The silence stretched out for several moments, and David wondered if honesty had been the best tactic after all. Then McKenna seemed to make up his mind. He abruptly sat up and leaned forward. “I like you, David. I like the cut of you. I like your honesty.”
“Thank you, sir.”
McKenna frowned. “Sir is right up there with Paddy and Pat, David.”
“Yes, sir,” David said with a straight face.
McKenna laughed again and then got to it. “Here’s what I’m thinking, David. You leave on your first circuit Monday morning, right?” When David nodded, he went on, “I’ll have a map and the list of all the settlements for you then. You’ll be going full circle from here over to Panguitch, then down to Kanab, continuing on to St. George, and back to Cedar. That’s about three hundred miles, or roughly two weeks with rest stops. Since St. George is fifty miles to the south of us, it will take you about twelve days to get there.”
David was calculating in his own mind. “First time around, a circuit always takes a little longer. Let’s say thirteen or fourteen days to St. George to be safe.”
McKenna stood and walked to a wall calendar behind him. He tapped Saturday, August twenty-fourth, with his finger. “Here’s today.” He moved his finger to Monday. “If you leave on the twenty-sixth—” He started counting quietly to himself, then lifted the page to September. “Fourteen days would put you in St. George about Monday the ninth. Right?”
“That’s how I figure it.”
“I have some business in St. George. I’ll be bringing my family with me. My wife has a sister down there, so we’ll be staying with them.”
“Do you want me to meet you there?” David asked, a little puzzled by this turn in the conversation. His first circuit, and his boss didn’t want him to complete it as quickly as possible?
“Eventually, but we won’t get there until the thirteenth or fourteenth. However, there are some things I need you to do before we arrive. We’ll meet up that following Saturday or Sunday.” He was tapping Saturday the fourteenth.
“And what is it you need me to do?”
He returned to his chair. “September nineteenth is Abby’s twenty-first birthday. I want to do something really special for her, as a surprise.”
“Okay,” David said slowly, not sure what her birthday had to do with him.
“Do you know of a place northeast of St. George called Zion Canyon?”
“Yes. On the Virgin River, near Springdale. Beautiful country.”
“One of my employees, a man by the name of Carl Bradford, will be going with us. Good man. I lean on him heavily. In fact, you’ll meet him tomorrow at church.” He winked. “That is, if you’ll be in town.”
David had made that decision before he had ever reached Cedar City. If this was going to become home to him, which he now hoped more than ever, then he had to attend church. In Mormon communities, you weren’t ostracized if you weren’t a member, but you surely stood out from the crowd. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. Anyway, back to what I was saying. Carl is . . . well, he’s more like me. I’ve spent some nights out on the trail, but at heart I’m a city person. So is Carl. He’s arranged for a guide from Springdale to accompany us on this trip, but as I’ve thought about it, we could really use another person, someone who can handle horses and teams, someone who can help set up camp, maybe even cook up some beans and bacon.”
“Ah,” David said, understanding now. “That would be me. As long as you don’t set too high a standard on the quality of the food.”
McKenna chuckled. “Would something like that interest you?”
“How many in the party?”
“Just me, Carl, and my two daughters. And the local guide. So six of us, including you.” He wrinkled his brow. “My wife doesn’t do well on trips like this, and besides, she wants to have time with her sister there in St. George. So she and young Patrick—” He stopped, and a sardonic smile played around his eyes. “Or Billy Joe, as he is sometimes known—will stay in St. George.”
“You’re paying my salary, Mr. McKenna—Patrick. I’m happy to do whatever you ask of me.”
“Actually, this is quite important to me, so there’ll be a bonus in it for you.” He sat back again. “And if this works out like I hope, I might have other things for you to do from time to time. Supplement your mail rider’s salary.”
“Which means I’d better get this one right, eh?”
