Squire's Quest (14 page)

She stepped into the curtained cubby that served as her bedroom. Although the shelves
along one wall were filled with bins and cans, there was plenty of room for her narrow cot and a
small stand. She wished she had a chair as well. It would be nice to be able to sit while she read
the books she'd learned to enjoy, instead of having to curl up on her bed.

One of the best parts of having been apprenticed to Mrs. Flynn was that the woman had
taught her to read. "A baker's no good if she don't know what her receipts say," had been her
comment when she discovered Callie couldn't read or write. She'd been a good teacher, too, even
if she hadn't seen any use in the love stories Callie had enjoyed, once she could pick her way
through them.

She still remembered the shame she'd felt when she'd admitted to Merlin the words in
his book were just funny looking marks to her. And how she'd enjoyed listening to him read to
her of an impossible journey to the moon. She never had found a copy of that book so she could
learn how it turned out, but someday...

Once she'd changed out of the flour-encrusted skirt and bodice she wore under her
apron, she sat on the edge of her bed and pulled a small chamois pouch from its hiding place.
Emptying its contents into her skirt, she counted the coins. Thirty-three dollars. Almost enough
to get her back to Virginia City, and feed her one meal a day on the way. But unless she started
with at least twenty dollars more, she'd arrive without a penny to her name. If there were delays
along the way--and there often were this time of year--she would be at risk of starving or
sleeping in a barn.

What if Mrs. Flynn had found somebody to replace her? Then she'd have no job.

Too soon,
she told herself.
Spring is time enough.

Besides she'd taken a look at herself this morning and realized she hadn't a thing to wear
that wasn't faded or patched or stained with berry juice or grease.

Merlin's never seen me looking nice.

He knew she was a girl. Did he know she was a woman?

One of these days I'll go shopping.

She'd just emerged from her cubby when she heard the tap at the back door. For a
moment she considered not answering it, but remembered young Ferdie had said his sister was
coming to see her after school.

She pulled the door open. "Merlin!"

"I hoped you'd be off work. I need your help."

Behind him she saw Ferdie approaching. "Come in, both of you. I'm letting all the warm
out."

The boy slipped past her and went to the kitchen, where Abner would put him to
work.

"My help? How?"

"I've got a place to stay, but nowhere to sit," he said. "You've been here longer than me.
Where can I get a good, comfortable chair?"

"I wish I knew," she said before she could stop herself.

He raised one eyebrow, just as she'd remembered. Without a word he stepped past her
and lifted the curtain aside so he could peer into her cubby. "This is where you sleep?"

"Uh..."

"Great God, Cal. I've seen horse boxes with more room than this."

"It-- It doesn't cost me anything." Now why did she feel ashamed, admitting her
poverty? She never had before.

"I hope not." He let the curtain swing back into place. "Are you broke?"

The force of his gaze was like something tangible, a pressure against her body, heat on
her skin. "I... Uh, I didn't have much when I got here. I've saved every penny, but I--"

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"What are you saving it for. Not clothes. You look like you dress yourself out of a
missionary barrel. Or worse."

His words hit her like slaps. "You've never seen me in anything but what I wear to work.
How can you assume that's all I have?"

His wide, usually-smiling mouth hardened. "I've got sisters. None of them would ever
go around looking like a slattern if she could help it. Nor any of the girls back home, either. Too
much pride."

"Or too much vanity." She wanted to smack him. "Some of us don't need a dozen fancy
gowns." She folded her arms and turned her back, resisting the urge to cringe as she waited for
him to yell at her.

Or slap her.

"That's right. You
don't
need fancy gowns. Tarnation, Cal, you'd be lovely in
your shift." His hands settled on her shoulders, a warm, almost-welcome weight. "But you ought
to have at least one dress that's not faded and frayed."

A wave of sweet pleasure swept from her toes to her crown. "I'm plain," she said. "and
I've got no polish."

Whatever that was. Her pa had more than once bemoaned her lack of polish, but he'd
never told her what it was.

He turned her around to face him and raised her chin with one finger. "Neither do I.
Can't say that it ever made any difference."

