Posted 05-07-19
Revised 06-09-19
By Christopher Leeson
Chapter 1, Part 2
December 19, 1871, Continued
The aunt and niece found Molly waiting for them at the bench outside the Wells Fargo Bank. Reunited, they walked to Kirby Pinter's book shop. The owner was a young man in this thirties with a round face and brown, thinning hair. His sideburns were robust, as was the mustache that flowed across his cheeks to merge with them.
“Myra loves to read,” Irene told Mr. Pinter. “I think you'll be seeing her around the shop from time to time.”
Kirby smiled. “Let me guess,” he said to Myra, “you especially like romances and love stories.”
The auburn frowned. “Tomfoolery for empty heads. I want to read about foreign places. Adventure stories are all right, too, if they have enough sword-fighting.”
The shopkeeper's smile grew even broader. “Such an adventurous and imaginative young lady! I know of a book that's full of brave deeds and feats of arms. Are you familiar with Le Mort d'Arthur?”
Myra's brows knitted. “Is that Dutch?”
“It's a French title, but the book is English.” Kirby bustled to his step ladder and drew down from a high shelf a fancily embossed volume with gilded edges. He climbed down and handed it to his young visitor.
“Nice pictures,” she said, flipping though the pages. “I read a few stories about knights in some of our school books.”
“Yes, these legends are very old and they have shaped the character of many a boy and girl for the better.”
Myra knitted her brows. “What does it cost?”
“Just a dollar!” the shopkeeper responded brightly.
“Well, I don't have any money at all,” she replied.
“We'd better save this one for a special occasion,” suggested Mrs. Fanning. “Do you have any new dime novels, Mr. Pinter?”
“For your own reading?” Kirby asked wryly.
“Oh, my goodness, no! It's the young people who can't seem to get enough of those sorts of stories.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “They truly are popular, especially with school-age boys. But I scarcely would have guessed that so much blood and thunder would appeal to a young lady.”
“As you've found out,” Irene advised, “Myra has an adventurous imagination.”
“Do you have anything about Jesse James?” the girl interjected.
“About outlaws?” exclaimed Irene. Then her perturbed expression transformed to whimsy. “Surely, the exploits of such black-hearted villains would keep an innocent girl awake at night. Mr. Pinter, do you have any magazines dealing with explorers or lawmen?”
“Oh, yes,” Kirby affirmed cheerfully. “Both topics are very popular.” He picked out a couple of magazines from his available stock and offered them to Myra.
While Kirby attended to her companions, Molly had been exploring the shelves. “Here's just what ye need t'turn a tomboy into a beacon of society,” she spoke up, holding out a book for Irene to see.
The latter accepted it and read the title: The Laws of Health in Relation to the Human Form by D.G. Brinton, M.D. Paging through it, she saw that the first chapter discussed left-handedness. Further along, there were chapters dealing with bad habits, the care of the ears, the nose and, in fact, almost every part of the body.
“It does look interesting, Molly, but it contains so much personal detail that a young lady might not be ready for it.”
“Suit yerself,” the Irish woman said, shrugging. “But I'd say that today's young ladies are a wee bit different from what they used t'be. And tomorrow, I'm thinking, they'll be more different still.”
“I think that this one would make a good read,” Myra broken in, displaying a dime novel to her guardian.
“Very well,” consented Irene. Then she returned her attention to the tract in her hands. She was getting second thoughts. It might be better to allow Myra to read something written by a medical man, and in that way learn things about a woman's body that should not be broached by anyone other than a decidedly mature woman or a doctor.
Kirby Pinter wrapped the magazine and book separately, binding them with lengths of string. Once Molly and companions were back outside, she ushered them along the boardwalk to the news office. She did not think they would mind getting a good story about a young lady who had been abducted by outlaws. It they published the story it would inform everyone of Myra's arrival at the same time.
The saloon-keeper only paused long enough to scan the advertisements posted on the shop's exterior bulletin board.
Then, looking through the glass, she took note that the printer, Roscoe Unger, seemed to be very busy at his press. Not wanting to bother the man in the midst of what might be important work, she rethought the idea of disturbing him. She mentioned her misgivings to Irene, who agreed.
“Well, then,” the widow considered, “we might as well get on with our other errands. I want take the fresh can of milk to Carmen Whitney, and pick up her empty.”
“Who's this Carmen?” Myra asked.
“She's the sister to Ramon de Augilar,” Irene replied, “and also to Gregorio, the Mexican rancher out by Yuma. She's married to Whit Whitney, the barber. She also runs the bathhouse.”
Myra shrugged. She barely knew the barber, and knew his Mexican wife not at all.
