favor, but would you be able to extend me credit? Only for a week or so, I promise you,” she hastened to add, as she saw dismay flash across the old seamstress’s face. “I…I could leave Grandpa’s watch with you as a guarantee. The truth is, while I’m not yet at liberty to discuss the details, I’m about to inherit some money.”
Miss Susan eyed Delia skeptically, and Delia felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her face. Perhaps she had better resign herself to wearing the ugly, old, borrowed bombazine, after all.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to give me some hint of what you mean, Miss Keller. I’m only a poor woman trying to make a living with my needle, and as I’ve said, that’s been rather difficult in the last few years. I’d have starved to death long ago if I hadn’t been wary of giving credit.”
“I-I’m attending the social with Charles Ladley,” Delia said, hoping to distract Miss Susan away from the source of the expected windfall.
Miss Susan’s eyes brightened, and she said, “Well, that’s real fine, Miss Delia. You two would make a right handsome couple, a handsome couple indeed.”
Delia smothered her inward sigh of relief when the seamstress continued. “But I hope you aren’t suggesting I extend you credit on the basis of one outing with the mayor’s son, are you? I’ve lived in Llano Crossing since Charley Ladley was teething, and I’ve seen him squire any number of belles around. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to do better than that to convince me you can eventually pay for this dress.” Miss Susan held it up, brandishing it as if it were a weapon.
Delia sighed. “All right, but you must promise not to say a word if I tell you….” She broke off, her eyes searching the older woman’s face, and seeing sympathy warring with practicality in those dark eyes behind her thick-lensed spectacles. Delia knew the moment when sympathy won—along with an honest dose of curiosity.
Miss Susan drew herself up to her full height. “I think you may safely trust in my discretion, especially toward our late preacher’s granddaughter.” She paused after this prim pronouncement, clearly waiting.
Delia told her the story of her father’s untimely death in the mining accident and that she was only waiting to have it confirmed by the Nevada bank that her father had indeed left her a vast sum.
Miss Susan’s mouth dropped open long before the end of Delia’s recital, and she sank onto a nearby stool. “My, my. So that’s where Will Keller went—I always wondered. And he left you wealthy—isn’t that a wonderment?” she cried. “Why, of course you may pay me later for the dress, Delia—as long as you promise to let me continue to be your dressmaker when you come into your riches! Why, I can already picture what glorious gowns I can fashion for you, my dear! Of course, it’s a pity you’re in mourning, but just you wait until that time is up! I’ve no doubt the mayor’s son will have to use that fancy cane of his to beat off your other swains, Delia!”
The two women were smiling with delight at each other when suddenly from the back came the crash of a door being shoved open with such force that it rebounded against the wall. Delia heard the intruder mutter a curse word as a muffled clatter announced that he’d knocked over something heavy.
Miss Susan gave a low cry and seemed to shrink against Delia, trembling.
“Wha—who’s that?” Delia demanded, even as a cowboy, his eyes red-rimmed and bleary, shoved the curtain dividing the rooms aside and lumbered into view.
“D-Donley, y-you just wait in the back for a minute until I’m done with this customer—” Miss Susan quavered.
“Gimme it now, woman!” the man roared, lurching forward unsteadily. Even from where she stood, Delia could smell the stale whiskey fumes.
Miss Susan darted a frightened look at Delia. “Please excuse me, Miss Keller—the dress will be ready tomorrow. Now, Donley, come to the back,” she said, taking hold of the drunken man’s elbow and trying to guide him back in the direction from which he had come.
“I’ll knock y-you inta th’ middle of nesht w-week!” the man yelled, throwing Miss Susan roughly against the wall. Miss Susan screamed as Donley cocked his fist.
With a shriek of fury, Delia launched herself at the inebriated man, only to be knocked flat on her back by the man’s shove. Even as she tried to right herself to go to Miss Susan’s defense again, she heard a shout from outside. Then the front door was yanked open and a pair of booted legs dashed past her.
Dazed, she saw that Jude Tucker had seized Donley in a headlock and, despite the man’s ineffectual attempts to hit him in the midsection while shouting slurred curse words, was silently dragging him out the door past her. Delia managed to rise just in time to see Jude throw him into the street.
He landed smack in the middle of a new pile of horse droppings. A couple of cowboys, lounging indolently across the street, straightened and strode forward as if they knew him, glaring at Jude while they hoisted the man to his unsteady feet.
“Make sure he doesn’t bother these folks again,” Jude told them and turned back to Delia and Miss Susan, who by now were standing at the door, openmouthed.
He ushered them back inside. “You ladies all right?” he said, eyeing them each in turn. He gave no sign that he’d met Delia only a few days before.
Delia nodded, staring at Miss Susan, whose face was pale as bleached bones and pearled with sweat. “I’m fine. But she—he shoved her hard…”
“Why don’t you sit down, ma’am,” Jude said, gently propelling a shaking Miss Susan into a chair by a table stacked with dog-eared Godey’s Lady’s Books. He knelt beside the chair. “I’m Jude Tucker. I’m new in town, just staying a spell before passing on. Any bones broken?” he said, peering at her and smiling encouragingly.
Miss Susan, clearly dazed, stared at him and shook her head.
“I’m Delia Keller,” Delia said, playing along. “And this is Miss Susan. It’s her shop. Who was that man, Miss Susan?”
“I’m all right. Thank you, Mr. Tucker, for inter-venin’. I-I’m sorry you saw that, Miss Delia. Please…”
Delia knew she was trying to find a way to ask them to go now, to spare her any further embarrassment, but Delia knew they couldn’t just leave her like that.
“Who was he?” she asked again. “I want to help you.”
Miss Susan’s eyes, huge behind her spectacles, blinked back tears. She buried her head in her hands.
“He won’t hurt me,” she said, “as long as I’m quick to give him money when he wants it.”
“But why should you do that?” Jude asked. “What call does he have to demand anything of you?”
Miss Susan stared up at Delia, her lower lip quivering. “I guess the least I can do is explain after you’ve both come to my aid,” she said. “But I depend on your discretion.”
“You have it,” Jude said, and Delia nodded, too.
“Donley Morrison is my husband, Miss Keller. I left him because he beat me—repeatedly.”
“Your…your husband? But I thought you were never married,” Delia amended hastily.
“That’s