“Something like that,” McKenna laughed. Then he was immediately serious again. “We’ll plan to leave for the canyon the Monday after we arrive. That will give you almost a full week in St. George to get things ready. Do whatever you think is necessary to prepare for the trip. I’ll arrange a line of credit for you at the bank there. I’ve already wired the livery stable and told them we’ll need horses and a couple of wagons. I’ll—”
“How much luxury can you afford?”
“I beg your pardon?”
For a moment David was afraid he’d gone too far. “It would be helpful to know what level of comfort you want for your daughters. We can take two or three wagons and have things pretty nice, or we can rough it somewhat. Probably can’t take wagons too far into the canyon, though.”
“I see.” He pursed his lips. “They’re city girls too, but I’d say they’re both pretty adventuresome. What do you recommend? And by the way, not a hint of this to either of the girls. I want to surprise them with it.”
No challenge there. He had no plans to talk with either sister anytime in the next decade. “We’ll definitely need one wagon to get all of our stuff to Springdale,” he said. “Then I’d suggest we pack in with horses and mules. We’ll definitely want tents: one for the girls, one for us. This late in the summer we could easily see rain—snow in the higher elevations, if our luck’s bad. So we’ll also need warm clothes and some good Navajo blankets. But I wouldn’t take even straw mattresses. No pillows—you use clothes for that, or a saddle. A simple plate for each person. A fork or a spoon to eat with, but not both. Plain grub. Nothing fancy. That sort of thing.”
“Perfect. I trust your judgment.” A bit of a devilish smile crept around McKenna’s mouth. “I’d like to make it . . . how shall I put it? An experience for my girls. Fair enough?”
David nodded. “That’s exactly what I needed to know.” He paused, then added, “I’ll make a list and have it for you tomorrow.”
McKenna stood and extended his hand. “Thank you, David. You have put my mind at ease. Services tomorrow begin at ten a.m. Did you see the meetinghouse as you came in?”
“I did.”
“Then we’ll see you tomorrow. Why don’t you plan to sit with our family?”
David rubbed at his chin. “Well, I’m not sure.”
That deep resonant chuckle sounded again. “It’s okay. We always make the members check their buggy whips at the door.”
“That’s good. What about their mothers? Any protection there?”
He laughed. “Oh, I think you’re in for a surprise there.”
Chapter 20
Sunday, August 25, 1878
“Brother Draper?”
David turned in surprise. A tall, slender man with a neatly trimmed beard was approaching him, hand outstretched. “Yes?”
“Carl Bradford.”
David took his hand, trying not to look too perplexed. This guy was too young to be a bishop. David had come early and moved into the very back pew so he wouldn’t have to greet a lot of people. But this guy had taken one look at him and come straight over.
The man had sandy hair a shade lighter than his beard, and clear blue eyes. He was smiling, enjoying David’s obvious confusion, and David saw that he had a slight dimple in his right cheek. He was about three inches taller than David and dressed in a dark, pin-striped Sunday suit with a knee-length coat and a black bow tie at his throat.
“Patrick told me you might be here. I’m the assistant manager of the hotel. Carl Bradford.”
Then it clicked. This w
as McKenna’s employee. The city boy. “Oh, yes. You’re going to Zion Canyon with us. Or,” he quickly corrected himself, “I should say, I’m going with you.” He had already offended every person associated with the McKennas so far, and he was determined to keep a tight rein on his tongue today. “Sounds like quite a trip. Tell me about the guide you’ve lined up for us.”
“Patrick said you’ve been to Springdale before, so you probably know the Behunins. They were the first settlers up there.”
“I do. Stayed overnight at their house, in fact.”
“Did you happen to meet Ben Mangleson? Young guy, about your age, I would guess. One of their hired hands out there.”
David ignored the comment about his age, not sure if it was meant to be a deliberate put-down or not. “I did, as a matter of fact. He helped us bring the cows down to St. George. Good man.”
“Ben claims to know the area even better than the Indians. Goes exploring on his days off.”