“Mil gracias,” Mrs. Whitney thanked them inside her bathhouse office, which had been the usual place for Irene's milk deliveries. “The milk that I still have left I do not think would have lasted until morning. But I did not want to send a messenger to remind you, because everyone has heard about the banditos doing so much harm to your family. Siento.”
Carmen Whitney was a light-bodied woman in her thirties. Her slenderness was accented by the way that she wore her dark locks drawn back into a bun. She was protecting her striped frock with a rubberized apron, since bathhouse workers frequently encountered sloshing water.
“Farmers must keep so busy all the time. Have you gotten all your Christmas shopping done?” the proprietress asked.
Mrs. Fanning shook her head. “I've fallen very far behind. That's one reason I'm in town today. But in truth, since coming to Eerie, I haven't done very much for Christmas. In Pennsylvania, before all the sadness of the war, it was much different.” She smiled. “I remember how the German around our little town used to cut down a small pine tree and bring it into their homes for Christmas. They dressed it up with candles and trinkets and called it a tannenbaum.”
“Land sakes! What does the word means?” asked Molly.
“It means a fir tree.”
“What in St. Patrick's name does taking a tree into a house have to do with Christmas?”
Irene shrugged. “I'm not sure. The Germans didn't explain it very well. But the royal family in England likes the idea, too. The queen puts up a Christmas tannenbaum every year, even though her German prince died a decade ago.”
“Many different people have many different customs,” Carmen observed with a shake of her head. She turned to Myra. “So, you are Senora Fanning's niece.”
Myra tried not to frown. “Yeah. What of it?”
“Do you come from Pennsylvania, also?”
Myra thought before speaking. The real Abigail had been born in Pennsylvania, but after his uncle's death her mother had taken her to her parents' home. “No, I'm from New Jersey.” She pursed her lips, trying to remember the town's name.
“Folsom, New Jersey,” Irene put in. “A lovely town.”
“Is it near the sea, Myra?” Carmen asked.
“Ah....no,” stammered the ginger-haired girl.
“Is it a large city?”
Unsure, Myra ventured, “It's larger than Eerie.”
Carmen laughed. “Very many places are. But Eerie today is much larger than it used to be. I was born a few years before the war and the pueblo was then so small that my padres hardly bothered to visit it at all. Our tenants made almost everything we needed at the hacienda.”
“You don't look that young,” observed Myra.
“Listen, my girl...” the widow began.
“It is bueno. A misunderstanding,” said Carmen. “I do not speak of your Civil War, muchacha, but the war between Mexico and the United States. Eerie was called Cadena Roja at that time. It means Red Ridge. There were no real stores to shop in. From time to time, a few useful things were brought in by traders, but mostly the people made for themselves what they needed. Some people knew how to grow, raise, or craft products that others couldn't, and these they sold on market day in the town square. Vegetables, fruit, livestock, chickens, pottery. The first American soldiers who came though didn't think that our little pueblo was at all important, and so rode on by without stopping. But, pretty soon, Yankee people were settling all around, even in Cadena Roja. Qué lástima, only the old families use that name any longer. The high ground is now called Chiricahua Ridge. When the American gold-seekers found the old Indian ruins among the rocks, they thought that they looked 'eerie.' Because of that, the pueblo received a new name.”
“I heard you used to be rich,” stated Carmen's young visitor.
“Myra!” admonished Irene.
Carmen smiled. “Because I lived at a hacienda? Yes, my father had much land and many cattle. My brother Gregorio has been a good steward of what was passed on to him and is still a wealthy man. But I am richer than he is, and in a better way. The wealth that brings joy to the soul is the happiness of a person's home. I have a family and I have friends. I have a new casa one that my husband built. I also have a business of my own. I have the better kind of gold, though I think the prospectors would disagree.”
“A lot of people would,” observed Myra.
Irene appeared pained; Molly, gazed toward the wall, and shook her head slightly.
The small talk went on for just a short while longer, then Carmen rose from the small table that served as her desk. “Dispenseme; it is time for me to open the bathhouse.”
“In that case, we won't keep ye any longer, Carmen dearie,” said Molly.
The visit being concluded, the three excused themselves. Mrs. Fanning carried the returned milk can out to the buckboard, and, once there, gave vent to her irritation. “Myra, why must you always show such poor manners?”
“What's poor about them? I didn't mention the problems I have with Mexicans.”
“We should be grateful for small favors. But shouldn't you consider a person's feelings before you bring up any subject?”
“How am I supposed to know what somebody else is feeling?”
Irene obviously didn't like that answer, but Molly touched her hand. “Myra's not used t'being around people, especially as a lassie. Things will get better, mark me words. The saloon outlaws were rough-talkers at first, too, but they soon enough found out that their days passed easier if they could be making people like them.”
