Rhyme or Reason Read online

  “Thank you. I appreciate your time.” She paused. “And your kind words.”

  Louisa left the building and looked up and down the street. There was a general store just over there, and she could use some stationery nicer than what she’d brought with her. Maybe having the right tools would give her the courage she needed to complete this task.

  When she entered, she immediately picked up on the smell of lemon drops. She’d have to get some—there was nothing like them for soothing her throat after a long night of singing. First, though, she’d get what she came for so she wouldn’t forget it and then have a reason to procrastinate.

  “Oh! Mr. Redfern!” she said as she came around the aisle and saw him standing there. “How are you?”

  He turned to her with a warm smile. “I’m well. How are you?”

  She somehow didn’t think it was the right time or the right place to burst into a long litany of all her current woes, so she returned his smile. “I’m doing very well. I got settled in last night—” She was about to say more, but then she remembered the little game she’d decided to play with him the evening before. She still wasn’t sure why she’d done it, but it was amusing her greatly, and he seemed to be going along with it good-naturedly. “I got settled in,” she finished, stopping herself before she said where.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” He gave a nod. “So, I’m happening upon you here in front of the writing supplies. Are you by chance a novelist?”

  She laughed. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. I enjoy reading, but I’d never be able to do it myself.”

  “So that gives me one more thing to tick off my list.”

  “Do you have a list? Like, an actual paper list?”

  “It’s all in my head. My mind is, like they say, a steel trap.”

  She tried not to smirk. “That sounds painful.”

  “Oh, it can be. The very worst is when I get a bear in there. Nothing but roaring and thrashing about.”

  The look on his face, which was so serious, in comparison to his comment, which was so ridiculous, made Louisa giggle. “I’m sure it’s just terrible. In fact, it might be unbearable.”

  He groaned. “I deserved that. All right, I’m just about ready to admit defeat. Are you willing to give me a hint of some kind, or shall I continue to flounder around in the darkness?”

  She considered that. Mr. Westcott had brought in an artist to do a quick line drawing of her before she left the theater, and a large poster would be created and hung up on the side of the building by the following day. She disliked the idea of seeing herself twelve feet tall looming over Main Street, but she supposed that if it would bring people in, she’d endure it. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll come pay a visit to your shop tomorrow, and if you haven’t figured it out by then, I’ll reveal my every secret. You already know I get sick on trains—you might as well know all the rest.”

  He gave a nod. “I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

  She watched as he made his way to the front and handed the woman at the counter a dozen or so pencils. Then he seemed to consider before asking for some lemon drops. She smiled broadly—yes, she liked him. She liked him quite a bit, very unexpectedly.

  She chose a package of stationery and a pen. Then she picked up a bottle of ink.

  “Will that be all for you?” the woman behind the counter asked.

  “No, I’d like some lemon drops, please.”

  “It must be lemon drop season. I sold some just a moment ago as well.”

  Louisa smiled. “It’s always lemon drop season to me.”

  The woman wrapped up her purchases, talking as she worked. “I haven’t seen you in here before. Are you new in town?”

  “Yes, I just arrived yesterday. My name is Louisa Brown, and I’ll be singing at the theater starting Friday night.”

  “Singing? Oh, that will be wonderful. Welcome to Creede.” The woman finished off her package with a bit of twine. “I’m Toria Jackson. Are you doing anything in about an hour, by chance?”

  Louisa shook her head. She’d planned to write a letter, but she wouldn’t still be working on it in an hour, would she?

  “Come to tea with me. I meet up with several of the other ladies at the tea shop, and we enjoy sharing our news and just spending time together. We’d love to have another member in our little club.”

  “The tea shop where they have teas from England?”

  “That’s right. You’ve heard of it?”

  “Mr. Redfern from the bookstore was telling me about it.”

  “He seems to be quite the tea aficionado. He won’t even look at what I stock here.” Toria shook her head with a smile.

  “I suppose we each have our little quirks. There’s one particular kind of soap I like, and I feel perfectly miserable if I don’t have it.”

  “Be sure to let me know what it is, and I’ll see if I can order it in for you. We can’t have you feeling perfectly miserable.” Toria took the money Louisa held out and handed her back a penny in change. “Meet me out front in an hour, all right? You’re going to love the women in town. They’re truly wonderful.”

  Louisa could use some wonderful friends. She felt like she’d been walking her life’s path all alone for far too long.

  ***

  Tobias entered the saloon and looked around. He didn’t spend a lot of time in here. In actuality, he spent very, very little time here. But this was where he needed to be if he wanted to talk to the men of Creede.

  Paulie Jones was sitting at a table in the corner, right where Tobias had expected him to be. He lifted his mug as Tobias approached.

  “Join me,” he said. “The beer’s a little warm, but what else is new?”

  Tobias detested warm beer, or beer of any temperature, but he decided not to mention that. “How have you been lately, Paulie?”

  “I’m all right. Just got off the early shift and feel sorry for the blokes who are still there for another four hours.” Paulie worked at the mine, and Tobias thought back to Miss Chapel’s words about bringing the men into the light. He hoped he didn’t have to be as flamboyant as she was about it.

