Christie And The Hellcat Part 43

The next morning, Christie sent her brother off to work, his belly lined with cold potato pudding. She was glad he had managed to eat most of his breakfast, but less happy about his attire. There wasn't a clean s.h.i.+rt or pair of trousers in the house; she'd had to settle for the least offensive of his dirty ones.

The first ch.o.r.e on her list was obvious: laundry. Just to be on the safe side, she washed, rinsed, and put Blue's clothes through the wringer twice. Emptying the big iron kettle onto the parched back yard, she marveled at how grimy the wastewater now soaking away was. She was transferring the wet s.h.i.+rts from the laundry basket to the bushes, for the hot morning sun to dry, when she heard the sound of a door opening.

Her overweight neighbor appeared, carrying her own basket of laundry. Coincidence or was Mrs. James wanting to chat? She was a kind enough soul, but she did love a good gossip, Christie remembered.

The other woman smiled at her over the picket fence. "Good to have you back, Miss Hayes. Blue's house has been in need of a woman's touch."

She arranged the s.h.i.+rt to her liking before answering. "Thank you, Mrs. James. I'm pleased to be back." She wondered whether to add anything further then thought better of it. "Excuse me, won't you? I have a lot to do, so I'd better get on."

Mrs. James's face fell, but she nodded pleasantly enough and began to hang out her own was.h.i.+ng. Christie grabbed the empty laundry basket and went back indoors.

After a brief rest and a gla.s.s of lemonade (she had also found some wizened lemons in the pantry), she tied a scarf around her hair 282 to keep it out of the way and grabbed a broom and dust cloth. The house wasn't as filthy as the Old Barn had been when she and Zee first moved in, but it was getting there. After an hour of sweeping and dusting, she was tired and grimy. She looked at the clock in the parlor.

That time already? The rest will have to keep. I must go shopping.

Christie opened a window, leaned out, and shook the dust from her cloth, then stowed away her cleaning implements. She removed her clothes, poured some water into a basin, and had a quick wash.

The next problem was what to wear for her first jaunt into town.

She must look respectable and repentant. Which meant a corset. With a sigh, she put one on and laced it, instantly missing the freedom of movement that had become second nature to her. I hope you appreciate all this, Blue.

She eyed the rack of dresses she had left behind when, acting on romantic impulse, she'd decided to remain with Zee in Benson. The dove-gray calico dress had once been her favorite but it now looked drab and too conservative. I've been mixing with Angie's girls for too long.

Nevertheless. She pulled it out, held it against her body, and gazed at herself in the mirror. Then she nodded.

Perfect.

GIF.

As Christie walked into town, she wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disappointed when few heads turned to follow her progress and those that did smiled and greeted her politely. Strange how, when you want a rumor to spread, it won't.

The sun was like a furnace, and she was relieved to step into the cool of McClellan's General Store. She pushed the door shut behind her, making the bell above it tinkle, then turned to see the big man in the starched white ap.r.o.n coming out from behind his counter.

"Welcome back, Miss Hayes." His smile was genuine. "Haven't seen you for a while."

"Thank you. No. I've been away." She pulled the list of supplies from her drawstring bag. "Will you arrange for these to be delivered as soon as is convenient, Mr. McClellan?"

His took the list from her and perused it, his smile broadening as 283.

he saw the extent of her order. "My my! Quite an order." He stroked his beard.

"Add it to Blue's account, if you please. I'll get him to settle up next week."

He pursed his lips, appraised her, then nodded. "Certainly, Miss Hayes."

His hesitation made her realize that she had no idea of her brother's current financial status. If the dry goods store was making a loss, he might be in trouble. Still, she could always dip into her own savings, which had remained untouched since she left Contention. (She had felt too awkward to ask Blue to send the money on while he was still angry with her.) McClellan grabbed the pencil stub that hung from a string round his ample waist, licked it, and began to tick off the items. He paused.

"End of the week before my next consignment of buckwheat flour comes in, I'm afraid. Would tomorrow be convenient for the rest?"

"Oh. I'd hoped to at least get the beef, b.u.t.ter, and apples this afternoon, if that's"

He smiled. "No trouble at all. I'll send Malachi round with them."

