The Bride's Prerogative (16 page)

Gert cleared her throat. “May I hear from those in favor of this resolution—to be hereafter known as the Ladies’ Shooting Club of Fergus?”

“Aye,” chorused the women.

“Any opposed?”

Blessed silence greeted her. “Thank you. The resolution is enacted. And now, I would like to institute a new tradition for the club. I’d like to ask Mrs. Benton to lead us in prayer.”

“I’m delighted to be here with you as a part of this group.” Mrs. Benton pushed a wisp of dark hair back beneath her bonnet. “Thank you all for your welcome. Shall we pray?”

The ladies bowed their heads—even Vashti, after Bitsy elbowed her sharply.

Half an hour later, as the teams worked smoothly through their shooting routines, Gert moved from group to group to give pointers on aiming.

In Emmaline’s group, she heard Apphia say to Goldie, “Why of course you would be welcome at the church services. No one would turn you away from the Lord’s work.” The saloon girl eyed her dubiously.

When Gert reached Libby’s team, her friend gestured for her to join them.

“I was thinking that perhaps on Thursday you could give us all a lesson in gun cleaning.” Libby’s blue eyes glinted with eagerness.

“Sure. That’s a good idea.” Gert looked over the orderly ranks of women and frowned. Milzie was hobbling away, past the row of tied horses and toward the road. “I gave Milzie her last bullet and powder load, but she’s leaving, and I don’t think she’s fired it yet.”

CHAPTER 17

E
than stretched the wire tight while Johnny McDade pounded in staples to hold it to the fence posts. The bottom of the box of staples showed, and Ethan looked anxiously toward town. “Sure wish that brother of yours would get back here.”

“No doubt he’s flirting with that redheaded gal at the emporium,” Johnny said.

Ethan shook his head. Spin McDade, the older of the two brothers at nineteen, considered himself quite a ladies’ man. Sending him into town on an errand was a risk, but he’d figured the two boys wouldn’t get much done on the fence if he went, and he hadn’t wanted to send the younger brother with cash. Of course, Libby would probably have opened an account for him if he’d sent a note, but Ethan liked to keep his debts cleared up. Credit could ruin a man, or so his pa had always said.

A few minutes later, Ethan saw a telltale plume of dust where the road ran behind some scrub pines. “Maybe that’s Spin coming.”

“We can hope.” Johnny picked up the jug of spring water they’d brought along and tipped it back for a long swallow.

Spin and his horse appeared at the edge of the new pasture they were fencing—not that it produced much grass, but it would hold a few cattle while Ethan gave his north range a chance to recover from spring grazing. The leggy bay gelding cantered toward them.

“Hey!” Johnny waved his hat and grinned at his brother.

Spin pulled the horse to a halt and jumped down. “I got the staples. Miz Adams asked me to tell ya the shooting club will meet this afternoon.”

“What’s that?” Johnny asked. “Do we want to join this here club?”

Ethan laughed. “I don’t think so. It’s for women.”

The two young men stared at him. They hadn’t been into town much since they’d joined Ethan for the summer, and apparently they hadn’t heard about the controversial new society.

“Some of the women in Fergus are learning to shoot. Since Sheriff Thalen was killed, they’ve wanted to learn to defend themselves. Mrs. Adams is just keeping me informed. They usually meet on Thalen’s old property, not far from here, so don’t you boys go riding over that way. They might blow your heads off.” Ethan nodded toward Bert’s land.

“I heard some shooting over thataway on Monday,” Johnny said.

“Does Florence Nash go?” Spin asked. “I might want to join if she does.”

“I told you, it’s for women only.” Ethan reached for the box of staples Spin pulled from his saddlebag.

“How much time did you spend following Florence around the store?” Johnny asked.

His brother smiled. “She’s a peach. I might just need to ride into town with you Sunday, Ethan. She told me they’re having church services now.”

Ethan nodded. “You can both go if you’ve a mind to. Your ma and pa would be pleased, I’m sure.” No doubt Spin would find his way onto the Nash family’s bench that served as a pew, but that was all right. As big as he talked, Spin generally behaved himself, and Florence was a nice girl.

“You aiming to settle down?” Johnny stared at his brother in disgust.

“Maybe.”

Johnny scowled and shook his head. “I never.” Ethan and Spin laughed.

“How about you, Ethan?” Spin asked in a man-to-man tone. “You ever think about settling down?”

Ethan grunted and pulled his work gloves on. “I consider myself settled.”

“Aw, come on.” Spin bent to help him lift and string the wire. “Don’t you ever think about courtin’ a girl?”

“No. I try not to.”

“Why ever not?” Johnny asked, retrieving his hammer.

“I just don’t want to think about getting married, that’s all.”

“Well, that Miz Adams is mighty pretty,” Spin said.

