A Timeless Romance Anthology: Old West Collection Page 12

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Taylor. Is Mr. Patterson available?”

  “He’s in his office. Knock first.”

  Susannah pushed through the gate and approached the heavy wooden door. Her heart began to pound, and she wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress before tapping.

  “Come in.” The words were clipped, businesslike, assured.

  Susannah pictured the small, carefully groomed man on the other side of the door, forced a smile on her face, and turned the ornate brass knob.

  Archie Patterson looked up as the door swung open. He didn’t return her smile. “Susannah.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Patterson.”

  “You’ve come to see me?” He pointed to a chair.

  Susannah sat on the edge and crossed her ankles.

  “Well?”

  Thinking that learning to milk was infinitely easier than door-to-door selling, she plunged ahead. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in buying a copy of Wesley’s poems.” She held up the book.

  Mr. Patterson actually recoiled. The corners of his mouth turned down, as if he’d bitten into something sour. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “I heard you tell Judge Nesbit that Wesley was a talented poet.”

  “Wesley was a damned fool, always mooning around in a velvet jacket and a silk scarf and fancying himself to be Lord Byron. At the time, Ivy was sweet on him, so I put a good face on it.” He narrowed his eyes. “You were a parlor maid in my house, and as such were not supposed to listen to conversations.”

  “Actually, Mrs. Patterson always called me a governess.” Susannah’s hands began to tremble. She clutched the book so tightly, her knuckles turned white, but she went bravely on. “The volumes are gilt-trimmed and are only eighty-five cents.”

  “That’s too much by eighty cents.” He reached in his pocket and tossed a coin onto the desk. “I’ll give you a nickel.”

  Susannah stood. It was all she could do to keep her voice steady. “I regret that I cannot accept your kind offer. Thank you for your time.”

  She turned and intended to sweep out of the room, but Douglas Cooper stood in the doorway, looking urbane in a well-cut three-piece suit. The shock of seeing him— and having him witness her humiliation— turned her knees to jelly. He must have sensed it, or maybe he noticed the blood leave her face, because he stepped forward, took her free hand, and supported her elbow.

  “Good afternoon, Miz Brown. I hope you are well.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Cooper. I am, thank you.”

  Still supporting her, he walked her to the door. “Shall I accompany you to your next appointment?”

  “That won’t be necessary. You obviously have business with Mr. Patterson. Good-bye.”

  As she fled to the outer office, she heard the attorney say, “Cooper! Welcome. Shut the door.”

  Susannah was grateful that Mr. Taylor wasn’t at his desk, and even more grateful that the boardwalk was empty. Seeing the sorrel tied to the hitching post next to Sweetie, she ran down the steps and slipped into the safe haven between the two animals. With shaking hands, she stowed the book in the saddlebag then put an arm around the calf’s neck. “Oh, Sweetie. What an awful day this is.”

  She took a deep breath. “Wesley wasn’t a damn fool,” she said. “He was kind and generous and a very good poet. You would have liked him very much.”

  Sweetie rubbed her head against Susannah’s bosom.

  “Thank you for that comfort,” she said. “Look, you’re losing a flower. I’ll fix it, and then we’ll go see if Gertie wants to buy milk from Patchwork Dairy.” She tied the pink flower back to the halter and unhitched the lead rope.

  Patting the sorrel on the neck, she murmured, “Tell Mr. Cooper thank you.” Then she led Sweetie to the end of the block, where a white, two-story house sat, ringed by a picket fence. A sign hanging from the porch roof proclaimed this to be Gertie’s Boarding House.

  Susannah stopped in front. “I don’t know if I can take two rejections in one day.”

  Sweetie stood still, but one ear swiveled.

  “We could go on home and come back tomorrow. I have someone coming for dinner, you know.”

  Sweetie turned her head toward the back door of the boarding house.

  “Oh, all right. We’ll go see Gertie. But don’t come bawling to me when she says something awful to us.”