  “I’d like to extend you a special invitation,” he said, diving right into the heart of the matter. “I’m starting up a poetry class at the bookshop, and I’d like you to attend.”

  Paulie looked at him as though he’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language. “You want me to come to a poetry class?”

  “Yes. It’s more of a poetry reading than anything, and we’ll discuss what we’ve read.”

  Paulie shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re asking me. I barely read the paper as it is—I don’t have time to read poetry.”

  Tobias was afraid that would be the response he’d get. He needed another approach, one that would appeal to Paulie. The other men at the mine looked up to Paulie, and if he said something was okay, they’d be more likely to follow suit. He needed Paulie on his team.

  “The thing is,” Tobias said slowly, “is that I’m trying to do a little matchmaking.” He immediately cringed, knowing how much Miss Chapel would hate that, but she’d asked for his help, and he was doing the best he could. “I know you’ve been a little bit down since . . . well . . .”

  “You don’t have to beat around the bush. I’ve been down since that woman sold me a bunch of malarkey about how she’d found me the perfect wife, and then turned out to be a bunch of hooey. A lot of men in this town got taken by her. She got what she deserved, but that doesn’t solve our problem—we’re still not married.” Paulie toyed with the handle of his beer mug. “Truth be told, Tobias, I was ready to settle down. I could just imagine myself with a wife and a few children, doing the whole domestic thing. I was going to build a white picket fence and take my kids fishing—no matter if they were boys or girls. Girls can fish just as good as boys. And it felt like all that got taken away from me.”

  Tobias didn’t know how to respond. He’d never seen Paulie open up like that before, a
nd it seemed to make Paulie a little uncomfortable too.

  “So, just what kind of matchmaking are you proposing to do?” Paulie said at last, some of the gruffness coming back to his voice.

  “Well, I guess I shouldn’t have said matchmaking exactly.” Tobias ran a finger under his collar. This had seemed like such a good idea when he had an angel standing in front of him. Now, in real life, it sounded ridiculous. “It’s just . . . I’ve heard that ladies like men who read poetry, and I thought to myself, what if we did just that? What if we read poetry so when we meet a young lady, we’d know what to say to her and how to catch her attention?”

  Paulie sat back and looked at him. “You had your heart broken too, didn’t you?”

  Tobias immediately thought of the new mystery woman, but then he realized Paulie was talking about Miss Pullman. “Yes, I did. But I’m determined to have hope and to start afresh. What do you say? Will you come? No charge. I’ll even supply the tea.”

  Paulie chuckled. “You’re trying to lure men to a poetry reading with tea? No. That’s not going to work. If you want us to come, make coffee—good, strong coffee, and maybe even have something there to lace it with.”

  “You mean . . . whiskey?”

  “That’s right. Getting a little drunk might be the only way some of us will have of enduring this torture session of yours.”

  “But it won’t be torture! We’ll be reading the most beautiful words ever written by some of the greatest masters who have ever lived. We’ll . . .” Tobias trailed off when he saw that Paulie wasn’t listening anymore. “All right, coffee and whiskey.”

  “There you go. That will bring them in. Or at least, make it tolerable for them to stay.” Paulie fiddled with his glass again. “You want me to spread the word? Tell the men to come?”

  “I’d like that. Yes, please.”

  Paulie gave a nod. “I’ll do what I can, but I gotta say, don’t get your hopes up too much. We’re men, you know? We don’t sit around with our pinkies in the air sipping tea from dainty little cups and giggling about dresses. It’s not what we do.”

  “Understood. I’ll make this a very manly event.” Tobias wasn’t sure what a manly event might consist of. He actually owned a few sets of his own dainty teacups, but he wasn’t about to bring that up. He’d never considered them off limits before, but now he had a sudden compulsion to bury them in his backyard and replace them with something he’d hewn from wood with his own bare hands.

  When he left the saloon, he noticed a line of ladies heading into the tea shop. He laughed right out loud—they were all about to do exactly what Paulie had been talking about. Sipping tea while giggling about dresses. Or maybe not—he wasn’t sure what the giggles were really about. But there were definitely giggles. When those ladies got together, the giggles could be heard out on the street.

  It was a pleasant sound, actually. Happy.

  Happy sounds were the best sounds in all the world.

  Chapter Four

  It seemed completely impossible. How was Louisa supposed to pen a letter to her aunt’s solicitor when she was so angry, she would rather stab the man repeatedly with her fountain pen than write him a polite letter of inquiry?

  No, she told herself, she did not want to stab him. That was called murder, and murder was wrong. It said so in the Bible. It was also against the law. Those were two very good reasons for her not to do it.

  Reminding her of these things, though, didn’t change her compulsion to do it.

  She sat down, dipped her pen in ink, and began.

  Dear Mr. Yancy,

  It was with great surprise this afternoon that I learned you have been keeping track of my whereabouts in the time that has elapsed since my aunt died. I’m sure it must have amused you greatly to see me struggling as I did to find work and to keep myself fed. How it must have amused you to see me go from place to place, trying to be a strong, independent woman in a world most certainly not suited to women at all.

