Mr. Nyman told about the argument of whether to use mules or oxen to haul the heaviest loads bound for Denver. He was a mule man himself and despised oxen. Thought them sluggish creatures who suffered far too many hoof problems.
“Mr. Jackson, how goes plans for your newspaper?” Mr. Cooper asked.
Jackson. Otis Jackson. Charlie smiled as the man’s name came to mind.
“I had a discussion with the young man who runs theDaily Leader.”
“Oh, Nathan Baker. Yes, he is a dear,” Mrs. Cooper commented. “He has a wife and little boy.”
“He’s but a child himself,” Mr. Jackson countered.
“Folks start young around here. Our butcher isn’t yet eighteen, but he knows his business,” the woman replied.
“Yes, well, it seems there are numerous newspapers in the city, but most are weekly or even monthly. TheLeaderis the only daily paper.”
“With the exception of Sunday. Baker chose to follow God’s example and rest on the Sabbath,” Mr. Cooper chimed in.
“Yes, well, the news should be told on Sunday as well as weekdays. Oftentimes, a great many important things happen on the weekend, and the public has a right to know.”
The other men began discussing the virtues and foibles of having businesses operate on Sunday, while Charlie focused on his meal. Banking business wasn’t done on Sunday and probably never would be.
“Charlie, you said that you have family back in Illinois, I believe.”
He smiled at Mrs. Cooper. “I do. They live in Chicago. My father and mother and my two older brothers. Both of whom are married.”
“But not you? Why is it that you’re still single?”
Charlie shrugged and picked up his dinner roll. “I guess the Lord just hasn’t sent me the right young woman.”
“And He won’t send her here in Cheyenne neither.” This came from Bryce, who sat across the table to Charlie’s right. The two exchanged a nod. “I’ve been looking for the last six months,” Bryce continued. “Women—good women—are hard to find in these parts.”
“But in time they will come. Once this town settles down, families will feel safe to settle here, and those families will have daughters. Single daughters. I’m hoping my own brotherwill move his wife and daughters out here.” Mrs. Cooper picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Charlie, looks like you could use some more of these.”
Charlie didn’t want to say no and took the bowl. He spooned out a little bit more of the potatoes onto his plate, then extended the bowl toward Bryce. “What about you?”
To his surprise, it was Mr. Jackson who grabbed hold. “I’d like some more myself.”
“Oh, I read in theLeaderthat the fire ladder was returned. Seemed some rowdy boys stole it as a prank. The sheriff threatened to lock them up but showed leniency,” Mrs. Cooper declared. “The children here have run positively wild, but with the public school operating and more private schools opening, they will hopefully receive a little more structure and discipline.”
The conversation turned to other things, and the food was passed once again until most every dish was emptied of its contents. Charlie couldn’t help but reflect on the topic of schools and education. Teaching was his passion. A passion his father seemed to have little respect for, but nevertheless Charlie found most fulfilling. More than once his professor had asked him to help with tutoring other college students. He had also taught Sunday school for younger boys.
Charlie had hoped to talk to his father about his leaving banking for the world of education. In fact, with the inheritance Charlie had received from his grandfather, he had contemplated creating his own small school. From the comments around the table, and elsewhere in town, it seemed private schools were most welcome. Perhaps Jefferson Lane could run the bank, as he longed to do, and Charlie could just check in with him from time to time, while teaching school elsewhere. The idea intrigued him.
3
Melody made her way into the Cheyenne Savings and Loan, where her father had arranged a joint account. Since he wasn’t able to work, they were pulling out a little of their savings each week to pay rent and buy food.
“Good morning, Jefferson,” she said, greeting the teller. “I’ve come for our weekly stipend.” She pushed a piece of paper across the counter to the smiling man. She’d always thought Jefferson handsome. Unfortunately, he knew he was good-looking and was rather full of himself to boot.
“Miss Melody Doyle, aren’t you a ray of sunlight.” He gave her a lingering gaze. “I haven’t seen anyone half as pretty as you all morning.”
She laughed. “Well, the day is early.”
To her left, someone cleared their throat. She looked over and found a tall man with brilliant blue eyes and dark brown hair. His hair was combed back off his forehead, and he was clean-shaven—something Melody preferred. He was impeccably dressed, but there was still something almost casual about him. He gave her a smile that seemed to light up his eyes.
“Jefferson, are you going to introduce me to our customer?”
Melody didn’t wait for Jefferson but stepped to where the man stood. “I’m Melody Doyle. My father and I have an account here. And you are?”