“Hush,” Ethan said, not unkindly. “Let’s get this fence up.”

“And there was another girl came into the store while I was there. Gert, they call her. Not so pretty as Miz Adams, but she seemed pert and likable.”

“I told you to hush. Mrs. Adams and Miss Dooley are too old for the likes of you, and I told you, I’m not ready to settle. Now are you gonna work, or am I gonna have to pay you off and hire someone else?”

Ethan bent his back into the grueling work. When they’d strung the wire as far as he’d planted fence posts, he wielded the posthole digger, and Spin followed, driving more posts in with a sledgehammer. Johnny chinked them with small stones when needed. By noontime, all three were drenched in sweat and ready for a meal.

As he wearily mounted Scout, Ethan considered the rest of his day.

“After we wash up and eat, you two can work on the barn roof.” They wouldn’t work so hard they suffered from it, but they’d make a little progress.

“You going into town?” Johnny asked.

“Reckon I should. Folks like to see the sheriff’s face now and then.”

He wondered if he could count on supper at Hiram and Trudy’s. He smiled to himself. He’d taken to thinking of her as Trudy, and the more he cogitated on it, the better he thought the name fit her. He might even take her a little something as a token of his gratitude. But what? He wouldn’t want her to start thinking like the McDade boys, that he ought to settle down. So nothing personal.

He thought back to when he’d left Fergus to join the army. He’d been only a couple of years older than Spin was now. Young, carefree, idealistic. That was before he helped chase the Bannocks all across the Idaho Territory and followed the Sheepeaters high into the mountains. Back then, he might have sparked a girl and dreamed of setting up to have a family. But now … now when he thought of families, he remembered the faces of the starving Indians they’d chased down. Memories of their skirmishes sickened him. And what woman would want to spend her life with a man haunted by wailing Sheepeater children?

No, a woman like Libby was better off on her own. She seemed content with her business and her friends. And Trudy? She had her brother to fret over. She didn’t need another man whose past rose up to haunt him.

So that was that. He’d take them some beef when it came butchering time. But no flowers or candy for …

The image of Trudy as a little girl with flaxen braids flitted across his mind.

Libby sat up in bed, her heart pounding. She strained to hear. Something creaked, but the two-story building made its own noises when all else was quiet. Something different had yanked her from sleep.

She heard it again—stealthy footsteps in the rooms below. She could barely breathe. Someone was in the back room of the store, where her desk sat and the safe huddled in the corner behind a stack of crates.

She slid her hand under Isaac’s cool, undented pillow. The Peacemaker fit her hand like an old friend.

Her dressing gown lay draped over a chair, and she slid it on, tying it firmly about her waist, then picked up the pistol. Shoes would only betray her.

As she listened, the footsteps sounded again. The intruder had left the back room and gone to the main floor of the emporium. What was he after? Had he tried to open the safe? She took a trembling step and stopped to listen again. She heard quiet thumping and shuffling, then snapping. Three quick steps took her to the door. She turned the knob with excruciating slowness and pulled the door two inches inward.

With an eye to the crack, she squinted toward the staircase and saw a glow. He must have lit a lantern … or a candle. The glow flickered on the ceiling and walls over the stairs.

Smoke hit her suddenly, a roiling wave of it, and she gasped, which only sucked more into her lungs. She shut the door, not worrying about the sound it made. For a moment she stood groping for a reason. She’d had no fire in the stove downstairs for weeks, and she hadn’t even lit her cookstove in the upstairs apartment tonight. How could there be—

The acrid smell reached beneath the door and choked her.

CHAPTER 18

L
ibby threw the door open and dashed to the top of the stairs, clutching the pistol before her. Smoke rolled up the stairwell. Pulling in a deep breath, she hurried down. The air seemed clearer at the bottom of the flight, though she could now see flames rising from a heap on the floor between the counter and the racks that held housewares and baking supplies.

She looked all around. No one moved through the thickening smoke in the big room. On tiptoe, she approached the site of the fire. Merchandise had been piled up in a mound—clothing, stationery, and seed packets. Combustibles. No hardware or pots. Things that would burn quickly. A sudden flare-up in the blaze drove her back several feet. Something had caught and sizzled. Lard, maybe, or bacon?

She laid the Peacemaker on a shelf and grabbed a wool blanket. The fire bucket always sat near the pot-bellied stove, even in summer. She shoved the blanket into it, trying not to slop the precious water. The heavy cloth soaked her nightclothes. She stood and carried it to the blaze. Choosing the part that burned most fiercely, she flipped the wet cloth over it, slapping at the fire and jerking her blanket back. The hot floorboards made the bare soles of her feet smart, but she couldn’t stop. Several times she swatted at the flames and glowing embers. A flaring brand rolled toward her, and she lifted her robe and nightgown, jumping back.

