Horse With No Name (6 page)

She was shattered, naturally, but she didn't
seem surprised. She brushed a strand of his dark, curly hair out of
his eyes and touched his cheek. "You'll do very well," she said,
"you're just like your father."

Merrick was stunned. For his entire childhood
he had wondered why he could not align himself with his father's
dream. He assumed it was because they were so different.

June Merrick saw the confusion in her boy's
eyes and chuckled. "How d'ye think we ended up here, son? Your
father's a dreamer, too. He wanted better things for himself than
working for his old man in Aberdeen. This farm and this family is
his dream. Now you must go find your own."

So he had left with his mother's blessing,
which fueled him for many cold and hard seasons. It was a long and
difficult way from Ottawa to British Columbia, and it had taken him
four years to get there. But the moment he stepped onto the dock in
what was then called Granville, he knew he was home. Somewhere in
this new, wild place was the thing he'd been searching for.

It was a twisty, uncertain road from farmer's
son to police constable, and he fell into the job by accident. But
it suited him perfectly and he was grateful for it every day. He
loved the responsibility he felt for the town and its people; the
courageous, the lost, the searchers, and the slightly mad. He loved
that every day was different and totally unpredictable. The routine
of the farm had nearly killed him with boredom, but here he was
never bored.

Especially not since Miss Julia Thom had
arrived. Now there was a burr under his saddle blanket. He was not
practiced with women, that much was for certain. His wife,
Charlotte, who he'd accidentally fallen in love with, had been
strong-willed, but this trait had been paired with a pleasant and
peaceful nature. When she died eighteen months earlier, Merrick had
been devastated. But he had borne the loss with a grim Scottish
determination that his father would have been proud of. The
constable didn't miss a day of work. And strangers coming into town
would never know he'd suffered such a blow.

In the past six weeks since Julia Thom
arrived in Horse, Merrick spent a fair amount of time being annoyed
with her. She had helped him solve the puzzle of a break-in at the
Mitchell's general store, for which he was equal parts grateful and
irritated. The school teacher tended to stick her nose in where it
didn't belong, at least when it came to Merrick's job as the sole
officer of the law for hundreds of miles.

He was floundering. His reaction to her just
now in the livery was overblown, and he knew it. But he was lost as
to how to deal with her. The one person he thought could help him
was his mother. But it would take too long to explain everything to
her in a letter, post it and wait to receive her advice back in the
mail. The answer might not reach him for six months.

It was his job to understand people. He'd had
to develop that skill quickly when he'd left the farm. He would not
have survived the long trip across the prairies and then over the
Rocky Mountains if he had not learned how to read people; how to
know their intentions almost before they did. His job as a police
officer depended on this skill as well. He considered it one of his
strengths. And yet, Julia...

He needed immediate help and there was only
one person he felt even remotely comfortable broaching this subject
with.

Merrick paced on the gentle hill for a few
more moments and then made his decision. He charged back down
toward Main Street and leapt up onto the sidewalk. In a few long
strides he was at the Mitchell's door. He pulled it open and
marched inside with such force that Betty Mitchell startled and
nearly dropped her broom.

"Good heavens, Constable Merrick. You gave me
a fright."

But she was smiling, as usual. The Mitchells
both seemed to have two of the sunniest personalities in the
west.

"Sorry. Sorry, Betty." Merrick pulled the
door closed behind him with more care and turned to her, taking his
hat off.

"What can I help you with?" Betty walked over
and leaned the broom on one of the low glass counters that formed a
U-shape around the store.

Suddenly Merrick was shy. He couldn't just
blurt out his problem. Besides, what was it, really? Was he angry
with Julia or worried about her? He needed another moment to gather
his courage.

Stalling, he said the first thing that came
to him. "I need some twine."

"Twine? Right.” Betty walked through a gap in
the countertops and reached for a basket on one of the shelves that
lined the store walls on every side. She fished around in the
basket and came up with a ball of twine slightly smaller than her
fist. "Will that do?"

