The Belle of Eerie, Arizona - Chapter 2, Part 1

Posted 06-07-19 

Revised 07-07-19 

By Christopher Leeson
 
Chapter 2, Part 1

December 19, 1871, Continued

While the Mexican helper at the Feed and Grain store loaded Irene's purchases onto the buckboard, the woman herself stood nearby, talking to Patricia O'Hanlan. Myra had been told that the latter represented the new form and the new face of Patrick O'Hanlan. This was a hard idea to choke down, but, over all, she liked the idea of someone else besides herself suffering. Myra remembered Pat O'Hanlan as a plain, fortyish man, hard to pick out from a crowd. But this girl “Trisha,” even wearing pants and a shirt, was something to see. A shape like hers should have been painted for a theater poster. She wondered whether Trisha, being decidedly of the pretty persuasion, was having much trouble with men trying to keep company with her.

“Well, hello, Myra,” a male voice made address from behind. She recognized that timbre and turned to face her accoster.

“George!” she exclaimed. “Have you trailing my aunt and me like some sort of Injun scout?”

“Not a bit!” the farm boy responded, his grin broad and confident. “I came into town to pick up a few hardware items for Ma and Pa.”

“Well, if you're going to the hardware shop, this isn't it.”

“No, but I thought I'd look over the new merchandise here at the feed store. It appears to be of high quality.”

She tossed her head. “If that's a sneaky way of saying that you like the way I look, I've got a good mind to knock you into the street!”

“Temper, temper. Haven't you learned yet that women shouldn't be hitting men?”

“And why not?”

“Because if women started to hit men, men would have to start hitting them back. A man could really hurt a light-bodied little gal with a hard punch, if he was inclined to give her one.”

“So, now you're threatening me?” the maiden challenged.

“No, I'm just letting you know why smart mothers teach their daughters not to go around punching men.”

“Well, you shouldn't go popping off about how a girl looks, not if you don't want to get hit.”

The youth's smile seemed undiminished. “That's a strange way of looking at things. Most girls like to be told they're pretty.”

“I ain't like most girls!”

George nodded. “I'd say that's true enough. Maybe it's your Eastern ways. I'll try to be more careful with my words from now on. There'll be time enough for straight-talking a certain Miss Olcott once she shapes up into a rip-roaring Western sort of gal.”

“Humpt!” Myra said. “Push me too far and you'll find out how rip-roaring I already am.”

“That-a-girl! I'm thinking that you'll be doing real fine in the Big West,” the youth said cheerily. “A woman in these parts needs pluck. A heap of the Eastern ladies arrive as spoiled as springtime apples. This country is like a forge and anvil. The high-highfalutin type gets worked over and beaten down until she becomes a useful home implement. After that, you'll find them busy cutting dirt, hunting, driving mules, shoot, and even brushing off outlaws and Indians sometimes. You've already had a hard sampling of Western life and I respect the way you stood up to it. I'm not the type to waste my time with the soft and fancy type of gal.”

Myra gave a small snort. “I'm not the least bit interested in how you spend your time, Mr. Severin. All I know is that you're always standing at my elbow and jawing into my ears. You have the bad habit of turning up underfoot like a dead branch in the woods. I'll grant you this much: You're quick on the draw when it comes to snoopy questions and smart aleck remarks.”

“Why'dya keep saying I'm snoopy, Miss Myra? Are you hiding some sort of secret? You're making me powerfully curious as to whether you might have a checkered past. If you've traveled this far to get away from something you're sorry for, it's time for a certain young lady to let the old days go.”

Myra shifted toward the storefront, hoping that her aunt was coming back. To her annoyance, she wasn't. Neither her nor the “potion gal” was in sight.

“Oh, buffalo chips!” the girl said. “Where did my aunt run off to this time?”

“Maybe she went back into the Feed and Grain.”

“What for? I saw her pay the bill already.”

“Or maybe the ladies went out for a bite to eat. By the way, what do you think of Trisha O'Hanlan?”

“I don't think nothing! I haven't even spoken to her yet.”

“Has your aunt told you anything...interesting... about Miss O'Hanlan so far?”

Myra eyed him warily. She definitely didn't want to be herded into a conversation about potion girls.

“She didn't say a word. Even if she hadd, I wouldn't be spreading gossip about it.”

“That's commendable,” George stated with a nod. “But if she hasn't told you yet, you're going to be a mite surprised at certain goings-on inside this town.”

“There you go again, wondering about other peoples' business. Is your life so dull that you have to spice it up with gossip?”

“My life is lively enough. The only thing I'm lacking is the right type of young lady to escort to the Christmas party.”

“With your bad manners, I shouldn't be surprised that no girl wants to have anything to do with you.”

“What should make you surprised are some things you don't know about yet. If Mrs. Fanning hasn't filled you in properly, maybe I should.”

“I told you I don't spread hearsay, and I also don't listen to it.”

“Every other girl I know loves to gossip.”

