When I left off writing my story, I had arrived at the summer of 1867. Just five-and-a-half years ago. About a tenth of my life. The most important tenth, to be sure. At least that is true in light of eternity. But I am getting ahead of myself.
As detailed earlier, becoming a judge didn’t change me for the better. It was business as usual. But in the fall of 1869, I hired a fellow to manage the opera house. He came highly recommended by an acquaintance of mine. His name was Samuel Kristofferson, a Southerner whose family lost everything in the War between the States. His business acumen impressed me from the start, and his long associations with people in the theatrical world were just what I needed to make my latest enterprise thrive. I wanted to bring in the very best performers. Just because Bethlehem Springs wasn’t the largest city in the Northwest didn’t mean I wanted to settle for less.
Samuel was about five or so years younger than me and single. A good looking sort, too, so I asked him one day why he’d never married. I assumed it was because he didn’t think he had enough money or perhaps because he had moved around a lot in his work or because of the hardships that followed the war. But it wasn’t any of those reasons, according to Samuel. He said he was waiting on God’s timing. I almost regretted hiring him because of it. In the days that followed, I wondered why I didn’t fire him whenever he started what I called his “God talk.”
But the truth was I was the one who started those conversations about God, not Samuel. Not that I came right out and said so in plain English. I disguised my questions and challenges in rhetoric and legal mumbo jumbo. But Samuel wasn’t fooled. He saw me as no one had seen me since my mother died. It wasn’t a comforting feeling at first. To have someone see the real me and not run the other direction wasn’t the way things usually happened. But then, Samuel wasn’t an ordinary man either. Least not as far as I could tell.
Bethlehem Springs had two protestant churches back then. As far as I knew, most of the men who went to services were the ones who had wives—and there weren’t a lot of those yet. The town was still young and rough. It wasn’t the kind of place for families. Still, there were some married men who came with wives and children in tow. Most of the family men weren’t miners. They came to open the mercantile and the bakery and other businesses that catered to the needs of the men working claims throughout the mountains.
What I noticed most about Samuel was that he didn’t just go to church on Sundays and live like everybody else the rest of the week. And he wasn’t the pious sort either. No matter who he was talking to, he always gave them the same warm handshake and level gaze. Even the scantily clad girls who worked in my saloon didn’t change him. He treated them like ladies of quality, all the time keeping his eyes on their faces, never letting himself look upon the exposed flesh above their bodices. Only man I ever knew who managed to do that. Guess that’s why the girls liked him so much.
Isaiah 42:16 says: “And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.”
I was certainly blind when it came to the things of God. My parents didn’t live long enough to show me the right path to walk on. I’m sure the good Lord tried to get my attention through the years, but I couldn’t see it. Not when I was a boy. Not when I came west on the wagon train. Not when I was in California making my fortune.
I can look back now and say with the certainty of my faith that God sent Samuel Kristofferson to Bethlehem Springs to reach through to me when nothing and no one else could.
As it is written in John 9, “One thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.” Hallelujah!
TWENTY-THREE
Joshua awoke on Monday morning with a weight on his chest. He didn’t have to analyze the feeling. He knew it was because of Mary Theresa. Try as he might, he hadn’t found the words or the opportunity to say what needed to be said before the two of them parted yesterday, and his failure to speak up had haunted him throughout the night.
He sat on the side of the bed and paused to rub the back of his neck where the muscles had become as hard as bricks.
Mary Theresa, I can’t marry you…I don’t love you…I love another woman…You need to go home to St. Louis and find someone else to marry…Someone who loves you and deserves you.
The words sounded cold and harsh in his head. Maybe he shouldn’t mention loving another woman. Maybe he should simply tell Mary Theresa they were wrong for each other. That might be a kinder and gentler rejection.
As he rose and went through his morning routine—washing, brushing his teeth, getting dressed—he thought about his and Mary Theresa’s grandfathers, about their hopes that the two families would be united in marriage. Would Joshua’s grandfather still have wished for it if he were alive today? Perhaps not. The man Joshua remembered had loved his wife intensely. Even as a boy, Joshua had understood that. Surely he wouldn’t have wanted his grandson to marry for any reason other than love. Not even to please him.
