Page 21 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot
“If you had said anything else, I would be disappointed.” He smirked. Damn, but he liked her. “Tell me about your father.”
“It’s as I said. He’s in Fort Kearney.” She dropped her gaze to the corncake that was disappearing faster than a spill of water in the desert.
“What was that thing you said he wrote in Canada?”
“An almanac.”
“I thought those were planting schedules for farmers.”
“And tide tables for sailors.” She nodded, growing animated. “There’s a host of other information that might be included. The one in Canada was meant for a wide audience, so it was very extensive. Weather patterns, astronomy, maps and locations of various minerals and other resources like trees for milling and clay deposits for brickmaking. They contain any information people might want when contemplating moving to a new place.”
“A rumor of gold isn’t enough?”
“You see the point,” she said with a quirk of her very pretty mouth.
“And you do what for him? Cook and keep house?”
“He could hire anyone to do that, couldn’t he? No, I help him with the writing.” Her tone took on a note of pride. “In Toronto and Montreal, I compiled lists like the number of schools and churches and blacksmiths. Stage schedules. The types and frequency of ships into the port, where they came from, what they brought in and what they took out.”
“This is all for homesteaders?” he asked with some bewilderment. Some liked to measure and ponder and make lists as they planned. He knew that, but Owen tended to deal with what was in front of him, not fret too much about where he’d been or what was coming.
“It’s useful for anyone. If a tradesman is considering a move into a new town, he wants to know if there are enough people to support his enterprise. Politicians want to know what they’re fighting over when they argue whether a certain piece of land ought to be recognized as a state or a territory.” That was a more pointed remark about the recent debate here that would be finalized in a week or so, when the constitution for the Territory of Jefferson and its initial slate of legislators was voted on. “Investors in a railroad want to know whether enough cars will go in and out to justify the cost of laying the tracks.”
True. He nodded.
“It must take years to write all of that.” Owen couldn’t imagine a more dull, frustrating, painful endeavor—and he spent days at a time standing in icy streams, shoveling gravel into a sluice box.
“We lived in Canada for three years while we wrote them. There were other people involved, men my father knows from his work at different colleges. Consultation with local tribes for plant and animal identification is essential. It takes time to go into the wilderness and map the resources, so local guides are also very important.”
“You thought Virgil was going to pay for all of that?” People called him a dreamer.
“The scope is subject to negotiation. After Papa explains the advantages to including certain information, they agree ahead of time what he’ll cover. That’s why—” She paused with her coffee halfway to her mouth as though arrested by some thought. “That’s why I came ahead of him, to begin the preliminary work. I know what sorts of topics are usually included and can help set a budget for it. Then Papa completes the work.”
“You really do that?” He shouldn’t be so skeptical. Some women were far more educated than he would ever try to be. Marigold ran intellectual circles around him, but Temperance’s story didn’t add up. If she was so smart and her father so successful, why was she working in a saloon?
“I assist in many ways,” she said stiffly. “Mostly I transcribe his notes. My penmanship far surpasses his, especially now that his tremors have grown so severe. It’s not all almanacs. There are reports and lesson plans. He teaches when he’s not doing research.”
“I don’t understand how he makes a living. Don’t these things go out of date?”
“After a time.” She nodded. “They’re often commissioned by a government, to assist in a decision, or, in the case of this one, by a businessman who needs something to persuade investors. Your Mr. Gardner would pay for the labor in producing it and could then use it as he sees fit. Papa usually retains the right to print and distribute the almanac himself. He sells them through mail order and book shops. That provides him a small income for three or four years.”
“Huh.” That was pretty smart. Virgil probably would want to meet such a man, if he existed. Owen’s lingering doubt in her story stopped him from offering a stage ticket to hurry her father along, though.
“Thank you for the meal, but my friend, Jane, is expecting me.” Temperance rose and set her plate on the ground for the dog.
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you at the saloon tonight.”
She abruptly straightened. “Why?”
“Because I enjoy chatting with you.”
“Oh.” A number of emotions flickered across her face, all there and gone before he’d fully identified them. Anticipation? Dejection? Something injured and angry. Her determined smile broke past it all. “Until later, then.”
She bent again to retrieve the empty plate from the ground and carried it to the wash tub. “Good day.” She nodded and started to walk away.
Clarence stayed right by her side the whole time.
“No. You have to go home,” she complained.