Disclaimer:
Characters and situations from Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years belong to Hallmark Entertainment and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This story or the new characters created by the author are not to be published on any ftp site, newsgroup, mailing list, fanzine or elsewhere without the express permission of the author.
Author's Notes: Hetty Biddle and all original material included in this story are the creations of
Debra E. Meadows.
May, 1881
Curtis Wells, Montana Territory
Hetty sat bolt upright in her bed. "My goodness, Elsie, why did you let me sleep so late?" She picked up her timepiece from the bedside table and peered at it. "Why, it's nearly seven o'clock!"
The kitten yawned, and stretched, and regarded her through half-open green eyes.
"Yes, I know it's Saturday, Elsie, but today's the day I clean the library and our new apartment. Mr. Mosby says the repairs are all done. He even had Mr. Clements make a window seat like I asked him to. It will be a wonderful place to curl up with a book, Elsie. I know you and I are going to spend many happy hours there. True, it only looks out over the back alley, but there's a lovely, big apple tree in bloom out there right now, and if we open a window, the scent of the blossoms will come wafting in on the breeze. I feel quite sure of it."
Elsie sat up and began to wash her tiny paws.
"That's the ticket, Elsie. I must get washed and dressed too. Time's a wasting."
As Hetty performed her toilette, visions of new curtains and pretty pillows filled her head. She could hardly wait to decorate.
And oh, the joy of having a stove! Hetty dearly loved to cook. Callie's cooking, as good as it was, was no substitute for one's own home-cooked meals. Mother had given her a cookbook to bring out west with her. She would try all of those recipes and more. Why, she might even have to have a dinner party! Her youngest sister, Anne, would be arriving in a week for a visit, and it would be fun to introduce her to her new friends.
Now, who all would she invite to her party? Well, there was Mr. Mosby, of course. Her new boss had been so kind to her since she'd come to Curtis Wells. And Unbob, and Simon and Dorothea, and Dr. Cleese. She would never forget how the little doctor had gone to bat for her against the town biddies when she had loaned out his anatomy book by mistake. What a kerfuffle that had been!
Then there were the Peales. Mayor Peale had been very supportive of her. And she would invite his son, Austin, and his son-in-law, Mr. Call, if he was in town and not out chasing down a bounty somewhere.
Better yet, why not make her first dinner party a family reunion, of sorts, for the Peales? She and Anne would do the cooking, and the three men could just sit back and enjoy one another's' company. Why, it was a fine idea!
Hetty only hoped she could afford a small set of china on her salary. She would want the table to look nice. She would make a pretty pink tablecloth, and she'd have wildflowers for a centerpiece. Everything would be simply lovely.
With her head full of plans and menus, Hetty finished dressing, and Elsie watched her mistress grab a scarf for her hair, and hurry out the door to breakfast.
Deputy Ike kicked his toe in the dirt and muttered under his breath. It just wasn't fair. Everyone ordered him around. He was a deputy, for the love of Pete: a lawman sworn to do his duty. And his job was to protect the citizens of this town: a fact Mr. Mosby would do well to remember. But instead, he had ordered him to help that silly woman clean the new library. On second thought, better make that the old library. The building had been standing empty for some time, gathering dust and grime. And judging by the amount of sawing and hammering going on there over the past several weeks, there was going to be one hell of a mess to clean up.
Ike slowed his pace. Maybe if he took his own sweet time getting there, Miss Biddle would have most of the work done by the time he arrived. He looked both ways before ducking into the Number Ten Saloon. Maybe it was too early to get a drink, but he could always interest someone in a game of chance -- with a small wager on the side, of course.
A couple of hours later, Deputy Ike emerged from the bar, patting the new wad of bills in his pocket. He supposed he had better get on with it, so he slowly made his way to the library. Clouds of dust met him as he opened the door. He sneezed violently several times before he was taken in a fit of coughing.
A kerchief-clad Hetty wielded her broom about the room like a drunken dance partner, humming a merry tune, and stopping occasionally to push back her kerchief that would keep slipping down over one of her eyes.
It was during one of these pauses that she saw Ike. "Oh, THERE you are, Deputy! I've been waiting for you to show up. Mr. Mosby said you would be here at precisely 8:30 A.M., and here it is halfway to noon! I am very much afraid that you will have to work straight through lunch, Mr. Turner; we can't fall behind schedule. I'm moving in in two days.” She held up two fingers. “ Two. And I want this place spotless. Why, just look at those boots of yours! They're positively caked with mud! You just go on back outside and take them off. And be quick about it, that's what."
When Ike hesitated, Hetty shook her broom menacingly at him, and he skedaddled back outside and reluctantly removed his boots, still cursing Mr. Mosby for giving him this assignment in the first place.
