Boney Hughes spit a brown streak into the dirt. He waved his worn canvas hat. “Hello, little lady.”
Heat crept up her neck and into her face as she forced a smile and dipped her chin. “Mr. Hughes.”
He clucked his tongue and wagged a crooked finger.
“Mr. Boney.” Ida brushed a piece of lint from her cape, remembering the two hours it took to wash the mud out of it Tuesday evening.
“You cleaned up right nice, Miss.”
“Thank you.” She glanced down at her new shoes. “My boots didn’t fare as well.”
“I’m sure sorry for your troubles.” He patted his mule’s ears and looked around as if expecting to see the ice wagon appear out of nowhere as it had on Tuesday afternoon. “I take it Mr. Raines saw you home all right.”
“He did. Thank you again for your help.”
“Happy to do it, ma’am. Just wish it hadn’t been necessary. Me and Sal hate to see a lady in distress.”
And she detested being one. Even if her rescuers were charming.
As Mollie rounded the corner at First Street, Boney bade her best wishes, and then he and Sal moseyed up the road.
After two hours of rapid-fire instruction from the tireless Miss O’Bryan, Ida was grateful her new employer had taken a telephone call in her office. Ida sat at her own desk, surrounded by files and ledgers, a telephone, and a vase full of sharpened pencils, and drew in a long, deep breath, hoping she’d be able to decipher her notes.
“You think you’re ready for your first dictation job?” Miss O’Bryan stood in the doorway of her office.
Ida nodded. “I am.”
“Good. That was Mr. Blackmer at the Olive Branch Mine on the telephone. I told him you’d be right over for a stenography job.”
Ida felt her pulse quicken. This was the opportunity she’d hoped for—learning more about the mining business. She closed the bakery ledger she’d been working on and pulled a fresh steno pad from her desk drawer.
“This is your opportunity to prove yourself.” Mollie pointed a finger at her. “Remember what I told you.”
Ida’s mind raced with all she’d learned in those first two hours.
Mollie giggled. “I suppose I did run off at the mouth a bit.”
“You gave me a lot of instruction.”
“Listen well and keep good notes on everything you hear.” Her eyes narrowed, Mollie gestured as if she were writing. “Those tasty tidbits prove profitable at the Exchange.”
Ida pulled her reticule from the drawer and three pencils from the vase. “Is that acceptable?”
Mollie chuckled. “What? Paying attention?”
Ida swallowed a bite of frustration. “I meant using information overheard while we’re being paid to take notes.”
“You do have a lot to learn.” Mollie pulled a sharpened pencil from Ida’s desk. “We have a job to do, and we do it. We listen and learn. There’s nothing wrong with acting upon what you know. Everyone does it every minute of the day.”
She hadn’t thought of it in that way. It made good sense. “I’ll do my best.”
Ida donned her cape, and after a quick wave, she stepped out onto the boardwalk and into her bright future. Miss O’Bryan was right—she did have a lot to learn, and the sarcastic businesswoman was the perfect teacher for her.
THIRTEEN
ctober sunshine streamed through the cabin window, casting ribbons of light across the table—a glorious Saturday afternoon.
So what was her problem? Kat chewed her last bite of corn bread, then reached for Morgan’s empty plate. She’d just grasped the blue floral stoneware when her husband seized her hand and laced his fingers through hers.
“You hardly spoke a word during lunch.”
“Are you saying I usually talk too much?”
His grin deepened the dimple just to the right of his mouth. “Nice rabbit trail, but I’m not taking it.” He glanced at their empty plates, then up at her. Concern furrowed his brow. “Are you feeling all right?”
Kat nodded. “I’m doing fine.” She was. Unless Morgan had meant to include worry in his question. For three days, she’d done little but think about what her sisters had said. “You won’t rest until you’ve expressed your feelings.” Unfortunately, her preoccupation had proven them right. She did need to know how her husband felt about the baby growing inside her. They should talk about it, but dwelling on his past losses couldn’t be beneficial for either of them.
