Ella, p.9
Ella, page 9
While the children ran from room to room, up and down the stairs, Ella took a more detailed look at her new, albeit temporary, home. The parlor was warm and inviting, a fireplace taking up one entire wall. The kitchen was large, with far more cupboards than she’d had in her home back in Missouri. There was a pantry that led out a rear door with a path to a smokehouse. A formal dining room and the master bedroom filled the rest of the first floor.
Upstairs there was an indoor privy and four more bedrooms, each with a wide bed covered in beautiful, handmade quilts. Callie had already claimed the corner bedroom that faced the maple trees behind the house, their leaves on the cusp of changing color to a bright red and faded orange.
Thomas chose the bedroom on the opposite side of the house that boasted built-in shelves for his books, and a wide desk.
“Jacob, once you’ve decided between the last two rooms, I’ll use the other for my sewing supplies,” Ella explained.
“We’re due to supper in a little more than an hour. Is there anything you want brought in from the wagon before we leave?” Tucker asked.
“If either you or Thomas could bring in the bin with our clothes so that we have something to sleep in, I believe everything else will be fine until tomorrow. I will need to hire a couple of men to lift the sewing machine down and carry it in the house.”
“Perhaps I can coax Burt Macklin into helping before he leaves tomorrow. If not, I’ll scout out some sturdy fellows to help unload. For now, though, let's enjoy our evening meal so you and the children can get settled in for the night.”
Before he could turn and walk away, Ella laid her hand against his forearm, drawing his attention. “Thank you, Tucker. For everything, especially your friendship. You made our trip across the country most bearable and stepped up when our... my... dreams were dashed.”
He placed his hand over hers and ran his thumb across the back of her fingers, sending gooseflesh skittering across her skin.
“It has been my pleasure, Ella. And, admittedly, with the hope that our friendship can possibly develop into something more, given the appropriate amount of time.”
She swallowed back a sudden dryness in her throat. “Time is what I need, Tucker. My past experience with the men in my life, save for my brother, has not been the best. My father may have been a two-timing scoundrel, but even his misdeeds can’t hold a candle to my late husband’s many mistakes.”
“I’m a patient man, Ella. I’ve got a town to run. You’ve got a business to set up. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
Tucker was on his way to hitch up the buggy when Ella stopped him.
“Why don’t we walk? It can’t be much more than a half mile. After four and a half months sitting on that hardwood bench, I’m more than happy to stretch my legs.”
“It is a fine evening,” he noted.
“That it is, Tucker,” she agreed. “A very fine evening, indeed.”
Once they’d reached town, Tucker escorted Ella and the children into the town’s only café—Betty Jo’s—and straight toward the large table in the back. Burt Macklin was already there, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. The few townspeople in attendance stopped what they were doing to watch the family’s progress across the room.
Emotion filled Tuck’s heart. He and Ella might not have reached the formal courting stage as yet, but he felt a responsibility, a pride in being instrumental in their future. And, in his own future happiness, as well. A happiness he felt certain would include Ella Winslow and her children.
“So,” Macklin began once they’d taken their seats, “this is the fearless lady who dared cross the Oregon Trail with her children.” Tipping an imaginary hat, he added, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Missus Winslow. Welcome to the town of Tacoma.”
“It’s very nice to meet you too, Marshal Macklin,” Ella responded.
“And you, Jacob,” Macklin teased, reaching out to pat the boy’s shoulder, “my future replacement. How did you like the house?”
“It’s great,” Jacob told him. “I really like the porch swing, and my room is big enough to hold all my things, once Uncle Connor sends them.”
“There are trees outside my bedroom window,” Callie chimed in. “Really pretty ones with red leaves.”
“The fellows who built the house wanted to cut down the trees,” Macklin explained. “I’m glad they didn’t, seeing as how you like them so much.”
Supper consisted of roast pork, mashed potatoes, carrots, and fried apples. Although there was no pie for dessert, there was a very pleasing bread pudding topped with a warm sauce that Jacob insisted was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
Leaning back in his chair, Tuck released a long, contented sigh. “That was one mighty fine meal.”
Betty Jo McGinty, the proprietor, beamed from ear to ear. “Just what I like to hear. Nothing beats a happy, and full, customer.”
“Something tells me, Missus McGinty,” Ella added in, “you have more than a few satisfied customers.”
“Burt here tells me you’re looking for a room,” Betty Jo said, her attention aimed at Tuck. “I got one on the second floor. It’s not much, but we can spruce it up a bit if you’re interested.”
“Whatever you’ve got will be fine,” Tuck assured her. “I’m not much on fancy. As long as there’s a bed, and a meal or two, I’ll be pleased.”
“Well then, I guess we’ve got ourselves a deal,” Betty Jo agreed. “The room comes with an early morning meal. I leave to open the café at ten. You’re welcome to take your meals here, at half the usual price.” The woman’s gaze shifted from him to Ella and back again. “Assuming, of course, you’re not taking your meals elsewhere.”
He was about to respond to the woman’s somewhat veiled comment, when Ella spoke up first.
