Margaret Brownley (16 page)

“You drive a hard bargain,” Big Sam complained.

“If you want to see the baby, you do it my way. Agreed?”

The men looked at each other. Finally, as if by mutual consent, they raised their drinks in unison. “Agreed!”

*****

Logan had never seen such preening and primping in all his born days.

Even more amazing the miners took it upon themselves to monitor Sharkey’s drinking. Twenty-four hours a day they watched his every move. His flask was confiscated and his tent searched. A coffeepot was kept brewing for the sole purpose of keeping the town’s only barber sober.

“It ain’t fair!” Sharkey protested bitterly to Logan, whom he blamed for this sorry state of affairs.

“It’s fair.” Logan assured him, although secretly he’d hoped that the miners would have forgotten the idea of visiting Libby and the baby by now. “No one wants to trust themselves to a drunk barber.”

Sharkey resigned himself, at least temporarily. “I’ll give the men their haircuts and shaves. Maybe then they’ll leave me in peace.”

He set up business beneath the sagging canvas overhang in front of the general store. This was after he and Hap had hammered out an agreement as to the cost of renting space. Hap was the clear loser in the bargain, until Sharkey generously offered to trim Hap’s beard for free. It was the best he could do since the man had no hair to speak of. Had, in fact, no more than one or two strays that he insisted on keeping.

“A man’s not ‘fficially bald as long as he has a single hair left,” Hap said, ready to fight anyone who disagreed.

“And that,” Shakespeare said, borrowing from the
Merry Wives of Windsor,
“is the long and the short of it.”

Afraid to argue with Hap for fear he’d raise the rent, Sharkey trimmed him first while Logan and the other miners watched.

Satisfied that Sharkey knew what he was doing, the miners took their turns sitting upon an empty whiskey keg. Hair and whiskers flew in every direction as Sharkey shaved, cut snipped and trimmed. In no time at all he had cut what he said was enough hair to sink a ship.

Although he’d complained about the miners’ vigilance in monitoring his drinking, he seemed to enjoy being the center of attention while he worked. He put on quite a show for the benefit of the men patiently waiting their turns.

He lathered and shaved and lathered again, explaining that only the finest of barbers bothered with a second shaving. He then checked each newly bared chin for stray hairs.

When it began to snow again, Hap Montana allowed Sharkey to move his business inside the general store with only a slight increase in rent, providing he cleaned up after every customer and not get stray hairs in the pickle barrel.

Watching all the fuss, Logan didn’t know quite what to think. He never would have thought that one small baby could turn a town upside-down. He didn’t recognize half the men without their facial hair. It seemed as if the entire population of Deadman’s Gulch sported faces smooth as a baby’s bottom!

McGuire slapped Logan on the back. “How’s it feel ta be a family man?”

Logan frowned. “I wouldn’t know, since I’m not one and never intend to be one.”

McGuire nodded. “Yeah, it takes a little gettin’ used ta. ‘Specially in the middle of the night.”

Logan watched McGuire from the corner of his eye and assured that the man wasn’t mocking him, he lowered his voice. It wouldn’t do to let the other miners hear him talk about things that should be of primary concern only to womenfolk. “Is that normal? I mean for babies to confuse their nights with their days?”

“Normal as can be. Ah didn’t get a decent night’s sleep for three months after our last one.”

“Three months? That long?”

“Yep. Takes bairns that long to git their day eyes.”

“What do you mean day eyes?”

“Ah mean they don’t see day until their eyes develop fully.”

“Is that so?”

“If they can’t see day, there’s no way they know when ta squawk and when not ta squawk.”

“That makes sense.” Logan offered McGuire his hand. “I’m mighty obliged to you for sharing your vast knowledge and experience with me.”

McGuire gave Logan’s hand a solemn shake. “Ah’m glad ta be of service.”

Logan turned as a large strapping man with a face as wrinkled as a boiled shirt walked into the store.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting a haircut,” McGuire said.

Cast-Iron Peters lived in a cabin outside of town. He cast a disapproving eye at the goings-on and growled, “I ain’t gittin’’ all gussied up for no woman and her young ‘un.”

*****

Libby sat on the thick bear robe next to Noel and swung the gold locket gently from its chain. The embossed surface caught the firelight and miniature flames danced upon the burnished metal.

Noel gazed at the locket, his blue eyes bright and alert. Libby felt such tenderness toward her young son that at times she thought her heart would burst with motherly pride. Everything about him from his tiny little toes to the dot of his button nose was perfect in her eyes.
Thank you God for delivering him safely.

“Your father gave me this locket,” she said. Of course that was in the beginning of their marriage before things went terribly wrong. Before Jeff became little more than a stranger.

She carefully cupped the locket in her hand and sprang the clasp open. Almost at once she felt a pang. Noel’s hair was almost identical in color to his father’s hair. It’s what she’d hoped for, of course, but she couldn’t help but feel a deep sadness. Noel needed a father and all she could give him was a snippet of hair
. Oh, Jeffrey. If only you could see your son….
Would it have made a difference? Would a child have made Jeffrey settle down? Somehow, she doubted it.

Some inner sense made her lift her eyes toward the door of the cabin. Logan stood watching her, eyes leveled beneath his dark furrowed brow. A look of withdrawal shuttered his face.

He’d gone to fetch fresh water.  She’d been so intent in her thoughts, she’d not heard him return.

She searched his expression for remnants of the humor that had been there moments earlier, before he left on his errand. All she could find were harsh and relentless lines. Why had he returned from his errand looking so grim? What could have happened in such a short time?

Feeling awkward and self-conscious beneath his hard scrutiny, she pocketed the locket. This simple movement on her part broke the brittle tension in the air. He ducked beneath the clothesline that stretched across the room and dumped an armful of logs onto the hearth.

