*
It took a good hour to clean herself and then to wash the blood out of her clothes. She’d finally given up on it and decided that she was just going to have to buy new ones. She didn’t want to be riding in the desert and attracting predators the whole time. So after breakfast and attending to Coyote, she walked downtown, wearing her only other set of much more worn clothes.
Buying clothes was another thing she hated. Sighing to herself, she entered a tailor’s and rang the small bell gleaming in the morning light on the counter.
A large woman bustled out of the back room, looking up as if to see a smiling face there and then slowly let her gaze drop downwards. “Oh! Good mornin’ to ya!” She beamed a ruddy cheeked smile at her. “What can I do fer ya today?”
“I need a whole new set of clothes. Trousers, shirt and undergarments.” Alma cringed a tad bit as she said that word. “Men’s undergarments.” She restated to make sure she would not be misunderstood.
“Well, if yer buyin’ fer a family member or… a husband, you will have to have his measurements.”
“No, they’re fer me.” She glared, gnashing her teeth.
“Oh, excuse me, deary. I’m just not use to independent women ’round these parts.” She went about eyeing Alma, assessing her size. “I do think I have what ya need. It will only take a few alterations, of course.” Suddenly her pudgy hand was thrust out. “Forgive me fer not introducin’ myself. I’m Carla Burris.”
“Alma Sweeney.” She shook her hand.
Carla grinned like she was meeting a celebrity. “Pleased to meet ya, deary. Here, let me get ya the shirt and trousers so ya can put it on and then we’ll do a bit of measurin’ to get the fit right.” She wiggled back to the shelves, picking clothes from the boys’ section.
Alma changed into the new clothes, which were still a bit baggy. She stood on a chair with her arms out to the sides as Carla prattled on while she pinned up the length and cinched in the waist. Carla brought out her assistant. Actually, the correct term would be slave. The dark skinned woman kept her eyes down the whole time, handing Carla the other pins when she held her hand out for them.
The door swung open and a man with a greased mustache stepped in with a toothy smile. He was dressed in a fine suit with short tails and took off his hat respectfully to the ladies. A small child with dark eyes and even darker skin trailed along shyly behind him.
“Good mornin’, Mr. Sanborn!” Carla bubbled. She immediately stood up to curtsy to him.
“And a good morning to you as well, Mrs. Burris. Already doing some business at this time of day, I see. Good, good!” Sanborn turned that slimy grin towards Alma. There was recognition in his eyes. “Good morning to you, Miss… I didn’t catch yer name?”
“Alma Sweeney.” She replied, not believing for a second he didn’t know who she was.
“It’s a pleasure to meet yer acquaintance, Miss Alma.” He held out a hand for her to shake.
Alma motioned to the pins in her sleeves and didn’t move to extend her hand.
“Ah, yes.” Sanborn nodded, waving it away as if anyone could ever offer him any discourtesy. “I meant to offer my thanks fer what ya did with that poor man yesterday, Miss Alma. I honestly don’t know why someone else did not just do that themselves. Frankly, we’re all just happy that no one got hurt in that incident.”
“Oh yes, most assuredly!” Carla bobbed her head, bouncing her curls about it. “That poor man.” She tsked sadly.
Sanborn smoothed out the front of his jacket, attempting to look sober. “Fer your services, I’d like to offer you a room at my hotel, the Ivory Pistol, fer as long as ya want to stay in Amarillo. I trust you’re a woman who won’t take advantage of a man’s good nature.” He chuckled.
Alma had seen men like this before and avoided them. One could never trust a man who didn’t have a smudge of mud on him, but wore chicken feathers like an expensive brooch on his lapel. “Thanks fer the offer, Mr. Sanborn, but I won’t be in town fer but ’nother day or two. And I quite like the quiet of the place I’m stayin’. Bein’ right downtown is just too noisy fer me.”
Carla sucked in a breath at her refusal no matter how polite it might have seemed. Alma didn’t miss how her slave cringed along with it. The boy didn’t seem to be paying attention to the conversation, but there was a light behind his eyes, thinking of something far more important than manners.
“Oh, I can understand that. I have myself a little manor house just outside of town to the east that I like to retire to now and then to get some peace.” He nodded one too many times, obviously not pleased.
“I shall leave you to your work, Mrs. Burris. And please, Miss Alma, do feel free to stop by the Ivory Pistol fer a drink or a meal on me. They’ll know to be expectin’ you. Good day, ladies.” Sanborn dipped his head to them and made a little whistle to the child to get him to follow.
“Have a good day, Mr. Sanborn!” Carla called after him. She went right back to her work and gave one more look to the closed door. “Poor child, that one. He’d be lost if it weren’t fer Mr. Sanborn.”
From the way Alma saw it, Sanborn was treating the boy as a dog. “What do ya mean?”
“Oh, a few months ago, he told us there was a terrible accident at his estate and the boy’s mother died. He’s kept the child with him ever since, brings him everywhere. That boy is gonna learn ’bout business and be able to help Mr. Sanborn with his affairs. He’s so kind to teach him.”
Alma glanced over at the other woman with a brief and slight expression of disbelief. “Seems like a big responsibility fer a busy man such as himself.”
“Oh, I know!” Carla nodded her head heartily. She then lowered her voice, briefly glancing to the door again. “Yet I think it’s just ’cause he’s worried. You see, just after the boy’s mother’s death, all the strange stuff started happenin’. Angry spirits, zombies. Her death let ’em through.”
“Zombies, how horrible.” Alma replied in a monotone and rolled her eyes. The whole town was brainwashed with superstition and probably a great earful from the local preacher as well.