Horse With No Name (14 page)

James Hunter was not someone who ever struck
Julia as being dangerous. And that he came to her aid at the dance
showed that he was willing to stick his neck out for others. He
cared about Julia's well-being that night, though he had gone back
into his shell immediately afterward.

As Julia walked away from the school,
thinking hard about all this, she remembered that the gun Hunter
had pointed at her assailants had surprised her on the night of the
dance. She knew no one except Constable Merrick who owned a
handgun. Most people, including herself, owned a rifle or a
shotgun. She kept a rifle in the scabbard of her saddle in case she
needed to deal with a wild animal while out riding. Although Walt
Sheehan teased her and said that it was really just a pea-shooter
that would only annoy a bear or a mountain lion should she
encounter one. But it made her feel safer when riding on her own.
When she remembered to take it.

And most, if not all, families had a similar
weapon. Not in the city perhaps, but definitely in small towns like
Horse. Guns were used to shoot the game that provided most of the
meat a family would consume during the year. All the boys in
Julia's class who were over the age of ten had a small rifle of
their own. Fathers taught sons how to hunt; it was just part of
keeping a family well-fed.

But handguns, revolvers, were another story.
Julia had hardly ever seen one in person until the night Hunter
came to her aid. Merrick wore his at his side in a leather holster,
but it hung underneath his suit jacket and Julia rarely thought
about it.

Julia's walk slowed as she continued to
think. Owning a handgun was perhaps one thing, but why would Hunter
have it with him while he was out for a walk? That in itself was
completely puzzling and something she decided she needed to talk to
Hunter about. Her pace picked up again. She had a plan, though the
longer she pursued the question of who had beaten Hunter, the more
puzzled she became. It was absurd, in a way, to be trying to solve
a crime that the victim seemed to want to ignore. Ah well, she
thought, it's not the first time I've done something without
someone's permission.

Eighteen

For the second time in as many weeks, the
schoolhouse was being used for a town event. This time, it was the
harvest potluck lunch.

After church on Sunday, Pastor Thoreson was
gently but firmly ushered out of the building so that his wife and
the other women could set up the room. There was to be a pie
contest, which the pastor was to officiate. "You can't see the
ladies arriving with their pies, Harry," Mrs. Thoreson said,
practically pushing him down the stairs. "It needs to be an
impartial contest."

"You know I would know your pie anywhere,
Anne," her husband said, kissing her on the cheek.

"Well, good thing I'm not entering the
contest then. Now get along. There's bread, cheese and pickle for
your lunch. But don't eat too much. Leave room for pie. And come
back in an hour.”

Anne Thoreson was a tiny woman. If she topped
five feet Julia would have been surprised. But this tiny package
came with a tremendous amount of energy. Julia didn't think she'd
ever seen Mrs. Thoreson sitting down, except at church. The
Thoresons came from back east, reassigned from Ottawa, Julia seemed
to recall, and in Horse there was never enough for Mrs. Thoreson to
do. She was part of, or ran, every committee the town had. She
raised money for missionaries in Africa. She quilted like a dream
and had gifted almost everyone in town with a quilt at one time or
another. The one she had given Julia was a double wedding-ring
pattern. "For good luck, dear," Mrs. Thoreson had said, which
almost made Julia laugh.

The Thoresons had been blessed with two boys,
but, tragically, both had been killed in an accident long before
the pastor and his wife moved to Horse. "They fell through the ice
on a lake there in Ontario," Millie Jones whispered to Julia one
day as they left church together. "They were twelve and fourteen.
So sad." Millie had tisk-tisked and Julia was struck by how people
managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other after such
an event. How was it possible? But there the Thoresons were, intact
and seemingly happy, though the sorrow of their loss had surely
never left them. Even so, they acted like love birds with one
another. Julia had yet to have an encounter with them when they
didn't touch one another. If Julia had seen her parents touch twice
in her lifetime she'd be surprised.

