by Kit Morgan
Before Papa died, the three of them had been so excited about leaving burned-out Richmond and coming west. It was a grand adventure, starting over – even grander now that the railroad made the journey easier. But they didn’t get to ride the rails the entire way. And the railroad didn’t keep her father from contracting the flu. Personally, she thought he picked it up in Kansas City, but who could say?
“Off to work, Maisie?” Mrs. Whitehall asked as Maisie descended the stairs.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back in a few hours. You don’t mind if I heat something up for Mama later?”
“Of course not, child – you know supper’s included in your rent. I don’t know why that woman insists you cook for her when my cooking’s perfectly fine.”
“I know, Mrs. Whitehall,” she said with a smile. “But Mama ... has her ways.”
“She’s just creating more work and expense for you,” Mrs. Whitehall said. “She hasn’t come down to eat with the rest of us for weeks. Ain’t right for a body to stay cooped up in her room like that.”
Maisie’s eyes drifted up the staircase. “On that we agree. I’m going to see the doctor this week. I can’t think of what else to do.”
Mrs. Whitehall shook her graying head. “I don’t know how you do it, child. You’re an angel on earth to put up with that woman. But I know it’s not her fault – some folks just can’t handle hard times or losing a loved one. She must have loved your pa very much.”
Maisie pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders. It was late October, and Montana autumns felt like Virginia winters. “I’ve heard that too – maybe that is what’s wrong with Mama. But the doctor should know, shouldn’t he?”
“We can only hope,” Mrs. Whitehall said. “If not, child ... well, then I’m afraid you have to start praying for a miracle.”
MAISIE WALKED TO WORK as if to the gallows. She knew her mother was getting worse, but the reality of it sunk in when Mrs. Whitehall mentioned it. There was no use denying it – Mama needed help. Maisie wasn’t sure what or how, but surely the doctor would know. Then she could get her mother on the mend.
But what if he didn’t? Then where were they?
The wind picked up, whipping at Maisie’s skirts She leaned into it and walked on. Leaves blew past in flashes of brown, gold, red and orange. She loved this time of year, even if it was getting colder. She just wished she had a coat. Thankfully the boarding house wasn’t far from the mercantile, so she wasn’t out in the elements for long. Still, the winters out here were far more severe than in Virginia.
She reached the mercantile doors, patted her dark hair and took a deep breath, not wanting Abigail to notice she’d been fighting tears. Crying was something she refused to do. She’d shed enough tears over Papa’s death to last a lifetime, as had her mother. Mama was still grieving and hard too. Maisie wondered if Mama would ever get over it – only time would tell.
She put her hand on the doorknob. “You can do this,” she whispered. “Bright smile, Maisie, bright smile.” She opened the door and stepped inside. The bell announced her arrival and she plastered on a smile for the Smiths ... a wasted effort, as neither of them seemed to be minding the store. “Where is everybody?”
“Is that you, Maisie?” Abigail called up the hall.
“Yes,” Maisie called back and went behind the counter. She took her shawl off, folded it up and tucked it in a cubbyhole. “Has it been busy?”
“No, thank Heaven,” Abigail said as she appeared with a grin.
“What are you so happy about?” Maisie asked.
“We have company,” Abigail said. “An old friend we haven’t seen in years.”
“That’s nice.” She studied the shelves behind her. Hmmm ... she’d have to do some re-stocking, from the looks of things. “Have you been visiting with them long?”
“The last couple of hours.” Abigail turned to the hall. “Jonathan, come to the front – there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Maisie wasn’t feeling particularly sociable, not after that last bout with her mother, but put her smile back on anyway. Jasper appeared, followed by a young man with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes. He wasn’t the dashingly handsome type she’d read about in novels, but he certainly wasn’t hard to look at. She suddenly realized her smile had turned genuine.
“Jonathan, this is our new helper, Miss Maisie Woodhouse,” Abigail said. “Maisie, may I introduce Jonathan Bridger? As I said, he’s an old friend from years back. He and his family used to live here.”
