The Lawman's Bride (7 page)

T
hat night in their room, Amanda had a hundred questions.

“I just did it,” Sophie replied for the third time. “I didn’t think about it.”

“What were you doing in the park so late?”

Sophie wished she was there right now, lying on a warm stone bench, peering into the limitless heavens. “I go there to think sometimes.”

“You’re so brave. I’d be too afraid to be out alone at night.”

“And you’d be smart to be afraid,” she assured her quickly. “There are dangers out there that you’re unprepared for.”

“What about you? Are you prepared for them? Could you protect yourself?”

Sophie glanced at the girl sitting on the other bed. “I know how to take care of myself, Amanda. Have you heard from your father?”

“Not directly. I had a letter from my mother’s sister though—my aunt June. She said father’s doing well. My cousin Winnie is going to have her baby any day. I wish I could be there when he’s born.”

“You can go visit as soon as you hear.”

“Winnie is so fortunate to have found a wonderful man to love her. She’s so happy. I want someone to love me like that.”

Sophie turned back her covers and lowered the wick on the lamp. “I know, but just think about how good you have it here and be patient.”

“I’ve been patient. I thought coming here would open up new opportunities, but so far the only young men who’ve invited me out have asked half the other girls as well. It’s as humiliating as being back at home.”

“What do you mean?”

“My stepmother always treated me like I wasn’t as good as her children.”

Sophie understood wanting to be accepted. She’d been resented by the Sioux children because she was white and the chief had treated her as their equal. “She was probably jealous because your father loved your mother.”

“Probably. But here I am with competition again.”

“There is quite a buffet of young ladies at the Arcade,” Sophie mused aloud. “I suppose it’s difficult for the gentlemen to have so many choices. Rather like a boy with a penny standing before the candy counter at the mercantile.”

Amanda laughed, but then her expression dimmed. “Suppose I’m not the most appealing gumdrop in the jar?”

Sophie heard the wistfulness in her voice and ached for that naiveté she’d never known. She climbed into bed. “I rather think you’re a delectable twist of licorice. Not everyone likes licorice, but those who do find its appeal irresistible.”

“Do you really think so, Sophie?”

“I do.”

“I’m a licorice whip.” Amanda grinned and appeared to think a moment. “What are you?”

Sophie snuggled into her covers and closed her eyes. “I am a lemon drop.”

The following day Sophie watched for the marshal to arrive for lunch. By one-thirty, he hadn’t come, so she took her meal break and walked the sun-baked streets of Newton to Eighth Street. The blackened shell of the old jail sat alone on the south side of the street. The smell of smoke still hung in the humid summer air.

Two men were moving what looked like a large cabinet of some sort into a building across the street. When she recognized one of them as the marshal, she walked closer and watched as they maneuvered the wooden piece through the doorway. After much grunting and a couple of curses, they disappeared inside the building.

“Marshal Connor,” she called from the open doorway.

His shirt was damp, and a trickle of perspiration meandered down his cheek. He took a kerchief from his pocket and mopped his face and neck. “Miss Hollis. Come on in.”

Inside was as hot as the outside. The musty smell was stifling. There was a desk hobbled together out of an old door and a couple of chairs that had seen better days. A paint-chipped table held odds and ends of dented cups and a few supply tins.

“If that’s it, I’ll be headin’ out,” the other man said. He tipped his hat and left the building.

The old dog lay on a blanket, but raised its head to sniff the air. It didn’t look toward Sophie.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Seems fine. How are you?”

“What is that?” she asked, nodding toward the big cupboard against the interior wall.

“New gun cabinet,” he answered. “This is our temporary jail.”

She noted the freestanding cages that had been rigged together. There wasn’t a piece of paper in sight. It had struck her round about dawn that her escapade had been for naught since everything in the jail had been burned up without any help from her. Wasn’t that just her luck?

“I brought you this.” Reaching into her pocket, she produced a coin and held it out.

