The Blacksmith’s Bravery by Susan Page Davis Page A

occasions.” Vashti pulled her shoulders back and looked Libby in the eye. “I don’t serve drinks anymore, Miz Adams. I want to look like a lady. I want to
be
a lady. Just because I want to drive a stagecoach and Mr. Bane is making me wear pants to do it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t look nice the rest of the time.”
    There. She’d said it. She didn’t want to look like a boy when she worked and a floozy when she didn’t.
    Libby stepped toward the counter. “Why don’t you set your basket here? I have several patterns that would suit you, but we also have some very nice ready-made dresses. The winter fashions just came in. There’s a green woolen dress with a smart overskirt that I considered keeping myself, but it was a bit too short for me. On you, however…” She leaned back and considered Vashti’s attributes. “Yes, I think it would just skim your ankles. Very practical, if it’s not too plain for your taste.”
    â€œI’d like to see it.”
    They walked the length of the store together. The other women looked up. Emmaline Landry, a regular member of the shooting club, called, “Afternoon, Vashti.”
    â€œHello, Miz Landry.” What a difference from the way the townspeople used to treat her. Not so long ago, Vashti and the other saloon women used to come to the emporium after hours when none of the regular customers would see them. Now Goldie worked here, and Bitsy and Vashti came to shop whenever it struck their fancy.
    Florence left her customer’s side and came to join them. “Vashti!
    You looked so cute in that vest and hat this morning. If I hadn’t known you were a girl—”
    â€œNow, Florence,” Libby said gently, “Miss Edwards wants to look at some more feminine apparel this afternoon.”
    â€œOh, have you seen the silk and wool shawls that came in? I told Mother she and I both have to have one.”
    â€œYes, one of those might go well with the green woolen dress.” Libby paused before a rack of dresses, skirts, and coats. She pulled out the dress in question and held it up for Vashti to see.
    â€œThat’s… that’s beautiful, ma’am. How… how much?”
    Libby flipped the little pasteboard tag that dangled from the cuff of the gathered sleeve. “Three dollars and fifteen cents.”
    â€œTry it on, Vashti,” Florence said. “I’ll bet it will fit you perfectly.”
    â€œIs there time before the Silver City stage comes in?” Vashti glanced anxiously toward the front window. “I want to be out front when Mr. Bane gets here with his nephew.”
    â€œPerhaps not,” Libby said. “You can come back later and try it.”
    Vashti nodded, disappointed. She wanted to make the best possible impression on Griffin. To her way of thinking, the buns would help, and she would tell him how smoothly everything went on the Silver City run. Bill would confirm what she told him, but she wanted to be the one to tell him first. “I was hoping…”
    â€œWhat were you hoping, my dear?” Libby’s smile left no doubt of her affection and empathy for Vashti.
    â€œThe last time he saw me, I was decked out like a boy. I wanted him to see me as a woman—a neat, professional woman. But my clothes…”
    â€œWhat about your clothes?” Florence asked.
    â€œThey’re not like yours and Mrs. Adams’s. Not suitable for business. Like when I sell stage tickets.” She glanced across the store toward where her friend was still diligently counting screws and nails. “Even Goldie. Since she started working here, she’s bought regular clothes, and she looks fine. We were always trying to catch attention in the old days, but now I just want to look
nice.”
    Libby smiled and squeezed her arm. “You come back after the stagecoach comes in, and we’ll talk.”
    â€œThanks.” Vashti