Gold Rush Baby (Alaskan Brides)

by Dorothy Clark

  He chuckled, put on his jacket and picked up the shirt. It would have been easier to just rip the sleeve, but this way he had a true story to tell if Viola asked how the tear happened. He would confess that he had made it happen after they were married.

  Married. To Viola. That sounded good!

  He stepped out into the short hallway formed by the stairs that climbed to the loft on his left, and the small office on his right. An office. He shook his head, glanced in the door at the desk and chair that crowded the area. The only other piece of furniture was the chest that held his books he had Jimmy Crow bring down from his hut. He grinned. Mack had apologized because the room was so small, but it was larger than the whole of his hut. And a site warmer and drier.

  Three strides brought him to the living room. He stopped, looked around. The size of the house was still a shock. Other than those few days he’d spent at Viola’s, recuperating, and then in his room at the boardinghouse, it had been so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to live in a house you could actually walk around in. One with sturdy walls and a solid roof that didn’t drip water on you every time it rained. “Thank You, Lord, for Your provision. May this home always be filled with those who love You and are called according to Your purpose.”

  He stepped outside onto the porch, looked down the road and smiled. Her cabin was there, at the end of the road. Close, but not close enough. Nothing would be close enough until he had her in his arms. But he had to earn her trust and her love before that could happen. And a few accidental meetings around town weren’t enough to accomplish that. He had to see her, spend time with her, woo her. And he intended to do that no matter how many shirts he had to tear. He tucked the blue cotton excuse for his visit under his arm and started down the road with determination in his every stride.

  “Yes, of course I will make you a dress, Evelyn.” Viola looked down at Goldie, who was whimpering, and jiggled her knees to soothe her.

  “Do you need to put her down for a morning nap, Viola? I can wait.”

  “No. She’s not tired. I think she’s getting another tooth.” She lifted Goldie, cuddled her against her shoulder and smiled at her neighbor. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”

  “Well…” A flush crept up Evelyn Harris’s neck to her face. “I’ve always admired your green tweed outfit. If you could make me one like it in red… Only not quite so plain.” The flush deepened. “Nothing fancy, of course.”

  “Hmm…” She swayed side to side, rubbed Goldie’s back. “I could edge the jacket with a darker red braid…perhaps with a touch of black. And loop more of the braid around the hem of the skirt. Would that suit you? Or—”

  “That would be lovely, Viola. You have excellent taste.”

  Was that another olive branch? “You’re very kind. Thank you, Evelyn.”

  “Not at all. It’s the truth.” The older woman smiled. “Could you have the dress finished in time for Frankie’s wedding?”

  Thought of all she had to do for her friend’s wedding day popped into her head. But Evelyn Harris was making a gesture of friendship, and a few late nights of sewing was a small price to pay for a friend. She smiled and nodded. “I can have it finished by then if you come for a fitting soon. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon? Hattie will be here to help with Goldie then.”

  “I’ll be here. Now, I’ll just go home and let you tend to the baby.” Evelyn stood, smoothed her long skirt and started for the door. “I remember how fussy my babies were when they were teething. Matthew screamed something awful.”

  She rose to see her guest out. “Teena made me an herbal medicine to rub on her gums the last time Goldie was teething. It worked really well. I’m going to the clinic to get some more when Hattie returns and I put Goldie down for her nap this afternoon.”

  The older woman nodded. “Teena’s skill with herbs is a blessing to this town. I’m so glad she and Dr. Calloway married. They seem very happy.” The streak of sunlight streaming in the partially open door highlighted her smile. “Thank you, Viola. I shall look forward to my new dress.” Her neighbor turned, pulled the door wide. “Oh! Good morning, Pastor Stone.”

  Thomas. Her stomach fluttered.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Harris.”

  His deep voice made the fluttering soar and dip. She swallowed, put her foot back to turn, then stopped. It was too late to hide. Too late to call back Evelyn Harris, who was hurrying across the road to her cabin. She dragged up her old, aloof mask and lifted her chin.

