Younger & Wylder, page 3
Millie bounced in her seat again. “Look, a little steeple! I wonder what kind of church it is.”
Race noted that Millie’s excitement over the church was on his behalf. They never attended services, but he frequented the building often enough. Never found the answers he sought, but he kept coming back, seeking them.
The first town building they came to was nothing more than a big, dusty barn. If the horses in the attached corral didn’t identify the building, the cart parked next to it full of manure surely did. “There’s the livery. Mountroy said we should leave our wagon here and the bank was just a short walk.” He pulled around the corral and parked in front. A lean-to jutted out from the side of the livery, providing cover for a small blacksmith forge.
A man a little younger than Race came out to greet them. “Welcome to Wylder. You looking to board or passing through? I’m Chet Daniels.” He shook hands with Race.
“Board. We have business at the bank before it closes. We’ll come back for our bags. What time do you close?” Race reached up to help Millie down.
“Live on the premises. If’n I’m not around front, feel free to come around the side and knock.” Chet stepped away from the couple and yelled into the building. “Jackson! You got those stalls mucked?”
A tall, rangy youth came around the corner. “All ready, Pop.”
“Come pull this wagon in and unhitch it.” Chet turned to Race. “Jackson’ll stay out until you all return.”
Race acknowledged the youth as he passed and nodded his thanks. To Chet he said, “Much obliged. Can you point the way to the bank?”
“And tell us what kind of church that is.” Millie interrupted, pointing to the wooden, steepled structure across from the livery.
“That there is the Episcy-palian church. You’ll pass the Papist building on the way to the bank.” Chet pointed northwest. “Quickest way is to cut through behind the land office. The other church will be on your left and the very next building is the bank.”
Race ignored the derogatory remark. Once upon a time he would have referred to Catholics similarly. He thanked the man again and led Millie in that direction. They passed the church, small compared to the Episcopalian’s, then came to a half-finished sandstone foundation. They emerged onto a busier street. Race noted a law office on his right. The unfinished structure must be the bank. That couldn’t be right.
They turned left and found, next to the construction, a modest wooden building with a sign that read Goldmount Bank Alfred Mountroy, Owner. “This is it.” He guided Millie inside. She’d been quiet thus far, taking in her new surroundings.
Goldmount Bank was not what he expected. How in the world did Mountroy intend to mount the heavy clock on this ramshackle wooden building? Race guessed he’d find out soon enough.
Chapter 3
The inside of the bank was as primitive as the front façade. Millie hoped they’d finish the new building before the walls of the old one fell down around them. She could see tendrils of sunlight filtering through some of the wall panels.
“Can I help you?” A balding man in his fifties wearing a fancy gray suit stood up from behind a desk.
“I’m Horace Lowery. I’m from E. Howe Clock Company to help you with your clock.”
The man brightened. “Mr. Lowery, I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t wait to show her to you. She’s a fine specimen.” He took Race’s hand and nearly shook it off his arm with enthusiasm. “I’m Alfred Mountroy. Please, call me Alfred.”
Race forcibly extracted his hand and smiled at the man. “And you can call me Race. This is my—”
“I’m Mildred Lowery, Race’s wife.” Millie shot forward and offered her hand to the banker, ignoring Race’s horrified expression.
“Er, um, it’s a pleasure, ma’am. I wasn’t aware Mr. Lowery was bringing a wife. I thought he mentioned a sister?” He shook her hand with far less exuberance, barely grasping her fingertips.
“An oversight, I’m sure,” she demurred. “His sister bowed out of the trip at the last minute.”
Race clenched his jaw and his eye ticked. “Yes. An oversight. A grave miscalculation.” He spoke to Mountroy but glared at Millie.
“Yes, well. No harm done. Would you like to see my clock?” He bounced a little on his heels.
“Actually, we’ve traveled quite a piece today. I’m anxious to see your clock and your plans, but right now, I’d really like to get my s—wife settled. Can you spare a moment to point us to a hotel or boarding house?”
