Deborah Camp (3 page)

After a few minutes of serious eating, Adam dabbed at the corners of his moustache and cleared his throat. “She’s in a tough spot. How did she take it?”

“Better than expected. She was shocked, of course, but she didn’t cry.” He shared a knowing glance with Adam.

“Thank God for that.”

“Amen, partner. I hate it when they bawl.” Zach scooped up the last of the soup in his bowl and relished it. Sitting back in the chair, he patted his flat stomach. “Your wife sure knows how to cook.”

“One of her many attributes,” Adam agreed with a nod. “Can’t say the same for my sainted mother. Her cooking is what kept me in the outhouse most of last night and this morning.” Adam shared a chuckle with Zach before seriousness returned to his visage. “Was her marriage rocky?”

“Not by her standards,” Zach said. “That’s what gets me. The poor sap marries Luna and then returns to St. Louis to the wife he divorced and takes up with her like nothing untoward went on here. Do you think he and Luna had a big fight and it scared him or disgusted him so bad that he flew the coop? Or maybe he caught her with another man?”

“I don’t recall hearing any town gossip about them,” Adam said. “Hard to tell why a man does anything. I’ve heard some strange excuses for bad behavior, so nothing surprises me anymore. He could have been wishy-washy and loved whatever woman would have him at any given time. Maybe he went hog-wild when he got here and forgot all about his life in St. Louis.”

“Forgot his little son, too?” Zach shook his head, struggling with a swift surge of anger toward the late Charles Hastings. “You don’t think there is anything we can do to help her?”

“I’m open for suggestions.”

Zach shrugged. “It’s your case.”

“I’m giving it to you.”

Zach raised his brows in surprise, then looked to the left and to the right before facing Adam again. “Are you addressing me, counselor?”

“I am,” Adam said with a smirk. “She’s all yours. You are the king of divorces, not me. If there is anything that can be found, you’re the man to find it.”

“She hired
you
.” Zach punctuated the statement by jabbing a forefinger at Adam.

“Yes, but I have my hands full right now, Zach.” Adam’s tone hitched upward to almost a whine. “I have a pile of property claims to get through and I have two disturbing the peace cases next month to defend.”

“The Fletcher boys?” Zach asked, referring to the sons of a prominent Oklahoma City rancher whose sons rode into Guthrie six weeks ago, got drunk, and shot out windows up and down the streets known as Government Acre. They also managed to shoot a horse and kill it. The horse was owned by a judge.

“Yes. Their father has paid me handsomely, so I must present a decent defense or I’ll never live it down.” Adam shoved up from the table. “So, do me a favor and take the Hastings divorce from me.”

Zach towered to his feet. “From the screeching tone of your voice, I take it that you are desperate to unload this case in my lap.”

“It’s a simple case, Zach. You will make quick work of it.”

“You think the conclusion will be for Mrs. Hastings to buy a ticket to St. Louis and never look back, don’t you?”

Adam sighed and shrugged. “Life can be cruel and unfair.”

“I don’t think she is the kind of woman who will tuck tail and make a hasty retreat. She didn’t have to come here, but she did. She planned to move herself and her son onto that land and make a living off it.”

“Really? From what I gathered, she is a city gal. She wouldn’t last a year out there on that ranch land.”

“Adam, how many actual farmers and ranchers do you think were in the Land Run? A good amount of them were dreamers and schemers. They had strong backs and a hunger in their bellies and they knew they could learn to work the land once they got their hands on some. This Hastings woman is cut from that same cloth. I think she believes that, once she puts her mind to something, she can accomplish it.”

“It’s a hard life, though,” Adam said. “In the long run, her husband might have done her a favor by not saddling her with that land.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to make her see it that way. She is determined to meet Luna and have a chin-wag with her.”

A glint of alarm flickered in Adam’s light brown eyes. “Then you had better talk to Luna first!”

“I know,” Zach said, wincing at Adam’s climbing tone of voice.

“What are you waiting for?” Adam made a shooing motion. “Go!”

Chapter 2

“We can’t continue to stay in that hotel, Oliver.”

“Why not, Mama?”

