Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

W hen Abraham first stepped off the stagecoach in Tonganoxie, he was surprised that it was even considered a town at all. In St. Joseph, there was a Main Street that was bustling with businesses, banks, and more than one of each kind. The stagecoach here stopped at their office which was also shared with the telegram and post offices as well. The bank building also seemed to be where they ran the offices of the mayor and sheriff. There only appeared to be one tavern and the barber seemed to be doing business out of one room of a house nearby. Only a handful of businesses seemed to occupy the street to both sides for only a block or two, with rural fields of crops and cattle pastureland in all directions otherwise. It was little more than a trading post.

He could take it all in with barely a glance around. And it wasn't much of a walk before he reached the livery. Tonganoxie was little more than a one-horse town if it were in Missouri, so how was it that the livery here could be bustling so well? When he stepped into the barn, he'd counted eight horses in the outdoor paddocks, and there were at least four more with their heads out in the barn aisle. He set down his small trunk and called inside, "Hello?"

"Just a minute," called out a sweetly feminine voice, and suddenly, Abraham found himself growing nervous.

The ride here hadn't been so bad, and he'd decided not to send out a telegram before coming so that he didn't have to pay the extra bit for it. But now he wondered if the young lady in question, Miss Cahill, got his letter in time that he'd be arriving on the fifteenth. He swallowed down those nerves when she suddenly appeared, wearing coveralls with a bandana covering her dark hair. She had a smudge on her cheek and was pulling the leather gloves from her hands as she drew nearer. Even though her appearance made her a little less intimidating, the fire in her green eyes brought the nervousness back again, full force. Her appraising glance assessed him quickly, he could tell, and she looked uncertain what do with the information that she'd gathered about him from appearance.

Clearing his throat, he stepped forward. "Hello, I'm Abraham Thomas, I'm looking for Miss Sadie Cahill."

Her eyes grew momentarily wider, then she looked away and started putting her gloves back on. "I'm Sadie Cahill, and we weren't expecting you yet."

"My letter didn't come? I told you that I'd be arriving on the fifteenth."

She shook her head and picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow she'd been filling with soiled straw. "There hasn't been a letter."

"I didn't expect to arrive before my letter did. I'm sorry that you weren't given enough notice." He stepped forward and gestured toward the wheelbarrow. "I could take that for you if you point me in the direction of your manure pile."

Glancing back toward him and lifting a brow, she shook her head. "I can handle a wheelbarrow just fine. If you'd like, you can take your things up to the hayloft. The ladder is to your left. We haven't had time to bring you a sheet or blanket yet, but we can get those momentarily. You may need to beat the mattress on your pallet for any accumulated dust. Like I said, we weren't expecting you yet, so we didn't quite prepare."

"It's all right. I hate that I came as good as unannounced. I'm happy to get my own pallet ready, thank you."

She nodded once, then turned and took the wheelbarrow away. He watched as she left. It was unusual to see a lady in overall dungarees. They fit her loosely, as though they were two or three sizes too big, so they hid whatever kind of figure that she had underneath. When she'd come out of the stall though, Abraham had been struck by how pretty she was. Pretty but intimidating. But still, there was a bit of tiredness around her eyes, and her face was a little pale and gaunt. She seemed to be working herself much too hard. Well, he was there to fix that.

Turning toward the ladder, he heard her voice call out, "Watch the third rung, it's getting a little old."

Stopping, he took a look at the third rung. Old was an understatement. The wood was rotting, and likely was made from an older piece to start with. It was loose in its slot and jiggled when he tested it with his hand. She was right; it would be best if he skipped that rung until it could be repaired. Looking around the barn in a new light, he wondered how many more things he could repair to help the place run better. Maybe this was a better situation than the one he'd been trying to cultivate before. Just being a blacksmith was labor-intensive, and he had to deal directly with customers much too often. But here, he was helping run the livery, and that reminded him more of the work he'd done for the Cavalry. Thanking the Lord in a quick prayer, he started up the ladder, skipping the third rung.

