Redemption, page 4
part #3 of Ladies of Larkspur Series
He watched as her speech wound down and saw the exact moment she became embarrassed by all she'd said. A delicate blush of soft rose crept up her neck, and her mouth shaped into a silent Oh before she gracefully brought her hand up to cover it. How had Minnie figured him out?
The urge to stick his hat on his head, push it back, and play dumb so he could put her at ease and make her relax was overwhelming. Instead, he forced himself to stay where he was and to be open with her. Still, he waged an internal battle against the instinct to hide behind one of the facades he'd created since being in law enforcement. If he wished for her to be honest with him, though, he needed to give her that same respect.
"It's okay if you do," he said, his eyes never leaving her face.
"If I do what?" she asked uncertainly.
"Call me Arty. I don't mind it so much coming from you."
He saw the emotions flit across her face and wondered at them. He might have a sister and a mother, but the art of reading a woman's expressions eluded him.
"Why are you being so kind to me? I'm a suspected murderer. I don't deserve your kindness," she said, wonder and curiosity weaving their way into her words.
"You want my official answer?"
"No," she said firmly. "I want a real answer. I want the truth."
Nodding, he said, "I know who you were before you went off to San Francisco, Minnie. You were one of the finest ladies I'd ever known. I happen to believe in the laws of our nation. A person is innocent until proven guilty. When you returned, I gave you that benefit of the doubt while I did some investigating. There might not be a lot I can do about a case in California, but I did correspond with Detective Wilcox and get copies of all the official reports so I could review them. The simple truth is, I'm convinced you're innocent. I know you've been through a lot out there by the ocean, but I believe you're still that same fine lady underneath all the sadness and worry you're hauling around with you."
"Then why do you keep asking me who I've seen and if I've talked to anybody I don't know? Why all the questions if you don't think I'm guilty?"
Art carefully put his words together before answering. "I might believe you're innocent, but that doesn't guarantee that everyone else sees it the same as I do. If somebody out there thinks you are responsible for William's death, then there's always a chance they'll come after you for vengeance. Or, if William owed people money, those people may come looking for you."
Minnie's eyes widened. It was obvious she hadn't thought of those possibilities.
"My job is to keep you safe, but as your friend, I'm trying to do that while keeping the situation quiet. So you need to allow me my questions and not be taking any of them personal-like."
"Okay, Arty. I hadn't thought of any of that." After a short pause where she studied her hands in her lap, she stole a look at him with luminous, emerald eyes. "Thank you for being honest with me. I prefer you this way." Then she stood and glided over to where his hat was hanging and retrieved it.
Art took that as his signal to leave, so he approached her to collect his hat.
She handed it to him with a sad smile and then, much to his surprise, stood up on tip-toe and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. "I stand by what I said. You're a good man, Art Paulson, and I'm lucky to know you."
Now it was his turn to blush. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, making him again the awkward, young man who'd once promised to keep her safe during a bank robbery. Not sure what to say, he tipped his hat to her and quietly exited the room and house.
As he ambled toward home, Art wondered if he was making a mistake by holding onto so many secrets between Minnie and her parents. He had finally stopped carrying around the letter from Detective Wilcox and had instead hidden it in his safe at home, along with the San Francisco newspapers and some other documents he had unearthed. Reminding himself that he'd told Minnie the truth about believing her innocence, he comforted himself with the certainty that it was in her best interest to not know more quite yet.
****
Minnie had done her best to be inconspicuous since returning to town, but the time had come to make a public appearance somewhere other than the church house and the hotel's dining room. She needed to stop by the stage office to check for mail, and she was supposed to have lunch with Sarah. After that, they were going to the mercantile to do some shopping together. The weather remained arctic, so she dressed warmly and opted for one of the many grey dresses her mother had made for her.
Despite protests, Mrs. Smith had made half a dozen dresses in varying shades of grey.
