“Miss Sinclair. Mrs. Adams.”
“Mr. Wagner. It’s good to see you here.” Ida meant it. That the man was a churchgoer boded well for his work ethics and her comfort level in working with him. That, and he’d tried to protect Miss O’Bryan from unscrupulous businessmen.
Miss Hattie excused herself to speak with a friend from the Women for the Betterment of Cripple Creek, leaving Ida with Mr. Wagner.
“I heard you procured the job despite my having riled Miss O’Bryan prior to your appointment.” His smile lifted the corners of a neatly trimmed mustache. “I hope you don’t hold my poor timing against me.”
“Not at all.” She considered saying more, but she expected to see Kat or Nell at any moment and wanted to keep the conversation short. Ida glanced toward the road.
“Are you looking for someone?” Mr. Wagner asked.
“Yes. I apologize, I’m a bit distracted. I’m watching for my sisters and their husbands.”
“If your sisters are the young women who met you at the train on Monday, one is already seated, and the other is standing just inside the door, greeting parishioners.”
“Mrs. Judson Archer would be the greeter.” Kat was probably still fighting her nausea.
“I won’t keep you from them.” He moved out of her path, motioning for her to enter the church ahead of him.
“Thank you.” Ida stepped inside the vestibule and blinked hard, trying to adjust to the sudden shift out of sunlight. Nell waved her over to a small gathering, and Ida obliged.
“I saw Hattie alone and wondered if you had changed your mind.” Nell’s eyes widened as she looked past Ida.
Ida turned and realized Mr. Wagner had followed her and now stood at her side.
Before Ida could say anything or introduce anyone, Tucker Raines turned around. He’d been talking to Faith Dunsmuir, who stood next to Nell and continued to look at the ice man as he addressed Ida.
“Miss Sinclair.” Tucker’s smile seemed to fade as he regarded the man standing at her side.
Ida swallowed hard against a surprising wave of embarrassment. “Mr. Raines, I’d like you to meet Mr. Wagner. He’s an attorney here in Cripple Creek.”
While the men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, Ida hugged Nell.
“Welcome to Cripple Creek, Mr. Raines,” Mr. Wagner said, “and welcome to First Congregational.” The attorney glanced toward a side door where a balding man stood. “If you’ll all excuse me, I need to speak with Reverend Taggart before the service begins.” He met Ida’s gaze. “Miss Sinclair.”
Ida offered him a tight nod then looked back to speak with Tucker, but the ice man was gone.
“He went inside.”
Ignoring the matchmaker’s smirk that widened Nell’s blue eyes, Ida looped arms with her and walked through the double doors at the back of the sanctuary. “ ’Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus” echoed from the piano, and while Ida slid into the seat beside Kat, she thanked God for bringing her to Cripple Creek and the job of her dreams.
“I know how you feel about it.” Nell looked away from Judson, toward the stovetop where chicken sizzled in a cast-iron skillet. Her husband had an intensity about him that normally thrilled her, but not today. She stuck a fork in a chicken thigh and turned it over. “Can you just not say anything to her?”
“You don’t believe Ida has a right to know what people will think of her? What they’ll say?”
Judson had mentioned having an unpleasant run-in or two with Mollie O’Bryan in his work as an accountant for the Mary McKinney Mine, but she hadn’t expected it to become an issue that involved Ida.
Nell pulled a stoneware platter from the cupboard and drew in a deep breath. “I don’t think a family picnic is the appropriate time for such a serious discussion.”
“She’s already working in that office. It’s just a matter of time—and little of it, I’m sure—before that woman has your sister doing her bidding.” He peered out the window that overlooked the picnic setting. “The sooner Ida knows what she’s gotten herself into, the better off she’ll be.”
“You don’t know my sister all that well yet. She’s not going to do anything she doesn’t want to do—or anything that isn’t right.” Nell moved the skillet to the cooler side of the stove. “Besides, I’m the one who mentioned Miss O’Bryan to her in my letter. It’s my fault Ida’s working for her in the first place.”
“All the more reason to set her straight.”
