A Woman Named Damaris (10 page)
Mr. Brown surveyed the street and picked out the building mentioned. “Right over there,” he said to her, steering her forward with his voice.
Damaris said nothing. When it came down to it, she preferred the jail to the saloon.
They climbed the wooden steps and stopped at the open door. Two men sat at a small table. They held cards, and Damaris knew she and Mr. Brown were interrupting their game. In front of them sat a bottle of whiskey and two half-empty glasses. At the sound of the footsteps, both men looked up. One was chewing the end of a cigar butt, the other, the one with the trimmed mustache, had a wad of chewing tobacco tucked in his cheek. Damaris knew immediately that she did not wish to work for either of them.
“Help ya?” asked the one with the cigar, shifting it with his tongue as he spoke.
“Lookin’ fer Gordon,” said Mr. Brown.
“Thet’s me,” said the man, his eyes narrowing to a squint.
“Captain Reilly said to look ya up. Miss—Miss Damaris here aims to stay on in town. Needs work an’ a place to live.”
Damaris felt herself being appraised by two pairs of probing eyes. She knew the color was rising in her cheeks.
The tobacco chewer spit on the board floor and his mustache twitched.
The man named Gordon leaned forward slowly, laid aside his cards with deliberate motion, and pushed back from the table.
“Need work, huh?” he asked, his eyes on Damaris.
Damaris could not speak. It was all she could do to give a slight nod.
“What kinda work ya do?” asked the man.
“I—I—” stammered Damaris, unable to answer.
Mr. Brown cut in. “She’s right good with kids. Can cook fair-to-middlin’, ain’t afraid of household chores or totin’ wood an’ water,” he said.
Gordon nodded.
“Understand she has a letter of recommend from the captain,” went on Mr. Brown. Damaris reached into her pocket to safeguard her precious letter. She had no intention of releasing it to Mr. Gordon.
Mr. Gordon shifted his cigar again, his eyes still on Damaris.
“Might do,” he said at length, and he finished the last of the whiskey in his glass, reached for his hat, and stood up.
“B—but I don’t—don’t wish to work for you,” Damaris stuttered, finding courage in spite of her trembling body.
“Fer me?” The man halted mid-stride and looked at Damaris, his eyes wide with wonder. “Fer me? What ya think I would want with a girl like you?”
The man still at the table broke forth in a loud guffaw, slapping his knee and rocking in his chair until Gordon wheeled and gave him a dark look.
“Captain never woulda sent ya to work fer me, girlie,” said Gordon, settling his dusty hat on his head. “He jest knows I know everything thet goes on in this here little hick town. No sirree. Captain never woulda sent ya to work fer me.”
Damaris felt a wave of relief wash over her body.
“C’mon,” the man said, with a nod toward the door, “let’s git ya outer here and over to Mrs. Stacy. She might figger out something.”
There seemed nothing for Damaris to do but follow.
They clumped along the wooden sidewalk and turned in at the gate that led to the boardinghouse. Gordon did not stop to knock on the door but walked right on into a wide entry and hollered to announce his arrival. “Hallo. Anyone here?”
Damaris could hear stirring in a room beyond. It wasn’t long until a woman appeared. She was dressed simply, her graying hair gathered and placed in a loose knot at the top of her head. Her lips were tightly pressed and her nose a bit long, but Damaris thought she detected warmth in the woman’s eyes.
“Brought this here girlie in to see iffen ya might need some help,” said Gordon with no attempt at introductions or small talk.
Damaris felt the intense eyes survey her thoroughly.
“She has a letter of recommend,” cut in Mr. Brown. He nudged Damaris out of her stupor. “Show ’er.”
Damaris fumbled with the pin and eventually was able to produce the letter. The woman read it in silence as Damaris held her breath. At last she looked up and Damaris thought she heard a sigh.
“I can give you work, right enough,” she said. Her voice was soft and almost motherly, and Damaris felt her heart racing. “But I can’t give you much for pay.”
“Even board and room,” cut in Mr. Brown.
Damaris looked down at her badly worn clothing. Board and room wouldn’t be quite enough.
“Hear Miss Dover needs some help—maybe between the two of us—” She did not finish her sentence. She looked at Damaris again.
