Blue Bonnet Page 4

  “How do, Mrs. Wagaman. Any mail for me?” Bat asked.

  “Let me see, Mr. Kayhill,” the black haired woman, in her mid thirties, said in her gentle voice. “Why yes. It's your lucky day. Your cubicle is full.” She gave him a sweet smile as she handed him the mail.

  “Much obliged, Ma'am,” Bat said. “Say, ya have any mail for my sister, Billie. I'm on my way over to her house. I could take her mail to her.”

  Right then, the Wagaman children ran inside, letting the store door slam behind them. They ran over to the post office window. Jumping up and down to see their mother behind the bars, they asked for money to buy candy. “Just a minute, you two. You can see I'm busy. Be polite and tell Mr. Kayhill hello, both of you.” She turned to look in Billie's cubicle and pulled out a letter. “Here you go, Mr. Kayhill. Tell Billie hi for me.” Bat barely got will do out of his mouth, before she turned her attention from him and concentrated on her young children's needs.

  It was as plain as the nose on his face that as young as those two were they would need their mama's attention for a long time. He reckoned that's why she didn't seem interested in any of the men in town. She didn't have time for anyone but those younguns right now until she got them raised.

  Bat took his pocket watch out of his jeans pocket and checked the time. He had better hurry before it got any later. He needed to saddle his horse and get over to Billie's.

  Bat led Blaze out of the livery stable. The loud creak of buggy wheels made him aware he better check both ways before he crossed the street. He waved at Clyde Longly, the town undertaker, coming at a good clip in his buggy. Bat waited for Longly to go past before he led Blaze toward Billie's house.

  After he tied his horse to Billie's buggy, Bat released the latch to Billie's picket fence gate. When he pushed on the gate, the rusted hinges gave a loud groan. That noise jogged his memory that he was going to grease those hinges some time for his sister. One thing for sure, no visitor would slip up on Billie when the gate made that kind of noise.

  Bat opened the screen door and handed Billie her mail. “Ready to go.”

  “Sure I am,” Billie said, handing him the food basket. She glanced at the letter and tossed it on the lamp table by the door.

  When Bat went around his horse, he stuffed his mail in a saddle bag to read later. He had the buggy headed toward the ranch when Billie asked, “How's the wife hunting going?”

  “I sort of took a good luck at Mrs. Wagaman at the post office this morning.”

  “And?” Billie urged.

  “She isn't so bad as young women go, but she's a mother through and through,” Bat said, making the comment sound like a complaint.

  “Being a good mother is bad how?” Billie asked, looking down her nose at him.

  “That woman won't have time for a husband until those younguns are growed. She spends most of her time worryin' about them, and the rest takin' care of her job at the post office. She ain't got a lick of time left for a husband.”

  “I see. So in your search for a wife, you want to make sure not to pick one young enough to have more children, I guess,” Billie surmised.

  “Yip, ya hit the nail on the head. That's what I'm sayin',” Bat said adamantly. “I'm too old now to be a daddy for any younguns, mine or any woman's. I like the peace and quiet that comes from not havin' younguns under foot.”

  “Well, it has just been two days since you started looking for a wife. Give it time. Someone will come along that will make your heart beat fast and knock your socks off when you look at her,” Billie said, trying not to smile.

  Bat spared a curious look at his sister. “Is that how I will know when I find the right woman?”

  “Oh well, the symptoms are not always the same for each person. You will just have to figure out yours when the time comes,” Billie said.

  “Fine sister ya are. You're sure not much help,” Bat growled.

  Billie looked down her nose sternly at him. “There's nothing I know of that says a sister has to be so helpful to her brother that she will pick a wife for him. I'm cleaning your house, and that's my limit.”

  Bat chuckled. That broke Billie up, too.

  “Bat, I think I'll haul Hannah's clothes over to Ellen Withman this afternoon so I'll be gone for a spell.”

  “Want me to go along with ya?”

  “That won't be necessary if you're busy. I just wanted you to know where I disappeared to is all,” Billie said. “Unless you just want to ride along to be going.”

  “Yip, I think I do,” Bat said.

