck to his skin, wet with perspiration. He hoped this heat would break. As soon as Oscar hauled the lumber from the sawmill, Hiram and his crew would start on the new church building.

“Mr. Dooley?”

He looked up in surprise. Isabel made her way daintily across his garden, holding her skirt up as high as her shoe tops.

“Help you, ma’am?” He leaned on his hoe. The send-off they’d given her pa Saturday afternoon would have made Cyrus proud. Hiram hoped Cy had been able to look down and see them all honoring him at the haberdashery building and then out at the graveyard for the burial. He’d rest near the schoolhouse, where his daughter could walk over and visit the grave anytime she wanted.

“Mr. Dooley—Hiram—”

“Yes?”

Isabel’s face, beneath the brim of her gray bonnet, seemed rather pinker than the warmth of the morning accounted for.

“I wonder if I might discuss a matter with you.”

He waited, curious and a little on edge. Would this turn out like the evening she’d gone to the smithy? He pulled his bandanna from his back pocket and blotted his forehead so the sweat wouldn’t trickle down his face while he talked to her.

She cleared her throat. “I’ve been staying with Mrs. Adams all week, and I find that I can’t face moving back to the ranch, where I lived so long with my father.”

Hiram frowned, trying to fit her words with her nervous twisting of her reticule’s strap.

“And so I wondered if it’s possible—well, I happen to know that at one time you had considered buying the ranch where we lived. Before my father bought it, that is.”

“Yes ma’am, I did.”

“I … don’t suppose …”

Hiram swallowed hard. Here it was again—the opportunity he’d wanted, and again he’d have to say no. “Miss Isabel, I don’t have much money put by.”

“Oh, I understand that.”

A horrible thought suddenly came to him. She wasn’t implying—was she?—that perhaps he’d consider marrying her and moving to the ranch with her? This had to be worse than that night at the smithy, when she approached Griffin. They’d all decided to ignore that outburst. But now she’d gotten desperate, since her father died.

“Ma’am, I …”

“I realize you’ve got your sister-in-law visiting and all, but with Trudy planning to get married …” Her eyes darted about as though seeking something less objectionable to gaze at than him. “Since the parson announced yesterday that Trudy and the sheriff will be married soon, I got to thinking you might rather live closer to them, and if you still want to try ranching, why maybe the solution would be for you to swap houses with me.”

Hiram stared at her for a long half minute, remaining outwardly still while his heart pounded and leaped. Was she nuts? His little house in town with a couple of acres out back was worth far less than Cyrus’s ranch. That fine, big ranch house outshone this little frame dwelling by far. And Cy had a big pole barn, and corrals and pastures, and a bunkhouse for his cowboys. And the cattle. What did she intend to do with all those beef steers? He certainly couldn’t ante up for all the livestock, and what good was a ranch without cattle? But … swap houses?

“Well Miss Fennel, I don’t know….” He pushed his hat up in the back and scratched where the band had hugged his head. His hair was damp all around where the hat had rested. “Maybe you’d ought to wait a while before you decide something like that. Go through your pa’s papers and such.”

Isabel puffed out a breath and looked at the ground. It had been so dry lately, the grass was all brown and wilted. Cyrus’s ranch bordered the river on the southwest. Hiram wondered how many cattle were running Cy’s range right now.

“Maybe we could talk about it later.” He wiped his forehead again. “After you know what’s what with your pa’s property.”

“Papa had a lot of land.” Her dull eyes shifted uneasily. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do.”

Hiram tucked the bandanna back into his pocket. He clasped his hands over the end of the hoe handle and leaned on it again. “I wonder if the sheriff and some of the town council members couldn’t advise you a little.”

She nodded. “They might. I’ve talked to Libby some….”

“You must realize that your father’s ranch is worth a lot more than my house.”

“Well … I thought perhaps we could work it out somehow. I … don’t want to live there anymore. I’m certain of that. I’d like to live in town, but I don’t wish to impose on Libby much longer.” Her head drooped.

Hiram couldn’t help feeling a rush of sympathy for her, all alone in the world as she now found herself. “Say, don’t you own the boardinghouse now? You could stay there for a while. Until you have time to make some decisions.”

Her chin came up an inch. “Yes, I could.”

“And your pa had some more empty houses in town.”

“That’s true. I could probably fit one up to live in. But even so, it’s on my heart that you should have the ranch. Papa didn’t do right when he bought it out from under you. I’ve heard people talk about it, and I think it’s time you had the land you wanted.”

Hiram pulled in a long, slow breath and looked down the rows of his garden. “Well now, that’s kind of you to say so. The truth is, that dream has faded since my wife died. Violet and I, we thought we’d get us a ranch and work it together. Raise our family there. But without her, I’m not sure I could resurrect that vision.”