David was nodding. “You’ve made a good choice. I totally approve.”
That pleased Carl, and it showed. Carl seemed just a bit stuffy—or maybe formal or proper were better descriptions—but he was pleasant enough. More to the point, what little David now knew of Patrick McKenna as an employer told him that Carl Bradford would prove to be highly competent in whatever he set out to do.
“Hi!” The sharp cry of a young boy’s voice turned them both around.
Along with a couple of other families, the McKennas were just entering the church. Billy Joe was holding his father’s hand, but when he spied David, he jerked free, nearly knocked an older woman down, ignored the cry of dismay from his mother, and shot over to where David was standing. “Hullo,” he said happily.
“Good morning, son.” He looked closer and suppressed a laugh. Billy Joe had one heck of a shiner around his left eye.
“Hey, Patrick Joseph,” Carl said, peering down at him. “What happened to your eye?”
“Call me Billy Joe,” he said proudly.
“Billy Joe?” Carl echoed, looking puzzled.
“Don’t ask,” Abby said from behind them. She had moved ahead of her parents and joined them. She gave David a quick, cool glance. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’, Miss McKenna.”
“I prefer Sister McKenna,” she said coolly.
“Mornin’, Sister McKenna,” he repeated in the same polite tone.
“Hello, Brother Draper,” Molly said as she joined them. Her smile was most appealing, a good sign, since her sister had surely been attacking his character, motives, and ancestry.
“I prefer David,” he said, straight-faced and not altering his tone of voice.
Molly laughed merrily at Abby’s glowering look of response. Then she turned to Carl. “Morning, Brother Bradford,” she said sweetly.
“Morning, Molly.” Then Carl turned back to Abby. “And how are you?”
“Good.” She went up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek, giving him a warm smile. Then she slipped her hand through his arm and moved in close beside him.
So, Carl is not just an employee, David thought. Well, well. Being as proper as he was, he probably even got along with her.
Patrick McKenna came up to join them then, holding his wife’s hand and bringing her forward. “Good morning, Carl. Good morning, David. David, I’d like you to meet Sister McKenna. Sarah, this is the young man I told you about. Meet David Draper.”
He bobbed his head as he took her hand. “I am very pleased to meet you, Sister McKenna.”
“And I you,” she said, smiling warmly. It reminded him of Molly’s smile.
He couldn’t resist. “You wouldn’t straight-out lie to me, would you now, Sister McKenna?”
She was startled for a moment, but behind her, Molly hooted. Her husband was smiling. Then she laughed as well. “All right. Yesterday, if I could have laid my hands on you . . .” She didn’t finish, but reached out and pulled Billy Joe to her, her eyes softening with love. “But this morning . . .” She tilted his chin up. “Tell Brother Draper what happened just now.”
Embarrassed, he did what any six-year-old would do. He played dumb. “What?”
“You know. Outside, as we came in. Tell him about Sammy.”
That was all he needed. His eyes started to dance. “’Member how Sammy took those marbles that were on the ground and put ’em in his pocket?” When David nodded, he rushed on. “Well, he found them when he got home, and he gave them back to me this morning. And he said he was sorry, too.”
“My goodness,” David said solemnly. “That is progress. Did his mother make him do it?”
The boy wrinkled his nose quizzically. “Dunno. I don’t think so.” Then he lowered his voice. “I think he was just skeered that I would remember he still had ’em.”
“I think so too,” David whispered. Still smiling, he turned to Mrs. McKenna. “That’s one fine boy you have there. I really am sorry about yesterday. I just . . .”
He saw that Abby was watching him closely, dark eyes flashing as she waited for him to finish that sentence. “It was none of my business,” he finished lamely.
Molly’s mother cocked her head, deciding if he really meant it, and David was struck at that moment with how much Molly looked like her. Abby favored her father, but Molly was her mother. Were it not for the age difference, they could have passed as sisters. She was lovely and gracious, and David found himself instantly liking her.