  It was several miles across his ranch to the Withman place. As bad as he hated helping Billie cart off Hannah's belongings, he didn't want Billie that far from the ranch house alone.

  That afternoon, Bat helped Billie load boxes into the back of the buggy. About two hours later, he drove up by the Withman house and parked. The porch roof leaned on one end, because the porch post had rotted away. The rusted tin roof wasn't leak proof anymore if it ever had been. “Sure ain't much of a house for all them younguns to call home,” Bat stated.

  Ellen came out on the porch, wiping her hands on her dirty apron. Six children from a year on up filed out behind her and eyed the strangers. “Howdy, Miss Billie, Mr. Bat. What kin I do fer ya?”

  Billie and Bat climbed out of the buggy. Billie walked over to the edge of the porch. “My brother is cleaning his house out. He's looking for a place to go with the clothes that belonged to his late wife, and I thought of you. Could you use them, Ellen? We sure hate to see nice clothes go to waste.”

  Tears came to Ellen's eyes. “My lands, I never expected such a gift. I'd be right honored to cept Miss Hannah's clothes. Much obliged, Mr. Bat.”

  Bat and Billie picked up a box and brought them to the porch. Ellen said, “Seth, you and Oscar go fetch the other boxes. Don't make our company do all the work.”

  Two tow headed boys, around twelve and thirteen, sprinted off the porch and retrieved the boxes.

  Bat turned to see what the ruckus was beside the house. Two spotted mongrels, growling at each other, pulled a red and white cowhide into sight. The dogs quarreled at each other to protect their share of the hide.

  While the younguns carried the boxes in the house for Ellen, Seth raced off the porch and picked up a large stick. He got close enough to strike the closest dog on the back and swiped at the other as they raced back out of sight. He took off after them, switching his stick in the air like a whip.

  Out of curiosity, Bat toed the cow hide until he had the rump rolled up. The brand was Bar BK. He walked back to the buggy to stand by Billie and waited for Ellen to come out to say good bye.

  Once they were on their way back to the ranch, Billie asked, “You didn't look too happy about that cowhide. What was the brand?”

  “Mine,” Bat snapped.

  “Figured as much from the look on your face,” Billie said, studying her hands in her lap. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I cain't take food out of the mouth of all them younguns,” he growled. “Besides, I won't miss one beef now and then.”

  “That's why I love you, brother,” Billie said, patting his arm.

  “Ya wouldn't feel that way about me if ya knew what I was thinkin' when I saw my beef hide shucked out and layin' on the ground back there,” Bat said, trying not to grin.

  On Sunday morning as with most other Sunday mornings, Bat walked over to Billie's house so they could walk to church together.

  The Sunday routine usually gave them a chance to talk, but there wasn't much new to discuss that morning since they had seen each other every day that week.

  “Good day, isn't it?” Bat mentioned.

  “Fine day to give thanks to the Lord,” Billie agreed.

  As they walked by Mrs. Petermier's house two doors away from Billie's, her large black dog rose from his resting place in the shadows. He growled at them.

  “Mercy, I am always glad that woman has her yard fenced in when that dog acts up,” Billie said, patting
her chest.

  “He sure sounds as if he means business,” Bat agreed.

  Bat and Billie always sat in a pew middle ways of the church and right behind Sarah Tilly. Bat's two daughters sat on the other side of Billie.

  Billie caught Bat's eyes and wavered a finger at Sarah Tilly's back.

  Bat mostly got his best look at that young woman from behind at church on Sundays. Her golden hair was always in a tight knot on the back of her neck, resting on the lacy collar of her prim and proper checkered dress.

  Miss Tilly was the schoolmarm in Dead Horse. She had been for the last two years and was well liked by the students and their parents. If he was marking younger women off his imaginary list, Sarah Tilly would be marked off in a hurry. As well as she liked her teaching job, it wasn't likely she'd move to the ranch with an old man, such as him, to become a rancher's wife.

  At his age, he knew he shouldn’t be so particular, but most of the available women in Dead Horse didn’t strike him as wife material. Not to his liking for settling down with at any rate. They might do quite well for some other man. When he compared the prospective females in town to his late wife, he just couldn’t see being happy with any of the choices.