"That's fine." Merrick was still trying to
collect himself, trying to find the right phrasing for his
question. Betty was moving too efficiently. He needed more time.
"And some, uh, some of those strawberry preserves you had the other
day."

"Certainly." Betty made her way around the
back of the counter, aiming for a different set of shelves. "You
haven't gone through that other jar already have you?"

Damn this woman and her excellent memory. He
had just bought a jar of preserves two days ago. "This one is a
gift." Merrick winced inwardly, not sure this reasoning would hold
up. He felt like a criminal who panics at the first line of
questioning.

"A gift," Betty put the glass jar on the
counter and set his twine down beside it. "That's lovely. Who's it
for?"

"Walt Sheehan." The name was out of Merrick's
mouth before he knew what he was doing.

Curiosity now appeared in Betty's eyes, and
the corners of her mouth turned up just slightly. "One ball of
twine and one jar of preserves for Mr. Sheehan. Anything else?"

They were standing face-to-face now, Betty on
one side of the counter and Merrick on the other. The store was
empty but for the two of them. And it was nearly five o'clock,
closing time, so Merrick doubted anyone else would barge in on
them. He had a clear path, and might not get another moment like
this. If he could just figure out a way to capitalize on it. Betty
watched him thinking, the look of amusement still making her eyes
twinkle.

"Constable Merrick!"

Merrick jerked like someone had touched his
back with a hot poker. Christopher Mitchell appeared from the
storeroom behind the retail part of the store. He had a wooden
crate of apples in his arms and his usual wide smile in place.

Merrick tried to rally. "Christopher. How are
you today?"

"Very well. Very well, thank you." Mitchell
set the crate down and began moving the apples from it into a
display basket at the front of the store.

Merrick wasn't sure what to do. His moment
was gone. There was no way he was going to talk to both the
Mitchells about his failings to understand Julia and his desire to
stop her from interfering in his work. Let alone his inexplicably
elevated levels of frustration and anger at dealing with her. And
his confusion about why she drove him so mad.

He looked back at Betty. "That's all thanks,
Betty. Just the twine and the preserves." He fished around in his
pockets for some coins.

"Righto." She took his money and handed him
the items, one in each hand.

"Have a good evening, then, Constable."
Christopher nodded at him as Merrick opened the door and stepped
across the threshold.

***

Walt Sheehan's day was coming to a close. The
light began to fade earlier every day and he had stalls to clean
before he would take himself to Finnegan's for a pint and some of
Caroline's stew. He put the finishing touches on an intricate fire
poker he was making to sell. It embarrassed him slightly to work on
something beautiful, but it also soothed a place in his soul that
was in desperate need of some kindness. He had an idea to form the
handle in narrow, twisting strips of iron so that it looked like a
pine cone. He hadn't been able to get it quite right yet, but he
was getting closer to the image he had in his mind.

He never worked on the set of fire tools
during the day; it was a private project he spent just a few
minutes on each week when he could spare the time from pounding out
nails and shoveling horse manure. When he wasn't working on the set
he kept them hidden deep in the shadows under his work bench,
covered by an old horse blanket.

He was bent over the anvil, spinning and
forming the piece of iron, his attention utterly consumed by the
task. He heard footsteps enter the forge. His head lifted and he
saw Merrick standing by the workbench at the front of the building.
The constable held up a glass mason jar with a scrap of cotton
fabric tied over its lid.

"Bought you a jar of preserves," Merrick
said, setting the jar down on the table with considerable force. He
held up his other hand. "And some twine." He set this down as well
and then whirled around and stalked out the front door.

What the hell was that about? Walt thought.
He shrugged to himself and bent again to his task.

Eight

Finnegan's hotel and restaurant was far and away the
nicest place in Horse. The hotel had been built by Edgar Finnegan,
who had come from money and was looking to make an impression on
British Columbia. Edgar had had the good fortune to marry a woman
as driven as he was and together they had built the business into
the going concern it was. Edgar and Caroline were looking forward
to the day the rumored railway spur line from Kelowna would be
finished. Until then, they bided their time and perfected their
particular brand of stern, but generous, service.