Nell stared at the grease splattered across the stove top. She should have known Judson and Ida would be at odds on this issue. She prayed the inevitable argument wouldn’t be here or today.
Kat stepped in through the back door, holding an empty pitcher. “That was the last of the lemonade.”
Thankful for the interruption, Nell pointed toward the icebox. “You’ll find a second pitcher in there.”
“I’ll take it out.” Judson turned toward the icebox and retrieved the pitcher.
Nell caught his free hand on his way to the door. “Please don’t say anything to her.”
Judson winked. “Don’t worry.”
Easier said than done. Especially after seeing that spark in those blue eyes of his.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Kat set the empty pitcher in the dish pail and joined Nell at the stove. “I’m sorry I interrupted you two.”
“It’s just as well. I’d said all I could.” Nell transferred a chicken wing to the platter.
“About Ida?”
Nell nodded. “He has a problem with her working for Mollie O’Bryan. I suppose it’s sweet that he’s worried about her character and reputation.”
Kat pulled her bowl of potato salad from the icebox and set it on the cupboard next to the chicken platter. “I rather like having a brother like that.”
“Yes, but if he tries to tell Ida what’s best for her, she may not be so gracious.”
Kat wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I don’t want to be around for that. I tried talking to her about it when she stopped by the cabin yesterday.”
“Didn’t go well?” Nell moved the skillet to a trivet on the countertop.
“She was defensive, but said she’d be careful.”
“What Ida needs is a man who can help temper her frenzied drive.”
“A man from the First Congregational Church, perhaps?”
Nell giggled and nodded, setting the curls on her forehead bouncing. “Did you see the way he looked at her?”
Kat pulled a serving spoon out of a cabinet drawer and grinned. Golden flecks danced in her brown eyes. “Which he are you referring to?”
“I was thinking of Tucker Raines.”
Kat set the spoon in the potato salad and lifted the bowl off the countertop. “Mind you, Mr. Wagner can’t be counted out either. He has a certain charm about him that Ida seems to appreciate. He’s also a deacon and quite involved in the church, and she is bound to come in contact with him through her work.”
“Ida won’t admit it, but I caught her glancing at both men more than once during the service. Not to mention the scene out in the vestibule when she first arrived.”
“It’ll be fun to see which one she ends up with.” Kat grinned and held the door open for Nell.
“In the meantime, our last picnic before winter is bound to be memorable, if I know my husband and sister.” Nell led the way down the back steps and across the leaf-strewn yard to the picnic table situated under a half-naked aspen tree. Judson and Morgan sat across from Ida, bent over a checkerboard. Judson stood to take the platter from Nell.
“Blockade!” Ida bounced upright on the bench, crossing her arms.
“You were right, Kat.” Morgan pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. “The eldest Sinclair sister is a formidable opponent.”
“Aren’t they all?” Judson winked at Nell.
Ida’s blue eyes sparkled in the autumn sun. “We have yet to settle the tournament we started in Maine, little sister. Your turn.”
“I’d be h
appy to defend my title after our meal,” Nell said, “but we mustn’t keep the baby waiting for nourishment any longer.”
All attention shifted to Kat.
“The way the baby makes you feel so lightheaded, I’m sure it’s a girl. Same effect you have on me.” Morgan brushed Kat’s cheek with a light kiss.
Judson patted the bench beside him and held out his hand to Nell. She slid in close, enjoying the shiver his warmth sent up her spine. “Let’s ask the blessing, shall we?”
They all bowed their heads.
Following the prayer, Judson slid a thigh and a drumstick onto his plate. He held the platter out to Nell and looked up at Morgan. “How are things coming along with the new hospital building?”
“Good, as far as I can tell. Sister Coleman seems happy with the progress. Says we’ll have a dedication in the spring.” Morgan scooped his fork full of potato salad. “How about your work at the mine? You keeping those ledger books in line?”
“Going good. Not too many problems lately.” Judson gulped lemonade, then looked across the table at Ida. “How about your job with Mollie O’Bryan? How do you like working with her?”
