absurd, I actually smiled. Taking it up, I skimmed the wall, trying to find a good place for mine. Not next to Emmett and Bob Dalton, wanted for murder and train robbery, for certain.
Bypassing the malcontents, I found the more ordinary notices-—things for sale, services on offer. One stopped me, and I read a little tragedy in its terse presentation:
Healthy young mother of four, one deceased, having an excess of milk will wet-nurse a child in her own home.
Quelling my jumbled emotions, I pounded my notice in beneath that one. Replacing the rock, I went to leave, and the young man opened the door for me again.
"You have a real good day," he said.
I know I thanked him-—my mother had taught me well enough—but I had no recollection of it. For it was when he spoke again that I knew his voice and his blue eyes. He had robbed me and left me to the elements in the empty prairie. Surely he recognized me.
I could only pray he didn't know I had recognized him.
Nine
"There she is," Birdie said when I pushed into the foyer of the restaurant. She sat at the end of a long table, tying a napkin around Louella's neck.
With wallpaper behind her and good china before her, I saw clearly the Beatrice Stewart who'd charmed Baltimore entirely and let Peter Neal steal her off to Kansas. Petty and Birdie, full of hope and joy—with no idea how soon they'd be parted.
I hurried to sit next to her, glad to put my back to the windows. I didn't want to look through them and accidentally catch another glimpse of Royal. And likewise, I didn't care for him to catch sight of me with my family. Birdie hefted a shotgun with ease and confidence, it was true, but I preferred to avoid the need entirely.
"I thought we'd have a treat," Birdie said. She poured Louella a glass of milk from the pitcher between us, then offered it to me. "I know you've been missing your mama's cooking. Mrs. Herrington's not quite the genius in the kitchen Pauline is, but she makes a fine powder biscuit."
Though I greedily poured a glass of milk for myself, I asked, "Do you think we should? We've still got a bit of stew left over, and I know where to find more wild eggs..."
"The way I see it-—" Birdie said. She smiled when a rawboned woman shuffled toward the table, put down several covered dishes, then returned to the kitchen. Birdie continued, "It's just ten engagements for you, to buy a cow. We can afford a dollar for breakfast."
That expectation bore down on me. Smoothing my napkin in my lap, I said, "I hope I get that many, then."
"I like a biscuit," Louella said to no one in particular.
Birdie started uncovering the serving dishes. Watching her, I realized she was just this side of giddy. My newfound gift was some kind of salvation for her; it put stars in her eyes and warmth in her smile. All her cheer made my unease seem selfish-—it's not as though she planned to mine me for diamonds and pearls.
"Between here and Jubilee, we'll find plenty of takers."
"What's that about Jubilee?" a thin, whey-faced man at the next table asked. It startled me, honestly, that he would interrupt a conversation just because he could overhear it.
Birdie turned to him. "You mind your business, Carl, and I'll mind mine."
Though Carl huffed into his coffee, he didn't seem perturbed at Birdie's remonstration. In fact, he took a sip from his cup and tipped his chair back on two legs to better insert himself into our party.
"I'm just saying, whatever this missy's got on offer, I expect we have enough decent people in West Glory to keep her busy without resorting to mixing with—"
"The war's been over twenty-five years, sir, and you lost. Now, if you wouldn't mind terribly, I'm trying to have breakfast." Then, with a smile as sweet as honey, Birdie put a finger on his chair and tipped it back on all four legs.
I buried my laughter in my napkin. Though she was blond and lithe where Mama was brunette and broad, I could see very much the family resemblance in that
Bypassing the malcontents, I found the more ordinary notices-—things for sale, services on offer. One stopped me, and I read a little tragedy in its terse presentation:
Healthy young mother of four, one deceased, having an excess of milk will wet-nurse a child in her own home.
Quelling my jumbled emotions, I pounded my notice in beneath that one. Replacing the rock, I went to leave, and the young man opened the door for me again.
"You have a real good day," he said.
I know I thanked him-—my mother had taught me well enough—but I had no recollection of it. For it was when he spoke again that I knew his voice and his blue eyes. He had robbed me and left me to the elements in the empty prairie. Surely he recognized me.
I could only pray he didn't know I had recognized him.
Nine
"There she is," Birdie said when I pushed into the foyer of the restaurant. She sat at the end of a long table, tying a napkin around Louella's neck.
With wallpaper behind her and good china before her, I saw clearly the Beatrice Stewart who'd charmed Baltimore entirely and let Peter Neal steal her off to Kansas. Petty and Birdie, full of hope and joy—with no idea how soon they'd be parted.
I hurried to sit next to her, glad to put my back to the windows. I didn't want to look through them and accidentally catch another glimpse of Royal. And likewise, I didn't care for him to catch sight of me with my family. Birdie hefted a shotgun with ease and confidence, it was true, but I preferred to avoid the need entirely.
"I thought we'd have a treat," Birdie said. She poured Louella a glass of milk from the pitcher between us, then offered it to me. "I know you've been missing your mama's cooking. Mrs. Herrington's not quite the genius in the kitchen Pauline is, but she makes a fine powder biscuit."
Though I greedily poured a glass of milk for myself, I asked, "Do you think we should? We've still got a bit of stew left over, and I know where to find more wild eggs..."
"The way I see it-—" Birdie said. She smiled when a rawboned woman shuffled toward the table, put down several covered dishes, then returned to the kitchen. Birdie continued, "It's just ten engagements for you, to buy a cow. We can afford a dollar for breakfast."
That expectation bore down on me. Smoothing my napkin in my lap, I said, "I hope I get that many, then."
"I like a biscuit," Louella said to no one in particular.
Birdie started uncovering the serving dishes. Watching her, I realized she was just this side of giddy. My newfound gift was some kind of salvation for her; it put stars in her eyes and warmth in her smile. All her cheer made my unease seem selfish-—it's not as though she planned to mine me for diamonds and pearls.
"Between here and Jubilee, we'll find plenty of takers."
"What's that about Jubilee?" a thin, whey-faced man at the next table asked. It startled me, honestly, that he would interrupt a conversation just because he could overhear it.
Birdie turned to him. "You mind your business, Carl, and I'll mind mine."
Though Carl huffed into his coffee, he didn't seem perturbed at Birdie's remonstration. In fact, he took a sip from his cup and tipped his chair back on two legs to better insert himself into our party.
"I'm just saying, whatever this missy's got on offer, I expect we have enough decent people in West Glory to keep her busy without resorting to mixing with—"
"The war's been over twenty-five years, sir, and you lost. Now, if you wouldn't mind terribly, I'm trying to have breakfast." Then, with a smile as sweet as honey, Birdie put a finger on his chair and tipped it back on all four legs.
I buried my laughter in my napkin. Though she was blond and lithe where Mama was brunette and broad, I could see very much the family resemblance in that
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