Squire's Quest (12 page)

He'd been in Cheyenne nearly a week when it occurred to him they might have come on
a train. "You are purely a fool, boy," he muttered. He'd spent too long away from civilization.
That had to be his excuse.

The station agent denied seeing any young woman matching his description of Cal, but
when the night clerk came in, he said, "Sure. I recall her. Came in with an older man. He left her
here. Just walked out and left her." He shook his head in evident puzzlement at any decent man
who'd abandon a girl in a depot.

"When was that?"

"A while back." He scratched his balding scalp. "Maybe a month ago."

Great God!
Anything could have happened to her in a month. "Do you have
any idea what happened to her? Did the older fellow come back?"

"Nope. She slept here that night, curled herself up on the bench closest to the stove." He
sort of hunched his shoulder when the agent cleared his throat. "Yessir , I know I shouldn't have
let her, but hell. What kind of man would turns a pretty girl out on the street in a strange town,
middle of the night?"

"You did the right thing," Merlin said. "Have you seen her around town since
then?"

"Nope," he said again. "Not a trace."

Thanking both the agent and the night clerk, Merlin walked out onto the street. He stood
on the depot steps and looked up and down the street.
Where did you go, Cal? Did you put
on britches again? Or did you find a safe haven?

* * * *

Callie was finally getting used to rising in the middle of the night again. It had been hard
the first few nights, because she'd been afraid to let herself sleep soundly for fear of not waking
when it was time. After the difficulty she'd had finding work, she didn't dare do anything to get
herself fired.

The little cubby where she slept was warm, anyhow. Right in back of the oven, its one
brick wall held the heat all the time. Come summer it would be miserable, but now she
appreciated the warmth.

She washed quickly, for the water was like ice. Once she'd braided her hair and tucked it
into the muslin cap she wore in the kitchen, she was ready for work. Frau Trebelhorn was a bear
about cleanliness, which suited her just fine. Imagine finding a hair in your bread. That would
put anyone off his appetite.

What a funny woman the restaurant manager was. She spoke English just as good as
Callie did, but she insisted on being called "Frau" instead of missus. She always wore a fancy
skirt with a band of embroidery around the hem, and her white apron never showed a spot of dirt.
"Not like mine," Callie mused, as she tied her coffee- and cherry juice-stained apron around her
waist. It was clean, but some stains were just stubborn.

She'd a lot to do today. Frau Trebelhorn had given her a list of fancy breads to bake for
tomorrow, besides the usual bread and pies. "It is our proud tradition, to invite our neighbors in
for coffee and bread while we celebrate the new year together," she'd said yesterday, when she
handed Callie the list and some recipes.

"Brambrack, that's easy. It's not so different from Mrs. Flynn's receipt. But this stollen...
I'll need more candied fruit from the storeroom. Julekage, that doesn't look too hard. But what's
Makosgubo?" She stumbled over the pronunciation. "Do we have any poppy seeds? Limpa?
Sounds like a broken leg." As she muttered, she searched the cupboard where the spices and
herbs were kept. Yes, there was cardamom, and a pint jar of black poppy seeds. Yesterday she'd
been sent to buy half a dozen oranges at the market, and dear they'd been, too. "That's
everything. I'm going to be busy."

The restaurant would be open for dinner and supper on New Year's Day, but they would
also have tables full of breads and cakes and fancy German desserts, along with gallons and
gallons of coffee, free to anybody who came in the door.

She'd never heard the like, but as long as she was getting paid for the extra work, she
couldn't complain.

A new year. As she worked, she wondered if it would bring anything different from the
old one. If she could work a way to get free of her pa, she'd settle for that. Seemed to her he was
getting meaner all the time. More peculiar, too.

Women had the vote here in Wyoming Territory. Did it mean they weren't obliged to
mind their menfolk once they were full-grown?

There was something about the first day of a new year that made a man look at his life
and wonder what he was making of it. He had been on his quest now for more than six years, and
all he had to show for it was a few hundred dollars and a lot of memories.