Nell nearly choked on a bite of potato salad. She would have elbowed her husband if she thought it could derail the conversation.
Ida swallowed hard and set her fork on her plate. “I’m enjoying it very much.”
“That’s good.” Nell picked up the pitcher. “Anyone care for more lemonade?”
Morgan took it from her. “I could use some. Thanks.”
Judson’s fork froze in midair, his attention still fixed on Ida. “So you haven’t yet discovered what’s so objectionable about what your employer does?”
Ida met Judson’s gaze, matching his intensity. “Don’t tell me you object to a woman having a mind of her own and putting it to work earning her own money?”
Judson planted his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “Miss O’Bryan earning money is not the issue.”
Nell gulped half a glass of lemonade.
Ida’s jaw rocked to the right, then to the left. “You disapprove of the way she earns her money?” She spit out the question. “I can think of several lesser ways for a woman to earn money than running a legitimate stenography firm.”
“Even though there are more than a handful of folks at church who believe Miss O’Bryan’s business practices are sinful?” Judson didn’t budge.
“Oh, please!” Ida pointed her chicken wing at him. “Some folks believe cooking on Sunday is sinful. And yet you allow your wife to do it.”
Definitely a memorable picnic. For all the wrong reasons.
Nell cleared her throat. “It is indeed Sunday.” She glanced from her husband to her businesswoman sister. “At the very least, we don’t discuss business on Sundays.”
Her husband and sister both nodded. The blue in their eyes softened, but the set in their jaws did not. Nell knew she hadn’t heard the last of this debate.
FIFTEEN
irst thing Monday afternoon, Tucker set a five-pound block of ice into the top of the small icebox in the apartment above The King’s Chinese Laundry.
Mr. Jing-Quo tugged at the starched collar on his Mandarin shirt. “You bring in your clothes, Mr. Raines. My wife, she clean them good. Fix buttons and holes too.”
Tucker looked at the small woman who stood off to the side. “I’d like that.” He smiled, receiving a deep bow from her. He picked a piece of straw off the top of the icebox, then returned his attention to her husband. “I’ll bring my laundry by tomorrow. Thank you.”
The man gave Tucker a slight nod, his dark eyes averted. “Ready in two days.”
Tucker followed him down the stairs, then waved good-bye on his way out of the shop.
Outside, the wind flapped his unbuttoned coat, and he looked up at the gray ceiling of clouds overhead. He pressed his hat back on his head and held it there. The wind didn’t pack a chilling punch yet, but it blew strong enough to clatter the wood signs that hung from the storefronts over the boardwalk. Otis waved at him from atop the ice wagon.
Tucker returned Otis’s wave and walked to the wagon. He did have a basket of dirty clothes to tend to, and they could surely use some repair. But day by day it became clearer why his father couldn’t build the business. Last Thursday, Tucker had accepted a dozen eggs from a young widow with three children. Earlier today he’d accepted squash and greens as payment from an elderly man whose wife was bedridden.
So many people here were starting over after two horrific fires. He needed to find a way to help the needy. But he also needed to pay his own bills and his father’s debts. He had to find a way to expand the business to include the moneymakers who had moved into town. Cash customers.
Tucker set the ice tongs in the back of the wagon and climbed up into the seat beside Otis, his first real friend in Colorado. Abraham had stayed home today to help his mother with his brothers.
“Well, what’d Jing-Quo say about the bill?” Otis snapped the reins he held.
“I’m getting my laundry done this week.” Tucker picked a blade of straw off his coat sleeve and stuck the tip in his mouth.
Otis gave him one of his lopsided smiles as the Belgian draft horses clip-clopped up Bennett Avenue.
When they turned up Third Street, a gust of wind caught the brim of Tucker’s hat, and he quickly pulled it down toward his ears. “The day I bought my train ticket in Stockton, I expected to be here just long enough to make sure my father received the medical care he needed. I didn’t expect he and Mother would have to leave their home and livelihood in my guardianship, dependent upon me for financial support. But I can’t keep the business going much longer without the loan.”