But Mary Theresa would be hurt, and Joshua had no one to blame but himself for it. He was an adult. He should have realized long before this that he’d put off marriage because he didn’t love her. Not as a man should love his wife. What did it say about him that he’d allowed her and both of their families to believe he intended to marry her all this time? At the very least it showed a lack of judgment—and, even worse, it revealed a serious flaw in his character.
He checked his watch. Mary Theresa and Blanche should be eating breakfast in the hotel dining room right about now. Mary Theresa had invited him to join them, but he’d made no promise to do so. Better to wait until they could meet privately. Besides, he had little appetite this morning.
He slipped on his suit coat and went downstairs to the newspaper office. The first to arrive, he set about turning on the electrical lights before stoking the fire in the woodstove. Next he prepared the coffeepot and put it on the stove. By the time the water began to boil, Christina Patterson had come in the back door.
“Good morning, Joshua,” she greeted him. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
He winced as he swiveled his chair to face her. He shouldn’t be surprised that his employer had heard the news already, yet he was.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were getting married next spring?” She hung her coat on the rack, followed by her hat.
Because I didn’t know myself. He wondered who else had heard the news. Daphne? Yes, very likely she had. His stomach plummeted.
“Helen Humphrey says your young lady is very pretty.”
“Yes, she is.” He swallowed the urge to say that Mary Theresa wasn’t his young lady. He hadn’t the right to deny the engagement until he’d spoken to her. Like it or not, by his silence yesterday he had turned the engagement from supposition into fact.
Christina came to stand near the stove. “Tell me about her. How did the two of you meet?”
“Our grandfathers were the best of friends. I’ve known Mary Theresa since she was born.”
“Childhood sweethearts. How romantic.”
Joshua felt like a fraud. A cad. A teller of lies.
“Nathan and I met when we were children too.” Christina lowered her gaze to the door of the stove where firelight danced behind the glass. “I believe being friends first gave us a strong foundation for our marriage. We almost never quarreled. Not in all the years we were married.”
“How long was that?” he asked, glad to turn the conversation away from himself
“It would have been eighteen years in February.”
“You must have been very young when you married.”
“I turned eighteen on our wedding day. Nathan was twenty.” She glanced toward him, and he could see tears glittering in her eyes. “I regret every day that we weren’t together when we could have been. But then I never expected he would die so young.” She forced a quavery smile. “Don’t waste a moment with your young wo
man, Joshua. Love is too important, and none of us know how much time we have on this earth.”
Christina meant Mary Theresa, but it was Daphne who came to his mind as she spoke. No, he didn’t want to waste time. He wanted to be with her. Somehow, some way, he had to straighten out this mess.
The promise of dawn had begun to lighten Daphne’s bedroom by the time she opened her eyes after a long night filled with feelings of anger, betrayal, and heartbreak. She’d told herself a thousand times that she needn’t feel any of those things. Yes, he’d kissed her. But he shouldn’t have kissed her, and he’d apologized for doing so. She’d wondered why at the time. She didn’t have to wonder any longer. She knew.
Joshua was engaged.
Pain cut into her chest again.
It was foolish to think she’d loved him, even for a day. She hardly knew him. How could she love him?
She wiped tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands.
She didn’t love him, hadn’t loved him, wouldn’t love him. Whatever she’d felt for Joshua Crawford—which was friendship at most and perhaps some gratitude for the care he’d shown her when she was ill—was over now. Gone. Finished. Done with.
She drew in a long breath and let it out. It was time she pushed all thoughts of Joshua out of her mind. She would honor her commitment to writing her column, a job given to her by Christina Patterson, but that would be the only reason she would need to see or talk to him.