  “Good morning, Viola.”

  “Good morning, Pastor Stone.” Something flickered in the depths of his eyes. Disappointment? Her heart squeezed. She didn’t want to disappoint him. Not ever. “Thomas will do. I’m not here as your pastor, I’m here as a customer.” He smiled, pulled a shirt from under his arm. “May I come in?”

  No. A thousand times no. “Yes. Of course. I’ll get my account book.” Goldie started to whimper again. Of all the times for Hattie to be gone… She jiggled Goldie, opened the door of her sewing cupboard and reached for the gray-backed volume, realized too late the folly of her excuse to turn away from his steady gaze. She could not write—

  “Would it help if I hold Goldie?”

  Hold Goldie? She turned, the question in her eyes.

  “You’re not the only one God has set free of their past, Viola.” His gaze caught hers, held it. Her pulse sped. “The Lord used my time here with you and Hattie to heal more than my shoulder. He showed me the burden of guilt I was carrying over my wife’s and baby’s deaths was of my own making. He turned the evil intent of that kidnapper’s shot into a true blessing. Just as Hattie predicted.”

  He reached out and took Goldie from her, started to lift the baby to his shoulder, stopped and cradled her in the crook of his right arm instead. “Hey, little one. What’s the problem?”

  Goldie stopped fussing, stared up at him out of her round blue eyes. He took her chubby hand in his, smiled when she curled her fingers around his thumb. “Tiny little thing, aren’t you?”

  The very image of her dream come true was before her. Goldie’s precious face turned into a watery blur. Viola blinked, whirled back to the cupboard, picked up her pen and wrote his name. “What is the nature of the problem?”

  “A tear in the sleeve. A jagged one, if that matters.”

  She nodded, made a notation.

  “Well look who’s here.”

  Hattie, back early. Thank goodness. She turned, threw Hattie a grateful look and took Goldie from his arms. “That’s all the information I need. I will have your shirt ready for you by Wednesday. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to Goldie.” She gave a polite nod in his general direction and hurried off toward her bedroom.

  Thomas finished his lunch, wiped out the pan he’d fried the fish in, grabbed his jacket and left the house by the back door. If he remembered correctly, Viola put Goldie down for her nap just about now.

  He whistled his favorite hymn, cut across lots and entered the back door of the Treasure Creek clinic, grateful for the partially open door that had allowed him to overhear Viola’s plans.

  “What do I owe ya, Doc?”

  The stampeder sporting a large bandage on his right forearm glanced his way. Thomas gave him a polite smile.

  “Fifty cents will do. Toss it in the bowl on your way out.” Jacob Calloway looked up from scrubbing his hands, spotted him and frowned. “Are you having problems with your wound?”

  “No. I just want to borrow a corner of your operating room for a few minutes.”

  Jacob’s frown turned to a scowl. “What kind of nonsense is that? I’m too busy to play games, Thomas.”

  “It’s no game, Jacob. I overheard Viola say Goldie was getting another tooth and that she was coming to get some herbs from Teena.” He knew he looked sheepish, shrugged and grinned. “I thought maybe I could accidentally run into her and walk her home.”

  “Ahh.” Jacob grinned, burst into laughter. “I guess I can help you out. But get over in that corner and st
ay out of my way.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” He snapped off a salute, lounged back against the wall and turned his ear toward the door.

  “Next.” Jacob shot an amused glance his way, left the door open a crack, then ignored him. So did the patient.

  He waited through the lancing of a carbuncle and the stitching of a gaping wound above a miner’s eye before he heard her voice. He stayed in place through four thudding heartbeats, then opened the door. “Thanks, Jacob.”

  Teena looked up, her dark eyes wide with surprise. Viola jerked around, almost dropped the large package she was holding. He hurried to her side, sent Teena a silent “don’t say anything” message with his eyes before she gave him away. “Hello, Viola. Out doing some chores?”

  “I was, yes.” Her voice was cool, tight. “I’m going home now.” She fumbled to reach her purse around the package.

  “Permit me.” He withdrew the package from under her arm.

