Silverton: Claims On The Heart (2 page)

“Nonsense. We wouldn't hear of it, would we, Kathleen? We can fit the three of us until Kathleen and I get a place.”

Kathleen managed to nod. She had spent two days on the train and dearly wanted some privacy. A warm bath seemed like a luxury beyond hope, but at least a private space to collect her thoughts would've been nice. She doubted there were more than two rooms above the store. How private could that be?

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that lunch on the train had been light and long ago. She glanced around, wondering what provisions she might gather for a makeshift meal. Perhaps she could look upstairs and see if there was a usable stove.

As though reading her thoughts, Stan said, “Let's take a lantern and have a look above. I bet Kathleen would stir us up some supper.”

“That would be pretty durn nice. I got some tins of beans and soda crackers. She could take up some salt pork and fry us up some tack.”

Kathleen was not fond of any item on Vic's menu. Visions of her mother's roasted chicken and juicy ham floated through her mind. Maybe when they were settled they could have the kind of suppers she remembered.

Since there were no customers in the store, Vic took the lantern and led the way up the plank stairs. They were so narrow and steep the light cast elongated shadows of their figures on the wall.

She and her father paused at the top to let Vic set the lantern down.

A rectangular room stretched in front of her. Unadorned windows at each end of the room let in a small measure of the fading afternoon light. Dust hung in the air, catching scattered beams of sunshine. A sofa, worn out and oozing stuffing, sat against the wall. A rough plank table and two rickety stools graced the middle of the room. A single narrow cot stood in the far corner under a window. Those coarse blankets were probably home to a variety of bugs.

Kathleen rubbed her arms and shivered.

“It's not much. But me and ole Jack called it home.”

Politeness kept her from making a reply.

Someone had nailed a crooked shelf on the wall next to an ancient stove. The shelf held half a dozen plates, mugs, and a few cracked bowls. A heavy cook pot hung on a hook nearby. The stove looked as though it had not seen a coat of blackening since it was placed in the room. A skillet and a tin coffeepot sat on the stove. The skillet needed a good scrubbing before she cooked supper.

Her father tossed some wood into the stove from the pile that sat beside it. “What do you think, Kat? Do you think you can convince this old stove to heat us some supper?”

“I'll do my best.” She turned to Vic. “Do you think you could find me some water? I'd like to do a little washing up before I cook.”

Vic blushed behind his whiskers, apparently misunderstanding her request. “Of course, missy. You take all the time you want. I forget how ladies like to be clean.” He trotted off with a bucket.

Kathleen swung her arm to encompass the room. “I wouldn't like to see Vic put out of his home, but how will we fit the three of us in here? There aren't even enough places to sleep.”

“You take the cot, and I'll bed down on the floor with a blanket or two. It's only for a few days until we get a house and some proper furniture.”

Nothing would entice her to crawl under those covers. “Do you suppose Uncle Jack died in that cot?”

“I hadn't thought of that. Does it bother you to sleep there?”

“What if he died of something catching?” She fought down fatigue and rising irritation.

“I hadn't really thought of that, either. I suppose we could take rooms at the hotel, though it would be expensive…” Her father was loathe to part with the cash he had brought to buy a house and to order supplies for the store. Deep lines of fatigue marred his face. Complaints would exhaust him more.

“It's all right. Our trunks should be here by now. I have my quilt and sheets from home. We can bed down on the floor tonight.”

“You don't mind?”

“No.”

“That's my girl, always a good sport. I promise I'll go out first thing in the morning and find us a place to stay.”

Vic returned with the pail of water.

Kathleen set to work scrubbing out the skillet. When she was sure that it was reasonably clean, she set the salt pork and beans to cook and mixed up a batch of biscuits.

She and her father sat on the stools at the table.

Vic settled on the sofa and ate as though he was half-starved. He'd probably been living on little more than a bottle of whiskey and a can of beans. “This is the best cooking I've had since I was a boy.”

