The Long Trail Home (18 page)

“I love it. I've always enjoyed a gal who doesn't mind speakin' her mind,” Sam replied.

“Then you came to the right store,” Mrs. Gordon said. “Let me guess, since you're uncomfortable in a suit, and are toting saddlebags and carbine, I'd say you're in town for the stockman's convention and want to buy your wife a present before you ride back out to the ranch?”

“No, ma'am . . .”

“Call me Abby.”

“I don't want Mr. Gordon to take offense.”

She folded her arms across her thin chest. “You see, Amber, this man won't call me Abby because he's trying to sneak around the brush and find out if I'm still married or not.”

The girl's brown eyes sparkled. “He is?”

“What?” Sam fumed as he felt his neck redden. “That's absurd! Why would you say that?”

“Oh . . . Amber, perhaps he really doesn't enjoy it when a woman speaks her mind, after all,” Abby challenged.

Sam glanced down at Amber. “Do you gang up on all the men that come into the store?”

Amber scrunched her nose. “We don't get many men customers.”

“Yes, I can see why,” he laughed. “Actually, contrary to several people's opinion, I'm not a stockman. I'm a businessman. My partner and I are considerin' a business venture in Deadwood. I just rode up to survey the potential.”

“I didn't mean to offend you by that analysis,” Abby apologized. “I usually can place a man better than that.”

“No offense. I've spent most of my life around cattle and horses. You're right; I'm not the suit and tie kind.”

“You don't have any manure on your boots,” Amber declared.

Sam shook his head at the girl. “Darlin', if I closed my eyes, you could be my little sister.”

The young girl raised her chin and struck a pose. “I take it she's beautiful and quite talented.”

“Amber!” her mother protested.

“I've got a feelin' I'll regret askin' this,” Sam continued, “but the reason I stopped by is because I need a room to rent. The boy at the livery said you might have one available.”

Abigail pointed to the second story of the building. “I do. It became vacant just this morning, but I only rent by the week or the month.”

“I'd like two weeks . . . at least,” he replied.

“It's ten dollars.”

“That's steep.”

“It's a good room.”

“I'll take it.”

“And your name?”

“Sam.”

“Sam what?” the little girl pressed.

Mrs. Gordon rested her hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Amber! We don't pressure a man about his name.”

He tipped his hat to Abby. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“Are you married?” the girl asked.

“Amber!”

“Well, he asked me if I was married.”

“No, Miss Amber, I'm not married,” Sam answered. “Is that a proposal? Did you want to marry me?”

“Heavens no!” the girl's chin dropped open. “I believe I can do better.”

Her mother grabbed her shoulder. “Amber Gordon!”

“No offense, ma'am. This might be the smartest young woman in captivity. You're absolutely right, honey. You can do better than me.”

Abigail shook her head. “I'm not sure why she's talking to you this way. She can be quite shy at times.”

“How old's your sister?” Amber asked.

“I'd guess about twice your age. She's grown up now, but I remember when she was about your size.”

Abigail laced her fingers together and held her hands in front of her waist. “Would you like to see the room?”

“With you two ladies approvin' it, I'll take it, sight unseen.”

“Amber and I live in the upstairs apartment across the hall,” Abigail reported.

Sam smiled at the girl, who folded her arms across her chest in perfect imitation of her mother. “I reckon we'll be neighbors.”

Amber studied his carbine. “We have a shotgun,” she announced.

“OK, we'll be neighbors, but not close neighbors,” Sam chuckled.

“Amber, why don't you go on upstairs and get ready for the wedding?” her mother suggested.

“You can't get married, you promised to wait for me,” Sam challenged the young girl.

“I did no such thing! Anyways, I'm only the flower girl. I should have been the maid of honor, but I got stuck in the little girl's role.” She curled her lip. “Irene Seltzmann got to be maid of honor.”

“Amber, go upstairs,” her mother ordered.

The girl took a couple of steps, then turned back. “I wanted to sing a song, too, but no one asked me.”