Because she knew her mother well, Minnie had agreed to two dresses. If she'd have consented to four, she would have ended up with a dozen. Some things hadn't changed at all.
She gave her a mother a kiss on the cheek before wrapping herself up in her scarf and pulling her gloves on. "You have a good morning, Mum, okay?"
"Of course, dear, why wouldn't I?"
"Maybe later this week you and I could go out for lunch. We haven't really done anything fun together since I've been home."
"You've spent a lot of time with your nose buried in books and locked away in your room upstairs." Mrs. Smith's eyes gave away the concern her voice hid.
"It's nothing personal, Mum, honest. I ought to tell you and Dad some of the things I've been doing." Mrs. Smith's eyebrow lifted, and Minnie said, "For starters, I have a job." The look of anxious curiosity on her mother's face caught her off guard. Minnie winked at her mom. "When I was growing up, you always knew everything I was up to even before I realized what I was going to do. I guess I thought it was still that way."
"You've been away a while, and you've gotten better at keeping secrets, Minnie."
With a sigh, Minnie said, "I suppose that's true."
"Is this job going to be taking you away from us again?" Mrs. Smith's voice had the smallest tremor to it.
"I hope not," Minnie answered. "I've been working since I've been home. It's something I can do from Larkspur, at least for now. I'll fill you in about it over dinner, how's that?"
Her mother gave her a return kiss on the cheek and said, "Sounds delightful. Now you go have fun with Sarah."
The brisk wind pulled at her overcoat and dress as she stepped out into the snow-white day. She wasn't due at the hotel for another hour, but she knew, in this weather, even a short walk could take longer than normal. Putting her head down to save her face from the cutting wind, she took off at a fast pace in the direction of the hotel. Her goal was the stage office beyond it, but with the snow that was getting picked up and blown around in the air, it wasn't easy to see. The hotel, on the other hand, was a mammoth building no one could miss. If Samuel Livingston's goal had been to build a landmark in the town of Larkspur, he had certainly succeeded.
Making her way up onto the platform at the stage office, Minnie stepped through the door and stomped her feet to remove the snow and return the feeling to her toes. Looking around, she saw the familiar stove with coffee warming, the pigeon-hole boxes the mail went into, and the counter behind which she'd spent many an hour keeping her friend company. She hadn't seen the inside of the stage office since Sarah had sold it to the Martinez family.
"I thought it would look different somehow," she said to no one in particular.
"Miss Minnie, is that you?" She glanced up to see a young man behind the counter.
"Claudio?" she asked.
Laughing, he said, "No, ma'am. It's me, Cesar. Don't worry. People mistake me for Claudio all the time."
"My goodness, you've grown," she said. "You're what, eighteen now?"
"Nineteen," he answered with a broad smile. "Can I get you some coffee to ward off the chill?"
"That depends," she answered. "Is it vaquero coffee?"
Cesar, with a hearty laugh, said, "I made the coffee, Miss Minnie. You can trust it. Now," he drew out the word, "if any of my brothers had made it, you'd be in big trouble."
Minnie couldn't help but smile back at him. The youth was bright and happy, untouched by the ugliness of the world. She remembered being that way once, a long time ago. "I would love some coffee, Cesar."
He poured her a cup and handed it to her. She removed her gloves and warmed her hands with the tin mug. Leaning on the counter, she said, "So tell me what your family is up to these days."
Wiping the counter down, he said, "Carlos is married and has a little girl. He mostly works the farm these days. We had some dry years. The farming wasn't going so well, but it's turning around now. Carlos loves to work the land more than any of the rest of us ever did."
"Is his wife from around here?" she wondered.
"She moved to Larkspur a couple years ago," he answered. "She worked as a nurse for Doc Billingsly until she got in the family way. Name's Berta."
"A nurse, huh? This town has always been in short supply of nurses. What about Claudio?"
"He and Clive Fitzgerald got apprenticeships working at a horse ranch up near Missoula. They've been gone about a year now."
