Under Starry Skies (7 page)

“A bar debt?” She raised a delicate eyebrow.

He grimaced and let out a long, audible breath. “No, for your help in delivering the mail.”

“You!” she shrieked as recognition dawned on her face. “You stole the mail!”

This time, he laughed, his green eyes sparkling like pieces of emeralds. It was a delightful, fun-filled, bubbling laugh.

“You. You’re a thief. A no-good thief!”

“No, Miss O’Donnell, I merely borrowed it. I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” He extracted a silver dollar, flipped it into the air, and deftly caught it in his palm. “I removed the letter I was looking for and returned the rest to the stage office in Pueblo to be distributed to all those poor dear friends and relatives awaiting news of their loved ones from back home.”

She glared at him, ignoring his attempt at sarcasm. “It’s a federal offense.”

“The federal government has offended me by insisting I’m a Northern deserter and traitor because I misplaced my army papers. The only reason I’m coming to you is so my thievery won’t be disclosed should you stumble across me in town and recognize me.”

“Hah, what makes you think I’d remain silent?” she challenged.

Brett gave her an indulgent smile. My, she was a feisty one, just as Tye had warned. “Because your uncle owes me two hundred dollars.” He picked up the most recent ledger she had been reading and deftly leafed through the pages.

“Now, see here, just a minute. You can’t go poking around in someone’s personal accounts!” She jumped up and reached for the ledger.

“Now, now.” He held the book over his head, out of her reach. “And what were you doing, but poking in them as well?” He lowered the ledger and flipped through the pages until he found the date and entry he wanted. “Look here.” He shoved it toward her. “It was just a small gambling debt Henry owed me.”

“Gambling?” She looked at the figure with knitted brows. “Two hundred dollars? My uncle was never one to play games of chance.”

“Cards, Miss O’Donnell, cards. There’s always the first time, and he wasn’t very good at it.” He watched her face redden in anger.

“What makes you think one indiscriminate act by my uncle will keep me from disclosing your lawless brazen act?”

“Oh, come, Miss O’Donnell, this is a small town. You don’t strike me as a person who’d want to blacken your deceased uncle’s reputation, nor your aunt’s, not if you’re even considering opening the inn and barroom. And think of your sister. What would the townspeople and school board think if they thought the schoolmarm’s late uncle was less than an upstanding citizen?”

“That’s blackmail!” Abigail’s hands flew up in the air.

Brett grabbed one of her flying hands, opened her palm, and dropped the silver dollar into it.

“Keep it,” she said, shoving it toward him. “You shall have your money as soon as the inn is reopened and on its feet again. I assure you, you’ll be the first to be paid.”

He laughed softly but refused to take the coin. “You really do have a temper, Miss O’Donnell. I think it would be best if I stopped by when we both have more time to spare, and we can discuss this further.” He spun on his heels, and before she could utter another word, he walked to the door. He stopped, his hand resting on the knob, and grew serious. “I’m pretty fair at keeping books myself. If you need any help deciphering your uncle’s ledgers, I’d be willing to lend a hand. You can find me down at the lumberyard.” He stepped through the door, closing it solidly behind him, whistling as he walked out onto the porch.

****

Tye had promised himself two women and two crates of nitroglycerin were enough excitement to last a lifetime. But when Amos needed a place to stay, he couldn’t refuse. He had never abandoned any man down on his luck, and lately, the farmhouse was far too lonely and quiet at times to suit him.

His oldest brother, Flint, had married Julia Gast, a red-haired potter, seven years ago and moved onto her neighboring place along Cherry Creek, and his other brother, Marcus, had married a Swedish gal who worked with Julia. Marcus and Anna had built a small ranch house several miles away from Flint and Julia’s homestead. His sister, Betsy, still preferred to spend most of her time in town overseeing the General Store, which she now owned. And his brother who was a U.S marshall spent most of his time up north, trying to keep law and order in the Territory.

The evening had proven to be more entertaining than he had ever imagined. The superstitious old man had lifted a second bottle of whiskey from Cousin Adam’s casket, rationalizing if they were both fool enough to be willing to be blown to bits and fed to the fish, they deserved to properly celebrate the escapade at the expense of the O’Donnell sisters. They had almost tied on a good one when Brett arrived as cranky as a polecat, rubbing his sore jaw. The rest of the evening was a ribald string of war stories sprinkled with tales and antics of the two O’Donnell sisters, provided by Amos.

