Seven weeks had passed since the scene at the opera house, and Tucker still couldn’t erase the image of the attorney in tails and a top hat looking like he owned Ida Sinclair. But it was the man’s fixation on Miss Dunsmuir’s note to Ida that troubled him the most.
“Tucker?”
“Sorry. A bit distracted today.”
Taggart nodded.
“I still don’t have an answer for you, but coffee sounds real good.” Tucker pushed the hand truck up the slushy walkway and into the kitchen, where the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee was enough to fight the chill in his bones. Once he’d set up the icebox, he and the reverend carried steaming mugs to the parlor. Between the rich warmth of the brew and the heat from the well-stoked parlor stove, Tucker found he wasn’t at all anxious to head back outside. He settled into a floral armchair across from the reverend and lifted the mug to his mouth.
“As you know, I’ve been called to another church.” Taggart set his cup on the side table between them. “I understand you’re not convinced taking over the church here permanently is in God’s plan for you.”
Tucker nodded, then took a long drink of coffee.
“But I hoped I could talk you into filling in for me on the twentieth.” The pastor sat back in his chair with his fingers intertwined above his belly and looked directly at Tucker. “I need to finalize my housing arrangements in New York this week, and I can’t be here for Sunday services.”
“This coming Sunday?”
“I realize that’s not much time to put together a sermon, but—”
“You haven’t even heard me preach.”
“But I do know your former landlord in Stockton.” A grin lit Taggart’s blue eyes.
“You know Pastor Bill?”
“Bill Hutchinson and I went to seminary together at Auburn.” The reverend retrieved his cup. “And my sister heard you preach at camp meetings in Watsonville this past spring. The way she raved about you made me a little jealous. She never goes on about my preaching like that.”
“I wouldn’t feel too bad. Sisters are that way. Willow never seems all that impressed with my oratory skills either.”
Tucker realized he’d referred to Willow as if nothing were wrong with her. The three reports he’d received from the asylum had actually convinced him she was on the mend.
“I’ll do it.” Tucker set his empty mug on the table. He missed preaching much more than he missed the lower elevation, the docile winters, and the traveling from town to town, and filling in for Reverend Taggart this Sunday would give him the opportunity to preach without having to commit to a steady pastorate. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “You mind if I ask you something?”
“Fire away.”
“How long have you known Colin Wagner?”
“First met Colin at the Third Street Café, summer before this last one. That’s when I invited him to church. He’s been pretty regular ever since. Became a deacon after the first of the year.” The reverend drained his cup. “Why do you ask?”
Tucker breathed a prayer and leaned forward, hoping the concerns he was about to share were unfounded.
THIRTY
da tugged the sleeves of her new silk shirtwaist. She had expected to see Tucker behind the pulpit reading Scripture, as he’d been doing every Sunday for the past two months. Hearing him preach that morning was a surprise. At least Colin had made himself easier to avoid by failing to show up at church. Tucker Raines, on the other hand, was front and center.
“I’ll be the first to admit failure. I have failed to lean first on my faith in Jesus Christ. Still do fail at it more often than I care to admit.” Tucker looked out at the congregation as if they were all sitting in Hattie’s parlor, and he’d just told them a sweet story. “But I desire to keep Jesus first in my heart. Until we know Jesus through faith in Him—through a relationship with Him, God is a mere notion to us. Not a personal reality.”
His Bible lay open in front of him. He’d read from the book of Matthew about seeking the kingdom of God first. “Losing my brother-in-law to the river and watching my sister suffer in the loss caused me to struggle in my faith. My sister’s needs and my preaching at camp meetings competed for first place. Who or what is first in your life?”
Ida swallowed hard, but her answer wasn’t so difficult, or terrible.
God had blessed her with a dear family and she worked hard to do right by them. A twinge of concern for Vivian swept over her. She’d add writing a letter to her youngest sister to her list of activities for this afternoon. And God had given her a mind for business, and she was using it. Not many people could say they were using the talents God gave them and caring for the people He had placed in their lives.
“Hardships serve to educate our faith and make it real. But First Corinthians 15:57 tells us: ‘But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.’ If you haven’t already, you will come to a crossroads that requires you to dig soul-deep and make a deliberate choice to trust God.”
As soon as Tucker had finished his sermon and they’d sung the last hymn, Ida stepped out into the aisle and turned toward the door, hoping to rush out before Tucker made his way back.
“Miss Sinclair?”
She’d been listening to that voice for the past hour. She turned toward him. “Mr. Raines. Or do we call you Pastor Raines? Reverend Raines?”
“Reverend Taggart is out of town this week, but he’s still the pastor here. And I’m still Tucker.”
Morgan stepped out into the aisle and shook hands with Tucker. “Do you have plans for Christmas dinner on Friday?”
The preaching ice man gazed at Ida. Why did he have to look at her that way? Like he’d forgotten about her being with Colin at the opera house and instead remembered their time together at the creek and missed it as much as she did. Or maybe he was still waiting for her to admit that seeing Colin had been a mistake.
“Kat and I would be pleased if you’d join the family at our house for Christmas.”