“You'll have to come out once we're settled and set your teeth into one of Kathleen's chicken dinners. That would put this to shame.”

“I'd be mighty pleased to try one.” After supper, Vic took out a harmonica and filled the sparse room with music.

Kathleen washed up, and then she and her father carried up bedding from their trunks that had been deposited inside the door downstairs.

Her clean quilt was spread onto the rough, dusty floor. It would need a thorough washing before she could use it on a bed. Tonight, she was too tired to care.

The next morning, after breakfast, her father left to inquire about housing.

Kathleen knew from experience that a mercantile was a good place to make friends and discover new neighbors. Meeting the town's ladies when they stopped by to shop would be good for business. But first, the shelves needed dusting.

A young woman entered and gave Kathleen a measuring look. She wore a mint green dress with a high waist and lacing on her bodice. Her blonde hair was piled neatly on top of her head.

Vic was helping a party of miners collect shovels and supplies.

Kathleen set down her dust rag and stepped to the counter to greet her new customer.

 

 

 

 

2

 

The woman greeted her with a smile. “You must be the daughter of the new owner. Let me be one of the first to welcome you to Silverton. I'm Nancy Parker. I've been here since May. My husband is an assayer.”

“I'm Kathleen Morris. We got here last night.” She gestured at the merchandise. “I'm embarrassed to open the doors with the place so untidy. I've been working on it, but there's still a lot to do. My father owned a mercantile in St. Louis. It was nothing like this one.”

“You'll get used to the dust, or at least learn to live with it. Still, I'm pleased to have a woman behind the counter. Maybe now this store will pay more attention to our needs. And I don't mind finding it a bit tidier in the bargain.”

A man entered the store.

“I see you're busy, so I'll select my buttons and thread and let you tend to business,” Nancy said. “I hope you'll come to church tomorrow. The Congregational Church on Reese Street would surely welcome you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the invitation.”

“When you're settled, you must come to my house for tea.”

“I'd love to.” Kathleen felt warmed by the invitation. Perhaps they would be able to talk awhile longer, maybe share a cup of tea. She had so many questions about the town. She looked forward to making a new friend. Yet there was no time to think of friends now. The store was filling with an endless stream of men who required everything from nails to tins of food.

 



 

Collin tossed restlessly all night. He could not get the young woman out of his mind. Her smile and the tilt of her head had intrigued him.

Of course, Martin had slithered out to greet her as soon as he saw her. Had they spent the evening together?

At breakfast, everyone was talking. She was the daughter of the man who inherited the mercantile. The gossip indicated the pair arrived alternately as wealthy merchants with penchants for adventure, or as desperate and penniless relatives thrown on the mercy of their inheritance.

Collin would pay a visit to the store and see for himself. He would have to relinquish a few of the coins he kept at the boardinghouse to buy something. He had been taking most of his pay straight to the bank to prove that he could save more than he spent. His nest egg was growing. But his desire to come face to face with the merchant's daughter was stronger.

He set off along the street. It was crowded with miners coming in for a Saturday in town. Collin dodged around mules and men who smelled as strong as their animals. The miners clogged Blair Street and spilled into more saloons, stores, and laundry establishments on Green Street, some stumbling from the whiskey that had already claimed their pay.

He reached the store and stepped inside to have a glance around. There was a lull in business. The slender, dark-haired beauty behind the counter made his heart beat a little faster. She was every bit as lovely as he remembered. He hurried towards her to avoid being waited on by old Vic, who had caught his eye.

A bearded miner finished his purchase.

Collin stepped up. For a moment, he stood transfixed by eyes that reminded him of liquid pools of shimmering water, blue and cool on a summer day.

“May I help you?”

“I'll take a hat,” he replied. “I'd like a nice one.”

She smiled and a dimple showed in her chin. “Oh, you need a church hat?”