The thought that the time to go home and settle was nigh had occurred to Merlin with
increasing frequency, ever since he'd decided he'd had enough of trailing behind a herd. Oh,
there was still the Pacific Ocean and the Grand Canyon to see, and maybe those giant trees he'd
heard tell of, out California way, but otherwise he'd pretty much done all he'd set out to do.

He'd need to be at home when Ma and Pa went on their trip to Australia. Handy as he
was, Abel couldn't mind the place by himself. And the River Ranch was going to be sitting
empty after next year, according to Ma's last letter. Josh Ellensberg was getting too old to
manage it--leastwise he'd claimed to be. Pa had hinted he might not hire anyone else, if Merlin
was through with his wanderings. He'd always said that part of the Lachlan holdings was to be
Merlin's share.

Trouble was, Merlin wasn't ready to settle. Not yet. One of these days...

The Bijou Café was closed, so he went on down the street to Lambert House.
He'd never eaten there--too fancy for his blood--but he'd heard the food was fine.

There was a line outside the door. He was a couple of places back from Bruce Redmond,
so he nodded a greeting.

"Word sure gets around," the young teller from the First Platte bank said. "Look at this
crowd."

"Did I miss something?" He had bought a copy of the paper a couple of days ago, but
had never gotten around to reading it all. There'd been something else to do every night since
he'd come to town, from the Christmas service at church to the do-or-die chess game with Dean
Roderick, down at the Railroad Saloon. They'd finally called it a draw at one-thirty this
morning.

"It's a Lambert House tradition. Free fancy breads and coffee for all comers on New
Year's Day. This year should be better than ever, because the new baker is a real artist. Not just
bread and pie, either. Fancy French pastries, too, and cakes of all sorts."

"Well, that's fine." Merlin had never had much of a sweet tooth, but he did like a good
loaf of bread like Ma made, the kind with a crunchy crust and the tang of good sourdough
starter.

The line moved forward. "Say, it looks like they're putting folks together at the tables.
Join me?" Bruce said.

"Glad to," Merlin agreed. He'd brought his book along to read while he was eating, but
he wouldn't mind having company instead. A man should be neighborly when the opportunity
arose.

They waited another quarter hour before a table for two opened up. The waiter handed
them each a menu as soon as they sat down. Merlin gave it a quick scan and saw what he was
looking for. He'd heard the ham dinner here was one of the best, and had already made up his
mind to try it. Ma always served ham on the first day of the year.

While he waited for someone to take his order, he took a look at the dessert list, a
separate sheet tucked inside the folded-over pasteboard cover that held the days' offerings.

He hadn't seen such a fancy menu since he'd left New Orleans.

The ham was moist and tasty, the sweet potatoes rich and buttery, and the beans
well-spiced. The fat roll on a separate plate, with a fancy little ball of butter, was like a cloud. It all
but melted in his mouth, yet it had a good chewy crust and a tang that took him back in memory
to his Ma's table. "I wonder if I can get a dozen of these," he said, as he swallowed the last bite.
"A man could live on them."

"They sure live up to their billing," Bruce agreed, as be patted his taut belly. "I swear, I
don't know where I'll put dessert, but I'm damn sure gonna have some."

The fancy breads spread on a table along one wall were as good as any he'd tasted. The
one with the little sign that said "Stollen" was his favorite. Reminded him of the one Ma always
made for Christmas. When he walked out of the restaurant, he was as satisfied as he could ever
recall being after a big meal. He begged off accompanying Bruce to the saloon, claiming a need
to get to bed early. In truth, he wanted to meet the baker, and he wanted to do it alone.

Anybody who could bake like that was worth getting to know.

The back door of the restaurant opened into a small yard. Merlin took up post at the side
of the shed that stood in one corner. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to say, besides
asking about getting a weekly dozen of those rolls. What if she was sixty and weighed three
hundred pounds? What if he was mean-tempered, like that big colored cook at Madame
Lespard's in New Orleans?

He was turning to walk away when the door opened and a woman appeared. She wore a
man's greatcoat, too big for her. When she stepped out onto the snowy ground, she slipped,
flailed her arms to keep from falling.

