CHAPTER TEN
If the day could match Mae Lindson’s mood, it would
be raining ice and the sun would be cold as stone. She walked to
the barn, her skirt catching in the knee-high grasses, the honey
warmth of summer rising on the air.
Her gaze lingered the
longest on the eastern horizon and she paused, feeling the tug of
the call to return to the coven’s soil at the soles of her
shoes.
Not yet. She couldn’t
go home until she found Jeb’s killer. She gathered up saddle,
blanket, and bridle, and leaned it all against a fence post while
she shook a bit of grain to call her mule, Prudence, to come round.
Once Prudence had eaten the handful of corn, she saddled and
bridled her, then swung up, taking nothing more than herself, her
shawl, and the shuttle tucked safely in her pocket.
Mae turned northwest
toward town, riding the shortest route to Hallelujah.
It was not yet noon
when she came down Main Street. The town seemed quiet, even though
the clatter of horses, wagons filled with crops and material for
the rail, and men and women going about their errands lent to the
busyness of the place. It wasn’t until she stopped outside the
Smalls’ mercantile that she realized what sound was missing—the
ring and beat from the blacksmith’s shop that pounded out from dawn
to dark ever since the rail’s approach.
The rail depended on
the smith to keep them in nails and bolts and repairs of the
matics. All the farmers, ranchers, and millers in the area kept the
blacksmith and his apprentices plenty busy. She couldn’t imagine
what would bring all that work to a day’s halt.
She was sure Mrs.
Horace Small would be happy to pass on that information and every
other scrap of gossip if she asked. Mrs. Small didn’t like Mae
much, but she was more than happy to buy and sell the fine lace Mae
tatted, and had never turned away a single sturdy wool blanket Mae
wove.
Mae had been saving
up the bit of money she made from cloth and lace for years, adding
it to any extra Jeb brought in. They weren’t rich, and she had
never supposed they would be. But they had money set
aside.
She eased down off
her mule and tied her to the hitching post below the porch. A rise
of men’s voices, laughter mostly, rolled through the air along with
the clank of the piano from the saloon down the street. Plenty of
people hoping for better days. And it seemed some of them were more
than happy to celebrate early.
Mae walked up the
front steps and then along the whitewashed railing to the open shop
door. She didn’t like entering the mercantile. Not because it was
always dark, filled from floorboard to rafter with things folk
needed to live a civilized life, some items like the dishes from
China or the fine glass lamps shipped all the way from the old
country. There was something about the clutter of the place, of so
many things from so many lands all crowded together, that made her
restless and wanting for the simplicity and quiet of her
home.
Mae walked into the
shop, the cooler air scented with the straw and dust of newly
delivered goods. Mrs. Horace Small must be out for the day. Rose
Small stood behind the counter in the dim-lit room, minding the
till.
She looked over and a
smile lit her up.
“Afternoon, Mrs.
Lindson,” Rose said.
“Good afternoon, Miss
Small.” Mae walked across the room. “I hope all is well with
you.”
Rose nodded, though a
cloud passed over her eyes. “I’m good as glim. And yourself? Come
into town with a few blankets before the weather
turns?”
Mae shook her head.
She should have thought of that. Should have brought in the
blankets she’d finished over the long summer nights. But ever since
she had felt Jeb’s death, she’d been thinking of no other thing
than revenge.
She wasn’t even sure
if she had eaten this morning.
“No blankets
today.”
“Lace, then? Mrs.
Haverty was discussing her daughter’s wedding dress and hoping we’d
have a lace collar on hand. The shipments from back East didn’t
make it this far out. I reckon someone in Carson City must have a
hankering for fine lace.”
“No, no lace.” Mae
stopped at the counter where the coffee grinder sat next to candy
in glass jars. She tugged off her leather gloves, one finger at a
time. “I’ve come to withdraw from my safetydeposit box. I don’t
suppose your father is in?”
