Pride, she thought. She must have some pride. The Montgomerys had always been proud. But Carrie didn’t feel very proud right now. What she did feel was lost and alone and homeless.
When she heard Josh’s horse, in spite of herself, she turned to look up at him, sitting tall and straight on his horse. For just a second, she thought she saw pain on his face. Pain and misery just as deep as she felt. She took a step toward him.
But then Josh’s face changed back to that insolent look of unconcern, and he tugged at his hat brim. “Good day, Miss Montgomery,” he said. “I enjoyed your visit immensely.” He then winked at her.
It was the wink that made Carrie turn away and made her shoulders straighten, and when he rode away, she didn’t look back at him.
“Canceled?” Carrie asked. “The stage is canceled for today?”
“Broke a wheel,” the depot manager said. “A rider just came in and told us. Anyway, the driver’s dead drunk. Not that that would keep him from drivin’, but, even drunk, he can’t drive a coach that’s got only three wheels.”
“No, I don’t imagine he can. How long do you think it will be before the next stage arrives?”
“A week or so,” the man said without concern.
Carrie turned away from the man at the window of the stage depot. A week? Or so?
Sitting down on the dusty bench in the depot, she wondered what she was going to do now. She could check into that dreadful little place Eternity called a hotel.
And do what? she wondered.
She hadn’t said anything to Josh, but she was very, very low on money. She had brought quite a bit with her to Eternity, but with one thing and another, she had spent nearly all of it. Of course, she didn’t regret any of the money she’d spent, for she was glad that the children now had a nice place to live, but she couldn’t spend day after day in a hotel, no matter how cheap it was.
Opening her change purse, she counted coins and bills. Ten dollars and twenty cents. That’s all she had after she’d paid for her stage ticket home.
Money, she thought. That’s what Josh was always talking about, as though money were the most important thing in the world. Over and over she’d told him that there were more important things in life than money, but he’d never believed her.
Leaning back against the bench, she closed her eyes. How was she going to live in this town for a whole week with no money to speak of? How could she buy food and lodging? She needed to
wire her father to send her money. Right away she saw difficulties with that. First of all, there was no telegraph this far west and a letter would take weeks, if not months. Maybe she could go to the bank and borrow money. With what as collateral? Twenty-two trunks full of used clothing and other assorted goods?
She grimaced. Wouldn’t Josh smirk at that? The next time he came into town he’d hear how Miss Carrie Montgomery had had no money so she’d used her father’s name and conjured money out of the air. He’d smirk and say that he’d been right, that she was useless: Take away her father and she was nothing.
“I can make it on my own,” she said aloud.
“You say somethin’, Mrs. Greene?”
Carrie smiled. “Not a word.” She stood up. “Do you know anywhere around here where I can get a job?”
The man seemed to think that was a great joke. “A job? In this town? The most money that’s ever been spent in this town was spent by you last week. There’s nothin’ here for anybody. That’s why people are leavin’ ever’ day.”
Encouraging news, Carrie thought. Smiling at the man, she thanked him, then left the depot. Once she was outside, she looked up at the sun and pulled on her kid gloves. What could she do to make money? How could she earn a living until the stage did bother to run? Looking at the stack of trunks in the wagon and at the driver asleep in the shade under it, she knew that she wasn’t yet ready to go home and admit to her family that she’d been a failure, that she’d made a horse’s ass of herself over some man and he’d rejected her. She didn’t yet want to go home and cry herself into a stupor. She could hear her brothers telling her that she always had been spoiled—by her other brothers, not by the one lecturing her, of course—and she could see the tears on her mother’s face and the sadness on her father’s. Then, of course, she’d have to give an accounting of the money she’d spent to her oldest brother. He wouldn’t chastise her as the others did. No, she’d just be a disappointment to her eldest brother—and that would be by far worse than all the others.
She pulled on her glove harder. No, she wasn’t yet ready to go home with her tail between her legs.
Chapter Twelve
Six Weeks Later
There were six carriages in front of the new ladies’ dress shop rather fancifully called Paris in the Desert, and the combined cost of the carriages surpassed the gross national product of all of Eternity. But no one in town was complaining that the carriages were blocking the street, for the customers at the dress shop often stopped in the mercantile store and made a few purchases or even went to the hardware store to buy something. And of course the horses had to be fed and watered so the stableman wasn’t complaining. And the saloon entertained the husbands of the women who were in the dress shop. Six female residents of Eternity had opened two restaurants that were doing a brisk business at lunch, and the hotel had already started adding on a wing to accommodate the new business. Two other women from Eternity had gone in together and opened a hat shop they called The Left Bank across the street from the dress shop. Boardwalks were being laid down to keep the owners of the carriages’ feet out of the mud.
Inside Paris in the Desert, Mrs. Joshua Greene oversaw all six of her customers without showing the least bit of tension. All of the women were very wealthy and used to getting individual attention when they entered a shop, and at first they had made it known that they didn’t appreciate having to share Carrie with other women.
But Carrie knew how to handle women who were feeling neglected. She fed some of them, sat others down with the best gossip Eternity had to offer, and to others she handed books. Carrie was adept at guessing who needed what.
“Horrid color on you,” Carrie said to the customer modeling an expensive silk gown in front of her. “And that neckline makes you look ten years older. No, no, that dress won’t do for you at all.”
“But I like it,” the woman wailed, then straightened and put her shoulders back. “I like this dress and my husband likes it and I shall buy it.”