"I knew Clive had gone, but I didn't know Claudio was with him. How long is the apprenticeship for?"
"Well, they signed on for five years, but it looks as if they may be done in four. They're both learning real fast. The man who runs the ranch says they're getting the hang of things quicker than most."
"Does Claudio enjoy it?"
"He loves it. He was never going to be a farmer, and working here in the stage office was boring for him. Those horses, though – he never stops talking about them."
"That's fantastic, Cesar. I'm happy he's found something he loves so much. What about you?"
Cesar waved his arms to indicate the stage office and said, "I love it here. Can't imagine ever working anywhere else. Talking to people, helping the passengers, and handling the mail – it doesn't get any better than that. I'd be happy to work here the rest of my life, I think."
Minnie fought back an indulgent grin. After all, he was still a kid in her eyes, even if he was all grown up. Changing the subject, she said, "I wanted to check and see if I've had any mail arrive."
"Your father was in this morning and picked up mail for the family."
"I know," she said, pausing to take a drink of her coffee. "I thought he might have only asked for the Smith family mail, and my last name is different now. It's Drake."
Cesar shook his head and said, "Nothing for Minnie Drake, sorry." Then, "Although…" Letting the words trail off, Cesar spun around and snatched mail out of one of the cubicles and said, "I've got some mail here for a Will Drake. Do you know who that is?"
Minnie, hoping to receive a paycheck for her latest serial, smiled and said, "That's me."
Cesar gaped at her before trying – and failing – to mask his surprise.
"Minnie's short for Wilhelmina. Out in California people often called me Will instead of Minnie." She bit the inside of her cheek, hoping her explanation would satisfy the young man and that he wouldn't see the fib carelessly displayed on her face.
No suspicion grew in Cesar's eyes, and Minnie felt guilty for her slight deception. He handed over the packet of mail without any hesitation. Having hoped for a letter from her editor at the San Francisco Chronicle, she was surprised to see so many envelopes with the name Will Drake scrawled on them.
"Thank you, Cesar. Can you do me a favor?" He nodded expectantly. "Can you keep my mail separate from my folks’? I'll come in now and then to see if you have anything for me, but I don't want to bother my parents with my mail."
Cesar gave her a puzzled look and then nodded and said, "Sure thing, Miss Minnie."
As though they could ward off her self-recriminations as well as the cold, Minnie wrapped herself back up in her scarf and pulled her gloves on before heading out into the cold February day again. She tucked the letters into one of the pockets in her jacket.
Examining them would have to wait for now.
Chapter Seven
"This is the most delicious pot roast I've had in ages," Minnie said to Sarah, who sat across the table from her.
"I'm glad," Sarah said. "I wish I could tell you I'd cooked it, but trust me, you don't want to eat my cooking."
"Is it as bad as your coffee?"
Sarah swatted Minnie on the arm and said, "Not you, too, okay? I need at least one ally around here."
"Surely Samuel is your ally?" asked Minnie.
With a sparkling smile, Sarah said, "Not when it comes to my coffee-making skills, he's not." Then, leaning in, she added in a loud whisper, "And I can't blame him one bit."
It was good to see how happy Sarah was. Long ago, despairing of her friend ever finding happiness, Minnie had placed an advertisement in a paper to find a mail order husband for Sarah. The repercussions from the ad had been numerous, including multitudes of men showing up in Larkspur looking for the advertised Eligible Female. Samuel, who wasn't yet married to Sarah, was shot during a bank robbery that had more or less been caused by the ill-fated ad. In part, that newspaper ad, and everything following it, were what prompted Minnie to leave town for college. She'd hoped spending time in academia would teach her to control her impulsiveness. Alas, her marriage to William Drake proved college had not helped her in that regard after all.
****
After lunch, Minnie and Sarah bundled up to brave the weather and make their way to the mercantile. Not wanting to take her son out in the cold, Sarah left her husband Samuel in charge of Ethan back at the hotel. After stepping through the front door of the mercantile, both women stomped the snow from their feet and began unwrapping their cold weather gear. When Minnie lifted her eyes, all she could say was, "Oh my."