“Oh! Of course. My apologies. I’ll take you myself.” He poked his head into a doorway behind him. “Fredrick, come out and meet the man who’s going to install our clock.”
A young man of no more than eighteen emerged from the back room. He, too, was wearing a finely tailored suit, or it had been. His tall frame, broad shoulders, and narrow waist caused the coat to strain across his upper back and his sleeves fell about two inches too short. His slacks fit no better. He appeared to be the victim of a recent growth spurt.
“This is my son, Fredrick. One day this will all be his.” The banker waved his arm at the space that barely looked sturdy enough to stand, let alone store money. He must have noticed his guests’ skeptical looks. “Well, not this. We’re rebuilding next door. Something with more permanence. That’s where the clock will go. Fredrick, this is Mr. and Mrs. Lowery.”
Race’s teeth ground together as he shook the young man’s hand. “A pleasure,’ he said.
“Fred, I’m going to lock you in while I take the Lowerys on a brief tour. It’s close enough to closing time; you can go ahead and start on closing procedures.” He pulled a large ring of keys from his pocket.
Fredrick looked annoyed for a moment, then smoothed his features. “Yes, Sir.”
“Come along, then.” Alfred led them out of the building, and after locking up, turned to the new construction. “You see we have the foundation laid, but work is a bit stalled at the moment. I wanted to make the whole thing out of stone. I said, ‘If it’s good enough to hold munitions at Ft. Laramie, then why shouldn’t we use it to protect Wylder’s money?’ Alas, not all of the investors have the vision required to be willing to fund such an endeavor.”
“The building won’t all be stone? I’m not sure how we’re going to mount the clock you purchased.” Race scratched his chin through his thick beard.
“I ordered the clock when I thought we’d be able to build with stone. It’s the same model as in St. Louis. Did you know that? Beautiful piece.” The man gazed at the foundation as if envisioning the finished construct.
“Do you know where you’d like to place it?” Race persisted.
“I’d like it mounted outside, right near the entrance. Nothing says ‘established’ like an outside street clock, I say. Well, come along. Let’s get you situated before it gets dark.”
Millie shielded her eyes against the setting sun. Alfred pointed out landmarks along the way. The town wasn’t difficult to figure out. “This is why my building is still unfinished.” A much larger building was going up on the other side of the old bank. “This will be the Vincent House Hotel and Restaurant. Granted, I begrudge them stealing my work crew, but the Vincent will rival the nicest establishments in Cheyenne when it’s finished. I look forward to having someplace in town worthy of treating my wealthy clients.
“The sheriff’s office and jail are across the street. Handy for the bank, though we don’t see too much trouble. This is the more civilized side of town.”
Millie wondered what the man considered too much trouble. The street they were on, Wylder Street they’d been told, wasn’t bustling, but noises from elsewhere in town filtered through. She heard the tinkling of piano music, horses, and an occasional gunshot. She caught Race’s hand and moved closer.
“Down a ways from the jail is Doc Hansen’s office.” He pointed, continuing the tour and crossing a side street. “This here is Sidewinder Lane. One of the vacant properties I mentioned is down there. It’s one the bank owns; I can show you tomorrow; I don’t have the key with me now.” He hurried them along, though Millie craned her next to catch a glimpse of her potential new home.
“This is the Wylder Mercantile; only place in town to get most anything. Wylders run an upright business. Though they have a bit of a monopoly,” he murmured under his breath. They reached the point where Wylder Street ended and ran into an adjacent street. “This is Buckboard Alley. Across the way is Culpepper’s Boarding house. It’s not been open long, but I hear good things. You get two meals a day with your room, so that’s a convenience.”
Race nodded at a two-story building across from the mercantile. “That the only hotel in town? Isn’t it a conflict of interest having the boardinghouse so close?”