  Susannah led Sweetie down the lane along the side of the house, and as they reached the back porch, Gertie herself stepped out, carrying a pan of water. Redheaded and ruddy cheeked, she laughed as she saw her visitors. “Who you got there, Queen of the May?”

  “This is Sweetie. She’s going to be the second cow I milk at Patchwork Dairy.”

  “Looks like it’ll be a little while.” Gertie threw the water on a flower bed next to the house.

  “It will be, but I’m just starting out. With one cow, I’ve got more milk than I’ve got customers. Do you need someone to supply you with nice, rich Jersey milk? It’s got lots of cream in it.”

  Gertie scratched her ample bosom. “Jersey milk, eh?”

  “With lots of cream.”

  Gertie opened the screen and called inside. “Lucy, don’t you stop stirring. If it scorches, I’ll have your hide.” She scratched again, obviously considering. “Would you sell me just cream?”

  “How much do you need?”

  “As much as you’ve got to spare.”

  Susannah grinned. “I can do that.”

  “You’ll probably want to do some figuring, see what you need to charge, but I’ll pay what’s fair.” She opened the screen again. “And if you were of a mind to make cottage cheese with the skim milk, I’d buy that from you too.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Mind you, I’m only doing it because you’ve got such a purty young heifer there, all done up in flowers and bows.”

  “I’ll bring you some cream tomorrow.” Susannah backed away. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gertie waved the basin and stepped inside. “Lucy, stir!”

  Susannah led Sweetie back toward the road. “How could you ever have doubted?” she asked, tweaking one of the flowers. “You let Mr. Patterson scare you. Don’t ever do that again.” She rubbed the calf behind the ears. “Now let’s go home and fix dinner. How does chicken and dumplings sound?”

  Chapter Six

  Douglas arrived a little early. Susannah didn’t hear him ride up, but she heard him put his horse in the pen beside the lean-to and then heard him climbing onto the roof.

  She dropped dough into the boiling chicken broth for dumplings and wiped her hands on her apron. Walking outside, she shaded her eyes and looked up. “You’re not going to start that right now, are you?” she called.

  He rose from a crouching position. “Good afternoon, Miz Brown.”

  “Supper’s almost ready.”

  “Just wanted to take a look, see what I’ll need to fix it. I’ll bring supplies out tomorrow.” He walked over the ridge and disappeared from view, reappearing moments later from behind the house.

  “The flashing around the chimney has gone to pot,” he explained. “I’ll bring some sheet lead tomorrow and replace it.”

  “Will it be expensive?”

  He smiled. “Very. It will probably take two or three suppers to pay it off.”

  She laughed. “You drive a hard bargain. Won’t you come in?”

  As he followed her in the house, she paused, looking at the ceiling. “That leak was nowhere near the chimney. Are you sure it’s the flashes?”

  “Flashing,” he corrected. “Yes, I’m sure. Water gets in one place, but it runs across to another before it finds a hole to get through.” He looked around. “Boy, it’s hot in here. You got the windows open?”

  “You can’t cook without heat,” she said.

  “What’s it going to be like in July?”

  “I hate to think, but I have to heat water.”

  He grabbed the two straight-back chairs
and carried them to the door. “You need a summer kitchen.”

  She watched him push the screen open with one of the chairs. “What are you doing?”

  He called from around the corner. “Let’s eat out under the old-man pinyon.”

  “Where?”

  “Bring the breadboard and come out back,” he called.

  She pulled it from its slot and followed. “Why do you call that tree the old-man pinyon?”

  He moved a keg sitting under the eaves over between the two chairs. “Because it’s so old. Grandpa Brown cut the lower branches so we could eat under it.”

  She regarded him a moment before handing him the board. “Do you mind that Wesley inherited this place?”

  “It’s the way it should have been. Wesley was blood kin.”

