The Belle of Eerie, Arizona - Chapter 5, Part 2

Posted 01-06-20

Revised 02-07-20  

By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 5, Part 2

Saturday, December 23, 1871 Continued

“I think there must be a lot more bad outlaws out there than good ones,” Dale responded soberly.  “I could have liked Myron better if only he was nicer.” Suddenly she blinked.  “Oh, say, I almost forgot to mention that I'll be attending the church service for your cousin. It's too bad it happened. I like Mrs. Fanning a lot, and I like you, too, Myra.”

“Look!” exclaimed Miss Grimsley. “Some boys are looking at us!”

“I hope one of them asks me to dance,” said Dale. “If no one does, I'd rather be partnered with with a girl if it means being left out entirely.”

“If no boy asks first, I'll dance with you,” Kyley promised her friend.

Myra grimaced inwardly. Soon, the two of them would be shuffling off together, leaving her behind to look like a wallflower. Maybe if Tor Johansson didn't show up soon, Irene would get tired of being ignored and decide to go home. That would be a blessing.

“I think I'll go inside and get something to eat,” Myra told her companions.

“You'll miss the first dance!” Kayley warned.

“I'm not much of a dancer. It's no big deal to me.”

“You shouldn't be so shy,” Dale stated. “I used to be, too, but I got over it the first time a boy called me pretty.” Just then, the Miss Severin looked up and announced, “Here comes the band.  They're going to set up!”

Myra took a critical look at herself. The way she was dressed would give men the wrong idea about her. No good could come from staying where she was.

“I'm really hungry,” Myra reminded them.

“We'll see you later,” chirped Dale.  “We want to watch the band get ready.”

“See you later, Myra,” Kayley added in parting. The Olcott girl watched them walk away.

#

Irene Fanning had been passing time with people she knew. She'd already been asked several times about the carefree style of her dress. She repeatedly needed to explain how she had bought it at the last minute from the limited stock available at the Silverman's store.

“They didn't have anything I liked this year,” said Zenobia Carson. “Their rack looked extremely picked over.”

“Mrs. Fanning,” Livinia Mackechnie put in, “doesn't the cut of that dress leave you feeling chilly?”

Irene, smiling patiently. “I have a warm shawl on the buckboard. I'll fetch it promptly should the night grow unpleasantly cool.

“How is your spirit holding up?” asked Grace McLeod.

Irene wondered whether this was a subtle form of censure.  “I'm sad for Myron,” she explained, “but I'm also overjoyed that Myra has come to stay with me. She's new to the West and I wanted to bring her to a place where she could make new friends right away.”

“I haven't met your niece yet,” mentioned Hilda Scudder. “Maybe we can exchange introductions at the memorial Tuesday.”

Irene nodded. “Yes, she'll appreciate that, I'm sure. For one so young, she's had more than her share of sorrow.”

“Isn't that always so?” said Hilda. “Especially at Christmas, it's important that all of us open our hearts to the stranger.”

At that moment, Irene was straining to see over her companions' heads, hoping to locate Tor Johansson. She was actually trying to suppress any feeling of eagerness. She couldn't keep from thinking about Darby in heaven, and how her behavior might make him feel.

Suddenly, she espied a man taller than anyone else next to him.  He seemed to be carefully scanning the crowd. When his fair eyes fixed on her face, her nerve almost failed. Irene clenched her fists and made a brave effort to show a pleasant face. Tor flashed a smile and started her way.

When the Swede was at a small distance, he remarked,“Mrs. Fanning, how nice it is to see you again.  Have you had a nice veek?”

“Excuse me, ladies,” Irene said as she stepped out from the knot of church friends and toward the big Swede.

“The last few days have been busy,” she confided, “but I have been looking forward to this gathering.”

“I like your new style of hair. You look like a lady of high society.”

Irene's cheeks warmed slightly. “I'm hardly that. But the bun I usually wear would scarcely have been in the spirit of the season.”

“I vould agree.  And your dress is very handsome.”

“I'm happy you think so. Some of the ladies seemed to imply that it's too bold.”

The prospector grinned broadly. “Ladies!  Tat's vhy we love tem so much.”

Irene nodded, feeling awkward but trying not to show it.

Tor beamed. “Vhen I came in, da band outside vas ready to start da music. I suppose you have a dance reserved already?”

“Not at all. And it would be sad to miss the opening dance.”

“Yes, dat vould be yoost terrible,” he said. He offered her his arm.

The ladies standing nearby took note of everything. The faces of the majority did not register approval.

#

Myra and her aunt passed one another, going in opposite directions. They exchanged glances, but neither spoke. Tor Johansson, next to Irene, looked huge. It occurred to the redhead that Irene would be lucky if Tor's big ox feet didn't leave her toes black and blue. Then the girl continued on, toward the tables. She was glad for the interior warmth, due to the lightness of her apparel.

Myra, looking at the clock behind the teacher's desk, winced. So little time had been passing. Eating, she hoped, would kill a good piece of it, so she paused to sample several delicacies: bread pudding, a jelly omelet, mince pie, cheese, and stewed prunes.  All this fare she washed down with glasses of punch, but was disappointed that it hadn't been spiked. 

