The Matchmaker of Fairfield: (Clean Historical Western Romance) Page 6

  “She looks good,” Elijah said. Ivy noticed that he did not look at Rosie as he gave the compliment but at Ivy.

  Ivy tried her best not to meet his eyes.

  “I was actually hoping to speak to you as well,” he said. Ivy heard him move towards her but she still didn’t dare look at him.

  “Were you, Mr. Bellows?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I just wanted to say...I know you haven’t wanted to see me the past few days.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “I think we both know that’s not true.”

  She couldn’t help but look at him when he said this. He was giving her a very sad sort of smile and she immediately felt her cheeks flush at having been called out.

  “I just wanted to tell you,” he continued. “I...I wanted to apologize if I’ve offended you in any way.”

  She looked at him and, once again, felt the urge to tell him exactly what he had done. Exactly what she had seen him do. Exactly how it had made her feel. She even opened her mouth to do so. But, before she could, Mark poked his head through the back door.

  “Elijah, we have to go,” he said. “The foreman’s waiting for us at the mill.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Elijah said irritably. Mark glared at his brother and didn’t move from the doorway. All the same, Elijah turned his attention back to Ivy.

  “You should go, Mr. Bellows,” Ivy said before Elijah had a chance to speak again. “You don’t want to keep your brother waiting.”

  She turned away from him and knelt beside Rosie who moved in to lick Ivy’s face. She did not allow herself to lift her eyes from the little dog as she heard Elijah’s footsteps move slowly towards the back door. She put her arm around Rosie and did not allow it to lift from the dog’s soft fur until she was certain that Elijah had left.

  Chapter Five- Bridget

  It was, once again, Thursday night. A fact that Bridget was grateful for as she removed her apron and left the tavern, looking forward to a relaxing meal at the boarding house.

  Bridget had to admit that she was also grateful Annabeth had decided to abandon her attempt at cooking, at least for the time being. This meant that the girls would be treated to one of Mrs. Paulson’s excellent meals.

  The sun was sinking lower in the sky as she made her way across the dirt street to the milliner’s shop. Even though sunset was still a long ways off, some of the men from the logging mill had already taken to gathering about the tavern in anticipation for the night’s revelry.

  Two of these men were seated on a rickety wooden bench just outside of the milliner’s shop. The taller one, who was slender and rough looking with a face that reminded Bridget vaguely of a rat, she recognized as Brian O'Connell. Emily Bunting’s jilted fiance. The other young man, shorter and broader with a shock of red hair Bridget also recognized though she had more trouble placing a name with his face. She thought she had heard men call him Fred but could not be certain.

  These two men were bent towards each other on the bench, speaking in hushed tones and shooting occasional dark looks at the tavern across the street. The entire scene had a feeling of urgency that did not accompany typical idle gossip.

  Bridget, feeling her curiosity peak, moved closer to the men, stopping at the window of the Milliner’s shop. Here, she pretended to be looking thoughtfully at the displays of new summer hats and was glad she was able to hear the boys conversation when she listened intently.

  “...We’ll have to do it tonight,” Brian said to his companion. “I know what time Bellows leaves the mill office on Thursdays. And, I know he’ll be heading for the tavern.”

  “And you’re positive no one else will be there?” the boy called Fred asked.

  “Wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t sure,” Brian answered. “Elijah Bellows is always the last out of the mill. He takes off just after sunset.”

  Bridget heard the other man, Fred, heave a sigh though she did not turn to look at him. She knew if she did they would stop speaking immediately.

  “It’s a big risk,” Fred said. “Bellows’ll be missed if he doesn’t turn up at the tavern tonight. And, when they find the body, it won’t be a stretch to imagine who’s behind it.”

  “I’m using my uncle’s knife,” Brian said. “They can’t trace it back to me. Besides, Bellows has come between plenty of men and their girls in this town. More than one have reason to want to be rid of him.”

