Читать книгу A Hero in the Making - Laurie Kingery - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Ella parted the batwing doors of the saloon and walked inside. She’d expected that Detwiler would have made some start at cleaning up the mess, but the ruined tables and chairs, the broken glass, were still strewn everywhere. George Detwiler, Dolly and Trudy were sitting on the floor along the wall, sniffling and swollen-eyed, staring dully ahead of them.

“What’re y’all doing?” Ella demanded. “Don’t you think you should at least sweep up the broken glass?”

Detwiler studied her with doleful eyes. “Won’t make no diff’rence, Miss Ella. How’m I gonna fix all this? Those medicine-show swindlers took what was in the till an’ every whiskey bottle they didn’t drink. I don’t have anything t’sell, even if customers were willing to stand while they drink.”

Ella looked around. “You still have the piano,” she said, spotting it against the far wall. Amazingly, it had escaped the destruction. Had Robert Salali possessed some innate respect for a musical instrument that had caused him to leave the piano alone during his destructive spree?

“Ain’t no one gonna pay to come hear me play,” he said.

It was true—Detwiler could only pick out a few tunes poorly.

“Well, you can’t leave the place like this,” she said, making a sweeping gesture at the piles of splintered wood and glass. “Unless you’re planning on tearing it down and selling your lot.”

At her words, the two saloon girls set up a keening wail. If there was no saloon, they had no livelihood, any more than Detwiler did.

“Come on,” she said. “Get the brooms out and let’s start cleaning up. We could at least separate the trash and firewood from what could be repaired. Some of those tables and chairs just need new legs, looks like.”

“An’ who’s gonna repair them?” he asked, though without heat. “I’m no carpenter.”

“Hank Dayton’s got a lathe at the mill,” Dolly mumbled. “I seen it once.”

“What does that matter?” Detwiler muttered. “Hank Dayton’s a skinflint who doesn’t give anything away. I don’t know how to operate a lathe.”

“So we need someone who does,” Ella said, going behind the bar and fetching the two brooms that were propped in the corner. She handed Detwiler one of them. “Let’s get started clearing this mess, and maybe one of us will think of something.”

“You girls kin go home,” Detwiler said to Dolly and Trudy. “I’ll let you know what I’m going to do—soon’s I figure it out.”

Ella didn’t try to stop them. There were only two brooms, and the women hadn’t seemed inclined to do more than sit and blubber. She started sweeping, intending to leave the café till last, for she was too afraid Detwiler would give way to despair again if she left him on his own.

Lord, if you’re up there, we could use some help. She’d never quite believed that the Deity was interested in aiding Ella Justiss, or He would have done so years ago at the asylum, but she figured she’d offer Him the opportunity, at least.

She left Detwiler to clean his saloon while she went to do the same with her café. She had soon swept the debris into the center of her area and came back to help Detwiler with his larger one. For a time both of them plied their brooms in silence, but as the afternoon went on, the interruptions began—the saloon’s faithful customers stopping in to see if the rumor was true that there was no whiskey or poker games to be had in Simpson Creek because of the vandalism in the saloon. Ella ignored them and kept sweeping, but Detwiler stopped to tell each of his customers what had happened. Ella rather thought he was enjoying the sympathy gained with each encounter, but as these patrons began to build up inside the saloon, chattering with each other over where they would have to go to get their whiskey and card games, and doing nothing to help, even Detwiler began to get testy. Ella was past exasperated at having to ask gents to move while she swept the areas they had been standing in.

Finally, to Ella’s relief, Detwiler roared an order for all of them to leave, saying he’d put up a sign when the saloon was open again. Then he took a piece of a broken table, and a brush and bootblacking he’d dug up from who knew where and handed them to Ella.

“Your book learnin’s probably better than mine, Miss Ella,” he said. “Write on the bottom a’ this tabletop Closed Till Further Notice, an’ I’ll prop it up outside.”

If George only knew how haphazard her “book learning” had been, Ella thought as she bent to her task. The asylum orphans’ schooling had been hit-or-miss, since they couldn’t attend if they were needed to work in the laundry or the kitchens or the superintendent’s wife’s garden. But when Ella was able to go to class, she’d paid attention with a desperate intensity, for she’d known even then it was her ticket to a better life.

