Friends and Enemies (11 page)

Robert rubbed the bridge of his nose, then stared at Taite's narrow brown eyes. “Do you have children?”

Stillman Taite brushed crumbs out of his mustache. “I ain't never been married.”

Fortune waited for the whistle of a departing train to fade before he spoke again. “Have you ever had to kill a man?”

“I'll defend myself and the goods I'm guardin' any time it's needed.” Taite patted his holstered revolver.

Mister, I just asked you three specific questions and you didn't answer any of them.
“I see you pack a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber. How do you like that double action?”

“Works good, as long as I remember to pull clean through on the trigger and recock the sucker. I ain't got used to it yet.”

“We tested those in the army, but they kept malfunctioning. Do you have any problem with them misfiring?”

“Nope.”

“That's good. Then you haven't shot yourself in the leg with it?”

“No sir, I ain't had not a speck of trouble.” Taite's lower teeth were stained yellow from tobacco.

“When did you buy it, Mr. Taite?”

Somewhere out on the platform a conductor shouted.

“Yesterday afternoon. My old gun was all rusted up so from being up in them Colorado creeks. I bought me a new one. I was hopin' I'd get this job.”

Fortune pulled out his own gun and laid it on the table. “Well, if you had asked me first, I would have recommended a single-action Army .45. I just think they are more reliable. Do you carry a sneak gun?”

“Mr. Fortune, I'm a competent gunman. I can take care of myself, if that is what you're tryin' to figure.”

What I'm trying to do is get you to answer a direct question.
“Mr. Taite, you do understand that there is a one-month probation period.”

Stillman Taite shoved his hat back revealing an extremely high forehead. “Yes, sir. My brother-in-law told me all about the railroad policy. Does this mean I get the job?”

“Any man that learned from Pappy Divide certainly has the qualifications, and your brother-in-law's recommendation is good enough to give you a try. But until I see you handle a tight situation, I won't know for sure it's the job for you. Not everyone is cut out for this kind of work.”

Taite reached across the table to shake Robert's hand. “I won't let you down, Mr. Fortune.”

“Good, Still, because lots of folks will be countin' on that.”
His hands are calloused enough to have been working a claim.

A knock on the door brought Robert Fortune to his feet, almost at attention.
At ease, captain, you don't need to salute anymore.
“Come in.”

Guthrie Holter stuck a neatly trimmed mustache and otherwise clean-shaven face into the small office. “Did you want to see me now . . . or later?”

Fortune motioned with his hand. “Come in, Holter.” Robert could smell the tonic water across the room. “I see you bought a new suit.”

There was a slight blush in the leather-tough face. “Holter, this is Stillman Taite, the third man in this outfit,” Fortune said.

Guthrie Holter nodded his head toward the other man. “You say we're all goin' to Deadwood?”

“I want Stillman to live in Rapid City and you to pitch your tent up at Deadwood. My sister-in-law with the dress shop has some rooms to let.” Fortune retrieved his suit coat from the back of the chair. “That will work until you move your family up.”

“I didn't say nothin' about movin' my family.” Guthrie Holter glanced straight at Robert Fortune's penetrating stare. “Eh, yes sir, providin' they'll move, of course.”

“We'll all go up today so I can go over the routines with both of you. Then I'll set a schedule.”

“I don't need a satchel, then?” Taite asked.

“I'll send you straight back on the afternoon train. You just need your revolver and your watch. Everyone who works for the railroad should carry a good watch.”

Stillman Taite pulled a gold-plated watch out of his vest pocket. “I got me a valuable presentation watch . . . this was presented to none other than Wild Bill Hickok by the . . .”

Guthrie Holter yanked a gold-plated watch out of his own vest pocket. “. . . by the grateful citizens of Dodge City, Kansas?”

“You got one like it?” Taite gasped.

Robert chuckled. “I'm not sure the citizens of Dodge City were that grateful.”

“Where did you get yours?” Holter probed.

“From a little girl at the depot in Cheyenne.”

Holter picked his teeth with his fingernail. “Was her name Angelita?”

“Yep.” Taite shoved the watch back into his pocket. “Was her granddaddy a friend of Wild Bill?”