  “But—”

  “Grandma Brown didn’t forget me. I got her wedding ring.” He placed the breadboard on the keg. “I think we’re ready.”

  They worked together to transport dishes and food to the outdoor dining area, and soon they were having supper under the shady bower.

  “It’s nice and cool back here,” she said.

  “That’s because there’s a breeze blowing down the ravine.”

  “What ravine?”

  He pointed to the right. “You can’t see it because of all the brush. Might be a good thing to clear it away. If a fire got started up on top, it would come barreling down like the midnight special.”

  Susannah had greater matters to talk about. She leaned forward and fixed her eyes on his. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday down on the road that you were Wesley’s brother?”

  “Half-brother.” He adjusted the position of his spoon. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Wesley’s wife?”

  “Widow.” She leaned back. “I guess I was angry because of what you said about him.”

  “Which was?”

  “You thought he’d made the saddlebags. You were making fun of him.”

  “An old habit of mine. He liked colorful things. Used to wear a red coat.”

  She felt her cheeks getting warm. “It was claret colored.”

  “I suppose it was.” He smiled. “But it wasn’t all one-sided, you know. He would tease me back. Said I had no sense of style.”

  “That sounds like him,” she murmured.

  “It was true. Still is.”

  She shook her head. “You looked very nice today in Mr. Patterson’s office.”

  “A lady I knew took me in hand, taught me a few things.” He passed his plate for a second helping, and she spooned it on for him.

  “About Mr. Patterson,” Douglas said, cutting the dumpling with his fork. “When I opened the door, he was saying that you’d worked for them. Somehow I can’t picture you as a servant.”

  “You can’t? May I remind you that I’m a milkmaid?”

  “You’re a businesswoman. Quite a difference.”

  “Is there? I’m working harder now here than I ever did at the Pattersons’.”

  “How did you end up there? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  She sighed. “The short version of a long story is that I was left an orphan when I was sixteen. My mother died when I was born. My father was a scholar, a lecturer at Boston University. He died of tuberculosis.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I had no family. We had a library full of books but very little money, and I had no skills fit for earning a living.”

  “But how did you get from Boston to Masonville?”

  “The Ladies’ Aid took me as a project. They advertised in church magazines that I would work for room and board.” She brushed a pine needle off the table. “The Pattersons were the first to respond. Next thing I knew, I was on a train bound for Arizona Territory.”

  “It has to be different from the life you knew.”

  “Completely. But Wesley made up for every loss.”

  “I see.” He picked at a paint fleck on the breadboard. “I saw Ivy Patterson today.”

  The antipathy Susannah felt at hearing Ivy’s name on Douglas’s lips surprised her. “Oh?”

  “Haven’t seen her since she was fifteen.” He smiled to himself, still worrying the paint. “She asked me to supper.”

  Susannah stood. “Don’t think you’re beholden—”

  “I don’t.” He looked up. “Would you let me help sell your books?”

  Her brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re trying to sell them to the wrong people. You need to find a market back east.”

  She sat down again. “How am I going to do that?”

  “Put an ad in an eastern paper. Make it sound, oh, I don’t know, exotic.”

  “Exotic.”

  “You betcha. And expensive. How much do you make on a book if you sell it for eighty-five cents?”

  She cleared her throat. “A nickel.”

  “Charge a dollar and a half.”

  “A dollar and a half! Who would pay that?”

  “Lots of little old ladies. I know someone who will put an ad in the Troy Morning Telegram for you. That’s in New York.”

  “Is this the same person who taught you how to dress?” But before he could answer, she held up her finger for silence. “Hear that?”

  “All I can hear is a cow bawling.”

  “That’s Lady telling me it’s milking time.” She stood and started gathering dishes. “Your folks are very wise, you know.”

  “How’s that?” He grabbed the chicken pot and the breadboard, and they headed around to the kitchen.

  “They knew I wouldn’t come back to life for my own sake. They practically forced me out here and gave me a creature that depends on me to get up and do something twice a day.”