Quick as a wink, he caught her. She was quite an armful, what with the heavy coat and
all. She smelled of yeast and warm bread and something spicy.

As soon as he laid hand on her, she stiffened and started to fight him. "Turn loose," she
squawked. Her arm swung up and the side of her hand caught him smartly on the ear.

"Hold on there. I'm trying to help--"

"Let me go!"

"Suit yourself." He released her.

Since she was still threshing around, her feet went sliding and she landed on the packed
snow with a breathless "Ooof!"

Merlin knelt in front of her. "You all right?"

She raised her head and for the first time he got a good look at her in the light of the
lantern beside the door. Even though her hair was skinned back from her face, he could see it
was dark as midnight. Her eyes were as green as spring leaves.

"Go away or I'll scream," she said, a little breathlessly.

"Cal? Cal Smith?" He couldn't quite believe he'd found her.

She raised her chin and peered at him. For a moment she seemed puzzled, and he
realized his face must be entirely in shadow, eyepatch and all.

He removed his wide-brimmed hat. "It's me. Merlin."

She stared at him so long he started to worry she'd freeze her behind. At last she
whispered, "Merlin?" She gave a little hiccup. "Merlin? You came."

"Soon as I got word. Now, why don't you stand up and tell me what you need me to
do?"

She burst into tears.

Merlin hadn't been raised with four sisters for nothing. He scooped her up--she wasn't a
featherweight like she'd been the last time he'd known her--and carried her over to the stoop. The
snow in front of it had been tromped into ice, and he nearly fell down before he could get himself
sat, with her on his lap. Tucking her head between his chin and his chest, he stroked her back.
"There, there," he whispered over and over. "You'll be fine. I'm here. There, there."

Gradually he became aware this was no longer the skinny little girl he'd taken with him
on that jaunt into Montana. Underneath the yeasty, spicy scent was one he'd learned to recognize
as pure woman. She was soft, not bony, round, not angular as the pretend-boy had been.

How old is she now? I never did know for sure, but I always figured she wasn't more
than twelve. That would make her, what? Eighteen or nineteen.

She's a woman grown.

And didn't his body know it?

Callie felt safe for the first time since she'd left Mrs. Flynn's bakery, back in Virginia
City. The knot of ice that had seemed to be stuck tight in her belly was dissolving. After a while,
she managed to stop bawling. "I'm sorry," she said, and heard the raspy sound of her voice.

"Never mind. My sisters always said a good cry was better than medicine to make a
body feel better." His hand, which had been stroking her back, dropped away.

She wished he'd put it back. Being touched with gentleness and care was something
she'd missed for so long.

"Maybe. But it sure doesn't feel very good." She sat up and stared at him. "You've
changed."

"Got a little bigger, is all."

"You're older." As soon as she'd said the words, she wanted to take them back.
What
a silly thing to say. Of course he's older. It's been six years.

"So are you." There was a note in his voice that sounded almost like laughter. "Older
and prettier." His gloved fingers touched her cheek lightly. "Still have those green eyes, though.
I've never seen the like, not in all my travels."

She reared back, so he was no longer touching her face. "Don't."

His touch had felt too much like a caress. Too gentle, too kind. It made her want to bawl
again, because it felt so good.

His hand dropped. After a moment, he stopped staring at her face. "So, what can I do for
you, Cal Smith?"

"Well--" She closed her mouth. What
could
he do for her? What had she
imagined he could do, when she'd sent that desperate telegram to him? She was free of her pa, so
she didn't need him for that. She had a respectable job, so she didn't need him to support her. She
even had a place to sleep, so she didn't need his help there either. "I don't know," she admitted
when no ideas came to mind. "When I sent the telegram, I was scared, and you were the only
person I could think of who might rescue me. But now--" She spread her hands in a gesture of
helplessness. "I don't need help. Everything's fine."

His lips tightened and she felt his body stiffen. "Do you need a friend?" he said,
finally.

The last little piece of ice in her belly seemed to melt. "Oh, yes, Merlin. I really do need
a friend."