Chapter 15
Owen walked to the clothing store with Clarence on his heels, still feeling raw, but that wasn’t a new sensation for him. This weight of guilt was the shadow companion his brother had once been, and he held it close as a reminder of his own reckless stupidity.
There had been a time when he’d been as hard on himself as Temperance, convinced he needed to be punished. That’s how he’d become friends with Virgil, in fact. He’d hated himself and school and the boys who still had fathers and money. When he’d seen those better-thans picking on Virgil—who had been a broomstick of a boy with a father who had never claimed him in the first place—Owen had stepped in to fight alongside him.
Owen had been seeking a beating and got it, but he’d got his own licks in and wound up with a loyal friend. They’d both dropped out of school within a few years and hadn’t seen much of each other until they happened to join the army at the same time. They quickly discovered you needed someone to watch your back there, too.
The army had been hell, absolute hell, where Owen had taken fresh beatings for refusing to do things that were outright monstrous. That’s when he’d learned there were people, grown men, who weren’t just negligent and illiterate, they were deliberately cruel.
He had realized he could be like them, or he could be a clown. He’d taken many a blow because of his smart mouth and unconcerned attitude, but incompetence made an excellent weapon, when wielded correctly.
Like now, when he ‘accidentally’ allowed Clarence to follow him into the shop.
“Good m— Oh. Sir.” The proprietress’s voice went from cheerful to stern. “I must ask you to put your dog outside.”
“He’ll be all right. He hardly ever pees indoors,” Owen said with a blithe wave.
The shop was empty. The woman paused in laying out fabric at her counter to bug her eyes at Clarence as he dropped his head and snuffled into all the corners and under shelves, wagging his tail happily.
Owen had taken a draw from the mercantile on his way here. He made a point of putting his two twenty-dollar coins on the counter where the woman could see them.
“Is that gown in the window spoken for?” He pointed at the rich mulberry that looked as though it was draped over a bird cage.
“That’s a premade skirt, sir. It needs tailoring and a bodice, which I could supply if you’d like to choose one of the fabrics from my sample book?” She brushed aside the fabric she’d laid out and set a heavy book in front of him. “Why don’t you browse while I put your dog outside?”
“I definitely want that skirt, and this here is nice.” He ignored the book and turned the edge of the fabric she’d been measuring, admiring the bright colors on the right side of it. Big red flowers and green vines climbed over stripes of gold and soft yellow. “Bundle me up enough of this for a gown.”
“I—” She hesitated, attention divided between him and the dog. “I have another customer who has asked me to set aside enough of this chintz for a gown if she decides she wants it. Most ladies prefer to stand out in something original so perhaps your, um, wife?” she guessed. “Would like to come in and choose something for herself.”
“I sent Temperance in here to do that this morning. You refused to serve her.” He kept his anger out of his face, wearing his most confounded expression instead. There was no need to scare a woman with a hard look when it was enough to let her know her rudeness had presented him with a problem he needed to solve. Today. Right now.
She blushed tomato red and dropped her gaze to the coins on her counter.
“My husband and I arrived very recently. Mrs. Greenly seems a very influential customer. I didn’t feel I was in a position to take your, um, friend’s side against her.”
“Is this for Mrs. Greenly?” He nodded at the fabric.
“Um...” She looked as though she’d backed into a porcupine. “I have a nice blue stripe that is very fetching. May I show it to you?”
“No, I definitely want this.” Ivy Greenly could wear the same gown as a saloon girl, or she could go to hell. He moved his two coins forward.
“You’re putting me in a very difficult position, sir.”
“I disagree. You’re in an excellent position to make a sale today, rather than hope for a sale another day. Tell Mrs. Greenly that if she wants this chintz, she can buy a few yards of it from me. Now, let’s have some lace and ribbons to fancy this up. What else is needed for making a gown? Needles? Thread?”
“Jane!”Temperance cried with welcome when her friend turned up the following afternoon. “I wanted to come ask your advice, but I couldn’t bring my work out in this rain. How are you? Come in, come in.”
“I’m good. Mavis asked me to return this to you.” She offered the damp carpet bag. “She’s decided to stay and marry Mr. Fritz, but she wasn’t up to walking this far to return it herself.”
“Goodness. That’s news, isn’t it? Thank you.” Temperance took the bag. “Hang your coat there.” She pointed to the hooks near the door. “You’ll stay for coffee?”
“I’d love one.” Jane stayed on the stoop to shake out her wet cloak and wring out the shawl she’d used to cover her bonnet. Both were soaked through.
“What does it mean for you that Mavis is staying?” Temperance asked as she drew the door shut to close them inside.
