The Passionate and the Proud (27 page)

“I don’t know, Em. Maybe you’d better talk this over with Horace Torquist. He knows about things like that, politics and all.”

“Fiddlesticks! He doesn’t know about socializing at all! In fact, it would be good for him especially. He’s got to stop holing up with Waters and Strep and…everybody. He’s got to get out into the real world. That’s it, then. We’ll have a big Christmas dance and invite everybody.”

“I don’t know, Em.”

“I’ll speak to Hester the next time I ride into Arcady for supplies.”

Emmalee was so excited about her idea that she could hardly sleep that night. And although she hadn’t planned on going to town for several more days, she saddled Randy’s dapple-gray the very next morning, rode along the stream to the river, and followed the Big Two-Hearted into Arcady. It was still very early. She saw farmers milking their cows, feeding their chickens and hogs. Thin smoke from breakfast fires rose from chimney tops and drifted over the town. Emmalee rode by the hotel, which had been painted a gleaming white, and tied the horse to the hitching rail in front of the general store.

The front door was locked. Emmalee walked around to the back, which was the entrance Hester normally used. It was open and the rich smell of freshly brewed coffee rode on the air. Emmalee saw the big cast-iron coffeepot bubbling on the stove. Cups, saucers, plates, and several loaves of dark bread had been set out on a table.

“Hester?”

There was no answer.

She must have stepped out for a moment, thought Emmalee, entering the store. It was quiet and seemed much larger than it usually did with all the people talking and shopping and visiting. Emmalee poured herself a cup of coffee and looked around. Her eyes were drawn to Vestor Tell’s desk in the corner and to the telegraph on the table behind his desk. She walked over to it and studied the device. It was quite simple and did not look complicated enough to send a message all the way across the country. By pressing and releasing a flattish-looking, leverlike key, a signal system of dots and dashes could send her words anywhere she might want them to go. But she did not know that system of dots and dashes. Feeling slightly nefarious, but much more curious, she checked to find Hester still absent and then tentatively jiggled the handle of a drawer beneath the telegraph key. The drawer slid open a fraction of an inch, then halted with a jerk. It was locked, but the clasp was old. A little jerk, a twist, a little pressure and…

Sure enough, the draw slid open.

Inside there was nothing that looked like a code, much less a code book, but there was a stack of papers. Upon cursory inspection, they seemed to be decoded letters that others had wired to Vestor Tell. Emmalee felt a little funny now, as if she were opening strange mail or peeping through a window into someone’s house. But, even so, it would be true to say that the words leaped up at her just as determinedly as she gazed down to read them. Tell had apparently been keeping the messages he’d received as business records, in order to show what a good job he was doing. They were identical in salutation:

MR VESTOR TELL
US CLAIMS OFFICE
TERRITORY OF OLYMPIA

They were generally filled with praise for the fullness of Tell’s reports and for the successful work he was carrying out:

COMMENDATIONS REGARDING EQUITABLE LOAN POLICY OLYMPIA STOP CONSULT TERRITORIAL BANKING CHARTER. 2 JUNE 1866 SHOULD NEED ARISE.

Another read:

CLOSE ATTENTION SHOULD BE PAID TO POSSIBLE GRAZERY TILLER CONFLICT STOP SIGNS OF DISCORD ARE TO BE ADDRESSED AND REPORTED AT ONCE.

And:

REGARDING YOUR SUGGESTION THAT FEDERAL INSPECTION TEAM UNNECESSARY DUE TO HIGH LEVEL OF COMITY IN ARCADY STOP STATUTES MANDATE VISIT WITHIN TWO YEARS OF SETTLEMENT STOP HOWEVER PLANNED INSPECTION POSTPONED ON YOUR RECOMMENDATION UNTIL LATER DATE.

All of the messages closed:

UNITED STATES LAND OFFICE WASHINGTON. D.C.

Emmalee wondered exactly how Tell had worded his messages to the land office. Those hadn’t been kept, obviously. But she could determine from these filed telegrams, which he was apparently retaining as proof of his tremendous success, that he was being grossly deceptive in three main areas: first, in the loaning of money; second, in his reporting of the situation regarding ranchers and fanners; third, in attempting to delay if not cancel a visit by inspectors from Washington.