  However, it’s not your amusement that offends me most greatly. It’s the fact that you have invaded my privacy. Yes, Mr. Yancy, to keep an eye on someone for any length of time when they are not your responsibility is a breach of privacy, and I find it repugnant and demeaning. I also find it wildly inappropriate. I don’t know whether you’ve done all this yourself, skulking in bushes and making note of what I had for dinner in your little notebook, or whether you’ve undertaken even more extraordinary means and perhaps hired a Pinkerton to keep you apprised of my movements. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that I’m utterly surrounded by spies. Should I put that past you?

  If you would be so kind, would you please call off your bloodhounds and assure yourself that I’m not dangerous or a threat or any of the other things you must believe I am? And if you would continue in your kindness, I’d appreciate a long and very detailed explanation as to just what on earth you think you’re doing and why.

  Louisa Brown

  She set down her pen with a huff. She had no intention of mailing the letter, but it had certainly felt good to say what she was thinking. Now that her mind was clearer, she could write another letter, one that would be much more appropriate.

  Taking out a new sheet of paper, she began.

  Dear Mr. Yancy,

  I have just been offered a position as guest performer at the theater in Creede, Colorado. But of course you knew that. I was rather surprised to hear from Mr. Westcott, owner of the theater, that you have been aware of my movements and my location since the passing of my aunt. I would appreciate hearing from you the reason for this and to know what you hope to accomplish by doing so.

  There. It was much shorter and to the point, but she believed she properly conveyed her displeasure at his activities. She’d think of a way to end it when she got back. It was time to meet Toria for tea.

  ***

  Louisa felt a little overwhelmed when she stepped into the tea shop. The entire place was filled with chattering, friendly women, and she knew right off that she’d never be able to remember all their names.

  “That’s all right, dear,” an older woman told her when she confessed to her worry. “Some of us have unusual names, and that makes it even harder. I’m Seffi Morgan. Try remembering that a week from now.”

  Louisa smiled. “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Morgan.”

  She was introduced to Regina, Ariadne, Beatrice, Sophia … the names just kept coming, and eventually, she just smiled and nodded. She’d learn them all in time. Just not all at once on her first day.

  Regina brought around a pot of tea, and Ariadne followed with plates of cake. “Isn’t it wonderful that Sterling finally found himself a wife?” Toria said to . . . a woman whose name Louisa simply couldn’t remember.

  “He’s certainly looked long enough.” The woman turned to Louisa. “We were introduced in such a hurry, I’m sure you didn’t catch all our names. I’m Mariah—I’m married to the blacksmith.”

  Mariah. Yes, that was it. Louisa smiled. “I’m glad to know you. Who’s Sterling?”

  “He came to town a while back and has tried his hand at love with a few of our ladies, but nothing ever worked out. That was before Aileen McRae came, though. They make the most darling couple.”

  Mariah was interrupted when up at the front of the room, Ariadne tapped the side of a teacup with a spoon. “Ladies, it’s my turn to make an important announcement. I’m expecting.”

  The room burst into even more chattering and giggles than before. “With so many women gathered together in one place, someone’s always expecting,” Mariah said. She leaned forward and said quietly, “I am as well, but I’m not ready to announce it yet.”

  “You are? That’s wonderful,” Louisa replied. It was true that as she looked around the room, she noticed that many of the ladies were in various stages. She didn’t think she’d ever been surrounded by so many expecting women in her life. Then again, she’d been working in offices and so forth. Things were a bit different there.

>   “Now it remains to be seen who will be married off next,” Seffi was saying. “My sons could use wives, heaven knows. And what about that nice Mr. Redfern at the bookstore?”

  “I think he’s still mourning the loss of Lydia Pullman,” one of the other ladies said.

  Louisa’s ears immediately perked up. “Who is Lydia Pullman?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

  “She worked in town as a dressmaker for a while, but she got married and moved away,” Toria replied.

  “And Mr. Redfern was in love with her?”

  “Oh, I don’t think there was anything decided, but he certainly looked smitten whenever she was around.” Toria took a bite of the cake Ariadne had brought over. “This is delicious. You must try it.”

  Louisa took a bite, but she couldn’t have identified the flavor. She was too distracted. Mr. Redfern was in love with someone else? That was so . . . disappointing. She had just met him, so she really had no reason to care about his love life one way or another, but she did care. Annoyingly so.

  “There’s one other thing we must discuss,” Seffi went on. “Has anyone heard anything more about the counterfeit money?”

  “Someone handed me a fake dollar the other day. I turned it in at the bank,” Toria reported. She turned back to Louisa. “We’ve had some trouble with counterfeit bills in town as of late,” she explained. “If anyone gives you a bill, be sure to check it, and if you’re not sure, take it in to the bank. Mr. Cromwell will help you figure it out.”

  “All right,” Louisa replied.

  “I still think we should investigate it,” Seffi was saying. “We have enough womanpower here to do some good.”

  “Womanpower? Is that a real word?” one of the ladies asked.

  “I work for the newspaper, and I say yes, it is!” another woman replied, and they all laughed.

  “That’s Rhona,” Toria explained. “She’ll probably want to interview you for the Creede Candle. You’ll be big news as soon as word gets out who you are.”