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Authors: Darlene Franklin
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crush her nose. The fading sunlight blazed in his red hair.
“Hi.” I pretended that nothing seemed unusual.
They both turned at the unexpected intruder.
“The door was open, so I came in. Am I interrupting anything?”
Ham backed away from his sister, changing the disturbing tableau. Jessie resumed stirring the chili that sizzled in the pot.
“Why, Cici, whatever brings you here tonight?”
I waved a stack of photos I had brought with me. “You asked me for information on Lizzie Gaynor’s wardrobe. I have it here.”
As a member of this year’s Land Run Days committee, Jessie wanted to make sure the Gaynor contributions to Grace Gulch were recognized.
“Oh, my.” Jessie blinked. “Now isn’t such a good time.”
“Nonsense.” Ham shook his fiery head, doing a good job of imitating calmness personified. “Come on in. Care to join us for supper? Sis always makes enough for a troop.”
“Once a baker, always a baker. I always think in terms of a baker’s dozen.”
“Sorry, no. You probably know my mother-in-law is in town and she’s expecting me home before long.” Junior chose that moment to give me a kick and I grimaced.
“Oh, you poor dear. Sit down.” Jessie fussed around and poured me a glass of lemonade with fresh strawberries. I resisted the urge to eat the strawberries first.
I showed Jessie a few photos I had found of Lizzie. Although Mary Grace and Lizzie Gaynor both arrived in Grace Gulch in the 1890s, their clothing personified their differing personalities. Mary had come to Oklahoma as a young bride, Lizzie as a no-nonsense matron. She avoided frills like leg of mutton sleeves and her dresses had simple collars with button down fronts in simple calico patterns. “I don’t have those exact dresses in stock, of course. I could either find you something similar—”
“Worn by a Grace, no doubt.” Jessie sniffed.
“—Or I could try to duplicate the pattern. Make a dress.”
Jessie’s eyes lit up and then her enthusiasm dimmed. “But, dear, do you have time for that?”
“I can do it.” I loved trying my hand at vintage patterns, and the more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea. It gave me the perfect excuse to return and ask more questions if I needed to. “I want to.” We discussed the price, and I checked her measurements.
Ham surprised me by setting the table while we talked. Maybe he wanted to stay on hand to remind Jessie not to blurt out something she wasn’t supposed to. Time to do what I came here for.
“Ham, I wanted to say how sorry I am about Finella’s death. Even though you were divorced. . .”
Ham slammed a butter dish onto the table. Tears formed in his eyes, but he brushed them away. “Divorced in her mind, maybe.”
And in the eyes of the law, but I didn’t voice my opinion. I didn’t come here to antagonize him.
“I believe in my marriage vows. ‘’Til death do us part.’ Fin was the one and only for me.”
And now Finella was dead. Or was his professed devotion to Finella a cover for another interest? “You still cared for her.” Like a good listener, I rephrased what he had said.
“You betcha.” He reached into the freezer for an ice cube tray. “I bet she was dating that artist fellow all along.”
“Now, Ham, you know they didn’t even meet until that art show. Six months after the divorce.” Jessie turned the chili on low and joined us at the table.
“Hmph.” Ice cubes clinked in two jelly jar glasses. “Merriman. Marry-man. The only man Finella was ever going to marry was me.”
This was too good to be true. They were telling everything I wanted to know without my saying a word. If I wanted proof of Ham’s jealousy of Brad, I had it. Had his jealousy turned to spiteful anger—enough to start the fire in an effort to kill his rival?
Jessie turned worried brown eyes in her brother’s direction. “There was no danger of Brad marrying Finella. He ended things between them.”
“He was too stupid to
“Hi.” I pretended that nothing seemed unusual.
They both turned at the unexpected intruder.
“The door was open, so I came in. Am I interrupting anything?”
Ham backed away from his sister, changing the disturbing tableau. Jessie resumed stirring the chili that sizzled in the pot.
“Why, Cici, whatever brings you here tonight?”
I waved a stack of photos I had brought with me. “You asked me for information on Lizzie Gaynor’s wardrobe. I have it here.”
As a member of this year’s Land Run Days committee, Jessie wanted to make sure the Gaynor contributions to Grace Gulch were recognized.
“Oh, my.” Jessie blinked. “Now isn’t such a good time.”
“Nonsense.” Ham shook his fiery head, doing a good job of imitating calmness personified. “Come on in. Care to join us for supper? Sis always makes enough for a troop.”
“Once a baker, always a baker. I always think in terms of a baker’s dozen.”
“Sorry, no. You probably know my mother-in-law is in town and she’s expecting me home before long.” Junior chose that moment to give me a kick and I grimaced.
“Oh, you poor dear. Sit down.” Jessie fussed around and poured me a glass of lemonade with fresh strawberries. I resisted the urge to eat the strawberries first.
I showed Jessie a few photos I had found of Lizzie. Although Mary Grace and Lizzie Gaynor both arrived in Grace Gulch in the 1890s, their clothing personified their differing personalities. Mary had come to Oklahoma as a young bride, Lizzie as a no-nonsense matron. She avoided frills like leg of mutton sleeves and her dresses had simple collars with button down fronts in simple calico patterns. “I don’t have those exact dresses in stock, of course. I could either find you something similar—”
“Worn by a Grace, no doubt.” Jessie sniffed.
“—Or I could try to duplicate the pattern. Make a dress.”
Jessie’s eyes lit up and then her enthusiasm dimmed. “But, dear, do you have time for that?”
“I can do it.” I loved trying my hand at vintage patterns, and the more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea. It gave me the perfect excuse to return and ask more questions if I needed to. “I want to.” We discussed the price, and I checked her measurements.
Ham surprised me by setting the table while we talked. Maybe he wanted to stay on hand to remind Jessie not to blurt out something she wasn’t supposed to. Time to do what I came here for.
“Ham, I wanted to say how sorry I am about Finella’s death. Even though you were divorced. . .”
Ham slammed a butter dish onto the table. Tears formed in his eyes, but he brushed them away. “Divorced in her mind, maybe.”
And in the eyes of the law, but I didn’t voice my opinion. I didn’t come here to antagonize him.
“I believe in my marriage vows. ‘’Til death do us part.’ Fin was the one and only for me.”
And now Finella was dead. Or was his professed devotion to Finella a cover for another interest? “You still cared for her.” Like a good listener, I rephrased what he had said.
“You betcha.” He reached into the freezer for an ice cube tray. “I bet she was dating that artist fellow all along.”
“Now, Ham, you know they didn’t even meet until that art show. Six months after the divorce.” Jessie turned the chili on low and joined us at the table.
“Hmph.” Ice cubes clinked in two jelly jar glasses. “Merriman. Marry-man. The only man Finella was ever going to marry was me.”
This was too good to be true. They were telling everything I wanted to know without my saying a word. If I wanted proof of Ham’s jealousy of Brad, I had it. Had his jealousy turned to spiteful anger—enough to start the fire in an effort to kill his rival?
Jessie turned worried brown eyes in her brother’s direction. “There was no danger of Brad marrying Finella. He ended things between them.”
“He was too stupid to
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