"Thank you."

"Will that be all, Miss Hayes?"

She thought for a moment then nodded. "I believe it will. Good day to you, Mr. McClellan." Retying her bonnet strings, she headed out into the hot sun once more.

GIF.

Christie walked past the Cactus Club, resisting the urge to tuck her head into her shoulders like a tortoise. So what if Fred was inside?

Contention was a small town; she was bound to run into him sooner or later. But when her former fiance didn't come running out of the club to confront her or jeer at her, she heaved a sigh of relief.

Her relief was short lived, however, when she saw the matronly figure in royal blue coming along the sidewalk toward her. Cora Chase's progress put Christie in mind of a steamboat at full paddle.

The town's worst gossip must scent a juicy tidbit.

She was debating whether to cross the road, when Cora placed herself in her path.

"Miss Hayes. Well I never!" Black eyes gleamed. "So you've 284 come back to look after your brother, have you? Very sisterly, I'm sure."

"Mrs. Chase."

"It's been distressing to us all to see on what hard times Bluford has fallen," continued Cora.

Christie was hard pressed not to make some angry retort. As far as she could make out, none of Blue's so-called friends had even tried to defend him from Fred's malice. They had, if anything, distanced themselves, afraid perhaps that the wrath of the Youngers might spill over on to them too. But she contented herself with, "I'm sure my brother will be very pleased to know of your concern."

She tried to edge past, but Cora blocked her once more.

"And your companion," continued Cora, a subtle emphasis adding quotation marks to the word. "Has she come with you?"

It dawned on Christie then that if she wanted her cover story to spread, this was the perfect opportunity. Everyone knew that you could drop a private word in Cora Chase's avid ear at breakfast and by sundown it would be common knowledge. She took a deep breath and plunged in.

"Deputy Brodie and I have . . . parted company."

Cora blinked at her. Clearly she had not expected Christie to surrender up such juicy information so easily. She recovered quickly though.

"Very wise, I'm sure. Did she try to," she licked her lips and leaned closer, "do something objectionable?"

"I . . . I'd rather not speak of it." Christie lowered her gaze as though mortified.

"How awful!" said Cora, with great relish. "Then it's just as well you separated yourself from her. Before your reputation was ruined entirely."

"Indeed." Christie had discovered, with Zee's help, that she didn't care a jot for reputation, but she kept her sentiments to herself.

"As I'm sure you have come to realize," continued the town gossip, oblivious, "your a.s.sociation with . . . that woman didn't show your brother in a good light, either, which can't have helped his present predicament."

Christie counted to ten.

"But all that is behind you now."

"Indeed it is." She forced a smile. "I have many ch.o.r.es to do, Mrs.

285.

Chase, so I really must be off." She edged around Cora, and this time the other woman let her pa.s.s.

"I do hope your brother is appreciative of your efforts," was her parting shot.

"Oh, he is, Mrs. Chase. Very." And with that Christie made her escape.

Chapter 8.

Zee pushed back her hat and watched the last of the sunset's lemon, peach, and coral tints disappear. Night fell in earnest.

About time.

She'd grown tired of twiddling her thumbs, waiting for it to get dark. But what she was about to do couldn't be attempted in daylight.

At least not without attracting unwelcome attention.

She stretched the stiffness from her limbs, wincing as a twinge reminded her of her injured ribs. A ripe aroma wafted up to her nostrils and she grimaced.

These duds of Andy's smell like something died in 'em. The gelding tethered nearby nickered. "Yeah," she agreed. "Shoulda borrowed from someone who bathes regular, huh?"

Her own clothes were back in Benson, along with her tin star. She had decided it wouldn't do for a lawman to be seen abducting a pregnant woman from under the noses of her aunt and the Sisters of Charity. But a bandanna over her mouth and nose and buckskins borrowed from one of Angie's regulars should take care of the identifi-cation problem.

Trouble was, as well as stinking to high heaven, Andy Street's "second best" buckskins were too loose around the crotch and too tight under the arms. She wriggled, trying to ease the pinching. The gelding s.h.i.+fted in its traces.