Maisie’s eyes darted between the three, coming to rest on Mr. Bridger. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. When did you live in Cutter’s Creek?”
Mr. Bridger glanced at the Smiths, as if he wasn’t sure if she was addressing him. “Almost ten years ago. I was just a boy then.” His ears turned pink.
Oh dear – had she just put her foot in her mouth? Not having any brothers, she had to remind herself that men were sensitive about the darnedest things. “Did you used to work here?”
“Oh no,” he said with a chuckle. “I worked at the livery stable. In fact, I’m going down to talk to the blacksmith about hiring me back. It’s the same blacksmith, I understand.”
“Good for you. That means you’ll be staying?”
He nodded, his eyes meeting hers. “Yes, I suppose.”
She liked his smile. There was something charming about the man – he wore his boyish innocence comfortably, like a favorite hat. “I’m glad to hear it. That’ll bring the population up.”
He laughed again, and Maisie couldn’t help but smile. She could be witty when she wanted, but these past months had drained her sharp mind and quick smile. Not only was her mother seemingly sinking into a deep, dark pit, she was dragging Maisie down with her.
“Jonathan knows Agatha and Eldon Judrow quite well,” Jasper said.
“Yes, and we invited Jonathan to supper after he gets settled,” added Abigail. “We want to invite Agatha and Eldon as well. Would you like to come too?”
Maisie’s heart sank. Mama would never let her leave. She always complained for days if she left her alone at night, especially around supper. “I’m afraid I can’t. My mother hasn’t been feeling well lately ...”
“Say no more,” Abigail said with a sympathetic smile. “She’s still not herself?”
Maisie leaned against the counter and stared at the surface. “I’m afraid not. There’s been no improvement that I can tell.” Quite the opposite, she thought.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Abigail said. “I know it’s been hard on the both of you since your father passed.”
Maisie glanced at Mr. Bridger. She wasn’t in the mood for condolences either. Sometimes her mother’s strange antics had her nerves drawn so tight, she felt like she would snap in two. This was one of those times – her earlier despair resurfaced, and she could only sigh and nod at Abigail in response. Thankfully, Mr. Bridger remained quiet, settling for looking compassionate. She smiled shyly in return, thankful to not have to speak of her father’s death to a stranger, no matter how handsome.
“We got her favorite candy in,” Jasper said, trying to be helpful.
“Thank you, but I can’t keep feeding her candy. At this point I must owe you three dollars.”
Jasper shook his head. “No, you don’t owe a penny. And don’t think I’m going to take it out of your wages either, because I’m not.” He turned to Mr. Bridger. “She’s very stubborn about that.”
Mr. Bridger smiled warmly. “And how long have you been working here?” he asked Maisie.
She licked her lower lip and let her eyes drift to the counter again. “Almost a year. That’s not very long, is it?”
“That depends on how you spent the rest of your time,” he said with the same sympathetic look as earlier.
She knew he was referring to her father’s death, and slowly nodded. “That’s very true, Mr. Bridger, very true.” She turned abruptly to Abigail. “I’d better re-stock the shelves.”
Abiga
il smiled in understanding – she knew Maisie well enough to know she was uncomfortable and wanted to end the conversation. “All right, you go ahead and I’ll be there to help you in a minute. Jasper’s going to walk Jonathan down to the livery stable.”
Maisie looked at the men. “Does the blacksmith need help?” Oh heavens, that didn’t sound good – as if Mr. Bridger had to have Jasper there to ensure he got a job. Though as far as she knew, no one in town was hiring.
“I’m feeling nostalgic,” Jasper explained. He reached up as if to ruffle Mr. Bridger’s hair, but stopped his hand. “Sorry – guess you’re too old for me to do that now.”
Mr. Bridger laughed and shook his head. “A lot taller too. Besides, I was too old back when you used to do it.” That threw Abigail and Jasper into hysterics.
Maisie smiled but didn’t feel like laughing at the moment. Her mind was still on Abigail’s invitation to supper. There wasn’t a single man around Cutter’s Creek for miles, let alone one as easy on the eyes as this one. But she had no business thinking such things – her mother (who would raise Cain if she went) came first, and that was that.