Detwiler had returned after placing the sign outside and Ella was sweeping piles of broken glass into a dustpan when the sound of footsteps had them both looking up. Ella recognized Faith Chadwick, the preacher’s wife, and wondered what she was doing here.

“Mr. Detwiler, the sheriff told us what happened here. I’m so sorry,” Faith said.

He’d been stacking broken table and chair legs into a pile like firewood, but now he straightened. “Thank you, ma’am. Yes, it surely is going to be a trial to replace all this.”

Faith looked troubled, but shifted her gaze to Ella. “I wonder if I might speak to you privately, Ella.”

Ella wondered what she wanted but gestured for the preacher’s wife to follow her to the café. “I’d ask you to sit down, Faith,” she said, ruefully gesturing at the splintered tables and chairs that littered the tiny area, “but as you can see, that’s impossible just now.”

Faith nodded, surveying the wreckage. “That’s what I’ve come to speak to you about.”

Ella gazed at her curiously. She and the pastor’s wife had worked together on Spinsters’ Club projects back before Faith and Reverend Gil Chadwick had married, but Ella didn’t know her very well.

And that was her own fault, Ella realized. She’d kind of had a chip on her shoulder when she’d first joined the group because she was the only one who rarely made it to meetings and Spinsters’ Club events because of having to work so much—first in the hotel restaurant and lately, in her own establishment.

“I’d like to help you get started again,” Faith said. “I have a small table in the parlor that we don’t use often, Ella, which I can loan to you, and I happened to pass the mayor’s wife on the way here, and she said she also has a couple of small tables, as well as some dishes and silverware she wants to give you outright. She had her own household before marrying the mayor, of course, so she no longer needs them.”

Ella couldn’t believe her ears. It was a God-sent answer to her dilemma. “Thank you, Faith,” she breathed. “It’s an answer to a prayer!”

The preacher’s wife blinked as if the remark had really touched her. “We’re happy to be able to help, Ella dear. It’s what church members do for one another. Gil will be over with those things in a few minutes. He’s borrowing a horse and buckboard from the livery.”

“Can’t you read the sign? The saloon’s closed till further notice!” Detwiler’s voice boomed from the saloon.

Faith flinched and the two women exchanged a glance. Ella could guess the preacher’s wife was wishing she could help George somehow, too, but it wouldn’t be fitting for the church to help a saloon owner resume selling spirits and promoting card playing and other activities the church couldn’t approve of.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but I can’t help wishing you didn’t have to conduct your business in the back of the saloon, Ella dear,” Faith said.

Ella sighed. She knew the preacher’s wife meant well, and her arranging to get Ella the furniture, dishes and silverware to resume business was certainly a blessing. But what choice did she have? She was glad Faith didn’t know about the drifter who had manhandled her only yesterday.

“Yes, I know it’s far from ideal,” Ella admitted. “And believe me, I’m trying my best to earn enough to set up my café elsewhere.”

“I know,” Faith said, surprising her with a hug before she could back away. “I’m going to pray about it, and see if God will send you a solution.”

“Thanks—for the prayer and the things you and Mrs. Gilmore are giving me.” Praying won’t hurt, Ella thought, though it’s never seemed to help me very much.

Ella went back into the saloon, feeling guilty about her good fortune. She would be back in business by tomorrow, while Detwiler was still trying to figure out how to replace his whiskey and his furniture. But when she told the saloonkeeper about Faith Chadwick’s generous offer, the man showed no envy.

“She’s a good Christian woman,” he said. “Reckon there’s nothing more I can do here. I’ll see if I can help the preacher load up those things and drive ’em over here so he don’t have to come.”

Ella watched him go. She couldn’t help wishing someday her good works would be worthy of notice. It seemed as if she spent so much time working to survive that she had no energy left for higher goals.

Well, she wasn’t perfect, but at least she didn’t consort with thieves, like that slick fellow Nate Bohannan, she thought.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Bohannan walked through the batwing doors.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, glaring at him. “There’s nothing left to ruin!” she added, making a sweeping gesture that included the pile of damaged furniture. She thought she saw Bohannan flinch at the sight. Then she saw Sheriff Bishop behind him. “Did you catch that thieving medicine-show man, Sheriff?” she asked. “Is that why you’re back?”

