Lorrenda

By Dwight W. Hunter

Lorrenda’s father, a Civil War Veteran, and Benton’s sole lawyer was shot dead while sitting in his office chair by a young illiterate member of an inbred wandering family.
Befriended by Sheriff Bert Malcom, he became Lorrenda’s life long confident who taught her shoot and care for modern firearms which she put to good use on diverse occasions and earned two notches on her pistol.
Stepping into her father’s business shoes Lorrenda was immediately faced with protecting Adams County citizens from a railroad land purchasing swindle. After winning the railroad owner’s ear, she was given sub-rosa authority over the railroad’s western expansion project. When a vital railroad bridge was sabotaged, Lorrenda was given the job of tracking down the man responsible for mass murders, destruction of property and sending a complete train to the bottom of a lake.
Lorrenda was a non-conformist, visionary and a feminist long before the concept was invented. She was a recognized leader in promoting new office equipment and employment of women office staff. When offered the presidency of a small railroad company she refused, preferring to remain a kingmaker rather than becoming a queen.
Turning over her businesses to women Lorrenda earlier trained, she became active in politics, served on the board of a telephone company and promoted the use of motor vehicles and airplanes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dwight W. Hunter
• Release date: Feb 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301175147

Dwight W. Hunter

I was born and reared on the Nez Perce Indian Reservation in Northern Idaho, graduated from Nezperce High school in the class of '50, spent a four-year tour of duty in the Navy which took me to California, Tennessee, Japan and Alaska. After leaving the Navy I received a B.S. Degree in Engineering from Indiana Institute of Technology at Fort Wayne, Indiana and subsequently spent thirty years in the Aerospace industry and private business Shifting careers in 1986 I received an A.S. Degree from the Allied Health Department of Mission College at Santa Clara, California, followed by ten years as a Psych Nurse with the California Department of Developmental Services. Soon after retirement I revisited Idaho, to keep a blind date with Mary, who subsequently became my life partner. We pooled our money, bought a used van and RV trailer and became RV’ers. One day, while enjoying the sun and sea at Morro Bay, CA State Park, I made a comment that someone should write bodice ripper romance novels about retired senior citizens. Mary replied with a question. Why don’t you? In answer to her question I authored my first novel about a strong-willed retired lady and a less then bright snowbird cowboy. Like most nascent writers, following the birth of my first book I self published and quickly discovered potential readers were not scrambling to purchase this newly minted masterpiece. Setting aside my dreams for instant fame, I continued to write for my own amusement. In six following novels I shifted time frames to the post-Civil War era and younger women protagonists. To date I have written seven titles in the Sisters of Destiny Series. Members in this fictional sisterhood possess a common gene, giving them the chutzpa to out think, out shoot and out maneuver ego driven men thoughtless enough to stand in their way. After completing my seventh novel I learned about e-books and a friend offered to create a web site to market my books in their original print format. Unfortunately she died unexpectedly and the web site project suffered a still-birth. A couple of years later I heard about Smashwords and quickly learned my initial attempt at website marketing books, in their print format, was not the way to bring books to market. Mary and I have given up full time RV’ing and settled down in the quasi frontier town of Pahrump, NV. Since becoming domesticated, I have devoted a major portion of my time to converting books into Smashwords format for publication.

Book preview

Chapter12 - The New Lawyer

Chapter13 - A Ride in the Country

Chapter14 - The Quiet Dead

Chapter15 - Speculation

Chapter16 - The Storm

Chapter17 - The Throne of Power

Chapter18 - Cunningham

Chapter19 - Fennius Dexter

Chapter20 - The Invitation

Chapter21 - Dinner

Chapter22 - A Job

Chapter23 - Typewriting Machines

Chapter24 - An Unexpected Invitation

Chapter25 - Detective...?