“Amber!” her mother's voice rose in harmony with her thick black eyebrows.

Amber dropped her head. “No one will probably even ask me to dance.”

“If I was there, Miss Amber, I'd surely ask you to dance,” Sam offered.

The round-cheeked girl looked up with a wide smile. “You would?”

“Yes, but I'm not goin' to be there,” Sam said.

Amber pointed at her mother. “You can go with Mama. She doesn't have anyone to sit with her. I have to stand up front. She gets lonely all by herself at things like that.”

Mrs. Gordon grabbed her daughter by the arm. “Excuse me, Sam, I need to have a talk with this young lady. I'll be right back.”

He tipped his hat. “Yes, ma'am.”

Sam wandered along a rack of ready-made dresses. He stopped to read the neatly lettered tags pinned to each garment.

“Very handsome suit, made of French twilled cloth, in tan and brown combination. Waist and skirt embroidered in barrel cactus design. $22.50”

“Handsome suit, made of cashmere, comes in a variety of colors. Notice the elaborate embroidery on the waist and skirt. $10.50”

“Handsome suit, made of fine quality française, with choice quality of passementerie ornaments on waist and skirt. $30.00”

“Black Cashmere Suit; with plaited skirt, revers, collar, and cuffs, and panel on skirt, of faille française. $11.00”

“I really must apologize for my daughter,” Mrs. Gordon announced as she returned. “I've raised her on my own for so long, she doesn't exactly know how to relate to men.”

Sam watched the woman's flashing eyes.
This lady could charm a crowd of a thousand. She was, undoubtedly, a very popular actress.

“My husband divorced me, then years later was shot and killed near here in a stagecoach holdup.”

“Yes, ma'am. . . . I didn't ask. . . .”

He studied her smile and decided her mouth was wider than most women's. Her eyelashes seemed thicker and longer than any he could remember.

“I know what you are thinking,” she asserted.

I certainly hope not!
“Actually, I was lookin' at your goods . . . eh, the ready-made dresses.”

“Would you like to buy something?” she asked.

“Yes ma'am, I would. But it's a rather strange purchase. I'd like to buy somethin' for my li'l sis, but I haven't seen her in so long, I wouldn't know what to buy.”

“How old did you say she was?”

“Around twenty-one, I think,” Sam mumbled.

“Is she small, medium, or large?”

Sam stepped over by a bolt of blue satin and fingered the material. “I'm ashamed to say this, but I haven't seen her in a number of years. This is a pretty color.”

Mrs. Gordon stepped up next to him. Sam could smell a dainty rose perfume. “Yes, it is,” she agreed. “But, it would be hard to select something without knowing your sister's size.”

“Why don't you just surmise what your Amber would be like when she's twenty-one? What size do you reckon she'd be, and what present would she like? I haven't spent much time in a ladies' store.”

“Sam, have you ever in your life been in a ladies' wear store?”

“No, ma'am, this is my first time. I've spent a lot of my life down in the Indian Territory. Stores of any kind are mighty rare.”

“I'll tell you what piece seems to be catching attention here at the shop. No one has bought it, mind you, but most of the young ladies in the wedding today have coveted it.” She led him to several silk gowns at the back of the store. “Now, I don't know if you're a brother that is embarrassed by such gowns. But this one is the most talked about garment in Deadwood.”

“A nightgown?” he gasped.

“Not just any nightgown.” The tone of Abigail's voice sounded as if she were giving announcements at a church potluck. “It's a Japanese silk Peignoir, with rows of shirred tucks in the front and back of the waist holding in place the Grecian drapery. The neck, sleeves, and sash are made of ribbon, and the bottom of the skirt is covered with black Chantilly lace inserts. Notice the bottom is trimmed with silk plaiting. And it is lined with soft flannel to the waist. All I have is the white, but I can order it in other colors.”

He shook his head and felt his face blush. His throat grew tight, and he could hardly swallow. “That's about the fanciest thing I've ever seen in my life.”

Abigail pulled the gown off the wooden hanger and held it up for him to inspect. “That's what Dacee June says,” she commented.

