Leather and Lace

Halfway from Texas to Kansas, Jack Leatherman suspected that this was the toughest cattle drive he had ever been on. By the time they got to Abilene he was sure of it. The weather had been hot, dry and windy. The heat and lack of rain had seared the prairies, stunting the grass and leaving little for the herd to graze on. Compounding the problem was the fact that the herd was larger than usual and seemingly more cantankerous than most. Throw in the usual raids by the Comanches, made hungrier and more aggressive than usual by the weather and it had been truly the cattle drive from hell. They had lost nearly 20 head of cattle to starvation and two cowhands to the redskins which served to further complicate things. By the time they delivered the herd to the railhead Jack was more than ready for a hot bath, a warm meal and a cold glass of beer or maybe two or three.

Murphy's Saloon was much as he had remembered it. A long bar for bellying up to, several tables for the inevitable poker games, the usual compliment of ladies for hire and rooms upstairs to accommodate them and their customers. One thing was different, Murphy had added a piano and a charming looking lady to play it. Looking her over admiringly he was thankful for the hot bath and the warm meal. He'd also shampooed his full head of prematurely gray hair and shaved his rugged face.

He picked up his stein of Murphy's best lager and walked over to the piano player. She appeared to be about his age, mid 40s with salt and pepper hair, long fingers for tickling the ivories and sparkling intelligent-looking blue eyes. She smiled at him and said hello.

"Hello yourself," he said, "I don't remember you from the last time I was here and I'm sure I wouldn't forget someone as charming and talented as yourself."

"Thank you," she said. "What's your name?"

"Jack Leatherman," he replied "although my friends call me Leather. What's your name?"

"Lucy Lacewell," she said, "although my friends call me Lace."

"Leather and Lace. That sounds like an interesting combination," he said.

She smiled but said nothing.

He paused for a moment and than said, "Do you take requests?"

"Certainly," she said, "I'll play it if I know the tune.

"I don't see any sheet music. Do you play by ear?"

"Guilty as charged," she said.

He laughed and said, "And very delightful looking ears from what I can see of them."

She laughed and brushed her hair back from her right ear. The movement of her arm revealed a perky looking breast hiding under her dress.

"Do you know Camptown Races?"

"Zippity doo dah day," she said and laughed.

"So you know the words too."

"Most of them and I'll even sing them if you'll join me. You have a nice deep voice. I'm guessing a baritone, maybe even a bass," she said.

"Beats the heck out of me," he said, "but I don't sing."

She smiled and said, "I thought all you cowboys sang."

"Some of us do, but only to the cattle."

"Then just try to imagine that all the people in here are cows."

"Well, some of 'em sure do smell like cows, present company excepted," he replied.

She began playing the intro to the song and he reluctantly joined in and they must have sounded okay. He sang the melody and she naturally harmonized and they did okay except they differed over the length of the race track. He said it was six miles long, she said it was nine.

When they finished they heard some applause and even a few calls for another tune.

"What else do you know?" she asked.

"How about Oh Susanna?"

"Sure," she said, "do you have a banjo on your knee?"

"Nope," he said, "and I don't come from Alabama either."

"Where do you come from?"

"Most recently from Texas, herdin' cattle, but I'm originally from here in good old bleedin' Kansas," he said.

"Got family anywhere around here?"

"No ma'am, they're all dead and gone."

"How about a wife and kids?"

"No wife and no kids, at least none that I know of," he said with a chuckle, "but I'm glad you asked."

"Why's that?"

"Think about it for a little while and you'll figure it out," he said.

She nodded and smiled and they began to sing Old Susanna to more applause, more calls for more and two drinks courtesy of an appreciative customer.

When they were through she said, "Since we seem to be singing Steven Foster songs maybe you know one of my favorites."

"Which one would that be?"

"My Old Kentucky Home," she said.

"And would Kentucky be your home?"

"It was, until I moved to Kansas with my husband. Make that my late husband."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, "how did that happen?"

"Let's sing the song and then we'll take a break, enjoy these free drinks and I'll tell you about it."