“Logan? Is everything all right?

“Everything is fine!” His answer was short and curt, leaving no room for discussion.

Puzzled and feeling more than a bit rebuffed, she stayed out of his way for the remainder of the day.

*****

That night after Libby and the baby were asleep, and the seemingly endless chores had been done for the day, Logan left the cabin and walked through the falling snow to his favorite saloon. How could he have been so foolish as to become emotionally involved with Libby and her baby? The way he’d been carrying on these last few days, one would have thought that Noel was his child; that Libby was his—

Well, she wasn’t.

So, there was no excuse for the way he felt upon finding her staring at that locket and looking like the grieving widow she had every right to be. He had no right to feel hurt and rejected. No right at all.

Drat, but he had! Not only had he felt hurt and rejected, he felt cheated and even a bit angry. For the first time ever, he’d felt like he belonged. Like he had a family. A home.

He never felt that way before. Certainly not while growing up. He’d been raised by his mother, and after her death he’d lived with his father. It had been a good life, and until these last few days spent with Libby and Noel, he never once thought his upbringing had been in any way lacking.

Maybe he was just tired. Maybe that would explain the strange thoughts that plagued him. He’d not slept much in recent nights. No one sleeps much with a new baby. That had to be it.
That better be it.

He stepped inside the saloon and stared in astonishment at the empty tables and chairs.

Only the bartender and Cast-Iron were there, and a Monte dealer playing a game of solitaire. Logan had never seen the place so empty, except during the day when the miners were up in the hills mining gold.

“Where is everybody?”

Cast-Iron made a disgusted gesture and cursed. “Fool men. They’re all home washin’ clothes and takin’ baths.”

Logan couldn’t believe his ears. The men had agreed to clean up at his insistence, but he never meant for it to interfere with his card game. The truth was he’d hoped that after their initial attempt to achieve proper hygiene, the men would abandon the idea of visiting Libby and the baby.

The miners seldom washed clothes and never during the middle of the week. Any bathing that was done was purely by chance if someone happened to fall into a stream or some other body of water.

“How long do you think it’s going to take them?’ Logan asked. His hands itched for the feel of cards.

“Forever!” Cast-Iron spit out. “Some men were complaining ‘cause it was taking so long for their clothes to dry. ’Fraid that everyone would see the baby before they do.”

Logan frowned. What was happening here? Libby and the baby had already taken over his cabin. He could barely move for the rope that stretched from one end of the cabin to the other, hung with Noel’s nightgowns and triangular breeches cut from red and blue flannel.

He’d paid one of the miners good money to go up to the mountain and fetch his horse and the two rented mules. Libby’s valise was ruined, but the clothes inside, though soaked, were otherwise salvageable.

The flannel shirts had been purchased from Hap, and Logan had spent hours cutting the fabric into triangles. It got so he couldn’t look at a shirt without plotting how many breeches could be cut from it.

It amazed him how much time and attention a baby required. His days were filled with fetching water and boiling water, washing clothes and folding clothes. This combined with his lack of sleep was a volatile combination.

And now he couldn’t even enjoy a game of cards with the boys. Libby had somehow managed to take over the saloon and was taking over his life. He had to talk to someone.

He glanced around on the outside chance someone else might have entered the saloon. No such luck.

“I don’t understand any of this,” he said for Cast-Iron’s benefit. “One minute I’m living a perfectly normal life. Before I know it, my house is taken over by two perfect strangers. I can’t sleep. There’s no time to eat, and now I can’t even enjoy a game of cards.” His depression increased as he glanced at the grizzled man. What in the world was he doing unloading his burden onto the likes of Cast-Iron? “How could a man’s life get so mixed up?”

Cast-Iron grunted and spit out one word, “Woman!”

Logan nodded.  The man obviously knew what he was talking about.

It stopped snowing four days after Christmas, but the temperature was below freezing. The sky was as gray as an old tin wash tub, pressing against the land with a heavy haze that hid the upper peaks of the Sierras.

A long line of men stood in front of Logan’s cabin. The line stretched the length of Main Street, clear to the other side of town. The men jumped up and down and blew on their hands in an effort to keep warm as they waited their turn to see the baby.

Only those passing Logan’s stringent inspections were allowed inside his cabin to pay their respects. Having just let McGuire enter, Logan turned his attention to the next man in line. Beaker stood, patiently holding a wooden baby cradle.

“Your hat’s dusty. Leave it outside.”

“Aw shucks, Logan, I don’t go nowhere without me hat. You know what they say, you can always tell where a man’s been by his hat.”

“That’s another good reason to leave your hat outside. There’re some things it would be better for the little fellow not to know yet.”

Beaker’s gruff voice exploded with laughter. “Maybe you’re right.” He set the cradle down and good-naturedly tossed his hat on the porch.

After McGuire had paid his respects, Beaker walked inside and set the cradle at Libby’s feet.

Libby was sitting on a chair next to the fireplace wearing her pretty blue dress. Despite her best efforts to keep Noel awake, he was sound asleep in her arms.

She ran her hand along the silky smooth wood of the cradle. “It’s beautiful.”

Beaker beamed, revealing two missing teeth. “Beaker Madsen at your service, ma’am.”

“How do you do, Mr. Madsen. Did you make this cradle?”

“That I did, ma’am.” He leaned over her chair to get a closer look at the sleeping baby. “So, that’s the little fellow, eh? Mighty handsome.”

Libby smiled with motherly pride.

“Looks just like his father.”

Libby’s eyes widened and she glanced over where Logan stood. “Now how would you know that? His father’s been dead for several months.”