“Hello, you must be new in these parts,” someone remarked.  Myra looked over her shoulder and her lips pursed at the sight of Winthrop Ritter.

“I'm new in every part,” Myra answered back flatly. “Aren't you the Mex I saw cleaning pens over at Ritter's stable?”

The young man scowled.  “I don't clean pens. And I'm sure not any Mexican. My pa owns the stable, like he owns a whole lot else in this town. I'm Winthrop Ritter.”

Myra pretended to sniff.  “Did you come straight over from work? Sometimes things get stuck to a person's shoes.”

Winthrop exchanged one scowl for a harder one. “There's a lot of poor folk hereabouts. One never knows what they drag  in.”

“If you say so.”

He didn't didn't feel charmed by the girl's tone, but, with effort, he maintained an amiable front. “I saw you coming in with some sort of fancy gal,” he said.

Myra shrugged.  “That was my aunt, Mrs. Fanning.”

“Irene Fanning?” He shook his head. “I really didn't recognize her. She looks like she could be one of Lady Cerise's gals.”  Then he caught himself.  “Maybe I shouldn't talk that way in front of a nice girl.”

“Where in tarnation does one find nice girls around here?”

“One is standing in front of me,” Winthrop answered with an ingratiating smile. “What's your name?”

“I'm traveling under the name of Abigail Myra Olcott.”

The youth laughed.  The frontier was full of rascals who'd come out from the East. A lot of them were trying to keep out of the hands of the law. What's your  name? was considered to be an impolite question if put to an outsider. Instead, folks would ask, “What name are you traveling under?” This girl Abigail had answered like a horse-thief on the dodge, and that tickled his funny-bone.

“That's a mighty fine handle. When I hear a name like Abigail, it always makes me imagine a lady of distinction.”

“And I always think of some old grandma with a cane. People call me Myra, and that doesn't set very well with me either.”

Winthrop nodded. “I hated my name, too. Back in school, there was a smart-mouthed kid who'd always try to make me sore by calling me 'Winnie.'”

Myra regarded her unwelcome companion. There was about a ninety-nine percent chance that he was remembering Myron Caldwell, who'd been just a grade behind him. “Did you let him get way with it?” she asked, wondering what he'd say.

“Not a bit. I whooped him a few times and that taught him some manners. Before I graduated, he was bowing and scraping like some sort of black slave.”

'You lying S.O.B.' thought Myra. The only time Ritter had ever hit him without getting get hit back worse was when two of his bully friends had been holding his arms.  The boy had gotten revenge, though.  He'd slipped a carmel-covered onion into his enemy's lunch pail and laughed like hell to see Winnie's face change when he bit into it!  For a different offense, Myron had put a “Bankrupt, Going Out of Business” sign on Clyde Ritter's office door. He'd purposely done it on a Sunday morning, when there was only an illiterate hired man there to tend the horses.  The stableman couldn't read the placard, so he'd left it up all day, supposing that his boss wanted it to be seen.

Outdoors, a lively tune had just started up.

“Say now,” Winthrop said, “they've commenced the opening dance.”

“Do you like to dance?” Myra asked.  “You don't look like the type.”

He shrugged. “I don't care much for it, that's a fact. But I'm game for a little shuffle around the floor if the girl is pretty enough, and she's wearing something I like.”

“Are you talking about a cat-house girl?  Did you bring one of them with you tonight?”

Instead of getting offended, Winthrop smiled conceitedly. “Why do you sound so interested? If you're hinting that you'd like to dance with me, I'm all for it.”

“I'd rather be hung,” said Myra.

The youth eyed her skeptically.  “You know, you're pretty, but what comes out of your mouth is a whole lot less so.”

“Then why is it that people keep telling me that I'm sugar and spice and everything nice?”

“Well, whatever else you are, you're easy on the eyes. Can I get you anything?”

“I could use a little privacy.”

Winthrop made a grumble deep in his throat and departed with a perfunctory nod.

Myra consulted the clock again.  The whole conversation had taken only five minutes; she still had a heap of empty time left to deal with. 

Myra resumed munching her way along the table. While doing so, she noticed a dark-haired girl doing the same in the other direction. This one was dressed for a Mexican fiesta, showing off a nice pair of shoulders.  Miss Olcott couldn't fail to recognize Raquel Gomez from school. Her father was a clerk at Oretega's grocery. She'd already started looking good a year earlier, and was looking even better now. Was the girl alone? The Anglo and Mexican communities usually kept clear of  each other in Eerie. This señorita would have to be a plucky one to mingle casually with people whom she scarcely knew.

“Hi, Raquel,” said the auburn. “Good eats, aren't they?”

The Latina looked up and, failing to recognized the speaker, smiled bemusedly.  “It is good food,” she agreed, her accent not very pronounced. “Por favor, I don't think I know you.”

This reply reminded Myra that she had to keep on guard. “Irene Fanning is my aunt.”

“Oh, I meet Señora Fanning at the grocery all the time. You must be the new girl that mis amigas saw shopping with the lady and Señora O'Toole early in the week.”

