She accepted Teddy’s invitation.
They passed a most enjoyable evening. He cooked the beef with bay leaf, onion and sherry, and served it with rich, dark gravy and a bevy of vegetables. As she’d guessed, he was an engaging fellow. Not only did he make a special effort to please her with the meal (he had closed his eating saloon to all but them and had produced a coral-colored tea cloth, matching napkins and a candle for their table), but they passed three thoroughly enjoyable hours discussing a variety of topics: Only a Farmer’s Daughter, which he, too, had seen the previous night; the unpalatable habit of snuff-chewers expectorating in the street; his origins (he had left an aging mother and father behind with a married sister in Ohio to come here and make his pot of gold); her origins; the rumor that someone was planning to build the first much-needed stamp mill for the reduction of ore in the gulch; the domestic economy of blowing out a candle by holding it above you, thereby preventing the wick from smoldering down as it does when blown from above. He claimed the latter and demonstrated to his companion, ending their meal with a laugh when he proved himself correct.
When he walked her home he made no attempt to hold her hand, but at the foot of her steps he stopped and asked, “Would you mind if I kissed you, Sarah?”
She had suffered a dearth of male attention throughout her growing-up years, and thought she deserved this superabundance of it. Furthermore, she was curious to know whether her reaction would be as agreeable as it was to Arden’s kiss.
Teddy, however, was much less impulsive than Arden. His kiss was executed without the use of his tongue. It was more of a gentle settling of his mouth over hers, and a small parting nibble. She found herself faintly disappointed.
“Good night,” he said quietly when it ended. “I’ve enjoyed it.”
“I have, too. Thank you, Teddy.”
Much to Sarah’s relief, Marshal Campbell had taken her at her word and stopped his spying. She encountered him nowhere on her way through the house.
At breakfast the following day they exchanged forced good mornings, establishing a status of edgy neutrality.
Later, she arrived at the newspaper office to find Patrick Bradigan already there working.
“Good morning, Patrick, are you turning over a new leaf?” she teased. “It’s only eight o’clock.”
“Y’ might say that, miss, yes.”
He didn’t look exactly well, she realized upon closer scrutiny. His eyes were abnormally bright and his color high. “Patrick, aren’t you feeling well? You look terribly flushed this morning.”!
“I’m feelin’ fine. Well, perhaps a wee bit murky.”
“Why, Patrick, what is it? If you’re ill you certainly needn’t have come to work.” She approached him and touched his forehead. “You should be resting if—”
“I’m not ailin’ with the smallpox, so y’ needn’t fret yourself on that score.” He caught her wrist and held it, rising from his chair. No whiskey tainted his breath, but his eyes were bloodshot.
“Then what is it?”
“Ah, well...” A sheepish half-grin tilted his lips. “’Tis the daft wishes of a lovestruck man.” He took her hand in his and studied it. “I thought perhaps I’d best be askin’ y’ now before one o’ those other young swains pops the question and y’ decide to jump the stone with him. I was wonderin’, pretty colleen, if you’d do me the honor of becomin’ me wife.”
Her lips dropped open in surprise. “Why, Patrick...”
“I know this is sudden, but hear me out. I’ve turned over a new leaf. You see, I haven’t tipped the barley bottle once today. No, don’t pull your hand away.” He gripped it tighter. “From the minute I laid down me gold t’ pay your first night’s lodging I says to meself, Patrick me boy, there’s the girl of your dreams. And when you turned out to be in me own trade, I says to meself, faith and begorra, the match was made in heaven!”
“Oh Patrick—”
He took her head and kissed her, halting her words.
She stood still as a newel post and allowed it. None of the pleasant amplification of Arden’s kiss followed, only disenchantment accompanied by a wish to have it over. His mouth was wetter and more desperate than either Arden’s or Teddy’s and she could feel the trembling in his hands.
When he drew back, still holding her head, he vowed, “I can give up the drink, you’ll see.”
“Of course you can, with or without me.”
“Then say yes.”
She drew back, forcing him to drop his hands. “I’m not Catholic, Patrick.”
“What does it matter clear out here? We’ll likely be married by the circuit judge when he comes through, and later by a man of the cloth, whatever cloth comes first.”
“I’m sorry, Patrick,” she told him softly, “but I don’t love you.”
“Don’t love me! But how could y’ not love me when I can set type at two thousand ems a minute and print a page in forty-five seconds?” He grinned boyishly.
“Patrick, please,” she pleaded quietly. “Don’t make this more difficult for either one of us. I don’t want to lose you as an employee, but I cannot marry you.”
She watched his need for a drink escalate as he stood soberly before her, chagrined and trying not to show it, heart-broken and attempting to laugh it off.
“Ah, well...” With a wave of the hand he turned aside. “What you lose on the swings, y’ gain on the roundabouts. I won’t have t’ buy a house then, and a wagonload o’ furniture, will I? I wasn’t just sure how I’d manage that.” He returned to work, but within minutes she noted him sipping from his flask, and by midmorning he wore the effulgent glow of an Irish sunset.
