If he could secure a bank loan to expand the business to three wagons delivering ice every day, they could make enough to pay six men and cover the costs of the care his father and Willow required.
Tucker hadn’t received a report since he’d left Stockton, but he had to hope Willow wouldn’t always require care. He had to believe one day soon, the Lord would heal her heart and he’d be able to bring her to Colorado for a visit. He wanted to show her these magnificent mountains.
Tucker bounded to the back of the wagon and grabbed the ice tongs before Abraham could. He smiled. “I’ll carry this block. I wouldn’t want your muscles to grow bigger than mine.”
Abraham, his laugh as heartwarming as his smile, secured the reins to the hitching rail while Tucker clasped a twenty-pound block of ice and followed Otis to the back porch. Abraham then scuttled ahead of them, trailing a new joke behind him like smoke following a flame. Tucker smiled, remembering the boy’s joke about not breaking a sweat under the weight of the ice.
A generously proportioned woman wearing a shawl over a housedress stood in the doorway and waved them inside.
Tucker shifted the block of ice to look down at his boots. The tops were dirt encrusted. The fact hadn’t bothered him much until the young woman at the depot dropped a hatpin into one of them. She’d stared at it, then up at him as if he were a vagabond.
“Don’t you worry about your boots none. I have something for that.” The woman of the house pointed to a shiny brass-and-bristle fixture just outside the door. “Abraham, I do declare that you stand taller every week.”
Abraham shook her hand, then ran his boots through the contraption. “Yes ma’am. And I’m funnier too.”
Her cheeks puffed out as she bit back a giggle. “I think you might be right.”
Smiling, Otis removed his canvas hat. “Good afternoon, Miss Hattie.” After shaking hands with the woman, he scuffed his worn shoes through the brush and stepped into the kitchen.
Tucker followed his friend’s example. “Ma’am,” he said, ducking his head in a hands-free greeting. The kitchen’s bakery aroma caused his stomach to growl as the door clicked shut behind him.
Otis pulled the top off the wooden icebox, and Tucker picked a straggling piece of straw from the block and then set it inside. “Mr. Tucker, this is Miss … Mrs. Adams.”
Tucker set the ice tongs on the lid and removed his hat before accepting the woman’s hearty handshake. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Adams.”
“I’m a widow. Please call me Miss Hattie. We’re pretty informal around here.”
“Informal suits me just fine, Miss Hattie. I’m Tucker Raines, but please call me Tucker.”
Miss Hattie’s eyes widened. “You’re Will Raines’s son?” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Well, if that man isn’t full of secrets. Your father delivered ice to me for months and months. Why, I’ve known him for a year, and I didn’t know he had a son.”
Apparently, no one this side of Stockton knows.
“Oh.” The woman’s sudden frown said he’d done a poor job of keeping the pain’s shadow from clouding his face.
His dark eyes full of compassion, Otis gave Tucker a sideways glance.
“My father is a private man,” Tucker said to Miss Hattie. “Doesn’t talk about family matters much.”
If ever.
Even when he thinks he’s going off to die.
“I’m sorry about your father’s illness.” She pulled a strand of silver hair from her face with bent fingers. “I heard he had to go to the sanitorium. And your mother?”
“Thank you. My mother’s staying with her sister in Colorado Springs.”
“Did you bring a wife with you to Cripple Creek?”
“I never married, ma’am. I’m a traveling preacher.”
One eyebrow stretched toward her hairline, deepening the wrinkles on her forehead. “I see.”
“Miss Hattie, you ready to hear my new joke?” Abraham squirmed impatiently in front of the woman.
“Is it short?”
“Real short.” He held his hands out about an inch apart.
“Then fire away.”
Abraham tapped the narrow brim of his felt hat. “What did the hat say to the hair?”
Light danced in Miss Hattie’s silver-gray eyes as she glanced first at Otis, then at Tucker. When they remained silent, she shrugged. “I give up, Abraham. What did the hat say to the hair?”
“Top that!” Giggling, Abraham waved his hat, then plopped it back on his head.