Tucker didn’t look at Morgan. Instead he held Ida’s gaze. Was he asking her permission to join her family?
“By all means.” Ida tucked a curl behind her ear. “Join us. Hattie will be there too, but Faith will be in Denver with her family.” She paused. “No note passing.”
His smile was too warm. Thankfully, he quickly turned his attention to Morgan. “I’d like that. Thank you.” He tugged his jacket straight. “Now if you all will excuse me, I’ll go greet the others.”
Ida nodded, suddenly aware that her resolve to avoid Tucker was walking away with him, and she looked forward to seeing him again on Christmas Day.
Late Monday morning, Ida watched Colin Wagner walk through the office door with his usual pinstriped swagger. Sighing a long-overdue prayer, she closed the ledger she was working on.
Apparently, she’d come to one of the crossroads Tucker Raines had talked about. Her relationship with Colin hadn’t felt like it required a soul-deep search, but it hadn’t felt right either. Even before Faith’s note. And it wasn’t fair to him that she kept letting him believe there could be more between them than friendship. Even the business side of things would need to change.
Colin removed his bowler and glanced at Mollie’s closed office door.
“She’ll return in a few minutes.” Ida swallowed hard against the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach.
Colin took slow steps toward Ida’s desk. “I’m not here to see her.”
Ida stacked the files and ledgers on her desk. “I’m on my way out soon as well. Mr. Leonard is expecting me and my steno pad at the railroad office.”
“I’ve missed having you come to the office. Mollie just isn’t as pleasant to work with.” He set his hat on her desk. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Avoiding me.”
Ida forced herself to meet his steadfast gaze. “Yes, I have been avoiding you.”
“Because of my little outburst at Mis
s Hattie’s over Thanksgiving dinner? Because of the note? Or because of him?”
Ida stood, but remained behind her desk. “I can’t see you anymore. Not socially.” She drew in a deep breath. “Nor can I work in your office.”
Colin placed his hands on her desk and leaned toward her. “I know your type, Ida Sinclair.”
“My type?”
He straightened, his gaze fixed on her and his hazel eyes narrowing. “You can’t convince me that you’d prefer to settle for a preaching ice man rather than accept the hand of a successful law counselor.”
Ida glanced up at the wall clock. “You should leave before one of us says something we’ll regret.”
He swept his bowler off the desk. “You’ll regret turning me away.”
“That sounded like it could be taken as a threat, Mr. Wagner.”
“Merely stated a fact. You deserve better.” After setting his hat on his head, Colin hooked his thumbs in his jacket lapel. “Good day, Miss Sinclair. Call me when you come to your senses.”
The door closing behind him was music to her ears. And if she had any strength in her knocking knees, she’d rush over and lock it. Instead, Ida sank into her leather chair. She laid her head against the back of it and stared up at the embossed tin ceiling.
First, Bradley Ditmer had proven himself untrustworthy, and now she questioned Colin Wagner’s integrity. Which brought her own dependability into question. She was apparently a terrible judge of character. At least where men were concerned.
So what did that say about Tucker Raines? Was she wrong about him as well?
THIRTY-ONE
wo days after preaching in Reverend Taggart’s church, Tucker wheeled another icebox into the rock-lined icehouse. He’d just received another shipment of eight iceboxes on the morning train. Cripple Creek had grown to include many more doctors, lawyers, mine investors, and business owners. Word had gotten out about the new icehouse and his icebox business.
His business.
Tucker rolled the box into its temporary resting place. While he slid it off the hand truck beside three other boxes, he chuckled at the bittersweet and ironic thought of this being his business. Building an icehouse and selling iceboxes in this Colorado town’s boom time had been his father’s dream. Not his. His own ideas for his future had begun and ended with caring for his sister and serving God as a traveling preacher.
My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.
That truth had never felt more real to him than it did now, as he lived out his father’s dream. In thinking about what his father had wanted and what he would do if he could, Tucker experienced a sense of fulfillment he hadn’t felt since Sam’s death. Even when preaching and winning souls to Christ.
God had blessed his efforts. No, God had blessed his obedience to come and step into his father’s shoes, whether his father wanted him here or not. And God had blessed him with more than the sale of stocks, new customers, and a steady income. He’d hoped and prayed for success in the business so he could take care of his family.
He hadn’t thought to hope and pray for friends in this new assignment, and yet God had set him down smack in the middle of a community of friends who had embraced him. Otis. Hattie. Mr. and Mrs. Jing-Quo. Reverend Taggart. Morgan Cutshaw and Judson Archer.
And then there were the Sinclair sisters. Although his heart wanted to believe there was hope of more than mere friendship ahead for him and Miss Ida Sinclair, right now it seemed a lot of obstacles stood in their way. He’d seen how well she fit in with the professionals at the opera house, and he’d seen the way she looked at him after Sunday’s service. She’d greeted him with more of a glare, not a glad-to-see-you smile.
Only God knew for sure what lay ahead for either of them. After his dizzying time at the creek with her, which had been capped off with a disturbing night at the concert, Tucker had added the matter of their relationship to his prayer list. It remained there. Near the top.