They stood for a long moment in the hot sun, saying nothing. Hiram’s thoughts spun off on a new dream’s track. Would Libby consent to live on a ranch? The very idea enchanted him, but he couldn’t picture her without the emporium. Libby, riding the range with him? Cooking up supper for a bunch of cowpokes? The idea began to grow on him. But could she be content living outside town, not seeing folks every day, away from other women? Not too far away, of course. Close enough to walk into town. And there was the shooting club. But what about the store?

Isabel sighed, and her shoulders sank again.

It occurred to him that her attitude might change if she found a husband. He eyed her uneasily. He’d about discounted the notion that she hoped he’d pop the question and marry her. But maybe this offer to swap property was an attempt to draw it out of him and make him think it was his idea.

“Miss Isabel, someday you might want that ranch. It’s a good piece of land.”

She shook her head. “It holds too many sorrowful memories. I shall never live there again. And I shall consider your advice about the boardinghouse. It might be a good place for me to stay while I consider my options.”

“Didn’t your pa have a lawyer or somebody like that to draw up papers and such?”

“Well yes.” Her pale blue eyes brightened. “There is a man in Boise. I suppose I should telegraph him.”

“Sure. He might be able to advise you on what to do about the property.”

She nodded slowly. “And maybe—it just came into my mind that maybe you’d consider managing the ranch for me. You could still do your gun work. We could apply your wages to buying the property if you wanted.”

Hiram frowned. It would take a ranch foreman a lifetime to save enough to buy that spread. And he was committed to overseeing the building of the new church.

She twisted the strap of her bag again. “I’ve so much to consider. There’s the stagecoach line, for instance. I need to find someone who can fulfill Papa’s contract.”

“I expect Griff Bane might help you there.”

“Do you? I don’t like to ask him any favors.”

Hiram shrugged. “If it’s profitable for him, it won’t be a favor.”

“That’s true.” She gritted her teeth as though steeling herself to do something unpleasant. “All right, I’ll ask him. And will you think about the possibilities at the ranch? If you won’t move out there, I’ll have to sell it, and it seems property in Fergus is hard to sell just now.”

That was true. Cy had tried to sell property just last week with little success. “I guess it can’t hurt to think about it.”

“Thank you.” She turned and walked away, her shoulders slumped. She’d seemed almost handsome that night at the smithy when she’d raged at Griffin, but now she looked gray and tired. Hiram watched until she turned the corner of the house. The satisfaction he’d felt in the sunny day and the waist-high corn had fled. Why did he feel guilty?

The kitchen door opened, and Rose stood on the stoop staring toward him. He poked halfheartedly at a weed with the hoe.

“Hiram! Didn’t I just see Miss Fennel go past the window?”

He sighed and turned toward the house, walking slowly through the rows. When he was ten feet from the back steps, he stopped and looked up at her. “Yes, she came to discuss some business with me.”

“Business?”

“She has her father’s estate to settle.”

Rose’s smooth, creamy brow wrinkled. “Why should she talk to you about that?”

Hiram drew in a deep breath, quickly running through and discarding possible answers. He gave up and shrugged.

“Ooo! You’re so maddening! Why can’t you speak like a normal man?” Rose gathered her skirts and stormed back into the house, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Hiram eyed the closed door helplessly. Yes, why couldn’t he speak? Sometimes he kept quiet because he had nothing to say. When he was a boy, his father had often quoted Proverbs 17:28:
“Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.”
That made sense. Lincoln had put it another way:
“Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt. “

There were other occasions when Hiram felt tongue-tied and fearful that what he said would be rejected—moments when he’d stood face-to-face with Libby came to mind. But you couldn’t go all your life regretting what you never said. Perhaps it was time.

Griffin set the pritchel precisely where he wanted it on the branch of the red-hot horseshoe and hammered away. The jarring hurt his arm, but Doc had said it wasn’t broken, so he gritted his teeth and kept at it. Three holes on each side of the horseshoe would do it. The metal cooled before he could do the last one. With his tongs, he lifted it from the anvil and stuck it back into the glowing forge.

“Mr. Bane?”

He jumped and looked toward the door of the smithy. Isabel stood there, much as she had that evening a few weeks back. He swallowed hard, trying to force back the sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t even have Hiram here to deflect her anger today.

“Mr. Bane, I’ve come to talk to you about the stagecoach business. First of all, thank you for handling things for me the last few days.”

“No problem.” He turned and poked at the horseshoe. It glowed orange. He worked the bellows a few times.

She was still standing there. “I wondered if you could continue doing it—that is, if you would be in a position to fulfill my father’s contract with Wells Fargo. He was to continue as division agent for this line until next May. I telegraphed the company the day after Papa died, and they’ve approved my finding a replacement for the duration of the contract. We’re so far off the main line that I suppose they don’t want to take the trouble to come all the way up here.”