Carrying Grace Upton's heavy luggage, Clive's hands were beginning to ache under the weight of them. It was becoming obvious that the two carpetbags contained more than just clothing and necessities. She had obviously brought mementoes from home, things to remind her of the life and family she had left behind. He supposed he could not condemn her for that luxury, as this was her first venture away from home. Mementoes from home tended to cushion the shock of being thrust into a whole new environment.
As they proceeded down the boardwalk, the door to the business they were passing suddenly burst open right in front of them, and a man, practically airborne, sailed out into the street, skidding several yards in the mud on his face. Stunned, he rose up on his hands and knees, shaking his head as if to clear it.
Grace gasped in horror, staring in wide-eyed astonishment as her mind processed what had just occurred. When she had decided to accept the teaching position on the Alberta and Montana border, her father had warned her that life would be very different in the west, but no one had prepared her for this!
A slender, slightly balding man, wearing the white apron and black armbands of a bartender, stood in the doorway, having sucessfully ejected the first man from the establishment.
"Everything under control, Zack?" Clive asked, calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.
"It is now," the other man replied in a southern drawl. His eyes fell upon the young woman, and he gave a polite nod. "Ma'am." He then disappeard back inside the business.
"That was Zack Denny," Clive told her in response to the totally perplexed expression on her face. "He owns and operates the saloon."
The man in the street stood up, swaying unsteadily on his feet. He shook his head again, like a dog attempting to shake a flea from its ear, then staggered back toward the saloon. Clive blocked his access to the boardwalk.
"You've had enough for one day, Floyd. Go home and sleep it off."
Floyd grasped the railing for support. "I ain't Canadian, Corporal. You can't order me around."
"Save yourself the trouble," Clive advised. "If I have to get the marshal, you're going to be spending the night in jail."
Faced with that bit of logic, Floyd nodded, agreeably. "All right, Corporal Bennett." Physically pushing himself away from the railing, he staggered to his horse, and somehow managed to mount the animal. Swaying unsteadily in the saddle, he rode out of town at a slow walk. Grace knew that he would be unable to remain balanced at a faster pace.
"Does that happen very often?" Grace asked.
"More often than I'd like, I'll tell you that," Clive admitted.
"Will he be all right?" she asked.
Clive smiled. "Until he wakes up in the morning, and his head and stomach both revolt against him!"
"That's disgusting! Can't you just shut the saloon down?" she inquired.
"I couldn't, even if I wanted to. It's on the American side, and Zack's a good man. Some of the local women attempted to shut it down a couple of years ago, but, as you can see, they failed. Basically, it's just a place for the townsfolk and the cowboys to have dinner, enjoy a few drinks, and blow off a little steam. Usually, it's harmless."
"Do you drink, Corporal?"
He chuckled. "No. Son of a preacher. You know how it is." He shifted the two pieces of luggage, one in each hand, trying to relieve the pressure on his palms. "Well, let's get you settled in."
As they proceeded along the boardwalk, Grace's green eyes curiously scrutinized the small town to which she had been sent. Born and raised in the east, she had never imagined that such a small, primitive town existed anywhere in the civilized world.
Intrigued, she gazed at the citizens who hurried through the mud toward their destinations, and wondered if, indeed, Bordertown could be considered civilized. Most of the men, including Clive Bennett, wore guns in holsters at their sides or carried rifles or shotguns, something that no one did back east. Most of the buildings were not even painted and the mud in the street was a depressing sight..
They coninued past several other businesses, then emerged at the end of town and stepped from the boardwalk onto the grassy patch of ground that was not heavily traveled enough to have turned completely to mud.
"It's right over there," he told her, nodding his head to the left, toward a one-story house nestled in a grassy field just beyond the outskirts of town on the east. Other buildings, primarily small homes and outbuildings, were scattered about, including the one room schoolhouse neighboring the teacher's cottage.
Grace felt her heart sink at the sight of the house. Her first home away from home was not at all what she had anticipated. It was very small, and was made of wood planking instead of logs, thereby sparing it the unfavorable title of "cabin", but it was not much better in appearance than those primitive frontier shelters she had heard about. It appeared to be newer than most of the structures, and it did have a nice front porch running the length of the building. In front of the porch was a flowerbed, obviously intended to give the teacher something with which to occupy her time during the summer months, when the students were out of school helping their parents on their farms and ranches. At that moment, however, she could not imagine remaining in Bordertown during the summer. All she wanted to do was go home, to fly back to the proverbial nest, where she would not be subjected to the trials of life. Suddenly, she felt very tired and discouraged.
