Daphne: An Easter Bride (Brides 0f Noelle Book 4)

by Kit Morgan

  Daphne stood. “No need, Mrs. Pettigrew. I’ve heard enough. I thank you for the information.”

  “Daphne! What are you doing?” Dorcas asked in surprise. “Aren’t you going to give her your information?”

  “No, there’s no need. She’s given me something far better than a match for a husband.”

  Dorcas stood. “What are you saying?”

  Daphne smiled. “I’m going to Noelle to invest in that silver mine!”

  Chapter 2

  Noelle, Colorado, March 1877

  Walker J. Brooks (Walker John to his friends) pulled off his boots, fell onto his cot, and pulled thin blankets over his tired body. He was cold. But then he always was. Being a miner in winter wasn’t easy and didn’t pay a lot either. But it was a job, and he wasn’t arguing. If he saved up enough money, he could make it to California, maybe try his hand at farming like his father. Not that it did him any good. He traded his gun for a hoe too late in life, and the law caught up with him. They didn’t care a whit if he’d hung up his gun belt or not. Walter T. Brooks had killed too many men over the years, had too much blood on his hands.

  Walker John barely knew his father. The man was never around while Walker grew up. But he knew his reputation, everyone within a hundred miles made sure he did, and had had to live with it, fight against it, and keep it from killing him for most of his life. His mother didn’t fare any better having married the man. She attended his hanging, was spat upon by women in the streets for days afterward. And, of course, was told she’d married Lucifer himself. That meant her son was the devil’s spawn who would no doubt turn out just like his father. At the moment, his father was warmer than he was, according to hellfire and brimstone spouting women anyway.

  Walker wrapped his blankets tighter around himself and hoped Jasper, whom he shared the tent with, had put enough wood in the little stove to keep it going for a while. Walker should probably check it as Jasper had gone to one of the brothels. Who knew when he’d be back?

  Thank the Almighty it was March, and the temperatures were slowly but surely rising. The railroad would begin their work on the line to Noelle from Junction soon. Then the little town would really start growing. Right about the time Walker would leave. He’d had enough of Colorado winters and wanted to move on to California. Just as soon as he…

  “Dagnabit!” Jasper cried and stumbled into the tent.

  The man looked mad as a hornet. “What’s the matter with you?” Walker asked and peered at him over the blankets.

  “It’s a sad day when a man can’t get a drink and a woman in this town!” Jasper whined.

  “What?” Walker said and sat up. “Put some more wood in the stove, while you’re up. I brought plenty in.”

  Jasper, who was old enough to be Walker’s grandfather, bent to the pile and shoved another piece into the stove. “Ever since La Maison burned down, things just haven’t been the same. And that flock of goodie-goodie women in town are gonna make sure what fun’s left won’t stay long. Or at least no more’s gonna show up.”

  “What are you talking about?” Walker asked as he settled himself beneath his blankets again.

  “I’m talking about this town becoming respectable, that’s what! Me and a lot of the other fellas didn’t think that pack of church folk would pull it off, but they are!”

  “Are what?”

  “They’s gonna build the church! And not only that, a schoolhouse I hear!” Jasper scratched his head. “Or was it the other way around? Anyway, that’s bad news for me and the boys. Pretty soon the whores won’t want to do business here no more. Then what we gonna do, Walker? Answer me that?”

  Walker groaned and sat up. “For me, it doesn’t matter, but obviously this is important to you.”

  “Can’t ya … ya know, use your influence around town to fix this?”

  Walker sighed. “Here we go,” he muttered.

  “How about ya talk with the sheriff? He married one of them whores, he’d sympathize with our plight!”

  “Draven?” Walker said and paled. “Are you out of your mind?”

  Jasper staggered to his cot. “If anyone can convince him we need them women in town, it’s you. Yer famous!”

  “Jasper you’re drunk. Go to bed.” He flopped down again and pulled the blankets over his head.