Chapter26 - Unexpected Acquaintance

Chapter27 - Ah! The Kiss

Chapter28 - Heading Home

Chapter29 - Even the Hard Can Have a Heart

Chapter30 - The Arrival

Chapter31 - The New Office

Chapter32 - Intuition

Chapter33 - Sabotage

Chapter34 - A Day of Reckoning

Chapter35 - A New World Opens

Chapter36 - Brian Hogan

Chapter37 - The investigation Begins

Chapter38 - The Plot Thickens

Chapter39 - Ladies of the Evening

Chapter40 - Two Down, One to Go

Chapter41 - Closure

About_the_Author

Sisters_of_Destiny

Chapter01 - The Burial

It was fifty-five minutes past one o’clock on a cold spring afternoon where a small crowd gathered in Benton’s Cemetery to pay their last respects to a pillar of the community. A blustery wind, joining forces with a pissy rain further aggravated mourners’ discomfort. Misty droplets coalesced forming pregnant beads on Lorrenda’s coat hood before breaking loose to dribble down her dulled face. Her expressionless eyes absently stared at the rustic oak casket resting six feet away on two wooden planks spanning a recently dug muddy grave, slowly filling with murky brown water. Inside the white muslin lined coffin lay the body of George William Puckett II, last of the male Puckett clan and Lorrenda’s father.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, droned the preacher’s monotone voice.

"We commit George William Puckett II, to the earth from which he rose. A distinguished war veteran and leader of our community. George was born October 16, 1829 in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania where he reached maturity. Graduating from Central Law College he was subsequently accepted by the Bar Association to practice law.

Upon completion of his education, George served gallantly as a Lieutenant of Artillery in the recent war. Following his release from the army, George married Sara Ann McBride on December 5, 1865 and moved to Benton, arriving in August 1866. He established a law practice in addition to being a land and insurance agent. George further served this community as county prosecuting attorney.

Two children were born to George and Sara Ann. First a son, George William Puckett III, was born October 17, 1866. Young George died while still a child on December 19, 1868. The second child, a daughter, Lorrenda Mary Puckett was born January 8, 1868. George’s beloved wife Sara Ann preceded him in death, departing the earth on February 21, 1879. Shall we pray."

Lorrenda faintly heard the preacher’s voice fade into the distance and unaware of passing time until she was aroused from her state of nothingness by a gentle hand on her left shoulder and a gentle voice.

Let me and Martha take you home, Lorrenda, whispered Bill Kennedy. It’s time we got in out of this infernal rain. I’m forced to wonder if the Almighty is favoring us with plenty or with punishment. Never have I seen it rain this long in the twenty-three years I’ve lived in Adams County.

Thank you, Mr. Kennedy. Lorrenda replied, turning to Kennedy. I’m wet and chilled to marrow of my bones. I think we could all do with a warm fire and a hot toddy.

Lorrenda Mary Puckett was twenty years, three months and seventeen days old when two .44 caliber lead pistol balls tore into her father’s body two days ago. One slug exploded in his heart and the second shattered his right shoulder.

Puckett’s murderer was a half-wit young man belonging to the Fugate family having drifted like tumbleweeds into Adams County and set up a squatter’s camp near Benton during the past fall. Rumors held the Fugate family was all inbred illiterates living by stealing anything they could carry away, foraging off of the land and whatever charity fell their way.

The parents and three sons shared grotesque inhuman facial features, the likes of which few people ever saw. Their repulsive appearances were further enhanced by unwashed rancid smelling bodies clad in cast-off unwashed ragged clothes.

Beginning immediately after Fugate’s arrival, community members began grumbling about the family’s perpetual thievery and the sheriff’s ineffective actions to stop their stealing. Sheriff Bert Malcom paid three visits to their camp warning Mr. Fugate local citizens were growing irritated about their livestock and other foodstuff being stolen; but without physical evidence the sheriff couldn’t make a legal case against them.

By early spring the community’s benevolent outlook reached its limits. At mid-morning on the twenty-fifth of April, three men arrived at the county prosecutor’s office to tell George Puckett their patience with the Fugate family had run out. During the past week over a dozen barnyard fowls, uncounted eggs, three small pigs and a calf came up missing. Unless the law was prepared to do something, and do it now, they were going to take matters into their own hands... Charity be dammed.

