Читать книгу Her Montana Man - Cheryl St. John - Страница 11

A couple of the men spoke to him, commenting on the incident. The last few remaining townsfolk headed back to their jobs and errands.

Jonas moved on, pausing outside the tearoom, his ink-stained and bleeding fingers on the door handle. Scoffing at his uncharacteristic hesitation, he walked in, surprised to hear the delicate tinkle of a bell. It rang again as he closed the door and glanced around. Silence and the scents of cinnamon and spices engulfed him. He couldn’t imagine feeling more out of place.

Eliza Jane had taken a seat at her usual table by the window and removed her straw hat. Bonnie had just set a fancy rose-patterned cup and saucer on the pristine white tablecloth. Eliza Jane watched him cross the room toward her. His boot heels were glaringly loud on the wood floor. Her amber eyes held surprise…and wariness.

“I wanted to thank you…for speaking up the way you did,” he said. She held his gaze, and he got that funny feeling in his belly.

“I simply told the marshal what I’d seen.”

“A lot of people wouldn’t have done that with Baslow standing right there glarin’ at them.”

She shrugged. “I did it for the woman.”

Jonas nodded. “You did a good thing.”

Bonnie bustled from the back room with a cloth in her outstretched hand. He knew her from the town council meetings, since she ran her own business and most often attended. “Put this on your cheek there, Jonas. And come to the back and wash those hands.”

He accepted the wet cloth and touched it to his cheek where numbness had been replaced by a stinging sensation. Some impression he must be making, standing there bleeding. Coming here probably hadn’t been his wisest choice. “I’m not gonna bleed on your tablecloths, Bonnie. I’m not stayin’. I just wanted to thank Miss Sutherland.”

“I wasn’t worried about the tablecloths, I was concerned about your face and hands.”

“I’m all right.”

“You want a cup of tea?”

“No, thanks.”

She glanced at Eliza and back at him. “All right then. I’ll bring your tea right out, Eliza Jane.”

Once they were alone again, she met Jonas’s gaze. “Is that woman, the one he was after, is she your…I mean are you two…?”

Her blunt question surprised him. He shook his head. “Maddie works for me. She warned me about Baslow, so I knew what to expect. Nobody has a right to push another person around just because they’re bigger or stronger. The man had worse comin’ to him.”

Eliza studied the man standing in front of her with a new perspective. She’d seen him on the street a few times, knew of him and his enterprises, but they’d never had occasion to speak. Her brother-in-law had no use for Jonas Black, calling him a slave trader because he sold employment forms to itinerant workers seeking jobs. Silver Bend was a thoroughfare between the States and the British border, and scores of men sought work with threshing crews, in logging camps and orchards, even mines.

She knew about hiring migrant workers. She’d worked in her father’s brickyard since she’d been old enough to dig clay. Later she’d handled bookkeeping and accounts with enough skill to help buy railroad and bank shares. She’d managed the finances until well after her father’s death—until her sister’s health declined and Jenny Lee needed her more and more. Now she spent her days caring for her invalid sister and her young nephew.

No doubt about it, there were unscrupulous employment agencies. Many times workers had shown up at The Sutherland Brick Company to find out that two or three times as many forms as there were positions had been sold. Eliza didn’t know if this man was one of those agents or not. His father had been the town doctor for a good many years. Rumor had it that Dr. Black’s wife had been killed and he’d never gotten over it.

Bonnie brought Eliza Jane’s pot of tea. “Piping hot,” she said, placing it on the table. “Care for a cup?” she asked Jonas.

“Thanks, no,” he said with a shake of his head.

Bonnie headed back to the kitchen.

Jonas had left Silver Bend years ago, and since his return Eliza hadn’t had opportunity to do more than see him in passing. She didn’t have much firsthand knowledge at all, except that he was polite whenever he greeted her. It was common knowledge that he owned and ran the saloon and the hotel, and she’d never heard anyone other than her brother-in-law speak poorly of him.

She had learned one thing today, however. Without hesitation for his own safety, he had protected the Holmes woman from a man she obviously feared. The way he’d stood up to her tormenter spoke volumes about Jonas’s character.

“You should probably take care of that hand,” she said.

He glanced down at his knuckles. A nasty gash and blue-tinged swelling were evidence of the pain Baslow would be feeling for a while to come. Jonas flexed his fingers with a nod. “It’ll be fine.”

Bonnie returned with a rose-patterned plate holding a frosted tea cake.

Jonas glanced from Eliza to Bonnie. “Ladies.”

Eliza nodded a farewell.

“Jonas,” Bonnie replied.

He turned and exited the shop. The bell tinkled twice, echoing into the subsequent silence.

“What do you make of that?” Bonnie asked.

Eliza looked at her, puzzled.

