From Mourning to Joy
Belles of Wyoming # 34
by
Marlene Bierworth
Copyright © 2020
Marlene Bierworth
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without written permission of the author, Marlene Bierworth, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, character and events are the product of the author’s imagination. While the author has tried to be historically correct, her goals in this book are great characters and storytelling. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locals, is purely coincidental.
All books titled or quoted in this story belong to their respective authors.
Mourning to Joy ©2020 Marlene Bierworth
Cover Design done by Virginia McKevitt,
https://www.facebook.com/VirginiaMcKevittauthor/
Table of Contents
Become Part of the Belles Family
Belles Books
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Become Part of the
Belles of Wyoming Family
Click here to join the Belles of Wyoming Reader Group
The Belles of Wyoming is a multi-author project. Lots of styles and adventures but all sweet historical romance. Join the fans on the reader’s page and see all the titles in the series as they release.
The theme is a New Beginning - winter release of 2020 – and my contribution is From Mourning to Joy. A story of grief, touched by the miracle of love, and resulting in happily-ever-after joy. Join Janelle and Bernie for this heartwarming story in Belle, Wyoming.
The Belles of Wyoming
You can see all The Belles of Wyoming Books on our Amazon Series page.
Our beautiful covers were designed by Virginia McKevitt of Black Widow Books.
Christmas 2018 (Theme: Holiday)
Book 1, Christine Sterling, Wynter’s Bride
Book 2, Marianne Spitzer, Holly's Christmas Wish
Book 3, Cyndi Raye, A Tin Star for Christmas
Book 4, P. Creeden, A Pony for Christmas
Book 5, Julia Ridgmont, Natalie's Surprise Engagement
Spring 2019 (Theme: Renewal/Redemption)
Book 6, Christine Sterling, The Homecoming
Book 7, Ginny Sterling, Blessings of Love
Book 8, Cyndi Raye, Mercy’s Gift
Book 9, P. Creeden, Moments of Grace
Book 10, Julia Ridgmont, Emeline's Redemption
Summer 2019 (Theme: Summer Love/ Barn Raising)
Book 11, Ginny Sterling, Lightning Strikes Twice
Book 12, Julia Ridgmont, In the Nick of Time
Book 13, Jenna Brandt, June’s Remedy
Book 14, Lynn Donovan, The Wrong Bride
Book 15, Marisa Masterson, Grace for a Drifter
Book 16, Rose Castro, Lucy’s Luck
Book 17, P. Creeden, Steel Blue Bride
Book 18, Cyndi Raye, Stealing Her Heart
Book 19, Cheryl Wright, Eleanor’s Dilemma
Book 20, Jo Grafford, Wild Rose Summer
Book 21, Patricia PacJac Carroll, Summer’s Love
Book 22, Lisa M. Prysock, The Prairie Princess
Book 23, Marie Higgins, Whispers of Yesterday
Book 24, Amelia Adams, Butterfly Kisses
Book 25, Margaret Tanner, Flynn's Debt
Book 26, Mimi Milan, September’s Switch
Book 27, Julia Ridgmont, Daring to Love Again
Book 28, Christine Sterling, A Matter of Marriage
Book 29, Ginny Sterling, Change of Heart
Book 30, Christine Sterling, The Barn Raising
Winter 2020 (Theme: New Beginnings)
Book 31, Patricia PACJAC Carroll, Setting Things Straight
Book 32, Marianne Spitzer, Charity’s Promise
Book 33, Marie Higgins, Too Many Secrets
Book 34, Marlene Bierworth, From Mourning to Joy
Book 35, Marisa Masterson, The Teacher’s Star
Book 36, Lisa Prysock, Hazel’s Tribulations
Book 37, Lynn Donovan, Nellie’s New Attitude
Book 38, Julia Ridgmont, The Trouble with Lucy
Chapter 1
January 1882
The wooziness Janelle had fought off with some success the past two hours was winning the battle. Her forehead dripped with sweat. No sense casting the blame on the red-hot cook stove – she had a fever. As Janelle pivoted, her feet felt like chunks of stone and she staggered against her body’s imbalance. Reaching for the back of the chair to stop her world from going around, she dropped her son’s supper plate. Through blurry eyes, she stared at the precious pile of steaming rabbit stew then leaned over and vomited in the middle of it.