Clay saw the dollar, and knew she meant for him to have it. His first instinct was to refuse to accept it, but something in her expression warned him to reach for it.

She dropped the coin into his palm. “We’re straight now.”

“Hardly.”

“What do you mean?”

“You saved Sam from burning to death.”

“Yes, well you stood up for me that day. Over the broken plates I mean. You saved my job.”

“That was my fault anyway, so it’s not the same.”

“Just say we’re even.”

Beneath the brim of her beribboned straw hat her eyes were dark and deep, filled with feminine mysteries. Her delicate beauty belied the strength she exhibited and the wide stubborn streak he’d had cause to come up against. For some reason it was important to her that she not be beholden to him. Right then he understood and respected her even more. “We’re even.”

She glanced around the nearly empty room. “All right then.”

He didn’t want her to go. “Let me know if I can do anything for you.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

She turned on her heel and headed back into the bright sunlight. Once again Clay felt the heat. Eventually the subtle scent of lilacs dissipated and all that remained was the austere room, and the disturbing memory of Sophie.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Glad for that, Sophie took her three-day leave as planned. Bag packed, she showed her pass to the ticket agent and boarded a train headed for Wichita, though everyone believed she was going to meet an aunt in Kansas City. She’d heard recommendations for a moderately priced, clean and safe hotel, so she checked in and spent two days shopping and two evenings at the theater.

On her last night in a hotel room similar to the many others she’d lived in over the years, she sat near the window watching the street below and relishing her freedom by puffing on a two-dollar cigar.

Her reflection in the pane of glass showed an attractive young woman, a woman who received attention and invitations from men. She considered Amanda, a lovely girl with honey-colored hair and a bright smile, a wholesome and attractive young lady, and wondered how it could be that no one had taken a fancy to her yet. Was she too eager? Too available or unassertive? Perhaps when Sophie returned she might mention the appeal of mystery. Amanda deserved the husband and family she desired. It wouldn’t be long. Soon she would be married and have moved on to a new life.

An image of the Chaneys’ kitchen in Newton wavered in Sophie’s thoughts, and she remembered the family seated around that table. The vast differences in her life from everyone else’s struck her anew. The fact that she never returned interest in men set her apart from other women. What about five years from now, should her luck hold that long and her identity remain a secret? Ten years. Where did she see herself?

But she wasn’t looking for the same things, she assured herself. She had a different plan. She was setting aside money to start her own business. But somehow she needed to speed up the process.

Eventually no one would tell her what she could do or what she could wear or how to act. She would be…The reflection in the glass revealed smoke curling around her head into the room behind her. The empty room.

Was this how she intended to live her life from now on? Independent, but unattached? Free, but…

Dare she recognize the thought?

Lonely.

An all-consuming ache welled inside her chest and played havoc with her plans and her beliefs. She had nearly a year remaining on her contract. If she didn’t have enough money saved by then she could sign a new one. As long as she played things safe, her strategy was secure.

She would be set for the future. There was nothing wrong with that.

A spinster. She was making plans to be a spinster.

Independent,
she corrected. In charge of her own life. Her destiny was something she wasn’t willing to let go of.

But she didn’t have to be lonely, did she? The other girls accepted invitations to dinner, attended local dances. They blended in more that way, she realized, fit themselves into the community.

She could do that.

Sophie made a decision. She wasn’t going to be lonely. The next time an acceptable man offered her an invitation, she was taking it.

“Would you attend the dance at the Social Hall with me this Saturday, Miss Hollis?”

Louis Tripp owned a photography studio and ate in the dining hall three evenings a week. On several occasions he’d offered invitations, but she’d declined each time.

Sophie swallowed and remembered her vow before she spoke. He was boyishly handsome with a lean face and a cap of fair curly hair. His clothing was well-cut and pressed, and he displayed courtesy and good manners. Definitely an acceptable sort. “I’d be pleased to attend the dance with you, Mr. Tripp.”

