Chapter 11
News & Noteworthy: It seems our most disreputable gentleman, who had been wooed by the townswomen searching for a fine husband, has instead come into possession of one of the Boudoir’s Beauties. It remains to be seen if the woman he marries will accept such a licentious lifestyle.
Sorcha read the latest N&N section about Ewan and slammed it down on the table. Cailean was in the livery while Ewan had departed early for one of his worksites. He had two sites to finish roughing-in before snow fell.
She stormed over to the print shop and barreled inside. She glared at the old-timers who sat by the warm potbellied stove, weaving tall tales with ease. “Out,” she snapped. She pointed to the door, and they heaved themselves up with reluctance.
Jessamine watched with a hint of amusement as she took Sorcha’s measure. “This is my shop. I decide who stays and goes. I’ve never known you to visit me here before.”
“I’ve never wanted to visit the woman who’s made my brother’s life a livin’ hell. The woman who would rather spin lies and half-truths rather than tell interestin’ stories about the people who populate our fine town.” She gave a derisive shake of her head as she glared at Jessamine. “I will never understand why my brother would think ye deservin’ of the MacKinnon name.”
Jessamine stood taller under the verbal attack. “I’m more deserving than you’ll ever know. But, unlike the majority in this town, I don’t want nor need your family. Not for its connections.”
Sorcha’s look turned pitying as she stared at Jessamine from head to foot. “Ye are a fool. Ye had the love of a good man, an’ ye tossed it away as though it were worth no more than a two-bit story.” She leaned forward. “How can ye be so heartless?”
“He got what he wanted from me.” She gasped when Sorcha gripped her arm.
“Nae, he did no’. Do ye ken who he’s buildin’ one of those houses for?” When Jessamine watched her with absolute boredom, Sorcha stomped her foot in agitation. “You, ye daft woman. He wanted a proper home for ye after he hoped to wed ye.”
Jessamine snorted. “Well, now he can bring his whore there, and they can live quite contentedly.”
Sorcha shook her head. “Watch ye tongue or I may have to treat you like some errant man. The woman Ewan won is Annabelle’s sister. An’ there’s every chance she willna live through the horrible shakes as she is denied laudanum.” Sorcha bit her lip. “We dinna ken what to do for her.”
“Fidelia is free?” Jessamine whispered. “I could not obtain confirmation from the Madam or anyone else at the poker match who the whore was who had been bartered.”
“The Madam is afeared of losin’ her customers. Especially the man who paid the most for time with Dee.” Sorcha shook her head. “The new doc says to just give her more medicine. The risk is too great to her without it.”
“No!” Jessamine gasped. “Don’t give her more. See her through it. Keep her away from it.”
Sorcha frowned. “What do ye ken about takin’ too much laudanum?”
Jessamine shook her head as she attempted to clear her vision of tears. “Too much. Help her through her nightmares. Help her through her cravings. But don’t give her more.”
“What if she dies?” Sorcha whispered.
“She would die anyway if you kept feeding it to her.” Jessamine turned away and gripped the edge of her desk.
“Would ye come to the house an’ help us? It seems ye have a knowledge about such things that we dinna.”
Jessamine shook her head. “No, I can’t. I can’t bear to watch that again.” She blinked, a tear snaking down her cheek. “Forgive me.”
Sorcha frowned as she watched the previously confident journalist crumble in front of her. “Are ye all right, Miss McMahon?” She let out a deep breath. “I ken I can act beastly, but I thought ye a worthy opponent.”
Jessamine half-laughed, half-snorted. “I am on most days. I’ve not been myself lately.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I can’t come to your house, but I fear that would only cause problems for me. For Ewan.” She met Sorcha’s worried gaze. “Take care of Fidelia. Don’t leave her alone, for she’ll try to sneak out to obtain more. Ensure she has plenty of water.” Jessamine shook her head as though banishing memories.
Sorcha nodded. “Aye, I’ll do as ye say. If I have need of yer knowledge, I will visit ye again. The doc isna much use.”
Jessamine squinted after Sorcha’s last statement. “He’s of little use except peddling laudanum-laced medicine.”
Sorcha shrugged and pulled her shawl tightly about her. “Mind what else I said, aye?” After a few moments of silence, Sorcha left, the door sounding with her departure.
* * *
The Story Behind The Punch
If you are like me, you have wondered about the delicious, albeit sweet, concoction offered at every town gathering. After inquiring, I discovered the flavorful libation to be from a secret recipe, handed down over generations in Mrs. Guerineau’s family. Fortunately for the residents of Bear Grass Springs, she has generously shared this drink with us.