  There was no immediate answer from Fred, but, Bridget was able to hear a shifting movement on the bench. It seemed to indicate some amount of hesitation.

  “Look,” Brian said with a hint of impatience. “We’ll go down to the mill tonight. If there’s even a hint of anyone else there, we won’t go through with it. Agreed?”

  Another silence stretched over the pair and Bridget found herself holding her breath with anticipation.

  Finally, she heard Fred let out a long breath.

  “I suppose so,” Fred said. “But, you have to swear to me no one else will see. No one else’ll be hurt. If anyone else approaches we run straight away.”

  “I swear,” Brian said. “No one else’ll get involved.”

  “Tonight then,” Fred said.

  Bridget realized now that she had been standing by the shop, looking at the milliner's window display much longer than was entirely natural. Not daring to glance back at the two men still seated at the bench, she moved along, trying to walk as slowly and casually as possible.

  She took two deep breaths in a vain attempt to keep her heart from thumping too loudly. None the less, her pulse still pounded in her ears as she tried to work out what best to do.

  Perhaps she should go to the sheriff. But, she dismissed that idea out of hand. She had no evidence besides a whispered conversation she had overheard on the street. Besides that, it was well known that the town sheriff did not take the word of women too seriously.

  She thought of Mrs. Paulson but dismissed that as well. Mrs. Paulson, unable to believe that any young man in town would be involved in anything as unscrupulous as murder would, no doubt, simply scold Bridget for spreading more idle gossip.

  She paced the street anxiously, trying her best to keep her gaze averted from passers-by. Her conscience would not allow her to go back to the boarding house without some kind of plan. There had to be someone, at least one person of influence in this town who might believe her story.

  That was when the idea came to her.

  Asa Bracken was, certainly, not her greatest defender. But, he knew that she did not spread idle gossip and was not one to make up fanciful tales to gain attention.

  Surely, if she took her story to him, he would believe her. Perhaps he could get the sheriff to entertain the possibility as well.

  Quickly, she turned away from the boarding house and moved back towards the tavern. Upon entering the empty building, she made her way through the back door towards Asa’s office.

  When she arrived, she was annoyed to find the door closed and two male voices issuing from it. Immediately, she recognized the first as Mr. Bracken’s. She winced when she realized the second was Mr. Carson.

  Every month or so, Mr. Carson came to the tavern with a new offer to buy Asa out. Every month, after he turned Carson down, Asa would be in an unbelievably foul mood.

  Bridget knew that, once this meeting was finished, Mr. Bracken would be in no mood to hear anything she had to say. All the same, she could not help but think that what she had to say was far too important not to tell her boss about.

  So, she waited in the narrow hallway, her feet tapping impatiently along the sticky tiled floors. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the door clicked open.

  “If you don’t agree soon,” Mr. Carson was saying as he stepped out of Mr. Bracken’s office. “I just might have to take more drastic measures to persuade you.”

  “If that’s a threat,” Asa said stepping out of Carson’s shadow. As Bridget suspected, his face was clouded over and his eyes narrowed as he looked up
at the taller man. “You’ll have to do better, Carson. You’re hardly the first person to try and shut this tavern down.”

  “Maybe not,” Carson said. “But, one day, and I fear it will be sooner rather than later, someone will succeed in running you out. I only hope for your sake that you see sense before that happens.”

  “Until it does,” Mr. Bracken said. With nothing more than a gesture, he invited Carson to leave out the back door.

  Carson stared at him hard for a good long while as though trying to see through him. Finally, he straightened up, placed his hat on his head and tipped it to Asa with an ironic smirk before marching out the back door.

  “Mr. Bracken,” Bridget said as soon as Carson left. She knew she had no time to waste.

  Asa jumped then at the sound of her voice then muttered a curse under his breath as he turned to face her.

  “Bridget, what are you doing here?” he asked. “The men will arrive at any time and it would be highly improper-”

  “I know, sir,” Bridget said quickly. “But I needed to speak with you. It’s fairly urgent.”