“She’ll continue to share the room with me until they marry.” Jane hung her cloak and dripping bonnet, giving a little shiver as her body adjusted to the cool saloon. “In a few weeks, when she’s ready to work, they’ll look for a girl from one of the farms to sit with the baby in the evenings.”
“Do you know when they’ll marry? I doubt Mr. Fritz wants me to attend, but I’d like to wish her well.”
“He seems a lot warmer now that he knows she’s staying. Mavis told me she was reluctant to return his affections, knowing she was carrying. She thought he would look down on her, but he’s tickled with the baby. I think they’ll make each other happy.”
“That’s nice to hear. Oh, yes.” She followed Jane’s curious gaze to the coffin table. “I need your opinion.”
Temperance led her to where she had laid out the chintz fabric Owen had brought home yesterday. He’d walked in with more fabrics and notions than she knew what to do with, then carried on with his day as though they hadn’t shared their most painful secrets.
Last night, he’d worked in the wagon house until she’d gone to bed and he’d left first thing to visit the farms, looking for anyone making whiskey.
She kept wondering if he was right that she shouldn’t be so hard on herself. Her heart ached for what he’d been through. Adelaide had never really accepted her, but Temperance had always had her father’s love and that of her younger siblings. She couldn’t imagine how lonely he must have been through his childhood.
She shook off dwelling on him and stood with Jane to survey the chalked lines on the fabric.
“I’m afraid to start cutting.” Not when it was such a good chintz and the cost had come out of Owen’s pocket, not her own. “Will you check my work while I start the coffee? Let me know if I’ve made any mistakes?”
“Of course.” Jane turned the edge to admire the pattern.
Temperance moved into the living quarters where she left her carpet bag on a chair near the hearth. She threw an extra stick of wood on the fire and measured coffee and water into the pot, coming back to the parlor to find Jane at the door, speaking to someone.
“I’m sorry, this isn’t an undertaker any longer,” Jane was saying. “I can direct you to the one in Auraria?”
“I was told this building belongs to Owen Stames?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Jane stepped back to look questioningly to Temperance.
The man at the door was revealed to be around Owen’s height and age of mid-thirties. He wore a dark gray cap with a black brim pulled low so it pushed his curly black hair into a downward angle. The ends nearly blended into his overgrown beard. His complexion was a dark brown speckled by the rain. His jacket was wet and his trousers heavily spattered by riding. His boots were in good repair, if muddy.
“Mr. Stames should be back soon. Can I tell him who inquired?” Temperance asked.
“Emmett, ma’am.” He touched his cap. “One of his partners from the mine.”
“Of course! He’s mentioned you. Please come in and wait for him. He’s only gone to the cooperage.” She waved to invite him in. “My name is Temperance. I work for Owen. This is my friend, Jane. She’s visiting.”
“Nice to meet you both.” He removed his hat and stamped his boots, wiping them on the stoop before entering. “I wasn’t expecting to meet any ladies here,” Emmett sent Jane a self-conscious glance and smoothed his beard. “I would have visited the barber first.”
“This is Denver, sir, not Paris,” Temperance said wryly. “I’ve just started a pot of coffee. Will you join us?”
Owen was wet,thwarted, and grumpy as he locked up the wagon house and followed Clarence to the back door where the dog was scratching to be let in.
Emmett opened the door to him.
“Huh.” Owen pulled up with surprise. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“I could say the same.” Emmett leaned down to pet the dog, making a face as he discovered Clarence’s fur was wet.
“Clarence. Let me in.” Owen used his knee to nudge Clarence out of his way.
Inside, Temperance was seated at the table with Jane, each with a cup in front of them. He nodded at both of them. “Hello, Jane. You’ve both met Emmett.”
“Yes. We’ve all been chatting, but it’s time I headed back.” Jane rose. “It was nice meeting you, Emmett. Oh, yes, it’s nice to see you, too,” she said to Clarence, giving him a scratch under his chin. “But you’re wet.” She wrinkled her nose and accepted the towel Temperance handed her.
“I’ll walk you out. Take my shawl.” Temperance retrieved it off a hook and went into the parlor with her.
Jane likely had to work so Owen didn’t take her abrupt exit personally.
“I didn’t expect to see anyone for at least another week.” Owen removed his wet jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, turning it toward the fire. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
“The elections tomorrow. I told Virgil if they don’t want me to vote, they can say so to my face. It means all the votes I’ve brought from the mine won’t be counted, but Virgil reckons that sends a message to these men who want to form our government that they lose more than just one man’s vote when they exclude me.”
Owen swore under his breath. They’d voted against the last constitution because it hadn’t included voting rights for all men, only white ones. The vote to form the Territory of Jefferson had passed anyway. Tomorrow the provisional government would be elected.