The saloonkeeper now shifted and looked the seventeen-year-old in the eyes. “Maybe ye remember that ye used to be about as welcome as a chicken-stealing coyote around town, but now ye have a clean record. It's like ye've gotten a pardon for everything ye've been doing to make a mess of yuir life up to now. What are ye going to do with that chance?”
“I'd rather be treated like a coyote than a girl,” she replied.
“Is that so?” asked Irene. “You'll get along better as a girl. People give girls gumdrops, but they shoot coyotes. Haven't you had your fill of getting shot at?”
“Be patient,” said the Irish woman. “She has a lot to be angry about. But anger makes for a heavy load if ye're shouldering it all the time. By and by, the saloon ladies decided that they didn't like toting all that weight around. So will Myra, I'm thinking.”
“If we want people to like her, do you think we dare let her go to the Christmas dance while she's so unready?” asked the widow.
“Keep your dance!” Myra snapped. “I never wanted to go!”
Molly shook her head. “Irene, I know ye're toting a tidy load with this lass on yuir back. She's all spice and hot candy, that's a fact. But whenever Miss Myra gets to be too much to handle, we can find a place for her at the saloon. She can sleep with the potion girls. We can always use a hard worker, since there'll being a bushel and a peck of scrubbing and cleaning to do around the saloon between Christmas and New Years.”
“No!” declared Myra.
The girl's aunt shook her head. “Before we do anything drastic, let's see if she behaves sensibly at the party.”
“It's up to ye,” said Molly. “But on the subject of the party, I was wondering if ye need a person to fit your and Myra's party dresses. If ye do, I have a suggestion.”
“Who?” asked Irene.
“Are ye acquainted with Teresa Diaz?”
“Not personally. I know that she's the most popular laundress in Eerie, but I've always done my own clothes. Is she a good seamstress?”
“The ladies I know swear by her.”
“But do you think that she'll have time to fit two dresses before Saturday evening? The party may be bringing her many other customers this week.”
“We can only be asking her.”
Molly led her companions to a modest house behind the main street. There, the Irishwoman told them, the widow Diaz lived with her four children. One of them happened to be Arnie, the boy whom they had found working at the Eerie saloon. Though they were making this visit on impulse, they were fortunate enough to find the laundress/seamstress at home.
Myra passed through the front door frowning. She didn't like Arnie Diaz, but more important than that, the girl didn't care for the idea of hanging around with strangers. Some careless comment on her part might make a person suspicious, and a laundress could spread the gossip all over town in no time.
They were ushered into a little living room cluttered with baskets of laundry. The air was heavy with the smell of dirty clothes and wet wash. Teresa seemed about forty and looked like a person who had had more than her share of hard work. “Por supuesto!” Senora Diaz told her visitors after being appraised of their pressing needs. “Of course I can fix the two dresses that you need! Muchas gracias for thinking of me.”
“People say your work is excellent. I don't know what I would have done if you turned out to be busy,” Irene replied.
"There's not much time left before the Christmas party,” Molly added. “Will ye be able to be getting so much sewing done by Saturday morning?”
Teresa became thoughtful. “To be certain, the time is short. I would like to begin tomorrow. Will eight in the morning be all right, Señora Fanning?”
“That should be fine,” replied the farm woman. “I'm sorry to come to you with so much last-minute work, but I only was invited to the dance yesterday, and only bought my new dress this morning.”
“Comprendo. Much work for the fiesta has come in already, but I have been able to keep up. My hija, Contanza, helps me. She is very good with the needle herself.” The laundress glanced toward Myra. “Señorita, we you in school with Constanza, or with my son Arnoldo?”
“Myra has only come to Eerie last week,” spoke up Irene. “She was left orphaned by the death of her mother this summer.”
“Pobrecita!” declared the señora. “So sorry to hear of that.”
Myra shrugged.
Not wanted to keep Teresa from what seemed like a heavy work load, Molly and Irene brought the visit to a swift conclusion. Once out in the street, the saloonkeeper asked your younger friend, “Where are we off to next?”
Mrs. Fanning frowned. “Before I start the serious shopping, I want to introduce Myra to Reverend Yingling. If she comes across as a fine girl, he'll speak well of her to the whole congregation. After that, Myra and I will finish up our trip buying groceries for the holiday. And we especially need to stock up on dry mash for the horses and cattle. If we could just get a little ahead of our expenses, we'd be able to buy a grain-grinder of our own.”
“If ye're still in town when the noon bell rings, swing by the saloon for lunch,” suggested Molly.
“Oh, you're leaving us so soon?”
