Nissa (The Widows of Wildcat Ridge Book 3) Read online

  “Well, you can go to church now. Priscilla Heartsel, the preacher’s daughter, said she has some of her daddy’s old sermons. She offered to share them with us on Sundays until we get a regular minister in here.”

  Nissa picked up the first article her hands touched and checked it to see if it needed to be scrubbed against the washboard. “All right, Diantha. Tell me what they talked about at the meeting today. Tell me what I missed. Then I’ll consider whether or not I dare show my face at church.”

  Nissa went through the process of scrubbing and then rolling the clothes through the wringer she had bought off one of the departing miner’s wives who, while the mine remained, had earned extra money doing laundry. After, Nissa tossed the clothes into the rinse water. All the while, she listened while Diantha told her about the meeting.

  “Oh, and there’s going to be a horse auction. Blessing—you know, the little Odell woman who likes to go by the name Buster—she said since her daddy died in the rescue, she has too many horses to take care of. She’s saving some out, but the rest she wants to sell. If we help her spread the word to potential buyers, she’ll split the money with the town to keep us going. She’s already bringing beef to Mrs. Muckelrath who is keeping the butcher shop open now her husband’s dead.”

  Nissa tightened her lips into a thin line as she focused on her laundry. Olive Muckelrath had come to her more than once to tell her Buster Odell had brought her a steer to butcher for the widows in town, and that she should come by the shop to get some. She could not afford to pay much for meat, and she resisted taking charity, even from someone as kind-hearted as Olive Muckelrath. Only once or twice had she gone and accepted some soup bones, and then only for the sake of her children.

  “That’s right generous of Buster. I’m sure it will help the town out a lot.” Nissa closed her eyes at the sound of Diantha’s sigh.

  “You know, Nissa, this horse auction sale will help only so much. What we need are men to take over and run these businesses so we can keep our homes. One thing Mr. Crane told most of these women was he wouldn’t renew any leases on the buildings he owns unless there were men—husbands—managing the businesses. Some of these women plan writing off to some of the matrimonial papers looking for husbands. I’ll let you know when I find out the details. Even though I know you are still mourning like the rest of us, maybe you should consider it.”

  Nissa bit back a retort. She knew most of the women were still suffering despondency over their losses. For the sake of her children, she felt sorrow over losing their father. As for herself, she felt mostly anger. James Stillwell had lived the high life as one of the hangers-on to Mr. “Big Moneybags” in town, Mortimer Crane. He had thought so little of her and her children he had gone into debt and not provided for them in the event something should happen to him.

  Nissa had discovered that the first time she tried charging at the mercantile, and Mrs. Tweedie asked when she thought she could pay off the bill that was three months behind. The request had stunned her into silence. Men working for a mine, unlike farmers or ranchers who paid off what was charged all year after the cattle and crops were sold, were paid regularly. There was no reason for her husband to allow the bill to get even a month behind.

  Nissa had found the same thing to be true at the butcher’s shop—another reason she felt guilty about accepting anything from Olive Muckelrath. She found it difficult to believe her husband had let their debt build up so long without paying it off. However, the more she learned and thought about it, she suspected the reason.

  At the bank a week after the disaster, the teller, Birdie Templeton, told her Mr. Crane, who also owned the bank, had been encouraging the men he associated with to invest in one of his ventures. She quietly explained her husband withdrew a large sum from his savings account about that time. It had dwindled to almost nothing. She encouraged Nissa to withdraw the balance and close the account, which she did so she could pay off most of the bill at the mercantile.

  Nissa realized later the soft-spoken, mousy-appearing teller had done her a favor. The bank manager came to her and explained her husband had an outstanding loan to be paid. She informed him she had not signed the loan and was not responsible for the debt.

  To consider marrying again, only to find herself with another man who would treat her the same or worse as James Stillwell, did not appeal to Nissa.

  Nissa turned to Diantha with a smile. “I appreciate you thinking of me. However, unlike you and many of the widows in town, I don’t have a business a man can step into and take over. I have nothing with which to entice a man to come to Wildcat Ridge and marry me. The best I can hope for is that I can hang on long enough for the town to grow and prosper enough so more people will pay me to do their laundry, and I can better provide for my children.”

  Or get out. Heaven knows, I want desperately to get away from this old mining town or anyplace that reminds me of James Stillwell.

  Chapter Two

  Northeastern Utah

  June 23, 1884

  D

  allin Walsh fought sleep as he once again ruminated on how much he would prefer being on the back of his horse making the trip in the stock car than sitting on a bench in the passenger train taking him south of Evanston to some isolated region barely inside Utah.

  “Where’s this hole-in-the-ground place we’re going to, Boss? Seems like we’re staying away from the Grassy Fork awful long this time.”

  The question from one of his wranglers, Buck Kramer, jolted Dallin Walsh out of the stupor he had slipped into. Dallin turned on the bench of the train passenger coach to face tall, thin Buck who had cut his brown hair short for the occasion of this stock-buying trip. Dallin himself possessed a lighter shade of brown hair which, thankfully, had not thinned on top as happened with so many men like him in their late thirties. It was only the weathered look to his face and his stocky build that gave away his age as being almost old enough to be Buck’s father—a very young father, but still, a father.