Davey jumped up from the table where he played with small blocks of wood, which he envisioned to be pieces of new equipment moving around the barren fields hidden beneath a blanket of snow. He arrived at his mother’s side in time to stop her from toppling head first into the pile. But the strength in his small arms could only shift her weight in a new direction, landing her body a couple feet from the stove. The boy stared, the threat of tears blurring his vision. He fought the urge to cry. Sucking up his lower lip, Davey bit off the quivering sob. Today he turned a whole six-years-old and furthermore, he was the man of the house. No time to entertain the baby that hadn’t grown out of him yet. He rallied his nerve, knowing his Ma deserved better.
She merely groaned when he shook her body, and the blank eyes rolling to the back of her head frightened Davey. He dragged the oval braided rug close and pushed for all he was worth, until she rolled on top. His mother was thin, least that’s what Pappy used to say – pint sized, like a little gal who ought to be his sister and not a grown-up Ma.
Pappy would be surprised to see Janelle Rimes now. Since he’d gone off to Heaven, Davey suspected Ma had lost even more weight. She claimed not to need near as much food on her plate as a growing boy. Pa used to say, a strong wind would blow her clear into the nearby town of Belle or maybe even all the way to Glenda. But when the tears threatened to let loose, as they often did when he thought of his father, Davey forced his heart to listen to his brain and rise to his new station in life. Pappy would not be moseying in to lend a hand today. It was a long way to his heavenly home, and the road only went one way, according to Pastor Leroy Elkins who stated the warning loud and clear to those attending Jacob Rimes’ funeral. The idea of her man being so far away had made Ma tear up, but she’d half-smiled at Davey and patted his hand. They were both relieved when the day of listening to well-meaning comfort from strangers finally ended.
Trouble was, the period that followed just melted into a never-ending stretch of nighttime. Before the snows came, you could count on at least one concerned citizen of Belle dropping by; mostly to nag Ma that life without a grown man in the house was too heavy a burden for the little woman with a young boy no bigger than a grasshopper to support. She should come to town – they’d advised – where folks could look in on her from time to time. But Ma dug her feet in the land and wouldn’t hear tell of giving up on her dream. Davey shook the gloom from his shoulders. He’d heard his father say time and again that feeling sorry for yourself was a sure sign of a
lazy man.
He pulled the mat, inch by inch; even sat on the floor so his legs could help in the effort, until she finally rested closer to the hearth. Racing to his mother’s bedroom, he grabbed a feather pillow and a wool blanket off the bed. He lifted her head, pulling the wet strands of loosened blonde hair so hard it made her skin pinch. He waited for her face to screw up from the sudden pain, but it didn’t. Janelle lay motionless, and her son was at odds as to how to help her without disobeying the rules.
Bernie Drysdale steered his horse to the left and headed into Belle, a small town in Wyoming. The frigid cold had settled into his bones and he needed to lay low for a few months. The town looked peaceful enough, but he preferred to spend winters on ranches or homesteads. He’d not lucked out on either of those locations and the snowy trails of Wyoming had become his only companion far too long into the season.
It was Saturday and he supposed this was as busy as the place got. He walked into the saloon and leaned against the bar.
“What can I get you, cowboy?” the bartender asked.
“Whiskey. I need something to thaw my gullet. Mighty cold spell we’re having.”
“Yep. Business is slow these days; most folks are hibernating at home. The name’s Thaddeus and I run this place.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Bernie. “But, sorry to say, you won’t get rich off me. Don’t drink much, but I like the company. It gets lonely sitting by a campfire alone.”