“It would be awkward, me going t'see the reverend. He has no liking for houses of gambling and whiskey-selling. Also, we O'Tooles are just a wee bit too papist for the pious man's taste, I do believe.”
“I understand,” Irene said sympathetically.
This being Tuesday, Irene was hoping that the Methodist minister might be found at home. The Yinglings owned one of the better houses in Eerie, built in the octagonal style. Irene admired the veranda that entirely surrounded the two-story home. Its design guaranteed that some part of the porch would always be shady during the course of a hot day.
The widow tapped on the clergyman's door and the mistress of the house quickly arrived to open it. Irene knew Mrs. Martha Yingling well from church. She was a short, plump woman with a pleasant face and alert eyes. Her house dress was well-laundered and of good quality.
“Mrs. Fanning!” the minister's wife exclaimed. “What brings you this way on a weekday morning? Then her cheery tone faded. “I'm sorry. Everyone has heard about the your nephew and what the robbers did.”
Irene glanced down, preferring not to have to say anything deceitful in order to protect what was a false story.
Respectfully, the homemaker said, “The reverend hoped you would be at church Sunday, given your recent tragedy. But then the word came that those wicked bandits had returned, stole your horses, kidnapped your visitor, and kept you prisoner in your own house! Because he hadn't heard from you, the reverend was determined to ride out to your home this very afternoon.”
“It was all so shocking,” Irene agreed, “but I have a happier reason to come by. My niece Myra Olcott has only lately arrived from the East. I'd like to introduce her to the pastor.”
“Oh, of course!” Mrs. Yingling responded brightly. “The parson will be overjoyed to meet one who may soon become our newest parishioner.” The lady of the house stood back from the threshold as a gesture of welcome.
Mrs. Yingling then guided them into the minister's office. Thaddeus Yingling looked up from his writing and recognized Mrs. Fanning.
The reverend was a big man and he looked bigger still seated at such a small desk. Though his curly hair was mostly gray, his arms were as thick as a working man's and his shoulders were broad, square, and solid. Beyond his stature, his intense glance conveyed the impression that he was someone to reckon with.
“Sister Irene!” Yingling exclaimed, his voice deep and resonate. “I was intending to make a call on you later today. We're delighted to find you up and about. I heard the sad news about your harrowing experience.”
“Thaddeus,” spoke up Martha, “there is good news. Irene has brought her niece from back East to meet with her new pastor.”
Yingling rose and stepped out from behind his desk. “That pleases me very much indeed.” His intimidating gaze fell on Myra. Though Myron had not been fond of any of the town folk, he had a special aversion for the opinionated and high-handed minister.
The tall man smiled. “On behalf of all the citizens of Eerie, I would express the fond hope that you shall find peace and friendship here among our congregation. Are you a Fanning or a Caldwell?”
“Olcott,” the maiden responded glumly.
He regarded Myra through narrowed eyes. “You appear somewhat dejected. Well, I should think that is natural enough, considering all that has befallen you and your aunt over the weekend. And, of course, I am especially grieved about what happened to young Thorn only last week.”
“Yes, Reverend,” broke in Irene, “but my niece has even more reason for sorrow than what you may know. She lost her father just a few years ago, and this summer her mother passed on, also. She's been left alone in the world and has come from New Jersey to live with me on the farm.”
“A double bereavement! I am at a loss for words!”
“I'm fine,” Myra said.
He nodded. “Courage is a wonderful quality, but it can be a mistake to try to appear stronger on the outside than you truly are on the inside. There is no shame in venting tears, most especially when one is a very young woman scarcely out of childhood.”
Myra had always thought that the man was annoying, but this awkward interview was rapidly hardening her in that opinion.
“Please, Mrs. Fanning, Miss Myra, take your ease upon my chesterfield. Martha will bring refreshments. I would very much like to give you the cheering comfort of the Lord's words. There is an especially apt story that seldom fails to soothe people who find themselves in such a plight as your own.”
“No, thank you, Reverend. I think we should be...” began the maiden.
The girl felt her aunt's touch. “It's all right, Myra. We should listen. Sometimes we all need to draw from a source of strength that is beyond our own.”
Frustrated, the girl shuffled to the couch and plopped into it; her aunt assumed a place beside her. The minister then picked up a Bible from his desk and located the chapter he was seeking.
“The Lord himself was not ashamed to show sorrow,” the parson said. “He cried human tears for the same reasons that we do. But tears convey compassion, not weakness. He was mighty enough to bear all the sins of the world to the cross for our sake."
At that point, the clergyman commenced to read aloud the story of Lazarus in his tomb, and of the sorrow of his sisters, from John, Chapter 11.