Guthrie Holter stared out the office window, across the tracks. “I heard he was a friend of Jack McCall's.”

Taite sauntered over next to him. “Her grandmother fell off a wagon and broke her back?”

“I thought her grandma had to have her leg amputated clean to her hip,” Holter mumbled.

Taite's neck flushed. “And you bought the watch for five dollars?”

“I paid six dollars for mine,” Holter admitted.

Robert Fortune grabbed his hat and ushered both men to the door. “Boys, you aren't exactly instilling me with confidence in your judgment.”

Patricia Fortune trudged, chin on her chest, beside her mother as they hiked down Lincoln Street. Veronica strutted ahead of them and led the way north on Sherman.

Patricia slipped her hand into her mother's. “I feel really, really strange, Mama.”

Jamie Sue brushed the brown bangs off her daughter's eyes. “Because you aren't the one wearing the rose dress?”

“Mainly because 'Nica and I aren't wearing identical dresses. I think I feel safer when we are both the same.”

“You knew this day would happen sooner or later.”

“Why?”

“Do you know any thirty-year-old identical twins who still dress the same?”

“I don't know any thirty-year-old identical twins.”

“Let your sister enjoy herself today. It will be your turn tomorrow.”

“Mama, did I ever tell you it is difficult being a twin?”

“I believe you have mentioned it to me a time or two.”

“About 90 percent of the time it's wonderful. I always have someone who understands exactly how I think and how I feel.”

“And the other 10 percent?”

“I cry myself to sleep and wish I were dead!”

“Heavens . . . I trust that is an exaggeration.”

“It's like 'Nica is always there. I can never, ever be by myself. I am never alone, except maybe in the privy.”

“Perhaps we could discuss making separate bedrooms upstairs.”

“Oh, no, Mama, I would die of lonesomeness. Remember that one time at Fort Grant that 'Nica got a stomach ache and went and slept with you and Daddy and I didn't know it, and I woke up in bed and she wasn't with me. I was so scared I couldn't move until daylight.”

“You were only four.”

“But I sometimes dream about not being able to find 'Nica. It's horrible.”

“Are you saying that this is one of the 10 percent times that are difficult to live through?”

“Sort of . . . I don't think I've ever been outside when we didn't wear the same thing.”

Jamie Sue gave her daughter a hug as they strolled along. “I seem to remember one Christmas when you wore Grandpa Brazos's red shirt for two weeks, and 'Nica wore his green one.”

“I only wore the red for one week . . . then we switched . . .”

They strolled in front of a gray house with white gingerbread trim.

“You did? Patricia, I don't remember that part.”

“We didn't tell anyone. But that was when we were little kids.”

“I believe it was just two years ago.” Jamie Sue glanced down at her daughter. “You really switched shirts?”
How many times have they tricked their own mother?

The trio stopped in front of Morgan's Grocery Store. “I think I'll give Mr. Morgan my order, then he can have it ready for us to pick up on our way home.”

“Can we go on down to Aunt Abby's? I want to show her how I look in this dress.” Veronica bounced up and down on the heels of her black lace-up boots as she pleaded.

Patricia chewed on her tongue and pressed her face against the grocery window. “I want to stay with Mama.”

“Can I go by myself, Mama? It's just one more block. I want to show the dress to Amber,” Veronica pleaded.

“Yes, but go only to the dress shop. Tell Abby we'll be there in a minute.”

Jamie Sue watched as Veronica crossed Main Street, where a brown rooster was chasing a small black dog. Then she and Patricia entered the store. “I can't believe you wanted to shop with me rather than go down to Abby's.”

Patricia scrunched her nose and grinned. “I know something that 'Nica doesn't.”

Jamie Sue picked up a turnip the size of a melon. “Oh?”

“See that woman near the counter?”

Jamie Sue set the giant vegetable back in the crate. “With the thick black hair and pale skin?”

Patricia stood on her tiptoes and whispered in her mother's ear. “Yes, that's Mrs. Moraine . . . Eachan's mother.”

“My . . . and who is that young man that came over to her carrying the empty apple crate?”