"Easy, boy." She patted its neck. Normally the gelding pulled Christie's buckboard, but that would be too b.u.mpy a ride for Jenny in her present condition, so tonight it was hauling the piano box buggy Zee had hired.

Pity she couldn't just throw the girl over her saddle and gallop off into the sunset. But this ain't no dime novel. And besides, Christie 287.

might have something to say about that. Zee grinned, picturing her reaction.

It was three days since Zee had seen Christie, and she was missing her. But, she consoled herself, if all went well tonight . . .

The stars were coming out in force now, a half moon rising. She sucked her teeth and hoped there'd be some cloud cover when it mattered.

Zee pulled out her pocket watch and peered at it in the moonlight.

According to the schedule followed by those at the Willows, the children would be tucked up in their beds, and the adults would be finis.h.i.+ng their supper before retiring for the night.

If all went to plan, the cup of after-supper coffee handed to Jenny's aunt would contain a little extra something that Zee had provided (courtesy of Doc Pellet in exchange for a bottle of good drinking whiskey).

Sister Florence had stared at the little phial of knockout drops in disbelief. "Is this really necessary, Deputy Brodie?"

"It's for her own good."

The nun's eyebrows rose.

"Jenny's aunt sees some masked desperado spiriting off her niece," explained Zee, "it'll be shoot first, ask questions later. I'd have to defend myself. Wouldn't intend hurting her, but . . ." She shrugged.

Sister Florence pursed her lips, then nodded. "Very well. If I have your a.s.surance that these will not cause Mrs. Archer permanent harm?"

"Sure do."

The phial disappeared into a hidden pocket in her habit.

That had been yesterday and Zee had been on the go ever since, fetching the two-seater buggy, borrowing the buckskins, taking delivery of the canvas-and-leather contraption (a cross between a sling and a harness) that she had had made specially, and arranging a place for Jenny to stay while she waited for Blue to join her.

Zee checked her watch again then clicked the lid closed and repocketed it. It was time to get moving. She pulled the brim of her Stetson lower and tied the bandanna over her mouth and nose. Then she untethered the gelding and climbed up into the buggy's seat.

"Hi." She flicked the reins; the horse broke into a trot.

When the Willows came into view, Zee found some suitable cover 288 and hopped out of the buggy. She tethered the gelding to a tree and gave it some of the feed she'd brought with her. Then she tossed the sling over her shoulder and headed toward the orphanage, the sound of contented munching receding behind her.

According to Sister Florence, the room Jenny shared with her aunt was on the second floor. Zee peered up at it. Had her ribs been in better shape, she would have thought nothing of clambering up the outside. As it was, she was glad she had persuaded the sister to leave the front door unlocked.

She slunk up to the door in question, and tried the handle with one gloved hand. It turned and she grinned in the darkness. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She wouldn't be coming back the same way.

A lamp was burning on a table in the hallway, and she paused to check that the coast was clear before continuing past the vestry. At the bottom of the stairs, she paused. It was the third and seventh treads that creaked on the first flight, wasn't it? She started up, stepping over the treads Sister Florence had warned her about. At the landing, she stopped to catch her breath. So far so good.

A murmur of voices made her freeze and peer through the banister rail. Two nuns came into view. Fortunately for Zee, they didn't look up. They were deep in conversation, about tomorrow's school lessons by the sound of it. The voices and footsteps receded into the distance and she let out her breath. That had been close. She resumed her stealthy progress, stepping over the fourth and sixth treads in the final flight of stairs as instructed.

As she tiptoed along the corridor, she thanked her lucky stars that, unlike the school children, the fallen women were allowed separate rooms. Plucking Jenny out of a dormitory unremarked would have been impossible. As it was, she only had to deal with the girl's aunt.

She checked the number on the first door and moved on. Jenny and Mrs. Archer were in Number 8.

Zee had barely registered the loud snores issuing through the next door along when something else distracted her. More voices, this time getting louder. h.e.l.l! She had no choice but to open the door and slip round it, leaving it open the merest crack.

The snoring stopped.

Heart pounding, shoulders braced for the inevitable scream, Zee turned and squinted at her surroundings. From what she could make 289.

out, only one of the two beds in the little bedroom was occupied. The shape under the sheets movednot to sit up though, but to roll over.