The Blacksmith’s Bravery (19 page)

He whipped around and eyed Justin suspiciously. Had the boy complained to someone that his uncle had farmed him out to the boardinghouse? Had he told other people the room behind the smithy was too filthy to take a boy into?

“You, uh, didn't say anything to anyone about not liking the
Fennel House, did you?”

Justin shrugged. “Don't think so. Why would I? It's not half bad.”

Griff nodded and looked around again. He strode to the table and lifted the napkin that covered the basket. Biscuits. And a jar of jam.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?” Justin came over and looked down at the basket. “Say, those look mighty good. Did you make'em?”

“Nope.” Griff laid the napkin back over the tempting biscuits. “I'd say we had company while we were out to the Chapmans' ranch.”

“You mean someone brought you those biscuits while you were away?”

“No, someone brought
us
those biscuits.” Griffin thought he might have an idea of whom. Vashti had known they'd be gone today. But how could she have done all this by herself and still made the stagecoach after lunch? He looked cautiously at Justin. “Do you think this place is too small for the both of us?”

Justin looked around. “Well… there's only one bunk.”

“True. But I
could
build another one over the top.”

“You mean…” Justin cleared his throat. “You mean you'd want me to stay with you, after all?”

“If you'd like that. But if you wouldn't, you can stay over to the boarding—”

“I would!”

“Oh.” Griffin nodded slowly. “All right then. Let's go over and have supper, and I'll tell Mrs. Thistle that tonight's your last night with them. And tomorrow we'll scare up some lumber and build another bunk. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good, Uncle Griff.”

Griffin smiled. “Great. And for breakfast we'll have biscuits and jam.”

Griffin tried to think where he could get some lumber. He didn't want to go clear out to the sawmill, but maybe he'd have to. On Thursday morning, he rose with the sun and stoked his woodstove. He'd promised Justin he'd get him from the boardinghouse and they'd
build a new bunk. The basket of biscuits all but called his name as he pulled on his trousers, suspenders, and boots. But if he ate some before Justin came, the boy would know. Best wait.

A knock came at the door.

“Hey, Griff, you up?”

He clomped over to the door as he slid on his heavy wool overshirt. “Hiram Dooley, you're out early.” Griffin opened the door wide and let his friend enter.

“Oh? I need to make a firing pin for Emmaline Landry's gun.”

Hiram looked around the small room and nodded. “Mighty spruce, Griff.”

“That's what I think, too.” Maybe getting a visit from a scrubbing genie wasn't so bad. Griffin chuckled. “Used to be you were always fixing the men's guns. Now the ladies are keeping you in business.”

“There's truth to that,” Hiram said.

“Well, I haven't fired up the forge for two days, but help yourself.”

Hiram held up a burlap sack and shook it. It clinked.

Griffin shook his head. “You didn't have to bring your own coal.”

Hiram shrugged. “Might need a piece of steel if you've got one that's right.”

“Sure. Let me just grab my gloves and hat. I've got to go over and get my nephew.”

“I heard the boy was here. How's that working?”

“All right. I'm going to bring him over here to stay with me today, but I need to make him a bunk.” Griff stopped and whirled around. Hiram was the perfect person to ask. “Say, you don't have any leftover boards and such from building the church or something like that?”

Hiram nodded. “Over to my old place there's lots of lumber in the barn. Look it over and take what you want. I'll swap you for the steel.”

“All right. And I've got a palomino gelding in the livery that I think you'll like the looks of. I bought it in Boise, with Mrs. Adams in mind. Rode him all the way up here. He's steady and well mannered, and he doesn't look half bad, either.”

“Terrific. Do you have time to show me now?”

“All right, let's go.”

They walked to the back door of the livery, and Griffin rolled the door open. He went into the palomino's stall and unhooked him. When he led the horse out onto the barn floor, Hiram's eyes lit up.

“He looks fine, Griff.”

“You want to try him out?”

“I'll take your word. How much do I owe you?”

Griffin named the price he'd paid in Boise.

“I'll get it to you later today,” Hiram said.

“You want to keep him here or take him out to your place?”

“I might as well take him to the ranch. All right if I take him later when I'm heading home?”

“Sure.” Griffin put the horse away and came out of the stall. “Say, I've got a riddle for you.”

Hiram silently raised his eyebrows and waited.

Griffin pulled in a deep breath. Did he really want to spill it?

Hiram was the quietest man in town. He wouldn't tell anyone.

“Come on back to my place.” They walked over to the smithy and into Griffin's living quarters. He turned to face Hiram. “Yesterday a funny thing happened. Justin and I rode out to Ethan's ranch to help him all day. When we came back at suppertime, my place was… well, it was the way you see it now. Except the bed was made up fresh.”

Hiram glanced at the rumpled bunk and nodded.

“Don't you think that's odd?” Griffin asked.

“That your bed was made? Mighty odd.”

“Yes, well, somebody came in here while I was gone and cleaned the place up.” Griffin looked around again at the neat supplies and the clean window and lamp chimney. “You know what else?”

Hiram shook his head.

“My blankets were gone, and my bed was all made up with linen sheets and a new quilt. That one there.” “It's not your quilt?”

“Nope. I think they even put fresh straw in my mattress.”