She soaked the blanket again and returned to her task until the blanket began to smoke. The fire bucket was nearly empty, so she upended it on the fire and edged around the burning pile. She managed to squeeze past the end of the counter. The bucket of drinking water was nearly full. She picked it up and hurried back to the fire, coughing so hard she spilled some of the water. Aiming for the spot that persisted in burning the worst, she swung the bucket and threw the water on it. She jumped back, lest the swash throw hot embers on her.

The smoke thickened, and flames kept licking at the heap. More water. Libby ran through the storage room. The back door was unlocked, but she wouldn’t think about that now. She ran to the rain barrel and scooped her pail full.

As she hurried back inside, sloshing water against her legs and again soaking the lower part of her nightclothes, she wondered if she should run for the nearest neighbors. But as she threw the full bucket onto the fire and a great deal of water ran off it and flowed across the floor, she decided she could put it out if she persisted. If she ran for Peter Nash or the mayor, the fire might grow beyond their ability to stop it.

She made three more trips before she was satisfied that the flames wouldn’t leap up again. Exhausted, she leaned against the counter, panting. Her wet clothing was covered in soot, and she assumed her face looked as bad. She went to the front door and threw it wide open. What difference would it make now to leave the doors open? Already her domain had been breached.

Slowly she climbed the stairs and opened all the windows in her living quarters to clear out the smoke. Her feet were sore, but nothing worse than a sunburn, so far as she could tell. In her bedchamber, she lit the lantern and pulled the curtains. Dawn was upon her, and there was no point in going back to bed. She wasted no time but dressed carefully. Her hair would smell of smoke until she washed it, but at least she could scrub the soot from her face and hands. At last she felt presentable. Time to go for help.

She stopped partway down the stairs. The fire was out. Should she even bother her neighbors? The sheriff was the man she needed. A moment’s thought, and she went out the front door, closed it firmly behind her, and dashed across the street and down the walk. The jail loomed still and dark, but already lantern light shone through the side kitchen window of the Dooleys’ house. Libby hurried to the back and knocked softly. Gert opened the door cautiously.

“Good morning! Forgive me for coming so early,” Libby said.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Gert’s nose wrinkled as she threw the door wide and stepped back so Libby could enter.

“Yes. Someone broke into the emporium and started a fire downstairs. I was able to put it out, but I’d like to talk to the sheriff before I open the store.”

“Oh, Libby! Are you all right?” Gert grasped her wrist and looked her over. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m fine. I want to go back and start cleaning up right away. It’s a mess, but I hope to open the store on time. Do you think—”

“Hiram’s getting up. He’ll go right away for Ethan. Maybe you should wait until the sheriff gets there to start your cleaning.”

Libby shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t be able to open on time if I waited. I want to get all the burnt stuff out and air the building well. I’m not sure how badly the floor is damaged, but if I can help it, I won’t give the ruffian who did this the satisfaction of closing my business.” Her voice choked, and Gert put her arms around her.

“There now. If some outlaw broke in and vandalized your store, you really oughtn’t to be over there alone.”

“He’s gone now.” Libby swiped at her tears, wishing she had strength enough to keep from crying. “Oh, Gert, why would anyone do this?” A little sob leaped out of her throat, and she put her hands to her face.

“Sit down.” Gert led her gently to the table and pulled out a chair for her. “I’m fixing you a cup of tea as soon as I tell Hiram and get him on his way. Then I’ll go over with you, and we’ll do whatever’s needed.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve got your own work to do.”

Gert gave a little snort. “I’ve got nothing more important than fixing breakfast for a man who’s capable of doing it himself.”

Libby arched her eyebrows. Gert had never before implied that Hiram might not need her quite so much as she wished. “All right.” She blinked back her tears and searched her pocket for a handkerchief.

Gert left the room and returned a moment later with Hiram on her heels. The gunsmith stopped in the doorway and eyed her mournfully. At last he spoke.

“You’re all right, ma’am?”

“Yes, I am, Hiram. Thank you for asking.”

“I’ll go to the ranch for Ethan.” He strode to the back door, grabbed his hat, and left.

Gert went to the stove and lifted the teakettle. “He offered to check through the store and your rooms, but I told him you’d rather he fetched Ethan. But I’m going with you, and no arguments. You might have been killed.” As she spoke, she measured tea into a pot and poured hot water on it. Then she brought their cups to the table and pushed the sugar bowl toward Libby. “I don’t expect you’ve eaten anything, have you?”

Libby shook her head. “But I don’t want to lose any time—”

“Just a bite.” Gert brought a tin box from the cupboard and opened it to reveal several cold biscuits. “Leftovers, but with a little cheese, they’ll go down. You’ll be glad later that you had something.”

Libby supposed her friend was right, though she barely tasted the biscuit and wedge of sharp cheese Gert placed before her. The tea comforted her.

