The Bride's Prerogative (3 page)

CHAPTER 4

T
he mayor took center stage at the funeral the next afternoon. He spoke at length—too much length, Ethan thought—about Bert Thalen’s contributions to the town. Ethan had pulled his hat off for the service, as had all the other men, and the wind cooled his ears to the point of discomfort.

“Bert was liked by everyone.” The chilly wind caught Walker’s thin voice, making it hard to hear at times. “When we came looking for gold back in ‘63, Bert Thalen, Isaac Adams, Cyrus Fennel, and I met up in the assay office. We immediately became friends. Bert was square. He always kept his word, and if another miner needed help, he’d lend a hand.”

The mayor went on, but Ethan let his mind wander. True, most folks respected Bert, at least enough to keep electing him sheriff every fall for the last fifteen years. But he did have a temper. Thalen’s ranch bordered Ethan’s, and they’d ridden fence together several times. Ethan had heard Bert cuss and carry on when things didn’t go his way. He liked his tobacco chaw, and he’d gotten set in his ways. But he was all right—better than most men would be if they wore the star.

Cy Fennel took the mayor’s place at the head end of the grave, facing the crowd. Word had traveled fast, and most of the town’s one hundred or so residents had turned out, along with a few outlying ranchers.

“I well recollect the first winter we prospected in these hills.” Cy was putting on a bit of a folksy tone today. “My wife, Mary, and I homesteaded, but I spent a lot of time the first two years out on the claim I’d filed with Bert, Charles, and Isaac. The first winter, we got caught in a blizzard. We like to have froze to death. Cold! Wasn’t it cold?” Cyrus shook his head. “Yup, those days it took a lot of grit to survive out here.”

“It ain’t no picnic nowadays,” called Micah Landry, who ran a few cattle on his ranch out Mountain Road.

Everyone laughed uneasily.

“Yes, sir, Bert was a tough one.” Cyrus nodded soberly, not focusing on anyone in the crowd.

He opened his mouth as though to speak again, but Mayor Walker called out, “Anyone else want to say something about Bert?”

“He was always a gentleman, and I never saw him drunk.”

The crowd swiveled around to look at the speaker, Bitsy Shepard, who owned the Spur & Saddle Saloon.

“He encouraged me to keep the business after Isaac died,” Libby Adams said.

Her voice was so quiet that Orissa Walker piped up with, “What’d she say, Charles?” No one had any trouble hearing the mayor’s wife.

The murmuring increased, and Walker raised both hands. “Now, folks, quiet down. Let’s have a psalm and a prayer, out of respect for the dead.”

Griffin Bane stepped forward holding a worn, leather-covered book. His thick eyebrows nearly met as he opened it. If Ethan hadn’t known him so well, he’d have thought Griff was angry. But he always scowled like that on somber occasions.

“Psalm 23,” the blacksmith said. “‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.’ “

A lot of the townsfolk recited the chapter along with Griffin, without the aid of a Bible—mostly older folks. The town had yet to acquire a church or a man to fill the pulpit and bury their dead. Some of them heard scripture only in snippets at funerals and such. For years, the only times Ethan had heard preaching came when he rode to Silver City or Boise.

Still, he didn’t need every-week services to remember the verses he’d learned as a child. His mama had coached him for weeks until he could recite the Shepherd’s Psalm and the Old Hundredth word perfect for his Sunday school teacher. But that was before they came to the ranch near Fergus.

“‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,’ “Ethan recited softly, along with Griffin and the others. “‘For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’ “

He glanced over at his friend Hiram. While the gunsmith mouthed the words silently, his sister, Gertrude, spoke evenly, in unison with Griff. Only three Bibles were in evidence besides Griffin’s. Libby Adams held hers open at the middle, while Orissa Walker clutched one close against her chest. To Ethan’s surprise, Augie Moore, the bartender at Bitsy’s place, also held one and followed along as Griffin read.