Now, as he rode with Maria to the schoolhouse, with Swamp trotting along beside them, Tye wondered whether he was as transparent as a two-way mirror. He was becoming enamored with the young woman’s quiet, gentle ways. Her beauty was exquisite, almost fragile, from her perfect oval face to her dusty rose-colored cheeks.

He pulled the buggy to a stop just outside town where the old granite cemetery was situated along a chokecherry-lined road leading to the school. The sun shining through the leafy foliage turned the roadway into speckled scene of shadows and light.

“My uncle, is he buried here?” Maria asked.

He nodded and helped her down from the buggy, wordlessly guiding her through the wrought iron gates at the entrance until they arrived at a recent burial plot near the far back. Fresh fall flowers, marigolds and asters, adorned the earthen mound of Henry McNeil where a marker had yet to be placed. Tye quietly walked back to the front of the cemetery, aware of her need for solitary reflection.

She said nothing when she returned several minutes later, and he helped her into the buggy. Instead, they rode in thoughtful silence until they reached the school. It was a little white rectangular building with a row of windows on each side, and a cast iron bell beside a cherry bright red door. A well with a pitcher pump was barely a few feet to the right of the door.

“Now don’t get your hopes up,” he warned. “It’s only a little rural dwelling and hasn’t been touched since school let out for summer. I understand the school board has money for renovations, books, and supplies, but they were waiting to see what your priorities might be.” He secured the horse and buggy to a hitching rail to the front left side of the structure.

Undaunted, she smiled. “I’m sure it’s charming. I’m used to far worse conditions than you might imagine. The school I taught in had a faulty chimney, and more often than not, was cold or filled with smoke.”

“Well, ours has been known to do the same, though I doubt it was from a malfunctioning chimney.” He chuckled. “Some of our creative troublemakers have been known to crawl up on the roof and stuff the chimney with everything from clothes to dried grass, even books, in hopes of smoking up the classroom and buying themselves some time from their studies.”

“I’ll remember.” She laughed. “I’ll try to keep a stern hand on their antics and keep them away from the roof.”

Her soft rippling laugh was the first Tye had heard since she learned of her uncle’s death six days ago. Together, they entered the building, and he sensed her pleasure as soon as she stepped inside. The one-room interior held three rows of seven oak desks with benches marching up the room to end before a raised platform with a teacher’s desk. Behind it, a huge piece of slate hung on the back wall with bookshelves on both sides, and to the right, a shiny potbellied stove stood with a wood box and bin for coal. Trunks below the platform kept books and supplies safe from dampness and dust.

“The windows, oh my,” she said, sweeping her hand to the left and right. “There’s so much light.”

“Yes, you’ll have the warmth of the morning sun and a view of all the students who arrive, using the main path. The curtains have been taken down to be washed, and I understand there are heavier ones for the cold weather to help trap the heat inside. “

“It’s…it’s…it’s delightful!” She twirled in the dusty sunlight like a young school girl herself. Then she stopped, blushed, and straightened her dress. “Forgive me, I’m so enchanted, I lost myself in the joyful moment. How many children will I have?”

Elbows crossed, his back against the back wall, he watched her with an appreciative eye, pleased by her response, pleased just to be able to look at her. “I believe the school board said there would be about nineteen pupils ranging in ages from six to fourteen. Why don’t you check out the books?”

She crossed the room to the trunks, knelt, and opened a lid on one of them, lifting out a primer. She nimbly leafed through the pages, no stranger to the book’s contents.

He came to stand above her. “All of my family are avid readers. It was a habit passed down from my mother and father. We have an extensive library at the ranch if you need more books. I can take you out there sometime to look through them.”

“It’s kind of you to offer.” She rose, swiping her palms together to dislodge any dust. She looked at him and smiled. “I understand my uncle was also fond of reading.”

“Yes, he was.”

“And do you have any favorite authors?”