Tucker and Otis had both heard the joke that morning, but the woman’s carefree laughter was contagious, and so was Abraham’s cheery nature. He and Otis both joined in.
“Funnier every week is right, Abraham. I have something for you and your brothers.” Miss Hattie reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a handful of Tootsie Rolls. “The newest treat to come out of New York City. You’ll see they each receive one?”
“I will, ma’am.” He displayed them on his open hand. “But there’s six candies and only four of us boys.”
Only four boys? Tucker had entertained the thought of having a family of his own. That was no longer an option. Not considering his responsibilities to his parents and his sister, and the traveling he did from one camp meeting to another.
“I suppose your folks will have to eat the other two chocolates.” Miss Hattie smiled at Otis.
“We’ll surely do that, Miss Hattie. Thank you. For now, son, you best stuff them into your shirt pocket till we get home.” Otis turned to Abraham and tipped his head, gesturing toward Miss Hattie.
The boy obliged and gave the woman a tight squeeze. “Thank you lots, Miss Hattie.”
“You’re welcome.” She faced Tucker. “Otis and Abraham always save my delivery for last. And now it’s time for some hot cocoa.” Miss Hattie pulled three mugs from a shelf.
Tucker would rather hurry home and prepare a business plan for the banker, but the woman did have a certain charm about her and visiting with her seemed part of Otis’s routine.
Abraham took a mug from the woman and glanced from the cupboard top to the small round table in the corner. “She always has shortbread cookies ready for us on Mondays. Where are they, Miss Hattie?”
“The platter is in the parlor … with the three young women I left waiting for us.” She gazed at Tucker, her brow raised. “I’d like you to meet them.”
“Is Miss Faith one of them?” Abraham removed his hat and looked back at Tucker. “Miss Faith lives here. She comes to the Gulch and teaches us on Saturday afternoons.”
“Miss Faith is not home yet. She must still be at the school.” The landlady shifted her attention back to Tucker. “One of the young women is married to an accountant at the Mary McKinney Mine. Another is married to Dr. Morgan Cutshaw.”
“I met Dr. Cutshaw at the hospital. He’s the doctor who treated my father.”
“Then you must come in and visit long enough to get warmed up.”
Tucker could tell the woman wasn’t accustomed to taking no for an answer, and he didn’t want to be the first to introduce such a concept.
Miss Hattie sauntered out of the kitchen. Wisps of dark gray hair rode the high collar on her housedress. The landlady fairly swished across the dining room, down the hallway, and through an open doorway.
Hat in hand, Tucker followed her into the parlor. He expected to see fine furnishings, but that wasn’t what attracted his attention. The three young women she’d wanted him to meet were those he’d encountered that morning at the depot. The one with the floppy topper and the projectile hatpin sat on the sofa, looking anything but mussed as she related a story to the others.
Miss Hattie stopped at the end of the sofa, holding the mugs together in front of her chest as if they were lovebirds. “Pardon me, ladies.”
The hatpin woman quieted and looked up. As soon as she saw him, her face blushed redder than a cardinal. She rose from the sofa and smoothed her skirt.
The o
ther two women stood across from her with amusement etched in their tight smiles.
“Let’s see … where do I begin?” Miss Hattie tapped her fleshy chin. “Mrs. Cutshaw, Mrs. Archer, you’ve met Otis Bernard and Abraham.”
The four of them exchanged nods and greetings. Then Miss Hattie turned back toward the sofa. “This is their sister, Miss Ida Sinclair.” She set the mugs on the sofa table. “Ida, these are my friends, Mr. Otis Bernard and his oldest son, Abraham.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Bernard, Abraham.” Ida then walked toward Tucker. “I thought you left on the train.”
“No ma’am. My parents were the ones making the trip.”
“You’ve already met my young women?” Miss Hattie asked, her brows arching.
“Not formally, ma’am.”
“We, uh, saw one another at the depot this morning.” The woman she’d called Ida touched the brim of her hat just above her ear.
“Oh.” Miss Hattie glanced down at his boots, then back up at him. “I overheard something about a hatpin incident. You’re the one who—”
“Yes ma’am.” He spoke to her, but it was Ida who held his attention.
