Horse With No Name (9 page)

Walt nodded, listening attentively, letting
his friend vent.

"What if you had people coming in to the
smithy, picking up your tools, trying to form their own horse shoes
and nails?" Merrick looked at Walt, enjoying his own metaphor. "You
couldn't work that way."

"Right."

"And I can't work this way either." Merrick
stopped his pacing and leaned on the back of the wooden chair he'd
been occupying. "I need to tell her. I need to sit her down and let
her know she can't interfere any longer. It's over. I'm done
indulging her amateur detective work."

"Excellent. A night in the stocks might do
her some good."

Merrick glanced at his friend, "We don't use
stocks."

"Mebbe we should."

Walt stood up and lifted the saddle off the
sawhorse by its horn. "C'mon then you lazy bastard. That horse shit
isn't going to shovel itself."

Eleven

Most of Julia's pupils lived within Horse's town
limits, and they walked to and from school. Three out of the class
of eleven lived outside of town on ranches. Harry Hewitt and Peter
Little lived on adjoining properties about four miles outside of
town.

At three o'clock on Thursday, when Julia was
just wrapping up for the day, she heard footsteps coming up the
wooden staircase at the front of the school. The door opened and
Harry Hewitt's father stepped into the alcove where the children
hung their coats.

All the children's heads swiveled to look at
him and adorably the man blushed. "Don't mind me, Mrs. Thom," he
said. "I was in town and just thought I'd pick up the boys and take
them home on the wagon with me, rather than making them walk." He
always called Julia “Mrs.” and she never corrected him. She
suspected it made him feel more comfortable chatting with her if
they both pretended she was married.

Harry waved at his father.

"That's fine, Mr. Hewitt. We're about
finished for the day." Julia made sure the older children
understood their reading assignment for the night and then
dismissed the group.

Mr. Hewitt stepped into the classroom to get
out of the way of the multi-limbed monster that had now crowded
around the coat hooks. He grinned at Julia. "I don't know how you
do it all day with these ruffians. One is by far too much for me
and Mrs. Hewitt to manage."

"Oh, they're no trouble at all, Mr. Hewitt."
Julia said, which was not entirely true.

Mr. Hewitt was a slight man and didn't look
like someone suited to farming life at all. He looked like he'd be
much more comfortable working in a bank or a fine hotel. He was
wiry, like a sapling, and not very tall. His complexion always
looked red and raw, even when he wasn't blushing. He had dark
circles under his eyes, but Julia wasn't sure if that was from
exhaustion or just the natural state of the thin skin there. He was
a jolly man though, quick to laugh and always kind with his
words.

The children evaporated, leaving just the two
boys waiting for Mr. Hewitt. The man was in no rush to leave,
though. He usually took the opportunity to chat to Julia, starved,
perhaps, for town gossip and interaction with an adult other than
his wife.

Julia always obliged with whatever tidbits
she had that wouldn't cause offense should they get back to the
person who they were about. Today she shared that the fundraising
for the church was going well and Pastor Thoreson thought they
would probably be able to break ground in the spring.

"The town is growing at quite a pace, isn't
it? If we can have a church and this schoolhouse."

"Very true, Mr. Hewitt."

News gratefully received, Mr. Hewitt made
motions to leave. "Come on, boys. Let's get a move on and let Mrs.
Thom get on with her day."

As Mr. Hewitt herded the boys down the steps,
Julia walked with him. He was halfway down the staircase when he
turned and said, "I was very sorry to hear about Mr. Hunter. That
was just terrible."

"Wasn't it? Shocking."

Hewitt shook his head, rolling his soft cap
in his hands. "He's a good man, Hunter. Quiet. Keeps to himself.
But he's always polite and friendly. I like the man."

"I do too, Mr. Hewitt."

"I understand you found him?"

Julia nodded. "I did. He was not in a good
way."

"He's on the mend now though?"

"Yes. He's doing well. Betty Mitchell and I
popped in this morning to see how he was doing. He's nervous about
getting fat on all the bread and scones Betty is feeding him."