“He’s gone to meet
with some of the out-of-towners who came in early today. Investors
and businessmen looking to set up business now that the rail’s
going to tie us to the oceans on both sides. We’ll have all the
news from the world at our fingertips and plenty of new people
passing through. Might even get a telegraph office. Looks like
Hallelujah’s going to put itself on the map.”
“Looks like it is,”
Mae said. “But about your folks. Is your mother
round?”
“She’s just down the
road a ways. At church seeing about the wedding. These things take
time and plenty of effort from all the able women.” Rose looked
down at the counter, and pulled a cloth from her pocket to rub at
the wood. “Seeing as how it’s the banker’s daughter and the
timberman’s son, it will be a wedding of some
importance.”
“All weddings are
important,” Mae said. “Even for the most humble groom and
bride.”
“I reckon that’s
true.”
Rose went back to
wiping down the counter, though Mae thought there wasn’t a spot of
dirt left to rub. The thimble she wore on the top of her ring
finger winked nickel gray in the wan light coming in from the
shop’s two windows.
Mae took a moment to
really look at Rose. She was no longer the young girl she’d found
running a kite in her fields back when she and Jeb had built their
home seven years ago. Rose must be eighteen or so by now. And
unmarried.
No wonder she wasn’t
lending a hand at the wedding preparations. The womenfolk had
probably deemed her unfit for such things.
“You’ll be a wife
someday,” Mae said gently. “There’s still plenty of time for
that.”
Rose looked back up
at Mae, and for a flash, there was hope in her eyes. Then she set
her mouth and all Mae could see in her expression was clear
resolve. “You’re more than kind to say so.” She put the cloth back
in her pocket, ending the conversation.
“Now, about your
business today,” she said, digging up one of her sunlight smiles.
“Can I help you in any way? Maybe go fetch my mother or father for
you?”
“Oh, that won’t be
necessary. If you have the keys to the safe boxes, we won’t need to
trouble your parents.”
“I know just where
they’re kept.” Rose opened a drawer behind her and pulled out a set
of master keys. She turned a glance over her shoulder. “I haven’t
seen Mr. Lindson in a long while. He working the
rail?”
“No. He’s
dead.”
Rose stopped, still
as a deer under the eyes of a wolf. And the sorrow that crossed her
face was heart-deep, bringing tears at the bottoms of her eyes. “I
am so sorry,” she whispered. She didn’t say any more, didn’t ask
how he’d died, didn’t ask if she was planning a burial, a funeral,
a service with black lace.
Mae nodded, and Rose
got herself busy with the locked drawer that held the keys to the
safety boxes.
“Did you hear the
Gregors’ boy, little Elbert, has gone missing?” Rose asked softly,
as if there was more than rumor resting on her words.
“I hadn’t heard.” Mae
tried to remember how old the Gregors’ boy was now. Maybe three?
Four? She was glad for something different to think upon, even if
it was bad news. “Did he wander off?”
Rose walked out from
behind the counter, things in her apron pockets clacking quietly.
“No one knows. He disappeared in the night. Right through the
closed window and the locked door.” She paused between one step and
the next. “Is that something you’d have a way of knowing
about?”
Mae looked down at
her shoes. She’d never told Rose she was a witch, but Rose had a
way of knowing about people almost like she could hear the truth of
them without them even speaking. It hadn’t been said, but Rose knew
Mae was conversant with herb and magic. And unlike any of the other
folk in town, who were suspicious of her, Rose had been her first
and her only friend in Hallelujah.
“I don’t know that I
can be of help,” Mae said. “Even if there were something I could
do, there isn’t much in me but grief.” She paused, then added, “And
that . . . clouds things. I don’t suppose that will change for a
long while.”
Rose’s hand gently
cupped Mae’s shoulder and Mae realized Rose was an inch or so
taller than her. Her hand was warm and strong. Her fingers squeezed
just a little. “There isn’t anything more natural you should be
doing but grieving, Mrs. Lindson. It takes a heart long days to
heal.”