Hetty mumbled to herself as she climbed the stairs. It surely was hard to find good help these days. But if she expected to have the place ready for Anne's arrival on Thursday, she guessed she would have to take whatever help was offered. She spent the rest of the morning cleaning the bedroom and the sitting room, sweeping and dusting until they shone. When she was finally satisfied, Hetty went over to her new window seat and plunked down for a rest.
It was quite warm upstairs. Hetty pulled her kerchief off and wiped her face with it, and then unlocked the window and pushed up the sash. Voices wafted up to her from the alley below.
"I told you I have the right man for the job. Stebbins comes highly recommended. He'll do fine. Good thing the colonel never got his railroad. This will be a lot less complicated."
Hetty recognized the voice as belonging to Austin Peale. She peered down at his companion. It was Amanda Carpenter.
"Are you sure he can be trusted?" Hetty heard her ask. "Mosby's bound to be expecting something. I wouldn't want him to get wind of our little surprise."
"He'll never suspect. Don't worry, Amanda," Austin assured her. "I've taken care of everything."
Austin touched the brim of his hat and disappeared down the alley. Amanda waited for a moment before she too went on her way.
"Oh, my," Hetty said to herself, "A surprise for Mr. Mosby! Maybe it's his birthday. I'll pretend that I didn't hear anything. I wouldn't want to spoil his present.”
~~
Hetty had a raging appetite after her morning of hard work, and she decided she'd best have something to eat. She spread out the lunch Dorothea had packed for her on the window seat, and as she ate, she leafed through an old newspaper she had found on the top shelf of the bedroom closet. She noted the date: May 30, 1878. On the front page, she skimmed over the political editorial by Mayor Peale and an article about the rising cost of feed for horses. The second page consisted of birth and death announcements. Dr. Ephraim Cleese, M.D. had delivered a set of twins to a Mr. & Mrs. George Smythe on April twelfth, and a robust nine-pound baby boy on April sixteenth to a Mr. & Mrs. Leo Thompson. Eleanor Hash and infant daughter hadn't been so lucky, according to the list of death notices near the bottom of the page. Hetty felt very sorry for the poor woman who had died in childbirth. Henry Hash was listed as their sole survivor, and Hetty wondered if Henry still lived in Curtis Wells. She didn't recall anyone mentioning him.
She was just about to turn the page when another article caught her eye. Now, here was something interesting: The Wide World by Hannah Peale Call. It had been written three years ago this month. Hetty was admittedly very curious about Mayor Peale’s daughter, and here was an opportunity to find out a little more about the woman who had died so tragically. Hetty spent the next few minutes reading Hannah’s article about Canadian women and their efforts to help educate Indian children in their provinces. She read the article through to the end, only to discover that it was to be continued the following week. Hetty refolded the paper and put it aside. That was all the time she had for now. There were more papers in the closet; perhaps she would find more of the series in them.
"Well, rest time is over. Back to work,” Hetty told herself as she retied the kerchief over her hair and selected a dust rag. "Everything's got to be spic and span by the time Anne gets here. Time to tackle that kitchen."
Sweeping down all the cobwebs, washing the floor and the walls, and dusting out the inside of the cupboards took Hetty most of the afternoon. When those chores had been accomplished, she tackled the biggest job of all: the iron cook stove hadn't been used in a very long time, and it was covered in dust and grime.
Hetty's face was covered in black smudges, and all her cleaning rags were filthy by the time she finished the stove. She stood back to survey her sparkling kitchen. Everything was as clean as she could possibly make it, she noted with satisfaction.
The late afternoon had grown cool, and Hetty decided to light a small fire to take the chill off. She looked around for something to burn. There was some coal and a few sticks of wood in the bucket next to the stove. That ought to do nicely. She placed it all in the stove, and tearing Hannah's article out of the paper, she laid it aside and crumpled the remaining pages and stuffed them in. She had seen some matches in one of the cupboards, and she fetched them and lit the paper. She closed the lid. A cozy fire would make it seem more like home. Hetty decided it was time to check on Mr. Turner, and she trundled off downstairs to find him.
Hetty was surprised when she saw the downstairs. Mr. Mosby's deputy had finished most of the chores she had given him, and he was now standing on a ladder dusting the new bookshelves.
"You've done a good afternoon's work, Mr. Turner," she told him. "Once you're through there, you can . . ."
She was interrupted by the sound of the door crashing open, and both she and Deputy Ike were surprised to see Luther Root stride in carrying several large boxes.
"Where do you want these, Miss Hetty?" Mr. Root asked, advancing into the room and leaving large, muddy footprints in his wake.