When she was sure her husband was out of
sight, Mrs. Thoreson came back into the schoolhouse and began
organizing the buffet tables and chairs, as well as the places of
honor for the judges of the pie tasting contest. Julia and Betty
were there to work, and Mrs. Thoreson didn't hold back assigning
them tasks to do. By the time the room began filling up with
families and couples, Julia felt a little damp under her arms,
which made her self-conscious. Her mother would not approve of a
woman of Julia's position doing anything other than sitting on the
sidelines and looking pretty. Despite the sticky underarm
situation, Julia liked that her life now would shock her mother in
so many ways.

Tables were set up around the perimeter of
the room, and as guests arrived they added their dishes and pots of
stew to the bounty. Everyone brought their own bowl or plate and
filled these to the brim. Smaller tables had been set up around the
room, each with three or four chairs. At an event like this, those
who lived closest to the schoolhouse brought their dining table and
chairs so that they could be used.

Soon the schoolroom was groaning under the
weight of the people, the tables, and the food laid out. The volume
rose several decibels every few minutes. Children, dressed in their
Sunday best, ran through the forest of legs, their energy crackling
with excitement.

This was a daytime event and, as such, there
was no music. Julia spied Jack Merrick on the far side of the room,
standing alone, his back to a wall. She took pity on him and
brought him a bottle of Mayor Jones' cider.

"Have you tried this, Constable?" She held
the bottle out toward him.

He raised his right arm and showed her a
bottle already in his right hand.

"Ah, okay then." Julia hesitated, while
Merrick watched her. He had a way of looking at her in some moments
that made her decidedly uncomfortable; the way a cat watches birds
from behind glass. It was the first time they had spoken since the
poker game and Julia remembered how unhappy he'd seemed about her
presence. She felt that perhaps he didn't want to talk to her now,
so she began to turn away.

Then Merrick said something she didn't
catch.

"Pardon me?" she turned back.

"Why don't you have it?" There was a change
in his expression. He was almost arching one eyebrow.

It was a challenge. Women didn't drink
alcohol in public.

He must have seen the internal struggle she
was having. "If anyone asks, I'll say it's mine," he offered.

Now she couldn't back down. Annoyed with
herself for being so easily coerced, she opened the bottle, pulling
the stopper out, and took a surreptitious swig, turning her body so
that Merrick shielded her from most of the room. The cider was
sweet and a little tingly on her tongue. It tasted very pleasant,
although strong. Her eyes lit up.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Merrick smiled at
her.

"It's a hell of a lot better than that awful
grog Walt makes, that's for sure."

"Aye. That stuff will have you breathing fire
in no time."

"Where is the blacksmith, anyway?"

"He's on his way. Nelson threw a shoe this
morning when we were out, so he wanted to see to that before he
came over. He won't miss the pie though. Don't worry."

Julia wasn't worried and wasn't sure why
Merrick used the phrase, but she pushed the thought aside and
asked, "When were you out? Before church?"

"Aye."

"You must've been up before the sun."

"We were."

Julia could tell if she wanted any details
from Merrick she was going to have to ask for them. "Pleasure
trip?" she said, casually.

"Nope. Business."

Julia waited and seethed slightly, her
curiosity battling with her unwillingness to let Merrick think he
had the upper hand.

He watched her for a moment and then took
pity on her. "We went out to the Piling place. I wanted to talk to
the drovers out there, and Walt wanted to come along for some fresh
air."

Julia realized now why Merrick had been
reluctant to tell her where he'd been; he hadn't wanted her to go
with him as she had to the Double A Ranch. She was wondering how to
phrase her next question when he offered more.

"No one suspicious there. None of Piling's
drovers come into town much. He doesn't pay them enough. Besides,
two of them limp. One from a foot he broke recently falling off his
horse, and the other from an old knee injury. You didn't notice
your two fellows limping did you? You would have told me that."

Julia didn't like Merrick calling them 'her
fellows' but she let it pass. Her mind brought up an image from the
night of the dance, the men walking on either side of her. "No,"
she said, "I'm certain neither of them limped."

Walt joined them then, coming in from outside
smelling of fresh air and earth, and Julia was grateful for the
distraction. His hair was slicked down with water and he had on a
clean shirt and a vest and jacket she hadn't seen before. "You look
all spiffed up, Mr. Sheehan."

