The Bride's Prerogative (11 page)

“Horse-blanket pin?” Ethan leaned over the tin once more. “Where is it?” He looked at Hiram, but he only shrugged. It seemed a strange item for anyone to steal. Ethan almost said as much but clamped his mouth shut. Griff might think he doubted his word. But it was odd. Deep down, Ethan figured he was mistaken. The pin would turn up, jumbled in the straw or tucked onto a shelf, forgotten.

Griffin stood slowly. “I sure don’t feel like doing much this afternoon.”

Without speaking, Hiram walked over to the half-cleaned stall where Griffin had left his wheelbarrow. He picked up the shovel and began to work.

“He’s a good friend. You take it easy and let Hi help you out.” Ethan looked up at Griffin. “You want me to do anything about this?”

“Not much you can do, I guess. I want you to find the robber, but I don’t guess that will be easy.”

Ethan looked down at the metal box again. “You don’t have a safe, do you?”

“Naw. I don’t have that much money lying around. I never have more than five or ten bucks. But still, if someone’s sneaking around town stealing and killing people …”

“Some folks are scared,” Ethan acknowledged.

“Those women who are shooting all the time,” Griffin said. “You oughta put a stop to that, Eth.”

“Why? If it makes them feel safer …”

“Someone’s going to get hurt. Next thing you know, one of those ladies will get shot during one of their practice meets.”

Ethan ran a hand through his thick hair. “I been meaning to ask Gert about that. I’ve heard folks talking, and I wondered how many women are involved. So far as I know, it’s only a few.”

“A few is too many.”

Ethan noted that Hiram paused in his shoveling and looked toward them. He must have heard his sister’s name mentioned. First there was the conversation Ethan had overheard at the emporium. Then Ted Hire at the Nugget had said Gert was rallying some women to learn how to shoot, and Ethan had wondered if it was so.

Gert was an odd girl. She wasn’t all soft and stylish like Libby Adams, but she had a kind soul. She’d left her folks back in Maine to come help her brother and his family when they needed her. She fed a crusty cowpoke-turned-sheriff every time he showed up on her back stoop. And he’d seen her feed stray cats and give a man who couldn’t afford to pay for Hiram’s work a chance to split wood in exchange for a gunsmithing job. If she really had started teaching women to shoot, her motives were honorable. But he should talk to her about safety, if nothing else. The livery owner wasn’t the only man in town grousing about it.

Hiram pushed a wheelbarrow full of manure out of the stall and trundled it past them. He stopped just inside the back door and stepped to the side near the grain barrels. In the shadows, he stooped and lifted a long wagon tongue and stood it up against the wall. He picked up a horse collar, which he hung on a peg.

Ethan brought his attention back to the injured man. “I’ll look into it, Griff.”

CHAPTER 12

L
ibby was aware when Milzie Peart entered the emporium. She didn’t like to have Milzie come in and loiter. Customers didn’t like it. At least it was warm enough now that they didn’t have to keep the stove hot. The heat always magnified Milzie’s stench.

But Libby couldn’t run her off the way some did. She felt sorry for the old woman. As she measured out coffee for one of the rancher’s wives, she tried to keep an eye on the stooped figure. Milzie had asked for seeds last time she was here. Libby wasn’t sure she hadn’t walked out with anything else. Usually she gave the old woman a little something to nibble on, figuring it might keep her from pilfering. If the other customers cleared out, she’d give Milzie the last few crackers from the nearly empty case beside the counter.

When the rancher’s wife left, another woman stepped up to the counter. Libby smiled but again wished she could choose her clientele. One of the girls who worked for Bitsy at the Spur & Saddle smiled shyly back at her.

“Vashti.” If that was really her name, which Libby doubted.

“Yes’m. Miss Bitsy said it’s a good idea if we girls get ourselves a sidearm. She said you could help us.”

“Oh. Uh …” Libby glanced around the store. Milzie was only a few steps away. “I have some small handguns.” She took three from beneath the counter and laid them out for the girl to see, wondering if she shouldn’t ask Vashti to come back Monday before she opened the store—or even tomorrow while the emporium was closed. But she hated to do business on the Sabbath. The shipment of pistols had arrived only yesterday with one of Oscar’s mule teams, and she still could barely believe she was selling them like this. But what did it matter if the whole town knew she had stocked some handguns and would sell them to women? Word of mouth would probably bring her more business.