"Why, what is it you have there, Mr. Root?" Hetty asked him. She really was none too happy about her floor. The least Mr. Root could have done was to remove his boots outside before he came in.
"These here are them books you ordered. Come all the way from St. Louie! There's more of ‘em outside too." Mr. Root grunted as he dropped the heavy boxes.
"But they can't possibly be here already! They weren't due to arrive for several more weeks. I don't know what . . .” Hetty paused in mid sentence and began sniffing the air. “Oh no, the stove!” she cried, “I forgot I lit a fire in the stove!" She turned and raced up the stairs, the two men following close on her heels.
A wall of heavy, black smoke met them at the top of the stairs. Hetty coughed, and choked, and waved her hand in front of her face as she ran to open the windows.
"What in tarnation?" she heard Mr. Root exclaim. "The stove pipe must be blocked. Gimme a hand here, Ike."
Hetty rejoined the two men as soon as she had thrown up the sashes in the bedroom. A little fresh air was coming in, and she hoped that a lot of smoke was going out.
Mr. Root had found the coal shovel and was scooping the contents of the stove into the bucket as fast as he could. When he was finished, he handed the bucket to Ike and told him to take it outside. "Probably a bird's nest in the stove pipe," he told Hetty when the deputy had gone. "I better take a look-see."
At about the same time Hetty stopped coughing, she found her tongue. "Oh, Mr. Root, I didn't mean to start a conflagration; truly I didn't. Mother always told me to be careful with fire. I only meant to be gone for a minute. And just think, I could have burned down the library, after all Mr. Mosby has done to get it ready for the books! And while we're on the subject of books, how in the world did they get here so fast? I only ordered them six weeks ago. And they're here all the way from St. Louis? And the library is not nearly ready for them. Just how I am going to get all the cataloging done with my sister here is beyond me, really it is. Well, I’ll just have to postpone the dinner party I was planning; that’s what."
Mr. Root might have liked to hear more about Hetty’s dinner party, but just then Deputy Ike returned with the empty coal bucket, and together the two men set about trying to loosen the stovepipe from the wall so they could clear out whatever was creating the blockage.
It turned out to be a major undertaking. The men pulled and tugged and tugged and pulled, but the stubborn pipe refused to budge. "Beats anything I ever seen," Luther remarked, scratching his head.
"Oh, don't give up, Mr. Root! You just have to get it down; you just have to!" Hetty begged, "I'm moving in in two days, and how will I cook? How will I keep warm? And Anne's coming, and I have to keep her warm, and . . .”
"I think I know just how to handle this," Deputy Ike said, interrupting her. "Everyone stand back."
While Hetty and Luther watched, Ike turned over the coal bucket and stood on top of it. Then drawing back his leg, he gave the pipe a mighty kick. Ike flew backwards even as the stovepipe broke loose from the wall, and both crashed to the floor as three surprised faces disappeared in a cloud of soot.
After a stunned silence, Luther was the first to speak. “Will ya lookit that. The whole durn thing gave way.” He bent forward and picked up the wad of sticks and grass that had been lodged in the pipe. “Yup, it was a bird’s nest all right,” he said, holding it up for Hetty’s inspection.
Hetty coughed and choked as the soot burned her eyes. Tears streamed down her face, leaving white streaks in their wake. She looked around at her formerly clean kitchen. A layer of soot was settling on everything. It was filthy! And after all her hard work! Could things get any worse? She sank to her knees with her face in her hands.
"Yoo hoo, Hetty, I'm here. Where are you? Hetty?" a feminine voice called from the top of the stairs.
Hetty looked up, stunned.
"Oh, I fergot to tell ya, Miss Hetty’” Mr. Root said. “A visitor for ya come in on the stage. She said she’d be right over. Guess that’s her now."
Hetty couldn’t believe it. It couldn't be! Her sister Anne was five days early!
~~
Anne’s early arrival turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Once she had helped pick Hetty up off the floor, and they had taken stock of the damage, she pitched right in to help, and in a couple of days, the new library and Hetty’s apartment were shining like a new penny. Hetty didn’t have a lot of possessions to bring over from the hotel, so in no time at all, she was all moved in. True, there wasn’t much furniture in the place, just the kitchen table and chairs and a small cot. But they were able to borrow another one from the hotel so that Anne had a place to sleep. It would be tight in the small bedroom, but they’d manage. After all, there had been five sisters in one room back home in Hartford.
Anne was a whiz with a needle and thread. She made a pink tablecloth to cover the scarred old kitchen table, and lovely pink gingham curtains for the windows. These feminine frills thrilled Hetty, who had been busy arranging her few belonging in her new home while her sister sewed.