The whole thing made her
so
mad! She tried another drawer, hoping to find the code book. She was angry enough, just then, to sit right down and tap out a message that would inform Washington of a few things…

Then a key rattled outside in the front door lock.
Tell
! thought Emmalee. She slammed the drawer shut—much too loudly: any nearby dead ought to have sat up immediately—and raced toward the table where she’d left her coffee cup.
Mistake
! she decided.

Then the door swung open.

Hester Brine. She regarded Emmalee with mild surprise. “Just openin’ up for business. I take it you came in the back way?”

“I’m sorry. I thought you were here.”

“Well, I was. Then I wasn’t. And now I am again. Help yourself to the coffee. Oh, you have. Good. What do you want to send a telegram for, so early in the morning?”

“What? I—”

“How do I know? I saw you through the window when I was walking by the front of the store.”

Emmalee felt embarrassed. Even worse, she felt stupid. “I was just—”

“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Just a word to the wise. You’re one up on Vestor since you got the money out of him. But be careful. He don’t like to have people get the jump on him, an’ he’ll wait an’ he’ll wait to even things out. Get my meaning?”

“Very clearly.”

“So unless you know exactly what you’re dealing with, and unless the stakes are pretty damn high, don’t rattle his cage any more just now.”

Hester took off the heavy woolen shawl that she was wearing against the chill of that December morning, warmed her hands over the glowing stove, poured a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table. She motioned Emmalee to join her.

“You want to know what makes Vestor so strong?” Hester asked abruptly.

“He has the contacts back east. He has money.”

“Yes. But more than that. It’s us. It’s everybody around these parts. He keeps the farmers and ranchers divided, plays them off one against the other, and draws strength from the hostility he helps to foster.”

“But he’s friends with the ranchers, he loans them money…”

“Only seems that way, just seems he’s friends with them. Nope, I think he’s using them for some purpose of his own.”

“That’s the reason I came to see you,” Emmalee said.

“Why? Because Tell is using the ranchers just like he’s using the farmers?”

“No. Because there
is
hostility. Because the two sides are so far apart. You know, I had an idea…”

She told Hester of her plans for a big Christmas dance and party. The orange-haired woman listened thoughtfully.

“What do you know?” she said. “Sounds like it might be fun. Maybe, it bein’ Christmas and all, the menfolk will stay out of trouble.”

Enthusiastically, they set about planning the event. Hester would make up a big notice and tack it out in front of the general store, where everyone would see it. The word would get around. There were plenty of people around who played various instruments, so there’d be a band for dancing.

“Randy knows how to call square dances,” suggested Emmalee. “He told me he used to do it back in Ohio.”

“Good. And there’s a supply train due in today. I’ll send an order back with ’em for a couple cases of moonshine.”

“But Mr. Torquist is against drinking, I’m afraid.”

“Honey, it ain’t his party. He can stay home if he don’t like it. Say, this is a good idea you had. Build up a little spirit around here. The place could use it. How are you and Randy getting along, by the way?”

“Oh, fine. I’m so happy to be on my own at last.”

“On your own at last and you’re planning on getting married?”

“Away from Mr. Torquist, I meant.”

“Lot of talk about you and Randy, you know. Living out there all by yourselves and everything.”

“People will always talk. In our case, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“That bad, eh?”

Emmalee looked at Hester. She was just about to ask what Hester meant when Vestor Tell entered, followed by some women who had come to buy flour, coffee beans, and rice.

“Time to go to work,” said Hester, getting up.

“You’ll have plenty more to do in about half an hour,” Vestor informed her. “I just caught a glimpse of the supply train coming over the plains. Looks like they got at least half a dozen wagons with ’em this time.”

“Hmmm,” said Hester with interest. “Wonder what for? Two or three’s usually enough to haul the stuff we need.”

Emmalee finished her coffee, nodded to Tell—he’d finally removed the bandage from his hand, she noticed—and went outside to watch the wagon train arrive. It was an important event in the lives of settlers on this rich but relatively remote plain, and from all over the countryside people headed toward Arcady. On horseback, on wagons, and on foot they came, eager for news and goods from the west coast. (Emmalee had already begun to think that, as soon as she got her land paid off, a trip to the west coast would be grand.)