“The bank isn’t the only way to raise money.” Otis turned onto Golden Avenue, then hooked his thumb in the strap of his overalls. “You could sell stocks in the ice company.”
“I’m a preacher. Was a preacher. I don’t know the first thing about selling stocks. Not sure I want to.” But as soon as the words left his mouth, Tucker knew that if selling shares could save the business and his father’s home, he needed to figure out the stock market.
Otis slowed the horses in front of Miss Hattie’s boardinghouse and regarded Tucker with a raised brow. “Mind you, I don’t know a whole lot about stocks myself. I’m not welcome at the Cripple Creek Mining Stock Exchange, but I have a white miner friend. He’s takin’ a liking to my wife Naomi’s Cowboy Potato Loaf, and he’s been teachin’ me some about the stock market. I find it fascinating. Want to invest in it myself one day.”
Tucker didn’t know about going that far, but if selling shares would help, he’d consider it.
“I met an attorney at church yesterday. Apparently, he’s a good friend of Miss Sinclair’s. Talking to him could be a good place to start.”
Otis parked the wagon and headed to the back. “And when I see Boney next, I’ll ask him about sellin’ stock in the business.”
“Boney Hughes is your miner friend?” Tucker hopped down from the seat and secured the reins on the hitching rail.
Using the ice tongs, Otis pulled out a twenty-pound block for Miss Hattie. “You know Boney?”
“Met him in town last week.” Tucker waved at some neighbor kids while he and Otis went around to the back of the house. “Remember the story I told you about finding a woman muddied after running from the miners at the creek?”
A shadow crossed his friend’s dark eyes. He nodded.
“Boney was the miner who helped her.”
“Sounds like something Boney would do, all right. He’s the one who helped me when a horse stomped my head.”
That explained the palsy on the left side of Otis’s face, but Boney was still a mystery. “Seems a good friend to have.”
Otis had barely set foot on the first porch step when Miss Hattie opened the kitchen door and waved them in. “You fellas have the timing of a cooling summer rain. Just pulled the trays out of the oven.” She smiled at each of them in turn and th
en looked past them.
“Abraham stayed home today.” Otis removed his canvas hat. “Naomi wanted his help with the little ones.”
“I’ll send a plate of cookies home with you.”
Tucker felt better the moment he stepped inside. The aroma of freshly baked shortbread cookies called for a deep breath that eased the tension in his shoulders. He opened the top of the icebox for Otis. “Smells mighty good, Miss Hattie.”
“And you fellas look good. Been too quiet around here today. I only have two boarders right now. Miss Faith hasn’t come home from the school yet, and Miss Ida is off conquering the business world.”
Ida Sinclair wasn’t there. Good. Their previous meetings hadn’t gone well. Hatpins and mud. He’d been ready to pummel Boney, not to mention what he’d wanted to do to the real culprits, and then she’d heard him talking to God. He’d surprised them both with an invitation to coffee, which came out sounding more like a plea.
He could find no proper excuse for his feelings yesterday. He’d expected he might see her at church, but seeing her walk in with Mr. Wagner had caught him off guard.
She was an intelligent and lovely woman. It made sense that she’d be attracted to businessmen—and they to her—and the attorney clearly fit that category.
Miss Hattie held a plate of fresh baked cookies out to Tucker. “You were hoping to see Miss Sinclair?”
“Uh.”
Otis chuckled, a sparkle replacing the earlier shadow in his eyes. “You’re in trouble now, Mr. Tucker.” He set the tongs down by the kitchen door and picked up the tray of cups. “Miss Hattie matched up me and Naomi, you know.”
He knew. He also knew about the Cutshaws and the Archers.
Tucker raised his hand. “I’m not looking to be matched up with Miss Sinclair, or with anyone else. I’m only in town for a short while.” Granted, it’d be longer than he expected, but … “Not long enough for that kind of relationship.”
Miss Hattie’s smile deepened the lines that framed her mouth. “When we’re not looking seems to be the time when God finds the most delight in surprising us.”
Mona Hodgson Page 10