"It's quite a change, isn't it?" Sarah asked before laughing at Minnie's expression. "They needed to expand but didn't have any room to go sideways, so they added on to the back of the store and built up, too." Formerly small and quaint, the mercantile had grown in her absence into a cavernous store. The floor they were on was at least twice the size it had once been, and there were stairs leading up to a loft area above that also held a variety of goods.
"How did they decide what went upstairs and what stayed down?" Minnie wondered.
"People around town have started calling the abovestairs section the men's department. They keep the shaving items, men's unmentionables, tobacco – things of that nature – up there. It's ingenious. If I need something for Samuel, I tell them, and they retrieve it for me. But if a man comes in and wants something from up there, he moseys up the stairs himself and shops at his leisure."
"I can't get over how big it is in here. Has Larkspur grown this much?" Minnie swung her arms out, encompassing the whole grand store.
Sarah shrugged. "It's grown. The hotel is seeing a steady business, and there are more visitors coming this way as they travel from Denver up to Montana or Canada. While it's not here yet, the railroad is coming. We're going to see a real boom in this town, so people are wanting to plan ahead and be ready for it before it gets here. The city council is trying to lure businesses into town, too. They want to bring in a modiste and a milliner, if you can believe it. Who'd have thought our quiet little town could become so cosmopolitan." Then, as if embarrassed by what she'd said, Sarah added, "You've lived in a cosmopolitan city now, so this probably still all seems quaint and rural to you, I suppose."
Putting her hand on Sarah's arm, Minnie said, "Sarah, the city isn't all that people think it is. Give me life in my sleepy little hometown any day over the big city where you never know who to trust or what people's motives are. Larkspur is a wonderful place, and I hope as it grows, it doesn't lose what makes it so special."
The two exchanged a look, understanding passing between them the way it does between lifelong friends. Then they continued to peruse the aisles of the mercantile. Sarah needed to make some new tablecloths for the hotel, and she wanted to get material to sew a new vest for Samuel. "What about this color?" Minnie said as she held up a bright silk the color of peas not quite yet ripe.
Sarah laughed and said, "You know the owners had to be thinking of Samuel when they bought this." Samuel was indeed known for his colorful vests. It didn't matter whether he was brokering a business deal, speaking before the city council, or greeting guests at his hotel, he believed everybody's day always needed a little brightening. He was a flashy one all right, but oh so perfect for Sarah, who had once been so quiet.
After their purchases were complete, the ladies got back into their winter coats. They stepped out the door, and Sarah headed back toward the hotel. Minnie, on the other hand, wanted to check on Art. He hadn't come by last night for their usual walk, and she wanted to make sure everything was okay.
As she pushed her way through the front door of the sheriff's office, she was surprised to see a stranger sitting behind the desk she had assumed belonged to Art. The man stood up, tipped his hat and said, "Howdy, miss. What can I help you with?"
"I was looking for Sheriff Paulson." She offered a polite smile.
"He went home for a spell," the man said. "I'm Deputy Jasper. Maybe I can be of service."
Deputy Jasper might be a nice enough fellow, but after her experience in San Francisco, Minnie felt skittish around anyone who wore a badge. With the exception of Arty. Something about him was different. Thanking the deputy, she backed out the front door and debated whether or not to go see Art at home or wait for him to come visit her again. Deciding that his missed walk last night and his absence in the office today warranted a visit to his home, she made up her mind and stepped off the boardwalk to make her way through the alley over to where she knew his home to be.
When she arrived at Art's front door, she had second thoughts. Propriety said she shouldn't visit a single man unescorted. It might go unnoticed in a big city, but here, neighbors would see; people would notice. Squaring her shoulders and saying into the wind, "I'm being neighborly by checking on him," she raised her hand and knocked at the door before her courage faltered.