TO BE CONTINUED, Chapter 2, Part 1
The aunt and niece found Molly waiting for them at the bench outside the Wells Fargo Bank. Reunited, they walked to Kirby Pinter's book shop. The owner was a young man in this thirties with a round face and brown, thinning hair. His sideburns were robust, as was the mustache that flowed across his cheeks to merge with them.
“Myra loves to read,” Irene told Mr. Pinter. “I think you'll be seeing her around the shop from time to time.”
Kirby smiled. “Let me guess,” he said to Myra, “you especially like romances and love stories.”
The auburn frowned. “Tomfoolery for empty heads. I want to read about foreign places. Adventure stories are all right, too, if they have enough sword-fighting.”
The shopkeeper's smile grew even broader. “Such an adventurous and imaginative young lady! I know of a book that's full of brave deeds and feats of arms. Are you familiar with Le Mort d'Arthur?”
Myra's brows knitted. “Is that Dutch?”
“It's a French title, but the book is English.” Kirby bustled to his step ladder and drew down from a high shelf a fancily embossed volume with gilded edges. He climbed down and handed it to his young visitor.
“Nice pictures,” she said, flipping though the pages. “I read a few stories about knights in some of our school books.”
“Yes, these legends are very old and they have shaped the character of many a boy and girl for the better.”
Myra knitted her brows. “What does it cost?”
“Just a dollar!” the shopkeeper responded brightly.
“Well, I don't have any money at all,” she replied.
“We'd better save this one for a special occasion,” suggested Mrs. Fanning. “Do you have any new dime novels, Mr. Pinter?”
“For your own reading?” Kirby asked wryly.
“Oh, my goodness, no! It's the young people who can't seem to get enough of those sorts of stories.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “They truly are popular, especially with school-age boys. But I scarcely would have guessed that so much blood and thunder would appeal to a young lady.”
“As you've found out,” Irene advised, “Myra has an adventurous imagination.”
“Do you have anything about Jesse James?” the girl interjected.
“About outlaws?” exclaimed Irene. Then her perturbed expression transformed to whimsy. “Surely, the exploits of such black-hearted villains would keep an innocent girl awake at night. Mr. Pinter, do you have any magazines dealing with explorers or lawmen?”
“Oh, yes,” Kirby affirmed cheerfully. “Both topics are very popular.” He picked out a couple of magazines from his available stock and offered them to Myra.
While Kirby attended to her companions, Molly had been exploring the shelves. “Here's just what ye need t'turn a tomboy into a beacon of society,” she spoke up, holding out a book for Irene to see.
The latter accepted it and read the title: The Laws of Health in Relation to the Human Form by D.G. Brinton, M.D. Paging through it, she saw that the first chapter discussed left-handedness. Further along, there were chapters dealing with bad habits, the care of the ears, the nose and, in fact, almost every part of the body.
“It does look interesting, Molly, but it contains so much personal detail that a young lady might not be ready for it.”
“Suit yerself,” the Irish woman said, shrugging. “But I'd say that today's young ladies are a wee bit different from what they used t'be. And tomorrow, I'm thinking, they'll be more different still.”
“I think that this one would make a good read,” Myra broken in, displaying a dime novel to her guardian.
“Very well,” consented Irene. Then she returned her attention to the tract in her hands. She was getting second thoughts. It might be better to allow Myra to read something written by a medical man, and in that way learn things about a woman's body that should not be broached by anyone other than a decidedly mature woman or a doctor.
Kirby Pinter wrapped the magazine and book separately, binding them with lengths of string. Once Molly and companions were back outside, she ushered them along the boardwalk to the news office. She did not think they would mind getting a good story about a young lady who had been abducted by outlaws. It they published the story it would inform everyone of Myra's arrival at the same time.
The saloon-keeper only paused long enough to scan the advertisements posted on the shop's exterior bulletin board.
Then, looking through the glass, she took note that the printer, Roscoe Unger, seemed to be very busy at his press. Not wanting to bother the man in the midst of what might be important work, she rethought the idea of disturbing him. She mentioned her misgivings to Irene, who agreed.
“Well, then,” the widow considered, “we might as well get on with our other errands. I want take the fresh can of milk to Carmen Whitney, and pick up her empty.”
“Who's this Carmen?” Myra asked.
“She's the sister to Ramon de Augilar,” Irene replied, “and also to Gregorio, the Mexican rancher out by Yuma. She's married to Whit Whitney, the barber. She also runs the bathhouse.”
Myra shrugged. She barely knew the barber, and knew his Mexican wife not at all.
#
Carmen Whitney was a light-bodied woman in her thirties. Her slenderness was accented by the way that she wore her dark locks drawn back into a bun. She was protecting her striped frock with a rubberized apron, since bathhouse workers frequently encountered sloshing water.