Vashti picked up the smallest one. Its pearl grips seemed to ripple as the light struck it. “I like this one.”

“All right.” Libby reached for the roll of brown paper. “Let me wrap it for you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll put it in my bag.”

Libby cleared her throat and glanced toward the door. Jamin Morrell was just entering. He nodded at her, smiling as he removed his hat.

“Good day,” Libby said. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Morrell?”

“Carpet tacks,” he said.

“Oh yes. Right over there near the nails.” Libby pointed toward the hardware. She glanced around and saw that Florence was busy measuring ribbon for Mrs. Ingram “If you can’t find them, I’ll be over in just a minute.”

Jamin nodded and headed for the hardware.

Vashti seemed to have shrunk into her silk shawl. She studiously avoided looking around toward the rival saloon’s owner.

“Now you’ll want some ammunition,” Libby said in what she hoped was a smooth, professional tone.

“Is that the same size as Miss Bitsy’s?” the girl asked.

“No, it’s a smaller caliber, but it’s a good piece.”

Vashti leaned close and whispered, “I’m hoping Miss Dooley will teach me to use it.”

“Oh.” Libby tried not to let the smile slip. What had she started? When she’d gone to shoot with Gert on Thursday afternoon, they’d been joined by Emmaline Landry, Bitsy, and two other women. Word was getting around Fergus, and women were responding eagerly. She stooped and pulled out a box of cartridges. “It’s fifty cents extra for the ammunition.”

While Libby wrapped the box, Vashti dug into the ridiculously small satin pouch that dangled from her wrist. “My friend Goldie wants a gun, too. I’ll tell her you’ve got some left.”

A rancher carrying an ax handle and a tin of tobacco came and stood behind Vashti, ogling the young woman’s back as he waited. Libby took her money and handed her the change and her package.

“I’ll see you at the shooting practice on Monday.” Vashti watched her, expecting a response. “Uh, yes, I expect so,” Libby said.

By the time she’d totaled up the rancher’s purchases, Mr. and Mrs. Robinson had entered. Mr. went straight for the tools, while Mrs. made a beeline for the ready-made clothing. Morrell was still in the hardware, and Milzie had wandered to the far end of the store. Mrs. Ingram approached the counter with her notions and a bolt of muslin. Libby forced out another smile and told herself a busy store was a good thing.

“How many yards would you like?” she asked Mrs. Ingram.

“Six, please. Did you hear that the livery was robbed yesterday?”

Libby gulped. She didn’t like to think about other business owners having trouble. “Yes, I did.”

“They say Griffin Bane was attacked in broad daylight.” Mrs. Ingram shook her head. “I’d think it would take a brazen criminal to attack a man as large as Mr. Bane.”

“I … suppose so.” Libby measured out the material. “Lovely and warm this morning, isn’t it?”

More customers came through the door. A few minutes later, she looked up into Jamin Morrell’s face.

“Oh, Mr. Morrell, I’ve neglected you.”

“That’s all right. You’ve been busy, and I found what I needed.”

Libby glanced toward the yard goods. Several people browsed the merchandise, but Milzie was nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for the old woman, by any chance?”

“Well, yes.” Libby fingered the lace at her collar. “I was going to give her some crackers.”

“She left a moment ago.” Jamin leaned toward her over the counter and lowered his voice. “You might want to check over your stock of safety pins.”

Libby stared at him then looked toward the open door.

That evening, Gert walked slowly up the street toward the Walkers’ house. She didn’t really want to spend the evening quilting with a half dozen older women, but Orissa Walker had made a point of inviting her. The flying geese quilt would go to the Walkers’ married daughter in Silver City. Libby had promised to meet her at the quilting bee, so Gert had agreed. She trudged along the boardwalk with her sewing basket—minus her overdue mending—on her arm.

Orissa welcomed her with a dour face and ushered her into the parlor. Isabel Fennel was the only other woman within twenty years of Gert’s age. Where was Libby? She didn’t ask. She figured she had to put in at least an hour without the risk of being thought horribly rude and becoming the subject of the quilters’ gossip as soon as she left.

She settled in between Annie Harper and Isabel on one side of the quilting frame.

“How’s school?” she asked Isabel.

“Not bad. We’ve another month. Then we’ll break for the summer.”

“I expect you’ll enjoy a bit of a rest when the term ends.”