“Well—we’ll see if we can work out something. Mr. MacKenzie might even need a hand now an’ then with the store.”
“You’ll keep her, then?” asked Mr. Brown in a way that reminded Damaris of how anxious he was to have his obligation fulfilled.
Mrs. Stacy nodded. “Come in,” she said to Damaris; then to Mr. Brown she added, “Bring her things in.”
Mr. Brown held up the small bundle. “Got ’em all right here,” he hastened to inform her.
Damaris didn’t miss the look of shocked surprise that flashed through the woman’s eyes.
“Well, bring it right into this small bedroom off the kitchen,” she said, leading the way.
Damaris stood rooted to the spot. She wasn’t sure if she should follow or stay where she was. The man Gordon shifted his weight restlessly, as though he too was anxious to have his duty over.
“Thank you for your help, sir,” said Damaris with a slight nod.
He turned and left then, as unceremoniously as he had entered.
Mr. Brown was the next to go. He seemed very anxious and hardly stopped long enough to shake hands with Damaris and Mrs. Stacy.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Damaris sucked in her breath. She had never felt any particular attachment to Mr. Brown, but with his going all ties with anything known were severed. It was a frightening feeling and she shivered involuntarily.
“Would you like a warm bath, my dear?” Mrs. Stacy was asking. “There’s plenty of time fer you to take one before we need to prepare the evening meal.”
Damaris looked down at her dusty, mended clothing and realized just how she must look in the eyes of the tidy woman before her. She nodded her head dumbly, at the same time her mind scrambled to think of what she could put on after her bath. But Mrs. Stacy was speaking again.
“I have plenty of aprons. They will almost wrap ’round you twice …” She hesitated, seeming to rethink what she was about to say. “At least they’ll keep the dinner off your dress.”
Damaris took another deep breath. With the trail dust washed from her body and hair and her mended dress covered by the ample apron, perhaps she would be able to present some kind of acceptable appearance.
As soon as Damaris had bathed and her dark hair was partially dried, she put on her one clean dress and reported to the kitchen. The room was filled with the smell of cooking dinner and the clatter of pots.
Mrs. Stacy was there, bending over the oven, sticking a plump roasting hen with the tine of a fork.
“It’ll be done,” she said without lifting her head, her voice sounding relieved that the bird in question would be ready for the meal ahead.
“Where would you like me to start?” asked Damaris hesitantly.
“I need two buckets of water from the well out back,” said Mrs. Stacy as she straightened and looked at Damaris. Damaris could feel the warm eyes travel from her face to her dress and back again.
“The aprons are on a peg in the pantry,” she added.
Damaris moved forward to find one.
As the lady had said, the apron was almost big enough to wrap around Damaris twice. She felt relief as she folded it about her and tied the strings at her waist. Then she picked up the two buckets and went in search of the well.
It was not hard to find. Behind the boardinghouse stood an enclosed yard. The well was located in the middle with a pen for fowl at the one side and an ample garden on the other. Damaris noted that Mrs. Stacy must grow a good deal of what she served. Excitement filled her. It would be almost like being back on the farm.
She did not dally with the water buckets and was soon depositing them on the long, low counter from which she had taken them.
“Put some in that big kettle,” Mrs. Stacy instructed, and Damaris moved to do so.
From then on the two worked together, Damaris often anticipating her employer’s wishes before she spoke them.
Damaris soon learned that Mrs. Stacy served meals as well as kept boarders. There was no accommodation or restaurant in the town except at Mrs. Stacy’s. Anyone wishing a place to board, a bed for the night when passing through, or a meal before returning to some distant residence stopped there.
The trick in running the small accommodation was not just being ready to serve, but guessing how many might need the service.
Damaris was eager to learn and quick to catch on. By the time the first two guests had arrived, the table was set and the smell of supper was penetrating the small dining area.
Damaris watched carefully as Mrs. Stacy moved hurriedly about the rooms—from kitchen to dining table, back to kitchen. Damaris had never served tables before, but she judged it to be within her capability.