Fearing the agitated men would resort to bloodshed, Puckett persuaded the disgruntled men to remain in town while he and Sheriff Bert Malcom rode out to give Fugates their marching orders. Arriving at the Fugate’s camp, Puckett and Malcom stepped down from their saddle horses and Puckett addressed the family, while Sheriff Malcom stood apart where he could keep an eye on family member movements.

Good morning! My name is George Puckett, prosecuting attorney for Adams County and the gentleman to my right is Sheriff Malcom, pointing to Malcom. You should remember him from his prior visits.

Since your arrival here last fall Sheriff Malcom and I have received numerous complaints from surrounding farmers concerning animals and other items being stolen. Less than an hour ago, three men reported the disappearance of three young pigs, several chickens and a calf. At first I thought the men’s complaints were probably unfounded. However, now that I can see a calf carcass hanging over yonder, I am taking the men’s complaints seriously. Puckett said pointing to the near meatless calf skeleton.

There were no comments from family members.

Sheriff Malcom and I are hereby ordering you to pack up and leave this community immediately. The oldest son, Sheriff Malcom estimated to be about sixteen, appeared to have taken an immediate dislike to Puckett by walking up and throwing a poorly executed punch. His attempt at slugging Puckett was easily blocked and the young man’s aggression was quickly rewarded with two expertly delivered jabs by Puckett. The first jab struck near his belly button, bending him forward. The second lick hit his upper right cheek and eye with sufficient force to topple him backward and landed him flat on his back. The attacker rolled onto his right side gasping for breath as family members moved toward Puckett. They were immediately stopped by a loud crack from Sheriff Malcom’s Navy Colt pistol aimed inches above family members’ heads.

With order restored, Puckett continued using a stern voice.

We are not here to hurt anyone. As I said before, you have worn out your welcome here in Benton. Warning time is now over and you must leave. Get your things together and move out! Those three angry men I told you about are waiting in Benton ready to either shoot or hang any family member they can find. I suggest you get moving within the hour. Neither Sheriff Malcom nor I will be responsible for what may happen to one or all if seen near here this afternoon.

When young Fugate’s lungs were in working order, he stood and flung his words at Puckett

SonBitch, I’ll kill you for this someday! Completing his threat, he turned and walked away.

The Fugates quickly set about loading their few belongings onto a cobbled-up pushcart and were out of sight within less than an hour. None of the family members was seen or heard about until three days later when two hours before sunset the eldest Fugate boy walked into Puckett’s office and made good his earlier threat by firing two shots into Puckett body, killing him instantly.

Sundown was approaching when George Puckett’s murderer was run down two miles from town and shot dead by five different bullets in answer to the young man raising his revolver.

When young Fugate’s rusty, cap and ball pistol was examined; only two of the six empty cylinder chambers revealed signs of being fired. His limited ammunition was exhausted when shooting Puckett. None of the remaining Fugate family members was ever seen again. The community could only assume young Fugate acted alone when he carried out the threat made three days before.

Chapter02 - Lorrenda Takes Charge

With mugs of hot moonshine toddy in hand; Lorrenda, the Kennedys and Sheriff Bert Malcom sat in a semicircle facing a flickering oakwood fire crackling in the Puckett residence parlor fireplace.

I know it’s awful soon to ask such a question, Lorrenda, but I must. Have you given thought to your future? Martha Kennedy inquired.

Actually, there is very little for me to think about. I intend to continue Papa’s business.

That’s not what a girl your age should be doing, admonished Mrs. Kennedy. I know it was important for you to look after your father, but a girl your age should have married before now, or else the first thing you know you’ll be an old maid. It’s all the more important for you get married soon and let your husband run the business.

Things will have to change greatly if I’m to find a husband, Lorrenda quickly replied. I have yet to notice a young man in Adams County I consider as minimal husband material.

Well! huffed Mrs. Kennedy. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be overly critical. I notice other young women in town have found husbands.

