Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
Hiram Priest sleep deep and well, and when he awoke it was quite past his usual get-up time. The sun had already passed his east facing window, so the customary shadow play on the wall had come and gone. No matter because he felt good, better than he had in years.
When Hiram stood at his bureau to splash fresh water on his face from the basin, he did so with aggressive energy, much as he had in his youth. He stood straighter, too. He had a purpose once more. It was all about Sally Cutts.
Sally, his angel of mercy and prim, common sense instructor was his raison d'être. He would live long and prosper, all so that he could leave her sitting pretty.
In an hour, he was supposed to meet with Jim Henry, the mine's security man who, himself, needed bailing out of trouble. The one-time judge had learned the day before that the dangerous brawler had push a brothel patron though an upstairs window. The man broke a leg in the fall, and the "establishment" wanted their window repaired and paid for.
Soon, he sat in his office above the saloon. It was quiet down below because the doors didn't open until 11am.
He waited for Jim Henry but dreamed of Sally Cutts.
Ah, poor Hiram Priest, for it was not the winsome Miss Cutts who came through the door of his office next, but that bespectacled siren, Miss Florence Patterson Forde.
"Good morning, Mr Priest" she bade him good day pleasantly enough. "I did some work on the books while you were ill in bed yesterday evening, I should be obliged if you would look over them." she said, moving over to some ledgers which she lifted and deposited on his desk. She was all business, there was no mention of yesterday's dalliance for the blonde Miss was prepared to play the long game with her boss. She didn't want to scare him off.
Indeed, it must be that any... 'manoeuvres' must be initiated by him. However, she would make ample opportunities for the target to be in his sights.
She moved over to the other desk and began transcribing some letters, for it would be another ten years before typewriters became common in U.S. offices and businesses, especially out here in the sticks. She carried on with her work as if totally oblivious to the elderly man as he looked through her books, but secretly hoping that he would call her over to go over some point or other.
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
"Good morning, Mr Priest" she bade him good day pleasantly enough. "I did some work on the books while you were ill in bed yesterday evening, I should be obliged if you would look over them." she said, moving over to some ledgers which she lifted and deposited on his desk. She was all business, there was no mention of yesterday's dalliance for the blonde Miss was prepared to play the long game with her boss. She didn't want to scare him off.
Priest looked up and slid his wire rim spectacles down the bridge of his nose. It was the inquisitive manner he'd perfected during his lawyer days.
"Good morning, Miss Patterson-Forde," he began quite properly. To his thinking, there was no need to appear apprehensive or embarrassed. This was a new day and a new lease on his life.
Flo had been, in an odd way, essential for the entire drama with Sally to be transpire. To his mind, she was like Judas. Some ascribed that he, of all the disciples, was the most loyal one. If not for him, the passion play would not have happened. He was essential for it all to come together. So, in a certain way, so Flo was essential in his rebirth.
She moved over to the other desk and began transcribing some letters, for it would be another ten years before typewriters became common in U.S. offices and businesses, especially out here in the sticks. She carried on with her work as if totally oblivious to the elderly man as he looked through her books, but secretly hoping that he would call her over to go over some point or other.
It did not take long.
"Miss Patterson-Forde," Hiram began. "Would you, please, go down to the bar and ask Ralph to pour us a couple of cups of coffee? He's probably brewed it already. Then bring it up to us so that we can have a discussion about your books and your family's contract with the mine. Maybe we can even take a trip out there today."
Florence was as quick as she could be and came back up with everything on a tray.
"Here we are" she cooed, setting the tray down lightly on a bare patch of desk.
"Now, I must find out how you like it, for future reference, Mister Priest: strong and bitter or sweet and milky?" There was no way that could be possibly construed as a euphemism for anything untoward, but somehow she made it sound like one. She imagined that he was the strong, bitter type.
She gave him his coffee, like an obedient little secretary, and then began to wax lyrical about the former owner of the saloon.
"I must admit, it took me some time to figure out Miss Deveraux's accounting system, but once I had... I believe it is what is called the double entry system. Quite superior to the normal method, with your permission, Sir, I shall employ it myself, henceforth. It does require the extra precaution of obtaining detailed receipts and bank balance details, but well worth it in my opinion: we shall soon see if anyone is cheating us or short changing us." she carried on talking shop as she sat next to him, her leg, beneath the long heavy skirts she wore, inadvertently bumping against his own, the warm flesh of her dainty hand and the soft curve of her cheek tantalisingly close.