“Yep, not too much company roaming the trails these days.” The man slid the cloth from around his neck into his hand, and wiped the shiny surface. To Bernie’s way of thinking, an unnecessary task, for the counter shone brighter than his boots after the shoeshine boy finished with them. Thaddeus stuck close by, so Bernie chatted on.
“Looking for a place to hole up for the rest of the winter. Got any ideas?”
“Ranchers hereabouts pretty much got all the hands the bunkhouse will hold. Only so much work to be done while the snow flies.”
Thaddeus began shining the clean tumblers. Bernie tipped his shot glass and downed the whiskey. He felt the warmth descend and the stress shift to a calmer place. This was where a man went astray. He’d watched his old man become a drunk, liking the feeling of the poison liquor sliding through his gullet, and discovering all too soon the hold alcohol had on an unsuspecting man. It had birthed another addict and the illusion of the initial calm became his battleground. The shame of it drove Bernie from his Texan home at a young age. He’d never regretted leaving. God’s green earth stretched out before him, bringing new adventures every day. He’d met both bad and good men roaming the countryside but today Bernie was ready to meet up with the latter kind.
“Do you know a place where I can rent a room?”
“Ruth Winslow don’t take men into her boarding house, so looks like you’re stuck with me. But not to worry, there’s not much chance of this place getting too rowdy on a Tuesday night with a storm blowing in.”
“Saw those dark clouds earlier. I’ll take my horse to the livery and be right back. Looking forward to a soft mattress and a pillow under my head.”
“Need me to send up some company?” Thaddeus asked.
Bernie shook his head. “Nope, but I might stop at the bath house to scrub some layers off.”
The establishment provided hot sudsy water, clean towels and even a woman to clean your back – if you wished to hire her services. Bernie declined. He’d watched his father brag about his women conquests while his wife served his sorry backside supper dutifully every night. Bernie vowed he’d never turn out like his father and so far, he’d kept to the strict guidelines of proper behavior his mother had taught him. Although the road was lonely, and at times he’d been tempted to indulge, he knew a man could walk clear of temptation if he wanted to. Just took a strong mind and determination.
At the livery, old Patrick Johnson, who insisted to be called Paps, rambled on, non-stop. The fellow had apparently been here since the beginning of time and figured Bernie needed to get caught up on all the highlights of Belle’s news. After paying one night’s lodging and feed for his horse, the drifter left the stables. Bernie couldn’t afford to live at the saloon for the remainder of the winter. He’d need to ask around tomorrow to see if he could drum up some work. Getting a word in edge-wise with Paps had proven impossible.
The next morning, he walked into the general store to put a bug in someone else’s ear that he was looking for winter lodging and hopefully work.
“Morning,” Bernie greeted the man behind the counter.
“Howdy, stranger. Something I can get for you?” No chatter from this man; just straight to the point of business.
Bernie followed suit. “Two things on my mind. I wondered if you knew of anyone needing a handyman. Had experience fixing just about anything around a farm. Worked as a cattleman too.”
The storekeeper scanned the newcomer. “Now I don’t go telling tales without knowing who I’m talking to. My name’s Henry Stewart. And that’s my woman over there, Olivia.” He yelled out to her. “Come see, Livvy. Got us another drifter looking for a place to bunker down for the rest of the winter.”
“Welcome to Belle,” she said as she approached. “Hope you enjoy our town while you’re visiting.” Livvy studied the cowboy – tall, dark, and handsome – while the names of a number of eligible females popped into her head. “What did you say your name was?”
“Didn’t yet.” He thrust out a hand. “Bernie Drysdale from Texas.”
“Now that was easy to figure out with that southern drawl giving you away. A woman likes to hear music in a man’s voice when he talks.”
Bernie smiled at her description of him but herded the conversation back to the point of his stopping by.