Her answer caught him off guard, and his glance shot from her to his dinner plate and back again. “You will? I mean great. I mean, what a pleasure! I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

He grinned, showing straight teeth and laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t believe you said yes.” Immediately, he looked embarrassed to have spoken that aloud.

“Would you like another glass of milk?”

“I would! Thank you, Miss Hollis.”

“You may call me Sophie.”

“You’re the prettiest girl here, Sophie. And I the luckiest man.”

“You’re the most persistent for sure.”

He chuckled and she moved away.

“He ordered the veal,” Amanda said as Sophie poured milk at the counter. “The marshal.”

“I don’t care.”

“Black-eyed peas and mashed potatoes on the side.”

“Why is the marshal’s dinner of concern to me?” she asked.

“Come on, Sophie. Are you denying you have a yen for him?”

“Here’s a tidbit for you. I accepted an invitation to Saturday’s dance.”

Amanda’s wide pale eyes sparkled. “From who?”

“Louis Tripp.”

She squealed, and Sophie shushed her. “He’s so tall and handsome! Sophie, you never let on he was your type.”

“I don’t have a type. It’s just a dance, not a wedding.”

“I don’t believe you don’t want a husband. Every woman wants a husband.”

“How about a jailer? Do they all want one of those?”

Amanda slanted a questioning look at her, and Sophie knew she’d gone too far. She picked up the tray holding the glass of milk and walked away.

At precisely seven on Saturday evening, Louis was waiting for her in the same courting room where a dozen other men stood, hats in hand, hair slicked into place, like a row of shooting targets at a carnival.

When he saw Sophie, his face lit up. “You look beautiful—but you always look beautiful—what I meant to say is you
are
beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look quite nice yourself.”

His ears turned pink. “Shall we go? I have a buggy outside.”

“Will you help me with my shawl?” She held out the delicate lace and fringe scrap of fabric, and he slipped it over her shoulders.

He extended an elbow, and she took it.

He had indeed rented a buggy, complete with gas side lamps, which were as yet unlit since the sun hadn’t set.

“Have you been to the Social Hall on many occasions?” he asked.

“A few times when the girls had birthdays. Once when there was a wedding reception.”

“Do the girls marry often?”

She grinned. “As often as they can.”

He chuckled. “That didn’t come out right.”

They were among the first to arrive, and the musicians were warming up on the platform. “I guess we’re a little early,” he said. “I was in a bit of a rush.”

“That’s okay. Would you mind if we went for a walk?”

“Not at all. Where to?”

“I’m fond of the park.”

“Want to take the buggy?”

She shook her head.

They strolled along Eighth Street until they reached the trellis that marked the entrance to the park. Climbing yellow roses created a fragrant bower to pass through.

“I don’t walk to this park as often. It’s farther from the dormitory.” She offered him a smile. “This is nice.”

Bachelor buttons along the brick path drooped from the day’s heat.

“So you like to walk,” Louis said.

She nodded.

“What else, Sophie? Tell me more about you.”

“I’m just a boring Pennsylvania farm girl. Tell me about you.”

He told her how he’d become interested in photography as a young man. “One of the most regaled photographers of our century is coming to Newton in two weeks’ time.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. A. J. Russell has been commissioned by the railroad, surely you’ve heard.”

She shook her head.

“His shots of the newly expanded west are making history. The railroad has given him his own coach, and he sets up his equipment on a flatcar so he can shoot from the train. He’s assigned to photograph Mr. Harvey’s hotels and restaurants. All the employees will be photographed, too. Just think of it. You’ll be immortalized by a famous photographer. I plan to meet Mr. Russell while he’s here.”

Sophie’s brain stumbled over the “employees will be photographed” part, and she started planning how she would avoid participating. There were less prominent places she could have found work, but none of them paid as well as this job.

Her escort continued his earnest tale of how he had worked to buy his storefront and equipment, and she turned her attention back to what he was saying. “Someday I want a house and a family,” he added.