The Blacksmith’s Bravery (25 page)

Bill Stout came in one morning, his eyes twinkling. “Well now, Miss Edwards, you been practicing your driving skills?”

“I surely have. Missed a few days during the coldest of the cold spells, but I've been out there every day this past month and more.”

“Want to try driving real horseflesh?”

She caught her breath. “You mean it?”

Bill nodded. “Hiram Dooley's got a team of four we can borrow this afternoon with his wagon. Thought we'd take them out the Mountain Road, just to let you get the feel of them.”

“I'd love to!” She'd rather drive a six-horse hitch and a fine Concord coach, but this would be experience driving genuine, living horses.

She and Bill bundled up in their overcoats, woolen hats, and mufflers, and she pulled on her trousers beneath her skirt. Bill
borrowed two saddle horses from the livery, and they rode out to the ranch Hiram Dooley managed. The rancher met them in the dooryard to help hitch up the horses. Vashti doffed her gloves when she took the reins. Bill joined her on the wagon seat, and they set off. The exhilaration of really driving kept her warm for the first half hour on the road, but then her hands began to chill.

“How do you keep your hands warm on a cold day?” she asked.

“Sometimes you've got to wear gloves, but unless it's a flat, smooth road and a steady team, I wouldn't recommend it. What I have in my gear is a blanket with slits in it for the reins. It's not ideal, but it lets me thread the reins through and keep my hands under the blanket. It's awkward, but it's a sight better than frostbite. Short of that, in a pinch you can take all the reins in one hand for a short time and put the other hand in your pocket, but you're not really in control if you do that.”

Vashti nodded. Maybe sitting out the winter driving season hadn't been such a hardship, after all.

The horses shied as a small herd of pronghorns appeared in the road ahead.

“Easy now.” She kept firm pressure on the lines and talked calmly to the team. The pronghorns skipped off across the hillside, and the horses gradually fell back into their road gait.

Bill nodded. “Spring's coming, for sure.”

“Seems like it took its time.”

When they returned from their drive, Bill nodded toward the hitching post before the ranch house, where a buckskin mare was tied. “Looks like Miz Chapman's here to see her brother.” He helped Vashti down from the wagon. “Go on into the house and visit with her. I'll put the horses away.”

“Oh no,” Vashti said. “You're not doing all the work.”

He frowned at her flowing skirt. “But you're not wearing your boy togs.”

“Well, it won't be the first time I've unhitched a team while wearing a dress.”

While they worked, Hiram came into the barn. “How'd your driving go?”

“Wonderful,” Vashti said. “Thank you so much for letting me use your team.”

Hiram nodded and looked to Bill.

“She did fine,” Bill said. “I reckon she can handle six if she gets a chance.”

Vashti glowed inside. “That's nice of you.” Bill shrugged.

“Trudy's here,” Hiram said. “She's putting the kettle on.”

“Go on.” Bill reached to unbuckle the last harness. “We'll take care of this. Scoot.”

“All right, since you gentlemen insist.” Vashti hurried to the back door of the house. The ranch had belonged to Cyrus Fennel, the schoolteacher's father. Mr. Fennel had owned half the town in the old days, and now Isabel did. But after her father's death, Isabel had reached some sort of arrangement with Hiram to run the ranch for her so she could live in town. Vashti wasn't sure what Hiram's duties entailed, but she knew his job made it possible for him and Libby Adams to get married soon. At one of the shooting club meetings, Libby had told the ladies of her engagement amid blushes and prompts from Trudy.

Vashti had never been to the ranch before. She couldn't tell much so far. The barn was huge, and several outbuildings circled the barnyard. A bunkhouse, she supposed, and maybe a smokehouse and a woodshed. And the house was fine. Nicer than any in town, with the possible exception of Charles and Orissa Walker's yellow frame house.

She knocked timidly on the kitchen door. Trudy opened it, grinning. A large, flower-print apron covered most of her blue wool dress, and her hair was done up in braids, wrapped on top of her head.

“Hello! Come right in. How was your drive?”

“Magnolious,” Vashti said. “Not like sitting on the box of a stage, but closer than I've been all winter.”

Trudy chuckled and led her to the table. A plain brown teapot sat steaming in the middle, and two ironstone mugs and a jug of cream waited for them.

“Isn't this the grandest kitchen you ever saw?” Trudy asked.

Vashti looked around. “It's almost as big as the one at the Spur & Saddle.”

“Yes, and that nickel-trimmed stove cost old Cy Fennel a pretty penny, I'll wager.”

“Must have taken a lot of effort for Oscar Runnels to haul it up here with a mule team,” Vashti said.

Trudy sat down and poured the tea. “Isabel took the fine china with her to her new place in town, but she left a lot of dishes and things here for Hiram. Of course, Libby has her own dishes, too, and furniture and linens. I'm not sure where they'll put everything when they get married.”

“I've been in Mrs. Adams's rooms,” Vashti said. “She's got beautiful things.”

“Yes. Hiram's going to move it all out here before the wedding. The whole shooting club can help them move.”

“That will be exciting. When's the day?”

Trudy shrugged. “The Hamiltons said they'd come back in the spring and bring her the rest of the money for the emporium. When they take over, she'll be ready to marry my brother. And the Hamiltons want to buy her whole building and live in the apartment upstairs, so it's perfect.”

“Say, maybe you could give some of the extra things to Griffin and Justin.”

“That's a good idea.”

The men came in and joined them for hot tea, but as soon as he'd downed his cupful, Bill said, “We'd best push off, Georgie. It'll be getting dark soon.”

“Georgie?” Trudy eyed him askance.

“It's actually my real name,” Vashti said. “Georgia. When I'm riding the stage, the fellows call me George so the passengers won't know I'm—” She broke off and felt her face warm. “I guess it's no secret. Folks hereabouts know, anyway.”