“Apology accepted,” she finally said, her eyes teasing him now. “Patrick Joseph was very grateful that you interfered. He told me this morning that you are his best friend now.”
He turned to see the boy’s sudden apprehensiveness, lest David should disagree. “Thank you, Billy Joe,” he said. “I consider that a great honor.”
Abby winced. “The family prefers that you call him Patrick, or Patrick Joseph.”
He eyed her steadily for a moment, then looked down at the boy. “What do you prefer?”
“Billy Joe,” he said without hesitation.
David turned to Abby and shrugged. “Sorry. A man’s got a right to choose what people call him, I’d say.”
But she had already turned away and was pulling Carl with her toward the front of the chapel. As Billy Joe and his parents started to follow, Molly fell in beside David just behind them. “You know, David,” she said in a low voice, “you and Abby might actually become friends if you’d stop needling her like that.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Are you talking about the Abigail McKenna I know?”
Monday, August 26, 1878
David had told his new employer that he wanted an early start on Monday morning, so when he arrived at the post office a little before seven, he was not surprised to see lamps burning inside. As he swung down from the saddle, the door flew open and a small figure shot out. “Hi, Brother Draper,” Billy Joe cried, a huge grin splitting his face.
“Mornin’, Patrick Joseph.”
That pulled him up short, and his face fell in disappointment. David took the reins and began wrapping them around the hitching post. “You call me Brother Draper,” he growled with mock severity, “and I’m gonna call you Patrick Joseph, or P. J. Deal?”
“Okay, David.” He jumped down beside him. “What’s your horse’s name?”
“Lady Tilburn, but I call her Tillie.”
He started patting her nose. “Hi, Tillie.” Then in an instant he was back at David’s side. “Is this your gun?” he asked, touching the revolver at David’s hip. “Neat!”
“Yep.”
“It’s a Colt forty-five, isn’t it?”
David was surprised. “It is. Actually, most people call it the Peacemaker. I prefer its other name—the Equalizer.”
Billy Joe peered up at the saddle, squinting against the morning light. “And that’s a Winchester Henry rifle, isn’t it? That yours too?” He reached up and caressed the stock, rushing on without giving David a chance to answer. “That’s called the gun that won the West, rig
ht? Shoots a forty-four caliber bullet.”
Laughing softly, David took the rifle out of its scabbard and handed it to him. “You’re right. This one happens to be the Centennial model. Know what that means?”
Billy Joe looked disgusted by the question. “Put out two years ago to celebrate America’s one hundredth birthday. Can I hold it?”
David made sure the hammer was locked and handed it to him. “How come you know so much about guns?”
“Because he spends an hour or two every day down at the dry goods store.”
David turned to see Molly and her father standing on the veranda. “Fortunately,” her father said, “Brother Williams, who owns the store, finds Patrick quite entertaining. He lets him look at the gun catalogs in exchange for sweeping out the store. This six-year-old knows more about guns than a lot of adults.” It was said with great affection, and he reached out and tousled his son’s hair. “Don’t you, young Patrick?”
Molly was looking at David. She hesitated, then gave him a brilliant smile, those wide grey eyes mesmerizing him. “Good morning, David.”
“Mornin’, Molly.” He managed to pull his gaze away to look at her father. “Mornin’, Patrick.”
“This is so neat,” Billy Joe was saying. He lifted the weapon and sighted down the barrel, barely able to hold it steady.
“Son,” his father said gently, “what have we said about pointing guns?”
He lowered the muzzle immediately. “Sorry, Daddy.”
“David has to be on his way, Patrick. Let him come inside.”
As David replaced the rifle in its scabbard, he reached down and touched Billy Joe’s shoulder. “Maybe when I get back, we can go out and shoot some tin cans together.”
His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “Really?” He spun around to his father. “Could we, Dad? Could we?”