The one fly in the ointment was Elsie. The tiny cat was frightened at first and refused to come out of the bedroom. But with gentle coaxing, she at last emerged from under the bed to explore her new surroundings.
One evening the two sisters sat on the window seat enjoying a cup of tea. Elsie jumped up onto Hetty’s lap and curled into a purring ball. Hetty beamed as she looked around her apartment. “Just think, Anne, my own apartment. I can’t wait to have guests! Mother always says a house is not a home until you have folks in to share it. And this place fairly cries out for a party. What do you think?” Hetty went on before her sister could answer. “I don’t know which of my new friends to invite first. It’s a shame this place is too small to invite them all at once. I want you to meet them, Anne. They’ve all been so kind to me. Let’s see, you’ve already met Mr. Root. Then there’s Dorothea and Simon -- they run the hotel. And there’s Unbob, and Amanda, and Mr. Peale. And then there’s Mr. Call. I don’t know him well yet, but I’m sure we’re going to be real good friends if we just give it some time. And of course there’s my employer, Mr. Mosby. He’s been an absolute angel to me, giving me this chance to be a real librarian and all. Do you know what I mean?” Anne opened her mouth to reply, but again Hetty went on without waiting for her answer. “One person I don’t know about though is Austin Peale. That’s the mayor’s son -- Mr. Peale’s son. He doesn’t seem to like me. But then, he doesn’t seem to like anyone, except for Amanda. He talks to her plenty. And I did see him deep in conversation with Sheriff Stone last week. I wonder what they were talking about. Well, no matter. I’ve decided to throw a dinner party for Mayor Peale and his son and his son-in-law. Mr. Call is his son-in-law. Did I mention that? I may have forgotten to. But anyway, now you know.”
When Hetty finally paused to take a sip of her tea, she was surprised to see that Elsie was not the only one who had gone to sleep. Anne must be exhausted from her sewing, she decided. Gently, she shook her sister’s shoulder and led the sleepy-eyed girl off to bed.
~~
The next morning right after breakfast, Hetty and Anne got busy unpacking books and filling the new library shelves with them. Hetty excitedly exclaimed over each one as she unwrapped it. “Jane Austin, Anne, just think of it! Pride and Prejudice. I just know folks will love checking this one out, and then I can recommend Sense and Sensibility to them. We don’t have that one yet, but it’s on my list. I just know Mr. Mosby will let me order some more books very soon. And the Bronte sisters. So far we only have Emily, but I do so love Wuthering Heights! I have read it at least fifteen times that I can remember. Heathcliffe is so romantic if you like the dark and brooding type, and who doesn’t? I can just see him out on the moors, grieving over Cathy’s grave. What a wonderful love story!” Hetty clasped her hands together and sighed. “ I certainly hope I find a love like theirs someday – a love that could never die. Oh, and I must order Jane Eyre soon. Jane is so tragic as an orphan.” Hetty sighed again. “And when she thinks Mr. Rochester doesn’t return her love. What a stunning piece of literature! I positively get gooseflesh when I read about the fire. Poor Mr. Rochester, losing his sight and all. But it doesn’t matter one whit to Jane. She marries him and nurses him back to health. Now that’s a heroine after my own heart. Have you read much of Anne’s work, Anne? Hehe, maybe you are named after her. You’re so lucky. I’m quite sure I’ve never heard of an author named Henrietta -- more’s the pity.” Hetty pried the lid off another box. “Ooh, Lord Byron! What wonderful poems he wrote! I had better take this home with us tonight so that I can read you some. Oh! I just had a wonderful idea! I’ll have a poetry reading at our dinner party. It will be just the thing to break the ice. I just know that Mr. Call will love it. Perhaps we can even get him to read one out loud for us. What do you think?” As usual, Hetty did not wait for Anne’s reply, but went into raptures over some Dickens she found in the bottom of the box. Anne smiled at her older sister and continued her task of picking up the discarded wrapping paper and putting it in the trash can.
Hetty busied herself unwrapping some nature books. “Wait until you see the pictures in these, Anne! Animals of all kinds. I just adore animals! This one is Entymology – you know, the study of insects and such. Why, I’m quite sure the hair will stand right up on the back of our necks when we look at the pictures of the centipedes, and the locusts, and the spiders.”
As if on cue, something large, and black, and hairy crawled across the cover of the book and ran up Hetty’s arm. Hetty shrieked again and again, flailing her arms in the air. “Get if off me! Get it off! Help! Help! Get it off!”