“The Wylder Hotel has more rooms, but the meals aren’t as good and cost extra. I imagine Eulalia Culpepper and her husband picked her spot to attract hotel overflow. Well, that’s all the important parts of town. I’ll leave you here to make room arrangements. Come by the bank tomorrow and we’ll get everything else sorted.” He shook Race’s hand again and waddled back up the street.
Race turned to Millie with a scowl. A lock of black hair fell over one eye and he shoved it back with his hand. “Wife?”
She flinched. He never used sharp tones with her. She straightened her spine and looked him in the eye. “I’m your wife. I will no longer be introduced as your sister, Horace.”
“This isn’t what we discussed. What about the annulment?” He glanced around, but no one was within earshot.
“Seems like you’re the only one discussing that. I’m your wife and I want to stay your wife.” She added a hesitant foot stomp. They usually discussed disagreements and rarely argued. She’d never seen Race lose control, but she didn’t want to find out what happened when he was pushed too far.
He’d let go of her hand at some point and now grabbed her arm, pulling her closer so he could lower his voice. “What if I don’t want a wife?”
His tone sent excited shivers up her spine, while his words made her nose tingle with ready tears. “You’ve had a wife for the past six years whether you wanted one or not. When you took me on, you leg-shackled yourself to me for life.”
“That wasn’t my intent. Do you know what would have happened if I’d left you there?” He pulled her closer still and his familiar, comforting scent enveloped her.
“This isn’t a discussion for the street. Let’s find a room so we can settle in.” She glanced toward the mercantile where two cowboys had emerged.
He released her abruptly. “You’re right, but we will be discussing this later. Do you have a preference where we stay?”
Race could turn his emotions off like a switch. “I’m ready for some good food. Let’s try the boarding house.”
They waited for some horses to pass, then crossed to Culpepper’s. A young woman with bright red hair and sharp, suspicious eyes answered their knock.
“We’re looking for rooms,” Race said.
She eyed Race up and down then did a quick scan of Millie. “You married? I don’t hold with no fiddling around. If that’s what you want, you head on over to the social club.”
The food must be exceptionally good for anyone to put up with Culpepper’s rude proprietress. Race ground his teeth together, he wouldn’t have anything left but nubs before too long. Pretty paint and neat trim work couldn’t make up for the home’s snarling owner. The woman must have thought she was a sporting lady. Race was older; she couldn’t do anything about it, but Millie didn’t think she looked like a soiled dove.
“We’re married,” he growled. “But we need two rooms.” Race’s fists were clenched at his side.
The woman looked hard at Millie this time before answering. “I got one. Dinner’s at five; it’s almost over. Breakfast at six.” She turned to lead them back in.
Millie started to follow, but Race held her back.
“We really need two. We’ll try the hotel. Thank you for your time.” He pulled Millie down the steps with him.
“None my business.” The woman turned, flipping the long red braid over her shoulder and slammed the door.
Millie pulled on Race’s hand, stopping him before they reached the street. “These are people we are going to be seeing around town, Race. They’re going to think we’re strange. We can share a room. We’re married, for goodness sake!”
Chapter 4
Race’s jaw ached. He stalked to the livery to retrieve their belongings after settling a pouting Millie in her room. Why couldn’t she understand that he just wanted to free her from him. Why did she continue to torment him with the possibility of a life he didn’t deserve? He’d had his chance at happiness, once. Millie deserved more than a shell of a man.
Unfortunately, the part of Race’s brain that didn’t agree with his plans had been very persistent of late. It tried to convince him he could be a good husband to Millie and his brokenness and age didn’t make a difference. It tried to tell him he offered more in experience and material wealth then any younger buck out there. That part of his brain also told him what the rest of his brain suspected; brotherly did not accurately describe what he felt for Millie.