When Josh came in he sensed the tension and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sarah replied.
There was, of course, something wrong between Sarah and Patrick from that morning on. The equanimity they’d shared over their work was strained as never before. However, she silently thanked Patrick for one consideration: he had pronounced himself in the privacy of the office so nobody else need ever know, for as the week progressed, the male attention continued and Sarah began to feel more than ever like a prize specimen under a bell jar. Men came into the newspaper office and offered her everything from their mothers’ lockets to shares in their gold mines. In return they sought her company at dinner, supper, plays, the gambling tables, picnics (it was November, for heaven’s sake!), and more than likely at breakfast, too, if any could be so lucky. She turned them all down, for she had business to do.
On Saturday, Arden Campbell showed up with the pistachio and white striped umbrella and presented it to her with his full-moon smile.
“I can’t accept this, Arden.”
“Why not?”
“Well... because.”
“Because people might know it’s from me and think you’re my girl?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Besides, it’s the middle of winter. What would I do with it?”
“Save it till spring. Now, I’m taking you out to dinner tonight and I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Yes, you will.”
“No, I won’t. I paid a half an ounce of gold for that bum-bershoot. You owe me.” j
She laughed and snapped the umbrella open, gave it a twirl and watched the stripes blur. “Arden, you’re incorrigible.”
“Damned right. Now shut that thing up and let’s go.”
She went with him and had a lovely time. He made her laugh as no other man she’d ever known. He teased—something new for her—and brought out a humorous side she’d never known she possessed. And at the end of the night, he kissed her again and turned her stomach to frogs’ eggs, and dazzled her with his tongue, and tried to touch her breasts and nearly convinced her to let him.
She went, the next afternoon, to Addie’s where her initial reception was halting but became more genuine as the two shared some affectionate exchanges about Ruler, scratching her and letting her act as the bridge between them. In time Addie sat
cross-legged near the pillows on her bed where Ruler gamboled with a string of red glass beads. Sarah sat at the foot. It was a dingy afternoon and a small lamp was lit—the perfect setting, Sarah thought, for two sisters to exchange confidences and thereby begin rebuilding trust.
“I seem to have an admirer,” Sarah began.
“The way I hear it, you seem to have a whole townful.”
“Well, one in particular.”
“Who?”
“The marshal’s brother, Arden Campbell.”
“Ohhh... the cute one.”
“Yes, he is, isn’t he? But he’s four years younger than I. Do you think that matters?”
“You’re asking me?” Addie exclaimed. “Why?”
“Because you’ve always seemed to know about these things. Even when we were young you knew how to act around boys. I was busy helping Daddy publish a newspaper when I should have been learning the fundamentals of... well, of, of dalliance.”
“Dalliance?” The prudish word caught Addie and brought out a laugh. “For a woman who always seems to be able to pull a thousand words out of a hat to suit any occasion, you had some trouble saying that one, didn’t you?”
“Don’t laugh at me, Addie. I’m four years older than you but I’m ten years behind in matters of concupiscence.”
“It doesn’t strike you as unfitting that you should be asking me when you know what I am? What I do?”
“I’m asking you to forget for a while what you do and not let it come between us. I don’t know any other way for us to become sisters again. Besides, I need your advice.”
Addie stopped sidewinding the beads, and the cat took up swatting at a fold in her dressing robe. For moments neither sister spoke, though their gazes remained earnestly locked.
“So what do you want to know?”
“Three men have kissed me recently. Should I have let them?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Because one is my employee, one is not anyone I’m particularly attracted to, and the other one is four years younger than me and altogether too attractive for his own good.”
“What did you think of it?”
“It was an interesting comparison.”
“It’ll be more than interesting once the right one kisses you.”
“How do I know the right one hasn’t?”
Addie looked very wise. “Because when the right ones does, he’ll make you feel like you’re a thimbleful of fondant, and you’re going to wish you were, and that he’d lick the last drop from you or die trying.”
“It was a little like that with Arden, but Arden is too young and much too eager to suit me. He wants everything to happen last week. Teddy Ruckner isn’t that way at all. We simply had a good time together. We talked about so many things, and he fixed me the most delicious supper, then walked me home. But his kiss was rather flat and disappointing. Then there was Patrick... that one was embarrassing and we’ve both been self-conscious ever since. But what I wonder, Addie, is this—is it fair to a man to accept his invitations for dinner and plays when you’re accepting the invitations of others as well?”
“Of course. If they want to spend their money on you, let them. But just remember one thing: if you want them to marry you, keep your bloomers buttoned.”