“Something is sitting heavy on your mind.” Morgan rubbed his forehead, then gazed at her. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Kat studied their joined hands. They’d only known one another a matter of months, but already Morgan knew her sighs and smiles and silence by heart. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, hoped she wouldn’t have to. But his past was bothering her and he deserved to know her true feelings. Their commitment to one another required honesty, but speaking it was another matter.
“Is it the writing?” he asked.
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears filling them. “It’s the baby.” Her voice snagged on the last word.
“The baby?” The dimple disappeared and his grip on her hand weakened. “You didn’t want to have a baby?”
“I do.” Kat moistened her lips. “But you. I saw your face when you realized what was wrong with me the other day … why I felt so poorly.”
Morgan lifted her chin and matched her damp gaze. “It didn’t mean I’m not happy about the baby. Our baby. I was only caught by surprise.”
“You’re not worried that I’ll … that our baby—”
“That fear has paid me a visit, but I choose not to let fear rule my thoughts.”
“You make it sound easy to choose not to be afraid.”
Morgan slid off the chair and knelt in front of her. “When I decided I could be married again, I surrendered my past and my future to God. You and our family are the new thing God is doing in my life. We can trust Him.”
Nodding, Kat vowed to read Isaiah 43 again that evening before crawling into bed. In the meantime, she couldn’t take her eyes off the man God had brought through the wilderness, to her. “You’re pleased we’re having a baby?”
“I’m overjoyed. I can scarcely wait to have a miniature you running around our new house.”
“A girl? What if it’s a boy?” She held her voice steady while her emotions ricocheted off the wall of her heart. “Would you be all right having a boy?”
“Absolutely. But”—his smile gave way to a grimace—“I’d be a little concerned about you.”
“Me? I will trust Him too.”
“You’re saying you could handle having a miniature Morgan underfoot?”
Kat giggled and tapped him on the nose. “I hadn’t thought of having a little boy in quite that way, but now that you mention it.” Grinning, she traced his knee-weakening smile with her finger. “It’s no wonder I love you so.”
“And I, you, Mrs. Cutshaw.”
The thrilling sound of her new name still hung in the air as she bent and kissed him. Too bad he had to work this afternoon.
A knock at the door spoiled the moment.
Morgan stood. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. Were you?”
Kat grabbed their soiled plates from the table and rose from her chair. “Would I have kissed you like that if I were?”
Morgan fanned himself and grinned. “An unexpected guest with extremely poor timing.”
Kat felt her cheeks blush as she carried their dishes to the cupboard, then joined Morgan at the door.
Ida shifted her weight from one foot to the other, listening to the porch boards creak beneath her. She was about to try the tarnished brass knob when the cabin door whooshed open.
Morgan and Kat stood side by side, their eyes wide and their mouths turned up in smiles the size of desktops. “It’s your sister,” Morgan said.
Why was he stating the obvious? And why was Kat’s face carnation pink? They both were behaving as if she’d just caught them w
ith their hands in the cookie … Newlyweds. Ida dropped her gaze to a gap between two boards beneath her feet.
“Oh dear.” Warmth raced up Ida’s neck and over her tensing jaw, promising to make her face a much deeper shade of pink than Kat’s. It seemed just weeks ago they were fussing over a checkers tournament in their parlor in Maine. How was it possible that two of her younger sisters were married? “It seems I’ve chosen a poor time for a visit. I’ll go.”
“Please stay. We’re glad to see you.” Sounding sincere, Morgan stepped back from the doorway.
Ida glanced at Kat, who nodded, looking as happy as Ida had ever seen her.
“Morgan’s right—we’re glad you’re here.” Kat gripped Ida’s mantle and pulled her inside.
When the door clicked shut behind Ida, she looked up at her brother-in-law. “I didn’t expect you to be home this afternoon.”
“I’m not,” Morgan said.
Kat giggled. “He is, but not for long.”
“Only long enough to have a cup of coffee with my wife and my new sister-in-law.” Morgan reached for Ida’s wrap and hung it by the door. “That is, unless you’re in a hurry for a private conversation with your sister.”