“No, we didn’t see a trace of him, so I came back, but Menendez stayed out to keep trying to pick up his trail. He’s also going to let the sheriffs of the nearby towns know in case he shows up there,” Bishop said. “I just thought Mr. Bohannan might like to help you clean up, but I see you’ve mostly finished that. Sorry I didn’t get back in time so he could do more.”

“Thanks for the thought, Sheriff,” Ella said, “but what the saloon needs now is a carpenter.” She nodded toward the broken tables and chairs. “Mrs. Chadwick and Mrs. Gilmore are going to give me what I need to reopen my café, but that won’t help Mr. Detwiler. You don’t happen to have anyone with carpentry skills in your other jail cell, do you?” she added. It was an attempt at a joke, but she was surprised to see Bohannan’s gaze sharpen.

He strode over to survey the pile. “Miss Ella, it just so happens I’m kind of a jack-of-all-trades, and carpentry is one of my skills,” Bohannan told her over his shoulder. “I could fix everything in the saloon and your café for room and board. The only problem is, I don’t have any tools. I’d need a saw, a lathe, a hammer, nails...”

“Hank Dayton has a lathe at his mill,” Sheriff Bishop murmured.

“But he’d probably charge for the use of it,” Ella countered, remembering the conversation between Detwiler and Dolly.

“Maybe not,” Bishop mused, a half smile on his face. “As sheriff, I just happen to know Hank’s one of the saloon’s best customers. I could pay him a visit, persuade him it’s in his best interest to donate the use of his lathe so Nate, here, could make new table legs. And if I’m very persuasive, maybe he’ll even loan George some planking and sawhorses for temporary tables.”

“But Bohannan’s under arrest,” Ella reminded the sheriff. “Or are you letting him work off his sentence by fixing the damage he—that is, his employer—inflicted on this place?” she asked, allowing her voice to suggest that she still didn’t believe he was completely innocent.

“Sentence? He’s not under arrest anymore,” Bishop said blandly.

“He’s not?”

“I’m not?” Ella and Bohannan asked in unison. Ella’s voice was indignant, while Bohannan’s held notes of disbelief and gratitude.

Bishop nodded, and turned to Ella. “He’s convinced me he didn’t know anything about what Salali was planning to do, so I can’t hold him any longer. I would’ve advised him to ride on out of here and stay out of trouble, but that Salali scoundrel robbed him, too, Miss Ella. So what he’s offering is a favor to George Detwiler—and to you, since he’ll fix your café, too.”

“I wonder if he’d be offering to stay and help if he had any way to leave,” she retorted, glaring at Bohannan.

Something—she wasn’t sure if it was hurt or anger—sparked in those blue eyes as he returned her stare, but when he replied, his voice was even.

“I’m sorry you don’t trust me, Miss Ella.”

“No, I don’t,” she retorted. “You may not have wrecked the saloon, but I saw how willing you were to help fleece the townspeople of their hard-earned money to sell a bottle of worthless—maybe even dangerous—liquid. How do I know you won’t try to fleece Mr. Detwiler too?”

“I don’t believe there was anything harmful in the Cherokee Marvelous Medicine, Miss Ella,” he said.

She noticed he didn’t try to insist that it was helpful, though.

“And it’s true I might not have offered if I had a dollar in my pockets and a horse to ride out of here,” he went on. “But my carpentry skills will speak for themselves, and I hope I’ll be able to prove you have nothing to fear from me while I’m here.”

She couldn’t seem to escape that penetrating gaze of his.

Sheriff Bishop cleared his throat. “Reckon there’s no time like the present to make that visit to the lumber mill.”

She stiffened. The sheriff was going to leave her alone with Bohannan?

“Sheriff Bishop, surely you should speak to Mr. Detwiler before you do that,” she protested. “It’ll be up to him whether he decides to take Mr. Bohannan up on his very kind offer.” She was aware of Bohannan’s eyes on her, and his infuriating grin.

As if on cue, they heard a wagon pull up outside, and a moment later Detwiler came through the bat wings, carrying a small parlor table.

Bishop quickly informed the saloonkeeper about Bohannan’s being cleared of the charges, his offer to help repair the saloon and his own intended visit to the lumber mill.

