The Marshal's Ready-Made Family (7 page)

She fisted her hand a few times and pointed again. “Each letter has a corresponding set of dots and dashes. You put the dots and dashes together to form letters. For example, the letter
s
is three dots.” Jo quickly tapped her finger three times on the desk. “And for an
o,
it’s three dashes.” She tapped her finger slower.

The telegraph machine whirred, and the twitter of an incoming message filled the room. “Here comes one now.”

“Yeah!” Cora leaped off her chair and dashed across the room.

Using her heels, Jo twisted her chair and scooted across the floor. She needed distance between her and Marshal Cain. Talking with him left her as breathless as though she’d run the length of a field.

After setting out a pencil and paper, Jo acknowledged her station by typing in her call numbers. The telegraph operator on the other end of the line began transferring his message. Jo quickly jotted down the letters, transcribing a rapid-fire series of dots and dashes into words on a neat square of paper.

Cora danced around the table. “What does it say? What does it say?”

“I have a strict rule against gossip.” Jo folded the paper with the words facing inside. “Luckily, I have a terrible memory. I couldn’t tell you most of what came through yesterday, let alone last week.”

Marshal Cain and Cora tipped their heads, their expressions twin mirrors of confusion.

“It’s hard to explain... ah ...” Jo stalled. “But I try to write things down without paying much attention. It’s easier that way.”

After only a short time on the job, Jo had trained herself until the Morse code she translated into words bypassed the part of her brain that remembered details. If she didn’t, the tales rumbled through her memory and interrupted her sleep with dots and dashes clicking in her dreams. People sometimes forgot their words were read by others, and they wrote of deeply personal tribulations. Deaths and births, marriages and broken hearts, a deluge of human emotions filtered down into an economy of words.

Marshal Cain rubbed his chin. “That’s amazing. I know a little bit of Morse code, but I only translated about three of those words. You’re really good. And you just do that automatically?”

“Yep. I hear the dots and dashes like they’re words. I remember when the rail line came through town, listening to the Chinese workers talking together, then switching back to English with the foremen. It’s like that. It’s like learning a foreign language.”

“Except not many people have the gumption to learn another language,” the marshal said, his voice flush with admiration.

Jo’s chest expanded. Most folks took her skill for granted. Certainly no one had ever once asked if learning the process had been difficult.

The marshal glanced around the sparse office. “How did you learn?”

“I left the farm a couple of years ago.”

Jo twisted her lips. Her ma had wanted her to take over the midwife duties, and Jo’s refusal had driven a wedge between them.

Her ma saw every birth as a marvel of life while all Jo could think about were the potential dangers. The calls they made on laboring mothers filled her ma with anticipation, but Jo felt only dread.

Moving to town had been easier than arguing. “That was around the time the Western Union office arrived. They posted an ad on the building and I applied.”

Western Union had specifically requested
female
operators. The men in town had scoffed, saying they wanted women so they could pay less. The company’s motivation hadn’t mattered. The job was perfect for Jo. Her boss only came through town every few weeks, and the telegrams kept her busy, but not too busy. If the office walls sometimes felt confining, she volunteered for delivery duty or helped out with the ticket counter.

And the job gave her independence. She wasn’t beholden on a man to take care of her. She had freedom and security, two things most women could only dream about. Her life was perfect,
wasn’t it?

Cora touched the telegraph machine. “Is it hard to learn?”

“At first.” Jo grimaced at the recollections. “For a while, I was so frustrated I felt like screaming. All those dots and dashes sounded like a bunch of gobbledygook. Eventually, though, things started making sense. At first I could pick out a few words, then sentences, then everything just made sense all of a sudden. It’s almost like listening to people talk now.”

Marshal Cain absently picked up an envelope. “But you don’t pay attention to what they say?”

“Everyone has secrets, and keeping them is a powerful responsibility. I don’t dwell on the messages. It doesn’t seem right, you know?”

Marshal Cain kept his gaze focused on her, his brows knit in a frown. Once again she had that same feeling he was sizing her up, gauging her answers as though he was cataloging her responses for future reference.