Isabel’s lip curled as she eyed her, and Gert felt her face flush. Was her face dirty? Why did Isabel look at her that way?

“I don’t suppose I’ll rest much this summer.” Isabel bent over her needle.

Gert blinked. Had she just been snubbed? If this were Boston, she might just care.

“Do you know if the sheriff’s found out who robbed the livery?” Mrs. Runnels asked as their hostess sat down in the chair nearest the door.

“No, I haven’t heard anything new,” Orissa said.

“Seems to me he ought to have arrested someone by now,” murmured Annie.

Isabel humphed. “Ethan Chapman is incompetent. Father says he has no clues at all on Bert Thalen’s murder, and now this. Why they picked him for sheriff, I have no idea.”

“A poor choice to protect us.” Mrs. Runnels jabbed her long needle down through the layers of the quilt.

A knock at the door summoned Orissa, and a moment later she ushered Libby into the parlor.

“Hello, ladies. I’m sorry I’m late.” Libby smiled at the circle in general, but she gave a pert nod when her gaze rested on Gert.

“Sit right down, Elizabeth,” Orissa said. “You can work on this part and stitch your way over to meet Bertha.”

Libby slid into the seat between Orissa and rotund Bertha Runnels. She soon had her needle and thimble out, and the work progressed, along with the chatter. No one mentioned that the husbands of the married women present were probably out at one of the town’s two saloons, knocking back whiskey. Instead, they focused on domestic topics. Gert let it flow around her as she made the boring up-and-down stitches.

She glanced across at Libby, who stitched industriously with a slight smile on her lips. She always looked as though she’d welcome an adventure. Funny, Gert thought of Libby as her own age, though the widow was probably eight or ten years her senior. Isaac Adams had been a friend of Cy Fennel and Charles Walker, but he’d married a younger woman. Libby never spoke to her of truly personal topics, but Gert had the distinct impression she’d loved her husband. She liked to think Libby had enjoyed some happy years with Isaac. Few of the married couples in Fergus seemed content. Rather, they survived.

“Gert, I can’t say as I approve of this latest enterprise of yours,” Mrs. Walker said.

Gert jerked her chin up and stared at her, unsure of how to respond.

Libby jumped into the silence. “If you mean the shooting club, I do.”

“Club?” asked Annie. “What’s this?”

Gert felt her cheeks flame, but Libby’s musical laugh rang out. “That’s what some of the women call it. We practice shooting together two afternoons a week, and Gert instructs us. We’re all learning to protect ourselves.”

Orissa shook her head. “The mayor thinks it’s nonsense.”

“The mayor is on hand to protect his wife,” Libby pointed out. “Some of us ladies have no husband or son or brother to defend us in time of need.”

“Well, my father says it’s dangerous, and someone’s going to be killed by accident,” Isabel said.

Gert scowled. Leave it to Cyrus to say that.

“We’re extremely cautious whenever we shoot, aren’t we, Gert?” Libby asked.

Gert looked up at her. Libby’s rosy cheeks and gleaming blue eyes would qualify her for the girl on a soap advertising card. Libby smiled gently and nodded ever so slightly.

“Oh yes,” Gert responded. Better to follow her friend’s lead than to get upset and cause more talk. “We always follow safety measures.”

“More than you can say for some of the men,” Annie Harper muttered.

Bertha nodded, frowning. “I heard Emmaline Landry has joined.”

“That’s right,” Gert said. “Her husband’s out on the range a lot, and she wanted to know how to use a gun in case a drifter showed up at the ranch.”

“She joins us on Thursdays,” Libby put in.

“It’s a wonder Mr. Landry lets her,” Isabel said.

“She probably doesn’t tell him.” Bertha shook her head in disapproval.

Libby surveyed their project. “My, isn’t this quilt coming along nicely?”

“Yes, we’ve made good progress.” Mrs. Walker stood. “I think it’s time for tea.”

“Let me help you.” Libby jumped up and headed toward the kitchen with Orissa. Gert wished she could make a graceful exit through the front door, but Libby had rescued her so kindly that she didn’t want to leave her friend alone.

Right now all she wanted to do was get home and fix a bite for Hiram. She pictured him sitting alone in the front room, reloading cartridges for his rifle. Poor man. Loneliness had settled over him. She tried to be good company. She’d rather be sitting with her near-silent brother than with this bunch of cats. And without her, Hiram was practically helpless, though she would never utter such a thought aloud.