Page 27 of Ellen Found
He was only supposed to go to Bozeman to inspect and purchase a new power saw, except that the salesman didn’t know his Bozemans from his Buttes. “You’ll find whatyou want in Butte,” he said with no apology. Ah well. The day was warm, and he was amenable to a little longer with nothing to do, a rare novelty. A telegram to Mr. Reamer easily explained a few more days away.
More than that, he wanted to think. He’d said nothing to Ellen—it was hardly his business—but he had seen Sergeant Reeves kiss her at the upper basin last week.
At least it wasn’t a long kiss. Maybe a business trip with time on the train would give him the courage to admit to himself what he had known for some time: he was in love with Ellen Found.
He knew he could rationalize the powerful emotion that played merry hell with his peace of mind. Gwen needed a mother. A man was entitled to another wife to make his way easy in life.
It was time he admitted to himself that Gwen had not once entered into his desire to marry Ellen. He wanted Ellen as much as he had wanted Clare Hayden, and for the same reasons. He missed the pleasure of married life, from the simplicity of sharing a pillow and talking about life plans, to the complexity ofloving a woman because he had urges that weren’t going away.
He smiled to himself as he walked along streets dirty with black snow found in mining towns like Butte. He was thirty-two years old but as frisky as a colt.
He stopped in front of a shop window to stare at himself in the reflection. He knew he was a handsome man. Clare used to get tight-lipped when women stared at him and flirted. He pleaded innocence because he didn’t care as long as Clare found him attractive. He could easily have enjoyed a lifetime with her, but fate had shuffled their cards.
Now he found a promising future in Yellowstone. A recent letter from Harry Child stated there was work to be done finishing the remodel at Lake Hotel as soon as Old Faithful Inn was completed, and was he interested? Aye he was. And could it also involve Ellen?
What prevented him from being the man kissing Ellen? Did he need some cosmic approval to marry again, have more children with likely an excellent mother, and grow old with someone besides his first love?
He stared at his reflection, which hadturned glum and stupidly pathetic. “I want a wife,” he told his wavy image. “It’s no crime.”
He’d started contemplating remarriage a year ago when the raw hurt of Clare’s lingering death from a failing heart had turned to a dull ache and then to tender memories of a woman he loved who died too soon. He decided he should look for a wife like the one he had lost.
Then why Ellen? From her dark looks and olive skin, she possessed none of Clare’s rosy complexion or her majestic height and truly elegant features. Ellen was small and energetic, with wonderful brown eyes and black hair. With that energy came a quiet nature at odds with the fervor of her labors. Perhaps he could trace that to a child trained from youth to be seen and not heard, a child of low origin that was somehow her fault. Ellen was a person on her own from youth.
She was also the bravest person Charles knew, someone who did not lose her head in a crisis, someone ready to sacrifice herself for another. He doubted he had that much courage and prayed it would never be tested. He could tell Ellen loved his daughter. Did Ellen love him too?
Enough of this; he was here on business. Charles purchased the power saw to replace the saw and bits worn out with chewing into lodgepole pine. He handed over the cheque from Harry Child and received a receipt and guarantee that it would arrive in Gardiner, Montana, in two weeks. Done.
He didn’t want to stay another moment in Butte. He already had a ticket for tomorrow’s first train to Bozeman, but that was tomorrow.I wonder... he thought, then turned back to the clerk. “Where is the Mercury Street Café?” he asked.
The clerk stared at him, maybe seeing a capable man wearing a good overcoat, and wondering why on earth... “It’s not a place for gents like you,” the clerk said tentatively.
“I know someone who worked there, and I was wondering ...” Charles saw the smirk. “No, notthatsort of person.”
“I’m relieved to say it burned to the ground two weeks ago.”
Insufferable prig, Charles thought, then, “Really?I’d still like to see it.”
The clerk pointed. “Two blocks thatway, then three more north.” He stifled a laugh. “Nasty place. Glad it’s gone.”
Two blocks took Charles into an even worse part of town, where women wearing nothing but wrappers and smiles leaned out windows. One whistled at him and made a vulgar comment about the swing to his walk. He blushed at the unwanted attention. Clare had mentioned that swing herself, but not while leaning out a window.
There it was, a blackened heap giving new meaning to the word “eyesore.” He breathed in the stink of burned wood and old grease that had probably been trapped in drains since the town’s founding. Someone had hung a sign, “Too bad, so sad.”
A merchant stood in the doorway across the street; Charles joined him. “I used to know someone who worked here,” he said, wondering if he should admit that he knewanyoneassociated with the café. “A kind woman with a mean cat.”
“Meanest cat that ever lived,” the man said with a laugh. “I hear she snuck out at midnight a few months ago, cat and all.”
“She did. You knew her?”
“She bought soap and tooth powder from me. She asked to use my address as a return address for a job she wanted. She got the job?”
“A good job,” Charles said, then nodded at the eyesore. “What happened?”
“Ol’ Linson had a cook who smoked. Near as anyone can figure, she dropped ashes on a pile of newspapers, and whoosh!”
“That bad?”
“That bad. The old rip flicked her final ash. Linson left town the next morning, and good riddance.” He paused, then peddled back a bit. “Hopefully you’re not related to him.”