“Because it is far too expensive.” She took his hand and led him along the wood plank walkway that fronted the businesses along Harrison Avenue. “Our affairs in town are going to take longer than I expected. We need to find a more frugal place to stay until we can move into our little house on our land.”

“The bed was soft and smelled like soap.”

She smiled down into his upturned face. “Yes, but there are other comfortable beds in Guthrie, the cost of which won’t dip so far into our pocketbook. A lady at the hotel told me about a boarding house up the street. Let’s see what it has to offer, shall we?”

“How long do we have to stay in this town?”

“We’ve only been here two days. Don’t you like Guthrie?”

“I don’t know nobody here.”

“I don’t know anyone here,” she corrected.

“Me, neither.”

She laughed at his unintentional joke. “Give it time. We are meeting new people every day. We know Mr. Warner and Mrs. Polk already.”

“Is there a school here?”

“Of course there is. In fact, I’m told there are nine or ten! That means there are many, many children in Guthrie, so you will have plenty of playmates.” She stopped and held his hand more tightly as they waited for a supply wagon loaded with lumber to roll by. She realized she was seeing the growth of a new city.

Charles had told her that Guthrie was a proper town with all the amenities, but she had pictured it more rural. Up and down the street, businesses were thriving, from ladies’ dress shops to hardware stores. Just about anything she wanted, she could get here. Everything, but answers to the questions swimming in her head, she thought.

“I’m not sure how long we will have to live in town, Ollie, but probably no more than a week or two. Then we will move into our very own home.” She smiled at him, trying hard to be optimistic. “Our first house that is ours and ours alone. Isn’t that exciting?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?” She jiggled his hand to make him look up into her face. “Aren’t you my cowboy? Don’t you want to ride the range?” The light of adventure entered his eyes again. She had been reading heroic tales of cowboys of the Wild West to him, anticipating the move to Indian Territory. Her biggest worries had centered on moving Oliver from his secure nest in St. Louis to living off the land. What worried her now was whether she would be able to move onto the homestead that should be hers.

“I want to ride the range,” Oliver said, pulling her thoughts back to him. “But I don’t have a horse.”

“You will,” she assured him, setting off again. “And cattle, too. We will have cows, pigs, chickens, and maybe a goat or two.”

She wondered if it was right of her to promise him things that she was now not certain she could provide. Had she uprooted them from a safe life to one of worry and toil? Although she hadn’t been happy living with her in-laws, their life wasn’t terrible. They were nice to her, although there was always the undercurrent that she was living off their generosity. With Charles gone, they had shown interest in Oliver but very little in her. Their attitude had bothered her, making her feel that they wished she would disappear and leave Oliver to them to raise.

They had certainly kicked up a fuss when she’d made her plans known about moving to Guthrie! Oh, the wringing of hands and dire pronouncements of her and Oliver having their throats slit by wild Indians or robbed and beaten by roving ruffians!

Dismissing the memory, Jennie peered ahead at a two-story house with a sign out front. “I believe that’s the boarding house.” They covered the distance to stand before the sign. “Philpot’s Boarding House,” Jennie read aloud for Oliver’s benefit. “This is the place.” She bent forward to smooth down some unruly strands of Oliver’s hair and gave him a playful chuck under his chin. “Mind your manners now. Make Mama proud.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They approached the white-washed house with blue shutters and went up the front steps to the shady porch where an older woman sat in a rocker, her knitting needles clicking busily. She glanced at them and nodded. “Step right in,” she said, then went back to watching people pass by.

Jennie opened the front door and a bell tinkled above her. She looked up to see the tiny, brass bell attached to the door, signaling all callers. She and Oliver entered the high-ceilinged foyer. A wide staircase faced them, climbing up to the second floor. Quick footsteps sounded on the wood floor and a short, wide woman wearing a dove gray dress and bright red apron emerged from around a corner. She wiped her hands on a dishcloth.

“Hello. What can I do for you? Looking for a room?”

“Good day to you. Yes, my son and I are staying at a hotel, but we require other accommodations. What are your weekly rates?”

“I charge five dollars a week.” She gave Oliver the once-over. “I don’t imagine he eats much, so I would count you both as one boarder. I have a room available if you want to see it.”