“‘… And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’ “Ethan hoped Bert had crossed into the house of the Lord. “Amen.” Griff clapped his hat on with one hand while flipping the Bible closed with the other.

Ethan started to put his misshapen felt hat back on, but Mayor Walker said, “Cyrus, would you lead us in prayer?”

Cy Fennel cleared his throat, and all the men dropped their hands back to their sides, holding their hats ready. Hopefully, Cyrus would have the sense to make it quick.

“Dear Lord, we ask You to take Bert into Your house and let him live in bliss forever among the angels. Amen.”

“Amen,” Ethan said firmly, though he wasn’t sure they’d be rubbing elbows with the angels when they passed over.

As he at last pulled his hat low over his ears, the mayor spoke again.

“The ladies have laid out refreshments in the schoolhouse, but before we partake, there’s a bit of town business we need to tend to. We’ll try to keep it brief, but we need you all there. And I’m told we’ve got beans, corn cake, and dried apple pie, with sundry other delectables for when we’re done. So get on over to the schoolhouse.”

The crowd broke ranks, turning their backs swiftly on the open grave. Hiram and Griffin circled the mound of dirt at the foot end of the hole, where they’d stashed a couple of spades that morning. Gert Dooley stayed nearby, watching the people leave in an arrow-straight line for the schoolhouse.

“I can help.” Ethan stepped up beside Hiram. “You two did all the digging this morning.”

Hiram shrugged and dug the blade of his spade into the pile of loose earth.

“Thanks, Ethan. We’ll be fine.” Griffin hefted his spade.

“I don’t mind,” Ethan said. “Hiram, why don’t you take your sister over to the schoolhouse? It’s chilly out here. Gert would probably appreciate getting inside.”

Hiram paused and looked uncertainly from Gert to Ethan and back. “You go on,” he said at last.

Ethan shook his head and reached for the spade handle. Gert was a nice young woman, but he’d rather stay out in the cold a little longer than let the whole town think he was walking out with her. He’d decided long ago not to go down the courtship road.

Hiram eyed him for a long moment then handed him the spade and brushed off his hands. He turned and crooked his elbow for his sister, and they followed the others. Gert held her back as straight as a poker. A belated thought crossed Ethan’s mind that he may have insulted her without meaning to.

He plied the spade vigorously, hoping the work would warm him up. May 5 ought to be warmer than this, but the distant mountains still held their snowcaps. Griffin labored silently with him. They had nearly leveled the pile when Gert came puffing back to the graveside.

“Ethan!” She pulled up, panting. “You’re needed at the schoolhouse.”

“What for?” He straightened and stared at her.

“Just come. Quick. Folks are getting impatient to eat.” She turned away and walked back the way she’d come.

Now why had she asked for him and not Griffin? Ethan looked over at him, but the blacksmith merely shrugged.

“I never knew people in Fergus to keep the food back waiting for anyone,” Ethan said.

“Mm. Like one pig waits for another.” Griffin stuck his spade in the dirt. “Come on, we might as well see what the fuss is about.”

They trudged together toward the rough log building on the edge of town. Fergus had a scanty school roll these days—seemed most of the children had grown up or families with young’uns had moved away. Isabel Fennel, Cyrus’s daughter, kept school for fewer than a dozen pupils.

As they stepped into the schoolhouse and removed their hats, the warmth and smell of many people close together hit Ethan, but subtle food scents softened it. Griffin followed him through the small cloakroom into the back of the classroom.

“Here he is,” boomed Augie Moore.

“Yeah, Ethan.”

He looked toward the voice but couldn’t pick out the speaker. From the front of the room by Isabel’s desk, Mayor Walker spoke. “Ethan, come on up here, please.”

Ethan arched his eyebrows and put one hand to his chest as if to say, “Who, me?”

The mayor nodded. “That’s right, son, come right up here.”