  “Well,” he said wearily. “Come to that, I needed to speak with you as well. It’s about the other changes you’ve been making in the tavern.”

  “Other changes?” Bridget asked half curious, half annoyed at the delay in her news.

  “Ivy tells me that you’ve been having her serve the Bellows table,” he said. “Even though it was agreed that she would stay behind the bar and you would serve the tables.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me taking all the tables,” she said feeling the urgency at her news be replaced by an irritability that always seemed to take hold of her when she spoke to Asa Bracken.

  “What I want, Miss Riley,” he began. He always called her miss Riley when he was irritated. “Is for you to stick to one system once you’ve established it. If Ivy wants to stay behind the bar, that is where she should remain. It’s not for you to decide otherwise. In case you’ve forgotten, I am still the owner of this tavern, not you.”

  “Would you like me to work through headaches, cut fingers and illness, sir? Or would you rather leave the tables with no one to serve them when I’m not availible?” Bridget asked sharply. She knew she was not helping her cause. She knew that this was hardly the time to argue. She knew a man’s life might be at stake. But, she simply couldn’t help it.

  The suggestion that she should speak to Bracken about every single thing that happened on the floor in the tavern was too much. If there was one thing she hated, it was being micromanaged.

  “What I would like,” he said with an angry growl to his voice. “Is for you to follow my instructions.”

  Bridget pursed her lips and looked hard at her employer. It was clear that he was in no mood to believe or even to hear what she had to tell him. No doubt, he would chalk it up to her meddling and throw her out without pretense. Well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Straightening herself to her full height, she gave him the best glare she could muster before speaking.

  “Well, I suppose what I’ve got to say can wait,” she told him. “You’re clearly too busy to be bothered with it now.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and marched out the back door.

  Once outside, the satisfaction she felt at having gotten the last word in with Asa dissipated almost as quickly as it had come.

  As soon as tavern door closed behind her, she realized that Asa was her one chance to stop the stabbing of Elijah Bellows that night. Now, she had no option but to either go to the sheriff and most assuredly be laughed out of the office. Or to keep her mouth shut and hope that someone showed up at the mill that night to disrupt the boys plans…

  She stopped in her tracks as another idea came to her. Brilliant and subtle, she was sure it would allow her to solve both her problems in one fell swoop.

  Ivy, after all, was still upset with Elijah for taking Emily Bunting to the tavern. No matter how she tried, she could not seem to get the girl to talk to him now. Though, she was still certain that Elijah genuinely cared for Ivy more than he ever could for a girl like Emily Bunting. Ivy only needed to speak to him alone to see that.

  Brian and Fred had both agreed that, if anyone else at all was near the mill’s office at sunset, they would not go through with their plan. She knew Brian O'Connell well enough to know that, as much as the boy liked to talk tough, he was not a violent man. Surely if a lady were present at the mill, he would abandon the idea, perhaps permanently.

  Quickly, she made her way back to the boarding house. Stepping inside, she climbed carefully up the steps towards the room she shared with Ivy. The last thing she needed was for Mrs. Paulson to stop her. The sun was sinking lower and lower in the sky. She knew that she had less time now than she’d had when she left the tavern.

  The stairs ascended, she opened the door to her room to find Ivy, thankfully, seated on her bed.

  “I need your help,” Bridget said to her immediately closing the door. Ivy looked up at her, eyes wide.

  “What is it?” she asked, gently setting aside the needlework which had been placed on her lap.

  “I’ve just discovered something horrible,” Bridget said. She sat down beside Ivy and wasted no time in telling her the plan she had overheard. When she was finished, Ivy’s face had gone pale and her hands had begun to fidget nervously.

  “You have to go to the sheriff!” Ivy insisted. “Surely, he’s the only one who would be able to stop something like this.”