Had she passed the test?
She couldn’t tell by his expression. The longer he stared, the more self-conscious she became. As the moments ticked by, Jo itched to reach up and smooth her braid. Did she have pear blossoms in her hair again? Was he noticing the blueberry stain on her lapel? A scuffle sounded from the train platform, and she broke his gaze.

Marshal Cain straightened and peered out the window. “I sure do hate being right sometimes. It’s the boys again from the other day, stirring up trouble. They’re chasing something. Probably an animal. I better see to it.”

He set his hat on his head and tipped the brim. “Ladies.”

Jo inclined her head as he turned and strode out the door. Relieved his attention was no longer focused on her, she released her pent-up breath. She’d never actually seen him at work, and she wondered how he’d deal with the boys. You learned a lot about a person from how they handled conflict, and for some reason, she wanted to know everything she could about the marshal.

She faced Cora and planted her hands on her hips. “You want to follow him?”

With a mischievous grin, the little girl nodded.

Jo threw back her shoulders. She’d survived one conversation without sticking her boot in her mouth. She was on a roll. What could possibly go wrong now?

Chapter Eight

M
arshal Cain rounded the edge of the building, and Jo and Cora angled closer until they could peer around. When he glanced over his shoulder, they scurried into the shadows, stifling nervous laughter.

The noonday sun had dried the rain from the previous days, and the streets were mud free for the first time in weeks. Cora appeared lighter, her face less shadowed with their silly antics. Seeing her happy was worth a little skulking around in the afternoon sunlight. They joined hands and followed the marshal from a safe distance.

Jo glanced up and down the deserted street, relieved there were no customers approaching. Observing the marshal sounded a lot more fun than typing out Mrs. Babcock’s travel itinerary with the fewest possible letters while the frugal woman huffed and criticized Jo’s every choice of word.

A crowd of boys greeted their curious stares. Jeering and jostling each other, the four young mischief makers flocked together. Two of the boys held sticks and poked at something from a jumpy distance. They kicked up dust motes with their boots, obscuring Jo’s view of their target. Marshal Cain blew out a piercing whistle. The raucous horseplay ceased in a rolling wave as each boy in line caught sight of the marshal in turn and elbowed the next boy into attention.

From the corner of her eye, Jo caught one of the boys slinking along the wall, his gaze darting between the marshal and freedom. Not fooled for a minute, the marshal cleared his throat, halting the sly escape. Effectively snared, the boy innocently shrugged his shoulders and attempted another step away. The marshal crooked his finger, his expression brooking no refusal. Resigned, the boy dragged his feet into line with the others.

Adjusting his gun belt for emphasis, the marshal sauntered before the cowed group. “What’s all the excitement?”

“We’re not doing anything bad, sir,” the youngest boy, a towheaded cherub with apple cheeks, replied.

Jo recognized the stout troublemaker as Phillip Ryan. Twin dimples appeared on those rosy cheeks as Phillip conjured up his most persuasive smile.

Jo grunted.
That figured.
His mother had practically gotten away with murder in school just by flashing her dimples and flipping her blond curls. Looked as if the apple cheeks hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

Keeping hidden, Jo studied the marshal’s reaction, relieved at his unbending stance. It was nice to find at least one person who wasn’t fooled by a winsome smile and curly golden hair.

When the boy realized his feigned innocence and appealing grin weren’t working on the marshal, his dimples retreated and an ugly scowl took their place. “It’s just a snake.”

The marshal’s hands dropped to his sides, and he took a step back. “How big is it?”

“It’s big, but we’re gonna kill it good.”

Jo clenched her jaw. She loathed unnecessary cruelty of any kind. Sure, she’d killed plenty of snakes, but only when necessary, and always humanely. Torturing a creature didn’t sit well with her.

“It’s huge,” Phillip declared, his eyes wide. “And dangerous. We’re doing the town a service by killin’ it.”

Bristling with annoyance, Jo jostled through the crowd until she reached the center.

