The Prettiest Girl in the Land (The Traherns #3) Read online

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  The storekeeper motioned toward his house. “Come eat with us, Ruth. You can commence on down the trail or head back home tomorrow.”

  I looked Mr. Johnson over. He was fatter than a tick on a coonhound. He’d never leave the holler, he and his family were planted there. But he’d always been kind to me, giving me a sweet when Pa warn’t payin no mind.

  I pointed up the mountain, at the scraggly pines holdin onto the rocks as if fearful of blowing away. “I can die up there, or I can go see me some of this here country first, and maybe die with a passel of youngins round me. My own youngins. So I’ll just spend the night, if’n you all don’t mind, and head on down the road in the morning.”

  Mrs. Johnson cleaned the table by flapping her apron at the chickens gatherin crumbs, and we all grabbed some plates and set down to a feast of hog legs and mustard greens. I hadn’t had hog legs for awhile, and they were mighty tasty the way Mrs. Johnson boiled them up. My cooking was never any good. I burnt things so often, the boys called it an offering.

  A new dog came in, his back as high as the table, one I hadn’t seen before. I slipped him a bite and he took it gentle-like out of my fingers.

  “That there’s Travers,” Mr. Johnson said. “He came in one night with a wanderin man. A peddler. The gent had been bit by a rabid skunk and didn’t last long. So Travers has been hangin out here. You might see if’n he’ll go with you. Be a comfort on the trail. He does his own hunting.”

  I looked at Travers and he looked at me. He was pure mongrel, greyish with a touch of tan. He might even have some wolf in him, for he had the shoulders and jaws of a wolf. He was a huge dog.

  “You want to come with me?” I asked. “I don’t know what to do with you if I get into a town, but we can work that out when we get there.”

  I spent the night on the counter of the general store, then started out walking the next day. I was a’leavin and twarn’t nobody goin to say me, “Nay.”

  I stopped at the edge of the clearing. “Travers. You comin?” He’d been a’standin there in the doorway, and as soon as I gave him the invite he shot out to me like an otter down a wet bank. He took his position in front, checkin’ out the trail as we went, and he was a’comfort. Nothin snuck up on him. At noon, I opened the packet of food Mrs. Johnson had sent with me. A hunk of fresh bread and a big slice of her homemade cheese. I ate half and wrapped the rest up again for supper.

  That night Travers brought us in a quail. Little thing didn’t have much meat, but I cooked it and we shared it, along with some of that bread and cheese. Next day he brought in a rabbit, and I feasted. He didn’t want any and I decided he’d caught something else, ate it first, then got the rabbit.

  “Don’t you go bringin down someone’s pet lamb,” I told him. “I aint got money to pay for that.”

  But I could sleep at night, off the trail with him setting guard, and when I came across other travelers, they sized Travers up and stepped aside.

  It took three days to clear those mountain trails and come to a wide road, full of wagons and travelers and such. I could tell I looked strange to those folks, with them all dressed up and me in my travelin’ gear. I had dropped down into the valley, and was following the Tennessee River as it twisted and turned along the hills. Farms were closer together along hereabouts, and the dogs barked as I passed. I tried to find shelter before evening came.

  One thing I hadn’t planned on was the lack of game once I cleared the mountains. There were still rabbits and fish, but I had to stop and cook them. I found out if I shot a couple of rabbits as I walked along, then watched for a family home with children playing about, that they were glad to share the rabbits with me. They would cook them and add their food to the pot, so I ate pretty well as I went along. Travers did his own huntin and always seemed well fed and ready to go the next morning.

  The fact I was female actually helped, as they were less likely to shoot first when I approached the house.

  They shook their heads over what I was doing, but as I went along, more and more suggested I seek work at the Wells Fargo Stage Company.

  “They’d welcome a woman who could take tickets and handle money and figure poundage rates,” they said.

  “Stay off’n the riverboats. Too many gamblers,” another said.

  “Go to Memphis and talk to the head man of the Wells Fargo Company. I know the head of the company lives up north, but you should be able to send word.”

  Then came the day I looked down on a town that had growed on the Mississippi River. It were the biggest town I’d ever seen. People all running about from here to there, taking care of business.

  I found me a handy woodshed and stripped down just enough to pull out one of my coins I had sewed into my skirt lining. As I was getting refreshed and ready to go again, I heard voices.

  “She went in thar.”

  “Let’s go see what’s she’s up to.”

  Then Travers gave a deep-throated growl to make himself known and the two ran away, so that when I exited the building they were nowhere to be seen. That dog was a real blessing to me. It didn’t pay to corner something meaner than you. He kept me from having to shoot folks.

  I needed to find a place to stay while I looked for a job. There were places offering rooms at different costs. Room and board at many. They grew more and more costly as I went into town. Then, as I got near the river and the dock area, they got cheaper. Really cheap.

  I looked at the creatures who worked there and decided I would pay a little more, maybe find a room on the outer parts of town. I walked on through and found a small boarding house on the other side, which offered rooms for a day, a week, or a month at a time.