  “But Walker!” Jasper whined. “Ya ain’t gonna let a pack of snooty women run this town, are ya?”

  “I don’t plan on staying,” came his muffled reply.

  “But, maybe if’n ya did some of that fancy shootin’ of yers …”

  That did it. Walker sprang off the cot, grabbed Jasper by the shirt collar, and pinned him against the tent wall. “Now you listen to me, old man. I am not, I repeat, not my father, do you understand? I am not a gunslinger, I’ve never killed anyone, I’ve …”

  “But ya gotta admit,” Jasper broke in. “You’re mighty fast with that piece of yours.”

  Walker groaned in frustration. This was getting him nowhere. It was the same old story no matter where he went. As soon as someone found out who he was, (more to the point, his father) they either treated him with disdain, or thought he was some kind of miracle worker. “No!”

  “But Walker …”

  He released him. “Go to bed, Jasper.” Walker turned to his cot. He was bone tired and wanted to sleep for a week. But that wasn’t about to happen.

  “I still say you could do some good, make a show or an example of someone.” Jasper glanced here and there then lowered his voice. “Show ‘em ya mean business.”

  “Oh, for the love of Pete!”

  Jasper gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged. “Just a thought.”

  “If you’re so upset about the state of the entertainment in this town, then why don’t you do something about it?”

  Jasper straightened. “Like what?”

  “Well, look at what the women are doing, you know, the ones set on having a mission here? They’re organized. Know how to work together. All you do is whine and complain.”

  Jasper hiccupped and thought, hiccupped again and thought some more. “Hey, we could get our own committee!”

  “Exactly,” Walker said and crawled back under his blankets. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Wait!” Jasper cried, his face locked in desperation.

  “Now what?”

  “What if them church women try to marry us off? There’s talk of bringing more brides to town. You know, the mail-order kind?”

  Walker chuckled, which soon turned into a laugh. “For one, you have to be a willing party. They can’t marry you off to anyone unless you want to be.”

  Jasper blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank heaven.”

  “No, thank a sound mind. Of which you haven’t right now. How much did you drink tonight? Don’t tell me you spent all your pay again?”

  Jasper weaved to one side and back. “Just a little,” he said and pinched two fingers together.

  Walker groaned and shook his head. “You spent it all again, didn’t you?”

  Jasper patted the pockets of his jacket. “If ya could loan me just enough to next pay day, Walker, I’d be much obliged.”

  “No.”

  Jasper’s face fell. “N-n-n-no?”

  “Absolutely not. You owe me more than you can pay already. I’ll not give you anymore. I’ve my own things to think about.”

  Jasper weaved his way to his cot on the other side of the stove. “Like what?” He stumbled the last few steps and fell onto it.

  Walker shook his head again. “My future. That means California. I’m gonna save my money, go out there where nobody knows me or the name of my father, and start over. No more people asking me to shoot someone for them, no more men picking fights, challenging me to a showdown, threatening, demanding money to keep quiet.” He let go a heavy sigh. “I have to admit, Jasper, you’ve kept things between you and me and I appreciate it. I really do.”

  Silence.

  “Jasper?”

  A sno
re escaped the old man, then another.

  Walker crawled out of bed, crossed to the other side of the tent, and tossed some blankets over the poor sot. He’d recognized Walker almost the moment they met, but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want trouble any more than Walker did. If the folks of Noelle found out the son of one of the most notorious gunfighters in the country worked in their town, they’d boot him out faster than he could shoot. Jasper, for all his vices, was a decent sort, and tried to help Walker as much as he could. But now he’d have to help the old coot by not letting him help himself to Walker’s pay. He needed that money for other things. Make that one thing. To get out of Noelle.

  * * *

  One week later …

  Daphne couldn’t get the look on Dorcas’s face out of her mind. They’d left Mrs. Pettigrew’s house in opposite moods. Dorcas’s plan to see Daphne married off and living nearby didn’t go the way she wanted. Well, not entirely. Daphne would still be within a hundred miles … for a time.