Julia arrived just as the supper hour was
beginning. Millie and Billy Jones were seated at their usual table,
and two men in stockmen's suits sat at a table for four near the
front window.

"May I help you, Miss Thom?" Edgar called
from behind the bar, where he was drying glasses.

It wasn't entirely proper for a lady to enter
a restaurant and bar alone, but the rules of propriety tended to
bend a little more in a town like Horse, when women who were on
their own had no choice but to do some things by themselves. As
long as she stayed on the main floor and didn't even glance in the
direction of the wide, wooden staircase that led up to the hotel
rooms on the second and third floor, Julia should be able to avoid
scandal.

She approached the bar. "I'm looking for
Lily, Edgar. Is she around?"

Lily Cecil was very new to Horse. Julia
wasn't actually sure they'd been formally introduced. But Julia did
know that Lily worked part-time as a server and dishwasher for the
Finnegans.

"She is, lass. She's in the kitchen. D'ye
want me to get her?"

"Is it okay if I go back there? I don't want
to interrupt her work."

"Aye. Go on back," Edgar nodded toward the
kitchen door. "Tell the missus I said it was okay if she asks. Not
that I have any sway around here." He winked at Julia.

The kitchen was almost as large as the dining
room. A big stone fireplace equipped with rotisserie spits filled
one end of the room. At the other end were two huge cooking stoves.
Down the center of the room was a long wooden table, upon which now
lay the makings of several apple pies. Lily Cecil was dressed in a
flowered cotton top with short sleeves and a long black skirt that
touched the top of her buttoned boots. Over this she had a stained
white apron tied around her waist. A flowered kerchief that looked
like it was perhaps made from the same material as her blouse
covered her shoulder-length, almost white blonde hair.

She was a tiny thing. When Julia had first
seen her, two weeks previously at church, she wondered if she would
see the girl at school on Monday morning. But then a young and
ragged-looking man sat down beside Lily and by the way they put
their heads together when they spoke made Julia realize that they
were married. Millie Jones, who made gossip her livelihood,
confirmed to Julia after the service that these were the Cecils.
Alan worked for the Double A Ranch outside town and Lily had just
secured the job with the Finnegans.

"Charity, I call that," Millie said with a
sniff in her voice.

"Why do you say that?" Julia asked.

"The Finnegans will work all the hours God
sends. They don't need any help - they've got the Chinaman cooking
for them and the two of them doing everything else." She lowered
her voice, "They took pity on the girl because her husband is a
lazy so-and-so and has been fired from every job he's taken on so
far. The pair are destitute."

Given that the Cecils had been in Horse's
vicinity for all of ten minutes, Julia wasn't sure how Millie could
know this.

Millie continued, reading Julia's mind,
"Katherine at the O'Brien Ranch is Lily's aunt by marriage. She
convinced her husband to hire Alan and then further twisted Edgar
Finnegan's arm to hire the girl. Too much generosity, if you ask
me. It's not good for the soul. We all have to make our own way in
the world." This was rich, coming from a woman whose family owned
half of the city of Victoria on Vancouver Island and who had been
handed every possible advantage in life, including a husband who
treated her far better than she deserved.

But this visit in the kitchen of the
restaurant was the first time Julia had been close to Lily. She
watched the girl roll out pastry for a moment, noticing a fine
bruise on one of her wrists. "Mrs. Cecil?" she said.

The girl, for she could hardly be a day over
eighteen years old, looked up, slightly startled.

"I'm Miss Thom, from the school."

"Yes, hello Miss Thom," Lily straightened her
spine and wiped her hands on her apron, "I'm not sure where Mrs.
Finnegan is. Shall I find her for you?"

"It's you I'm here to see, Lily. May I call
you Lily?"