Sadie dumped her wheelbarrow and wiped the sweat from her brow on the long sleeve of her shirt. Then she peered back toward the barn, her heart still racing. That was Mr. Abraham Thomas? He was younger than she was expecting. Only a few years older than her, it seemed, but he was already getting a little bit of gray hair at his temples. Still, his blue-gray eyes seemed to bore into her soul when they met gazes. Her heart had skipped a beat. Fisting her hands, she grew frustrated with herself. What blacksmith… or horseman even had she known who wasn't lecherous? Outside of her father, she'd never met a man who made his living in horses that wasn't dishonest, lecherous, and a drunkard.

Her hopes that this Mr. Thomas would be different were very small. Although she was surprised when her aunt had told her that the man was coming with a recommendation from the pastor in St. Joseph, she still didn't believe that he'd be as honorable as he seemed. Maybe he was just putting on a good show for the pastor on Sundays which made the man believe he was good. She shook her head again, feeling a bit of guilt in her stomach. It wasn't right for her to judge the man on the actions of others. It was best that she gave the man a chance at least. Fine. She'd give him a chance, but still wasn't sure she could trust him with much when it came to her business. Her intention was to watch him like a hawk.

As she came back into the barn with the wheelbarrow, she could hear him shuffling around a little on the floorboards over her head. Unsure whether she liked this situation, she pushed the wheelbarrow toward the next of the stalls she needed to clean. Then, Aunt Penelope came in, waving an opened letter in her hand. With a wide smile on her face, she said, "He's coming today, Sadie."

Her lips thinning, Sadie nodded.

"What's that look for? You should be more excited. It's not as though we don't need the help, and like I said, he may be husband material."

Heat rushing to Sadie's cheeks, her eyes widened as she shook her head, stepped toward her aunt and shushed her.

Aunt Penelope blinked in offense and was taken aback. "What do you mean by shushing me?"

When Sadie grew close enough, she said in a sharp whisper, "He is upstairs."

The color drained from her aunt's face. "Upstairs?" she whispered as her gaze shot toward the wooden ceiling. "Right now?"

Sadie's heart was finally beginning to slow a little as understanding came across her aunt's face. She nodded and her aunt patted her chest as she continued to look upward.

Then the man upstairs cleared his throat and waved from the hole at the end of the ladder. "Hello," he called down. "You must be Ms. Penelope Cahill?"

Penelope nodded and the man offered her a thin smile that was barely visible through his beard. It seemed that smiling wasn't something the man did very often, and the expression looked awkward upon his face. Then he came down the ladder, careful of the third rung just as Penelope opened her mouth to warn him. Her jaw clacked shut in surprise as she lifted a brow toward Sadie.

Sadie shrugged.

Then the man turned around. He was a bit wider in the shoulders than Sadie had realized the first time she saw him. But from behind, and with Penelope there to compare to, she could tell that man had built the musculature of a blacksmith anyway. He offered a hand toward her aunt. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cahill. I'm Abraham Thomas."

"The pleasure is all mine, but please, call me Penelope. Everyone does."

A look of relief came over him as he let out a breath and relaxed his shoulders. "Only if you'll call me Abraham, too. I'm not used to being referred to as anything else. When someone calls for Mr. Thomas, I look around for my father."

A small giggle escaped her aunt as she put the back of her hand to her lips demurely. "You are a charming one, Abraham."

He blinked at her. "That's a compliment I've never heard before but thank you."

His glance shot over toward Sadie, and she was struck by those blue-gray eyes again. Swallowing those feelings down, she scowled. Of course, he was charming. That was a part of what these kinds of men always did. Didn't Joe Curtis also flirt with her aunt? He pretty much flirted with anyone in a skirt, even when Sadie wasn't wearing one. Her hands fisted. "There's still a lot of work to be done today, if you're up for it."

"Sadie!" her aunt cried. "The man only just got here; you could at least let him settle in for a moment."

Sadie opened her mouth to answer, but the man shook his head and said, "No, it's all right. There's no better way of settling in at a barn than getting to work." The he turned toward Sadie. "Where should I get started?"