  After church, Bat walked Billie home like always. He sat at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of warmed over coffee while she fixed dinner.

  “With a little suggesting from me, you checked out Sarah Tilly this morning in church. Any notions about her?” Billie asked as she stirred fried potatoes in a sizzling cast iron skillet.

  “None at all. I'm not goin' to try to strike up a conversation with her. As pretty as she is, Miss Tilly is way too young for me and bound to have half the young men in the county after her already. I ain't no match for that kind of competition.”

  “Oh, that's right. You weren't going to choose a woman young enough to bare children,” Billie said as she grinned to herself.

  Bat shifted uncomfortably in the chair as he joked, “Especially with one as young as the schoolmarm. She has a lot more energy right now than I've got left in me. I'd rather not have a heart attack right after I took me a bride home.”

  Billie twisted at the stove and frowned down her nose at him.

  Bat figured she didn't like what he was referring to. He best change the subject before she gave him a lecture on what he should and shouldn't talk about with his sister. “How much do I owe ya for cleanin' the ranch house up, Billie?”

  Billie set plates and silverware on the table. “You don't owe me a thing, and you know it. I was glad to do it if having a clean house helps your matrimonial cause any. I must admit I didn't expect you to be quite so particular about wife criteria.”

  “I wouldn't say I'm that particular. Not exactly anyway. This week I've paid attention to the unmarried women in town just like ya told me to do. So far I ain't seen one yet that strikes my fancy. This wife huntin' may take awhile.” Bat frowned. “As hard a job as this one is, I figure the house is libel to be in the same dusty, rodent infested fix again before I make up my mind about a bride,” he said seriously.

  “Well, I hope not! Before you do show a woman where she might be living, may I suggest you get that painting of Hannah off the parlor wall like I told you to do,” Billie said.

  “Uh oh, I forgot about that. I'll take it down in the morning,” Bat agreed. “Where should I hang it?”

  “No where in your house. The only possibility is hide the painting in the attic if you can't bear to take it out of the house. I do have a better suggestion. Why not hang the painting at your daughters house? I think they would like a remembrance of their mother, and you can enjoy the painting when you visit them.

  Take it from me, no woman likes competition alive or dead, and that's what Hannah is.

  All a woman has to do is catch you gazing lovingly at that painting just once. That woman, you're trying to spark, will walk out of your life as fast as she can get back to town,” Billie predicted.

  “All right, if you say so,” Bat said reluctantly. He decided he best keep his mouth shut about already comparing women to Hannah. That was exactly what Billie had already told him not to do. “I'll take Hannah down tomorrow while I'm at the ranch and bring her back to Dead Horse with me.”

  Billie shook her head at how her brother talked about the painting as if his dead wife was still alive. “Another thought if you don't mind?”

  “No, guess not. As if I could stop ya now that you're on a roll with all this advice. I think about getting married, say so out loud to ya, and ya take to the idea like a dog with a tasty bone that he ain't ever goin' to stop gnawin' on. So go on and say yer piece,” Bat said.

  “How about giving your girls the silver comb, brush and mirror set and that tray of perfume bottles on the bedroom dresser? Tessie and Ethel will treasure things like that from their mother,” Billie suggested.

  “I'll do that. Sure is going to make the house look naked with all Hannah's things gone and her picture not there,” Bat said sadly, fingering the rim of his coffee cup.

  Billie shook her head yes as she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Brother, that is what I've been trying to tell you is supposed to happen. That is the whole idea. An empty house with no memories for you and a new wife to start fresh in. Believe me, the new wife will want to make the house her home with her own memories in it.”

  Chapter Six

  One morning in the next week, Bat stayed in town. He had a meeting with the lawyer, tending to ranch business. When he walked by the Seamstress and Millinery Shop the owner, Leta Mays, was rearranging the hat displays in the window. He nodded and touched his hat brim when she smiled at him.

  An idea lit up his brain like when he struck a match to the wick in a kerosene lamp and lit up a room.