“I’d say proper introductions are in order.” She set the mugs on the table. “Mr. Tucker Raines, these are the Sinclair sisters—Mrs. Judson Archer, Mrs. Morgan Cutshaw, and Miss Ida Sinclair.”
High cheekbones and pronounced chins, times three. “It’s my pleasure, ladies.” He met Ida’s gaze. “I’m pleased to see that you were able to reattach your hat.”
She nodded, and then, apparently aware of him staring at her bobbing hat, abruptly grew still. “Perhaps I could have done a more thorough job of pinning it.”
“These fine gentlemen are joining us for a little refreshment.” Hattie sat on the sofa, leaving space on one side for Ida and Abraham, and on the other for Tucker and Otis. When the other women sat down, Tucker and Otis did the same.
Abraham, however, remained standing before them like a showman. “Miss Sinclair, did your hatpin really fall and stick in Mr. Tucker’s boot?”
“It did indeed, Abraham.”
“I tell jokes. Would you like to hear one?”
Her half nod was all the encouragement the boy required.
“What did the hatpin say to the big toe?”
Ida glanced over at Tucker, her lips pursed as if she were about to burst into laughter. She looked up at Abraham and shrugged her narrow shoulders.
“I’m stuck on you.”
Amidst a wave of giggles, Otis motioned for his son to sit down. “I think that’s more than enough jokes for one day.”
While Abraham seated himself beside Ida, Hattie poured hot cocoa into the mugs and handed them out. “Kat, dear, Tucker told me your Morgan is the doctor who treated his father.”
“Then I’m sure he received the best care.” Her brown eyes shimmering, Mrs. Cutshaw leaned forward in her chair. “I’ve worked with Morgan some.”
Miss Hattie lowered her cup. “Actually, that’s a fun story too. They met in a birthing room.”
Abraham giggled. The doctor’s wife blushed. And the heat rising up Tucker’s neck told him he had too.
Ida leaned forward on the sofa, looking at him. “My sister had gone in to help a stranger, and he assumed she was a midwife.”
Sister.
The word made Tucker’s heart ache for Willow. For all she’d lost. The children she and Sam would never have.
A smile tilted Mrs. Cutshaw’s mouth to one side. “He’s a fine doctor.”
Tucker recognized the lilt in her voice, the shimmer of pride in her eyes, the buoyancy in her movements. She was obviously a happy newlywed. He remembered Willow having the same glow about her after she and Sam had married nearly four years ago. Suddenly, the air left the room and he jumped to his feet. “I can’t stay, Miss Hattie.”
Her cup rattled in its saucer. “But you didn’t even—”
“I’m sorry. You must excuse me, ladies.” He glanced at the sisters without really looking at the two across from him. He still couldn’t bear to witness the joy his actions had cost Willow.
Ida was the first to stand. “Of course.”
“Another time?” Concern darkened Miss Hattie’s eyes to a gray blue.
He nodded and left the room, hoping there would be another time but dreading the explanation that next meeting would require.
SIX
uesday afternoon, Ida carried two teacups to Kat’s table and sat in the chair that faced the one glass window. Last night she had enjoyed a family dinner at Nell and Judson’s modest home. Then this morning her sisters had given her a tour of the town. She’d never seen so many evocatively attired, brash-mannered females. But then, she’d never been out West before. Now she knew Tuesday was the morning designated for the other women to do their shopping.
The morning also included seeing Kat and Morgan’s new home, still under construction, and the telegraph office, where she’d sent a wire to Aunt Alma and her sister Vivian to let them know of her safe arrival. Ida, Kat, and Nell enjoyed lunch with Morgan and a couple of the Sisters of Mercy in the hospital dining room, and then Nell parted company with them to go tend to a widow’s children.
Ida had been torn between needing a rest and wanting to see Kat’s infamous miner’s shanty. After vowing to tend to her own need for peace and quiet that evening, she had agreed to make the trek up the hill to see the Cutshaws’ temporary nest. Now she’d glimpsed both sisters’ new lives here, and tomorrow she would take long strides into her own.
