The Blacksmith’s Bravery (39 page)

T
hree hours after leaving Fergus, Vashti stood on the steps at the home station in Nampa, waving to the folks traveling on to Boise.

“Have a good time, and be sure you get into Hubbard's if there's time this evening.”

“No fear,” Opal called, waving her handkerchief. “Miz Harper and I both have shopping lists to fill.”

Annie waved. “I've got a lot of things to buy for the wedding party dresses, not to mention gifts for the happy couple.”

Vashti ran closer to the coach and spoke to her through the window. “I got them a china platter, so don't get that, will you?”

Annie smiled. “How lovely. We'll remember, won't we, Opal?”

“Couldn't forget.”

The driver cracked his whip, and Vashti leaped back as the stage jerked forward. She would never start without warning like that, and she wouldn't jump the horses into a canter, either. At least the coach was full of passengers. Several of the men on board were packing pistols. They ought to be all right. She'd heard the Boise run had been a favorite route for holdups back in the heyday of the mines. Was it coming to that again?

Lord, keep them safe
.
She wished for a moment that she'd traveled on with them, but she knew she needed to rest. And she didn't really want to jounce along another two hours and sleep at the hotel. The station here in Nampa was more comfortable, to her way of thinking.

Mrs. Gayle kept a small loft chamber for her and other ladies who traveled through. The male drivers and messengers slept out in the bunkhouse with the hostlers.

She climbed the steep stairs to her room. A framed mirror hung on one wall and a crewelwork sampler on another. The bottom bunk was made up with linen sheets and a woolen quilt, with an extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed. Vashti set her canvas bag on the wooden crate below the mirror.

“Home away from home.” She gazed into the mirror at her dusty face. A sixteen-year-old boy? She smiled at the thought and tried to picture herself next to Justin. How could anyone mistake her for a boy, even in this getup? She frowned and turned her head at different angles, trying to see herself the way the passengers saw her. Her appearance might fool the unsuspecting and nearsighted.

A layer of dust dulled her complexion. Her eyebrows were caked with it. No leisurely scented baths here. But it was a homelike, snug place, and she felt safe. She took off her hat and pushed the pins out of her hair, letting it cascade onto her shoulders. Mrs. Gayle had left her a white china pitcher of water and a chipped washbowl with green flowers traced on it. Vashti poured the bowl half full and found a washcloth on the rough shelf in the crate. She brushed her face with the dry cloth first, to get the worst of the dust off, then wet the fabric and carefully washed her cheeks, forehead, and chin. It took several rinsings of the cloth before the image in the mirror satisfied her. She took her hairbrush from her bag. The light from the small window at the end of the room wasn't enough to show up the auburn glints in her hair, but she kept brushing vigorously for several minutes. Finally she went down to supper.

She turned in early and slept deeply for several hours. The sun was peeking between the mountains when she jerked awake, gasping. For a moment, she wondered where she was, missing her familiar room at the Spur & Saddle. As she oriented herself, she sat up slowly and swung her feet over the edge of the bunk. Her dream had already faded, but one thing she remembered vividly—Luke's face, sneering as he shoved her toward Ike Bell to settle his gambling debt.

“No trouble?” Griffin asked anxiously as he carried the mail from the stage up the boardwalk toward the post office.

Zach Harper walked beside him, puffing at a cigar. “Not a bit. That little Georgie girl is quite a Jehu.”

“Oh yeah?” Griffin didn't remember Vashti pushing the horses too hard when he was along.

“We had to wait at the ferry landing, and once we were over, she made up some time, I'll tell you. And not a sign of those bandits.” Zach laughed. “I think Annie was almost disappointed. But didn't she and Opal have a time in Boise.”

“Big doings?” Griffin asked as he mounted the Nashes' steps.

“Big spending is more like it.” Zach opened the door for him.

Griffin entered the post office and plopped the sack on the counter. “Here you go, Mayor.”

“Thank you very much, sir. Sorry I didn't get down to the stage stop to get it myself.”

“No trouble.”

Peter nodded. “I take it the stagecoach didn't have any trouble this time?”

“Not a lick.”

“Good. Maybe that gang has moved on.”

“I hope so.” Griffin settled his hat by way of a farewell.

For two weeks the ladies of the shooting club and a few of their husbands rode the Nampa stage for free. Once it was known they could ride that far in comfort and pay only for the short leg from Nampa to Boise, it became a favorite outing for the club members. They always took their role seriously and avoided idle chatter during the ride through the desolate territory between towns, but once they got to the city, they kicked up their heels. Micah Landry and Zach Harper laid down the law after their wives had done two runs each. They needed their women to home, in the kitchen.

Even Bitsy went once, and after Libby had given over ownership
of the Paragon Emporium to the Hamiltons, she rode to the city to shop for a trousseau and stayed over an extra day. Starr Tinen gave her husband no end of grief because he wouldn't let her go, though her mother-in-law, Jessie, went along one sunny May day with Florence Nash and Apphia Benton. Not to be outdone, a few men had come in and offered their services.