  “Don’t worry about the ranch. The Grassy Fork will take care of itself with Curly there. We’re headed to Wildcat Ridge, a mining town a little south of here where a big explosion and mine collapse killed a lot of men a few months back. You remember reading about it? It was in the papers.”

  Buck folded his arms and looked out the window. “Can’t say that I do. Don’t read much.”

  Hal Summers snorted his disbelief. “Don’t read at all, you mean. If we didn’t read to you, you’d never know what was going on. You’d rather play cards or checkers—either that, or whistle to beat all heck.”

  Hal, with his dark brunet hair and brown eyes, had a lean, muscular build as proof of his years as a cow puncher and horse handler on the Grassy Fork Ranch. The most handsome of the three men, Hal’s only complaint about where he lived and worked was the isolation. Too far from a town of any decent size, he found it difficult to meet single women his age. Unlike most of the hands at the ranch, he was not as interested in visiting women at the local brothel as much as he yearned for a family. In spite of that, he realistically understood the remoteness of the western mountains of Colorado where Dallin Walsh owned his ranch led to the limited number of marriageable women available. Most women wanted the niceties of neighbors, schools and churches without having to ride a day in wagon to reach them.

  Besides Dallin being a decent and fair man to work for, Hal truly liked his job and the peace living in the mountains brought him. He knew he could quit and look for a job closer to a bigger city, one where he might find more women. However, he figured he was next in line as foreman once Curly, now well into his sixties, either died or was forced to retire. He stayed for that reason.

  Several years older than Buck, Hal had been working for Dallin a couple of years before Buck, a young teenager at the time, rode in looking for a meal and a job. In spite of their differences in age, background, education and abilities, they had become good friends. That did not, however, stop Hal from ribbing Buck when he had the chan
ce.

  Buck slouched in his seat, wrinkled his forehead and mumbled. “Never learned to read all that well. Long as I do a good job on the ranch, what do you care?”

  “Don’t. Then again, it would be nice to know I’m not talking to dead air when I tell everyone what’s in the papers once Boss is done with them and passes them along to us in the bunkhouse.”

  Hal punched Buck on the shoulder and offered him a grin to let him know he was joking. He threw up his hands and leaned back, wearing an expression of mock fear when Buck raised his fist as if to punch him back.

  Buck laughed and relaxed again in his seat. “If you’d read more of those dime novels, I’d listen more. Now, those I like. Wish I was smart enough to learn to read them myself.”

  Hal studied Buck’s profile as he wondered again, not for the first time, why it was that in spite of his efforts to teach Buck to read, the young man could not get the hang of it. Buck recognized numbers readily enough and could figure sums and subtractions in his head. He knew his individual letters, but when it came to stringing them together to create words, the concept seemed lost on Buck. Hal had been forced to settle for getting Buck to at least know how to sign his full name.

  That did not stop Buck from speaking plenty of words—sometimes more than Hal and the men wanted to hear. Hal often teased his friend about that tendency, too. And, if the men made the mistake of insisting he stop talking, Buck often serenaded them with his whistling half the night.

  Hal leaned forward and nudged Dallin, who sat by himself on the bench in front of his two men. “So, what’s in Wildcat Ridge that’s worth us looking at, Boss? We don’t have anything to do with miners.”

  Dallin reached over and into his saddlebag. He fumbled around until his fingers latched onto a newspaper. He pulled it out, turned to face Hal, reached his hand over the seatback and slapped the paper against his wrangler’s chest. “Read that. Picked it up in Evanston. It’s not one I’ve passed along to you yet.”

  A look of curiosity lighting his eyes, Hal took the paper and unfolded it. His gaze searched for whatever had caught his employer’s eye. He found the advertisement and began to read as Dallin continued speaking.

  “They got a big horse auction going on in Wildcat Ridge—a hundred head. Word around Evanston was, the animals were broke and prepared for the Army at Fort Bridger. The Army procurer decided against them now old Chief Ouray is settled on the reservation and his braves are not causing as much trouble as they were. Figured these horses might be worth looking at as a means of improving our own stock.”

  While Hal focused on the details in the advertisement, Buck stared at Dallin in disbelief.

  Not wanting to outright insult Dallin, Buck carefully chose his words. “Boss, they’re probably wild mustangs caught on the open range and broke. We could do the same with the herds closer to us. Why pay a premium to buy horses from someone else? Besides, they got horses in Evanston and Rock Springs. It don’t make no sense to come clear out here.”

  “You might be right, Buck, but we won’t know until we go take a look-see. Those Mormons down Salt Lake way have brought over stock from back east. If this ranch that’s doing the selling has gotten ahold of any good stock from them and done some cross-breeding of their own, they might have produced something worth looking into.”

  Hal cleared his throat. “How come we’re going so early? Not that I mind the vacation and all, but this here says the auction isn’t until next Friday. That’s six days away.”

  Buck straightened up and clapped his hands over his head. “Wahoo! Time in town. Hope they have some decent women in this place we’re going to.”