Jasper gave Abigail a peck on the cheek, slapped Mr. Bridger on the back and headed for the door. Within moments, the storefront was quiet, peaceful and void of anything that would bring tears to Maisie’s eyes.
Three
“A job, you say?” Mr. Brown the blacksmith wiped his calloused hand on his leather apron, then scratched his stubbly chin. “Not much work right now, Johnny. But I think Mr. Simpson down at the mill might have some.”
“Thanks, Mr. Brown, I appreciate it,” Jonathan said as he shook the man’s beefy hand. “It’s sure nice seeing you again.”
“Good to see ya too. Ya got a place to stay?”
“Nothing permanent. I haven’t checked into the boarding house yet.”
“That would be my and Abigail’s fault,” Jasper said. “We kept him visiting too long.”
Mr. Brown nodded sagely. “And yer serious about settlin’ in Cutter’s Creek?”
Jonathan shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any. I know folks here.” And I hope my folks won’t come here, he didn’t add.
“Sensible,” Mr. Brown replied. “Tell ya what I’ll do – ya go talk to Mr. Simpson, see what he has. I can make a spot for ya, though it won’t be enough to keep ya busy all the time. Maybe between the mill and the livery, ya can make do.”
Jonathan smiled. “Thanks, Mr. Brown, you’re very kind.”
“Well, I remember how hard ya worked for me before.”
“Thank you. And I can work harder now.”
Mr. Brown looked him up and down. “I don’t doubt it. Yer all grown up.”
Jonathan hoped he wasn’t turning pink. Everyone here remembered Jonathan the youth – none of them knew him as a man yet. He planned to remedy that as soon as possible.
Jonathan and Jasper strolled down the street to the Cahill Lumber Mill. “You don’t have to come with me,” Jonathan told Jasper.
“I don’t mind. Besides I needed a break.”
“After all that hard work in your store?” Jonathan teased.
“Very funny. But visiting does take a toll on a person.”
Jonathan chuckled, then got around to what he really wanted to say. “Miss Woodhouse seems nice.”
“She is. Very.”
“How long have they been in Cutter’s Creek?”
“Since summer of last year. She and her family arrived a few months before she came to work for Abigail and me. Poor Mr. Woodhouse – never did get to start his business.”
“What kind of business?” Jonathan asked, curious.
“He wanted to start a newspaper and print shop, of all things,” Jasper said, shaking his head. “Like we need either one around here.”
They reached the mill and Jonathan stopped, glancing over his shoulder at the town and smiling. “True enough. I’m sure news travels just as fast as it did ten years ago.”
“Faster,” Jasper said with a grin. “There are more people here now to spread it. Let’s go talk with Mr. Simpson and see what he has to say.”
The meeting with the mill foreman was short – the words “you’re hired!” were out of Mr. Simpson’s mouth quick as lightning. One of their workers had just left Cutter’s Creek for Billings after discovering mill work wasn’t to his liking. “I ain’t gonna lie, young man – this is a hard job. Dangerous too, if you’re not careful.”
“Then I’ll be as careful as I can, Mr. Simpson,” Jonathan said. “I thank you for the opportunity.”
“I guess this means you’ll have to tell our blacksmith you won’t be able to help him out,” Jasper added.
“What’s this?” Mr. Simpson said. “Did Mr. Brown hire you?”
“No, sir,” Jonathan said. “He just offered to have me help them out now and then when I had time.”
“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Simpson. “Well, you can inform Mr. Brown you’ll have plenty of work here. Looks like the good Lord was watching out for both of us – I needed a new worker fast, and you needed a job.”
“Yes, sir,” Jonathan agreed with a smile. “When can I start?”
They worked out the details, and before Jonathan knew it he and Jasper were strolling back down the street toward the mercantile. “Just like that, you arrive in town and have a full-time job,” Jasper said with a shake of his head. “Next thing you know you’ll be looking for a wife.”