Sure enough, a three-foot-long red, black and yellow snake lay coiled in the corner of the building. Jo glared at the boys. Hardly a giant at all. And certainly not dangerous. “There’s no call for cruelty. A snake is one of God’s creatures, too.”

The Ryan boy scuffed the ground with his booted toe. “Not the good kind.”

“I see.” Jo crouched until she was eye to eye with the boy. “You can tell if something is good or bad just by looking at it?”

He shrugged.

Jo huffed as she turned her attention on the snake’s brilliant red body, the color broken by bands of yellow flanked with narrow circles of black. She knelt before the terrified creature and murmured softly. Reaching out, she gently grasped the creature around the neck. The snake’s tail coiled around her arm.

Jo stood and faced her stunned audience. “See. It’s just scared.”

Marshal Cain gaped at her, then his face paled.

Her heart thumped at his hard stare. “Did I do something wrong?”

Maybe he didn’t like her interfering with his lawman’s work.

“Put that down.” Marshal Cain held out his hands in a defensive gesture, his voice ominously low. “That’s a venomous coral snake.”

Relief flooded through her veins. He wasn’t mad, he was just scared. “Nah. You can’t tell from where you’re standing. This here is just a milk snake. It’s not poisonous. Come closer and you’ll see.” She extended her arm.

The marshal stumbled back another step.

Jo thoughtfully angled her hand. “It kinda looks like a coral snake from a distance, but you gotta check the color bands. Like my pa taught us, red to black is a friend to Jack. Red to yellow will kill a fellow. Or you can just remember that yellow next to red will kill you dead. Both kinds of snakes live in the same places, too, which confuses most folks. Except, you know, one’ll kill you and the other won’t.”

“’Course, it’s a milk snake,” the marshal spoke, his voice husky. “I couldn’t see it that well from over here. I musta had some dust in my face.”

He poked one finger in his eye, and Jo lifted her face heavenward. “Don’t rub ’em like that. You’ll only make it worse.”

She searched the gathering and found Cora frozen near the edge, her face as pale as the marshal’s. Jo sidled closer. “Why do you suppose fur makes everything cuter? Have you ever noticed that? Take a rat— disgusting. Add some brown fur to its body and slap on a fluffy tail. You’ve got yourself a cute little squirrel. People would probably keep these critters as house pets if they were furry.”

Cora giggled.

“I think snakes are misunderstood,” Jo continued, her words low and soothing. “They keep mice and rats out of the grain bin. They help out with the grasshoppers, too. I’d rather have a snake in the barn than a furry raccoon anyday. And snakes are really quite beautiful if you take the time to look close.”

“I think they’re icky,” Cora replied.

“I like the way they move. Like they’re going sideways and forward at the same time.”

The marshal grunted. Jo never understood why people liked pretty things even if they were useless, and shunned ugly things even if they served a valued purpose. “You want to touch him?”

Cora grimaced and clasped her palms together, twisting her hands back and forth. “Is it slimy?”

Despite her protest, Jo felt the little girl softening. “Nah. He’s not slimy. He’s actually pretty smooth.”

As Jo crossed through the boys, the crowd stumbled out of her way, giving her a wide berth. She knelt before Cora and smiled. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt you.”

Cora’s seeking hand tentatively reached out. The snake tightened on Jo’s arm and she kept her grip loose and friendly.

Cora stroked the brightly colored scales and sucked her lower lip between her teeth. As the seconds ticked away, her whisper-light touch gradually grew bolder. When the snake hissed, its tongue flicking the air, Cora yelped and jumped back.

The little girl skipped toward her uncle and tugged on his pant leg. “It’s not slimy at all.”

Marshal Cain patted her hair. “You sure are brave.”

“And I’m dirty, too. Look at my boots! Jo says it’s okay because if dirt makes flowers grow, it must make little children grow, too.”

Jo grinned. Cora’s hem revealed a fine layer of dust and her boots were scuffed. The prim and proper city girl was relaxing her rigid stance and learning to enjoy the country. She still had a long way to go, but she grew bolder every day.