“Is that so? From what you've just said, you don't seem to know that many girls. I'm betting that the smartest of them cross the street whenever they see you coming.”

“Well, if you ever decide that you want to know more than you know, I'll be glad to fill you in. For now, I'll just say that you'll have to be careful in a town full of gold prospectors and cowhands. A few weeks ago, two men kidnapped a couple women out of the Eerie Saloon and took them up into the hills. One of them got killed.”

“A woman got killed?”

“No, a prospector! I reckon he was playing it fast and loose with the wrong filly. But that wasn't as bad as what happened to the other gold-digger.”

“So what happened to him?”

“If I told you, that would be gossiping,” George replied with a grin. “But just watch out. Most of the men who'll be brash enough to impose themselves on the fair gender won't be gentlemen. This is a rough country and you'll be meeting a fair parcel of the scallywags that it chokes up. You'll probably meet a few of that kind at the Christmas hoedown. Maybe you ought to ask me to escort you to it and from it, so I can protect you.”

“That sounds a little like the chicken being protected by the fox.”

“I see myself more as a wolf.”

“A coyote, you should say!”

George Severin guffawed. “Any gal who has such a knack for making a man laugh must be just a pack of feminine wiles. The better I get to know you, the better I like you.”

The auburn beauty raised her chin. “That's a shame, since I couldn't like you even if I tried!”

“We'll see. Not everybody in this burg is as mannerly as a Severin male. But I've taken enough of your time, Miss Myra. I'll just be moseying along to get my business done. Oh, and by the by, your aunt wants me to get back to cleaning the pig pen tomorrow. I'll see you then.”

“You do that. Until the job's done, I'll be thinking about you every time I smell the hogs.”

To her annoyance, George only retired a few steps before he turned to say, “I'm thinking that you might try asking your aunt what a 'potion girl' is. You might find the subject interesting.”

Myra scowled; she already knew all she wanted to know about potion girls.

A moment later, her nemesis turned a corner and stepped out of sight. She wanted to get well away from the spot before he came back, but, unfortunately, Irene still hadn't reappeared. The girl pondered what she should be doing to fill in the time. The thought of crisscrossing the streets trying to catch sight of her aunt wasn't appealing. Men who saw a girl as pretty as Gilana Hulbard strolling alone might work up the nerve to step up and be “friendly,” like George had already done.

She went back into the store. Trisha was at the counter, but Irene wasn't to be seen. “Miss O'Hanlan,” Myra addressed her, “I thought my aunt would be back at the buckboard by now. Do you know where she went?”

The storekeeper's picture-pretty face glanced up from an open ledger. “Oh, she said she was going to buy a Christmas present. I'm sure she'll be back soon.”

“Thank you,” the younger girl said, turning away. Myra returned to the buckboard and climbed up into the seat. She was getting fed up with this town visit, having to pretend to be something that she wasn't. She couldn't imagine living this way for the rest of her days. What kind of life would that be? How much more could she take before she felt like jumping off Chiricahua Ridge?

As the redhead sat on the hard oaken seat, the wind rising, she rapidly grew impatient. For whom did Irene need a Christmas present? Myra hoped it would be for herself, as long as they weren't more girl's clothing. But the mystery present might also be for that infuriating George Severin. Her aunt had started giving the hired men small Christmas gifts even before Myron had headed out from Eerie.

Drawing up her cloak against the elements, Myra lapsed into an angry daydream, a daydream about Eerie getting what it deserved. It seemed like fire would be a good way to go about it. A lot of towns suffered from arson; now she knew why. A person could only stand so much.

#

While she waited, two neighbor girls from the farm country showed up on the boardwalk. Myra knew them. The one with the butterscotch mane was Rosedale Severin, George's younger sister; the golden-blond one was Kayley Grimsley. Myra couldn't help remembering the day when Myron had left town with Kayley on his mind. She had been one of the people who'd turned him against the town. The Grimsley girl hadn't liked him nearly as much as he'd liked her. Though Myron had been ignoring the skinny little farm girl for years, that all changed when she'd started filling out. It was then that he'd started trying to make the neighbor gal notice him, mostly angling for her attention with good-natured insults. But, like most contrary women, Kayley had insisted upon taking offense over every little thing joke that he tried out on her.

Dale – as Rosedale liked to be called – noticed Myra watching their approach and smiled. The latter at once glanced down, her lips pursed. Having taken a disdain for George, she had been determined not to have anything to do with his sister, either.

To Miss Olcott's annoyance, the pair were making a beeline toward her.

“You have to be Myra Olcott,” declared Dale when she drew near enough. She introduced herself and also Kayley. “We just met George yonder and he mentioned that you and your aunt were in town. He suggested that we should come over and say hello.”

“Hi!” Kayley chimed in, her smile beaming.

“Hello yourself,” Myra answered back, not really wanting a conversation. “I guess you knew me by the sight of the buckboard, huh?”

“Sure,” the Severin girl replied, “I've seen it lots of times. Where's your aunt at?”