Slowly, Ethan walked the aisle, feeling at least fifty pairs of eyes boring into him. People packed all the benches, and at least a dozen men stood along the walls. He stopped a yard from the mayor and stood still with his hat in his dirty hands. “Yes, sir?”

“Ethan, I’m appointing you as interim sheriff of Fergus until we have a chance to organize a proper election.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped, and immediately he snapped it shut. No use looking like a fool, even though he felt like one.

Mayor Walker continued. “The people agree with me that you’re the best choice for the job, so I’ll just pin Bert Thalen’s star on your coat, there, and—”

“Hold it.” Ethan stepped back and threw one hand up as the mayor leaned toward him with the business end of the star’s pin pointed at his chest. “I’m not sure I want that job, thank you.”

“Nonsense. You’ve lived next to Bert for a long time, and you’ve helped him plenty. He even deputized you when he had to throw those ruffians off Cold Creek a couple of years back.”

“That’s right, Ethan,” Cyrus said jovially from where he leaned against the log wall with his arms folded. “You’re just the man for this job. Young, healthy, strong, and always on the right side of the law.”

Someone started clapping, and the crowd took it up.

“Hey, Ethan! Speech!” voices called out.

He turned to face the crowd and held up both hands, in one of which he still held his hat.

“Folks, please.”

“Let him speak!” The mayor couldn’t seem to talk loudly without going shrill. The shouts subsided.

Suddenly all was as quiet as the moment after an owl screeches. Ethan swallowed hard.

“Folks, I dunno where this notion came from, but the truth is, I don’t think I’m qualified. Besides, my ranch doesn’t leave me time to perform official duties. The sheriff has to spend a lot of nights in town. I just can’t do that.”

“Hogwash!”

Ethan felt the blood rush to his face. That would be one of the stagecoach drivers. He was only in Fergus two nights a week. Did he even qualify as a citizen?

Cyrus Fennel again spoke up, and everyone looked toward him. “Now Ethan, it’s only until we have time to sort things out and find someone permanent. But you meet all the requirements for the job.”

“I do?”

“Well, sure.” Cyrus unfolded his arms. “Besides the things I mentioned before, you don’t have a family.”

Ethan gulped. He surely didn’t want a job where they wanted you to have no wife or kiddies to notify when you got killed.

“I—”

“And you served in the army.”

Ethan’s heart sank. The last thing he wanted aired in public was his part in the so-called Indian wars six and eight years ago.

“You know how to shoot and how to act under pressure,” Cyrus went on. “And you’ve got good horses and guns. The town wouldn’t have to provide those.”

Mayor Walker said quickly, “Of course, we’ll pay you with that in mind. Same as we paid Bert. All the business owners in town will kick in.”

Ethan frowned. “I don’t want the people to have to scrape up money to pay me.”

“You mean you’ll do it for free?” Augie yelled.

“No, I didn’t say that.”

The room erupted in shouting and whistling.

The mayor picked up the stick his daughter used as a pointer during classes and tapped it on the desk. “Here, now. Settle down. Of course we’ll pay the sheriff. It’s a dangerous job.”

“That’s right,” Cyrus said as the people calmed down. “Can’t ask Ethan to leave off working his ranch anytime we need him without pay.”

The mayor stepped closer and bent his neck back to look up at Ethan. “Truth is, I can’t think of anyone else who’s as well qualified as you are. Can’t you help us out for a few weeks?”

Ethan looked out over all the faces—the rawboned ranchers and weathered old-timers, the resolute women and the young men determined to make a go of it in Idaho Territory. Hiram stared at him with gray blue eyes, his mouth in a straight line, offering no persuasion, merely waiting to see what his friend would decide. Beside him, Gert gazed at him with the same solemn eyes and thatch of straw-colored hair, but her plain face held an eager sympathy that somehow made Ethan wish he wanted the job. Gert worked hard, and someone ought to do something nice for her now and then.