Mae looked into her
eyes. Rose had seen pain in her life, but Mae knew she’d never lost
everything in the world worth breathing for. “The pain of loving
someone never heals.”
Rose pulled her hand
away, flinching like she expected a switch to her back. Mrs. Small
had obviously never learned to curb her temper before using the
switch.
“I don’t mean to
overstep—,” Rose said.
“And you haven’t.”
Mae forced a smile. “I do appreciate your concern.”
Rose nodded, and
started off toward the back of the room. “If you’d wait out here,
Mrs. Lindson,” she began.
“Mae,” she said. “I’d
think by now you’d be calling me by my given name. As a good friend
ought.”
Rose tossed a smile
over her shoulder and Mae marveled at the joy in it. There was
something alive and glowing to her. She was the kind of woman folk
should be drawn to, men should be drawn to. A strong charisma. But
she’d learned to hide that light under a bushel. Mae figured she
rarely showed anyone her true self. No wonder she wasn’t
married.
“If you’d wait a tick
. . . Mae,” she said, “I’ll bring out your box.”
Rose slipped through
the doors at the corner of the shop. The mercantile wasn’t a bank,
but they had safe vaults made of cast iron. So heavy, it was said,
each plate had needed a barge of its own and a full team of oxen to
drag it to town. The Smalls had hired up the blacksmith to weld
together the plates and set clever locks, so that anything within
that vault needed a combination of keys to retrieve.
Fireproof,
bulletproof, and heavy enough it was thief proof. People of town
deposited money at Haverty’s bank, but other valuables, jewels,
rings, notes of property, and such, were often as not given to the
Smalls for safekeeping.
Mr. Haverty wouldn’t
deposit money from a black man, but Jeb had done the odd job for
Rose’s father, Mr. Small. In return, Mr. Small tolerated keeping
their money, so long as Mae gave them a blanket or length of
lacework every season in payment for the safe box.
Rose once told Mae
that Mrs. Small sent the blankets and lace down to her sister in
Sacramento, where they fetched a high price from city
folk.
Mae walked through
the store, not much seeing the items for sale. Outside, the noise
was starting to pick up as the men who worked LeFel’s rail came
into town for a midday meal, drink, or gamble.
“I think I have it
all here.” Rose pushed open the door, the box propped under her arm
and hard against her hip. “One box?”
“That’s
right.”
Rose carried the box
to the countertop and set it down. “I forgot to ask if you have the
key. My father keeps the box keys in another location I’m not privy
to.”
Mae withdrew the key
from her pocket. “I have it here.” She walked over to the counter,
then set the key in the lock and gave it a turn. The internal gears
snicked, and the lock sprang open.
The light in the shop
grew darker as one of the railmen shadowed the door, stomping his
boots of dust before removing his hat and stepping into the
store.
“Afternoon, sir,”
Rose said, moving out away from the counter. “Can I help you find
something?”
“You the
owner?”
“No, sir. Owner’s
daughter, so I know my way around the shop. Maybe you’re looking
for the doctor, though?”
Mae glanced over at
the man. He was rawboned, tall, looked like he drank far more than
he ate. His left hand was wrapped with a dirty cloth, stained with
blood. Like all the railmen, he carried a gun at his
hip.
“If I was looking for
a doctor, I’d of found one,” he said. “You got any of the fireproof
gloves for sell? Those damn matics boil the meat off a
man.”
Rose gave him a smile
that would sweeten honey, but still had a bit of sting to
it.
“We sure do. Right
back there on the shelf to the right, below the washboards. Cowhide
suede with wool felt inside. Come in special from Chicago just last
month.”
He headed down that
way, and Mae was very aware that Rose did not turn her back on him,
but instead put her hand in the pocket of her apron. Mae wasn’t
certain what she carried in those pockets, but from the set of
Rose’s jaw, she’d guess it wasn’t a Bible.