“I’ve seen the man toe-to-toe with miscreants before, but I’ve never known him to set foot in here. You must’ve made a powerful impression.”

“I don’t know about that,” she replied, quickly looking down and stirring sugar into her tea.

“How is Jenny Lee today?” Bonnie asked, changing the subject.

“Sit down for a few minutes,” Eliza invited, then tasted the lemon-frosted pastry and dabbed her lips with her napkin. “It’s a fair day, as her days go.”

Bonnie sat with her hands folded under her chin, studying Eliza. “And she still insists that you take time for yourself every afternoon.”

Eliza picked up her cup and blew across the surface of the fragrant liquid. “She’s concerned she’s a burden. Of course she’s not, but she says the least I deserve is an hour a day to myself. I come to walk Tyler home from school anyway, so I may as well arrive in town a little early.” She glanced at the brooch timepiece pinned to her dress. “My time’s been cut short today.”

She took her coin purse from her pocket.

“Your refreshments are complimentary today.” Bonnie extended a hand to prevent Eliza from producing a coin. “You barely had time to enjoy it.”

“Regardless, you brewed it.”

“You’re my best customer,” Bonnie argued. “I can give you a cup of tea now and then if I like.”

Eliza smiled and picked up her hat. “Thank you.”

After Bonnie walked her to the door, she exited the shop and headed east. Nearly every structure along Main Street was made of brick. Prior to firing them, she could remember stamping the bricks, like those that comprised Brauman’s Leather Goods, alongside her father and three other men.

A loaded wagon rumbled past. Eight years ago they’d sold the bricks that paved the street for a dollar seventeen a thousand. She’d overseen each wagon that left the yard. She’d be leaving a part of her behind when she left this town.

Eliza abandoned Main Street for the open lots between the businesses and the school yard. Three weeks of sun and little rain had dried ground that had been soggy from melted snow only a month ago. Reaching the shade of an ancient sycamore, she sat on the grass, tucking her skirts around her, to await dismissal.

Four years ago she’d persuaded the town council to replace the wood frame schoolhouse with brick by telling them of the hazard from flying sparks cast by the woodstove. They’d insisted on painting the building white, and she’d had no problem with that as long as the children were safe. She’d supervised construction herself, as well as donated half the bricks, plus a fireplace and chimney.

A team and wagon driven by a young farmhand in a straw hat rolled to a stop near the sound little structure. The same fellow came to town each day to collect sons and daughters from outlying farms. School remained in session until fall when the children were needed to work in the fields.

The door opened. Miss Fletcher used a hook and eye from the door to the rail on the banister to hold it open. A line of children streamed from the building into the sunlight, some running, others chatting with friends.

Tyler’s pale blond hair stood out from the others’, and Eliza Jane’s heart swelled with tenderness as it had every time she’d seen him since the moment he was born.

He walked between two other boys, their heads bent over something Timmy Hatcher held in his cupped palm. Timmy spoke and Tyler and the other boy nodded and laughed.

Eliza stood and walked to the hard dirt path that led from the school toward town. Girls with braids passed with shy greetings.

Tyler looked up and spotted her waiting. He said a hasty goodbye to his friends and continued forward. He used to run to her, eager for a hug, but he would turn eight his next birthday, and he saved his hugs for bedtime now. She extended a hand, but he pretended he didn’t see it and walked beside her, two books under his arm.

“Did Miss Fletcher give two assignments for this evening?” she asked.

“Yep. The arithmetic is hard, too.”

“Fortunate for you, you’re such a smart boy,” she replied.

He nodded in all seriousness. “Mikey Kopeke has a harder time. And his dad don’t let him do his homework cause he has chores.”

“A lot of the children have chores,” she said. “Their parents need them to help with the animals and the crops more than they need them to memorize times tables.”

“Papa says when you know your times tables and letters you don’t have to work so hard all your life.”

Eliza Jane felt a little sick, the way she always did at the sight or mention of Royce Dunlap. “Papa’s right about getting a good education,” she told him. Tyler loved Eliza Jane’s brother-in-law with the fierce loyalty a boy felt for his father, even though Royce was forever preoccupied with new business ventures and office matters. More often than not her heart ached for Tyler. No child should go through what he had with an ill mother and an emotionally distant father. Especially not this child.

“Mama’s having a pretty good day today,” she told him, trying to sound assuring. Days like this were so much easier on him.

“But she won’t get better,” he said, without looking at her.

Her chest ached at the truth as well as the fact that someone so young and vulnerable had to face it. It was unfair that he had to learn about life this way. “No, Tyler. She won’t get better.”

He glanced up at her then, his blue eyes sad and trusting. If she could change the world for this boy, she would. She hated feeling helpless. She hated feeling responsible.

But most of all, Eliza hated feeling guilty.