Mrs. Guerineau was born and raised on her father’s large sugar cane plantation near New Orleans, Louisiana. She recalls running through the canes, playing hide-and-seek with her brothers.
Her family’s sugar cane plantation provided one of the main ingredients for the drink shared at our festivities. She remembers joining her mother in the kitchen before parties, memorizing how to make the punch. Her mother admonished her to never write down the recipe, lest it be stolen by a jealous guest, only to share it whenever possible.
Although promised to wed a neighbor’s son who would one day run a nearby plantation, Mrs. Guerineau fell in love with his younger brother. He was not wholly acceptable to her father as he had settled in the North, and her father considered her beau to be a Yankee. However, after weeks of silent defiance on her part, her father relented, and she married her love. They settled on a farm in Ohio.
After many years there, her husband thirsted for adventure. Convincing her to travel to Montana with him, they set out in 1876 for the Territory. Tragedy struck on the wagon ride, and her husband of forty years died on a river crossing. Not one to succumb to her grief, she showed the tenacity of spirit needed to continue the journey, handling a team of oxen with help from those on the wagon train. Mrs. Guerineau arrived in Bear Grass Springs with a determination to thrive and to celebrate life. As Mrs. Guerineau said, it’s her way of honoring her beloved husband.
She honors him, her native Louisiana and her mother’s memory every time she makes her punch for us.
Jessamine smiled as another patron purchased her paper. When she had sold the last copy of her current edition, she closed the door and rubbed at her head in confusion. The day’s edition had contained a small section on news updates and the large story on Mrs. Guerineau. There had not been space for an N&N or F or F section. She moved to her desk and sat as she continued to contemplate the day’s successful sales.
She turned as the door opened and frowned at her visitor. “I see no reason for a visit from the lawyer today, Mr. Clark. There could be nothing worthy of complaint in that innocuous edition.”
He smiled as he moved around a stack of newsprint toward her cluttered desk. “How do you work in such chaos?” At her shrug, he focused on her. “This is the type of article, the type of paper you should write, J.P.”
She frowned as she shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand why this was more of a success than the others. There was no intrigue. No scandal.”
“Intrigue and scandal will always sell. However, I’ve found that, when we champion the moments where we triumph over adversity, we inspire others.” He smiled at Jessamine. “Your paper sold out today because you inspired the townsfolk. You showed them an inspirational hidden story. Not one shuttered away out of shame.”
Jessamine harrumphed. “I like to believe I understand human nature, but I find I’m more confused than ever here. When I was in Saint Louis, I knew what to write. I knew what was expected of me.” She rubbed at her temple. “Everything is more complicated in a small town.”
Warren laughed. “No truer words …” He motioned for her to rise. “Come. Join me for a meal at the café and allow the townsfolk to see you enjoying yourself with another, rather than alone and listening in on what they have to say.”
She flushed. “I thought I was subtle.”
“As a brick through a window.” He helped her don her cloak and then opened the door for her.
They entered the café and met the beaming smiles of Harold and Irene. One of Jessamine’s papers was on an unoccupied table, and had been handled over and over again by the smudges and wrinkles along its edges. Harold motioned them to a table. “I bet you could have sold twice as many papers today.”
Jessamine flushed. “I could always print more for tomorrow, but I think I’ll plan better for when I write another article similar to that one.”
Irene brought out water glasses. “I’d write similar articles once a week and then have a section for comments in the next paper.”
Warren shared an amused smile with the café’s patrons. “She’s having trouble believing that the current edition could be successful without scandal or intrigue.” He nodded to Jessamine. “Her words.”
Harold laughed. “Most of us have had enough scandal and intrigue in our lives. Sometimes we need to be reminded of the good that exists among us.” He smiled with pride at Jessamine. “And Mrs. Guerineau is a fine woman. She’s known hardship, but she refused to become bitter due to it.”
Jessamine’s eyes glowed with wonder. “She’s a fascinating woman to speak with. I thought she’d be filled with rancor, but instead she constantly gives thanks for the time she had with her husband.”
Harold sat with them and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Irene and I always try not to pry, but it seems a shame the poor woman has no children.”
Jessamine nodded but remained silent. She took another sip of water and met Harold’s curious gaze with a blank stare.
Harold and Warren exchanged a glance, and then both men smiled. “Seems it truly is a momentous day,” Harold said as he stood to attend other patrons.