“Farmers must keep so busy all the time. Have you gotten all your Christmas shopping done?” the proprietress asked.
Mrs. Fanning shook her head. “I've fallen very far behind. That's one reason I'm in town today. But in truth, since coming to Eerie, I haven't done very much for Christmas. In Pennsylvania, before all the sadness of the war, it was much different.” She smiled. “I remember how the German around our little town used to cut down a small pine tree and bring it into their homes for Christmas. They dressed it up with candles and trinkets and called it a tannenbaum.”
“Land sakes! What does the word means?” asked Molly.
“It means a fir tree.”
“What in St. Patrick's name does taking a tree into a house have to do with Christmas?”
Irene shrugged. “I'm not sure. The Germans didn't explain it very well. But the royal family in England likes the idea, too. The queen puts up a Christmas tannenbaum every year, even though her German prince died a decade ago.”
“Many different people have many different customs,” Carmen observed with a shake of her head. She turned to Myra. “So, you are Senora Fanning's niece.”
Myra tried not to frown. “Yeah. What of it?”
“Do you come from Pennsylvania, also?”
Myra thought before speaking. The real Abigail had been born in Pennsylvania, but after his uncle's death her mother had taken her to her parents' home. “No, I'm from New Jersey.” She pursed her lips, trying to remember the town's name.
“Folsom, New Jersey,” Irene put in. “A lovely town.”
“Is it near the sea, Myra?” Carmen asked.
“Ah....no,” stammered the ginger-haired girl.
“Is it a large city?”
Unsure, Myra ventured, “It's larger than Eerie.”
Carmen laughed. “Very many places are. But Eerie today is much larger than it used to be. I was born a few years before the war and the pueblo was then so small that my padres hardly bothered to visit it at all. Our tenants made almost everything we needed at the hacienda.”
“You don't look that young,” observed Myra.
“Listen, my girl...” the widow began.
“It is bueno. A misunderstanding,” said Carmen. “I do not speak of your Civil War, muchacha, but the war between Mexico and the United States. Eerie was called Cadena Roja at that time. It means Red Ridge. There were no real stores to shop in. From time to time, a few useful things were brought in by traders, but mostly the people made for themselves what they needed. Some people knew how to grow, raise, or craft products that others couldn't, and these they sold on market day in the town square. Vegetables, fruit, livestock, chickens, pottery. The first American soldiers who came though didn't think that our little pueblo was at all important, and so rode on by without stopping. But, pretty soon, Yankee people were settling all around, even in Cadena Roja. Qué lástima, only the old families use that name any longer. The high ground is now called Chiricahua Ridge. When the American gold-seekers found the old Indian ruins among the rocks, they thought that they looked 'eerie.' Because of that, the pueblo received a new name.”
“I heard you used to be rich,” stated Carmen's young visitor.
“Myra!” admonished Irene.
Carmen smiled. “Because I lived at a hacienda? Yes, my father had much land and many cattle. My brother Gregorio has been a good steward of what was passed on to him and is still a wealthy man. But I am richer than he is, and in a better way. The wealth that brings joy to the soul is the happiness of a person's home. I have a family and I have friends. I have a new casa one that my husband built. I also have a business of my own. I have the better kind of gold, though I think the prospectors would disagree.”
“A lot of people would,” observed Myra.
Irene appeared pained; Molly, gazed toward the wall, and shook her head slightly.
The small talk went on for just a short while longer, then Carmen rose from the small table that served as her desk. “Dispenseme; it is time for me to open the bathhouse.”
“In that case, we won't keep ye any longer, Carmen dearie,” said Molly.
The visit being concluded, the three excused themselves. Mrs. Fanning carried the returned milk can out to the buckboard, and, once there, gave vent to her irritation. “Myra, why must you always show such poor manners?”
“What's poor about them? I didn't mention the problems I have with Mexicans.”
“We should be grateful for small favors. But shouldn't you consider a person's feelings before you bring up any subject?”
“How am I supposed to know what somebody else is feeling?”
Irene obviously didn't like that answer, but Molly touched her hand. “Myra's not used t'being around people, especially as a lassie. Things will get better, mark me words. The saloon outlaws were rough-talkers at first, too, but they soon enough found out that their days passed easier if they could be making people like them.”
The saloonkeeper now shifted and looked the seventeen-year-old in the eyes. “Maybe ye remember that ye used to be about as welcome as a chicken-stealing coyote around town, but now ye have a clean record. It's like ye've gotten a pardon for everything ye've been doing to make a mess of yuir life up to now. What are ye going to do with that chance?”