“Marshal McAlister will be dining with us a few evenings a week, as payment for the use of his home.” Meeting the woman’s gaze head-on, she added, “It’s the least we can do until I can find another place for myself and the children.”
Journal of Thomas Winslow
Saturday, October 8, 1870
We’ve been in Tacoma for a full week now and it’s been real nice. Callie, Jacob, and I started school right away. The schoolhouse has two rooms and two teachers. Callie and Jacob’s teacher is Missus Hardy. She seems nice enough, although Jacob thinks recess should be longer. They’ve both made friends with others their own age.
Mister Hardy is my teacher. He’s Missus Hardy’s husband and he’s also a writer, like me. He’s published a book about wildlife that we’re reading in class now. It’s pretty good. I made one new friend, Billy Parker, but most of the other students in our grade are girls. Me and Billy don’t want to be friends with girls because they don’t fish or hunt or do any fun things. Although Polly Mitchell is good at telling stories. Maybe she’ll be a writer someday too.
Mama found a storefront two doors down from the mercantile and is planning on setting up her seamstress business there. She gave it a good scrubbing the other day, and the marshal is helping her paint the walls. Mister Mitchell, the owner of the mercantile, has set up an account for us so we can get the stuff we need. Mama sent me to town for some flour and sugar the other day. The errand would have been okay except going into the store means seeing Polly ‘cause she works there for her pa after school.
Mama’s making roast chicken for supper tomorrow night. It’s the marshal’s favorite, or so he says. As doubtful as I was at first, I’m really starting to agree with Callie. Mama and Marshall McAlister do seem to really like each other. I guess that’s okay though if it makes her happy.
Ella settled in behind her sewing machine and filled the double bobbin with thread. A carefully cut piece of white eyelet material lay stretched out across the machine in front of her. The delicate design would add a nice touch of trim to the curtains she’d made the evening before.
With the walls of her new store freshly painted, it was time to add curtains, and stencil her name and services on the clear glass window. She’d spent the majority of her evenings since they arrived designing and sewing a handful of practical shirtwaist dresses to put on display, along with the fancier items she’d brought with her from Missouri.
Her hope was that she could open for business on the following Monday morning.
These past two weeks had been a whirlwind of activity. Not only had she procured the storefront, but she’d also sold the two largest of the Percherons to a local farmer who was anxious to replace his older oxen. There’d been at least three offers for the wagon, all of which she’d turned down.
The barn on the back of the property was large enough to hold the wagon, and the stalls would easily accommodate the last two horses.
“Mama, I’ve finished my storybook,” Callie called from the doorway. “Can I read one more before bed?”
“Yes, as long as you choose one you can read to your brother.”
Callie’s deep sign drew Ella’s smile.
“He only likes books about horses and snakes,” her daughter complained.
“Given all the storybooks you two borrowed from the schoolhouse library, I’m pretty sure you can find a compromise.”
Once Callie wandered off in search of a book to share, Ella returned to her work. As soon as she was done here, she had paperwork to complete for the bank, and a letter to finish to her brother.
Everyone she’d met so far had been warm and welcoming. And much to her chagrin, it hadn’t gone unnoticed that Tucker was quickly drawing the eye of every available female in the county. If the rumors floating around town were true, his office had been inundated with homemade baked goods, each young woman vying to outdo her predecessor.
To his credit, Tucker seemed to be taking it all in stride, often bringing the sweets to her children rather than keep them for himself. ‘They’re flirting,’ she told him when he’d brought along a freshly baked loaf of pumpkin bread the evening before.
He’d shot her another of his devastating smiles that curled her toes, and told her, ‘there’s only one woman’s baked goods I want to enjoy.’ The bold statement had sent a warm flush to her cheeks, and drawn his laughter.
Just the memory of the brief exchange sent another rush of warmth to her very being.
Ella awoke on Sunday morning to Jacob’s excited squeals of delight. She’d barely had time to sit up, when he came rushing down the stairs and straight into her room.
“It’s snowing, mama,” he announced. Pushing aside the curtain on her bedroom window, he added, “Look, the snowflakes are really big.”
“Well then, I suppose we should get an early start on our day. Getting to church this morning may take a little longer than usual.”
By the time she had breakfast made, all three children were dressed and eager to eat and get outside to play.
“You three have half an hour before we need to hitch the buggy for the ride into town,” Ella told them as they were donning their heavy coats and boots. “And, don’t go getting dirty or wet in the snow.”
Ella was about to call out to Thomas to bring the horse and buggy around when a knock sounded at the front of the house. When she reached the door, she was surprised to find Carl Withers, the local butcher, on her doorstep. Even more surprising was the rifle he held loosely at his side.
Ella’s heart jumped clear to her throat. What was going on? If carrying a gun was necessary, shouldn’t it be Tucker on her doorstep?
As if he could read the myriad of thoughts going through her mind, the man quickly explained, “I’ve come to tell you to get everyone inside and lock up your home. Word came early this morning from the state marshal’s office in Olympia. Three bank robbers, one of which murdered a teller, escaped during transport between Stellarton and Olympia. Marshal McAlister deputized Jeremy Bailey and Cameron Styles and they went off to help with the search. The robbers were last believed to be heading north, which puts them on a clear path toward Tacoma.”