Mae opened the lid of
the box and picked up the canvas bag. She pulled at the cords and
glanced inside. This purse held more silver than copper, and no
gold. She hesitated. It was enough to buy a horse, or a small matic
to sort or thresh the crops, or plow the field. Maybe enough to set
her right for the long winter ahead. She’d been saving it in hopes
she and Jeb would one day need to put a room on the house for a
child, or to send that child to a good school down in California,
or back East.
No hope of that now.
That tomorrow was gone. All the good this money would do now was
buy her a man’s death. She tucked the purse into her other pocket
and closed the lid on the empty box.
Rose came back around
the counter, dusting again, her gaze never leaving the rail worker
for long.
Mae glanced over at
the man. He slid looks their way, nervous, as if waiting for
something. He did not seem to harbor intentions of the neighborly
sort.
That was the downfall
of having the rail push through. Too many men and women who
followed the great landway were desperate folk who had supped on
hard luck too much of their life. Robberies, shootings, and more
followed in the wake of the rail.
Hallelujah might be
putting itself on the map, but that mark would be made in blood, as
well as iron.
Mae locked the box
and took back her key. “Thank you, Miss Small.”
Rose nodded and put
the box at her feet behind the counter, out of the man’s
sight.
“Is that all for you
today?” Rose asked.
“I’ve a mind to
wander the store a bit until your father arrives,” Mae said. “I
have a pertinent question for him. He’ll be back any moment now,
isn’t that right?”
Rose shot her a look
of thanks for the lie. “Why, I suppose he will. Said it wouldn’t
take him but a shake to finish his business with the sheriff. Said
Sheriff Wilke might even come back to check the new rifles we got
in yesterday.”
At that, the man in
the back stopped dawdling and came up to the counter to pay. Mae
stepped aside and found herself interested in a collection of
fragile glass globes with thin copper wires threading them set in a
straw-filled bucket not far away. The man paid, took his gloves
without a word, and left just as the tiny bird on the windowsill
chirped the hour.
Outside, the water
clock tower whistled out the noon bell, a melodious, lonely
chord.
“I’m obliged to you,”
Rose said. “Never know what those sorts of men have in their mind.
Mr. LeFel works them like demons. Come in wild-eyed and mean, near
often as not.” She made it sound matter-of-fact, but Mae could see
the slight tremble in her hand as she brushed her hair back from
her face. Rose might be too old to marry conventionally, but she
was very pretty. Too often a man took that kind of beauty to be his
right to spoil.
“You keep a gun in
your pocket?” Mae asked.
Rose gave her a level
gaze. “A proper woman wouldn’t,” she said. “But don’t suppose I’m
so proper as some.”
Mae nodded. “That’s
well and wise of you.”
Rose’s smile was
sunshine and summer breezes again. “Such talk! If my mother heard
me, I’d be left scrubbing floors for the remainder of my God-given
years. Is there anything else you’ll be needing today? I cooked up
a rhubarb pie this morning. I’d be happy to bring it out to your
place this evening, and maybe sit for a bit of tea?”
“No,” Mae said,
“don’t bother yourself.”
Rose looked
disappointed. Mae realized she wasn’t asking to give the pie out of
pity, but out of a need for friendship.
“I’m just not in the
conversing mood, Rose. I’ll come by again soon. To bring those
blankets I’ve finished. And the lace, of course. When again is Mrs.
Haverty’s daughter being wed?”
“Not for three weeks,
if a minute,” Rose said. “Though they’re going on about it as if
Becky and John are going to burst out into vows any minute now.”
She’d picked up a small spindle from the shelf and she was rolling
it between her hands, the wood clicking against the thimble on her
finger.
Rose never held
still, her fingers always flying from one thing to another as if
all the world were something that needed touching,
changing.
“I’ll bring the lace
before then. Will you tell Mrs. Haverty that for me, if you see
her?”
