wrinkles and his ears were long lappets.
“Down, Grouchy,” Jeff said, shaking the coffee pot.
The hound slumped against the ground, gazing up at her out of pouchy red-rimmed eyes. Cautiously, Edith extended her hand. The whip-like tail thumped against the boards of the kitchen floor as he lifted his pointed face to sniff. He whimpered as his wet nose nuzzled her hand.
“What kind of a dog is it?”
“A hound dog. Got a first-class smeller there. Track anything over any kind of ground, won’t you, boy?”
The small eyes rolled ecstatically at his master’s voice.
Sam said, “Would you believe that dog slept outside your door at night, Jeff? Wouldn’t budge much in the daytime either. I think he was worried. Since one master left him, I mean.”
“Left him?”
“His owner died last year,” Jeff said. “He left Grouchy to me in his will.”
“I see.” Moved, Edith took a piece of bacon off her plate and offered it to the dog under the table. As nonchalantly as a baby, Grouchy stood up, stretched and yawned, showing a dark tongue. Then, as if he were thinking of something else, he filched the tidbit and gave her hand a quick swipe in thanks before lying down again. Edith met Jeff’s eyes and had to smile when she realized he’d seen the whole thing.
“Did you ever have a dog?” he asked.
“No, I wanted one but I had enough trouble convincing Mr. Maginn that I should be allowed to keep Orpheus.”
“You’ve missed a lot.”
“Perhaps.”
He sipped his coffee. “Remind me to pay a call on the landlord of yours next time I’m in St. Louis.”
Sam said, “Maybe I’ll go along next time. Sounds to me like the fellow needs a little lesson in how to treat a lady.”
Chapter 7
Edith looked back and forth between the two men. “It’s all right,” she said, not sure if they were serious or not. “I imagine Mr. Maginn has other things to think about now. After all, his home did burn to the ground.”
“What do you remember about the fire?” Jeff asked.
“Nothing, really. I took Orpheus and ... of course, the stairs weren’t burning yet, just the lower landing. . . .”
“You were lucky not to be burned in your bed,” Sam said.
“Everybody got out, I think. I remember standing in the street with lots of other people. Mr. Sandrow—from across the street—I didn’t know he was bald. And Mrs. Webb ... I’d never seen a red silk nightie before.”
Jeff coughed and she raised her eyes to him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m running on and you must want your breakfast.”
“Never mind. I meant to ask, how is it that you came to me? Surely you must know people in St. Louis . . . relatives?” He smacked his hands together. “I should have asked you that before, I can send a telegram to anyone you want me . . .”
A silent shake of her head silenced him, for she looked as though this refusal were the most prosaic thing in the world. His father leaned forward and said, “There must be someone who needs to know where you are.”
“No, my aunt was my only relative.” She smiled, that elusive dimple peeping out for a moment like a shy child. “Until now, that is. I think I’m going to like being your ‘cousin.’“
Standing, she said, “I’ve forgotten about Orpheus. He must be so hungry. He wouldn’t eat on the train.”
The two men watched her go out. Jeff sipped his coffee, his thoughts wandering down unaccustomed and frightening pathways. Though he’d had a variety of adventures before settling down at last on the family ranch, he’d always known that the love and strength of his family were behind him. He cherished memories of an openly affectionate mother and a father whose manliness had never been threatened by a hug. Those recollections served as a cushion against the rough, sometimes brutal world. What would it be like to have no one? No one at all?
Sam said, “That’s a brave gal.”
“No argument. But I didn’t know things were so bad with
“Down, Grouchy,” Jeff said, shaking the coffee pot.
The hound slumped against the ground, gazing up at her out of pouchy red-rimmed eyes. Cautiously, Edith extended her hand. The whip-like tail thumped against the boards of the kitchen floor as he lifted his pointed face to sniff. He whimpered as his wet nose nuzzled her hand.
“What kind of a dog is it?”
“A hound dog. Got a first-class smeller there. Track anything over any kind of ground, won’t you, boy?”
The small eyes rolled ecstatically at his master’s voice.
Sam said, “Would you believe that dog slept outside your door at night, Jeff? Wouldn’t budge much in the daytime either. I think he was worried. Since one master left him, I mean.”
“Left him?”
“His owner died last year,” Jeff said. “He left Grouchy to me in his will.”
“I see.” Moved, Edith took a piece of bacon off her plate and offered it to the dog under the table. As nonchalantly as a baby, Grouchy stood up, stretched and yawned, showing a dark tongue. Then, as if he were thinking of something else, he filched the tidbit and gave her hand a quick swipe in thanks before lying down again. Edith met Jeff’s eyes and had to smile when she realized he’d seen the whole thing.
“Did you ever have a dog?” he asked.
“No, I wanted one but I had enough trouble convincing Mr. Maginn that I should be allowed to keep Orpheus.”
“You’ve missed a lot.”
“Perhaps.”
He sipped his coffee. “Remind me to pay a call on the landlord of yours next time I’m in St. Louis.”
Sam said, “Maybe I’ll go along next time. Sounds to me like the fellow needs a little lesson in how to treat a lady.”
Chapter 7
Edith looked back and forth between the two men. “It’s all right,” she said, not sure if they were serious or not. “I imagine Mr. Maginn has other things to think about now. After all, his home did burn to the ground.”
“What do you remember about the fire?” Jeff asked.
“Nothing, really. I took Orpheus and ... of course, the stairs weren’t burning yet, just the lower landing. . . .”
“You were lucky not to be burned in your bed,” Sam said.
“Everybody got out, I think. I remember standing in the street with lots of other people. Mr. Sandrow—from across the street—I didn’t know he was bald. And Mrs. Webb ... I’d never seen a red silk nightie before.”
Jeff coughed and she raised her eyes to him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m running on and you must want your breakfast.”
“Never mind. I meant to ask, how is it that you came to me? Surely you must know people in St. Louis . . . relatives?” He smacked his hands together. “I should have asked you that before, I can send a telegram to anyone you want me . . .”
A silent shake of her head silenced him, for she looked as though this refusal were the most prosaic thing in the world. His father leaned forward and said, “There must be someone who needs to know where you are.”
“No, my aunt was my only relative.” She smiled, that elusive dimple peeping out for a moment like a shy child. “Until now, that is. I think I’m going to like being your ‘cousin.’“
Standing, she said, “I’ve forgotten about Orpheus. He must be so hungry. He wouldn’t eat on the train.”
The two men watched her go out. Jeff sipped his coffee, his thoughts wandering down unaccustomed and frightening pathways. Though he’d had a variety of adventures before settling down at last on the family ranch, he’d always known that the love and strength of his family were behind him. He cherished memories of an openly affectionate mother and a father whose manliness had never been threatened by a hug. Those recollections served as a cushion against the rough, sometimes brutal world. What would it be like to have no one? No one at all?
Sam said, “That’s a brave gal.”
“No argument. But I didn’t know things were so bad with
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