“Might protect you some,” Hiram said.

Vashti looked over at him. It was the first thing Hiram had said since he came in from the barn. She'd rarely heard him speak, but
she guessed he'd found enough words to convince Libby Adams to accept his suit.

When she and Bill got back to the livery stable, Griffin had one of the stagecoaches on the main barn floor and was greasing the axles. Its red paint and gold trim glinted in the afternoon light. He glanced up as they led their mounts in.

“Road to Silver's open.”

Bill smiled. “Well now.”

“You up to taking the run tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

Griffin straightened and picked up the grease bucket. “If it doesn't rain, you should be able to go all the way through. There's a couple of real soft spots, though. If we do get some weather, you might have to lay over at Sinker Creek.”

“I can handle it, boss.”

Griffin nodded and fixed his gaze on Vashti. “What about you? You ready to shake out your pants and boots?”

She caught her breath. “You want me to ride shotgun for Bill tomorrow?”

“No, I've got another job in mind for you.” He came over and stood facing her soberly. “I'm taking over the mail run as far as Catherine. Johnny's going to drive that route for the time being. Thought I'd put you on the Reynolds-Nampa run.”

Vashti almost said, “Who's driving?” but Griffin said, almost as an afterthought, “With Ned Harmon.”

Her heart raced. “You mean—”

“That's right, missy. You'll drive and Ned will watch your back.”

She could hardly breathe. “Oh! Oh! Thank you!” She flung herself at him and reached up to embrace him. His bushy beard tickled her cheek.

“Hey! Watch it!”

She backed away, mortified.

Griffin laughed. “I'm holding a bucket of axle grease, gal. Don't think you want that all over your pretty dress, do you?”

“No, sir.” Vashti laced her fingers together and squeezed her hands tight. She was going to drive the stage. And she'd hugged
Griffin. But maybe it didn't matter. He thought her dress was pretty.

Did that mean anything?

She gulped and looked over at Bill.

His eyes twinkled. “Well, there. I guess your hard work paid off.”

The next morning, Vashti came down the stairs at the Spur & Saddle in her masculine attire. Augie and Bitsy were laying out clean dishes for the noon traffic, which had been dismally slow, and Augie was polishing the big mirror behind the serving counter that used to be the bar.

“Look at that, dearest,” Augie said to Bitsy. “It's our little boy going out to play.”

Bitsy laughed. “Don't mind him, honey.” She came over to stand before Vashti and placed both hands on her shoulders. “You take care.”

“I will. And they treat me nice at the home station in Nampa.”

“Good.”

“Who's riding shotgun for you?” Augie asked.

“Ned Harmon.”

“Well, he's not so bad. Just don't let him go carousing tonight. Remind him he's got to bring you home safe tomorrow.”

“She can't stop Ned if he wants to drink.” Bitsy frowned. “I expect knowing Griffin will be watching him when you get back here will keep him from doing too much damage.”

“I hope so.” Though Vashti had never ridden with Ned before, she remembered nights when he'd come into the saloon and drunk himself under the table. But those weren't times when he had to go on duty the next morning. Cyrus Fennel ran the line then, and he wouldn't have stood it. “I'm just glad I'll finally be sitting in the driver's seat.”

“Well, don't you get too cocky,” Bitsy said. “There's more to life than driving stage and showing up men who don't drive as well as you.”

Vashti laughed. “I'm as green as they grow, Bitsy. I know I've got a lot to learn before I'm as good as Bill, or even Johnny.”

“Well, at least you've got an old hand riding shotgun. Ned's all right, and he's been riding these roads for twenty years.” Bitsy pulled her close and kissed her. “We'll see you tomorrow.”

Vashti arrived at the livery an hour before the stage was scheduled to leave. She inspected the coach. It had sat idle all winter, but Griffin had gone over it and touched up the paint. The glass in the side lantern gleamed, and every piece of hardware shone.

Griffin grinned at her as he came in the back door with two large mules. “You want to brush these fellows down?”

“I'd love to.” Vashti stowed the bag with the few things she'd need for her overnight stay in Nampa and went into the first stall.

Griffin brought in two more mules then stopped at the opening to the stall. “That's Blackie. He'll be your off wheeler. I'm giving you mules because there's still some heavy going in places.”

“I don't mind.” She didn't really, though she'd always imagined driving horses. But mules were surefooted, and they ate less than horses. They pulled better in mud or sand. “What's the other wheeler's name?”

“Elijah.”

She smiled and ducked under Blackie's neck to brush his other side. When she'd finished with him, she went to Elijah's stall to groom him and check his feet. By the time she'd done with him, Marty Hoffstead was grooming the swing mules, so she headed across the barn floor to where the leaders were hitched.

Bill Stout came in, looking about in the dim, warm barn. “There you are.” He walked over to Vashti. “Came to wish you luck.”

“Thanks, Bill. That means a lot.”

He brought his left hand from behind his back and held out a coiled driver's whip.

“Brought you this.”

Vashti looked down at it, her eyes filling with tears. “Aw, Bill! That's the nicest thing you could have done.” She sniffed.

He held the whip away from her and cocked his head to one side. “You ain't gonna cry now, are you?”

“No, sir.” She straightened her shoulders and smiled. “I'm going to drive like a man.”

Bill chuckled. “Don't know as you need to go so far as that, but the passengers might lose confidence in you if you're bawling all the way to Nampa.”

“I won't be. I'll be singing inside.”

Griffin, who had brought Blackie out to hitch to the coach, called, “Don't sing out loud. They'd really get nervous if they knew they had a soprano driving them.”

If she heard one more word of caution or advice, Vashti might just pop her cork. With effort, she kept smiling and holding in her eagerness to be on the road.