“Thank you for letting me know, Mister Withers,” Ella responded, her voice trembling with fear. Not only for her family’s safety, but for Tucker and his men. “I’ll get my children inside immediately and secure the doors.”
“Do you have a gun?” Withers asked.
Ella blew out a long breath and nodded. “I have a rifle I brought with me from Missouri.”
“And you know how to handle it?”
“Yes, I do. Unfortunately.”
The moment the man departed through the outer gate, Ella secured the front door and ran to the back of the house to call for her children, “Thomas, Callie, Jacob, come inside immediately.”
“But mama,” Jacob pouted. “It’s not time yet for church.”
“There’s no church today, but I need you inside this very instant.”
Reluctantly, the three of them came in through the kitchen door. When Ella locked the door and drew the curtains, Callie asked, “What is it, mama? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. However, I want you all to stay upstairs in your rooms.” Directing her next words specifically to Thomas, she suggested, “Perhaps you could make up a page of math problems for your sister, and play a matching game with your brother.”
Once the two younger children had shucked out of their coats and boots, they made a beeline for the staircase. Thomas lingered.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
Ella nodded. “I’ll be taking out grandpa’s rifle and a box of shells, so I don’t want to see even one of you coming down those stairs. Do you understand?”
“I can help if you let me.”
“Yes, you can, by looking after your brother and sister so I don’t have to worry about them. Or you. I’ll make us some lunch in a bit and bring it upstairs. Until then, though, you’re to stay put and do as I say.”
“If something’s happened causing you to take out your rifle, it must be bad. Why isn’t the marshal here to help?”
Ella reached out and attempted to stroke the worry from her son’s brow. “The marshal’s got his hands full, as it is. Don’t you worry though, I’ll see to it that we’re all safe.”
Thomas gave a half-hearted chuckle. “You always were a better shot than Uncle Connor.”
“A fact he steadfastly refuses to accept.”
“I miss him, but I’m glad we came west. I didn’t much like the people of Maryvale anymore.”
“Well, we no longer have to worry about them, do we?” Giving her eldest a light push, she told him, “Now get upstairs before Callie or Jacob wander back down.”
She stood there until Thomas had reached the second floor landing before she went into her bedroom and withdrew the rifle and ammunition from the top shelf of the closet. Making her way to the parlor,
Ella shifted the rocker around until she had a clear view of both the front door and short hallway leading to the kitchen. Opening the rifle, she loaded two shells into the dual chambers.
Ella closed her eyes and whispered a quick prayer for strength and guidance. Hopefully, there’d be no cause to shoot anyone. Then, settling back in the chair, she laid the deadly weapon across her lap and waited.
Tucker lowered himself to the ground, and looped Jester’s reins over a nearby bush before taking up a spot behind the largest boulder. Off in the distance, he could see Bailey and Styles circling behind the three men who’d set up camp just short of the Tacoma town line. Once his hastily deputized men were in place, he’d take the lead and make his way toward the campsite.
He couldn’t be sure until he was closer that these were the men they were looking for, rather than a group of hunters waiting for a chance to bag themselves a deer.
Tuck realized he should be wishing it were hunters, rather than hardened criminals, but he didn’t. He wanted this search to be over and done with. He wanted the security of his newly adopted town guaranteed. More importantly, he needed to get back to Ella and the children and assure himself they were safe.
Tuck closed the distance between himself and the three strangers. Once he was within a hundred feet of where they sat, he could see these were the three men the marshals were chasing. He drew a breath and called out, “Bill Turner, Aaron and Stump Copley. This is U.S. Marshal Tucker McAlister. Put your hands in the air and stand up. You’re surrounded.”
The three escapees jumped to their feet, reaching for their weapons as they moved.
A volley of shots rang out, clipping the guns from the hands of the two Copley brothers, while Turner managed to reach his horse. Tuck and his deputies rushed to the campsite, but arrived too late to catch Turner before he escaped. Again.
Bailey gave a sound shake of his head. “Dang, marshal, I never even got a shot off before these rascals were on the ground rolling around in pain.”
“Secure these two, while I go after Turner,” Tuck ordered. “Take the Copley brothers back to town and put them in the cells. Have the doctor check on their wounds, then send a telegram to Macklin to update him.”
“Are you going after the other guy alone?” Styles asked. “You sure you don’t want one of us to go with you?”
“Nope, I need you fellas to make sure these two are locked away, as well as keep an eye on the town. I’ll be fine on my own. I should have gone for Turner first,” Tuck admonished himself. “I should have known he was the eel of the bunch.”
“The eel?” Styles repeated.
“Yea, slippery,” Tuck responded.
The fellow he recognized as Stump Copley spit out a stream of tobacco and uttered a string of swear words, calling out as Tuck moved toward his horse. “You’re signing your death warrant going out there alone, marshal. Turner’s got no regard for the law. He’ll shoot you right where you’re rooted.”
Tuck spun around, meeting the man’s dark gaze. “Not if I shoot him first.”
Journal of Thomas Winslow
Sunday, October 16, 1870