In all, they served seven guests—Mr. Gordon, whom she learned was Sheriff Gordon, and his mustached friend being two of them. A farmer from some distance stopped in for a meal and bed. He was in town for supplies and would leave for home early in the morning, he said. Three rough-looking young men came in together, and Damaris felt their eyes on her as she moved about the room. She was glad for the sheriff’s presence.
The three men moved on without incident, and Damaris hurried to clear the empty table and take the dirty dishes to the kitchen. The sheriff and his friend also left the dining room. Then a man came in alone, and Mrs. Stacy seemed pleased to see him. “I’ll look after Mr. Hebert,” she said, and Damaris went back to clearing tables. She noticed that Mrs. Stacy called the man “Sam” when she spoke with him.
Damaris had the dishes washed and placed back in the cupboards by the time Mrs. Stacy came in from the dining room carrying the dishes used by the man named Sam.
“Sam needs a room,” she said to Damaris. “Would you check on the little one at the head of the stairs. Pull the shade, light the lamp, and turn back the blankets.”
Damaris wiped her hands on her apron and moved quickly to do as bidden.
When she returned to the kitchen, she could still hear voices in the dining room. Damaris finished her task and stood idly. She was so tired she could hardly stand. She wondered what duties might still be expected of her before retiring, but she hated to interrupt the conversation in the next room.
At last Damaris left the kitchen with the two heavy buckets. At least she could fill them for morning. She placed the buckets back on the stand and turned to the woodbox. She had no idea where the wood was kept, so she went to investigate. She soon found the small shed housing the wood supply and filled the box until it was heaped. Then she went back to the yard to check on the hens and fasten the door to the coop.
Damaris returned to the kitchen, still unsure as to what she should do next. She swept the floor and wiped off the stove, but still the voices droned on in the next room.
Damaris paced to the window and lifted the curtain. Night was falling. The town was dark and deserted. All she could see was the faint glow of lamplight from windows along the street.
Damaris heard some rowdy laughter and saw the three young men leave the saloon and boisterously mount their horses. They left with raucous shouts and a cloud of dust.
Damaris tapped her foot impatiently, wishing that she might either be assigned a task or allowed to retire.
Finally Mrs. Stacy entered the kitchen, two cups held in her hands.
“Oh, my dear,” she said when she saw Damaris, “I had quite forgotten about you. You must be dreadfully tired. Go on to bed now. I’ll see to—” Then she stopped and looked about the tidy kitchen. “Oh my,” she said, “it looks like you have already finished everything there was to do. Run on, now. Get some rest.”
Damaris was only too glad to accept her invitation.
As she climbed between the fresh sheets, she realized that it was the first time in many weeks she’d had a bed all to herself. Calmness settled about her. She had arrived, and she had a job. She had a nice, simple room all to herself and a pleasant woman to work for.
She thought again of the captain and realized that much of this was his doing. She wondered where he was, wishing she could write to him to express her thankfulness.
Damaris stretched her feet into the blankets and shifted her body to the most comfortable position. Things had really gone quite well for her. But as she lay in the comfortable bed trying to enjoy her pleasant circumstance, she felt an unexplainable emptiness within. She could not understand it until she put her arm out in the darkness and realized that without thinking she had reached for Edgar. Damaris knew the feeling then. She ached for the young boy. She wondered if he was still crying for her. Damaris would not allow tears to flow, but her heart ached with the intensity of her loneliness.
———
“We will go and meet Miss Dover,” said Mrs. Stacy as soon as the breakfast had been served and the dishes washed and put away.
Damaris nodded. She was quite happy with her circumstance and was tempted to say that she would be willing to work for room and board, after all. The big aprons hid her dress nicely. But then her eyes fell to her shoes and she realized that she would soon be needing a new pair. Fall was approaching and the shoes she was wearing would never get her through the winter.
She nodded reluctantly and removed her apron just as Mrs. Stacy had done. How she wished she could have left it on.
The two crossed the street and walked along the boardwalk to the little building with Miss Dover’s sign out front. Mrs. Stacy stopped long enough to dingle the bell at the door and then walked right on in.
They were greeted by a woman with strange spectacles resting on the tip of her nose. She was plump and smiling and looked pleased with the world in which she lived.