Ida shook her head and stepped fully into the warmth of the room. “Are you sure I’m not intruding?”
“Don’t be silly.” Kat’s voice had a lilt to it. “You’re always welcome here.”
“But you might want to wear bells next time.” Mischief danced in Morgan’s eyes while his smile showed the dimple Kat had written about.
Kat swatted his arm. “Quit with that nonsense, Mr. Cutshaw.” She looked at Ida, then at the table where a saltcellar and a peppermill framed a vase of daisies on a blue gingham cloth. “We just finished our supper. Have a seat.”
Ida seated herself at one end of the table while the couple pulled three blue mugs from the cupboard and filled them with steaming coffee. They seemed so happy. Positively juvenile in their love for one another. A sudden twinge of something that felt like longing tightened Ida’s chest.
She squirmed in her chair and scolded herself. She didn’t need what her sisters had. She was different, with entirely different plans.
Morgan set the mugs on the table, then pulled a chair out for Kat before he sat down opposite Ida. “Kat told me you started your job last week.”
“Thursday.” Ida lifted her cup, breathing in the aromatic scent of hot coffee. In the likelihood that Morgan shared Miss Hattie’s concerns about her new employer, Ida began forming a list of conversation topics that had nothing to do with her job. Doctoring in a mining camp. What he missed about Boston. How construction on their new home was progressing.
“And how do you like working for Mollie O’Bryan?” His question seemed innocuous enough.
“I’ve only worked for her for two days, but already I’ve learned more than I did in a month of classes.”
Morgan nodded. “That’s how I felt working with Doc Hanson my first week here.”
“It’s a vastly different atmosphere in Cripple Creek,” Ida said.
Morgan swallowed a gulp of coffee. “More intense.”
“Exactly.” Everything about the town felt larger than life—at least, life in Maine. Miners. The other women. And the stockbrokers and investors she was already meeting in her work with Mollie.
Kat returned her cup to the table and straightened, her gaze solemn. “Some people in town don’t like Mollie O’Bryan.”
Ida wrapped both hands around her cup, letting the warmth in. So it was her own sister who would join Miss Hattie in protesting her job. “I doubt anyone is liked by everyone. And I expect that’s especially true of a woman shattering the constricting mold of what a woman can and can’t do.”
Morgan looked at Kat. “You can certainly relate to that. You’re a woman writing stories for Harper’s Bazar. Stories about business-minded, independent women. That isn’t exactly traditional either.”
“But I’m not doing it in the business district on Bennett Avenue.” Kat rose from her chair and plopped back down. “I’m sorry. I know this job is important to you. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
Morgan rested his hand on Kat’s but looked at Ida. “Pregnancy can set a woman worrying about those she loves.”
“You needn’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“Well, I may not be qualified to offer you business advice, but …” Kat raised an eyebrow and her lips thinned in a smile.
“But that’s not going to stop you.” Ida returned her sister’s smile.
“Just be careful. That’s all I ask. Not everyone approves of Miss O’Bryan’s business practices.”
“I will.” Ida repressed a sigh. She and Mollie seemed the only ones who understood that success required taking risks. Ida could only hope her family would come to understand and accept that as well.
FOURTEEN
n Sunday, Tucker lifted a stoneware mug to his mouth and breathed in the rich aroma before taking a long gulp of his coffee. An early morning swath of light striped the side of the bare wood planks of the barn. Titan and Trojan grazed in the pasture, their tails lazily swatting flies. A marmot chirped down by the creek. Lowering the position of his feet on the porch railing, Tucker watched a black-billed magpie hop across the golden grasses out behind his folks’ house. The peaceful scene fed his soul and defied the chaos of two hours ago.
Just after five o’clock that morning, the sound of splintering wood had woken Tucker. By the time he’d dressed, lit the lantern, and gone outside to investigate, pieces of barrel lay strewn across the yard, mingled with bruised apples and a trail of imposing bear prints. The draft horses snorted and kicked the confines of their stalls, still mad about the intruder. Tucker had fed the bruised leftover apples to the horses and then stacked the scraps of wood in a corner of the barn.
