The Lawman Takes A Wife. Anne Avery
added, her vast bosom swelling with satisfaction at being the first with the latest news. “From what I hear, he was packing a saddle and a rifle and a bedroll and not much else.”
“The sheriff’s here already?” The large silk daisies on Emmy Lou Trainer’s hat bobbed dangerously. “I’d heard he wasn’t coming for a couple of weeks, yet.”
“Wouldn’t you know! And no one expecting him so we could give him a proper welcome.”
Molly couldn’t tell who had spoken.
“Probably Josiah Andersen’s fault,” the widow Thompson snapped. “He may be mayor, but he never could get anything right.” Her sharp, narrow little face looked extra pinched with disapproval. “High time that man got here, though. Must be a month or more since the town council offered him the job.”
As the crowd murmured agreement, she took advantage of the diversion to grab a length of blue-and-white Sheppard plaid she’d been eyeing for the past twenty minutes. She fingered it, judging the weight and feel of it, then brought it to within three inches of her pointy little nose and squinted.
“Weave’s off. Be a tough job to get that straightened out.” Without letting go of the cloth, she craned forward across the counter so Molly couldn’t ignore her. “How much you asking for this, Molly?”
“Fifteen and a half cents a yard,” Molly said, and braced for what came next. It didn’t matter what price she quoted, Thelma Thompson would say it was too dear, and then she’d start to haggle.
“Fifteen and a half!” gasped the widow, scandalized. Her thin face flushed. “Ridiculous! It’s not worth a penny over ten.”
Molly ignored the protest and unrolled a bolt of a silk-and-wool blend for another of the ladies. “I remember you were talking about making yourself a new suit, Ida, so the minute I saw this, I thought of you. The green’s just your color. Go with your eyes, you know.”
“That’s nice, Molly,” Ida Walker said, smiling. “Trust you to remember. Though I don’t know…” She slid her work-worn hand over the fine cloth doubtfully. “What with young Will growing out of his britches faster than I can think, and big Will talking about buying some land up Oh-Be-Joyful Creek…well…”
“Did you hear me, Molly Calhan?” Thelma sniffed and tightened her grip on the plaid. “Not a penny over ten. It’s scandalous, the price of things these days. Absolutely scandalous!”
“You could probably get it for twelve and a half or thirteen cents a yard in Denver, Thelma, but then you’d have to pay for the train and your meals, you know. Don’t forget, I can’t buy things in quantity like the big Denver stores can, and that’s besides having to pay for the freight. And you know how high freight charges are getting to be!”
“I still say it was wrong to bring in someone from outside,” said Emmy Lou Trainer, dragging the conversation back to the new sheriff. The daisies quivered with her indignation. “Especially when we had perfectly good candidates for the job right here in Elk City.”
Emmy Lou’s husband had been one of the unsuccessful candidates, but the other ladies politely forbore to mention that fact. Three months ago, when there’d been no clear winner after four rounds of voting, the town council had decided to bring in a sheriff from outside the community rather than see the city split into factions. Everyone had thought the suggestion inspired except Emmy Lou.
“Josiah Andersen says he comes well recommended,” said Coreyanne. Her husband was drinking partners with the mayor, so she got all the scoop on city hall goings-on. “Seems the town council from someplace up north had been talking to him about a job. According to Josiah, Elk City’s lucky to get him.”
The widow Thompson wasn’t interested in new sheriffs or town councils. She especially wasn’t interested in Josiah Andersen’s opinion on anything since the two had been feuding for years.
“You know I’m too old to be making that trip to Denver if I don’t have to, Molly Calhan,” she protested. “And my widow’s pension certainly won’t cover something as dear as this plaid. Besides, Ben Dermott over to Gunnison always gives me a discount, me being a widow and all. I was just sure you would, too. You ought to understand how it is, not having a man around to provide, yourself.”
“What did he look like?” Louisa Merton asked. “The sheriff, I mean.” Louisa was nineteen and pretty and known to be on the prowl for a husband, and rumor had it the sheriff was still unclaimed. “Did you see him? Is he…nice?”
“I didn’t see him,” said Coreyanne, “but my Ed said he’s big. Real big. And quiet. Didn’t say much, Sam says, even when he was treated to a round or two in Jackson’s saloon.”
She shook her head, lips pinched shut in disapproval of anyone, and especially the new sheriff, being seen drinking in Jackson’s Saloon. Especially if they were seen drinking with her husband. Ed Campbell had a fondness for drink that almost exceeded his fondness for his well-built wife, and Jackson’s was far more likely to cater to his weakness than any other of the town’s establishments.
Worries about her husband’s drinking and the excitement of a new sheriff couldn’t compete with the attractions of new yard goods, however.
“Could I take a look at that pink silk, there, Molly?” Coreyanne said. “It looks like it’d be just the thing to go with my old gray suit. Sort of spruce it up, if you know what I mean.”
“But what did he look like?” Louisa had a one-track mind when it came to men. “Is he handsome?”
“I’ll give you thirteen,” said Thelma grudgingly.
“Now, Thelma.” Molly passed the pink silk down the counter to Coreyanne. No one paid any attention to Louisa.
“Thirteen cents a yard,” said the widow, pulling the plaid out of Ida Walker’s reach. “That’s my final offer.”
Molly repressed a sigh. “Let me think about it, Thelma.”
She’d give in eventually. Both of them knew it. None of the other women would touch that plaid until they were sure Thelma had either gotten what she wanted or given up the hunt—and Thelma never gave up. The woman could wear down rock with her nagging if she set her mind to it.
“What’s his name? Is it true he’s not married?” Louisa asked of nobody in particular. “I heard he was at least thirty. If not older!” Her face went white at the thought of still being single at the advanced age of thirty.
“His name’s DeWitt Gavin, and he’s thirty-three, Sam says,” Coreyanne informed them with satisfaction. She started to say something else, then bit back the words.
“What else have you heard?” demanded Emmy Lou, leaning closer. “Is he married? I’d heard he was going to be living in that room at the back of the sheriff’s office. There’s not enough space there for a cat to turn around in, let alone a family.”
“Nooo,” said Coreyanne, still uncertain. “He’s not married.”
“Well, then?” said Emmy Lou. All the other ladies stopped breathing so they wouldn’t miss a word of whatever came next.
Coreyanne glanced at them nervously, but it was clear to everyone present that her information was simply too good not to be shared.
“I told Sam I wouldn’t say anything, but I know he didn’t really mean I couldn’t tell you ladies. After all, you’re my friends.”
“That’s right,” said Emmy Lou. “We are. You know you can trust us!”
“Well…”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Coreyanne,” Molly said sharply, yanking on a piece of wool felt that had gotten tangled around a bolt of flannel. She tugged the fabric to straighten it and started to roll it back up. “If you promised not to tell—”
“You can tell us!” Thelma interrupted. Even talking