As the hapless creature continued up Hetty’s arm, Anne rushed to help her sister, but to no avail. Scared witless by all the commotion, the spider disappeared down the neck of Hetty’s blouse. Hetty’s screams doubled in length and volume as she ripped at the buttons of her bodice. Unfortunately, as she staggered across the floor, her foot went into the trash can, sending her reeling into the arms of one Newt Call, who had come running in to see what all the screaming was about. As he steadied the unfortunate, squirming woman, the spider at last dropped to the floor and he stomped on it, grinding it beneath the heel of his boot.
It was a moment before Hetty could breathe normally again. Call’s eyes dropped to her cleavage. “You might not want to run around like that,” he said. “Could catch your death.”
As Hetty realized that she was standing there in a state of positive undress, she turned many shades of red and hastily gathered the torn edges of her shirtwaist together. She attempted to turn away from the bounty hunter, but her foot was still stuck in the trash can, and she staggered and would have fallen if he had not grabbed her.
“Best let me help you with that.” And Call helped her clomp across the floor to a chair. He eased her into it and tugged at the can till it parted ways with the unlucky librarian’s foot.
Hetty managed a wan smile. “Thank you, Mr. Call, ” she said, still clutching the edges of her torn blouse.
Call touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.” He turned to go.
“It’s MISS,” Hetty said to his retreating back.
By the middle of the week Hetty had finished unpacking and cataloging all the new books, and it was time to plan the grand opening of the library. Hetty and Anne baked dozens of cookies, and Dorothea promised to bring over the hotel's prettiest crystal bowl for the punch. There was nothing left to do now but wait for the guests to arrive. Hetty could barely contain her excitement.
On Friday morning when she rose early and ran to the window, hoping for a fine day for the big event, she very nearly cried in disappointment. Rain poured down, and the street was a sea of mud. “Oh, Anne,” Hetty moaned, her mood as dark as the sky, “no one will want to bring their children out in this weather, and I did so want them to come and see the books. I want to start a children’s story hour on Saturday mornings, and I thought this would be a good opportunity for them to see everything. Oh, why did it have to rain today of all days? Yesterday was beautiful and sunny.”
“Maybe it will clear off,” Anne soothed her sister. “It’s early yet.”
“And just look at that mud,” Hetty fussed. “If people do come, they’ll track up the floors something awful. I’ll never get them clean. If only Mr. Mosby would do something about the streets in this town. It would be so nice if we had streets like the ones back home. I’d be willing to bet there are some wonderful paving stones to be had around here. And Mr. Mosby has plenty of men working for him. It shouldn’t be any problem at all to complete it this summer. I’ll take it up with him this very afternoon.”
Thus resolved, Hetty felt much better. She scooped Elsie up and took her downstairs where she put the small cat out the back door to the alley. “When you have taken care of business, Miss Elsie, I want you to hurry right back inside. I don’t have time to be chasing after you this morning. Our guests will be here soon.”
Hetty headed back upstairs to eat a quick breakfast. Then she donned her best dress and tied up her hair with a bright pink ribbon. “Hurry up, Anne,” she called out to her sister, “I need your help setting up the refreshments.”
At precisely 8:45 A.M. everything was as ready as Hetty could make it. She was slightly concerned that Elsie hadn’t reappeared. She supposed the little cat was enjoying a mouse hunt in the fresh spring grass, but she hadn’t thought that she would stay out so long as wet as it was. She decided to leave the back door ajar for her; that way Elsie could come back inside whenever she was ready.
At 8:59 A.M. Hetty unlocked the front door. There was certainly no line of folks waiting to get in, she noted with sadness. She gazed out the window at the rain, still streaking down the glass. Anne came up behind her. “Oh, dear, Anne," Hetty cried, "No one is coming. I could just cry I’m so disappointed.”
But just then, Hetty was delighted to see little Howie Clements come running up to the door. He stopped and motioned to his two little sisters to hurry, then ushered them inside. Anne served them all from their ample supply of cookies while Hetty looked over her shelf of children’s books. She had decided to read aloud to them as soon as she had greeted all her other guests.
Hetty fervently hoped that Mr. Mosby was planning to come today. He had been rather vague when she had asked him about it earlier in the week and tried to exact his promise to attend. She was so grateful to him for all he had done for her, and she wanted everyone to know it. He would be her guest of honor if he did show up. Nothing was too good for her dear employer.
It wasn’t long before the room was bustling with all sorts of townspeople. Hetty was glad to see them all, and she chatted happily with them while Anne kept them plied with cookies and punch. Every now and then Hetty looked up, hoping that Mr. Mosby had arrived.