Yesterday, someone from the Blue Front Grocery had delivered a barrel of apples his mother had ordered before she knew she’d be moving to Colorado Springs. Unfortunately, the shipment arrived too late for his mother, but just in time for the ravenous bear.
Tucker swallowed the last of his coffee and set the mug on the wooden table beside the roughhewn rocker. He glanced at the Bible in his lap. The embroidered bookmark his mother had made him lay across the last several verses of 1 Corinthians 15. He’d read the passage at least a hundred times. Five times before every sermon he’d preached on it. Some folks referred to it as the death passage. All the talk about corruptible and incorruptible, mortal and immortality. To him, it was a passage for life. Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? Promises he clung to, praying for a glimpse of that victory here and now. Clinging to hope to assuage the loss that did sting.
He still missed Sam. But he grieved the absence of his sister even more. In some ways, losing Willow to melancholia cut deeper than physical death. Why couldn’t his love for his sister be enough to bring her back?
A raven squawked, and Tucker returned his gaze to the pastoral scene before him. He drew in a deep breath and considered the essence of the closing verses. Again. And he prayed for strength. Again.
I give thanks to God who gives me the victory through my Lord Jesus Christ. I need to remain steadfast.
He’d preached this message just last month during a camp meeting in Bakersfield. Preaching about steadfastness had been the easy part.
Unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.
His labor in the camp meetings? His labor with Willow? His labor for his father? The last time Tucker preached a sermon on this passage, he’d suggested that man’s will is the location for the toughest job yet to be done. Was that the labor God was calling him to in Cripple Creek?
Tucker lowered his feet from the railing and bent over his Bible, head bowed.
The golden aspen leaves quivered in the light breeze while the sun warmed Ida’s back. She couldn’t have asked for a more glorious morning
for her wagon ride with Miss Hattie. Her landlady’s mare gently clip-clopped across Golden Avenue to the First Congregational Church. Following the service Ida and her sisters and brothers-in-law would gather in Nell and Judson’s home for a traditional Sinclair Sunday-afternoon supper and checkers tournament.
Autumn Sundays definitely topped her list of favorite days, but her first two working for Mollie O’Bryan had come in a close second. Some folks might find her new employer’s matter-of-fact tone and rapid recitation of tasks off-putting and intimidating, but Ida found it energizing and her image of the ideal job.
“You seem especially chipper today, dear.” Miss Hattie’s hair formed a ring of silver around the edges of the ball-crowned chiffon bonnet she wore.
“I feel chipper.” Ida watched a squirrel scamper up an oak tree alongside the road. “Like a squirrel who has found a tree bursting with acorns, and all she has to do is gather them.”
“Poetic too.” Hattie pulled on the reins, slowing the horses to let a family on foot cross the street in front of them. Smiling, she returned the man’s wave.
“I really do like living here,” Ida said, admiring the white steeple that towered out of a red brick building a couple of blocks ahead of them. “I have much to be thankful for.”
“We all do, dear. And I’m thankful for you Sinclair sisters.” Hattie reached over and tapped Ida’s knee. “Each one of you has brought me such joy.” Smiling, she guided the wagon into the open lot beside the popular brick church on the corner. Men, women, and children poured out of wagons, dismounted horses, or added to the crowd on foot.
Excitement stirred Ida’s stomach as she stepped down from the buggy. She and her sisters had always enjoyed going to the house of the Lord together. For now, she could settle for only two out of three sisters, knowing that Vivian would join them next summer.
Ida glanced around, expecting to see Kat or Nell waiting for her. Instead, she found Mr. Wagner. He stood on the bottom step of the church entrance, wearing a dark gray suit with a shadow check-and-plaid effect. He looked sharp enough to have stepped right off the pages of a Sears, Roebuck & Co. catalogue. He tipped his bowler their direction.
Mona Hodgson Page 9