  He should have Miss Mays make a bonnet for him. That way he'd be prepared to impress the right woman with a gift when and if he ever met her.

  If he didn't find a woman to impress, he could always give the bonnet to Billie for being such a good sister to him. After all, she'd worked real hard at cleaning his house, and she was a good listener. A tad too free wheeling with her advice, but he'd be lost without her.

  Bat took the time to study Leta Mays while she changed two bonnets on the female heads in the shop window. Somewhere in her forties and holding her own with a trim figure and light yellow hair, Leta wasn't a plain looking woman. She wasn't a raving beauty, either. He knew her as a successful, hard working business woman. A woman that could take care of herself in the undeveloped west was a rare person. The only other woman like her he knew was his sister, Billie.

  Bat sauntered through the shop door and stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. “Mornin’, Miss Mays. I'm Bat Kayhill.”

  The woman pushed a strand of pale blond hair back into the bun on the back of her head. When she turned from the window, her warm smile wrinkled the corners of her bright blue eyes as she replied, “Morning, Mr. Kayhill. I know who you are. One of my good customers is your sister, Billie Sommers. It's nice to meet you. What can I do for you?”

  Bat looked around the female clothing store, feeling instantly uncomfortable with his surroundings.

  An older seamstress, Etta Borders, sat in a corner, working on the hem of a dress some woman had ordered.

  Her eyesight must be fading. She squinted as she held the needle up to the sunlight, streaming though the window, so she could see the eye to thread it.

  Mrs. Borders was an old gossip and a widow. He knew for sure if he had a possible wife list she wouldn't be on it.

  In fact, he'd better be cautious about what he said around that old woman. Otherwise, Billie would be able to tell him about his business in the seamstress shop word for word next Sunday at dinner.

  Bat blurted out, “I need ya to make a bonnet for me, Ma’am.”

  Leta Mays perked up. She picked up a pencil and scrap of paper to take notes. “What kind of bonnet?”

  Bat shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know exactly how to answer that question. Is ther
e more than one kind?”

  Miss Mays chuckled. “Of course, there is. Do you want an ever day bonnet for someone to wear at home, a nicer looking one for church or a fancier one for parties?”

  Uneasy, Bat shifted his feet as he rubbed his chin. “I didn't realize I'd have to make a choice. I figured on just a nice modern bonnet like all the women are wearing. I’ll leave that part up to ya. Ya know more about such things than me as far as how a modern bonnet should look.”

  Leta made a note and asked, “How old is the woman the bonnet is for?” When Bat looked confused, she went on to explain. “Is the bonnet for someone that's younger, for instant, like one of your daughters? Their young age figures in to the bonnet style they would prefer.”

  Bat stared out the plate glass window at the street as he gave that question thought. He didn't know which woman in town he’d give the bonnet. How would he be able to give Miss Mays an age now? One thing he knew for sure was that the woman wouldn't be as young as his daughters.

  He glanced back at Miss Mays. He found an expectant look on the seamstress’s face as she waited. He had to give her an answer. “She’s a lady about yer age.”

  “What color do you want the bonnet?”

  “Cain’t say. Why don’t ya pick a popular color,” he suggested, thinking the color surely wouldn’t make much of a difference. That wasn't as important as him picking the right woman to marry.

  Leta grimaced and said slowly as if she was explaining to a child, “I can't pick a color for you or the woman the bonnet is for. The color usually depends on what color the dress is the bonnet is going to be worn with. You need to check with the woman and figure out which dress she wants to wear the bonnet with before you choose a color.”

  “Cain't do that,” Bat said hurriedly. Leta eyed him hard. He finished with, “Cause the bonnet is a surprise gift.”

  “All right, you're welcome to look at the different colors of material I have in.” Leta walked over to a table stacked high with material. “I just got in a new shipment. Maybe one of the bolts will jog your memory about the color of a dress you have seen on your friend.” She stood one bolt on end. “This bright blue material would make a striking bonnet. Of course, I’m partial to blue.” Leta chuckled, running her hand over the material. Then she turned business like. “The color is your choice. I can't pick a bonnet choice from all these bolts for you. That's a personal preference between you and the woman.”