“Yes, I would.” As they climbed the stairs, Jennie did some quick mental accounting. The hotel weekly rate was three dollars a week, but meals weren’t included and baths were fifty cents. She could easily spend eight or ten dollars a week when she included three meals a day and baths for her and Oliver two or three times a week. Oliver had an uncanny way of getting sweaty and filthy even when he was standing still.

“Are baths extra?”

“You each get one a week. More than that, I charge two bits per bath. Of course, you have your own basin for wash-ups. We have city water and a well.”

“That’s good,” Jennie said.

“The room is right here,” the woman said, opening the door. “By the way, I’m Gloria Philpot, the proprietor.”

“Oh, forgive me! Where are my manners? I’m Mrs. Jennie Hastings and this is my son Oliver.”

“Good to meet you. Go ahead in and take a look at it. The bed is sound, you’ve got a clothes rod over there in the corner, and this here dresser has a lot of drawers. Got your nightstand there, a good rocker, and an upholstered chair. I keep a clean house. Linens are washed every week. We air out the mattresses twice a year and give them a good beating.”

Jennie crossed the room to the window which gave a view of the side of the property. She noticed a neat, white building with an arched roof sitting in the middle of a generous expanse of new green grass. A copper bell, positioned on a pole, sat in front of it. Children kicked a ball around the big yard and swung in rope swings hanging from the limbs of huge oak trees. “A school is right there, I see.”

“That’s right. It’s the first one that was built in Guthrie. Even before the Land Run.”

“When will school let out for summer?”

“Last of this month. Some of the younger ones that don’t work as much on the farm or ranch go until sometime in June.”

Jennie turned around to examine the room. It was large. In one corner, a large basin was plumbed into the wall. A drapery could be pulled across to partition off that corner for privacy. The furnishings were functional and appeared to be comfortable. To test her theory, she sat in the rocker. It almost felt like home.

“I feed at seven, half past twelve, and six. Nothing fancy, but I don’t get complaints.”

Jennie exchanged a quick look with Oliver to confirm that he had no objections. “I’ll take it.” She reached into her beaded purse and withdrew the appropriate coins for a week’s boarding. Standing up, she held out the money to Mrs. Philpot. “Here you go. May I have a receipt?”

Mrs. Philpot raised her pale thin brows and batted a stray silver curl back off her forehead. “Sure. Come on downstairs and I’ll write you one.” She took the coins and dropped them into her apron pocket. “Did you come here for a divorce?”

“No.” Jennie glanced again at Oliver, but he was busy making faces in the hall mirror. “I came to claim my inheritance. I am a widow.”

“Sorry for your troubles,” Mrs. Philpot said. “My Hal went to glory four years ago next month. How long has it been for you?”

“This February.”

“Bless your soul!” Mrs. Philpot reached out her arms and gathered Jennie into a tight bear hug. Completely thrown off-guard by such a magnanimous gesture, Jennie’s eyes widened and she held her breath. Momentarily, the woman released her. “You are mighty welcome here, and if you want any special kind of food for your little boy, you just let me know. Mrs. Dandridge is boarding with us and she has a seven year old girl named Molly. I bet they will play together right nice.”

“That’s … that’s nice.” Jennie smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt and gathered her composure. “You are most kind, Mrs. Philpot.”

“Now don’t you speak well? Where are you from? Up east?”

“No, we hail from St. Louis.” She and Oliver followed Mrs. Philpot downstairs and along a hallway toward the back of the house.

“Here’s the dining room,” Mrs. Philpot said, motioning to her right.

Jennie glanced in and spied a long table that would comfortably seat a dozen people. It was already laid out for the evening meal. A large light fixture with crystal prisms was suspended over the table. They passed a hall clock and Jennie saw that it was half past one. Mrs. Philpot pushed open a swinging door and the aroma of baked bread engulfed them.

“It smells good in here!” Oliver piped up.

Mrs. Philpot placed her hands on her hips and chuckled. “Doesn’t it, now? We’re having cornbread and beef stew tonight for supper. Does that sound good to you, young ‘un? It does? Guess what I’m stirring up for something sweet? Can’t guess? Then I’ll tell you.” She bent at the waist toward Oliver. “Sweet potato pie.”