“I’d be more than
happy to.”
Mae started for the
door.
“I don’t suppose
you’re looking for the Madder brothers?” Rose asked.
Mae turned in her
tracks and gave Rose a long look. She still held the spindle, but
was no longer rolling it between her palms.
“Why would you think
such a thing?” Mae asked, deeply curious. Rose might be winsomely
clever, but she didn’t seem to have a knack for reading thoughts.
Mae was certain she hadn’t mentioned the brothers to
her.
Rose shrugged but
didn’t look away from the spindle and string.
“Just a guess is all.
If my husband had gone to his death suddenly, I suppose I’d be
looking for a gun, in the least. Maybe other contraptions in the
most. The Madders have a way with contraptions that’s better than
the best in the old states, I’ve heard whispered.”
She shrugged again
and looked up at Mae. “It’s known they devise, though no one talks
about it in the cold light of day. Only by candlelight when they
think there aren’t ears around to hear.”
“Do you know where
the brothers are?” Mae asked.
“They haven’t come
into town today. I’d guess they’re up at the mine. You aren’t going
out there alone, are you?”
“I won’t be unarmed,”
Mae said. “I’m not near proper as some either.”
Rose nodded. “That’s
well and wise of you.”
The door opened
again. This time a handful of women just come back from church
sashayed in. They chattered like scrub jays before spotting Mae.
One look at the golden-haired weaver and their perky demeanor
snuffed right out, taking on the high-chin stilted manners of a
trial, instead of an afternoon’s chance meeting.
“Mrs. Lindson,” said
Mrs. Dunken dismissively. The baker’s wife had a face that looked
like it’d been pressed out of dough. Her eyes were deep set and nut
brown, her nose a knot, and her cheeks round. She’d piled her hair
up so high, it threatened to push her blue taffeta spoon bonnet
right off her head, roses, lace, feathers, apples, and all. Mrs.
Dunken had her nose in everyone’s business, though she didn’t lift
a finger to keep her children—some of them, like her Henry, older
even than Rose—out of making such trouble that the sheriff had a
nightly seat reserved at their supper table. “Have you finally
brought a scrap of lace today?”
“Good afternoon, Mrs.
Dunken,” Mae said. “No, I’m afraid not. I’ll be bringing it to town
next I come, though.”
“I heard your man is
gone looking for work,” Mrs. Dunken went on. “Pity the rail man
wouldn’t take his kind. Employs all sorts. Even the savages. At
more than a fair dollar. I can’t imagine how you’ll survive until
spring.”
Mae’s shoulders drew
back straight and hard. She’d heard worse, been through worse than
four women’s scathing stares and bitter barbs. She’d likely endure
more before the day ended, what with the death she was
contemplating. “We’ll manage, thank you kindly,” Mae said. “And
thank you, Miss Small, for your time,” she said to
Rose.
“Been a pleasure,”
Rose said. “I’ll let Mrs. Haverty know we’ll have that lace in
plenty of time before the wedding.”
As soon as the word
“wedding” left Rose’s mouth, the women started up again like a
flock of hens tattling over scraps of seed.
“We’ll settle this
nonsense for good,” Mrs. Dunken said to one of her hangers-on—the
long-faced, sad-eyed Mrs. Bristle. “Rose, fetch us the newspapers
immediately.”
The women bustled
into the store, taking themselves back a ways toward the
pharmaceutical counter, where glass bottles and waxes cluttered the
shelves.
And before Mae could
step out the door, a man was blocking her way. Tall, and wearing
the newest style from New York, Henry Dunken, the baker’s son, took
his hat off his head and stepped inside. His eyes were green as
river rocks, his jaw square as a sawed-off railroad tie, the rest
of his features just as rough-hewn. He’d always had a meanness
about him, and today was no different. He ignored Mae’s presence
and scanned the store like a surveyor judging the yield of his
claim.