  She frowned, reached in her purse for some coins.

  He glanced at Teena, noted the speculative expression in her eyes, the tiny upward curve at the corners of her mouth and smiled. She gave a tiny nod, then held out the small, sealed crock to Viola and accepted her payment.

  “Ready?”

  Viola glanced up at him, reached for the package. “Yes. Thank you for helping.”

  He drew his hand back, shook his head. “I’m going your way. I’ll carry this for you. Shall we?” He stepped forward, opened the door with his free hand and made a polite little bow.

  She glanced at the clients who were looking at them, lifted her chin and stepped outside.

  He heard a soft giggle, turned and glanced at Teena, gave her a wink and closed the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I don’t know how you figure out them pieces, then put them all together to make a dress, Viola.” Frankie Tucker shook her head and grinned. “I’d probably have an arm coming out the neck hole.”

  Viola laughed, finished cutting out the second sleeve and added it to the pile of pieces beside her on the rug. Only one piece left to cut out. “And I don’t know how you figure out all the pieces and put a building together, Frankie. I’d probably have the door in the roof.” She leaned forward over her knees and started cutting out the collar.

  “Mayhap the two of you should change places and give it a try some day.” Hattie chuckled, then knit another stitch in the coverlet she was making for Frankie and Ed’s wedding gift. “It’d liven up conversation for a while. Things are kinda dull, now that all the gossipin’s stopped.”

  “Hattie.” It came out as a chorus.

  “Don’t be lookin’ so shocked, the two of you.” Hattie knit the last stitch in the row, turned the piece and purled the first stitch. “I ain’t talkin’ about the mean-spirited, hurtful kind. I’m talkin’ about the fun kind.” Her gray head lifted from her work. “Don’t tell me neither one of you didn’t notice that the color of Rose’s new dress made it look like there was a big frog sittin’ in her pew Sunday mornin’.”

  Viola gasped. Laughter boiled up and shot out of her mouth in an unstoppable burst. Frankie slapped her knee and erupted in unrestrained hilarity.

  Hattie nodded, went back to her knitting. “That’s the kind I’m talkin’ about, the fun kind. Ain’t nobody hurt by that except maybe Viola’s gettin’ a stitch in her side. I already told Rose the dress put me in mind of a frog.”

  Frankie gulped back her laughter. “What’d she say?”

  Hattie fixed her faded-blue eyes on her and grinned.

  “Ribbbetttt.”

  Frankie let out a whoop.

  “Oh!” Viola pressed her right hand against her side and rocked back and forth, helpless to stop her laughter in spite of the little stabbing pain. “Gracious, Hattie. You say the most unexpected things. You’ve lived here for over two months now, and I still don’t know what to expect when you start to speak.” She made her last cut, added the collar piece to the pile and stood.

  “The truth. Like…‘it ain’t over yet’.” Hattie shot her a look and went back to her knitting.

  What was that supposed to mean? Viola studied her for a moment, shrugged and turned to Frankie. “Help me carry these pieces to that table beside my sewing machine please, Frankie. I’m going to finish sewing the fringe on the swags now, then go to the church and hang them tonight, after Goldie has gone to sleep. That will free me to start sewing your gown tomorrow.”

  She picked up the long skirt pieces. The silk fabric flowed down over her arms and whispered softly as she carried it to the table. She put them down, glanced up at Frankie, caught her nodding in Hattie’s direction. She shifted her gaze to Hattie, who was sitting, head down, knitting, and frowned. She must have imagined the nod. She looked back at Frankie. “I forgot to ask. Have you hung the hooks for the swags?”

  “Not yet, I’ll go hang them as soon as you take these pieces from me, they’re slipping all over the place.”

  “Yes, silk does that.” She lifted the pieces, laid them out so they would not wrinkle, and stared after Frankie, who was hurrying toward the door. That guilty look she’d had on her face must be because she forgot to hang the hooks.

  Thomas laid down his pen, shoved back from the desk and hurried to open the door. “Well, hello, Frankie.” He smiled at the woman standing on his porch. “Is there a problem?”

