time to time. She might have a room open.”
Miss Ross’s face lit up. “A boardinghouse? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She hefted her carpetbag again. “Tell me how to find it.”
“Why don’t you just ask Mrs. Fetterman?” Caleb pointed over her shoulder toward the lone remaining shopper.
Melanie Ross swiveled around in the direction he pointed, and her eyes widened. “Fetterman? I thought her name was Bledsoe.”
“No, Hiram Bledsoe is one of her boarders. Mrs. Fetterman is a widow. She keeps a clean house, and I hear she’s quite a cook.”
As if overhearing her name, Mrs. Fetterman looked up and smiled, waving a bottle of Dr. LeGear’s horse remedy in her hand.
Miss Ross looked back up at him and sighed. “Where might I find a broom, Mr. Nelson? I believe I’d rather take my chances with the spiders.”
5
T he next morning Melanie laid her soiled work dress across the ladder-back chair next to the window and looked around her new room with a sense of accomplishment. By the time she’d cleared the area around her bed and made sure no spiders or scorpions lurked beneath the covers, her energy, already in short supply after her long journey, had run out completely, and she’d fallen asleep without another thought of the creatures that might be lurking.
But she’d risen before daybreak, refreshed and alert, and had determined to make her new lodgings livable before it was time to open the store. After sweeping everything from the ceiling to the floor free of its thick coating of dust—plus one sticky web she recognized as the home of a black-widow spider—she located a bucket and cleaning rags in the storeroom off the back of the mercantile and filled the bucket at the pump in the small kitchen downstairs. A strenuous application of water and elbow grease left the room and its contents gleaming. Not a palace, by any stretch of the imagination, but comfortable enough to call her home.
The brass bedstead and the oak dresser with its matching mirror suited her well enough. She had noticed some bedding on the mercantile shelves the previous day. She could select a comforter and blanket in lively colors to brighten up the room. Perhaps she could find some wallpaper in a feminine pattern to cover the rough-cut lumber on the walls. In time—assuming she was allowed to stay—she could make it into a cozy retreat. But it would do for now, and it was hers . . . for the time being, at least.
She checked the jars of water under the bedposts, thankfully free of vermin, and shuddered. When Caleb Nelson had handed her the jars, the look in his eyes made it plain that he didn’t want her there. So she had hoped his talk about spiders and scorpions had been an exaggeration, a ploy to send the eastern tenderfoot running back home. But after coming across those black-widow webs, she had to reassess her opinion. Apparently, one couldn’t be too careful in the wilds of Arizona.
And that caution wasn’t limited to undesirables of the lower species. Melanie glanced across at the chair she had propped under the doorknob the night before. In all their years of correspondence, Cousin George had always spoken of Alvin Nelson in the highest terms. Though she’d never met Mr. Nelson in person, her trust in George’s assessment of his character was such that Melanie hadn’t had the slightest qualms about throwing herself on his mercy. Though Caleb Nelson was Alvin’s nephew, she didn’t know the first thing about him. As she’d told him the previous day, she hoped he was a man of honor like his uncle . . . but she wasn’t taking any chances.
After washing in the basin she had carried to the dresser,she lifted her yellow flowered dress from the peg on the wall where she’d hung it the night before and shook it out hard, just in case. Relieved when no insects of any description tumbled to the floor, she slipped the dress on and checked her hair in the mirror, pleased to see that the smooth
Miss Ross’s face lit up. “A boardinghouse? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She hefted her carpetbag again. “Tell me how to find it.”
“Why don’t you just ask Mrs. Fetterman?” Caleb pointed over her shoulder toward the lone remaining shopper.
Melanie Ross swiveled around in the direction he pointed, and her eyes widened. “Fetterman? I thought her name was Bledsoe.”
“No, Hiram Bledsoe is one of her boarders. Mrs. Fetterman is a widow. She keeps a clean house, and I hear she’s quite a cook.”
As if overhearing her name, Mrs. Fetterman looked up and smiled, waving a bottle of Dr. LeGear’s horse remedy in her hand.
Miss Ross looked back up at him and sighed. “Where might I find a broom, Mr. Nelson? I believe I’d rather take my chances with the spiders.”
5
T he next morning Melanie laid her soiled work dress across the ladder-back chair next to the window and looked around her new room with a sense of accomplishment. By the time she’d cleared the area around her bed and made sure no spiders or scorpions lurked beneath the covers, her energy, already in short supply after her long journey, had run out completely, and she’d fallen asleep without another thought of the creatures that might be lurking.
But she’d risen before daybreak, refreshed and alert, and had determined to make her new lodgings livable before it was time to open the store. After sweeping everything from the ceiling to the floor free of its thick coating of dust—plus one sticky web she recognized as the home of a black-widow spider—she located a bucket and cleaning rags in the storeroom off the back of the mercantile and filled the bucket at the pump in the small kitchen downstairs. A strenuous application of water and elbow grease left the room and its contents gleaming. Not a palace, by any stretch of the imagination, but comfortable enough to call her home.
The brass bedstead and the oak dresser with its matching mirror suited her well enough. She had noticed some bedding on the mercantile shelves the previous day. She could select a comforter and blanket in lively colors to brighten up the room. Perhaps she could find some wallpaper in a feminine pattern to cover the rough-cut lumber on the walls. In time—assuming she was allowed to stay—she could make it into a cozy retreat. But it would do for now, and it was hers . . . for the time being, at least.
She checked the jars of water under the bedposts, thankfully free of vermin, and shuddered. When Caleb Nelson had handed her the jars, the look in his eyes made it plain that he didn’t want her there. So she had hoped his talk about spiders and scorpions had been an exaggeration, a ploy to send the eastern tenderfoot running back home. But after coming across those black-widow webs, she had to reassess her opinion. Apparently, one couldn’t be too careful in the wilds of Arizona.
And that caution wasn’t limited to undesirables of the lower species. Melanie glanced across at the chair she had propped under the doorknob the night before. In all their years of correspondence, Cousin George had always spoken of Alvin Nelson in the highest terms. Though she’d never met Mr. Nelson in person, her trust in George’s assessment of his character was such that Melanie hadn’t had the slightest qualms about throwing herself on his mercy. Though Caleb Nelson was Alvin’s nephew, she didn’t know the first thing about him. As she’d told him the previous day, she hoped he was a man of honor like his uncle . . . but she wasn’t taking any chances.
After washing in the basin she had carried to the dresser,she lifted her yellow flowered dress from the peg on the wall where she’d hung it the night before and shook it out hard, just in case. Relieved when no insects of any description tumbled to the floor, she slipped the dress on and checked her hair in the mirror, pleased to see that the smooth
Similar Books