Owen decided to go with Emmett, to be sure no one else decided to send any messages.
He gave the coffee pot a wiggle and a half cup sloshed in the bottom. “You want more?”
“No, you have that.” Emmett lifted the cup he held and tipped it against his lips.
Owen poured the dregs into a cup then sat down on the chair by the fire.
“So? What do you think?” He kicked out his legs and nodded an invitation for Emmett to take the chair Jane had vacated.
“Been in the saddle. I’d rather stand,” Emmett said with a shake of his head, staying where he was, with his shoulder propped against the wall. “I’m wondering why you didn’t marry Pearl if you were ready to set up housekeeping. Put the rest of us out of our misery.”
“Is Virgil still at it?”
“He pointed out there was a good spot for building a house upstream from his. He seems to think we could mill the lumber through the winter and get it built before break up.”
“With snow on the ground?” Owen scoffed. “Having so many women in his house has really turned him into an optimist, hasn’t it? Did you suggest he build a house for his sister-in-law and leave the rest of us out of it?”
“I didn’t discuss it at all. I waited until he wasn’t looking then got the hell out of camp. I was afraid he would insist I bring her with me.”
Owen snorted. This was the sort of harmless drama that cheered him right up.
Until he realized Emmett’s gaze had drifted to the wide mattress, rolled up against the wall every morning so Clarence wouldn’t step onto it when he came in with muddy feet. There was a question in his friend’s eyes that he didn’t ask aloud.
“It’s not like that.”
“No, it sounds like you’re keeping things professional,” Emmett said deadpan. “The way Virgil and Marigold did.”
“We are,” Owen insisted. Especially now that Owen knew how badly Temperance had been treated by her lover. He was trying not to think of that because it put such an ugly knot of anger in his gut. Still, he couldn’t resist saying, “Where are you staying? The corral? Let’s walk over and fetch your things. You can sleep here with us.”
Emmett choked on the last of his coffee.
Owen had worded it that way in hopes of getting that reaction, but he could also use the buffer against temptation.
“You and I will sleep in the parlor. We can sample the little whiskey I’ve been able to procure,” Owen continued. “No use spending money when you don’t have to. Tomorrow, you can help me build a bed frame.” He nodded to the rolled mattress.
“But it’s not like that,” Emmett mocked.
“You sleep with a dog and tell me how romantic you feel.”
“That’s another thing. Since when do you have a dog? It’s always something with you, isn’t it?” Emmett straightened off the wall and shook his head with exasperation. “What do you mean you can’t get any whiskey? This is a temperance saloon, is it?” He used his chin to indicate the women’s low voices chatting in the parlor. “I’ll grant you that’s an angle no one’s tried before.”
“It’s not the angle I was planning, let me tell you.” Owen’s disgruntlement returned in a heated rush, but Temperance bustled back through the door, interrupting what would have been a small tirade.
“Poor Jane having to walk out in that. I didn’t mean to take so long with her, but I wanted her advice on how to cut the panels for my gown. You’ll eat dinner with us, Emmett? Owen brought a pork hock back from one of the farms yesterday.”
“Thank you. I’d like that,” Emmett said after sliding a glance to see Owen’s nod that he wanted Emmett to accept.
In camp, they mostly lived on whatever Gristle made in the cookhouse and any baking Marigold chose to share. Owen had decided he would keep Temperance on his payroll for her cooking alone. His friend deserved a decent meal for a change too.
“The farmer was willing to sell me pig, but not whiskey,” Owen explained, shifting out of the way as Temperance took up the heavy iron pot she cooked in. “The cooper didn’t want to sell me any barrels. I had to claim I wanted them for pickling,” he told Temperance.
“We’re a popular pair, aren’t we?” she said with a tsk.
“Do you need me to fetch water?” he asked her.
“No, I have enough in the pail.”
He added a chunk of wood to the fire, anticipating she’d want it hotter for cooking.
“Cecil Dudley has me blackballed.” Owen sat back to continue explaining—and complaining—to Emmett. “P.J. would only sell me a single bottle, ‘for personal use.’” Don’t tell Cecil, he’d cautioned. “Mick promised me two casks from the mercantile, then tried to renege. He relented and said I could have one after I threatened to take the mine’s business elsewhere.”
Emmett pulled his head back. “Where else are we going to get our supplies?”
“Who else is he going to sell to?” Owen charged. “Our mine is his best customer and he knows it. The whiskey he brings in is strychnine anyway. I want proper bourbon from Kentucky. I sent a letter today placing an order, but that’s likely to take weeks.” Especially with the weather and trail deteriorating.