He pushed past Mae
without a decent pardon-me and leaned an elbow on the counter. Then
he helped himself to a handful of candy out of the jar and stared
at his mother and her women, obviously waiting for
something.
Rose came from the
back of the room with a booklet of papers. “Here’s all we have from
the last year or so, Mrs. Dunken.” She looked up and caught sight
of Henry. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth took on a stubborn
line.
“Where are your
manners, Miss Small?” Mrs. Dunken snatched the papers from her.
“You have a fine gentleman waiting for you. See to your customer.”
She waved a hand at Henry, and in the same motion dismissed Rose
from her service.
Mae caught Rose’s
gaze, and Rose gave her a bored look. She didn’t seem concerned
about Henry. She stomped across the wood floor and stood behind the
counter.
“Good day, Mr.
Dunken.” No honey in those words. Luckily, Henry’s mother was too
busy arguing about sleeve lengths to hear her tone.
Rose pulled out a
ledger book and flipped through the pages. “I’ll add that candy to
your father’s tab. Is there anything else your father will be
buying for you today?”
“Now, now, Rose,”
Henry said. “Once I’m mayor of this town, a bit of free candy every
once in a while might sugar my feelings toward your interests.” He
glanced down at her bosom, then gave her a wide smile.
“Miss Small,” Rose
said coolly. “I’d be obliged if you used my proper name, Mr.
Dunken.” She leaned a little closer to Henry and lowered her voice.
“But I think you may want to reconsider your offer.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” he
asked, warming to her presence.
“Because my interests
all require you to cross lots off the short end of the
earth.”
Henry stood up tall
and glowered down at her. Rose met his gaze with a bland
expression. He glanced over at his mother, but she had heard none
of it, then scowled at Rose again.
“And I’d be obliged
if you treated me with the respect due my station,” Henry
said.
Rose put her hand
over her mouth and coughed to cover her laughter. “Of course, Mr.
Dunken. Anything more I can get for you? We have a fresh batch of
pride carted in from the East, if yours has gone and gotten
bruised.”
Mae hid an approving
smile and walked outside. Rose could take care of herself. And it’d
take more of a man than the troublemaker Henry to match
her.
After the warmth of
the shop, the cool air felt like she had plunged into clean water.
Her mule stood, head lowered, dozing in the afternoon
sun.
The wind stirred,
bringing with it the voices of the coven sisters calling her
home.
East. She needed to
be walking, needed to be packing, needed to be riding east. Mae
could hear their voices as clear as the rattle and thump of the
matic on the rail, as clear as the clatter and jingle of horses and
gear making their way between the shops of the town, as clear as
the laughter rising up from somewhere off by the butcher’s shop. A
pain in her chest flared out as the bind between her and the coven
tightened like a string being pulled.
No. She swallowed
hard and held tight to the porch rail until her mind cleared and
the sisters’ call eased.
She knew the sisters’
call would only grow stronger. And each day she held off returning
to her own soil, the more time and effort it would take for her to
resist.
Mae took a few deep
breaths, then rubbed Prudence’s nose to wake her. She untied the
reins and hitched back up into the saddle.
She looked up the
street. More people walked between the wagons that were loading and
unloading crates and barrels and bushels, people scurrying from
wagon to storehouse. Winter was coming. The whole town knew it.
Like ants desperate to get the last bit of food beneath the ground
before the frost hit, the folk of Hallelujah were working to stock
up against the coming storms. But farther off north, cool as the
heart of a sapphire, stood the Blue Mountains. And at their feet
was the Madder brothers’ mine.
The sun shifted from
behind a cloud, a dark shadow skittering down the street as the
wind on high blew the clouds across the fields, tearing them apart
until they were gone.
Sunlight poured down,
strong as summer ever was, lighting the way north. As good an omen
as she’d likely receive. With the sunlight on her back, Mae headed
down the road toward the shadow of the mountains.