Luther was there, along with Unbob, and both of them were enjoying the cookies and the punch, although Hetty noticed that Luther had difficulty getting his meaty fingers into the dainty cup handle. She observed him filling the cup often and downing it each time in a single gulp. She smiled, noticing again how handsome he was. Luther caught her watching him and winked at her. Then he filled his cup again. Hetty did hope that he wouldn’t spike the punch. She remembered the pocket flask he had offered her that time in the alley when she was upset over the Dr. Cleese-medical book fiasco. Yes, she had best keep an eye on Luther today.
She was just showing Mrs. Hiram Sletton a volume of Jane Austin’s work, when Mr. Mosby finally arrived. Hetty’s joy knew no bounds. Anne took his hat, and Hetty hastened to his side and grabbed his hand. “Oh, I just knew you’d come, Mr. Mosby! I simply couldn’t WAIT for you to get here!” She turned to address the crowd. “If I could have everyone’s attention please. PLEASE!” Hetty waited for the hubbub to die down and then announced, “This is the man we all have to thank for Curtis Wells’ new library! He has been instrumental in providing us with this fine edifice and stocking it with all the wonderful books you see here today. We never could have done it without him. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my employer, Mr. Francis Clay Mosby!”
The crowd clapped politely as a somewhat nonplussed Clay Mosby held up his hand to quiet them. Then Luther called out, “Speech!” And the crowd chimed in, “Speech! Speech!”
Mr. Mosby’s color deepened. “Oh, no, I don’t think… I mean, I’m not prepared …”
As it turned out, Clay Mosby was spared any speech making when the back door burst open with a terrible crash, and a terrified, sopping-wet Elsie shot into their midst with two large muddy mutts close on her heels.
“Elsie, NO!” Hetty screamed as her cat disappeared under the refreshment table. “Someone stop those filthy mongrels!”
Luther made a grab for one of the dogs but lost his grip on the slimy hound, and it skittered across the floor and into the table leg. There came a vicious snarling and snapping from under the table as the other cur scrambled after Elsie.
The next moments seemed to pass in slow motion. Hetty saw the table start to rise up, and she made a desperate grab for Amanda’s punch bowl as it started to slide. She and the bowl collided and KER-WHOOSH, she disappeared under a pink tidal wave. Elsie shot out from under the table and up the stairs just before the entire thing tipped over and came crashing down in a sickening tangle of broken plates, cookie crumbs, and muddy dogs. Hetty did a little dance as her best shoes lost their grip on the sodden floor, and she sat down hard on her backside, still clutching the empty punchbowl.
The somewhat-abashed canine perpetrators trotted out the same way they’d come in, and then there came a moment of stunned silence. Everyone looked at Hetty as she surveyed the ruins of her beautiful party. Her eyes stung with unshed tears.
Mrs. Sletton took the empty punchbowl from Hetty, and Luther offered her a hand up. Unbob rushed to her side, his eyes wide with concern. “Don’t worry, Miss Hetty. You kin still show us all the new books. It’ll be all right. You’ll see. I’ll go get a mop and clean up the mess fer ya.”
Hetty pushed her sticky hair out of her eyes and tried to smile at the simple man, but her humiliation was complete. Why, oh why did this have to happen, today of all days? And in front of Mr. Mosby and Luther, and all those other people. She was becoming a joke in Curtis Wells, and she’d only been in town for a few weeks. Why, she was a menace! Soon people would be giving her a wide berth and calling her Hurricane Hetty! Her face burned in shame. Anne took her arm and led her to the stairs, Hetty holding her dripping dress out away from her as she walked.
“Hetty?” She stopped and met the sympathetic eyes of her employer. Mr. Mosby patted her shoulder. “It’s all right. There’s nothin’ here that can’t be replaced. Now, you go and get changed, and then we’ll continue with this fine party. There’s no use cryin’ over spilled milk, now is there?”
“Why of course not, Mr. Mosby, what a strange notion. We weren’t even serving milk.” Hetty managed a wan smile. Mr. Mosby really was very kind. If he wasn’t embarrassed by her, maybe no one else really minded either. She hurried up the stairs to change. Her guests were waiting.
Hetty recovered quickly. On Saturday she had a large group of children for her story hour and thoroughly enjoyed reading the first part of Rip Van Winkle to them. And they all promised to be there the following week for the conclusion.
Sunday morning found the sisters getting ready for church. “Oh, I’m so glad the circuit preacher is here this week, Anne,” Hetty said. “He only comes once a month, you know. I have been after Mr. Mosby to get us a real minister of our own, one who would stay here instead of gallivanting all over the territory all the time. How we are supposed to do the Lord’s work with no one to lead us is beyond me. What CAN Mr. Mosby be waiting for? I’m sure I cannot imagine. I guess I need to speak to him again about it. He doesn’t attend church, so it may be that he does not feel the need for it as I do. Sometimes I am hard pressed to know what to do with myself on Sundays when there’s no church. I wonder what Mr. Mosby does on Sundays. I will have to ask him. Well, I did ask him once, but he didn’t give me a satisfactory answer. He probably works, but he shouldn’t be working on the Lord’s Day. I really will have to speak to him about it.”