"Sounds good to me," he said, "we've just about exhausted my repertoire anyway, at least of songs fit for mixed company."

They polished off Oh Susanna, picked up their drinks and walked to a table in the back of the saloon.

"So, tell me about your life Mrs. Lacewell."

"First of all let me tell you that my real last name is Johnson. Lacewell was my maiden name. When I took this job Murphy and I decided to use my maiden name. We figured that Miss sounded better than Mrs. in the ads and posters. Anyway, I'm from Kentucky as I've already told you. I taught school for a time and then I met Mr. Johnson. He worked as a horse trainer. There are lots of stables in Kentucky as you probably know."

He nodded his head and she continued. "He met some people from Kansas who had come to Kentucky to buy horses. They had an idea of breeding thoroughbreds with quarter horses. Not a very practical idea as it turned out but we didn't discover that until we had packed up and moved out here. The result of the cross-breeding resulted in some pretty cantankerous horses. One of them bucked my husband off, he broke his neck and died almost instantly. End of story."

"And a pretty sad one at that," he said. "Are there any little Lacewells...or Johnsons?"

"No we never had any children and that's just as well. I considered going back into teaching but there were no teaching jobs available at the time. Lucky for me I somehow inherited a good ear for music and I used to sing in church so when Murphy decided to modernize the saloon and add some entertainment I was the only one to apply for the job."

"And you do a mighty fine job, if you ask my opinion," he said.

"Thank you," she said, but I barely make enough money here at the saloon to support myself, let alone support some kids. Now, tell me about you."

"Well, as I said, I'm from right here in Kansas originally. Grew up on a ranch not too far from here. Not a very big ranch but it was a good place to grow up and then my mother died and my father started drinking and gambling and lost the ranch in a poker game."

"My goodness," she said, "your story is even sadder than mine."

"It gets even sadder, My dad was so despondent that he killed himself."

"And so you became a cowboy," she said.

"Yep. It seemed to be the logical choice. A friend of my Dad's took me on, taught me a few things I didn't already know and put me in touch with the people I've been working for for the past 20 years."

"And do you like herding cattle?"

"Pays the bills and gives me something to do. I don't really have a home anymore. I spend most of my time on the trail. About the only nights I sleep in a real bed are in a hotel at the end of a cattle drive."

"I see," she said.

"But I gotta tell you I'm gettin' tired of sleepin' under the stars. I'd like to settle down in one place if I could find a steady job."

"I know some people in the cattle business," she said. "I'd be glad to ask around about employment, if you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all. I'd be honored for you to do that," he said.

"Good," she said. "Now I'd better get back to work. Are you going to be around for a few days?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm stayin' right down the street at the Grand Hotel although it's not so grand, as you probably know."

She laughed and said, "Well, come back and see me Mr. Leatherman and maybe we can sing some duets together."

"I'd enjoy that very much. And call me Leather."

"Alright, Leather, and you can call me Lace."

He went back to his hotel room and sat down in an old and very worn platform rocker. As he rocked he thought back over the afternoon, trying to recapture some of the warmth he had felt in the presence of this new woman. She had stirred him in ways he had never been stirred. The feelings were new and not at all uncomfortable.

After awhile he went back down to the hotel lobby, picked up a copy of the local newspaper which someone had left lying around and began to scan it. He skipped quickly through the descriptions of the local happenings, auctions, church socials, marriage and birth and death announcements and ended up in the classified ad section. Scanning down the columns he stopped and went back to re-read an ad. It said briefly that an out-of-state cattle buyer was looking for a local manager and he jotted down the particulars. The job application would require writing a letter to an address in Chicago. The written word was not one of his strong points but maybe he could find somebody to help him and he thought he knew exactly who to ask. He also made note of a brief ad which stated that Miss Lucy Lacewell would be entertaining at Murphy's Saloon every evening except Sunday from four to ten p.m.

Jack went back up to his room and took a nap. After his nap he washed his face and splashed on a bit more cologne. He enjoyed a late supper at a nearby eatery and walked back to the saloon. He took a seat close to the piano and smiled broadly when Lace noticed him and acknowledged his presence with a smile of her own.