  “I have gone to the sheriff,” Bridget lied. “But, he needs someone from the tavern to identify the boys when they’re apprehended. That’s why you need to be there.”

  Bridget had thought up this hasty plan along the road. She knew Ivy would not dare to go all the way to the mill on her own under normal circumstances. She also knew that her friend dreaded the idea of being alone with Elijah Bellows. But, if she thought the sheriff would be there, there was a chance she would take the bait.

  Sure enough, Ivy’s fingers stopped fidgeting and instead took hold of her needlework. She looked down at it thoughtfully, as though it might dispense some advice to her.

  “Why can’t you go?” Ivy asked. “If you were the one who heard these boys discuss their plan, surely the sheriff would want you to identify them.”

  “Mrs. Paulson has recruited me to help her with dinner,” Bridget lied once again. “She’s determined that I learn some kitchen skills after last week's disastrous meal. And, you know I can’t say no to Mrs. Paulson.”

  Ivy bit her bottom lip and looked at Bridget, her eyes narrowed. It was as though her mind was churning, trying to think of a reasonable way out of this mess.

  “Please, Ivy,” Bridget said. “You know Mr. Bracken will be busy with the boys in the tavern. You’re the only one who can help catch these men.”

  Finally, Ivy licked her bottom lip and gave a resigned nod.

  “All right,” she said. “I suppose...if there’s no one else…”

  Bridget tries her best not to smile at her handy work and forced her face to remain earnest.

  “You’d best hurry,” she told Ivy. “The sun will be beginning to set by the time you get there.”

  With another nod, Ivy quickly set her needlework aside, stood up from the bed and walked quickly from the room, closing the door behind her.

  Once again, Bridget’s feeling of satisfaction at having successfully manipulated her friend into seeing the man she had been avoiding was very short lived. She realized now that, while she didn’t believe there was any real danger to Ivy, she had, none the less put the younger girl in a very precarious position.

  What if Brian O’Connell’s rage went deeper than she could have imagined? What if Ivy arrived too late?

  Bridget rushed the window of the room and watched as Ivy made her way towards the mill at the edge of town. A stirring in her chest begged Bridget to call Ivy back. But, she knew, even if she did, Ivy would be too far to hear her.<
br />
  Chapter Six- Ivy

  Ivy made her way down the nearly abandoned road out of the town. Occasionally, she was passed by groups of men coming from the logging mill and moving in the opposite direction. She felt as though she were a salmon swimming upstream and not yet quite adept at it.

  The wind turned slowly from a gentle breeze to a stronger force as the sun began to set behind the mountains to the west. A whistling sound through the pines was met by the hooting of a lonely owl and the scuttering of the forest floor. Small creatures that only came out at night began their evening ritual as the increasing wind brought a sharp chill to the air

  Ivy pulled the shawl draped over her shoulders closer to her chest as she began to look on either side of the road for any sign of a sheriff or deputy. Signs of anyone waiting for her at all.

  There were no men hurrying into town now. As the darkness grew, it seemed that most of them had already made for the lights of the tavern.

  Ivy stepped carefully as she strode alone on the path to the old mill. Occasionally jumping at the sound of twigs breaking beneath her feet, continuously glancing this way and that for signs of the sheriff, signs of his deputy, signs of Elijah, signs of any intelligent life not accented by her own short, sharp breaths.

  As she reached the mill, she heard it.

  A horrible yell echoed from somewhere near the old mill. A fellow human’s cry of pain.

  Ivy, shoving her fear aside ran towards the sound as quickly as she could. The echoes continued and, as she came closer, she was able to imagine the image which belonged to these cries.

  Somewhere, very nearby, Elijah was screaming.

  It was not long before she came upon the scene. Her heart stopped dead when she saw Elijah sitting against the side of the cabin, clutching his arm. Even in the dim light, she could see the deep red blood covering the hand that clutched his arm.

  There were two others there. She could barely make them out as they rushed away into the woods as soon as she arrived.