As they walked to the church, Hetty’s mind was preoccupied with her upcoming dinner party. And when she saw Newt Call sprawled on his bench, she decided that there was no time like the present to invite him. She dragged Anne behind her as she marched up the boardwalk. Mr. Call didn’t seem to notice their approach. His hat was pulled low over his eyes, and Hetty wondered if he was napping. But since she was on a mission, she cleared her throat and waited for a response from the bounty hunter. None was forthcoming. She tried again. “Ahem.”
Mr. Call stirred, pushed back his hat, and squinted up at her. “Help you, ma’am?”
“That’s MISS!”
Call smirked. “What can I do for you, MISS Biddle?”
Hetty took advantage of the opening he provided. “Well, I rather hoped I could do something for you, Mr. Call. You see, I am giving a dinner party on Friday next, and I wanted to invite you.”
Call looked away aloofly. “Why?”
Hetty continued. “Well, Mayor Peale will be there, and I intend to invite Austin as well. I thought it would be a good opportunity for you all to get together and enjoy one another’s company.”
“No.”
“What’s that, Mr. Call?”
“Count me out. I don’t enjoy Austin’s company, and he don’t enjoy mine.”
Hetty was somewhat taken aback. “Oh, I’m so sorry," she stammered. "I mean, I didn’t realize . . . Well, some other time perhaps.”
Call nodded briefly. He seemed determined to continue his nap, and he placed his hat back over his eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.
Hetty and Anne turned away and continued on their way to church. Hetty glanced back at the sleeping bounty hunter. “I don’t think he likes me.”
“I don’t think he likes anybody,” Anne replied.
Hetty considered that possibility. It was too bad that Mr. Call didn’t attend church, she thought. He might as well warm a pew as a bench. “Well, we’d best hurry,” she told her sister. The church bell is ringing. We can pray for Mr. Call’s soul when we get there.”
As it turned out, Hetty suffered a similar fate when she tried to invite Austin to the dinner party. He was so gruff about it that his refusal made Mr. Call’s seem almost cordial in comparison.
Hetty handled it philosophically. “Remember what the minister said on Sunday, Anne, when he was quoting from the gospel of Mark. You remember the passage about the feast? If the invited guests refuse to come, we need to go out into the highways and byways and bring them in. Mayor Peale decided not to come when he heard that his son and Mr. Call weren’t coming, and who can blame him, the poor man. Both of them are exceedingly unsociable, in my humble opinion. At any rate, we can invite Mr. And Mrs. Sletton. They’re so nice. I really like them. And I know Dorothea and Simon will be glad to come. Dorothea has been hinting at a housewarming party -- like she’d have time, the poor woman, what with the Dove to run and all. And Callie might come. She makes the most divine shortbread for the Dove! Maybe she’ll let me borrow her recipe for the party. And how about that nice couple we met at church? Their names escape me right now, but she had the sweetest hat. I wonder where she bought it. And let’s not forget Unbob. He’s welcome at any party of mine. And Luther! We mustn’t forget Luther. I’d love to invite Mr. Mosby too, of course, if I thought he’d come. But I’m just sure he wouldn’t. He’s so busy, don't you know.”
“Hetty,” Anne tried to interrupt her sister.
“Now, let’s see, have I forgotten anyone?”
“Hetty,” Anne began again.
“What is it, Anne? I wish you wouldn’t interrupt me when I’m thinking.”
“It’s just that, how many people do you expect to fit in this tiny kitchen? I mean, there isn’t a proper dining room at all, just the kitchen table. And what will we do for chairs?”
Hetty’s brow furrowed. “Oh, my goodness! You’re right. I wish you had stopped me before I made all of these plans, Anne. Well, I’ll just have to unmake them -- some of them at any rate. How about if we just invite Unbob, Luther, and Dorothea and Simon, and Callie?” I think we can fit seven people around the table if we’re cozy, and I will just have to borrow some more chairs from Amanda. Yes, it’s all settled. That’s just what we’ll do.”
The next afternoon when Hetty closed up the library, she met Anne at the General Store to gather the makings of the feast. The sisters spent the evening cooking up several of their mother’s specialties. “I want to do as much as we can beforehand, Anne,” Hetty remarked as she rolled out piecrust. “I don’t want to be all mussed and frazzled when the guests arrive tomorrow evening.”
