The Bride's Prerogative (20 page)

CHAPTER 23

T
hank you for going with me.” Apphia Benton handled the reins capably as Gert settled onto the wagon seat beside her.

“I missed Milzie, too, at the club on Thursday. I hope someone’s checked in on her, but I’m afraid we have to communicate in person until we all get telephones out here.” Gert puffed out a breath.

“You told me she’s been faithful at the meetings,” Apphia said.

“Perfectly. I believe it’s been good for her—and the rest of us, too. A lot of the members never see another woman for weeks at a time.”

At the end of Main Street, Apphia clucked to the horse. The bay gelding loaned to them by Griffin Bane stepped out in a smart trot. Gert looked up at the sun. They’d be back in town before noon, and she could do her usual Saturday cleaning.

“I haven’t been all the way out this road since last fall. It’s looking dry already, and we’ve barely passed the summer solstice.”

“Yes, it
has
been dry,” Apphia said. “I wondered if you usually have more rain this time of year.”

“Some years.” Gert pointed to a low house nestled between the brown hills. “That’s the Landrys’ place. You know Emmaline.”

“Yes. Her whole family came to services last Sunday. I was so pleased.”

“It surprised me, too. I didn’t expect Micah to bring them.”

“Well, I hope to get Milzie into church as well,” Apphia said. “We had such a good visit on Monday. But then she didn’t come Thursday….”

Gert eyed her carefully. Could she have truly enjoyed serving tea to Milzie? Just the thought of inviting Milzie inside the Dooley house made her shudder. The smell would take as long to get rid of as the smoke stench in the emporium. Gert’s limited acquaintance with the Bentons had raised her opinion of the clergy. Both Apphia and her husband seemed to have tender hearts toward the poor and the needy.

“I worry about her, too.” Though her own concern might not be so pure-hearted as Apphia’s, Gert spoke sincerely. She’d actually missed Milzie’s snaggletoothed smile, and the three charges she’d prepared for the Hawken Thursday morning still rested in her saddlebag. “That’s the Robinsons’ house,” she said a few minutes later. “I see Lyman out working his garden. Do you want to stop?”

“Perhaps on the way home. I confess I’m anxious about Milzie.”

“That’s fine.” Gert waved to Mr. Robinson. He lifted his head as the wagon passed and waved his hat.

“How old are they?” Apphia asked.

“Both in their sixties, I’d say. They have a wagon and a mule, but the trip into town is a major undertaking for them. I don’t know as they’d do it on a day they couldn’t shop, too.”

“That’s a major drawback in the congregation. The parishioners are so scattered. My husband and I have tried to get around to all those who’ve come to services so far, but we’ve several ranches to visit yet.”

“Milzie’s is the last one out here,” Gert said. “It’s around that bluff, probably a good half mile from the Robinsons’. Maybe a mile. And they can’t see each other’s houses, so I don’t know as the flagpole idea would work too well for Milzie. We couldn’t expect her to climb up the hill every morning. Although her husband’s mine is above the cabin.”

“She told me about Frank’s passing.” Apphia shook her head. “I’m not sure how that woman has survived the years alone out here.”

They rounded the hill that stuck out, blocking their view, and Gert looked forward, seeking the roofline of the cabin. Something didn’t look quite right. She caught her breath and seized Apphia’s wrist.

“What is it?” Apphia asked.

“Hurry. Her cabin’s flat.”

The horse trotted into what should have been the dooryard, but the only welcome they received was the view of a charred heap of ruins where the Pearts’ modest home had stood for more than twenty years.

Apphia held the reins while Gert climbed down from the wagon and walked over to the burned-out cabin. Tears filled her eyes and choked her. How could she not have realized something was horribly wrong?

She stumbled back to the wagon and looked up at Apphia through stinging tears. “This isn’t new. It’s been awhile.”

“But … where has she been living?”

“I don’t know. Let’s tie the horse and look around.”

They walked slowly about the site of the cabin.

“She’s started a little garden,” Apphia said, stooping to pull a clump of grass from a crooked row of peas.

Gert spotted the root cellar, but it was empty. She turned slowly, looking over the valley. Apphia walked back to the ruins, shouting, “Milzie!”

“The mine,” Gert called. Apphia turned toward her with her lovely dark eyebrows arched. “Up there.” Gert pointed to the cave opening a short way along the hillside. Apphia walked quickly to join her.

“Do you think she could be in there?”

“Maybe. We should check. Franklin tried to mine it, but there wasn’t much in these hills. I think he took a little gold out of the creek—that’s what they lived on—but not the hillside.”

They toiled up the path to the dark cave entrance.

“This would be a difficult walk for Milzie.” Apphia turned to look back. “When she comes into town, does she walk all that way?”

“I expect so, unless she catches a ride with the Robinsons.”

“It would take her a couple of hours to walk that far.”

Gert nodded. “She shouldn’t be out here alone. Especially with no house. I wonder when that happened.”

When they’d approached to within two yards of the cave entrance, she stopped.

“Milzie? Are you in there?”

The wind ruffled her hair, but no one answered.

Gert stepped forward, her heart racing. “I hope there aren’t any critters in there.” She and Apphia stood in the opening, squinting into the darkness. “Look.” Gert stepped into the cave and pointed to a heap of cloth on the floor.