It was like a bolt of lightening hit his toes and slowly worked it's way up, stiffening every bone in his body. “Who?” The word popped out of his mouth like a wad of meat that was caught in the throat and expelled only after the face turned blue.

“Dacee June Fortune. She's the young woman getting married today.”

“Today?” he choked, then turned away.

“Yes, that's the wedding where Amber is the flower girl.”

Getting married? But . . . but . . . she . . . today? Lord, you led me all the way to Deadwood to be at li'l sis's wedding?

“This Dacee June is the most adventuresome, good girl in the Black Hills. She loves this, and it is rather loose fitting, since you didn't know your sister's size. I know it's rather exotic . . . and expensive . . . but I thought . . .”

Sam Fortune did not move a muscle. Or even blink. “How much is it?”

“Thirty-five dollars.”

“What time's the wedding?”

“Oh, it's not for an hour. I have plenty of time to finish waiting on you before we need to be there.”

“And you said this bride named Dacee June likes the gown?”

“She adores it. I think she was a little nervous to spend that much money on herself.”

“Then I reckon my li'l sis will like it too. I'll take it.” He let out a deep breath before he faced her again.

“Oh, splendid. May I box it for you?”

“Definitely. I don't think I have the nerve to carry it on a hanger.”

He followed her to the counter of the store. She began to neatly fold the gown. “You're a very generous big brother. This will certainly be a lifetime treasure.”

“I've missed a lot of birthdays. I reckon I have a lot to catch up on. Say, this wedding today—this Dacee June—is she marryin' a local boy?” Sam propped the carbine and saddlebags against the counter.

Abigail paused and studied his eyes until he looked away. “Oh, yes. After she graduated from college she came back and—”

“College? She's a college girl?” He pulled off his Stetson and brushed his fingers through his hair.

“She went to Chicago and studied history. We're all quite proud of her. Anyways, when she returned, she told Carty it was time to get married.”

“Carty?” he asked.

“Carty Toluca . . . they've know each other for years. But she's tormented him something awful. I don't know how he's withstood it. Anyways, after four years in Chicago, she came home and told him they were getting married. For a formerly gangly and awkward boy, he grew into quite a handsome young man.”

I can't imagine li'l sis marryin' any other type.

“My goodness, I'm rambling on and on about perfect strangers. I'm beginning to sound like my daughter. I'm sure this is all very boring to you.” She held the wrapped bundle in front of him. “How does this look?”

“Very nice, thank you.”

“I'm not trying to pry, Sam. But what kind of business are you and your partner going to establish? I hope it's not another brewery or saloon.”

“No, ma'am. We want to install a telephone exchange.”

Abigail's green eyes widened. “A telephone company? How exciting! I used one in Denver just this spring. They are marvelous!”

“We're just speculating. My partner owns the exchange in Cheyenne City. I have to talk to lots of folks around town then approach the city fathers.”

“Then, you really should go to this wedding with me,” she beamed. “Every important official in Lawrence County and Deadwood will be there.”

“Oh, I shouldn't intrude. . . .”

“Nonsense. In that crowd, no one will care. You come with me, and I'll introduce you around,” Abby insisted.

He stared across the store and out at the dirt street. “That's an extremely nice gesture. I might take you up on it.”

“Marvelous.” She handed him the package tied with a white ribbon. “Does your li'l sis live here in Deadwood?”

“Yes, ma'am, I believe she still does.”

“I won't be like my daughter and ask her name, but do tell her if she needs any alterations to please come and see me.”

“I'll do that.”

“I need to close the store now. Why don't I show you your room. Then, when Amber and I finish getting ready, we'll rap on the door. You can walk with us.”

The room was small, but immaculate. The bed was covered with a thick, dark blue, quilt comforter. A lion-foot, oak dresser. Framed mirror. Gas lamp. Small woodstove. A portrait of a long-legged, black trotting horse at a racetrack with well-dressed spectators hung above the bed. The lace curtains shielded the clouded daylight of Main Street.