Friday dawned fair and bright, a far cry from the dismal day a week before when mud had been the unwelcome guest at the library’s grand opening. Hetty was gratified to see masses of colorful wildflowers blooming in the grasslands around Curtis Wells. There would be plenty for her party. What did surprise her though was that there were so few flowers in town. She had fervently hoped to see masses of wonderful flowers, but she had yet to see so much as one daffodil brightening up the town. Curtis Wells would certainly benefit from some colorful flowerbeds. Perhaps she could head up a Curtis Wells beautification society. She would take it up with Mr. Mosby at the earliest convenience.
That afternoon she and Anne picked armfuls of Indian paintbrush in lovely shades from pale pink to deep red. There were also some yellow daisies and blue Harebells. Just before her guests were due to arrive, she massed them on the table in canning jars. The effect was charming. Hetty clasped her hands together in rapture. Now everything was just as she had imagined it. It was perfect!
Dorothea and Simon arrived first, and Dorothea rushed into the kitchen. “I’m here to help. What can I do? Do you have a spare apron?” she asked her friend. But Hetty firmly refused her offer. “Tonight you are my guest, Dorothea. Just sit here on the window seat and enjoy the sunset while I garnish the potatoes.”
Callie couldn’t come, as she had to oversee the Dove’s dining room in Simon and Dorothea’s absence, but she had sent a plate of her fabulous shortbread, and Hetty was touched by the thoughtful gesture. She was sure the men folk would have no trouble putting away the cookies as well as the mince and cherry pies she had baked.
When Luther and Unbob arrived, they all sat down to eat. Hetty was proud of the table. It was laden with roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, and fresh bread and butter. There was a pot of raspberry jam Anne had brought from Hartford that Hetty had been saving for the occasion.
Luther grinned and sniffed the air. “Umm, smells good. Let’s eat!”
Hetty smiled at the big man. She was glad she had made plenty; she liked to see a man eat and enjoy his food. She asked if anyone would like to say the blessing, and she was happy when Unbob volunteered.
Hetty folded her hands and bowed her head as did Simon and Dorothea. Luther took his cue from them and did likewise as Unbob began his simple prayer:
“God bless my friends, Miss Hetty and Miss Ann, and Simon, and Miss Dorothea, and Luther. And God bless all the other folks who aren’t here. Some of them need blessing real bad, God. Like Mayor Peale, and Sheriff Peale, and Mr. Call. And God bless Miss Mattie in Miles City. And my brother, Bob too. And Toby. And bless Miss Hetty’s cat, Elsie. And Mr. Todd’s hound dog, Jake. And God bless my pigs, and my chickens. Blackie has been off his feed this week…”
Hetty cleared her throat.
“And God bless this food. Amen!” Unbob finished abruptly.
“Amen. Pass the beans . . . and the roast beef!” Luther said. They all laughed and dug in.
Luther put away several huge slabs of meat and three helpings of potatoes. “Anne made the potatoes, Luther,” Hetty informed him.
Luther gave Anne his biggest grin. Anne blushed and looked down at her plate. “You’re a right good cook, I reckon,” Luther remarked as he took another heaping helping. “Please pass the gravy.”
Hetty passed it to him and marveled again at how much he was able to eat. She could just imagine him enjoying Thanksgiving dinner, a turkey drumstick in each hand, happily eating his fill and winking at her between bites. Hetty blushed when she realized she had been staring at Luther, and she quickly directed her attention back to her own plate.
Much to Hetty’s surprise and very great relief, her dinner party turned out to be a triumph. No one broke a tooth or choked on anything. Why, she didn’t even dump gravy in anyone’s lap! The conversation flowed; everyone seemed to be having a nice time. And as Elsie purred at her from the window seat, Hetty felt a warm sense of home steal over her. She was completely happy.
After dessert, which Luther enjoyed with great gusto, Dorothea offered to help with the dishes. But Hetty shoed her back to the Dove. She knew Callie would need help with late diners. Unbob hurried home to check on his chickens. But Luther didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave.
Hetty was just wondering how to entertain him, when the big man suggested a walk. “Oh, what a wonderful idea!” she cried. I would love some fresh air. Just let me get my shawl.” But when she got back to the kitchen, Luther and Anne were nowhere to be seen. She called down the stairs, “Yoo hoo, I’m coming!” But all she heard in response was the slam of the front door. Hetty descended the stairs slowly. At first she was perplexed. Then her cheeks began to burn, and she sank down on the bottom step. It was Anne Luther had been inviting, not her at all. All Hetty could do was stare at the door. She hadn’t realized until this moment that she was in love with him.
The End
To be continued ...
10/05