Those blue-gray eyes bore into her again, and his serious expression let her know that he wasn't just pandering to her either. Still, she wasn't going to go soft on him. "The bay mare in stall three has a sprung shoe. In stall four, the chestnut gelding might have an abscess that needs cleaning out if you'll check that. Then in stall five, there's a three-year-old here to be broke to a cart, but he's going to need shoes before he starts pulling down the roads here. He's never had on shoes before, so I'm not sure how he's going to behave."

"Do you use stocks here or cross-ties?"

"Cross ties for the first two, since I know that they stand well, but I'd suggest putting the three-year-old in stocks until he knows better. The crossties are over there," she said pointing toward the raised area where her father's tools were. Then she pointed toward the end of the aisle. "The stocks are just out the back door and to the left."

"You're going to have him do all of that on the first day?" Aunt Penelope asked, chewing on her bottom lip. "Isn't that a lot?"

"If he doesn't do it, then I have to. It's all on my list for the day."

He shook his head. "It's really fine. I can get all of that done and more. You'll see."

"Are you sure?" Penelope asked.

"Certain," he said with a nod, and then started toward the blacksmith stall, which was twice as wide as the usual stall, raised above the rest of the aisle to keep it from getting waterlogged in the worst weather, and had crushed gravel packed in to make solid, even footing. Her father had designed the area with a door to the back where the coal forge was in a covered porch area. The new blacksmith, who she didn't think she could call just Abraham, looked through the area, assessing it, and nodding approval.

A bit of pride came over Sadie because of her father's inventiveness, but she shoved that down. She didn't need this man's approval over her father's tools and equipment. Huffing, she turned away. "I've got stalls to get started on. Let me know if you have any questions or need anything."

As she picked up her pitchfork and stepped into the stall she was preparing to clean, her shoulders relaxed a bit. The man did seem to know what he was looking at when he surveyed her father's work area, and his presence gave her a measure of relief. At least now her list of things to get done had gotten much smaller and maybe she'd be able to get some sleep that night.

After cleaning two of the stalls, she went and checked on the new farrier. Sadie had heard him working the metal of the shoe on the anvil with his hammer. When she peered over, she found him widening it a bit on the horn and then flattening it again on the face of it. He handled the tools well and seemed confident in his work. With a nod, she continued working the next stall. At about the time she was done, he was filing down the last nail with the horse's foot on the hoof stand. He peered up at her as he picked the horse's leg up by the knee and then set it down gently. Her heart fluttered again. He didn't just drop the horse's foot to the ground like she'd seen so many other farriers do. It was always an annoyance of hers that blacksmiths didn't seem to care about the shock and stress that they were putting on the horse's joints and bones when they just dropped them in such a manner.

Then the man stood to his full height and wiped his brow. "Is it always quiet in here?"

She shrugged. "For the most part. The customers tell me or Penelope their needs and then drop their horses off. Usually, my aunt deals with the customers. I'm not much of a mind to deal with people. Most of them don't know how to ride well, and their horses show it through surliness or sores."

He huffed. "Yet everyone thinks they are an expert."

Blinking at him, she nodded. "They do. And if you try to suggest anything to them, they take offense. People just don't care enough about the horses. If the animal develops a problem, like becoming hard-mouthed, the owner wants a more aggressive bit, or they want to sell the horse and get a new one."

"And then the new one becomes hard mouthed, too," he said quietly with a frown.

"Precisely," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "You seem to understand this business fairly well."

"In the Cavalry, I learned about true horsemanship, but when I started working at a barn in St. Joseph's, I learned how the common man had very little horse sense."

She nodded, feeling her heart swell within her. This man seemed to understand people the same as she did. Maybe the two of them would be able to get along well enough to run this business. As long as he was willing to accept her orders and not try to take over it all, she might be willing to work with him. He'd need to stay humble though, and she hadn't known too many blacksmiths who could do that for long.

Slowly, he let out a breath as he undid the hooks on the cross-ties from the horse's halter. "I should put this one away and get the next. You said I'm looking for an abscess? Which hoof?"

"Left hind," she answered as she watched him lead the bay mare back to her stall. Then he smoothly took off the halter and adjusted it for the chestnut gelding. The man seemed to know his way around the horses and the tools. He was gentle and soft spoken. Perhaps this would work out better than she hoped.