Your observation may be well and good, Mrs. Kennedy, had Papa left me a farm or livery stable rather than a law office. As you’re aware, I have been working in Papa’s office for the past five years, so I’m familiar with the business.

I’m not sure men in the community will be anxious going to consult a young woman about a legal matter or to transact a property sale. Mrs. Kennedy replied rather tartly.

Can’t tell, Martha? Sheriff Bert Malcom broke in. Most everyone in the county is aware Lorrenda has been doing most of the business while George played cards and shot pool.

Humph! It’s still no place for a young woman. A woman’s place is in the home, looking after a husband and raising children. Martha retorted, giving Sheriff Malcom a sour look.

You may be right, Martha. However, I lean toward agreeing with Lorrenda. As sheriff, I likely know more about people in the county than anyone and from all I’ve seen of the county’s crop of young men, none of them have impressed me with their brainpower. I wouldn’t hold my breath about one of them having the wherewithal to become a lawyer.

Surely, Lorrenda could get someone to run the business, offered Mrs. Kennedy in a weaker tone, indicating she understood Sheriff Malcom’s meaning.

Martha, as I recall you originally asked Lorrenda a question concerning her future plans. It sounds to me like you didn’t approve of her answer and now you’re trying to force your opinion on how she should live her life. Bill Kennedy remarked.

You men! Martha charged, rising to her husband’s challenge. I hasten to count how many times I’ve heard men wax on how such and so a woman doesn’t keep her house clean, or about how another woman is a poor cook, while some other woman lets her children go unkempt and similar complaints of things they know nothing about.

After a minute’s silence, Lorrenda restored the conversation.

Thank you, Mrs. Kennedy for your concern about my welfare. However, all of us need to consider how times are changing. Recent newspapers report on women being employed in occupations other than domestics, school teachers or sewing machine operators in garment industry sweatshops.

Next thing you know, women will be discarding their dresses to wear pants so they can start taking over men’s jobs, Martha Kennedy sniffed.

I don’t mean to get you all riled up, Martha, but with all the records, journals and accounts we lawmen are required to keep, I can see where a woman could do these things better than the men I know, myself included.

Speaking for myself, I certainly wouldn’t want to work where a bunch of ill-mannered, dirty men was around, using rough language, spitting tobacco juice and treating me like some dance hall tart.

Martha, I know it’s hard to change, but like Lorrenda just told us; time is forcing changes on us all and we need to get used to new ideas. Turning to Lorrenda, Bill Kennedy asked, Are you going to advertise for a lawyer to do your legal work?

No. I expect to receive my law certificate within the month.

Well for lands sake, are you going to be a lawyer? Mrs. Kennedy sputtered, meeting Lorrenda’s eyes.

Yes, I am. I have been studying a mail order course in reading for the law over the past two years. Two weeks from tomorrow I’ll be examined by a panel of attorneys in Star City. If they deem me qualified, I will be certificated by the State Bar Association to practice law.

My goodness sakes! Who would have ever thought of such a thing? Mrs. Kennedy uttered shaking her head in disbelief.

I believe we have a right smart thinking young lady among us, Sheriff Malcom declared. It’s a good thing she’s getting an early start at this lawyer business. I got a note from the sheriff in Star City not long ago mentioning something about railroad people being in town looking into securing rights of way for a new track they plan to build heading west. Gauging from his talk we may be getting ourselves a railroad, right here in Benton, sometime in the next couple of years.

I’m sure you’re right, Sheriff Malcom. Lorrenda agreed, Several newspapers are reporting Trans Pacific Railroad plans to extend its service from Star City on west across the state, without any specific mention of their expansion going through Benton, however, newspaper maps, indicate the new extension will pass through Benton.

If the railroad does come through Benton, most everything in our lives will change, Bill Kennedy nodded.

Newspapers are reporting on many new products we can expect in the near future. One of the most talked about new products is petroleum being pumped from the ground in certain parts of Pennsylvania, Lorrenda added.