Corporal Bennett seemed to understand the disappointment that must have been vividly expressed on her face.
"I know," he said, his voice kind. "It probably isn't what you're accustomed to. In fact, I'm afraid everything in Bordertown is a little smaller and more primitive than what you would see in the larger cities. I rather felt the same way when I first came here," he admitted.
She looked up into his handsome face and saw compassion and understanding there. "Did you, really?"
He nodded. "Absolutely. I'm originally from Toronto."
Her face brightened a bit. "Really? I'm from Hamilton! We're practically neighbors!"
He smiled, indulgently. "Coming here was a huge transition for me, and it took awhile to become adjusted. It will be for you, as well. Our needs are a little different out here, but I think you will adapt just fine. The people here are very pleasant, even if a little unrefined, and I assure you, they'll go out of their way to help you."
She understood that he was politely asking her to give the citizens and the town a chance before she judged them.
"You may even decide you like it, here," he added with a knowing smile.
She rather doubted that, but she had to admit, she already knew one person whom she liked very much. "And have you grown to like it here, Corporal?"
"Very much."
"Well, I have to admit one thing," she said, gazing at the mountains west of town. "The scenery here is exceptional. I've never seen anything as beautiful as those mountains!"
"It is, indeed," he agreed.
They were passing one of the other homes that occupied the large meadow, and they saw a stout middle-aged woman in the back yard, her hands submersed in a tub of water, scrubbing her clothing on a washboard. Additonal clothing, already washed, fluttered in the breeze on the nearby clothesline.
She paused when she saw them, gazing at the young woman with unmasked curiosity.
"Good afternoon, Corporal," she called, pleasantly, knowing that her greeting would inspire an introduction.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Metzger." Clive guided Grace toward her, and stopped for the expected introduction. It would have been a good excuse to set down the luggage for a few moments, but he saw with a suffering glance that the wooden platform on which the tub was sitting was wet, as was the ground around it, so he maintained his hold on them as he said, "Mrs. Iris Metzger, may I present our new school teacher, Miss Grace Upton."
Grace extended her hand, pleasantly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Metzger."
Iris quickly brushed her wet hands on the front of her apron, but the apron was already soaked with water from the tub, so her attempts to dry them did not yield the results she desired. The teacher's hand was still extended, so she grasped the slender white hand in her stout hand, rough and calloused from frontier life, and still wet from the wash water. "Likewise, I'm sure," she murmured, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the presence of the stylish young woman. She knew she had gripped Miss Upton's hand too tightly; could actually see the flicker of pain in her eyes. Tendrils of wet hair had escaped the bun at the nape of her neck, and she pushed them back from her sweating face with a quick swipe of her hand.
Released from the woman's strong grip, Grace resisted the urge to wipe the wetness on her hand on her dress. "Will you have any children in school, Mrs. Metzger?" she asked, careful to maintain a neutral expression. This was her nearest neighbor, and she must not appear rude.
"My two youngest are still school age. The rest've all growed up and moved on."
"I'll look forward to meeting them. I'm going to open the school Monday morning at nine."
Clive seemed surprised. "You should take a week to get settled in," he suggested.
"I don't mind," she assured him. " After all, education is a privilege."
Iris dipped her head, agreeably. "You are dedicated, Miss. I'll let 'em know."
Clive shifted the luggage again, attempting to relieve his hands. They were beginning to mold themselves to the luggage handles. "Let's get you settled in, shall we?" he asked, trying not to sound like he was pleading.
"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Metzger," Grace said over her shoulder as she turned to follow Clive toward her new home.
Iris watched as they walked away.
When they were out of earshot, Clive leaned closer to her to say quietly, "She'll be watching to see how long I'm here."
Grace looked startled. "She's a gossip?"
He shrugged. "Well, she's a nice enough woman, but she's a woman who knows her business and makes it a point to know everyone else's business, too."
"Oh, dear," Grace sighed. Just her luck to be quartered next door to the town's scandalmonger!
"Don't worry. I'm sure you two will get along just fine. Just don't give her anything to gossip about."
"What does her husband think of her problem?"
"He passed away in a threshing accident several years ago. I think she's just lonely."
"How does she get by without anyone to support her?"