“I'd rather be treated like a coyote than a girl,” she replied.
“Is that so?” asked Irene. “You'll get along better as a girl. People give girls gumdrops, but they shoot coyotes. Haven't you had your fill of getting shot at?”
“Be patient,” said the Irish woman. “She has a lot to be angry about. But anger makes for a heavy load if ye're shouldering it all the time. By and by, the saloon ladies decided that they didn't like toting all that weight around. So will Myra, I'm thinking.”
“If we want people to like her, do you think we dare let her go to the Christmas dance while she's so unready?” asked the widow.
“Keep your dance!” Myra snapped. “I never wanted to go!”
Molly shook her head. “Irene, I know ye're toting a tidy load with this lass on yuir back. She's all spice and hot candy, that's a fact. But whenever Miss Myra gets to be too much to handle, we can find a place for her at the saloon. She can sleep with the potion girls. We can always use a hard worker, since there'll being a bushel and a peck of scrubbing and cleaning to do around the saloon between Christmas and New Years.”
“No!” declared Myra.
The girl's aunt shook her head. “Before we do anything drastic, let's see if she behaves sensibly at the party.”
“It's up to ye,” said Molly. “But on the subject of the party, I was wondering if ye need a person to fit your and Myra's party dresses. If ye do, I have a suggestion.”
“Who?” asked Irene.
“Are ye acquainted with Teresa Diaz?”
“Not personally. I know that she's the most popular laundress in Eerie, but I've always done my own clothes. Is she a good seamstress?”
“The ladies I know swear by her.”
“But do you think that she'll have time to fit two dresses before Saturday evening? The party may be bringing her many other customers this week.”
“We can only be asking her.”
Molly led her companions to a modest house behind the main street. There, the Irishwoman told them, the widow Diaz lived with her four children. One of them happened to be Arnie, the boy whom they had found working at the Eerie saloon. Though they were making this visit on impulse, they were fortunate enough to find the laundress/seamstress at home.
Myra passed through the front door frowning. She didn't like Arnie Diaz, but more important than that, the girl didn't care for the idea of hanging around with strangers. Some careless comment on her part might make a person suspicious, and a laundress could spread the gossip all over town in no time.
They were ushered into a little living room cluttered with baskets of laundry. The air was heavy with the smell of dirty clothes and wet wash. Teresa seemed about forty and looked like a person who had had more than her share of hard work. “Por supuesto!” Senora Diaz told her visitors after being appraised of their pressing needs. “Of course I can fix the two dresses that you need! Muchas gracias for thinking of me.”
“People say your work is excellent. I don't know what I would have done if you turned out to be busy,” Irene replied.
"There's not much time left before the Christmas party,” Molly added. “Will ye be able to be getting so much sewing done by Saturday morning?”
Teresa became thoughtful. “To be certain, the time is short. I would like to begin tomorrow. Will eight in the morning be all right, Señora Fanning?”
“That should be fine,” replied the farm woman. “I'm sorry to come to you with so much last-minute work, but I only was invited to the dance yesterday, and only bought my new dress this morning.”
“Comprendo. Much work for the fiesta has come in already, but I have been able to keep up. My hija, Contanza, helps me. She is very good with the needle herself.” The laundress glanced toward Myra. “Señorita, we you in school with Constanza, or with my son Arnoldo?”
“Myra has only come to Eerie last week,” spoke up Irene. “She was left orphaned by the death of her mother this summer.”
“Pobrecita!” declared the señora. “So sorry to hear of that.”
Myra shrugged.
Not wanted to keep Teresa from what seemed like a heavy work load, Molly and Irene brought the visit to a swift conclusion. Once out in the street, the saloonkeeper asked your younger friend, “Where are we off to next?”
Mrs. Fanning frowned. “Before I start the serious shopping, I want to introduce Myra to Reverend Yingling. If she comes across as a fine girl, he'll speak well of her to the whole congregation. After that, Myra and I will finish up our trip buying groceries for the holiday. And we especially need to stock up on dry mash for the horses and cattle. If we could just get a little ahead of our expenses, we'd be able to buy a grain-grinder of our own.”
“If ye're still in town when the noon bell rings, swing by the saloon for lunch,” suggested Molly.
“Oh, you're leaving us so soon?”
“It would be awkward, me going t'see the reverend. He has no liking for houses of gambling and whiskey-selling. Also, we O'Tooles are just a wee bit too papist for the pious man's taste, I do believe.”
“I understand,” Irene said sympathetically.
#
The widow tapped on the clergyman's door and the mistress of the house quickly arrived to open it. Irene knew Mrs. Martha Yingling well from church. She was a short, plump woman with a pleasant face and alert eyes. Her house dress was well-laundered and of good quality.