Hewitt grinned. "He could use a bit more meat
on his bones, that man. He's a wee little thing, isn't he?" Julia
thought this was amusing coming from the reed-thin Mr. Hewitt. But
she made agreeing noises.

On the street, Julia saw Harry and Peter
climb onto the front seat of Mr. Hewitt's wagon. The man in front
of her put his hat on and walked down two more steps. He called
over his shoulder, "He'll be missed at the poker game, that's for
sure. He always had enough cash, and he's a terrible player."
Hewitt chuckled. "I won't be there, but they'll miss him
tonight."

"Poker game?" Julia asked, "I thought
gambling was illegal."

"Aye it is. But don't tell Jack Merrick that.
He's a regular too." Mr. Hewitt went through the gate into the
street and climbed up into the wagon. The boys waved as they drove
off and Julia waved back, though her thoughts were elsewhere.

She had no idea such a game existed in town,
and she suspected that was intentional. Gambling was not something
ladies participated in or even acknowledged. And Mr. Hunter had
participated. Julia's thoughts whirled. She knew so little about
the man, and was determined to find out more in case that led her
to the perpetrator of his beating. Even if the man himself wanted
to let well enough alone, Julia couldn't bring herself to ignore
the elephant in the room. Someone was bothered enough by something
Hunter had done or said that he or they had beaten the man nearly
to death. That was not an event Julia was willing to stand by and
let be forgotten. Even if Hunter hadn't saved her from the
blaggards at the dance, she would be invested in solving the puzzle
of his attacker.

And now, she thought, as she stepped back
into the schoolhouse, I'll bet those men at the poker table know
something about Hunter. If he's at the game regularly, they might
know more about him than anyone in town. I'm just going to have to
winkle information out of them, whether they like it or not.

Twelve

Hewitt didn’t say where the poker game was held.
Just that it was on Thursday nights. As luck would have it, this
was a Thursday.

When she thought about who might attend the
game, Julia began running through a roster of the town's men. She
was nearly certain that Christopher Mitchell didn't play in the
game. Not because he was more refined than any of the other men
that she might find there, but just that he was, in addition to
being a businessman, a scholar. He loved to read and at every
social event he would corner Julia at least once so they could
discuss the latest Greek play he was reading or the newest work by
Mark Twain. Julia loved these conversations, as Christopher was the
only person in Horse she could talk to about themes in literature
and character development. She knew that Christopher spent any
waking moment when he wasn't working in or on his store, in his
upholstered chair in his and Betty's home above the shop, reading.
He read each night, Betty said, until he fell asleep in the chair,
at which point his wife nudged him off to bed.

Julia stood on the school steps considering
who else she could talk to about the game. She fully intended to
discover its location and then crash the game this very evening.
Her mind sorted through the potential players. Mayor Jones was
certainly involved. The man was always desperate for an excuse to
spend time away from his wife, though he would never admit such a
thing aloud. Julia shuddered at the thought of trying to find out
from his wife, Millie, if he was involved. She didn't want to get
the mayor into any more trouble than he already got into nearly
every day.

Pastor Thoreson was definitely not
involved.

Walt and Merrick almost certainly were but
she refused to go directly to Merrick for information, since he
seemed to be annoyed by her very presence these days.

She thought a bit more and then landed on the
obvious solution. The one place in town where everyone's business
was known.

Julia found Mr. and Mrs. Eng where they
invariably always were: working over huge steaming pots of wet
clothes. The cauldrons they used for laundry were so large Julia
was almost sure she could bathe in one. The Engs absolutely could;
perhaps both of them in one pot.

The couple nodded to her as one as she walked
in. They wore almost identical stern expressions but Julia had
always found the Engs to be friendly. Though it was often
challenging to communicate with them through the barrier of
language; Julia didn't speak Mandarin and the Engs didn't speak
much English. Julia often wondered if they understood more than
they let on.