With no new robberies causing him headaches, Griffin began to wonder if he was a fool to let folks ride along for nothing and pay for their room and board in Nampa. Some of them just went for the novelty, he was sure, like Ollie Pooler. He wasn't known to be a good shot, so why should he think Griffin would allow him to go along as an extra guard? Things were getting out of hand. Everyone in town seemed to think that if they carried a gun, they could get free passage.

“Uncle Griff?”

“Yeah?”

“What's the matter?” Justin asked.

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“You're holding your face all pinched up while you do that.”

Griffin had been hammering away for an hour, making a stack of horseshoes. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his mouth in an odd position, but now that he thought about it, his cheeks were sore.

He relaxed for a moment, letting his pritchel and rounding hammer hang loosely in his hands. “Truth is, I'm wondering if I'm going to go broke running this stage line.”

“You should hear about the mail contract soon, right?” Justin brushed his hair back from his forehead.

The boy needed a haircut. Griffin wondered if he could do it himself. Annie Harper would do it if he asked, but then he'd feel as though he should pay her. That was why he usually hacked away at his own when it got so long it bothered him.

“Yes, we should. And you've been a big help. So have the Nash boys. But unless we get that contract, pretty soon I won't have any money left to pay you boys for keeping the livery clean and feeding the horses and all the other chores you've been doing.”

Justin eyed him solemnly. “If you go broke, I'll still help you for nothing.”

Griffin smiled. “Thanks. That means a lot. And I guess if we
don't
get the contract, I won't need so much help around here, right?”

Justin nodded slowly.

“Well, I'll still need you to help me train Champ.”

That brought a smile from his nephew. “Have you thought about selling the smithy?”

“Some.” Griffin put down his pritchel and used his tongs to pluck a hot bar of steel from the forge. As he began shaping it with his hammer, wrapping it around the horn of the anvil, Justin watched closely.

When the metal cooled so that it was no longer malleable, Griffin stuck it back in the coals. Justin hadn't moved a muscle.

“The outlaws haven't shown themselves since the holdup on the Catherine road.”

“Maybe they got enough, and they've gone away,” Justin said.

“Maybe.” Griffin pumped the bellows.

“Uncle Griff?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm glad I'm working in the livery, not out there with the robbers.” Griffin inhaled deeply. “Me, too.”

The Dooley-Adams wedding was the talk of the town. Every woman in town with money to spend ordered a hat from Rose Caplinger. Annie Harper skipped shooting club practice because she had so much sewing to do. Apphia Benton organized a bevy of women to clean the church thoroughly the week before the ceremony, and Isabel Fennel promised to take her schoolchildren out to gather armfuls of flowers the morning of the wedding.

On Monday and Tuesday, most of the women of the Ladies' Shooting Club met upstairs over the Paragon Emporium to help Libby pack up everything she was taking to the ranch. Griffin, Ethan, and Oscar and Josiah Runnels helped Hiram carry it all down to their waiting wagons and take it to the old Fennel ranch.

“I expect it will take us awhile to unpack and settle in,” Libby murmured to Vashti and Goldie as they watched a procession of wagons drive off.

“I hope that ranch house is big,” Goldie said.

“It's much bigger than my apartment.” Libby frowned. “Of course, Isabel left most of the Fennels' furniture there when she moved to town. Hiram said he hardly had to take anything at all from his old house.”

Vashti laughed. “The way folks in this town are playing musical houses, I wouldn't be surprised to see your furniture show up at the Chapmans', or Mrs. Benton's Scripture sampler hanging in Isabel's parlor.”

Goldie elbowed her sharply, and Vashti clapped a hand over her mouth. She'd forgotten Apphia Benton was stitching a sampler for Libby and Hiram as a wedding gift. She'd shown it to some of the ladies at shooting practice the week before, after Libby had left.

Goldie had walked about with a dreamy expression ever since Libby had asked her and Florence, her other clerk, to be her bridesmaids. Libby was even paying for fancy gowns for them and Trudy Chapman, who was to serve as her matron of honor. Goldie had sworn Vashti to secrecy and told her that the gowns were rose-colored silk, finer than anything Goldie had ever seen. Finer even than Bitsy's purple silk that came from Paris.

Rumor had it that Libby's wedding gown would dazzle the entire population of Fergus, but she and Annie were close-lipped about it. During the last few days before the wedding, Libby scurried about town—from the Chapmans' ranch, where she was staying her last few days as a single woman, to Annie's for dress fittings, to the Spur & Saddle to discuss the wedding cake with Augie, to the Bentons' to speak to the pastor about the vows. Hiram went about his odd jobs—building a chicken coop for the Bentons and fixing a rifle for Oscar—with a smile on his lips.