Hiram's eyes widened, and he looked around again. “Know who did it?”

“I've got my suspicions.” Griffin picked up the basket of biscuits.

“They left this. And that there posy of weeds.”

Hiram peeked under the napkin and grunted.

“Biscuits,” Griff said, as if he couldn't see them.

“They any good?”

“Don't know. Justin and I ate at the Fennel House last night, and I saved these for breakfast.”

“Well, it's not Trudy's basket,” Hiram said.

“Hmm. But she left the ranch as soon as Justin and I got there yesterday.”

“I could probably tell you who made the biscuits if I tasted one,” Hiram said.

“Now, that's a thought.” The two single men had eaten biscuits made by nearly every woman in town at church functions and such. Griffin laid back the napkin. “Try one.”

“Thank you.” Hiram took one out.

Griffin reached for one and pulled his hand back. “I'd better not. Don't want the boy to think I ate a bunch without waiting for him.”

Hiram took a bite and closed his eyes, chewing slowly. Then he took another bite.

“Well?” Griff asked.

“Flaky. I'd say Augie Moore's, but there's a heavy touch with the lard. He wouldn't do that.” Augie was the undisputed best cook in Fergus. Hiram broke off a piece and handed it to Griffin. “Try it. I'm guessing Ellie Nash.”

“Ellie?” Griffin frowned as he took the quarter biscuit. “Why would she—” He stared at Hiram. “No. Oh no.”

Hiram grinned. “I think you're right.”

“Not the whole shooting club.”

“Why not? They helped redd up Doc Kincaid's new house and gave him a pound party. Why not you, too?”

“I don't want all the women in town talking about—” Griffin looked wildly around. How many of them had been in here and seen his… habits? He moaned.

“Eat the biscuit,” Hiram said. “It's good.”

“Be better with some of that strawberry jam.”

“Jam? You should have said so. That clinches it. Ellie made a
bumper batch of strawberry this year. Remember she brought some to the harvest dinner? And Annie Harper makes quilts quicker'n you can shoe a mule.”

Griff looked toward the bed again. “You must be right.”

Hiram laughed. “That's gotta be it. Trudy mentioned last time I saw her that you were boarding your nephew out and how it was too bad you couldn't keep him to home.” He slapped Griffin on the back. “Say, I've got an idea.”

“What?”

“This place is awfully small for two men.”

“I'll say. It's awfully small for me by myself.”

Hiram nodded. “How much are you paying to board him?”

Griff winced. “Twelve dollars a week. Way too much, but Rilla says boys eat a lot.”

“Right. My old house is sitting empty since I moved out to the Fennel ranch this fall. Libby and I—well, we intend to live at the ranch.” His face flushed a little as he mentioned his upcoming nuptials. “When you go to get the lumber, take a look around my house. The back door's unlocked. You and Justin could stay there, and if you think it's worth twenty dollars a month…”

“You mean it?”

Again Hiram nodded.

“Say, that's a good idea. And close to the boardinghouse if we want a hot meal. Close to the jail, too.” At Hiram's puzzled look, Griffin added, “I think Justin took a shine to Ethan yesterday. I want to encourage him to look on Ethan as a friend.”

“Sounds reasonable. Let me know what you think.”

Griffin put the basket on the table. They walked out into the smithy. Hiram moseyed over to the corner where Griffin kept steel stock. “How's your new shotgun rider doing?”

“Oh, you know about that?” Griffin asked.

“Whole town knows you hired her.”

“Ah. So far, so good.”

Hiram selected a small scrap of bar stock and carried it and his sack to the forge. Griffin left him as he dumped his ration of coal into the firepot.

On the road to Nampa that afternoon, Vashti wore a warm jacket Libby had provided. It was made of green wool and lined with fleece, and it buttoned up snug under her chin. Vashti had insisted on paying for it herself—she didn't want to be beholden to a man again, even if Griffin had said he would pay for it. It kept her warm, though light snow fell all around them, deadening the sound of the wheels on the road.

She reminded herself many times not to watch Johnny drive. Her job was to watch the road ahead and the rocks and trees along the sides. It was tempting to sneak glances at his hands, though, especially when they came to a curve or had to cross a stream. She would drive as well as Johnny someday—better!

“What you looking at?” Johnny asked with a sly grin.

“Nothing.” She turned away from him and studied the gulley beside the road.

“Yes, you was. You like looking at me?”

“Not hardly.”

“Huh.”

Vashti felt her face flush. If Johnny noticed, he'd think she liked him.

“The passengers know you're a girl,” he said a mile later. “I heard 'em talking back at the Democrat station.”

Her heart thudded. “What'd they say?”

“One of'em asked the tender about you, if you was really a girl.”

“Which tender?”

“Jake.”

She scowled and turned her face away again. The swing station was owned by a man everyone said was the only Democrat in the valley. When they'd stopped to change the team, she'd noticed a man called Jake watching her and stayed away from him.

“He told the passenger you used to be a saloon girl,” Johnny said.

“Oh, wonderful.” She exhaled and focused on the road, but tears stung her eyes.

“I reckon you'll know how to handle him if he tries to get fresh.”

She glared at him. “Be quiet, Johnny.”

He laughed. “What, you think you can get away from the past that easy? Everybody in these parts knows who you are. What you are.”