This, in fact, was the reason she was there
in the humid shop in the first place. Though the Engs didn't
participate in many, if any, town social events, everyone in town
knew them and many used their laundry services. Walt brought the
linens from the livery here every week. And the single men in town,
like Merrick, Walt and Sully, had the Engs do all their laundry,
since they didn't have a wife at home to do it. And, in fact, Julia
herself brought her laundry to the Engs each week. Working all day
left her no time for the days-long process of washing all her
bedding and clothes. Her mother would be horrified to know Julia
spent some of her hard-earned wages this way, but Julia was damned
if she was going to spend what precious time off she had up to her
elbows in hot water and Borax. It was enough to keep her house
reasonably clean and food on the table, without adding laundry into
the mix.

"Mr. Eng," she said, making a little bob with
her head, "Mrs. Eng. How are you today?"

The couple smiled at her and continued
stirring.

"You took lon-lee," Mrs. Eng said. "no more."
She made a sweeping away motion with her hand.

"Yes, thank you," Julia made an exaggerated
nod, in the pantomime style of people conversing across a language
barrier. "I'm looking for some information." She waited, letting
the four syllable word sink in.

The Engs continued to stir.

Julia mulled over how best to ask for what
she wanted in as few words as possible. "Poker," she finally said.
"Cards." She mimed dealing out a hand of cards.

Mr. Eng looked at his wife and then back to
Julia. His wispy eyebrows came together above the bridge of his
nose. He shook his head.

Julia pretended to shuffle a deck of cards
between her gloved hands, and then made the dealing motion again.
"There's a card game somewhere in town tonight. Where is it?" She
realized she was raising her voice, as though talking louder would
help the Engs to understand her.

Both halves of the couple were mute. They
exchanged a glance and shrugged and then looked back at Julia.
Waiting for her to make some sense, it seemed. Julia thought that
was unlikely to happen.

For lack of anything else to do, she began to
babble, which was often her default course of action when she was
frustrated. Her story about James Hunter flooded out; how he had
saved her when she was nearly attacked at the dance on Saturday
night, how he had been so gracious with her when she needed her
grandmother clock fixed. Later, Julia would realize that at this
point in the story she made a motion like a swinging pendulum with
her arms and then sang a bit of the melody of the Westminster
chimes. The Engs faces began to reflect their concern that they
might have a demented woman in their shop.

But Julia carried on, undeterred. She could
hear herself talking too much and couldn't stop. "Then, just as I
was about to leave his shop, I heard Mr. Hunter groan from behind
the counter. I found him, beaten to a pulp and had to get Constable
Merrick to help me take him to Dr. Parker's office. He's going to
be fine, but I'm trying to figure out who would have done such a
thing. I know so little about Mr. Hunter. He's so new to town.
Almost as new as I am. But no one deserves such treatment. I heard
about the poker game and I'm wondering..."

She ground to a halt. The oppressive heat and
steam of the laundry tubs was affecting her. She was sure her face
must be running with sweat and she wanted to undo the top button of
her blouse.

The Engs continued to stir and watch her,
like she was an exotic animal they hadn't encountered before.

Julia recognized that she was defeated.
"Well, thank you," she said. "I'll be back next Monday, as usual,
with my laundry."

She turned to go and as she did a rapid fire
torrent of Mandarin erupted from Mrs. Eng. Julia waited while the
couple exchanged many paragraphs, if not chapters, of discourse.
They gestured occasionally toward Julia. Mrs. Eng's voice got
louder and more insistent. Mr. Eng volleyed back, but he was no
match for his wife. There was a crescendo with both of them talking
urgently at once and then suddenly, like someone had turned off a
switch, silence. Only the bubbling of the laundry pots.

The couple looked back at Julia. A few
seconds ticked by. Then a few more. Julia waited, unsure as to what
was happening. Perhaps the conversation had nothing to do with her.
She imagined they'd tuned her out as soon as she'd started babbling
in long, rushed sentences.

Mrs. Eng then startled Julia with a short,
sharp comment directed at the side of her husband's head. Then she
poked him in the shoulder with one strong finger.