She quickly stepped back. Would she never get over her reaction to a man--any
man--looming over her?

Probably not. Even if she never saw her pa again.

Merlin scowled. "Let's go for a walk."

"Outside? In this cold?"

As if he'd forgotten, he said. "No, course we can't. Look, I haven't had my supper. Can
we go into the dining room--"

"Oh, no, Frau Trebelhorn would have a fit. I can get some food and bring it back
here."

He looked around the storeroom. She did too, and wondered why she'd never paid mind
to how little comfort it offered. There was a barrel in the corner, with a stool beside it, where she
usually sat for her lonely suppers. Shelves full of cans and supplies for the dining room lined
three walls. Crates and bins stood here and there across the floor, some of them with goods
spilling out of them. Mouse droppings still lay in the corners, even though she was fairly sure
she'd finally trapped the last of the little pests.

She chewed her lower lip. "That won't do, will it? Why don't you go on into the dining
room? We can talk afterward."

"That's crazy. Get your coat."

He sounded mad. The little crawly creatures she hadn't felt since her pa disappeared
were suddenly back again, making her stomach cramp.

"Get your coat," he said again, this time with a bite to his words. "We'll go to the
Bijou."

She pulled on the too-big greatcoat. Its cuffs were frayed, and the hem was stained from
dragging on the ground before she'd shot up half a foot one summer.

When he held the door for her, she saw him glance at the stains. And wince.

I'm not ashamed. It's better than being cold.

But cold she was, as they stepped around the corner of the building and into the wind's
full force. She'd known cold back in Virginia City, but never like this. Never cold that froze the
inside of her nose so her very breath slowed and clung to the ice lining it. Never cold that made
her feel all but naked, despite layers of clothing.

By the time they reached the Bijou Café, only two blocks from the hotel, her
fingers were numb inside her thick mittens and she couldn't feel her toes.

He'd hurt her feelings. Merlin had seen her wince when he'd reacted to her shabby
coat.

He put a tight rein on his anger. "Where'd you learn to bake?" He remembered her
attempt at biscuits on the road to Virginia City. He'd seen harder rocks.

"From Mrs. Flynn."

When she stepped aside to let a man pass her on the sidewalk, he wanted to yell at her.
She had as much right-- Biting back thoughts as well as words, he said, "Friend of your
pa's?"

Her quick glance upwards was almost like a flinch. "No. She didn't... Pa set me up to
apprentice to her. He said I needed to learn a trade, not be a burden on him."

"Huh!"

"It wasn't so bad. I had a room all to myself, up in the attic. It was right by the kitchen
chimney, so it was real warm all winter."

"All summer too, I reckon."

Her shrug was matter-of-fact. "Well, yes, but there were windows on both ends, and
they kept the air fresh." She started to step aside again.

Before she could, he caught her arm just above the elbow and pulled her tight against
him. The other fellow touched a finger to his hat. "Evenin' ma'am," he said.

Callie's mouth dropped open and she turned to look back as he passed, stumbling as
Merlin pulled her along. "Did you hear?" she whispered after they'd gone on a few paces. "He
called me 'ma'am'."

"As well he ought." Great God! Hasn't she ever been treated like a lady?

They added their coats to the rack just inside the door of the Bijou Café. In the
brighter light of the café, he could see how faded and shabby her dress really was, and he
got mad all over again. What kind of man was her father, that he couldn't clothe his daughter
decent?

A waving arm drew his attention to the back of the room. "There's Murphy. Do you
remember him?"

"The teamster? Yes. He came back to Virginia City once, a couple of months after
you...after I got there. I saw him on the street, but didn't get a chance to say hello." She
jumped.

As Merlin had only touched the arch of her back just above her waist, he wondered at
her reaction. Again it had almost been a flinch.
What the dickens?

"Buffalo stew's good tonight," Murphy said, once they'd settled. He looked at Callie, a
question in his eyes.

"Don't recognize her, do you?" Merlin had to grin, but at the same time he felt a little
twinge of uneasiness. Murphy was a good-looking man, tall and lean, with an air about him
Merlin's sisters would probably have said was romantic.