“What about you boys?” Jo faced her rapt audience. “Would you like to touch the snake?”

Two of the boys shook their heads and took off running, their shirttails flapping in the breeze.

“Look at that, Cora.” Jo chuckled. “You’re tougher than a couple of boys.”

The little girl puffed up. “I touched a snake and I didn’t even scream or cry.”

“What about the rest of you?” Jo continued. “Who’s feeling brave today?”

One of the two remaining boys, Tom Walby’s son, sneered. “My dad says you’re a freak. You’re just a stupid, ugly snake-lover!” He turned tail and dashed through alley.

Jo glared at the boy. Just like his father. When he felt threatened, he lashed out. The snake squirmed, and Jo realized she’d instinctively tightened her grip. Tom and his son were both just like the snake. Attacking when they were scared. She didn’t think the Walbys would appreciate the comparison, but it was true.

“Hey!” Marshal Cain shouted after the boy.

Jo held up a restraining hand. “Don’t mind him. He learned it from his pa. Tom Walby still hasn’t forgiven me for making a fool of him when we were kids.” She turned away and discreetly reached down her bodice, fishing out the snake’s tail. “I tell you, if that man had half the fortitude for working as he does for holding grudges, his life would be a whole lot easier.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Marshal Cain rubbed his chin, and she noticed his gaze resting on the last remaining boy, a pale, sandy-haired six-year-old too scared to run. Again, Jo couldn’t help but note the child’s resemblance to his parents. Josh’s dad had always gotten caught when they were growing up because he froze like a raccoon caught in a lamplight.

The marshal pulled a paper-wrapped peppermint from his pocket and knelt before the frightened boy. “You catch up with your friends and tell ʼem to stay out of trouble for the rest of the day. Got it?”

The plump-cheeked boy snatched the candy, nodded and took off running.

Jo tsked. “That’s the Smith boy. He’s too good for hanging around with that bunch. I better have a talk with his ma.” She faced Cora and gestured with her snake-wrapped arm. “You remember that. The people you run with can raise you up or bring you down. Isn’t that right, Marshal?”

He gave a distracted nod. Come to think of it, seemed as if he hadn’t looked at her direct since she picked up the snake.

Jo scratched her ear with her free hand. “You still look a little pale, Marshal. You okay?”

“Fine.” He shook his head as though clearing his thoughts. “I better get back. To, uh. To work.”

The marshal pivoted on one heel and strode away.

Jo tapped her boot, pondering his uncharacteristic behavior. The snake’s tail wriggled up her sleeve and she considered another explanation for his abrupt departure. Could the marshal be afraid of snakes? When her pa found a snake in the feed bin, he’d fetch the barn cat and let nature take its course. For some reason, she found a lot of men were afraid of snakes.

Jo released the snake and watched it slither off, then stuck out her hand for Cora. “Are you ready to get back to work?”

“Yep.”

“Jo,” Cora began, her voice hesitant. “Are you afraid of anything?”

“Well, let’s see. I used to think I was afraid of always staying the same, but now I’m not so certain.”

A woman’s life was fixed as train tracks. First stop marriage, second stop babies. Jo had jumped the tracks when she’d taken the position at the telegraph office. For a while the job had kept her distracted, and her restless spirit had bloomed with the challenge.

But lately things had gone stagnant.

Cora wrapped a blond curl around her finger. “I’m not afraid of snakes anymore. But I think Uncle Garrett is still afraid.”

Jo glanced down the street and groaned. So much for all her good intentions. In a few short days Garrett had discovered how she’d socked Tom Walby in the eye and now he’d seen her with a snake wrapped around her arm.

No wonder he didn’t see her as marriage material.

Jo sighed. “The trouble with change is figuring out which path is the correct path.”

She glanced at the dusty, rickrack tracks the snake had left in the dust.

Even if there’d been a slim chance of the marshal seeing her as good material for a wife and mother, she’d gone and blown it.