“Mrs. Fanning!” the minister's wife exclaimed. “What brings you this way on a weekday morning? Then her cheery tone faded. “I'm sorry. Everyone has heard about the your nephew and what the robbers did.”
Irene glanced down, preferring not to have to say anything deceitful in order to protect what was a false story.
Respectfully, the homemaker said, “The reverend hoped you would be at church Sunday, given your recent tragedy. But then the word came that those wicked bandits had returned, stole your horses, kidnapped your visitor, and kept you prisoner in your own house! Because he hadn't heard from you, the reverend was determined to ride out to your home this very afternoon.”
“It was all so shocking,” Irene agreed, “but I have a happier reason to come by. My niece Myra Olcott has only lately arrived from the East. I'd like to introduce her to the pastor.”
“Oh, of course!” Mrs. Yingling responded brightly. “The parson will be overjoyed to meet one who may soon become our newest parishioner.” The lady of the house stood back from the threshold as a gesture of welcome.
Mrs. Yingling then guided them into the minister's office. Thaddeus Yingling looked up from his writing and recognized Mrs. Fanning.
The reverend was a big man and he looked bigger still seated at such a small desk. Though his curly hair was mostly gray, his arms were as thick as a working man's and his shoulders were broad, square, and solid. Beyond his stature, his intense glance conveyed the impression that he was someone to reckon with.
“Sister Irene!” Yingling exclaimed, his voice deep and resonate. “I was intending to make a call on you later today. We're delighted to find you up and about. I heard the sad news about your harrowing experience.”
“Thaddeus,” spoke up Martha, “there is good news. Irene has brought her niece from back East to meet with her new pastor.”
Yingling rose and stepped out from behind his desk. “That pleases me very much indeed.” His intimidating gaze fell on Myra. Though Myron had not been fond of any of the town folk, he had a special aversion for the opinionated and high-handed minister.
The tall man smiled. “On behalf of all the citizens of Eerie, I would express the fond hope that you shall find peace and friendship here among our congregation. Are you a Fanning or a Caldwell?”
“Olcott,” the maiden responded glumly.
He regarded Myra through narrowed eyes. “You appear somewhat dejected. Well, I should think that is natural enough, considering all that has befallen you and your aunt over the weekend. And, of course, I am especially grieved about what happened to young Thorn only last week.”
“Yes, Reverend,” broke in Irene, “but my niece has even more reason for sorrow than what you may know. She lost her father just a few years ago, and this summer her mother passed on, also. She's been left alone in the world and has come from New Jersey to live with me on the farm.”
“A double bereavement! I am at a loss for words!”
“I'm fine,” Myra said.
He nodded. “Courage is a wonderful quality, but it can be a mistake to try to appear stronger on the outside than you truly are on the inside. There is no shame in venting tears, most especially when one is a very young woman scarcely out of childhood.”
Myra had always thought that the man was annoying, but this awkward interview was rapidly hardening her in that opinion.
“Please, Mrs. Fanning, Miss Myra, take your ease upon my chesterfield. Martha will bring refreshments. I would very much like to give you the cheering comfort of the Lord's words. There is an especially apt story that seldom fails to soothe people who find themselves in such a plight as your own.”
“No, thank you, Reverend. I think we should be...” began the maiden.
The girl felt her aunt's touch. “It's all right, Myra. We should listen. Sometimes we all need to draw from a source of strength that is beyond our own.”
Frustrated, the girl shuffled to the couch and plopped into it; her aunt assumed a place beside her. The minister then picked up a Bible from his desk and located the chapter he was seeking.
“The Lord himself was not ashamed to show sorrow,” the parson said. “He cried human tears for the same reasons that we do. But tears convey compassion, not weakness. He was mighty enough to bear all the sins of the world to the cross for our sake."
At that point, the clergyman commenced to read aloud the story of Lazarus in his tomb, and of the sorrow of his sisters, from John, Chapter 11.
TO BE CONTINUED, Chapter 2, Part 1
Well, that's the whole of BELLE, chapter 1. I've also started a new novelette set in my "Mana Universe." That should take a long time to finish, alas, given that I have two other stories to polish and post for TFTGS, and because the warm weather has come. The latter means lawn care, gardening, home improvement, and vacations. Anyway I am shooting for getting a new chapter of my edit of Aladdin's novel "The Wounded World" ready to post in about two weeks.
ReplyDeleteAs it turned out, I've done a substantial amount of revision on this chapter, stemming from an error in my "Eerie canon." This amounted to revising one scene and adding a short new scene. Someone who is archiving the story should add in the 6-07-19 version.
ReplyDelete