Never heard of, what did you call it? Petroleum. What is it used for? Mr. Kennedy asked.

When pumped from the ground petroleum is a black, sticky, thick liquid having properties similar to tar. After being distilled, or heated until it boils, kind of like making moonshine, the distillate is a clear liquid called ‘kerosene’, which is growing in use as a replacement for coaloil; in addition there are several heavy greases called lubricants used mainly by railroads and steam-engine powered equipment in factories.

Where do you get these newspapers? Mr. Kennedy asked.

Papa subscribed for them from four eastern cities.

I’ll be, grunted Sheriff Malcom. I never heard George mention anything about reading big city newspapers. Come to think about it though, he always seemed to know more about what was happening in distant places before anyone else.

That was one of Papa’s ways. He liked to expound on subjects he read, but seldom gave credit to the reporter.

I think it’s time we get back to a more practical matter about how Lorrenda is going to get along. Mrs. Kennedy interjected. Lorrenda, why don’t you stay with us for a few days, until an older lady can be found to live with you?

Thank you, Mrs. Kennedy, for your kind offer. Actually, I feel more comfortable remaining here, so I can sleep in my own bed. Anyway, I’m going to hire April Wilton to be my maid. I’m sure her family can use an extra income and will have one less family member to feed.

Are you really going to take a darkie girl into your house? Mrs. Kennedy remarked with a stern questioning look.

Can’t see why not? Lorrenda replied. April is one of God’s children like all the rest of us and it would give her an opportunity to gain some education. Who knows, if she is an apt student, maybe she can become a teacher to her people. If Negroes are to become useful citizens, they will need access to education.

Well. I can see our help isn’t needed. Come on, William, we best be getting home. Mrs. Kennedy said, standing up.

Whatever you say, Martha, Bill Kennedy replied getting to his feet.

Mr. Kennedy held back, so he could whisper to Lorrenda. No call to take offense at things Martha says. She doesn’t adjust to changes too well. We will miss your father and I’m glad you have your life pretty well figured out."

Thank you, Mr. Kennedy, she whispered, before bidding them goodbye.

Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy for your kindness and generous offer. When my life settles down, it would please me for you to come for supper. Goodbye.

The Kennedys nodded and set out into the afternoon rain.

Martha is a strong-minded woman. Most times her bark is worse than her bite, Sheriff Malcom volunteered when Lorrenda returned from seeing her guests off.

Opening the door let in cold air. Lorrenda remarked with a shiver. "Sheriff Malcom, how about a toddy refill? Malcom nodded his approval.

Perhaps you would stoke up the fire while I mix up another round.

Not only are you smart, you’re also perceptive.

With a new charge of wood crackling in the fireplace and toddy mugs refilled, Sheriff Malcom resumed their conversation.

With you taking over as prosecutor and local law counsel, we will be seeing more of each other and I feel it’s time we dispensed with name formalities, in social setting, that is. I’d be obliged if you called me, Bert.

I believe we can take care of such an arrangement without affidavits being prepared, Lorrenda smiled, lifting her toddy mug.

May we prosper and bring confusion to the spongers?

I’ll drink to that. If the railroad comes through here, I have a feeling you will do quite well for yourself. Land speculators will likely be thick as flies before long and with land ownership changing hands there will be all sorts of legal work for you to do.

Yes, Bert, I believe you’re right. In the meantime, there is a personal favor I would like to ask of you and a subject for you to think about.

The first part may be easier than the second. I’m not much at deep thinking, like you are, go ahead.

First the favor, I want you to advise me on purchasing modern firearms and then teach me how to shoot and care for them. All of Papa’s guns are out of date antiques. I want guns using cartridges, a small pistol to carry in my purse or hidden on my person, a bigger holster type pistol and a repeating saddle carbine.

Apparently George never showed you anything about guns.

No. Papa was never above having Momma and I do menial jobs he didn’t want to do, while at the same time holding to the proposition women are fragile and require protection by men in all other aspects of their lives.