The wives of three ranchers pulled up in front of the store in a buckboard, a small, utilitarian wagon with four wheels, one seat, and a flat bed for hauling tools or supplies. The two-horse team was driven by Cloris Hamtramck, the big-handed woman Emmalee had first seen the day Kaiserhalt had nabbed her in the willow grove. Among the ranch women, Emmalee probably knew Cloris best. Mrs. Hamtramck had been particularly impressed by Em’s speech against violence on the day of the land rush, and she was always ready with a grin or a bit of gossip when she saw Emmalee in town.

“’Lo there, youngster,” Cloris said now, climbing down from the buckboard’s seat along with Mrs. Jacklinson and Ruth Rutkowski, wives of Pennington’s close friends. “Hear you got yourself a new cabin. How’s the love life?” She winked and spit tobacco juice next to the wagon wheel. The older, hardier women did not shrink from enjoying the pleasures of their men; Cloris knew how to drink from a moonshine jug too.

“Everything’s going pretty well,” answered Emmalee. “I just wish the ground hadn’t frozen. Randy and I could be getting some plowing done before snowfall.”

“Wish I had your energy.” Mrs. Jacklinson groaned, trying to stretch away the kinks left by the wagon seat. She and Mrs. Rutkowski went into the store.

“Everybody is working too hard out here,” Cloris said. “It makes us mean.”

Emmalee told her about the plans for a Christmas party. “Hester is making up a sign to hang in front for everybody to see.”

“Now you’re talking,” Cloris said. “It’s about time we had some fun and let our hair down around here. Tell you what, I’ll start spreading the word about the big shindig. Yonder comes the wagon train. Let’s have ourselves a looksee.”

The street was filled with people now, milling about and watching as the wagon train covered its last hundred yards. The extra wagons had evoked even more interest than usual. Everybody was wondering what kinds of goods and supplies would be in the vehicles. Hardy teams of ten mules apiece pulled the wagons, and the drivers were wiry, dour men in dark clothes and heavy capes. They rode on the wagons or walked beside the mules carrying long looped whips that they flicked and snapped when the beasts showed signs of faltering.

Just as the train was about to stop, two things happened. Ebenezer Creel came riding into town on Garn Landar’s stallion. And Horace Torquist, along with five farmers, arrived too. They looked grim. Emmalee noted, to her amazement, that Torquist was wearing a big, long-barreled revolver in a holster on his hip. His dislike of weapons seemed to have been overcome.

The crowd cheered when the head driver called his final “Whhoooooaaaa!” and asked if anybody on God’s earth had a smile, a kind word, and a long drink of good whiskey.

“We got the whiskey,” called Cloris Hamtramck.

Almost everybody laughed. Except Ebenezer Creel, Torquist, and his little group of men.

“You got what I came for?” Torquist demanded of the head driver.

“Yup. Rear wagon.”

“All right. My men and I will take it over to my farm and unload while you do what you have to do here in town.”

“Suits me,” said the driver. “You can unload as well as me an’ my boys. Just see that the wagon and mules get back here by noon.”

“Deal,” said Torquist. His mouth was hard, his eyes were icy, suspicious slits. A big hat partially matted down his wild, white hair. In one sense, he seemed dominant and demonic, rather as of old but with a sinister aura added. Yet, looking again, Emmalee had the impression of a man embarked on a desperate endeavor. What, for God’s sake?

She watched as Torquist, Waters, Heaton, and the rest surrounded the last wagon and guided it out of line toward the leader’s farm on the river. It almost seemed, by the way they were acting, as if the wagon were fragile. Then Emmalee realized that Torquist had ordered something of great importance to him and that it had been delivered in the wagon. She also saw that she was not alone in this conclusion and overheard Alf Kaiserhalt muttering to a range hand, “I reckon that’s what they’ve been waiting for. We better ride out and tell the boss.”

Kaiserhalt was still wearing a cast on the arm Emmalee had broken for him. The fracture ought to have healed by now, but he’d been trying to rassle a dogie down to the ground in order to give it Pennington’s Rocking P brand and the frightened little animal had kicked him in his bad arm, rebreaking it.

People were still wondering and looking after Torquist and the wagon when Ebenezer Creel spoke up. He’d ridden a long way down from the highlands of Landar’s Folly. Frost coated his new mustache and wispy beard, covered his coat collar with a glistening white film.

“You bring Quinn along this trip?” he demanded of the head driver.