"Should I?" Murphy peered closely at Cal. "Wait a minute. Back in Idaho, wasn't it?
Headin' for Virginia City?"

She ducked her head and gave a little gurgle of laughter. "I was a lot younger then. And
you thought I was a boy."

"Only for about an hour." He laid a hand over his heart. "Swear to God, I'd never
mistake a girl, even a young one." He winked. "Sal... No, that ain't right. Cal. You're Cal."

"Callie. Only Merlin calls me Cal." She gave another of those little gurgles of laughter,
and Merlin wondered what he had to do to get one for himself.

When the waiter came to take their order, she bit her lip. "I guess I'll have a bowl of
vegetable soup. I...I'm not very hungry."

"She'll have the buffalo stew," Merlin said.

Again that little not-quite-flinch. Her lips tightened and she gave him such a look from
under her brows. She didn't say a word, though.

His sisters--any of 'em--would have skinned him alive for bossing them around.

Murphy flirted with her while they waited for their dinner, but when their food came, he
stood up. "I'll see you later. Got a shipment going out early, and I still have to check bills of
lading."

Cal looked after him as he wove his way among tables to the front door. "He's
nice."

"A good friend," he agreed as he picked up his spoon.

There was close to a quart of stew in the bowls the waiter had set before them. Half a
loaf of bread and a short crock of butter were in the middle of the table. Bottles of Yerkes'
ketchup, Tabasco sauce and the English steak sauce with the name he'd never learned to
pronounce were there too, along with a salt cellar and a pepper shaker. He reached for the
pepper, but paused, hand suspended over the table, when he saw a tear sliding down Callie's
cheek. "What's wrong?"

"N-n-nothing." She picked up her spoon and dipped it into the stew. Stirred.
Sniffed.

Another tear found its way to her chin and dripped into the bowl.

Glad he'd seated her with her back to the room, Merlin scooted his chair around so it
was right next to hers. Gently he removed the spoon from her hand and laid it on the table. "Cal,
if you really didn't want buffalo stew, all you had to do was say so. I just didn't think a little bowl
of soup was enough supper for you."

She shot him a quick glance, this one lacking the mad he'd seen in the other. "It's
fine."

"Then what's wrong?" He knew something was, but for the life of him, he couldn't
figure what. None of his sisters had ever been shy about speaking her mind. Neither had the Cal
he'd known, back on the trail.

Her shrug wasn't so much a denial as a what-do-you-care challenge.

Tarnation.
"Fine. You can sit and stare at your supper if you want. I'm hungry."
If he'd learned nothing else growing up with four sisters, he'd caught on that sometimes there was
just no arguing with a female. He scooted back in front of his plate and doctored his stew to his
taste. All the while he ate, he kept his eyes aimed anywhere but at her. Even so, he saw her start
eating after a few minutes of brooding. By the time he was scraping his bowl clean and
wondering if he'd room for a piece of pie, she'd eaten about half.

He used the crust of his bread to clean his bowl. As soon as he sat back, she put her
spoon down.

"Full?"

"No...yes. I've had enough."

He'd bet his bottom dollar she hadn't. Suddenly tired of trying to sort out what was going
on in her mind, he said, "Let's go then. From the sound of that wind, I'll have a cold walk home.
No sense in putting it off."

"Walk? All the way out to the fort? You'll freeze to death." Before he could get around
the table, she was on her feet. "Can't you stay in the hotel one more night?"

"Nope. And it's only about halfway, half a mile or so. I'll be fine." He waved her ahead
of him, leery of touching her again.

When they were all bundled up and ready to brave the cold, she said, "I've got a couple
of rocks warming on the hearth. I'll give you one."

"That'll be good." He could put it inside his wool shirt, long as it wasn't too hot. No need
to hurt her feelings by turning it down. Besides, he realized as they stepped outside, he might be
grateful for it before he got back to the cabin. The wind had grown stronger and was blowing
sharp little shards of ice pretty much sideways across the wide street.

They wasted no time getting back to Lambert House. He followed her inside instead of
saying goodnight at the door.