“Thank you.”

Gert put the last bite of her own biscuit into her mouth and stood. She reached to gather the dishes and carried them to the dishpan. “Come on, now. I’ll take care of these later. Shall I bring my mop?”

“I’ve got everything we’ll need in the store,” Libby said.

Together they walked across the street and up the boardwalk. The early sunlight streamed down Main Street. Libby opened the door of the emporium and led Gert inside to the site of the fire.

Water had run over the floor, pooling in spots and draining through cracks between the floorboards in others. The pile of charred merchandise stank, and the air still held the strong, acrid stench of smoke.

“I’ll prop both doors open,” Libby said. “I’ve got the windows open upstairs.” The storeroom had no windows to open. Isaac had designed the building that way on purpose, partly for security, and partly to give him more wall space for shelves and stacks of goods.

She took her broom, mop, and bucket from the back room.

“Maybe we should start with a shovel.” Gert eyed the wet, ashy pile distastefully.

“Good idea. And I’ve got a wash boiler over there in the hardware section. We can fill it and carry it out back. I’ll get Josiah to haul the trash off later.”

“Right,” Gert said. “Let’s just get it outside for now.”

Libby walked quickly to the apparel section and grabbed two pair of men’s heavy work gloves. She took one to Gert. “Here. I don’t think we want to touch that stuff without gloves.”

They set to work, removing all of the ruined items. For twenty minutes they said little. Libby gasped when she recognized some of the wrecked merchandise—the remaining unsold Bibles.

“Wicked.”

Gert peered over at the charred leather and paper. “Oh, Libby. I’m so sorry.”

Libby sighed. “I’ve felt a little guilty, anyhow, making a profit from selling the scriptures.”

“I don’t think you need feel badly about that. Folks in town were glad to get them.”

Libby sat back on her heels and wiped her brow with the back of her wrist. “It could have been much worse. So much worse.”

The sleigh bells hanging from the door jingled softly as Ethan brushed past them with Hiram close behind.

The sheriff strode toward them and halted, staring down at the stinking mess on the floor.

“This is where it happened?”

Libby nodded. “A pile of merchandise from all over the store—things that would burn easily. Cloth, paper. I’m guessing some lard to help it burn faster.”

Ethan frowned.

Before he could speak, Libby said, “I guess you wish we hadn’t started cleaning, but I want to open on time today. That is …” She faltered, looking to Gert for reassurance. “You don’t think it’s too smelly, do you? A lot of the other merchandise might be ruined from smoke. I wonder if the flour will taste like it. And the bolts of cloth—I suppose I could wash them if the smell won’t air out.”

“Let me look around for a few minutes, please, before you do any more,” Ethan said. “Where did you put the burnt stuff?”

“Out back.” Gert nodded toward the door behind the counter as she pulled off her work gloves. “We made a heap behind the store and figured Josiah could take it away later.”

“All right, but I’ll want to look at it before he does. Mrs. Adams—”

“I think he burned nearly all the seed packets,” Libby said absently, looking at her depleted shelves. “But it’s late in the season. Most folks had got what they wanted for seed.”

“Did you see the person who did this?” Ethan asked.

She jerked her head around to look at him. “No. I …” She was shaking. That was odd. She held her hand out before her, curious at the way it trembled.

Gert stepped forward and put her arm around Libby’s waist. “We’ve been working hard. Why don’t you come sit down in the back room while you talk to Ethan?”

“I’m all right.” Libby pushed back a lock of hair and wondered if her face was all sooty again. “I didn’t see anyone, but I heard someone walking around down here. I think that’s what woke me up. Probably he was gathering the things to burn. I heard footsteps and thuds. It frightened me, so I got up and went to my bedroom door. Then I smelled the smoke.”

“You put the fire out all by yourself?” Ethan asked.

“Yes. It … wasn’t that big, but it put off a lot of black smoke.”

“There was an empty lard pail in the junk we hauled out,” Gert said.

Ethan nodded. “I’ll have you show it to me later. Now, Mrs. Adams, think hard. You’re sure you didn’t see anyone?”

“No one.”

“How do you think he got in?”

“The back door wasn’t locked.” She shook her head. “I know I locked it last night. I always do. But I suppose …”

“I’ll look at it.” Ethan knelt and examined the floorboards. “The fire doesn’t seem to have burned through the floor, but it’s charred here.” He looked up at Hiram. “We could replace these three boards, couldn’t we?”

Hiram nodded. “I can go get what we need right now.”

“Oh, you don’t—” Libby stopped. Hiram was already out the door.

“He’ll fix it good as new,” Gert said.

Libby looked toward the case clock. It was nearly six in the morning, and she had only two hours to get ready for opening. Florence would help when she arrived at seven thirty. Libby sent up a quick prayer of thanks that she’d put all the ledgers in the safe last night.