He got a glass of Murphy's finest lager from the bartender and took a seat close to the piano. He sipped his beer and watched her long fingers slide up and down the keys. The song was an instrumental and sounded classical and vaguely familiar. When she finished he stood up and walked over to stand beside her.

"What's that song you were playing. I know I've heard it before but I can't remember the name or if it has words."

"Moonlight Sonata," she replied.

"That's by Bach or Beethoven or one of those German guys, isn't it?"

"Right the second time, handsome and it doesn't have any lyrics, at least none that I know of," she said with a smile. "I'm delightfully surprised that you would have any knowledge of it."

"Well I went to this concert once down in Dallas. They were giving away free tickets and I had some time to kill. Some skinny woman played it but not as prettily as you. And," he added, "she was nowhere as pretty as you either."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Leatherman," she said. She smiled and said, "Would you like to join me in another song?"

"Sure, if I know the words."

"How about Old Folks at Home?"

"That the one about the Swanee River?"

"One and the same."

They sang and he remembered most of the words, humming along with her on the parts he couldn't recall. At the end of the song he asked, "Where the heck is the Swanee River anyway?"

"Down in Florida I believe. You might be interested in knowing that when Stephen Foster first wrote the song it was called the Peedee River which is, I believe, in South Carolina, but somebody had the sense to get him to change the name of the river," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Smart decision if you ask me."

"Up for another song?" she asked.

"Only if you'll do a favor for me."

"What's that?"

"I'll tell you when you get a break if you'll let me buy you a drink."

"You're on," she said, "what would you like to sing?"

"You know Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie?"

"Deed I do and I also know the alternate title."

"What's that?" he asked.

"The Cowboy's Lament which is a pretty apt title when you think about it."

"Well," he laughed, "you sure enough found a lamenting cowboy to sing it with you."

They finished the song to even louder applause and a couple of a free drinks from an admiring listener. They had differed on whether the grave was narrow or shallow but in retrospect decided that it was probably both. They took their drinks to a table in a back corner of the saloon and sat down.

"Golly," he said, "free drinks and a beautiful lady to share 'em with. I could get accustomed to this."

She laughed and said "I'm afraid that's all the pay you'd get and a man can't live on beer although I'm sure many have tried."

"Speaking of pay," he said, "that's about the favor I want to ask you."

She nodded her head and he continued, "I saw a job advertised in the local newspaper and you have to write a letter explaining why you'd be the right man for it and I'm not very good at that sort of thing and," he hesitated, "you being a former school teacher and all I was wondering if you would help me."

"I'd be glad to," she said. "I get off work at ten and maybe we could talk about it then. If it's a good job there'll be lots of applications so we need to get right to it."

"Alright," he said, "it's a deal or a date or whatever."

She smiled and said, "Whatever."

When she finished her final song she walked over to his table. He thoroughly admired the way she carried herself, straight back, head up, the picture of a completely confident woman but with just enough sway in her hips to express her femininity. She could see and read his admiring glance and smiled warmly at him as she sat down.

"Tell me about this job," she said.

"Here's the ad in the paper," he said and handed it to her.

She read the ad and then said, "We need to find someplace quiet to talk about this. A noisy saloon is no place to compose such a serious letter."

"I'd suggest my hotel room but I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea,"

She smiled and said, "I hear you and I appreciate that. My house would not be a good idea either. Not that I don't trust you but I wouldn't want these cowboys to start thinking I take men home after work, for any reason."

They shared a brief chuckle and then her eyes widened and she said, "I think I know just the place."

"Where's that?"

"The Methodist Church. I play the piano there on Sunday mornings and I have a key to the place although it's rarely locked. Do you know where it is?"

"I believe I do," he said "although I've never been inside the place. I'm not much a church goer although I could change my mind if I found a church with a pretty piano player."

She laughed and said "Meet me there in about ten minutes. I don't want any of these cowpokes seeing us walking together, even if it's to church."