She needed to have a chance at real love, not feelings that developed out of gratitude, proximity, and hero worship. He’d have to sit her down and explain it to her in a way she’d accept. He’d hoped to be able to settle for good in Wylder and quit with the nomadic life he’d forced her to live. That couldn’t happen now, not with people thinking they were married. Millie’s impetuousness ruined his plans. He’d planned to get a quiet annulment and then start interviewing worthy beaus for his ‘sister’. He didn’t know what all it would entail, but since the marriage hadn’t been consummated, he hoped it could be easily undone. Now, they would have to move on before he could set her up with a new husband. The thought brought a familiar queasiness to his stomach. The feeling he used to get when he thought of being married to Millie, now surface when he thought of anyone else being with her.
He kicked at the dirt in frustration. When he looked up, he faced the small Catholic church. How fortuitous. He climbed the steps and tried the door; locked. He circled to the alley behind the building. The church backed up to a tobacco shop, a diner, and what appeared to be a saloon. The combinations of aromas didn’t do anything to ease his roiling stomach. He leaned his back against the church and slid to the ground.
“Lord, what am I supposed to do?”
“’e doesn’t usually answer me either.”
Race shot to his feet. Before him stood a woman, maybe a year or two older than Millie. Her light brown hair was haphazardly scraped away from her face into a loose bun. Her red-rimmed blue eyes were bright against her blotchy, fair skin.
“Ma’am. Sorry, I didn’t know this was anyone’s spot. I sought a bit of solace.”
“Aye, I gathered as much. You’re welcome to it. I often come seeking the same.” She leaned on the wall several feet from him.
“I’m Race Lowery. My, ah, wife and I are new to town.” He started to offer his hand, but the woman’s wary demeanor made him keep his distance. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Have a nice night.” He slipped past her and headed to the livery.
When he returned to the hotel, Millie opened her door enough for Race to slip her bag through, then shut it in his face. They’d both had a taxing day. There’s be no relationship discussion that night. He brought plates of food for them both from the dining room. She accepted hers with a brief ‘thank you’ and closed the door again.
Race rolled into bed expecting to be asleep in seconds but instead ended up assessing his life until the wee hours of the morning. He thought about Rosemary and Mary Catherine. Their images faded from his mind now that he didn’t keep their daguerreotypes by his bedside anymore. Did he still miss them? He wasn’t sure. He still felt like he’d failed them, but pain no longer came with the memories.
Rosemary would have been ashamed of his behavior. He’d failed her in death by not living well. Millie really had saved him in that sense. After their marriage, he set aside the bottle and started making an effort to atone for messing up her life. Not that it had been that great to begin with. He wanted to be an example of a good man, the type of man she should be with. He wanted to show her not all men were like Otis and the fellas who visited Bethesda. In his efforts, somewhere along the way, he’d actually turned back into a good man. At least on the outside.
On the inside, Race was still the man who failed his first family, the drinker and the gambler. He was the man who married a girl less than half his age. Regardless of his reasons, at the time, it went against his moral code. Now, as the broken-down man having impure thoughts about that same girl, there was not a thing in the world stopping him from going into the next room and ravaging her. Hell, she even wanted him to; she may not be experienced but she expressed her interest clear enough. His need to protect Millie from himself was the only thing standing in his way. It became hard to continue to think of her as his sister when the word ‘wife’ had been repeated so many times that day.
****
Millie was trying the silent treatment, but she didn’t know if she was doing it right or if Race even noticed. She once heard ladies discussing it while working the counter in Iowa City. It sounded simple enough to just not talk. It wasn’t easy at all, though. She and Race never played those kinds of games and she’d grown used to talking with him over the evening meal. She missed him already.
Ignoring him didn’t seem to be working anyway. He hadn’t wanted to share a room with her anyway. She needed to figure out a different tact. She wished Bethy lived closer. What she needed most was an older woman to guide her and share all the secrets of womanhood she’d missed out on being raised by Race during those years. Now here she was, a full-fledged woman without a clue as to how to gain her husband’s affections; other than behaving like a whore. She saw plenty of that type of behavior in the towns they’d lived in, but never saw a wife act that way. She needed to find some women friends.