“That's him!” Patricia squealed. “That's Eachan!”

Jamie Sue clutched her daughter's wrist. “Well, I think we should go introduce ourselves!”

Patricia tugged away. “Oh, no! We can't do that. I . . . I don't have on my rose dress!”

“Nonsense, come on.” Jamie Sue marched down the grocery aisle past large jars of pickled herring and a half-full cracker jar. As she approached, she noticed the young boy with thick, wild dark hair fade back behind a bin of potatoes.
He is quite shy, I presume.

The lady smiled warmly as she approached. “You must be Little Frank's mother.”

“Yes, and I believe your son is Eachan. We have reached that time in life when we are defined by our children.”

The woman looked around. “Yes, he was just here . . .”

“And this is my . . .” Jamie Sue glanced back. Patricia was nowhere in sight.

“I'm Megan Moraine,” the woman replied, “but please call me Meggie. It sounds rather girlish, I know.”

“I know exactly how you feel.” Up close she could see Meggie's thick black hair was thinly streaked with gray. “I'm Jamie Sue.”

“Jamie Sue?”

“Yes, I'm afraid until the day I die, I always will be called Jamie Sue.”

“Eachan says you're new in town.”

“We just moved here a few days ago. Our trunks haven't even arrived yet. I've been stuck with this one dress for two weeks.”

“We've been here just a month,” Meggie Moraine explained. Her hair was pulled back over her ears so tightly that her eyes looked elongated.

Jamie Sue snatched up a glass jar of pickled, green boiled eggs. “Now, who on earth would buy these?”

Mrs. Moraine laughed and pointed to an identical jar in her basket.

“Oh my, Meggie, I am embarrassed. You'll have to tell me how they taste.”

“I like them sliced thin on a cabbage salad,” Meggie explained.

“I'm afraid my crew doesn't eat much cabbage.” Jamie Sue set the jar back on the shelf. “How are you liking Deadwood?”

Meggie leaned close enough toward Jamie that she could whiff peppermint on the woman's breath. “To tell you the truth, Jamie Sue, it's a very tight community. They don't exactly welcome newcomers. I haven't made any good friends yet. And you?”

“We have family here, so I probably don't sense that as much as you.”

“Your family or your husband's?”

“My husband's father and brother own the big hardware and a dozen buildings downtown, another brother the telephone exchange, and a sister-in-law has the dress shop.”

Meggie's hand went over her mouth. “Are you a Fortune?”

“Oh, yes . . . I see you've heard of us already.”

The woman stiffened and stepped back. “I'm Irish, you know,” she declared.

“I guessed as much with a name like Moraine and your beautiful pale complexion.” Jamie Sue studied the blue eyes of Mrs. Moraine.

“That doesn't bother you?” Meggie challenged.

“The skin?”

“No, that I'm Irish.”

“Heavens no . . .” Jamie Sue stepped closer to the woman. “Why should it?”

“Mr. Moraine heard that the Fortunes hated all the Irish.”

A sinking feeling in Jamie Sue's stomach forced her to gasp out the reply. “You heard what?”

Meggie Moraine's eyes narrowed, and there was no expression in her face. “We were told not to do business with any store connected with the name Fortune.”

“That is totally absurd.” Jamie Sue clutched her hands in front of her waist. “Who would tell you that?”

“My husband works in the blacksmith shop at the Barrel Band Mine. The shop foreman is from Belfast. He said that the Fortunes all hated the Irish.”

“Well, he lied to your husband.”

“I will not tell Finnigan that you called him a liar.”

“I don't know why anyone would start such a vicious rumor. He is mistaken, but I do apologize for calling him a liar.”

“Riagan, that's my husband, is quite convinced it's true. He won't let me shop at any store with the name Fortune on it.”

“But . . . but . . . this is absurd. All of our closest friends in the army . . . the Connors, the Sullivans, the Walshs . . . were all Irish. My word, my sister-in-law, Abigail, was an O'Neill. She's as Irish as they come. You must have us confused with someone else.”

“Is your sister-in-law's family Protestant?” Meggie probed.

“Eh, yes . . . yes, they are. Presbyterians, I believe.”