  “I don’t know about your dog,” the old lady said, looking at Travers.

  “Ma’am, as long as this dog is here, no one will bother you or your household. He has no fleas. He’s a quiet dog. He’ll stay in my room.”

  “Guard dog, is he?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  So she showed me a room, just big enough for a cot and a chair, several wall hooks and a chamber pot. Someone had braided a rug out of old clothes and sewed it together. A small thing, but it cheered that room considerable. I took it. That evening I took Travers out for a short run, then joined seven others who lived there. Two were girls who worked at a mill, weaving cloth, the others where men with different labor jobs.

  I told them what I was looking for, a job using numbers.

  “They might use you at the mill,” the older girl said. “You want to stay away from the docks. The men there are mean.”

  “Not all of them. I work there,” a big man said. “But it’s no place for a woman.”

  “You can add numbers?” the landlady asked. “Coins and such?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Then look at these girls’ money they’re gettin paid. They say something don’t seem right for them.”

  After the supper dishes were removed, I sat with the girls and several of the men and looked over their day’s wages.

  “You get eighteen cents a day?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this is today’s wages?”

  “Yes.”

  “Y’all haven’t spent any of it?”

  “No. It’s just like they count it out to us. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen. When we try to buy something, they always say we don’t have enough. But we count it just like they do.”

  Sure enough, their count made the money come out right.

  “Do y’all see what’s happening?” I asked the group around the table. They shook their heads. “They’re being cheated.”

  I tapped the table in front of the girls. “Put your hands on the table, spread your fingers.”

  When they did so, I asked each one how many fingers they had out there. One girl knew, “Ten,” and told the other.

  “Put a coin under each finger. That’s right. Now make a stack of thos
e coins. That’s ten cents. To have eighteen, you should have eight more cents. That means a coin under every finger except two.”

  They pulled the coins under their fingers and looked at the four fingers that didn’t have any coins under them.

  “Y’all are missing two coins each. Don’t let them count out to you. If y’all can’t put your fingers on the money, you don’t have it. They’ll try to confuse you. Make your stack of ten, then eight more.”

  “Ruth, can you teach us to count?” one of the men said. “We’d be beholden to you.”

  “Of course. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but if some of you know how, y’all can help the others after I’ve gone. Let me hear what y’all know.”

  They all knew one through ten, then the problems began. So I had them count to twenty-two, over and over, aloud, together, on their fingers.

  It were the first time I’d ever tried to teach anyone what I knew. It felt good as they began to learn it.

  The next morning I gave Travers a quick run, then walked to the mill with the girls. I gave myself a talking to and braved myself up, then interviewed with the owner while the girls worked their shift.

  He shook his head when I asked for a job using numbers. “I have a man to handle buying and selling. He has to go down on the docks. And another one does the weighing and counting. He’s moving heavy containers. I don’t need anyone else. You could work in the mill with the rest of the women.”

  “I do figures in my head. Ask me some.”

  So he did and I gave him some answers, but they were easy. He nodded his head.

  “You’re quick, all right, but I got people who handle the numbers already.” He got up and motioned me to leave.

  I started for the door, then stopped, took a breath, straightened my backbone, then turned back to him. “Is your payroll man cheating you?” I asked. The owner was a big, burly man and I couldn’t see anyone getting away with cheating him.

  “No. At least he better not be.”

  “Have you watched him pay the workers?”

  “Yes.”

  “If he’s not stealing from you, he’s a’stealing from them. Only from the ones who can’t count.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I explained the method of counting the payroll man was using. “If they don’t know their numbers, he takes some of their pay.”

  “I know some who can’t count. The first shift is over and should be getting their pay right now. Come along.”

  We waited outside the door, and the owner asked several to show him their pay. At first it looked like I was wrong, then three in a row were two cents short, then another one.

  The owner gave them the right amount and took their names.

  “I’ve three shifts of workers. If he does this to just a few workers each shift, every day, he is getting away with at least an extra day’s wages. And giving me a poor reputation. Would you like his job?”

  “No. If you had a counter of some kind, a wooden holder where the workers could see that they were getting the right amount, you could hire anyone for that job.” I told him how the girls were to use their fingers.

  “Let’s see if they do it. Stay around until their shift is over.”

  He took me to lunch with him at his club. It was all fancy, with tablecloths on the tables and china so thin I was afraid to touch it with my fork. I looked so out of place in my travelin’ gear, I wanted to hide. But the mill owner said he didn’t care, so neither should I. I watched what he used to eat with, of the extra silver, and copied him.

  We had us a fancy meal, of shrimp brought up from the gulf. I’d never had that before, but it was right tasty and I told him so.

  Then he called three other men over to our table.

  “Ruth, this is Mr. Henry Debras, Mr. Will Franklin, and Monseiur La Breu. They are owners in companies who might be able to use your talents. Gentlemen, this is Ruth Trahern. She is the fastest, and most accurate, person I’ve ever come across when it comes to moving figures around.”