He walked outside and started walking toward his hotel and then doubled-back on the opposite side of the street and walked up a flight of broad steps to the church door. It was unlocked and he could see gas lamps lighted inside. She stood just inside the door and said, "Let's go into the Minister's office. There's a desk to write on and things to write with. With any luck Reverend Jenkins has left the office unlocked as usual."

He followed her across the vestibule and she opened the door to a small office. She lit a kerosene lamp and he could see a large desk with a comfortable chair. Behind the desk were bookcases full of books, of a religious nature he supposed, and across from the desk a straight-back chair. Lace took the chair behind the desk and he sat like a school boy opposite her. He told her a little more about himself, his experiences growing up on the ranch and later on the cattle drives. Lace made notes as he talked and than began to write. She read him what she had written and he thought it sounded like pure poetry and told her so. She smiled and said "It would be nice to include some letters of reference."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"Some personal recommendations as to your work habits and general character.

"Well I suppose Jeb Hawkins would be glad to help me out. I've worked pretty hard for him all these years and he's almost seemed like a second father to me. I'll talk to him first thing tomorrow morning. That should cover the part about work habits but I don't know who I could get to write a letter about my character," he said.

She smiled and said, "A letter from a church piano player might carry some weight and I think I could get Reverend Jenkins to write a letter for you. Of course he'd want to meet you and grill you on the Bible first."

"I'm not very up on the scriptures," he said.

She laughed and said, "Well there's sure plenty enough Bibles right here in the office and I know from listening to many, many sermons that the Reverend's favorite is the book of Proverbs. I'd suggest you read that over a few times and meet me here tomorrow morning around nine o'clock."

"I can do that," he said "and maybe even bring along a letter from Jeb Hawkins. I usually meet him for breakfast at the Del Rio Restaurant."

She stood up and held out her hand. He took it and said, "I don't think I can thank you enough for doing all of this for me. You hardly know me."

She laughed and said, "I'm a pretty good judge of men I think, I hope. God knows I've been around enough of them working in that saloon. And perhaps I have an ulterior motive."

"What's that?"

"I think I'd like for you to stay around Abilene on a permanent basis so I can see just how good a judge of character I am."

He smiled and said, "May I walk you home?"

"That would be nice," she said "and we're not likely to be seen together at this time of night and in this neighborhood."

It was a short walk to her house and they talked very little along the way but they seemed to be very comfortable with each other and no conversation seemed important. When they reached her door they shook hands again and she raised her face to him as if she would welcome a kiss. He smiled and just reached up and gently touched her cheek than he put one hand to his lips and then pressed it on hers.

"Goodnight, Lace," he said.

"A very good night, I think," she said "and I'll see in church tomorrow morning at nine o'clock."

"It's a date," he said, "or whatever."

"Whatever."

He returned to his hotel room and opened up the borrowed Bible. He read the book of Proverbs twice, committed a few key passages to his humble memory and then fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The next morning he woke with the sun, washed as best he could in the basin of water by his bed and put on his best clothes because he had important things to do this day. At breakfast with his employer he outlined his plans for the future and was delighted but not overly surprised when the man agreed to write him a letter of recommendation. It was brief but sounded sincere. It said Jack Leatherman has worked for me for five years. He's an honest God-fearing man and he knows cattle. I will hate losing him but wish him well. Jack had suggested the part about God-fearing since he planned to show the letter to the Preacher later that morning. So it was with one letter of recommendation in hand that he walked into the Methodist Church at 9 o'clock.

Lace was already in the Minister's office. She smiled and stood up as Jack entered the room and the preacher stood up also.

"And here he is," she said, "my friend, Mr. Leatherman."

The preacher shook Jack's hand vigorously and said "Welcome brother Leatherman. Mrs. Johnson tells me you'd like to become a permanent part of our little community."

"Indeed I would," Jack said, "I'm tired of sleeping on the ground and chasing wayward cows and I'd be eternally grateful for any help you and Mrs. Johnson can give me in finding a steady job."

"Well, you've got a good friend in Mrs. Johnson and I hope you realize that, young man," the preacher said.

"Indeed I do," said Jack, "a capable, intelligent and virtuous woman, who is he who can find her? She is far more precious than jewels and her value is far above rubies or pearls."