“She's shopping for Christmas presents, I've been told. If you check out a few of these shops over thataway, I think you'll run into her.”

“That's all right. What we really wanted was to meet the new neighbor that George has been talking about so much. He said you were as pretty as a peach.”

“Well, isn't that nice of him?” grumbled the orphan. “What else did he say?”

Kayley laughed. “He said that you didn't seem to like him. Why should that be?”

Myra shrugged. “He talks too much. Is there anyone around who does like him, except maybe his kin?”

“Oh, sure,” the blonde girl responded. “But he's more like a brother to me than a regular feller. Some of my earliest memories are about playing with George and Dale.”

“Well,” Myra said with a grimace, “he wants to play with me now, I think.”

“Oh, Myra!” put in Dale, “you're making it sound like George has taken a shine to you! From the way he couldn't stop talking about how you look, what you wear, and what you do, I wouldn't be surprised.”

The maid on the buckboard shook her head. “He yammers all the time, always about things that I'm not interested in.”

Dale laughed. “That sounds like George,” she agreed. “Are you from Pennsylvania like your aunt?”

Myra answered carefully. “No, I'm from New Jersey.”

“What's it like there?”

“It's greener than it is here, I reckon. But at this time of year, there's usually snow on the ground.” Myra was assuming that New Jersey had to be a lot like Pennsylvania.

“There's never more than a few flakes in the air around here, and that's too bad,” Kayley said. “I like pictures that show a lot of snow, especially on housetops. Say, Myra, we were discussing how hard it must be for a person to settle into a new part of the country all alone. If you feel like coming by to visit, we'd both try to make you feel at home! The two of us live close together. I can show you the lambs I'm raising. And Mother always has something tasty for visitors to snack on.”

“That sounds like fun,” the Olcott girl responded, feeling even less enthusiasm than her face betrayed.

“Sure. I hope you ride over soon. George said that you have a saddle horse all your own. Did you bring it with you from Pennsylvania?”

“No, a stray wandered in, already saddled. It's a nice horse, though.”

“George thinks it's an outlaw cayuse, from the gang that...” Rosedale broke off and glanced down. “Sorry. I shouldn't talk about the outlaws. People say that they kidnapped you.”

Myra grimaced. “Yeah, they did. They didn't hurt me none, though. Those ornery sidewinders wouldn't have had the nerve.”

Kaley gave a nod. “George says you have pluck. I guess you do. I'd be a jumble of nerves if I had to take a fright like yours.”

“I wasn't that frightened,” Myra protested.

“I didn't mean that you were,” Kayley replied. “I was just saying it might have been very upsetting for the type of girl who gets frightened easily.”

The ginger gazed off in the direction of Stagecoach Gap, where the gunfight with the outlaws had occurred. She well knew that it could have turned out much worse than it had.  Lucky for her, the gang had been in a hurry and much more interested in finding the lost gold than they were in what they assumed was a saloon girl from Yuma.

“Oh, say,” Dale said excitedly, “George says you and your aunt are coming in for the dance this Friday night. If you do, we'll see you there. George told us he likes your fancy yellow dancing dress and wants to see you wearing it again. He also says it's better than anything that Kayley or I have. I can't want to get a look at it for myself.”

“Maybe you will, maybe you won't.”

“Why's that?” asked Kayley.

“I think dances are silly. If Aunt Irene wasn't so stubborn about dragging me to this one, I wouldn't bother with it.”

“How come? Don't you like dances?”

“I'm not interested in that sort of thing.”

“Is it because you don't know how to dance?” Dale inquired.

Myra frowned. “Okay, so I don't know how to dance. People aren't born knowing how to dance.”

“But dancing is fun and you should want to learn.”

“A lot of people don't like to dance. I never saw Irene dancing.”

“Didn't you just meet Irene last week?” asked Kayley.

“Ah, yeah. I mean that she hasn't written or talked about dancing so far. But I know for sure that my own parents never danced.” That last part wasn't true, but these girls didn't have to know it.

“Maybe we should get together before the hoedown and show you how to do two or three kinds of dances.”

Myra considered that. Myron had enjoyed dancing with Gilana, and Kayley was almost as pretty as the Yuma girl. “Maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea,” she said. “But I don't know how much time we'll have before Saturday. There's a lot going on, with the usual chores and Irene needing my help to cook things up for the party. Then, tomorrow morning, our clothes need to be fitted here in town. After that, who knows what more will come up?”

“Well, send a message our way with George when you find some time, and we'll come right in. Or, come over yourself. We'll have fun. Ma is a good cook, and Dale's ma is ever better!”

Just then, Myra saw her aunt returning, holding packages.

“Irene's back. I think she'll want to go home.”

The young ladies turned toward Mrs. Fanning and waved at her.

“How do you do?” Dale shouted.

“Very well, thank you, Dale,” Irene replied. “And good morning to you, too, Kayley!”

The three only spoke for about a minute before the younger pair excused themselves and traipsed away to resume their own shopping.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 2, Part 2.