She was standing so close to him he could smell her rose perfume. “I’ve read most of Cooper’s and Irving’s works. Winters can be long here.” Her nearness kindled feelings of fire and desire. He met her gentle gaze with one almost as intimate as a kiss. They stared at each other from several seconds, mud brown eyes with cinnamon brown ones, before he broke the spell and silence. “However, before we start getting the school house in order, I think it’s best if we make the cottage as clean and comfortable as possible.”

She must have felt the heat, too, because she took a step back. Her cheeks turned a darker shade of rose. She cleared her throat. “Tell me, Mr. Ashmore, how closely did my aunt follow the war?”

“Call me Tye,” he said softly, then shrugged. “If you mean was she a professed Southern sympathizer, I can’t rightly say. She never openly admitted she was, although it’s no secret she originally came from Georgia. Now, your uncle, he made it pretty well known he supported the Union cause. Why do you ask?”

Maria sighed. “Oh, nothing, it’s just my aunt seems to have a great admiration for Southern songs. Already, just after one night, I’ve had enough of the “Bonnie Blue Flag” to last a lifetime.”

Chapter Five

The next few days passed in a whir of activity for the O’Donnell sisters. The cottage was moving toward restoration with the help of a volunteer work party organized by Betsy and Tye Ashmore. Somehow, Tye had secured lumber, supplies, and shingles free of charge. Abigail and Maria were amazed at the esteem the Ashmore family held in the eyes of the entire community. In fact, it seemed the family name was known throughout the entire territory.

Abigail and Amos immediately set to work on the barroom and rehired the old stable master, Will Singer, as a handy man and to help haul lumber from a nearby mill. Abigail was adamant they should avoid Brett Trumble’s establishment. The last thing she wanted to do was be further indebted to him. On the insistence of Aunt Emma, she hired a thin, pale-looking man to help with the stables who called himself Lanky Red, but whose given name was Lang Redford.

Now, as she watched Amos, Lang, and Will tear up the old splintered floor in the barroom and replace it with cherry planks, she darted about, inspecting every inch as it progressed.

“Miss Abby, do you know the meaning of skedaddle?” Amos spit out a nail he held between his lips. He knelt and snugly positioned another floor board. “Maybe Maria could use your help at the cottage?”

“No, she sent me here,” Abigail confessed. “Anyhow, Tye has more parents and volunteers from the school board than tools.”

“Maybe the group of church ladies I hired to start on the rooms upstairs could use your assistance?”

“I tried, but after two minutes they shooed me away and were less than gentle when they suggested it might be better if we didn’t work together. They sent me down here.”

Amos shook his head wearily and rose. He ambled to the kitchen and returned swinging a small, tin bucket in his hand. “We could use a few late berries for a cobbler or pie. Why don’t you take a walk and scour the berry patches along the woods near the stables?”

“Amos, I do believe you’re trying to be rid of me, just like Maria and those church ladies.” Abigail faked a pout and crossed her arms at her chest.

“Miss Abby, I do believe your constant motion and unbridled eagerness is beginning to set everyone’s teeth on edge.” He pushed the bucket into her hands and nudged her toward the door. “Stay out long enough to get a bucketful, and please stay out of trouble! Watch out for snakes. Tye tells me there are rattlesnakes underfoot in these parts.”

Minutes later, Abigail found herself climbing the steep slope behind the stables where a small footpath, used by deer and wild game, wound its way upward among briars which held a few late black berries still undiscovered by hungry birds. At the crest of the slope, she looked down upon Cherry Creek flowing joyfully along, held fast to its course by its green, grassy banks. She easily picked out the Mule Shed Inn towering over the town like a German castle on the Rhine. Onward, she trudged until she wandered into a clearing at the edge of the dense woods where late blooming berry bushes bowed down with overripe fruit sending off a sweet delicious scent into the air. Careful of the thorns, she began to pick the berries, sampling as many as she put into her bucket. She moved quickly around the perimeter of the patch, careful to watch where she stepped, remembering Amos’s warning about snakes.

But the threat came from above. A deep-throated snarl split the air before she had time to react. High on a pine limb above her head, a full-grown lynx peered at her from a crouched position. Abigail froze, dropping her bucket as her heart leaped to her throat. The mottled gray brown face with its hazel eyes stared menacingly at her. It was a magnificent beast, its body sleek, streaked with shades of chestnut and grays. Tufts of hair beside its ears and the ruff beside its face made it appear like an old unshaven man.