I hear you. It would be my pleasure to give you a few pointers on selecting the guns you mentioned. Are you thinking about buying them from Sears and Roebuck or patronizing the local hardware store?

I have taken note of Mr. Winthrop’s gun inventory and he would have to order the items I want and charge a commission for something I can do myself. Anyway, I would prefer to keep my ownership of guns from becoming public gossip for a while. Now, before we get into guns, which may take some time, there is something I want you to think about.

O. K. I’m all ears.

With the potential railroad almost certain to cross Adams County and passing through Benton, very likely. Bert, we need people in the county to get their bullets lined up, so to speak, before speculators and railroad agents arrive, else it will be a genuine free-for-all with everyone floundering around like a sack full of catfish.

How do you propose we go about getting ready? Bert asked.

We need to get the county commissioners and other forward looking citizens together and hatch out a plan on how to deal with the expected invasion of vultures.

What kind of a plan do you have in mind?

I’m waiting for information Papa requested to arrive from the east. When it arrives, I can begin working on an agenda. In the meantime you can sort of sidle up to the men you think should be included on such a task and test their direction of thinking about us banding together so we can speak as a common voice. I have no conception of how many men will show interest... maybe only a few, but I’ll tell you one thing for certain, it will be to everyone’s advantage if we agree on a plan of action and stick to it.

Chapter03 - The Railroad Representative

Two months after Lorrenda’s father was laid to rest, spring crops were sending up tender shoots to bathe in warm sunshine joined by a collage of blossom fragrances carried on soft breezes as Lorrenda cantered her horse, Myrtle, toward an oak and hickory thicket at Plumber Slough.

Myrtle didn’t have a documented bloodline many proud horse owners demanded, most times for no better reason than bragging rights. She was a mellow all around type of horse willing to try anything asked of her, but not always with the flare and style of her blooded counter parts.

Dams on both sides of her family tree were serviced by studs of convenience rather than bloodline. Nevertheless, Myrtle had good confirmation; she was spirited and not limited by a bloated ego. Dressed in her new summer chestnut coat, it shone in the sun, set off with a black mane and tail, a full-face blaze and knee high stocking front feet. About the only ancestral mark of distinction Myrtle could muster amounted to a raised tail and arched neck when cantering testifying to Arabian blood in her ancestry.

She displayed a good trotting gate while drawing a cabriolet Lorrenda occasionally used when in a ladylike frame of mind. Most times Myrtle wore a western saddle allowing Lorrenda to flaunt her disregard for feminine attire by wearing long pants and a shirt.

Lorrenda was slightly oversized for women of her time at five foot seven and weighing one hundred thirty-two pounds. Her curvaceous figure left little doubt about her gender. She wore here deep auburn hair cropped short, parted in the middle and held in place with a couple of unadorned gold hair clasps. Facially, she lacked the fine features of a Grecian de Milo, but was attractive nonetheless with a light creamy complexion and a few random freckles.

Personality wise, Lorrenda’s mind didn’t understand the subtleties of playing coy or being mysterious. She was observant, practical, did her own thinking, not easily intimidated and most times spoke her mind, all qualities few men had in mind when on the prowl for a potential wife.

She was also a realist knowing she could enhance her physical attributes with close-fitting clothes to scramble men’s thinking when negotiating business. But this particular afternoon Lorrenda was far from feeling ladylike, wearing close-fitting black pants and blue chambray shirt, wide brim hat and riding boots; she was out to hone her shooting skills, not impress anyone with the clothes she wore.

Snug in its sheepskin-lined saddle scabbard rested a Winchester 45-70 carbine. On a cartridge belt spanning her trim waist hung a holstered .32 caliber double action Smith and Wesson six-shot revolver, and a sheathed six-inch balanced throwing knife. Inside her shirt, secured in a cloth holster, rested a .41 caliber Derringer gamblers’ special.