“Been mighty cold on the trails, ma’am. Ready for a roof over my head – other than the open sky the Good Lord provides.” As an afterthought he hoped he might make more headway if they knew he was willing to spend some money in the store. “Maybe while I look around for supplies you can think of someone who might need my services.”
“Don’t need no time, mister,” said Henry. “The Mrs. and I been talking about poor Janelle Rimes but haven’t had a spare minute to ride out and check on her. Husband passed away in the fall, and left her alone on the farm with their little boy. He ain’t much use to her, but she brags him up like he was twenty-years-old and able to step into his Pa’s shoes.”
“Suppose that’s a mother’s way of surviving – doting on young’uns,” Bernie offered, pleasantly recalling the attention he received from his own Ma as the only bright spot in his growing up years.
“You sound like you speak from experience,” said Livvy taking a new interest in the man.
“Maybe.” He turned his attention to the staples on the shelves behind the counter. “Do you think Mrs. Rimes is in need of supplies?”
“Heavens yes. We’ve given her all the credit we can manage and folks try to share the little bit they’ve stored for over the winter, but it’s a long way ‘til spring and life’s unpredictable in these parts.”
“As the widow, Janelle, found out rather quickly,” added Henry.
“Does she have a barn I can sleep in?”
“Sure enough. A farm without a barn is a pretty sad state of affairs,” said Henry. “Although, someone should have shaken some sense into her husband; holing his family up in such a run-down place.”
“Speak kindly of the deceased, Henry. Winter was coming on and they had to settle somewhere,” chided Mrs. Stewart.
Bernie slapped both hands on the counter and smiled. “Then fill up a bag with whatever you figure she needs and head me in her direction. I’ll go fetch my things and bring my horse around shortly.” As he passed the candy dish, he pointed to it. “Put one of those in for the boy.”
While he threw his clothes into his saddlebag, Bernie wondered about the upcoming visit. She might just grab the supplies he brought as a peace offering and throw him off her land. Worst still
she might have a rifle and shoot before she asks who’s calling. Saddle bums wandering in on strangers proved a risky practice at the best of times, let alone a woman protecting her young. But he was desperate. Last night, curled up in a soft bed, had spoiled him for battling the great outdoors another day.
Bernie glanced in the mirror and frowned. He should have gotten a haircut and shave last night with the bath. Might make a woman more prone to open her door. The barbershop wasn’t busy and did a fine job at making him appear respectable. With the dark waves now trimmed to a decent length and bristly whiskers scratched right down to the bare skin underneath, his appearance took on the friendly posture he wished to reveal to the widow.
When he walked back into the mercantile, Henry whistled long and slow. “Well, I’ll be. You clean up pretty good, stranger. Come see, Livvy.”
Bernie reached into his pocket for money to pay the bill. “Didn’t want to scare the little Mrs. before I had a chance to offer my services in exchange for a room in her barn and one square meal a day.”
“Sounds like a fair bargain to me.” Livvy said as she passed by.
Henry reached under the counter and withdrew a handful of shells. “These here will fit her rifle should you need to hunt for meat. On the house.”
“Thanks. Got any tips on my approach, Mrs. Stewart?”
“She doesn’t take kindly to a man sweet talking her. Plenty around here tried and were run off with the barrel of that rifle you’re providing ammunition for, aimed at their broken hearts.” Mrs. Stewart chuckled at the picture she’d put into words, before continuing. “But I reckon she’d overlook a parcel of shortcomings if you’re kind to her boy. The sun rises and sets on the lad.”
“I’ll remember that.” Bernie paid for his purchases and tipped his hat. “Wish me luck.”
“I’m thinking the Good Lord can answer two prayers today – a roof for you and help for Janelle.” Henry gave him a stern look. “Mind you; we take care of our own hereabouts. Any man hears tell you hurt a hair on their heads, this country won’t be big enough to hide in. Sheriff Knight will hunt you down and drag you back screaming for mercy.”
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