Walt grunted and glanced around the room.
"Anything to drink around here?"

"Here," Julia said, thrusting the bottle of
cider into his hands, grateful for an excuse to be rid of it. The
cider was pleasant, but she really didn't need any reason for the
town to consider her a woman of loose morals.

Walt nodded to her and took the bottle,
tipping it back and drinking at least half in one long pull. "Ah,"
he said, wiping his mouth on his hand, "that's the stuff."

Anne Thoreson appeared out of nowhere at
Julia's elbow. "Constable Merrick, I must pull you away now. We're
ready to begin the pie tasting."

"You're a judge?" Julia and Walt said to
Merrick simultaneously.

"Don't knock it," Merrick said as Mrs.
Thoreson pulled him away.

"He'll be sorry if he doesn't pick wee Mrs.
Jones' pie," Walt said under his breath. He always called Millie
'wee Mrs. Jones', even to her face. She loved it and blushed like a
schoolgirl, not realizing he was being ironic.

For Julia, the rest of the afternoon passed
in a whirl of conversation and good food. The volume in the room
crept up until it was nearly impossible to talk to anyone without
shouting. But she was having a wonderful time. She got to meet
several couples from ranches around the town who she had not
encountered until that day. Betty and Christopher seemed to be
patching things up; at least they were talking to one another
again, though if that was only for public consumption, Julia
couldn't be sure. And it was Betty's strawberry-rhubarb pie that
won the contest. Julia didn't even know her friend had entered.
Although in hindsight, it wasn't entirely surprising. Hers was the
best pie Julia had ever tasted, better even than Ella the Cook's at
home.

Lily Cecil had entered the contest as well,
with the apple pie she so often made for the hotel restaurant. She
came in third. Alan Cecil happened to be standing near Julia when
the winners were announced. Lily accepted her prize of a new pie
plate and approached her husband. Julia congratulated her as she
went past.

"Thank you, Miss Thom," Lily said.

"You should be proud of yourself." Julia
thought the young woman looked quite disappointed and tried to
cheer her up. "You came in ahead of four other ladies."

"You're right," Lilly nodded, but she didn't
look as though she agreed with Julia.

As Lily reached her husband, Julia heard him
say, "That was a surprise. I didn't expect you to even make the top
five."

Julia's eyes flared at this, but she forced
herself to bite her tongue. She turned away and found Gerald Anker
and a woman approaching her.

"Miss Thom. Have you met my wife?" Anker
said.

Julia and the woman nodded at one
another.

Anker continued, "Sabine, this is Miss Thom,
the schoolteacher."

Mrs. Anker was a petite woman with small
features and a serious expression. And, it turned out, a thick
German accent. "Pleased to be meeting you Miss Thom," she said.
"Did you have a pie in the contest?"

"No, did you?"

Mrs. Anker shook her head. "No, I'm a
terrible baker."

"Now, dear, your bread is delicious," Anker
said, smiling at his wife with indulgence.

She patted his arm with a gloved hand,
"You're being generous, mein Bärchen. It is not a skill I've
perfected, Miss Thom. I'd rather be sewing. The kitchen does not
interest me."

"Amen," Julia said, making Mrs. Anker
laugh.

"Did you get a pumpkin, Miss Thom?" Anker
asked her.

"A pumpkin?"

"We've brought one for everyone," the
red-faced man clasped his hands behind his back and rolled on the
balls of his feet. "Our crop was generous this year. Be sure you
take one from the wagon outside when you go home. Take two, in
fact." He winked at her.

Sabine Anker tapped his arm again. "Stop with
your flirting, Gerard. She doesn't need attention from an old man
like you," she said with a teasing tone.

"Miss Thom doesn't mind, Liebling." He winked
at her.

Julia glanced across the room and saw James
Hunter talking to Dr. Parker. The injured man's arm was still in
its sling, and Hunter was being protective of it, keeping his body
turned away from the crowd so that it didn't get jostled. Julia was
surprised to see the clockmaker at the event. He seemed to avoid
any such public gatherings.