While Myra didn't care for Mexicans, she had no place better to be. To make conversation, she asked,  “Are your own people partying somewhere else tonight?”  

The Gomez girl shrugged. “We held our own fiesta de Navidad last night. But an American asked me to come with him to this party, too. Why should I not? I know many Anglos. They have nice songs and music. Their food is very exotic! Also, by coming here, I gain another a chance to dance. Perdóname, what should I name you?” she asked.

“Myra,” Miss Olcott answered. 

“How do you know me?”

“Ah, someone pointed you out.”

“Someone I know?”

“Maybe. Winthrop Ritter.”

“Oh,” said the dark-eyed girl, using an odd tone.

“Don't you like him?”

“He's not the best of the Anglos. Are you and he buenos amigos?”

“No, not at all,” asserted Myra.  “I just met him.”

“I think I should be sorry.”

Myra nodded. “I feel sorry, too.” 

Raquel lowered her voice. “Don't find yourself alone with such an hombre. At last summer's fiesta, he pinched me!”

Myra tried to look commiserative. In plain fact, she might have enjoyed pinching this chica herself. 

“O, mira!” said Raquel in Spanish. “He comes, the joven who escorted me,” Myra looked to see who it was she meant.

Oh, Lord.

It was Lydon Kelsey, the closest thing to a friend that Myron could claim in Eerie. It didn't surprise the girl that Kelsey couldn't find anyone better than a Mexican to go with him, but had to admit that he'd.

The young man's appearance hadn't changed much over the passing year. He was dressed better than usual, of course, wearing a suit of yellow-brown corduroy over a white, ruffled shirt. The latter was set off with a black string tie. Coming face to face with Kelsey made Myra squeamish, even though she knew that there wasn't a chance that he could recognize her.

“Oh, Raquel,” the Anglo youth asked, “who's this pretty niña?”

“We just met,” the señorita replied. “She is Myra, the niece of Señora Fanning.”

“Oh, hello, Myra,” Kelsey said, meeting her eyes boldly.  “I heard something about a cousin of Thorn Caldwell coming to town.” He smiled. “You probably didn't know it, but I was Thorn's best friend.”

“Is that so?” replied Myra. “Who was your best friend?”

Lydon either missed the jab or ignored it. He said, “Sometime we ought to get together and exchange memories about the dear departed.”

Myra frowned. “I don't have much in the way of memories about Myron. The two of us never met.”

“Well now, I haven't heard him called Myron in a long time. He'd hammer-punch anyone who addressed him by that sissy name. From what part of the country do you hail from, gal?”

“New Jersey. Most of what I know about my cousin is only hearsay.”

“Well, he and I had some good times bumming around. By the way, that's an eye-catching frock you've got on. Is that how New Jersey girls dress?"

“Sometimes. But I'm not much interested in partying.”

“You should be. You clean up real nice.” When Myra didn't react to his compliment, he said, “If you're wondering what Thorn was like, I could tell you plenty. Would you mind much if I came out to the farm, maybe take a walk with you, and fill you in what you don't know?”

“We can do that next summer,” she said tersely, “if the farm doesn't keep my aunt and me too busy to entertain visitors.”

“Yeah,” Lydon muttered disappointedly, “I'll check on you then.” He looked back toward Raquel.  “Come on, little cucaracha, let's dance up a storm.”

“You big tonto!” she declared. “I hope you don't know what a cucaracha is!  What an awful thing to call a muchacha, especialmente if you expect her to dance with you!”

The youth threw up his hands. “Women!” Without a real apology, he led her away by the wrist.

Myra watched them go -- without regret in Lydon's case. She couldn't help but take another glance at the clock. It had hardly moved.  How in the living hell was she supposed to endure until eight-thirty? There were plenty of books in the schoolhouse, at least, so maybe she could sit down somewhere and read.

As Miss Olcott was standing there, thinking, a young man edged up, not a person whom she knew. “May I have the honor of the next dance?” he asked.

Myra scowled. “Go jump off a cliff.”

The youth sighed and withdrew.

“That wasn't very nice of you,” spoke up someone else.  She recognized the voice and confronted her nemesis with a glare.  “George, you've turned up yet again, like a fly going back to a...” She stopped, not wanting to say something uncouth with women present.

“A sugar cube?” he guessed.

“That isn't even close. I expected you'd show up sooner or later.”

“I promised I would, didn't I?”

“What a time to keep a promise! Dale didn't mention that you were lurking around somewhere.”

“My sister and Kayley came in with their folks.  I just rode up alone. Now I'm glad that I did.  Seeing you gussied up is like eating chocolate.  I especially like that new hair bow.”

“Whatever you happen to like, Mr. Severin, it has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you. You're a sight to remember. Even that little blue mountain off of Indian Head isn't half so fetching.”

“If you hang around up there, I'll have to keep shy of the place.”

George's expression changed slightly, as if she'd said something interesting.  Myra cussed herself. A supposed newcomer shouldn't have spoken as if she'd known the local sites he was talking about.


TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 6, PART 1