Tucker was on his knees in the back of the wagon, reaching for an icebox, when he heard snow-crunching footsteps approaching. He tugged the box to the edge of the wagon and fought with the canvas flap to climb out.
“Mr. Raines?”
Tucker turned to look at the postmaster’s oldest boy. The envelope he clasped in his hand caused Tucker’s mind to swirl with possibilities—none of them good. His father’s life teetered at the top of a list of reasons for a hand-delivered letter.
“Archie?” Tucker choked out the name.
“Pa sent me. Said you’d want to see this right away.” Archie shoved the envelope at him.
Tucker shed his gloves and attempted to set them on the tailgate of the wagon, only to miss and drop them in the snow. He stared at the handwriting on the envelope. The letter hadn’t come from a doctor at the sanitorium. The loud sigh escaping his lips seemed to have risen from his feet, gaining strength on its way up.
“Was Pa right?” Archie wobbled back and forth, a telltale sign of his gangly growth-spurt stage. “Is it important?”
Tucker blinked hard against the tears stinging his eyes and nodded. “It’s very important. The letter is from my sister.” Not taking his eyes off her distinct pre-illness penmanship, Tucker pulled a coin from his pocket and handed it to Archie. “Thank you. Tell your father I said thank you.”
“I will.” With a smile on his freckled face, the boy fisted the coin and took off toward Bennett Avenue.
His hands shaking, Tucker left the gloves, the hand truck, and the last icebox where they lay and climbed up onto the wagon seat. The work to be done, even the cold air chilling his nose, didn’t matter. He carefully opened the envelope as if it were a treasured artifact. Pulling out the thin piece of stationery, Tucker drew in a deep breath before he began to read.
My dear brother,
Willow had actually written him a letter, called him brother. His heart raced.
I know what you did, Tucker.
His heart sank. Did she blame him? Was that why she couldn’t speak to him all these many months? Had she finally written only to tell him so? No, she’d called him dear brother.
I know you came every week. You brought me flowers and drawing pencils. You told me stories and sang me songs.
Tucker wiped the icy tears from his face. She knew, even if her attendant had been the one to tell her. Willow knew he’d been there. Knew he cared.
Even more than that, dear brother, you brought me your love even when I couldn’t give you anything in return.
Removing his hat, he lifted his face to sky. “Thank You for the strength to do that, Lord. Thank You.”
Tucker, I’m drawing again. And I’m counting the days until I can come see you in Colorado and I can sketch Pikes Peak.
Would he still be here by the time Willow could make the trip? He remembered Morgan’s statement the first time he’d gone to Sunday supper at Hattie’s. “Don’t be too surprised when you discover you don’t want to leave Cripple Creek.” Almost prophetic.
With an undying love,
Your Big Sis,
Willow Grace
“Thank You, Lord. Your mercy endures forever.”
“You’re praying out loud again.”
The angelic voice drew his attention to the woman standing beside the wagon. Ida had been avoiding him. Why was she here? The icehouse was below the depot, not on the way to anywhere. She’d apparently come specifically to speak to him.
That realization sped his pulse as he looked into her royal blue eyes and hoped her reason was more personal than Hattie having a question about her new icebox or needing another block of ice; more personal than delivering a message for his stockbroker, Mr. Miller. More than anything else, though, he hoped she hadn’t come to talk about Colin Wagner. It wasn’t his place to discuss the man with her.
Unless she asked.
Ida glanced at the envelope. “More good news about Willow?”
“It’s a letter from her, in her own handwriting.”
“That’s wonderful!” Ida’s smile could’ve brightened the darkest night.
“Thank you.” Tucker slid the letter into the envelope and put it in his coat pocket. He extended his hand to her, an invitation to join him.
After looking both ways, apparently satisfied no one else was watching, she placed a shiny patent leather–clad foot on the metal step above the wheel and accepted his help onto the seat beside him.
She twisted her gloved hands into a knot on her lap. “I’m on my lunch break, and I don’t have much time.” She pulled a pendant watch from her reticule and glanced at it. “It took me too long to decide to come talk to you.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“But I have only a few minutes left.”
“May I drive you back to the office? We could talk on the way.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’ll close up the wagon, and we’ll go.”
At the back of the wagon, Tucker retrieved his work gloves from the ground. He pushed the icebox to the corner, set the hand truck inside, and latched the tailgate closed. His hands shaking, he untied the reins from the hitching rail. He’d grown up in a house with females, but his mom and sister had never made his heart race or his hands shake.
Ida was watching him when he climbed onto the seat beside her, wishing he could read the look in her eyes. It didn’t matter—hope took flight inside him anyway as he clicked his tongue and flicked the reins. Having her at his side felt right, even if it only lasted until they arrived at Mollie O’Bryan’s Stenography Firm.
“I’m glad you stopped by the icehouse.” He was repeating himself.
“I wanted to ask you a question.”
He looked over at her and suddenly wished they were walking hand in hand instead of bouncing across Carbonate Street in a squawking wagon. “Anything.”
“You’re a preacher”—she glanced at the ice tongs at her feet—“and a businessman.”
Mona Hodgson Page 18
