Page 71 - Homestead By Ann Newhouse
P. 71

We entered the hotel at midday, going over to a rather shabby looking front desk, with an equally shabby looking old man standing behind it. I asked for two rooms, a single and double. One for Mrs. O’ Neilson the other for the two boys to share. Looking beyond me, the old man nodded at our group, as he checked us out. “That will be 50 dollars in total,” he grunted, then asked,” What happened to the one with the arm in a sling?”
“He fell,” I said, reaching for my wallet.
He pushed a torn leather registration book under my nose as I slid the 50 dollars towards him. “Put your mark and your party’s in here and the name of the place from where you all came,” he murmured quietly as if he did not want anyone to hear.
I was cheeky and wrote Mr. N. O’Neil and family, signing my own name, sure that no one would recognise it. For the place of origin, I wrote Santa Fe, which left it wide open in case anyone inquired.
Leaving the lads and Margarete to settle in, and for Josh to rest after the long ride, Johanna and I went down to the café to see Liz and her mother, to find out the rest of the bad history that surrounded their lives. As usual it was busy. Liz’s eyes lit up as we entered the café.
“Hi, it’s great to see you again, is Josh with you?” Liz looked past me for Josh.
“Liz you know Johanna,” I pointed to Johanna who was already ordering coffee. “Yes, I met her at the Homestead, is there something wrong?” a worried Liz asked.
“Liz, can we go somewhere private to talk. And we’d like your mother, Shelly, to join us.”
“Sure, come in the back,” ushering us and Johanna in, with coffee in hand, through the door marked private.
“Ma, Ned’s here to talk . . . this is his friend Johanna,” Liz beckoned for us to sit.
“Pleased to meet you . . . what is this about? Has John Tirrell sent you?” Shelly Tully asked, her face turning red as her blood pressure rose.
“No, John doesn’t know we are here. He beat his son, Josh, for refusing to stop seeing your daughter. He is here, in Truth, as is Margarete’s O’ Neilson and her son Mitch. They are staying in the Hotel for tonight.” Shelly Tully swayed on her feet gripping a chair to stop herself from falling.
“Ma what is it. . . here sit I’ll make us a pot of coffee,” Liz jumped to attention. “Thanks, Liz-z-z,” Shelley put her head in her hands and let out a sob.


































































































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