Jonathan almost tripped. “Trying to marry me off already?”
Jasper laughed. “No, that’s Abigail’s job. Trust me, when she finds out you have work that can support you without worry, she’ll see to it you have someone else to support.”
Jonathan fought a groan. He hadn’t had to deal with matchmaking before, though he was no stranger to it. He’d seen his mother try to match Olivia plenty of times – with little success, due to Olivia being herself. But his parents hadn’t tried to marry him off – he was their meal ticket. Well, he used to be.
It wouldn’t hurt any of them to work – he hoped all three did now, though it was doubtful. More than likely they were just hopping mad that he’d left. But if he’d stayed, nothing would change. They wouldn’t change. He’d rather be struck by lightning than turn out like them, something he was afraid would happen over time. He’d already found his temper growing shorter, his patience wavering, and knew that, family or no, he had to leave – for all their sakes. At least he left a note.
“Mrs. Whitehall down at the boarding house should have a room open,” Jasper said. “Maisie and her mother live there. You could be neighbors.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “I thought you said I’d have to worry about Abigail playing matchmaker.”
Jasper held up both hands helplessly. “It just slipped out. But what better way to get to know a gal? At least you wouldn’t have to walk across town to see her.”
Jonathan sighed in annoyance. “No offense, but if there’s any matchmaking to be done, I’ll do it myself, thank you very much.”
“Tell my wife that,” Jasper said, bemused.
When they reached the mercantile, they said their goodbyes and Jonathan continued on to the boarding house. He’d return for his things once he was done arranging a room. Who knew if the boarding house had one available? For all he knew, while he was at the mill Mrs. Whitehall had rented the only accommodations left to some stranger.
Stranger. He still felt like one, even though he was in a familiar place and had seen familiar faces. But he didn’t know Jasper and Abigail as well then as he was getting to know them now. Now he was all grown up – Jonathan the man was different from Jonathan the boy. He wondered how Aggie would react to seeing him.
He set the thought aside and entered the boarding house. A middle-aged woman with graying hair, blue eyes and a thin smile sat in the parlor knitting. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am – are you Mrs. Whitehall?”
“Sure enough am. And you are?”
“Jonathan Bri
dger, ma’am. I’d like a room, please.”
She pushed herself out of her chair, set her knitting on the cushion and joined him in the front hall. There was a desk against one wall, and she sat behind it, pulled a ledger from a drawer and set it on the desktop. “You just passing through?”
“No, ma’am, I plan on staying a spell. Until I get my own place.”
She looked up him up and down. “Is that so? You got money?”
“Yes, ma’am – enough to cover the room until I get going with my new job.”
“What job?” she asked skeptically. “As far as I know no one’s looking for help in Cutter’s Creek.”
“Mr. Simpson just hired me down at the lumber mill. One of his workers left recently.”
Mrs. Whitehall slapped her hand on the desk. “I knew Martha Higgs would talk her husband into leaving. Of course, I can’t say that I blame Pete – he’s not cut out for that kind of work. More of a bookkeeper type.”
Jasper tried to hide his smile. “Yes, ma’am. So do you have a room?”
“Well, seeing as how you’ve got steady work and can pay on time, I think I can accommodate.” She scribbled something in the ledger before looking back up at him. “Name?”
“Jonathan Bridger.”
She wrote it down, opened another drawer and pulled out a key. “You’ll be in room five upstairs, third door on the right at the end of the hall. I serve a light breakfast at seven. Supper’s at six. You’re on your own for lunch. We’ve got a café in town where some men from the mill like to eat. You being with no wife ...” She looked at him again. “You don’t have a wife, do you?”
Jonathan did his best not to laugh – she eyed him as if he was about to pull a woman out of his pocket. “I’m not married, ma’am.”
“Call me Mrs. Whitehall. Any questions?”
“No, ma’am ... I mean, Mrs. Whitehall.”
A tiny hint of a smile curved her mouth. “Good – hope you’ll enjoy your room. See you at supper.” She got up and went back to the parlor and her knitting.