  Wearing a baleful expression, Dallin turned to Buck. “Don’t worry about any women, Buck. We do have our own horses along, and I plan to keep you plenty busy since that seems to be the best way to keep you out of trouble. But, to answer Hal’s question, the train goes to three or four little mining towns, Wildcat Ridge being the farthest on the other side of the mountains. The railroad stopped making a regular run there after the mine explosion shut everything down. Those organizing everything set up a special run today and next Saturday to bring in buyers for this auction and help them get the stock they buy back out to the Union Pacific. That’s why we’re going in early. Not being familiar with this area, and not wanting to accidentally wander onto the Ute reservation and take my chances there, I thought we’d take the train all the way in.”

  Hal rattled the page of the paper as he continued reading. “Uh, Boss? You see this article next to the big advertisement for the auction? Has a byline for a Duncan Moon of The Ridge Weekly, which sounds like he’s a local news reporter for the place we’re headed. His article tells about all the widows still there and how part of the sale of these horses will help them keep going. Also, it says most of them living in town are looking for men to remarry and work the businesses their late husbands left them so they can keep their homes and stay in Wildcat Ridge.”

  Buck burst out laughing. “The truth comes out. Ol’ Boss, here, is going wife-hunting. You figure you’re tired of ranching and plan on working a business in town?”

  The glare Dallin gave Buck immediately shut him up. “Don’t talk stupid. I’ve worked too hard to build up my ranch. There’s no way I’d move from it for any woman walking the face of this earth. I’m going for the horses.”

  “Um-hum.” Buck did his best to swallow his guffaw, but enough escaped to express Buck’s disbelief.

  Hal shrugged. “It does explain why they set the train up to bring buyers in several days early. Maybe those women did it on purpose in hopes of a few of them snagging new husbands and convincing them to stay in town.”

  “I suppose that could be so, but don’t either of you two get any ideas about letting a pretty woman turn your head and convince you to stay in town and marry them. I need you on the ranch.” Hal shook his head and wondered if it had been such a good idea to bring his men to a town full of husband-hunters.

  Buck threw his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Not me, Boss. I got no use for tying myself down with one woman. When I have a hankering to talk to women, I head for the hurdy-gurdy girls. I like a variety to choose from. Not that we get into town all that much for me to enjoy no variety.”

  “Good. You keep it that way. Dancing girls are one thing, but you’re better off staying away from some of the other kind of women in town. Don’t need you picking up something that’s going to require a trip to find a doctor, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know, Boss.” Buck jabbed Hal with his elbow. “Now, Hal, here, you might need to worry about him around all those husband-hungry widows.”

  Dallin shook his head, sorry the subject had even come up. “You watch yourself, too, Hal. No chasing after some woman out to get you hitched to her.” He started to turn towards the front when out of the corner of his eye he caught a pensive expression in Hal’s eyes as the man stared at him.

  Once Hal realized Dallin watched him, without a word he turned his gaze back to the newspaper and in silence continued reading.

  Chapter Three

  Wildcat Ridge, Utah

  June 23, 1884

  N

  issa closed the door to the cook’s room behind the kitchen. Neither Jamie nor Molly had stirred as she rose and dressed for the day. She hoped, after a quick trip to the necessary, she could get an early start on building up the fire to heat water for her first batch of laundry. Diantha had excitedly explained how she expected to have her hotel fuller than usual due to the horse auction to be held later that week. Already, interested buyers roamed the town and asked directions to where they could see the horses for sale. Especially since the Ridge Hotel had been mentioned in the auction advertisement, she anticipated many of them would choose to stay at her hotel. Nissa’s goal that day included having every sheet and towel Diantha owned washed, dried and ready to put in rooms.

  Nissa stepped away from the pungent aroma of the necessaries and stood in a section of the drying yard whe
re the breeze off the mountain filled the air. She inhaled the scent of evergreens along with the wood smoke from early risers starting up their stoves for breakfast. The air blew crisp and cold, causing her to shiver—a reminder that she needed to get busy and moving in order to stay warm.

  Nissa picked up two large sections of pine to add to the pile of smaller firewood pieces Jamie had brought to the edge of the shed the day before. She started the fire, carefully feeding it with increasingly larger pieces to get a good blaze going.

  She pumped water into her two metal pails to start filling the large copper pot on top of the stove. When she had moved out of the mine supervisor’s house, she left behind most of the furniture James had bought with a loan from Crane Bank but not paid for. However, the large steep-sided oval vessel made of copper that covered two burners on her stove she brought with her. It was an easy decision once she decided she would earn her keep by washing laundry. Water heated so much more quickly in the copper container than it did in steel buckets or the much-heavier cast iron pots Diantha had provided.

  Nissa turned at the sound of the back door opening.

  “Mama, I’m hungry.”

  Seeing Jamie in the doorway, one hand on the knob and the other rubbing his eyes, Nissa checked her water in the copper and adjusted the damper. She hurried inside to find Molly also stirring. “You two get ready and washed up while I cook up our mush.”

  “Mush again? Can’t we have something else?”

  Nissa cringed as Jamie’s plaintive whine she heard almost every morning told her how he felt about their usual morning fare.