  Speaking of which, she’d wasted no time putting her affairs in order, packed what she needed, and bought herself a ticket to Noelle for the following week. She’d take the train as far as Junction, then a stage the rest of the way. It was the middle of March so the roads through the mountains should be passable.

  Once she got settled, she’d visit whoever was in charge of the silver mine and see about investing. She had the money, but did wonder about one, tiny, detail.

  She was a woman.

  But Daphne wasn’t about to let that dash her hopes. She’d heard the infamous Felicity Partridge, a socialite known throughout Denver’s elite as a rabble-rouser and suffragette, had, herself, gone to Noelle. According to Mrs. Pettigrew, Felicity and some of the other women in town were starting a women’s mission, a place where women with nothing could go and learn how to make something of their lives. Of course, there was also talk of a brothel that was burned down. Mrs. Pettigrew wasn’t sure what happened. The priest helping with the mission was vague in his missives to the eccentric matchmaker. But that didn’t matter to Daphne. What did was the adventure she was about to embark on.

  She watched the snow covered landscape speed by and tried to keep images of Dorcas’s acute disappointment out of her head. Dorcas accompanied Daphne to the train station so they could say their goodbyes. She’d been convinced it was the last time she’d ever see Daphne, no matter what Daphne told her. “I’m only traveling. I’ll come back to Denver, you’ll see,” she’d said.

  “No, you won’t,” Dorcas had countered. “This is it, we’ll be forever parted.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Daphne told herself as the train pulled into Junction. “Once the railroad makes it to Noelle, Dorcas will be on my doorstep.” She hung her head. “If I’m still there.” Hmm, maybe Dorcas’s complaint wasn’t so far fetched after all.

  But Daphne had waited too long for this, and was going to have her adventure no matter what. She had money to invest in the silver mine, enough grit and gumption to get this far, and a plan she was finally getting to put into play. She’d see Dorcas again in time. But first, she had a list of places to see.

  Daphne got off the train and stepped onto the platform. “Next stop, Noelle. After that …” she said with a smile. “The world.”

  * * *

  The “world” of Noelle was not what she envisioned. The streets were a combination of mud and slush. It must have snowed the night before. Daphne waited for the driver to fetch her trunk off the stagecoach. Once he got it down, she studied her surroundings a second time. “Where’s the hotel?”

  “Um, we ain’t got one, ma’am,” he said.

  He’d been pleasant helping her thus far. Surely he could help with this. “I need accommodations. Where’s a body supposed to get a room?”

  “You can try across the street at the Golden Nugget Saloon. Seamus Malone has some rooms he rents.” He looked her up and down. Not in a lecherous way, but with concern. “You, um, planning to stay long?”

  “That depends,” she said and looked at the saloon. “I suppose if The Golden Nugget is the best Noelle has to offer, then it will have to do.” She lifted her skirt and picked her way across the street. The stage driver followed with one trunk balanced on his shoulder, the other held in a firm grip and carried that way.

  Daphne entered the building, took a quick gander at the saloon’s occupants, then headed straight for the barkeep. He was a handsome man with kind eyes and she was grateful for that. His patrons were nothing but a pack of rough looking miners. Thankfully, there weren’t a lot of them.

  “Good afternoon, miss,” the bartender said. “May I help ye?”

  “You may,” she said, chin up. “This gentleman tells me you have rooms to rent.” She pointed at the stagecoach driver for good measure.

  “Did he now?” he said and winked at the man behind her. They must know each other. “Well, if Woody Burnside says we have rooms, then we have rooms.”

  “Good,” she said with more relief than intended. She quickly worked out the details and was soon following the stagecoach driver up some stairs and down a hall.

  “I wish Seamus wouldn’t have said that,” the driver commented.

  “About what? The rooms?”

  “I could have been wrong, ma’am. A few folks live here, so some rooms are occupied all the time. I don’t want you to get the impression that I know everything in this town. I don’t.”