  “Nope. Not if you’re not planning on being in the church, praying or anything, for the next little while.” She lifted the bag in her hand, patted the hammer hanging from her leather belt. “I’m fixing to hang these hooks on the windows in the entrance, and I’ll be making noise.” She stared straight up into his eyes. “I’ve got to get them done now, because Viola’s coming to the church tonight, after she gets Goldie to sleep, to hang the new curtains she’s made for the entrance.”

  “I see.” He grinned, rubbed his hand over his chin. “Thank you for informing me, Frankie. I will be happy to delay any praying I was planning on doing at the church until later this evening.”

  She nodded. “Hattie thought you might see it that way.” She lifted a hand in farewell and headed for the church.

  “Tell Hattie I said thank you!”

  Frankie turned, waved then kept on walking. He smiled and went back in the house. He had some praying to do right now…about later.

  “Put the pad on the bench please, Matthew.” Viola placed her package on the collections table, took a two cent piece from her pocket and held it out to her neighbor’s son. “Thank you for helping me.” The towhead nodded, grinned and scooted out the door.

  “That money will be in the till at Tanner’s tomorrow morning, just as soon as Matthew decides which candy he wants.”

  Thomas. That fluttering happened in her stomach again. She turned toward the sanctuary door, met his gaze. The fluttering spread to her heart. She looked away. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I didn’t know you were here. I don’t wish to disturb you. I can come back another time.” She reached for the package.

  “You’re not disturbing me. I’ve finished praying.” He stepped close to the table. “Please, continue with what you’re doing.”

  No man should have a voice so deep and rich you felt…caressed by it. She nodded, tugged at the end of the string to release the bow and folded back the paper, concentrated on what she was doing. If she kept busy, perhaps he would go away.

  She lifted out the top swag, spread it along the table and did the same with the second. The fabric was so rich and lustrous, it picked up the light from the small windows in a sheen that was opulent yet subdued. And the fringe… She ran her hand beneath the long, silky, twisted strands, watched them ripple like moon-silvered water over her fingers. It had been well worth the wait of placing an order for the special fabric and fringe. The swags had turned out exactly as she had hoped.

  “The bench cushion looks good. I like the red color. Was that your choice?”

  “Yes and no. It seemed a good idea to match one of the colors in the stained glass windows
. And the crimson was the best choice for several reasons.” She walked to the bench, checked the fit of the cushion, brushed off some lint, then turned back to pick up a swag. He was half sitting, half leaning against the heavy wooden table, his ankles crossed, his fingers curled over the thick edge, watching her. And that look was back in his eyes. He caught and held her gaze. Her heart tripped, stumbled back into a staccato beat that made her throat and wrists pulse.

  He straightened. “Viola…”

  She jerked her gaze away, stepped to the far end of the table and snatched up the top swag. By the time she got to the window, she had her breath back. She measured an equal distance from both ends of the swag with her eye, gathered the depth of the fabric in her hands, and raised her arms to lay it in the open hooks. They were too high. She stretched, went on tiptoe, felt him behind her.

  “Allow me.”

  His arms came over her shoulders, stretched out along hers. His callused fingers brushed her bared wrists, the tips searing her flesh. The long, silky fringe on the swag quivered, betraying her tremble. He lifted the fabric from her hands, placed it in the hooks.

  “Is that how you wanted it?”

  His voice was soft, husky, close to her ear. Her nerves thrummed. She sucked in air, ducked her head and slid out from under his raised arm. “I—I have to look from back here.” She stepped across the room, looked back at the window, found he’d turned to watch her and almost fell. She grabbed hold of the end of the bench, gestured toward the window with her other hand. “It’s hanging a little longer on the right side. If you could take hold of it there, by the hook, and pull it a little toward the center… Yes. That’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “That’s not so hard. Shall we do the next?”

  The other window. “Yes.” She motioned toward the table. “You place the swag in the hooks and I’ll tell you if it’s right or not.”