First, Detwiler was incredulous, then whooped and slapped Bohannan on the back. “If you ain’t an answer to a prayer, I don’t know what is! Sure, you kin have room an’ board, can’t he, Miss Ella?”

Ella knew she was being asked because the “board” part of the offer would have to come from her. What could she say but yes? Hopefully, the fellow wouldn’t be there to eat into her profits for very long.

“’Course, the poker players won’t like it too much, bein’ so close together an’ all, but I’ll designate one table as bein’ for poker and the players in one game can sit at opposite ends of the table from the players in another. Don’t usually have more than a coupla games goin’ at a time, anyhow. The first table you repair will be for faro, Mr. Bohannan. Must admit, it’ll be good to have someone here at night to watch over the place when I leave,” Detwiler enthused, and then the two men went to help the preacher bring in the chairs and boxes of dishes and silverware for the café.

After removing the debris from the café and salvaging what could be repaired, they left Ella alone to arrange the tables and chairs as she saw fit, and to put away the dishes, silverware and cups the preacher’s and mayor’s wives had sent. By the time she had the donated things set up to her satisfaction, she found that the sheriff had indeed succeeded in convincing the lumber mill owner to loan some planking and sawhorses, and the men were already setting them up. And Dayton had also agreed to let Bohannan use his lathe to repair the saloon’s wrecked furniture. The hotel had contributed a few cast-off chairs from its storeroom, as well, so at least the poker players could sit, but the rest would have to stand until the chairs were repaired.

“There!” Detwiler said with a satisfied grin a little while later, clapping his hands together as he looked over the arrangement of the long tables and benches. “That’ll do for a spell, I reckon.” But he was speaking to Bohannan’s back, for he had wandered over to study the piano against the wall.

Curious as to what he might be up to, Ella watched him as he studied the piano, plunking a few keys here and there.

“Nice piano, ain’t it?” Detwiler said.

“It would be, but it’s out of tune,” Bohannan said.

“I used to have someone to play it at night when the saloon was crowded full of fellas playin’ poker and drinkin’ whiskey, but he moved on not long ago.” Detwiler ran his hand along the piano top. “I’ve got the tuning stuff upstairs—the guy who sold me the piano left ’em—but I dunno how to tune it.”

“Reckon I can help you with that, too. Just so happens I can tune a piano,” Bohannan murmured.

Ella ground her teeth in frustration at the sight of Detwiler’s round face all lit up. George set great store by his piano, and he was looking at Bohannan as if he’d hung the moon.

“Bohannan, this is turning into my lucky day!” Detwiler told him. “Don’t suppose you kin play, too? If you’d agree to play for a couple of hours every night when the saloon is busiest, Nate, I could see my way clear to offering you an additional three dollars a week, over and above your room and board.”

Ella watched Bohannan’s face, which revealed nothing of what he was thinking.

It took an endless minute, but at last he shook his head. “I’m not one to spend my nights in a saloon. But I’ll tune your piano, Mr. Detwiler. I can start on that right away.”

Ella hadn’t thought Bohannan would decline working in the saloon for money, and she felt her respect for him go up half a notch.

Bohannan straightened and turned from the piano. “So now that you have the problem of the furniture solved, what else do you need in order to open the saloon for business again?”

“Some glasses and whiskey. I buy the whiskey from a saloon in San Saba—the proprietor there orders extra for me.” Detwiler turned to Ella. “Miss Ella, would you please go down to the mercantile and see if Mrs. Patterson would consider putting a case of glassware on my account? If we can get the saloon back in business, tell her I could settle with her in a few days.”

Ella nodded. Anything to get away from these two men who had suddenly become allies and fast friends.

“Do you have any money saved up so you could go to San Saba and get some whiskey?” Bohannan asked Detwiler. “There’s still a lot of daylight left. If you got some whiskey, and assuming the mercantile will give Miss Ella some glasses, you could have the saloon open by tomorrow.”

Detwiler beamed as he dug through his pockets. “I reckon I got enough to buy some whiskey, all right—enough to get started, at any rate. I’ll go fetch it, by gum!” He clapped Bohannan on the back again. “How did I ever get by without you, Nate?”

How indeed? Ella wondered sourly to herself. When would Detwiler remember that before Bohannan and Salali had come to town, the saloon had been intact and he had gotten along just fine?

To add to her ire, the two men never even noticed when she left.