  His humility impressed her. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Burnside, is it?”

  “Sure enough, ma’am,” he said and set her smaller trunk on the floor. He opened the door with his freed hand and motioned her inside. The room looked clean enough, and with very little dust. “This will do.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, ma’am,” he said. “Seamus will be glad to hear it too. Mrs. Malone likes to keep the rooms tidy.”

  “Mrs. Malone?”

  “Seamus’s wife, the barkeep downstairs? I’m sure you’ll meet her soon enough. They want to make this into a hotel with a saloon, instead of a saloon with a few rooms to rent.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “Especially if the town is growing the way I hear it is.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile and carried in her trunks. “Did you come here to get married?”

  “Married?” she said in surprise. “Heavens no. I came here to invest in the silver mine.” She hoped that wasn’t too much information. To invest in something meant she had money, and someone might try to rob her if they knew. She could slap herself for telling him, but couldn’t take it back now. Judging from the look on his face, she wished she could. “Something the matter, Mr. Burnside?”

  He set both trunks down. “Well, you’d best speak with Mayor Hardt if you’re wanting to invest in the mine. Since he owns it, he handles most everything having to do with it. Him and your neighbors down the hall.”

  “Neighbors?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Reverend Hammond. He’s on the board, you see.”

  She blinked a few times as his words registered. “The town reverend lives in the saloon?”

  “Yes ma’am. He has to on account there ain’t no church yet.”

  Her brows shot up. “No church?”

  “No ma’am. Not yet. But there will be.” He turned to go. “I think you’ll find Mayor Hardt in his office. Noelle Mining and Smelter.”

  She stared after him, her mind working on the bits of information she’d received. “Thank you, Mr. Burnside.”

  “My pleasure ma’am.” He left the room and Daphne had the sinking feeling she should have researched Noelle’s silver mine better before leaving Denver.

  “Well, no help for it,” she said and went to the window. She parted the curtains and looked out. The street below was busy, a good sign. She shut the curtains and turned to the door. “Best I go pay a visit to Mayor Hardt.”

  Chapter 3

  Daphne unpacked a few belongings, checked her appearance in a small mirror by the door, and left. Downstai
rs she attracted a few hoots and whistles, but other than that, was unmolested. She didn’t know where the barkeep had gone to, she wanted to ask him where she could find a decent meal. But Noelle wasn’t big. After she visited with the mayor, she’d explore and get her bearings. Besides, she’d need to know where to buy supplies for her upcoming journey. Once she figured out where she was going, that is.

  Outside, she looked left, then right, and finally across the street where she spied the mayor’s office. Once again she lifted her skirt and carefully made her way through the mud and slush. She passed a couple of women with baskets on their arms and briefly wondered what the local dry goods store had to offer. She’d have to check it out and then write Dorcas. Just because she wasn’t going to see her for a while didn’t mean she couldn’t stay in contact.

  After all of Dorcas’s complaining about Daphne’s leaving, she’d best write back promptly. After all, Daphne wasn’t sure how long she’d be in town.

  “Blast,” she said under her breath when she tried the mayor’s door. Locked. She peeked through the window but didn’t see anyone inside. Maybe the office was only open a few hours a day. Since the mayor owned the mine, it was logical to assume that’s where he was. She looked up and down the street and, lacking a better idea, decided to take a look around town.

  Noelle had its share of miners wandering the streets, not to mention sitting in the saloon when she’d left. Didn’t these men work? Or were there so many of them they had different shifts? She didn’t know a lot about the mining business. She knew the tailoring business. Measuring, sewing and stitching was a far cry from what these men did. One thing she did notice, they all needed a good suit of clothes. But could they afford one? She’d not seen a dress or tailor shop yet. Maybe Noelle didn’t have one. Hmm…

  “No, Daph, you are not opening a shop here.” she said and made her way down the street. She reached the dry goods store, “Cobb’s Penn” it was called. Might as well check things out, she thought and went inside.