Kat set a plate of cinnamon-topped oatmeal cookies on the table in front of Ida, then sank into the chair across from her.
Nodding, Ida lifted the cup to her mouth, breathing in the memorable scent of peppermint—their mother’s favorite. “This was a good idea.”
“I couldn’t send you off without spending a few more minutes with you.” Kat tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, then drizzled a stream of honey into her cup and stirred it. “I didn’t think I would … I was sure I wouldn’t, actually, but I like having a man in my life.”
Ida glanced around the one-room cabin. Lace curtains hung at the window. The True Lover’s Knot patterned quilt Aunt Alma made for Kat was spread across the bed. And a man’s razor and strop lay on the washstand in the corner. Ida might have that one day, but for now marriage wasn’t in her plans.
“Morgan seems good for you. Marriage suits—”
“And what about you?”
She hadn’t expected this from Kat. Nell had always been the hopeless romantic in the family.
“You don’t want love in your life?” Kat had never pressed her about such matters.
Ida studied a gouge in the plank flooring near the door. “I have my sisters. You three provide enough love for me.”
Kat laid her hand on Ida’s. “It’s not the same, Sis.”
“I know that.” She might never have experienced romantic love before, but she’d seen enough of it in the people around her to know love could be distracting. Something she couldn’t abide. Not now.
Ida took another sip of tea. “Did I tell you how proud I am of you—writing for Harper’s Bazar?”
“You told me last night over veal and sweet potatoes.” Kat’s smirk formed soft ripples at the corners of her mouth. “I think what you plan to do is pretty exciting myself. Not many of us would want to brave the world of business. The world of businessmen, I should say.”
“It may be a challenge, but I think I’m ready for it. Right now, I’d best go. I’m sure you have writing to do.” Ida rose from her chair and carried her empty cup to the cupboard. “Thanks for the tour and the tea.” She pulled her wrap from the peg by the door and slipped into it.
“I do have an article to finish.” Kat retrieved Ida’s reticule from a side table and handed it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow after your interview. Nell and I will be at Hattie’s at four o’clock.”
“I should be back by then.”
Kat walked out
to the porch with her and pulled her into a hug.
After the warm embrace, Ida took the gravel path to the road. The weariness of the past two days tugged at her eyes as she walked to the corner on Pikes Peak Avenue, then down Florissant. She needed a little solitude—time to untangle her thoughts. A leisurely stroll to the creek would help her do just that.
Riding in on the train, she’d seen a strand of water weaving across the bottom of town. She headed that direction, and it looked as though First Street could get her there. Crossing Bennett Avenue in late afternoon proved a challenge, but Cripple Creek seemed to buzz with activity at all times of the day and night.
Once she had crossed seedy Myers Avenue and broken free from the chaos in the center of town, Ida slowed her steps to enjoy the more artistic aspects of her surroundings. The panoramic mountains that encircled the valley rose up like green and golden yellow feathers on a Sioux chief’s headdress. Father had indeed chosen a breathtaking place for his daughters to relocate, and this had been the perfect time of year for her to come—autumn. Winter wasn’t far off, but in the meantime, she’d enjoy the patches of sunflowers and the earthy scent of fallen leaves and drying grass.
Ida continued down First Street until she caught sight of a burbling creek through the brush. She followed the dirt path toward the water’s edge, hoping to find a rock she could rest on for a spell of tranquility. Before she reached the water, she heard twigs snap and boots crunching on gravel upstream.
Perhaps coming down here alone hadn’t been her best idea. She’d just turned back toward town when a motley apparition of a man stepped out of the brush in front of her.
“Well, I’ll be … one of the ladies done come to see us.”
“Only one?” Two other beastly-looking men emerged from the undergrowth behind her.
“I only came to see the creek.” Her words squeaked out on ragged breaths.
“Well, then”—the man clamped his hand around Ida’s forearm and spun her back around—“I say we be good hosts and show it to ya.” Her head swam in the nauseating stink of his breath.
Mona Hodgson Page 5