Owen had never told Emmett he couldn’t read or write, but the way Emmett flicked a glance at Temperance’s back told him his friend suspected she’d written it for him. An understanding of Temperance’s role here was coming into his expression.
“Maybe try the forts?” Emmett suggested.
“Oh, Fort Kearny,” Temperance said. “That’s a good idea. The physician there gave my father a bottle from the commissary to help with his pain. They definitely have some. I could write to my father, actually. I’m sure he could find someone reputable in Chicago. Oh.” Her shoulders fell. “Then I’d have to tell him where I’m working. Hmm.”
“Nothing wrong with being a business assistant, is there?” Owen asked her. “That’s what you were for him.”
“It’s the nature of the business that will give him pause,” she said dryly as she came across with the pot.
Owen leaned toward the fire and used the poker to draw out the iron crane so she could hang the pot and swing it back in to dangle over the flames.
“You know Pearl was helping Mrs. Dudley brew up corn whiskey when she first got to Denver,” Emmett reminded him, dropping his shoulder against the wall again.
“That’s right.” Owen snapped his fingers at Emmett. “Damn. You’re going to have to tell Virgil she can come work for me, aren’t you?”
“Then I’m going to watch Virgil tell his wife that her sister has a career in brewing moonshine if she wants one.”
They both had a good laugh at Virgil’s expense, because God knew Marigold would have an opinion, but Temperance didn’t react beyond a blank smile as she took up the dirty cups to clean them.
Did she think they were making fun of women working in a saloon? That wasn’t why they were laughing. Virgil’s stubborn ass coming up against his headstrong wife was fun to witness, that’s all.
“I didn’t expect so much resistance from the other keepers,” Owen said. “It’s just one more saloon.”
“Were you not in the same fire brigade that I was when that saloon was set ablaze in Sutter Creek?” Emmett asked.
“That was different.” Fewer men had been finding gold while abundant labor kept pouring in. People had begun turning on one another. It had been ugly and racist and a big factor in why they’d all decided it was time to find new pastures.
Owen caught Temperance’s look of alarm.
“We’ll be fine,” he promised. “Don’t worry.”
Hell, if he couldn’t get whiskey, this wasn’t even a saloon.
After a lively eveningof listening to the men rib each other over dinner, Temperance slept with Clarence on the big mattress while Owen and Emmett slept on bedrolls in the parlor.
She liked Emmett. He had a sharp sense of humor and an affable willingness to pitch in, asking Owen over breakfast, “What needs doing after the vote today?”
“Firewood,” Owen replied. “We can pick up lumber and rope for the bed on the way home.”
Temperance gave them a jar of broth from last night’s pork hocks to warm for a midday meal and took the plunge with cutting out her gown once they were gone.
She had it pinned and basted by the time the light was fading beyond the window. She had long ago drunk her own small cup of broth and began thinking of putting on a pot of beans. First, she would cut this blue satin ribbon that Owen wanted her to use for trimming?—
An aggressive pound on the door had her straightening away from the table.
She moved to peer through the window.
“Mr. Fritz,” she said when she opened the door to his frizzy-haired arrival. “Can I help you?”
“Where is she?” He roughly brushed past her and paced into the empty parlor, looking around. He even went so far as to push into the living quarters.
“Mr. Fritz!” she cried, following him, but her heart was pounding. She was reluctant to tell him no one else was here. She looked to the wagon house, willing Owen to return.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“Mavis?”
“Jane.”
“She’s not here.”
“Where is she, then? She ought to be starting work by now.”
“I don’t know.” Concern flared to life in her. “She came to visit yesterday morning, but I haven’t seen her today.”
Concern crept into her bloodstream. Jane walked around town by herself all the time. They both did. They didn’t have much choice, but this town was untamed. Everyone knew that.
“You can’t have her.” Mr. Fritz came straight up to her, face red, and waggled his finger under her nose, forcing her to retreat a couple of steps.
“I’m quite sure Jane is allowed to make her own decisions,” she said with more bravado than she felt.
“You tell Owen we are not going to make this easy on him. He should stick to mining and stay out of selling whiskey. And quit stealing saloon girls.”
“He didn’t steal me. You dismissed me,” she reminded him hotly.
“You told him to buy Mavis a stage ticket!” he shouted. “Now Jane’s gone.” He looked to the trapdoor into the cellar.
“Oh, by all means, have a look.” She waved at the floor. “Check the wagon house if you want to.”
“Jane!” he shouted, then glared at Temperance when there was only silence as a response. “She had better turn up tonight,” he warned starkly.
Thankfully, he stormed back out, but Temperance was shaking as she locked up behind him. It wasn’t just the way he had treated her. It was growing dark.
Where was Jane?