“What’s
that
?” Oliver asked, his smile turning into a frown.

“You’ve never had that before?” Mrs. Philpot straightened, saw Jennie shaking her head, and addressed Oliver again. “It’s so good it will make your toes curl! You just wait.” She looked at Jennie. “You’re moving in today, aren’t you? You will be joining us for supper?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. The boarders right now are Mrs. Dandridge and Molly, Colonel Anders, Mrs. Johnson, and Mr. Perkins.” She went to a tidy desk near the back door and took a pad and pencil from one of its drawers. Sitting down in the desk chair, she wrote out a receipt for Jennie’s payment. “Here you go, dearie.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Philpot.”

She hoisted herself up to her feet again with a little groan. “Well, I best check on that cornbread.” She patted the top of Oliver’s head. “I’ll save you a place at the table.” Reaching into the desk drawer again, she pulled out some keys that were tied together with a length of yellow grosgrain ribbon. She untied the ribbon, slipped a skeleton key from it, and offered it to Jennie. “Room Five is yours. Don’t lose this or I’ll have to charge you to replace it.”

“Thank you. We will be back in time for supper. Come along, Oliver.” She tucked the key into her beaded purse and grasped her son’s hand again. She led him through the house to the porch. The older lady was still rocking and knitting.

“Are you moving in?” the lady asked as Jennie and Oliver were going down the front steps. Her voice wavered, weakened by age.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Jennie Hastings and this is Oliver.”

“Molly will be glad to have another child around to play with. It’s a good place,” the old lady said. “Never any trouble here. I’m Adella Carter, Gloria’s mother.”

Gloria? “Oh!” Jennie paused to take a better look at the woman. “So pleased to meet you, Mrs. Carter. Your daughter seems to have a fine establishment here. You must be proud of her.”

“She’s always been a hard worker.” Mrs. Carter returned to her study of the passing wagons, horses, and pedestrians.

Jennie moved on with Oliver scampering beside her. She didn’t want to be late for her appointment with the attorneys. She hoped that Mr. Polk would be there. As the senior partner, he would have more experience and be able to assist her in ironing out this mess Charles had made for them.

She felt less encumbered now that she had secured a nice place for her and Oliver. With any luck, they wouldn’t have to stay at the boarding house for more than a couple of weeks. But if her affairs turned out to be complex, then she felt better about living at the boarding house instead of in a hotel. It was much better for Oliver.

Bertha Polk was sitting at the desk in the outer office when they arrived. She smiled and crooked a finger at Oliver.

“I have something for you, little fella.” She tapped a thin book lying on top of the desk. “The Ballad of Paul Revere with pictures! You ever heard it read before? No? Good! While your mama is in talking with Mr. Polk and Mr. Warner, we will sit over there in the window seat and I’ll read it to you. It’s a real good tale.”

“That’s kind of you, Mrs. Polk,” Jennie said, giving Oliver’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It is a wonderful story, Ollie. And it rhymes.” She met Mrs. Polk’s gaze. “He likes stories that rhyme.”

“You go on in. They’re expecting you. And I thought you were going to call me Bert.”

“Well, I …”

“If you don’t, then I’m forced to call you Mrs. Hastings instead of Jennie, which to my mind is so much friendlier and easier on the tongue.”

Jennie smiled as she removed her gloves and tucked them under her belt. “Very well. Thank you, Bert.” She patted Oliver’s shoulder. “I’ll be right in there. Listen politely. No squirming!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Oliver mumbled as he climbed up onto the window seat.

Jennie entered the other office to find a middle-aged man with thinning hair and owlish eyeglasses sitting at the desk where his law partner had been seated yesterday. Zach Warner sat in the chair he had occupied when he had rested his hands upon hers to stop her from wringing them. Both men sprang to their feet.

Zach wore dark trousers, a white shirt, a brown leather vest, and brown boots with fancy stitching today. Adam Polk looked scholarly in a white shirt with sleeve garters, tweedy pants, and a fashionable necktie. A suit jacket hung over the back of the oak and leather office chair.

“Mrs. Hastings, so good to meet you in person at last,” Mr. Polk said, extending his hand to her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be here yesterday.”