“Is that a blanket?” Apphia asked.

“I think it’s Franklin’s old wool coat she wears in the winter.” Gert looked around, spotting a few other items. “There’s a lantern.” She took it down and checked the reservoir. “No oil.”

“Here’s a candle stub.” Apphia picked it up from a rude shelf between two framing members against the rock wall.

“I don’t see any matches.” Gert looked closely at the shelf. “If we come calling again, we’d best bring some, and some lamp oil or a few more candles.”

“Do you really think she’s living in this cave, poor soul?” Apphia’s face softened as she took in the meagerness of Milzie’s existence.

“She must be.” Gert fingered the small items on the shelf. “I wonder if she’d let us move her into town. She’s so independent.”

“But she’s been accepting small gestures from the club members.” Apphia opened her crocheted handbag. “I don’t suppose we should be in here without her permission. I’ll leave the gingerbread I brought for her.” She took out a small parcel wrapped in a napkin and laid it on top of the coat.

“I hope animals don’t get it before Milzie does.” Gert spotted a covered crock on the floor and dragged it to the opening, where she could see its contents. She lifted the lid and sniffed the mass inside.

“What is that?” Apphia leaned closer.

“She’s fixed a batch of camas root. Not much of that grows around here. She must have found a patch down by the river.” Gert put the lid back and replaced the crock. “It’s good nourishment, I guess. The Indians set a lot of store by it. That may be helping Milzie keep from starving.”

“Poor thing. The town ought to do something. Do you suppose she
would
let us move her?”

Gert stared at her. “Well, ma’am, I don’t know. And I can’t think where you’d put her. You don’t really have room in your little house, and …” She let her words trail off but couldn’t repress a shudder. “I do feel sorry for her.”

“Maybe the Robinsons could tell us when the cabin burned.” Apphia pulled her shawl around her.

Gert took a last look around. “At least we know she’s not in here now. But where is she?”

Milzie took her time Saturday morning, leaning on her stick as she walked across country toward town before the sun got hot. She stopped by the Higginses’ cabin. Nealy and Clem weren’t around, so she took a drink from their well and poked around the yard a little. They wouldn’t miss the egg she took when they had at least three more that she left untouched in the chicken pen.

At the Landrys’, she gathered the courage to knock at the back door. Emmaline opened it and promptly greeted her.

“Well, good morning, Milzie. Would you like a slice of corn cake? We’ve some left from breakfast.”

Would she! After thanking the donor and devouring the food, Milzie ambled on until she was less than a mile from town. By then, her old legs didn’t want to go any farther. She found a thicket to curl up in where she wouldn’t be readily seen if anyone passed by. A good nap used up several hours. She awoke when a horse fly landed on her nose. The sun was high overhead, and she felt lazy. But she needed to get her stiff bones moving if she wanted to complete a foray into town and get home before dark.

Milzie knew every dump in Fergus. The trash heaps on the outskirts of town rewarded her.

At the pile belonging to the Spur & Saddle, she picked a large tin can to aid in her cooking and put it in her sack. A china cup with the handle broken clean off. Next, she found a good-sized shard of a broken looking glass. One of Bitsy’s girls must be in for some bad luck. She frowned as she looked at her partial reflection. With a shrug, she wrapped the glass in a sheet of newspaper and stuck it into her bag.

She made her way down the back side of Main Street and paused behind the Dooleys’ house. The gunsmith puttered about the place, but she saw no sign of Gert. Too bad. Milzie liked Gert, and she had a light touch with biscuits.

At the emporium, she had better fortune. Miz Adams greeted her with a smile.

“Well, Milzie, how are you? We missed you on Thursday.”

“Had the grippe.”

“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’re over it now.”

“Middlin’.” The truth was, clouds had rolled in on Thursday, and Milzie hadn’t wanted to risk being caught several miles from home in a downpour. But that wouldn’t sound like a very good reason to miss the shooting club.

Another customer entered the store. “Excuse me, won’t you?” Libby asked. “Make sure you see me before you leave. I’ve got a little something for you.”

Milzie wandered about the store for a good twenty minutes. Miz Adams had gotten in enough new bolts of cloth to cover a tabletop. Milzie surreptitiously ran her hand over them. The soft nap of the corduroy pleased her. Franklin liked corduroy pants in cold weather. They didn’t itch like wool. It was too hot for summer, but wouldn’t she love a skirt from that brown bolt for fall? Likely women didn’t make skirts from corduroy though.

The flannels were even softer. She wanted to put her face right down and brush her cheek against the fabric.

“May I help you, Mrs. Peart?” Florence Nash, the red-haired girl, stood right next to her.

“You jumped me,” Milzie said.

“I’m sorry.”

Milzie looked toward the counter. Libby was handing a wrapped parcel to Oscar Runnels. No one else waited for her to tot up an order. Milzie ignored Florence and shuffled toward her.

“Oh, Milzie, I haven’t forgotten you.” Libby smiled again. She sure had a pretty smile. Her teeth were just as white as the bleached muslin bolts. She ducked down behind the counter for a minute then stood again. “I’ve been saving these for you.” She placed a pair of knit stockings on the counter. “They came in mismatched. Can you imagine? See how one’s a little larger than the other? I can’t sell them like that. Could you use them by any chance?”