"Major Metzger was an officer in the American Civil War."
"I read about that," she said. "It was horrible. American's fighting Americans. Just awful."
"Yes, it was," he agreed. "Anyway, she receives his small pension, plus she takes in laundry and ironing from some of the local residents. She raises her own vegetables and chickens, and snares rabbits and other small game, so she gets by all right. In the summer, she and her children go up on the hills to pick bushels of fresh berries, which she sells to Marie Dumont, who owns the store. Marie is also our town doctor."
"You have a lady doctor?"
"Yes. We're a bit unusual here. She came over from France with her husband, Jacques. She was actually his nurse, but when he passed away five years ago, the townsfolk kept going to her with their medical needs. That was before my time, but I assure you, she is an excellent doctor."
"I see." There was enough admiration in his voice that Grace realized there was an attraction for the lady doctor, and she suppressed the twinge of jealousy that tugged at her heart. She had just met the man of her dreams, and he was involved with another woman! Not just any woman, but an exotic French doctor!
Clive led the way onto the porch, and finally set down the luggage, casting a painful glance at the pinched and red palms of his hands. He flexed them a couple of times, then withdrew a set of keys from the pocket of his jacket, and inserted it in the lock.
"We've been wanting to hire a teacher for years, and this is the first time anyone has been interested," he explained. "This house had been sitting empty for awhile, so we got it cleaned up for you. In time, we'll build you something nicer on the Canadian side." He presented her with the key. "We're a law abiding community, and most people around here don't bother to lock up their homes, but since you're a woman living alone, it might make you feel more secure. The other key is to the schoolhouse."
She accepted the keys. 'Thank you."
He pushed the door open, and she slipped past him, eager to see her new living space.
Clive flexed his sore hands a few more times, then lifted the luggage again, and carried them inside. "Where would you like these?"
She stood quietly for a moment, looking around the front room of her new home. It was already furnished with a rather worn lounge against the wall on her right, behind a scuffed coffee table. A bookcase, a desk, several chairs and end tables completed the furnishings in that room. Two narrow doors were situated exactly opposite the windows on either side of the front door. One, she presumed, would be the kitchen, the other would be the bedroom. A large potbellied stove dominated the left side of the small room.
"I suppose in the bedroom," she replied, moving to the kitchen door to gaze inside. It was even smaller than the front room, consisting of a cookstove, a long preparation counter against one wall, and a rather primitive looking table in the center of the room. Four chairs were tucked under the table, one on each side. A row of storage cabinets were positioned over the countertop. A narrow door directly opposite her opened outside, and on its right was a window overlooking the grassy meadow. On the other side of the door was the woodbox.
Clive carried the two carpetbags through the other doorway, which opened up into a small bedroom, roughly the same size as the kitchen. It contained the bed, a wardrobe, and another stove to warm the room on cold nights. Pausing to muster the stength he had left, he hoisted the luggage high enough to deposit them on the bed. Then he heaved a sigh of relief as he wiped his sweating palms on the fabric of his trousers.
He returned to the front room. "There is a good supply of wood in the shed out back. Well, I suppose I should leave you to get unpacked," he said, feeling reluctant to leave.
She turned away from the kitchen and smiled, equally reluctant to see him leave. "Yes, I suppose so."
He made his way to the front door, but stopped and turned around to face her. "I'll be having supper tonight at Zack's, if you would care to join me."
She appeared startled by his offer. "You mean at the saloon?"
His smile was embarrassed. "I'm sorry. Zack has a small restaurant in the back room of the saloon. It's a nice place, really."
"Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I would be pleased to accept your offer, Corporal."
"Perhaps you should call me Clive," he suggested.
Her smile was bright, accepting this as a victory. "You may call me Grace."
"All right." He backed up, and bumped into the edge of the open door. Ouch! That would leave a bruise! "I'll see you at six," he said, refusing to outwardly express any indication of the pain he felt in his shoulder blade. "I'll come by here to get you, all right?"
"I'll be ready."
He backed out the door and pulled it closed behind him, feeling as foolish and tongue-tied as a schoolboy with his first crush.
As he strode across the field toward town, rubbing his throbbing shoulder, he saw Iris Metzger still at her laundry. She had moved to the other side of the tub, where she could more easily watch the teacher's house, and he noticed that she was nodding, approvingly. Obviously, he had made his departure in a respectable amount of time.
GO TO CHAPTER THREE