  “You wouldn’t come back to life?” He opened the door for her.

  She nodded. “I wanted to die. Tried to die. For months after I lost Wesley, I either slept or sat in a dark room, holding his coat. The claret-colored one.” She smiled up at him.

  “I can’t believe that.”

  “It’s true.” She put down the dishes, took the basin from its nail, and poured in water from the kettle. “Could you go open the gate? Can’t keep Lady waiting.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  He strode out the door and down to the pasture while she carried the basin and milk bucket out to the shed. After swinging the doors wide, she stood inside and watched him follow Lady as she ambled up the lane. The sun had already dipped behind the bluffs, cooling the air and turning the horizon periwinkle.

  She murmured her thanks for bringing in the cow then slipped into her milkmaid routine. Once, she glanced up to see him leaning a shoulder against the barn door, watching her.

  “You could feed the chickens and gather the eggs,” she remarked and smiled to herself as he complied. Handy fellow to have around.

  He proved as much again when he helped her take care of the milk and wash up. Susannah brought a lantern as they carried the cans to the spring. Though outside it was dusk, inside the cave would be completely dark.

  Walking into cave from the warm outside air was like walking into Jack Frost’s lair. The frigid pool began about ten steps beyond the mouth of the cavern and spread from wall to wall, reaching back about sixty feet. Shallow and flat for a little ways, the bottom quickly dropped to a dangerous depth.

  Susannah held the lantern up as Douglas placed the milk cans in the water.

  “You’ve got three gallons in here already,” he said. “Your customers aren’t keeping up.”

  “Gertie’s going to buy cream and cottage cheese from me.”

  “Where did you learn to make cottage cheese?”

  “I haven’t yet. That’s next on my list.”

  He laughed out loud. “You are fearless. Ask my mother. She knows.”

  “I will.” She shivered. “It’s cold in here. Let’s go outside.” Unconsciously, she reached for his hand as she turned to leave the cave.

  Moments later, she realized what she�
��d done. Her cheeks grew warm with embarrassment, but she didn’t know how to gracefully get out of the situation, because he’d laced his fingers through hers.

  She stopped in the middle of the path. “Douglas?” She hated how she’d become breathless, and she scolded herself for getting herself into this predicament and acting like a schoolgirl.

  With great resolution, she raised her hand, bringing his with it. “I didn’t mean to do this. I don’t know why I did.”

  “I do.” He chuckled and brought her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckle of her pinky finger. “But don’t worry. I’m not interested in being proxy for a ghost.”

  He released her and continued to stroll back to the house.

  Feeling like a deflated balloon, she walked beside him, the hand that had held his suddenly empty and barren. She wished it weren’t so dark so she could see better. She needed to kick a rock down the path. Instead she said, “For someone who has trouble with big words, you rolled that one off your tongue pretty easily.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Proxy. That’s not a word in everyone’s vocabulary.”

  “I own a few mining shares. It’s a word you hear quite often at shareholders’ meetings.”

  At the house, she held the lantern as he saddled his horse. Neither spoke until he was astride.

  “What time do you want me here for supper tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Same time, unless you’d rather have supper with Ivy.”

  He ignored her remark. “I’ll come early and fix the roof. Can you have that advertisement written?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Remember: exotic and expensive.” He touched the brim of his hat and clicked his tongue to the sorrel.

  Susannah watched as he rode beyond the circle of her lamp and was swallowed by the night, though she could still hear the sound of his horse’s hooves growing fainter.

  And then, floating through the warm evening air, came the whistled tune of “Oh, Susannah.” She smiled as she walked back to the house.

  She went to bed, curling on her side and waiting for the comfort of the covers’ warmth. Closing her eyes, she anticipated sleep and Wesley’s visit. Tonight of all nights, she longed for a return to what Hidden Spring had been to them, an Eden where they spent the days making love and reading poetry, lost in the pleasure of words and each other.