read out loud. “Thank you, Luella.”
She tucked the note in her pocket and patted it, her first reward for teaching a class that hadn’t even started yet.
C HAPTER 11
O liver Buxton made a production of counting eight silver dollars into Jack’s hand the next morning. “That’s all you’ll get from the consortium,” he said, sounding prissy and put-upon at the same time.
The consortium spends more than this on one night’s booze at the Cheyenne Club, you tightwad , Jack thought as he smiled at his employer. “We came up with two more dollars, so we’ll manage.”
This didn’t seem to be the answer Buxton wanted, but Jack had long since given up understanding managers.
Clarence Carteret was already at work in the office. Jack had secretly been impressed that Lily had bullied the man to breakfast, and he didn’t look half bad.
“That’s quite a daughter you have,” he went so far as to say as he passed through.
“I never knew her,” Clarence said simply. “My loss.”
Wondering to himself how many lost opportunities the man had squandered, Jack tipped his hat and went to find Amelie.
She wore what he knew was the best of her two dresses, and she carried a bouquet of zinnias, survivors of the summer’s heat and wind. To be sure, calling it a bouquet was overly generous—four zinnias gasping out their last. Amelie had given the bouquet a Gallic twist with a strand of silvery ribbon.
He knew she could manage only a gentle tease. “Did you decide to put them out of their misery?” he asked as he nodded to Madeleine, who glared at a pot of beans as though wishing she could change it into something else.
Amelie shook her head. “For my papa,” she whispered, and he felt immediately lower than a snake’s belly. “Mama said we would be going right past the burying ground.”
“So we shall.” At least he was smart enough not to fall all over himself apologizing. If anyone knew life was hard, Jean Baptiste Sansever’s children did.
He had taken the ranch’s smaller buckboard, the one usually reserved for consortium members because the seats were padded. Amelie saw so little luxury that he knew she would appreciate it. With a slight smile—in itself a reward—she patted the seat.
“Let’s stop at the schoolhouse and see if anyone is working,” he said. Earlier, he had watched Chantal heading toward the school carrying a bucket and scrub brush, her hair done up in a bandana and wearing an old dress too short for her that had somehow avoided the ragbag. The determination on her face—so like Madeleine—had made him smile.
The window and door were open, giving the place the airing out it needed. Talk about sow’s ears. It didn’t look any better than a half dozen other unused outbuildings he should have burned down years ago. He waved to Preacher, who was putting new hinges on the outhouse door.
“Will it work?” he teased.
“I’m going to take some sandpaper to the seat,” Preacher said. “The door’s been open so long that the wood inside is weathered, too.”
When Jack looked back at the school, Lily stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She somehow managed to look tidy, even though her hair was done up in a bandana too. Maybe it was the elegant way she carried herself as though Wyoming Territory was only going to be a temporary stop and she had grander venues in mind. Lily Carteret probably had three or four plans by now.
He set the brake but didn’t get down. Through the door, he saw the tall figure of Fothering. The butler had covered a broom with cheesecloth and was swiping at cobwebs while Chantal dusted off a desk. Jack leaned across Amelie. “No Luella?” he asked Lily.
“Not yet, but I have hopes,” Lily replied. She reached in her pocket and handed him a coin. “Papa’s contribution. He said you call it two bits.”
“If there is a bargain to be had in Wisner, we will find it, eh, Amelie?” he said as he pocketed the coin. “I have your list,
She tucked the note in her pocket and patted it, her first reward for teaching a class that hadn’t even started yet.
C HAPTER 11
O liver Buxton made a production of counting eight silver dollars into Jack’s hand the next morning. “That’s all you’ll get from the consortium,” he said, sounding prissy and put-upon at the same time.
The consortium spends more than this on one night’s booze at the Cheyenne Club, you tightwad , Jack thought as he smiled at his employer. “We came up with two more dollars, so we’ll manage.”
This didn’t seem to be the answer Buxton wanted, but Jack had long since given up understanding managers.
Clarence Carteret was already at work in the office. Jack had secretly been impressed that Lily had bullied the man to breakfast, and he didn’t look half bad.
“That’s quite a daughter you have,” he went so far as to say as he passed through.
“I never knew her,” Clarence said simply. “My loss.”
Wondering to himself how many lost opportunities the man had squandered, Jack tipped his hat and went to find Amelie.
She wore what he knew was the best of her two dresses, and she carried a bouquet of zinnias, survivors of the summer’s heat and wind. To be sure, calling it a bouquet was overly generous—four zinnias gasping out their last. Amelie had given the bouquet a Gallic twist with a strand of silvery ribbon.
He knew she could manage only a gentle tease. “Did you decide to put them out of their misery?” he asked as he nodded to Madeleine, who glared at a pot of beans as though wishing she could change it into something else.
Amelie shook her head. “For my papa,” she whispered, and he felt immediately lower than a snake’s belly. “Mama said we would be going right past the burying ground.”
“So we shall.” At least he was smart enough not to fall all over himself apologizing. If anyone knew life was hard, Jean Baptiste Sansever’s children did.
He had taken the ranch’s smaller buckboard, the one usually reserved for consortium members because the seats were padded. Amelie saw so little luxury that he knew she would appreciate it. With a slight smile—in itself a reward—she patted the seat.
“Let’s stop at the schoolhouse and see if anyone is working,” he said. Earlier, he had watched Chantal heading toward the school carrying a bucket and scrub brush, her hair done up in a bandana and wearing an old dress too short for her that had somehow avoided the ragbag. The determination on her face—so like Madeleine—had made him smile.
The window and door were open, giving the place the airing out it needed. Talk about sow’s ears. It didn’t look any better than a half dozen other unused outbuildings he should have burned down years ago. He waved to Preacher, who was putting new hinges on the outhouse door.
“Will it work?” he teased.
“I’m going to take some sandpaper to the seat,” Preacher said. “The door’s been open so long that the wood inside is weathered, too.”
When Jack looked back at the school, Lily stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She somehow managed to look tidy, even though her hair was done up in a bandana too. Maybe it was the elegant way she carried herself as though Wyoming Territory was only going to be a temporary stop and she had grander venues in mind. Lily Carteret probably had three or four plans by now.
He set the brake but didn’t get down. Through the door, he saw the tall figure of Fothering. The butler had covered a broom with cheesecloth and was swiping at cobwebs while Chantal dusted off a desk. Jack leaned across Amelie. “No Luella?” he asked Lily.
“Not yet, but I have hopes,” Lily replied. She reached in her pocket and handed him a coin. “Papa’s contribution. He said you call it two bits.”
“If there is a bargain to be had in Wisner, we will find it, eh, Amelie?” he said as he pocketed the coin. “I have your list,
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