Collin nodded. How long had it been since he had spent a Sunday morning at church? No matter. If that's what it took to see another of her smiles, he would buy a new hat and attend every Sunday.

“Which church do you recommend?”

“I'm new here, but a woman just came in and invited me to the Congregational Church.” She smiled. “I'll probably go there.”

He filed the information away.

She turned to secure a selection of hats for his approval. She set three hats on the counter.

He placed them each on his head, in turn, and then asked for her opinion.

“I believe I like the brown bowler best. The green trim along the band suits you well. Shall I make out a bill of sale…mister?” Her brows rose in query.

“McAllister. Collin McAllister. And you must be Miss…?”

“Kathleen Morris. My uncle used to own this store.”

“I met him when I first came here.”

She wrote out the sale and handed him the hat. “Do you mind if I ask what you do here in Silverton, Mr. McAllister?”

Collin wanted to tell her that he was the only son of a wealthy railroad investor. Pride held him back. How could he explain his estrangement from his father? “I'm working in a mine. I've been here about six months.”

Surprise registered on her face. No doubt, the miners she had met looked a great deal rougher.

“How do you like it?” she asked.

“I've had easier jobs,” he said.

“I like a man who is not lazy or afraid of hard work,” Kathleen proclaimed.

Perhaps some good might come of his exile. She would not have liked him six months ago when he was lazy and doggedly determined to avoid any sort of work.

She became all business as she handed him the hat. “Thank you for coming to our store. We'd appreciate your business if you need any other supplies.” Her gaze was drawn towards the front window, and she gasped.

He turned to the open door that led to the street.

A young woman sprawled across the boardwalk, her black hair hiding her face.

Kathleen started to the door, but Collin got there first. He strode onto the wooden walkway and knelt beside the woman. “Are you hurt?”

Kathleen joined him.

The woman's eyes were light brown, the color of sable. She looked like a frightened animal as she tried to scramble to her feet. One of her ankles gave way and she clutched it with a groan.

Kathleen laid a hand on her shoulder. “That man nearly ran you over with his horse. It was fortunate you got out of his way. You should come inside and let me have a look at your ankle.”

“I couldn't possibly do that. I'll be fine once I get home.”

“How far away do you live?”

“Only one block. I can make it.”

Collin helped her to her feet. She leaned heavily against his shoulder.

Kathleen came around and took her elbow. “I'll help, too. Vic can watch the store.”

The girl shook off her arm. “Don't be ridiculous. You don't belong on Blair Street. Go back inside your store.”

Kathleen recoiled.

“She's right,” he said softly. “Go back inside. I'll help her home.” He didn't wait for Kathleen to answer but started down the boardwalk.

They turned the corner, with Collin supporting the young woman so she could keep most of her weight off of the injured ankle. They reached the bordello.

“I was on my way to the bank when I was nearly run over,” the woman said. “It wasn't an accident, you know. He was mad because he'd been told not to come back.”

A man had to do something pretty despicable to be told not to return to a business that relied on men's patronage.

Collin said nothing but helped her up the porch steps.

She paused at the doorway.

All was quiet inside the building. In a few more hours, raucous music, shouts, and laughter would spill from the windows and doors.

The woman fingered his sleeve. “It's early still, but you could come back later if you'd like, for free, since you helped me. Just ask for Polly.” She studied the pattern on his cuff, not meeting his eyes.

Collin tipped his hat as he stepped away from her. Kathleen's upturned face flashed through his mind. Even with no money involved, he knew he would not be taking up Polly's offer. “Thanks, Polly, but I was glad to be of help.”

She nodded and limped inside, closing the door behind her.

 



 

When her father returned to the store that afternoon, he was beaming with good news. “Kathleen, my girl, I've found us a house. It's small, but it has two bedrooms, a kitchen, and even a little parlor. The bank repossessed it from a miner who struck it rich, spent it all, and then got sick and had to leave town.”