Having graduated from Sheriff Bert Malcom’s gunmanship school, she learned the mechanics of caring for guns, safety habits while handling guns and shooting various kinds of firearms ranging from pistols to rifles and shotguns. After spring rains ceased and accompanying mud dried, she set a practice regimen of shooting two times a week She held no intentions of becoming a skilled shot, wanting only to gain the ability to defend herself in unexpected situations. Lorrenda was always armed when away from her house and especially while in her office.

Today her agenda was to acquaint herself and Myrtle with shooting while mounted. The most important part of the exercise was to teach Myrtle to tolerate loud explosions from guns being fired by her rider. Two hours and three boxes of cartridges later, Lorrenda was satisfied with her shooting abilities and Myrtle’s acceptance of guns being fired by her rider. Returning home she gave Myrtle a rub down, cleaned her guns, enjoyed a bath and was dressing when April knocked on her open bedroom door.

There is a man claiming to be from Trans Pacific Railroad waiting to see you, Miss Lorrenda.

With an important businessman waiting to see me I had better put on my business clothes. Thank you, April. Tell the gentleman I’ll be down directly and offer him a large drink of corn licker to ease any waiting pains he may have.

Ten minutes later, dressed in a gray form fitting waist jacket and ankle length slim skirt, sharp taps from her two-inch high heels announced Lorrenda’s entry to the parlor where a middle age, well dressed, man with a trimmed beard and mustache rose to greet her.

How do you do, I’m Lorrenda Puckett, she announced offering her hand.

It’s my pleasure to meet you, Miss Puckett. My name is Wilson Cordrey, representing Trans Pacific Railroad.

Please be seated, Mr. Cordrey. I see April has made you comfortable with a drink. Would you care to join me for another? I always feel out of place drinking alone. Receiving a slight nod from Cordrey, she called her desires to April. Early in April’s service, Lorrenda instructed April to mix her drinks with just enough alcohol to give color and aroma, in keeping with Lorrenda’s father’s teachings to serve clients and other business people enough alcohol to make them comfortable, while only giving the appearance of indulging herself.

You surprise me on all counts, Miss Puckett. You are hardly the person I expected to meet.

Would I be prying into your secret thoughts by asking of your expectations?

I’m unable to verbalize my exact thinking, other than hardly expecting to find you so young and attractive.

Before Lorrenda could reply, April served their drinks and left the room.

With glass in hand Lorrenda rose to her feet.

Shall we drink to prosperity and cooperation, Mr. Cordrey, or would you prefer something different?

An excellent choice, he agreed, as they touched glasses and each took a sip before regaining their chairs.

I periodically read in New York and other eastern newspapers, about women finding employment in the business world. As for Benton, I’m afraid people are still trying to make up their minds about me. In the event you may not have known about my father, whom you may have expected to meet, he died this past April and I assumed his business.

I did hear something about him meeting an untimely death.

To be perfectly blunt, Mr. Cordrey, he was murdered by a young man from an inbred mentally deficient family who moved in and squatted near Benton last fall. The parents and their three sons lived a primitive food gathering life style augmented by regular thefts from surrounding farms. As a result of their constant thievery, community sentiment demanded action. It fell to my father, accompanied by the sheriff, to order the family from our county. Three days later the eldest boy returned, or perhaps he never left, and fulfilled an earlier death threat made to my father. We will never learn the young man’s thoughts, because he was shot dead, two miles from town while attempting to escape. Neither a camp nor evidence was found indicating he had company.

You have my condolences, Miss Puckett, especially for your father’s violent death.

Thank you, Mr. Cordrey. Shall we turn to a brighter page?

I agree. I suspect you are aware, Trans Pacific Railroad will be extending its service west, across the state in the near future and expansion requires gaining land easements to construct the rail bed.

So I am aware. I acted as my father’s scribe for the past several years, making me privy to his correspondence and business in general. In addition I purpose myself to keep abreast of railroad activity frequently reported in eastern newspapers.

"Ah yes. You have just explained why the signature of L. M. Puckett appears under the letterhead of George W. Puckett II. It also answers the question of why my appearance didn’t appear