The newspaper was growing. Sarah was putting out four sheets twice a week, the current edition announcing that the office of the Deadwood Chronicle was the first plastered building in Deadwood; an exceedingly rich quartz lode had been discovered on Black Tail Gulch and the owners were making grub by pounding the ore in mortars and afterward panning out the precious metals for lack of quartz mills and arrastras. At Claim #3 above discovery on Deadwood Gulch, Pierce & Co. was taking out an average of $400 per day, while the cold weather had put a stop to surface mining on many of the creeks until next spring. The telegraph was completed to within twenty-five miles this side of Custer City, and by next week the poles would be set as far as Deadwood. A party was planned at the Grand Central when the long-awaited wires reached the city. The Black Hills Country would soon have a reliable map, as Mr. George Henkel, well-known civil engineer, had been engaged all summer upon a survey and would soon have his maps completed. A two-hundred-dollar reward for the arrest of road agents operating on the Cheyenne & Black Hills Stage road was offered by Wyoming Governor Thayer and a number of county commissioners. No new cases of smallpox had been reported. Land for a combined church/school building had been donated to the city by Elias Pinkney, the amount of money to be appropriated for construction of the building to be put to a vote of the general public on December 4. An ad for a schoolteacher for next term would be placed in larger city newspapers as soon as the telegraph reached Deadwood.
Sarah was reading over the proof sheets of the edition on a cold afternoon in late November. A fire burned in the potbellied stove at the rear of the office, which was so much brighter with the lanterns reflecting off its new white walls. At a work-table Patrick was teaching Josh the rudiments of setting type as they composed the program for the Bella Union’s next play. The room was pleasant with the smell of printer’s ink and burning pine. The sound of the male voices murmured on while now and then the soft clatter of wood sounded as they selected furniture or maple engravings for their project.
The door opened and Sarah turned in her swivel chair.
A man had entered and stood smiling broadly at her. He was dressed in a beaver bowler and a dark plaid woolen greatcoat with attached cape. She removed her spectacles to see him more clearly.
“Hello, Sarah.”
“Robert!”
Her heart did a doubletake as she bolted from the chair and met him in a fond embrace halfway across the room. In all the years she’d known Robert Baysinger they had never touched more than hands in a formal greeting, but his unexpected arrival chased propriety from both their minds. “What in the world are you doing here?” she asked, quite crushed in his arms.
“I received your letter.”
He released all but her hands, gripping them firmly as they stood back to study one another.
“Oh Robert, it’s so good to see you.” From the first time he’d come to their house as a very young boy, she had thrilled at the sight of him. But he’d had eyes for no girl but Addie.
“It’s good to see you, too. You look very well.”
“So do you.” She had never seen him in such rich clothes before. He had grown a beard and mustache—those old dislikes which on most men looked shoddy. On Robert they look distinguished, and immediately she loved them. “How I’ve longed for a glimpse of someone from back home, and here you are, stepping into my office as if you’d only crossed the street.”
“Believe me, I crossed more than a street.” They laughed and he released her hands reluctantly. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
“Oh goodness...” She thought fast. “Yes, at Mrs. Roundtree’s, where I live. There shouldn’t be anyone in the parlor at this time of day. But first come and meet some friends of mine.” She led the way toward the others, who’d been watching with unconcealed interest. “Patrick Bradigan and Josh Dawkins, I’d like to introduce an old friend, Robert Bay-singer, who’s just arrived from St. Louis.”
During handshakes Sarah explained, “Patrick is my typesetter and Josh is our apprentice.” The three exchanged pleasantries while Sarah fetched her coat and tied an unadorned brown wool bonnet on her head. “I’ll be gone for a while. Lock up if I’m not back before closing time.”
With her hand tucked securely in the crook of Robert’s arm, the two of them made their way to Mrs. Roundtree’s.
“You gave me such a surprise, Robert.”
“Undoubtedly. But not unpleasant, I hope.”
“Of course not. How have you been?”
“Heartsore. Wondering if what I’m doing is the right thing.”
“You’ve come here to see Addie of course.”
“Of course. I made the decision as soon as I received your letter, but
it took some time to get arrangements made.”
“She’s not the same, you know.”
“Perhaps not, but I find I cannot live in peace until I make an attempt to get her out of that sordid life she’s fallen into. Call me a fool—I know, I am—but I’ve never been able to forget her. So I persuaded a group of investors to back me and I’ve come to the hills to build a stamp mill.”
“A stamp mill! Oh Robert, you’ll be rich in no time.”
He laughed. “I dearly hope so.”
“We need one so badly here.”
“Which you implied in your letter. That’s what put the idea in my head.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Not a lot, but I’m learning. I’ve been to Denver and bought the stamps themselves and learned what I could there. It’s a relatively simple procedure, and I’ll be relying on the experienced miners to help me set it up.”
They had reached Mrs. Roundtree’s. In the parlor, Robert politely helped Sarah remove her coat
“Thank you,” she said, slipping from it, watching as he hung it on the tree along with his own. It had been a long time since a man had performed this courtesy for her. Robert did it with the naturalness of a true gentleman. He had been her ideal and still was. How ever could Addie have run away from him?
He waited until she sat before doing so himself on an adjacent chair.
“Now tell me about Addie,” he said.
“Oh Robert...” She sighed, her expression doleful. “You mustn’t expect to see the same woman or to be welcomed with any degree of warmth. She’s become very hard, remote most of the time, wearing a sort of shield to ward off any sort of closeness to other human beings.”