The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,4
tin in the kitchen. It was mostly only change, but someday she might need it.
Long after Trapper’s poker game was over and the saloon closed, she cleaned. In the silence she wished she could go on his journey. Even a dangerous adventure would be better than this. She’d grow old here, her days all the same.
When she finished cleaning, she heated one more pot of water and carried it upstairs to a back storage closet. At one time it had been a tiny room, but now the bed was broken, the windows boarded over to prevent a draft.
An old hip tub sat in one corner. Once a week, in the stillness before dawn, Em took a bath and pretended to be a lady. The drab, scratchy dress came off, as did the wrappings to make her look flat-chested. By candlelight she dreamed of more to her life than cooking and cleaning. If she just had a chance, she’d be brave, she told herself as she used the bits of lavender soap the girls tossed out.
In the silence, with warm water surrounding her, she relaxed and fell asleep. The tiny room’s door was locked. No one would look for her.
When a noise downstairs jerked her awake, sunlight was coming through the cracks in the boards.
Em jumped out of the tub so fast she splashed water on her wool dress. Panic gripped her. She’d freeze walking the mile home in wet clothes.
She wrapped herself in a towel one of the barmaids had given her when she left, headed back to New Orleans on one of the paddleboats.
The barmaid had whispered, “Get out of this place, honey. It will rot your soul.”
Em knew her parents wouldn’t worry about her being late today. She often slept in the corner of the kitchen on the bench where deliveries were dumped. Her father never wanted to wait on her to finish her cleaning, and it never occurred to her that he might come back for her. She’d stayed in the kitchen a few times on Sunday so she could catch up.
As long as she did her work, he didn’t care where she slept.
Em paced the tiny room. Over the years it had become a storage room for broken things no one had time to fix and lost luggage no one ever came back to claim.
A dusty black bag in the corner caught her eye. It was worn. The leather had been patched on one side. It had been in the corner for years.
She remembered the day she’d turned twelve and her father said she had to work. He’d almost dragged her into the back of the saloon. He’d showed her around the place and told her she’d have no more birthdays. She couldn’t remember how long after that she’d found the forgotten little room. It became her one secret place where she could think and dream.
Now, feeling much like a thief, she loosened the straps on the old bag. Maybe she’d find a shawl or coat she could wear home. Em promised herself she’d return it tomorrow.
One by one she pulled the things from the bag. A black dress, undergarments, a shawl someone had crocheted with great care, and a pair of ladies’ boots with heels too high to be practical.
It seemed to be everything she needed. She’d dress like a lady in the fancy clothes if only for a day. She’d walk through town with her head up. She’d be a woman and no longer pretend to be a girl.
In the bottom of the bag she noticed a thin black ribbon. When she tugged, a false bottom pulled open. Below lay three black boxes. They were made the same size as the bag, so unless someone looked closely, no one would see them.
Em pulled them out as if finding a treasure. The first was a small sewing box, packed full. The second was loaded with creams, a little brush, and a comb set to keep her hair in place. The third box held a Bible with money hidden one bill at a time between the pages. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to buy a ticket on the paddleboat or passage on the stage to the next town.
A gold ring lay in the corner of the third box.
Em slipped on the ring. It was a perfect fit. It was small, thin, the cheapest kind sold at the mercantile, but she’d never worn a ring before, so she felt beautiful wearing it.