  They said “Hello,” and looked at me like I had two heads.

  “Well,” Mr. Franklin said, “if Henry here had three thousand pounds of cotton, fifty drums of cottonseed oil, six hundred and twenty pounds of linseed, and wanted to ship it one hundred twenty miles at two cents a pound, what would it cost him?”

  “How many pounds in a drum?” I asked.

  “Fifty.”

  I rolled them around in my mind a minute. “A hundred twenty two dollars and forty cents.” I said.

  He nodded. “That’s right. I just paid that.”

  “Try mine,” Mr. Debras said. He was short and balder than a peeled egg. He pulled out a piece of paper already filled with figures and read it off to me.

  “That would be sixty two dollars and twelve cents.”

  “Sixty one,” he said.

  I rechecked my mind. “No. Sixty two. You’re short a dollar.”

  He sat down, took out a pencil stub and started figuring.

  The next gent asked me a question about miles and I converted it.

  “How do you do that?” asked Mr. Franklin.

  “Was always able to,” I replied. “Numbers and me like each other. They just line up and make sense.”

  Mr. Debras stood up and put his paper away. “She’s right. I was off a dollar.” He looked at me. “Young lady, you say you’re looking for a job. What kind of a job do you want? I have several places in our company where I could use you.”

  “Sir, I’m plannin to see some country. Startin with California and parts in between. I want work so I can go out there, get me an eyeful, then go wherever else I can go. I figure I’ll have to work a year or more to earn enough. So I’m looking for a high-payin job so’s I can get there quicker.”

  “How about you work here for me until you can prove you handle the job. If you can, I’ll send you to California to work the shipping at that end. You’ll work out there under my brother, who is great with everything but numbers. The clerk who’s with him right now is better than most, but when he makes a mistake, nobody catches him, and they are costing me thousands of dollars.”

  “That was just what I was a’lookin for.”

  “Here’s the address of my company. Be there tomorrow morning at seven.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Warren.” He nodded to the mill owner who had brought me to lunch.

  “We can’t beat his offer. Good luck, young lady.” The other two tipped their hats and left.

  “Was that what you were looking for?” the mill owner asked.

  “Exactly. Thank you.”

  “Well, let’s go back and watch my clerk pay the second shift. And while we’re waiting for that, show me what you have in mind to keep this short change from happening again.”

  So I showed him—a flat plank of wood with very shallow holes, one for each coin. The worker could quickly see if he was getting all the money coming to him.

  We went to his machinist and he ordered up several different ones to pay different wages. He had the amount burned into each plank, and made sure the planks didn’t look alike.

  “That ought to make it harder to cheat my workers,” he said.

  He carried the planks with us, signaled two heavyset men to follow along, and we went back to where we could watch the payments being made. My two girls were in line. When they were paid, they put their fingers on the coins and told the clerk he hadn’t given them enough.

  “That’s what you always get,” he snapped. “Now move on, so the rest can get their wages.” He shoved them aside with one arm, and the men behind jostled them, so they looked bewildered.

  “You aint givin us the right amount,” the older one said. “You’re cheatin us.”

  “Take it up with management,” the man said, and looked past them, then blanched white when he saw the mill owner standing there.

  “What seems to be the problem?” the owner asked, and I would’ve hated to be that cheatin man at that
moment.

  “These girls, sir, they can’t count so they—”

  “Don’t know when you’re cheating them?” the owner put in. He stepped up to the counter, grabbed the man by the back of his collar and shook him. “Where’s their money?”

  The man glanced down and the mill owner reached down to where he’d looked and pulled up a sack of coins that the man had been filling with money he’d taken from the wages.

  “You men see what he’s been doing?” The other workers nodded, angry at him.

  “Now he’s only been doing it to those of you who can’t count. That’s not many, but enough so that he’s filled this bag today. See these planks? If you can’t count, you ask for your money to be laid out on these planks so you can see what you’re getting. This is for the weavers, like these gals. This one’s for the general mill workers. And this is for the boys who sweep and run errands.

  “Now Mr. Marteen is going to pay you folks while I get as much of your wages back as I can from this cheat, who will no longer be working here. I thank you for your labor. I did not know this was happening. It took this young lady here, who does not know the meaning of fear, to step up and tell me what was going on. From now on, I want to hear from you if anything like this happens again.”

  He set the bag of money on the counter. “How long have you been working here?” he asked my two girls.

  “Three months, sir.”

  “And have you always been paid by this man?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “At four cents a day, how much did he take from them?” he asked me.

  “Do they work every day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Three dollars and sixty eight cents. A dollar eighty four each.”

  “Here’s two dollars each, and my apologies.” He counted it out to them, looked over the room. “If you can count, he probably didn’t try to steal from you. If you can’t, come to the office tomorrow before your shift. We’ll work out what is comin to you.”

  He said goodbye to me and thanked me again. It made me feel real proud to think I could help someone like that. If’n I hadn’t spoke up, that cheat would still be a’stealin.

  The girls were waiting for me outside, all excited.