She reached for her dressing gown as she sat up and lowered her legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll work on my book today,” she whispered. Perhaps she would kill Rawhide Rick after all. Or better yet, she could torture one of his relatives. A younger relative with pale blue eyes.
When she walked into the kitchen a short while later, she heard the wind whistling under the eaves of the house. Would they see more snow today? It seemed as if they’d already had more than usual for this early in the season. Christmas was still more than three weeks away.
Listening to the wail of the wind caused a sadness to well up in her chest. Lonely. She was lonely. Not a familiar feeling. Daphne appreciated her solitude. She’d spent a great deal of time alone without feeling lonely. But something told her that this morning she could be in a huge crowd and she would still feel lonely.
Because of Joshua.
More tears threatened, but she fought them back. She refused to give into a crying jag. She refused to feel sorry for herself. Good heavens! She had an abundance of things to be thankful for. And besides, she had survived quite nicely without a man in her life for twenty-seven years. She would continue to do so hereafter.
She swept aside the curtains at the window over the sink. It was light enough to show that it wasn’t snowing. At least not yet. Unless her eyes deceived her, the sky was a ceiling of dark clouds from horizon to horizon. She let the curtains fall closed.
A snowy day was the perfect inducement to stay indoors and write.
Joshua called Mary Theresa at the Washington Hotel a little before eleven that morning, but Blanche answered instead.
“She’s on her way to the newspaper right now. She wanted to see where you live and work. I told her it was too cold to go out, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”
Joshua thanked Blanche and said good-bye before hanging up the telephone. Perhaps he should take Mary Theresa upstairs to his apartment as soon as she arrived. That would give them the necessary privacy for the discussion that needed to take place, the sooner the better.
He heard the door open and turned, expecting to see Mary Theresa.
He saw Daphne instead.
She looked stunning in an orchid-colored coat with a silver fur collar. Her dark hair was hidden beneath a matching fur hat. When their gazes met, she stopped and stared back at him. Whatever she was thinking, it wasn’t good.
“Is Mrs. Patterson here?” she asked at last.
“Not at the moment.” He walked toward the front counter. “She should return soon. Would you like to wait?”
Her face was like stone. Her expression didn’t change an iota. “No, I’ll come back later.” She turned.
“Daphne, wait.”
She flinched as if he’d struck her.
“There’s something I need to—”
The front door opened again. Joshua hoped it was Christina returning. It wasn’t.
Mary Theresa entered the office. When Daphne glanced her way, Mary Theresa smiled and said, “Hello.” Then she looked at him. “Good morning, Joshua.” Her smile broadened even more as she walked to the counter.
His gaze flicked from Mary Theresa to Daphne and back again. Part of him wished that Daphne would leave before he had to make the introductions. Part of him was glad when she didn’t.
“Is it all right that I dropped in like this?” Mary Theresa set her purse on the counter. “I hoped we could have lunch together. I declare, there is little else to do in this town but eat. What beastly weather. I know you said in your very first letter that you missed the bustle of St. Louis, but I had no idea it would be so quiet here. However have you stood it?”
Again his gaze slipped to Daphne, lingering a moment longer this time.
Mary Theresa must have noticed the direction of his eyes for she turned around to face Daphne. “Joshua, aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Of course.” What else could he do? He moved around the counter. “Miss McKinley, may I present Miss Mary Theresa Donahue from St. Louis? Miss Donahue, this is Miss Daphne McKinley. She writes—” He stopped himself before he mentioned D. B. Morgan and The McFarland Chronicles. “Miss McKinley writes a weekly column for the newspaper.”
The two women acknowledged the introductions with nods of their heads and polite smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. Joshua felt as if he were drowning in quicksand.
Finally, Daphne broke the silence. “I hope you enjoy your stay in Bethlehem Springs, Miss Donahue.” She glanced at Joshua. “Please ask Mrs. Patterson to call me.”
“I will.” He wanted to take hold of her arm, stop her from leaving, try to explain. But he couldn’t. Not until he’d spoken with Mary Theresa. And so he watched her leave, a cold wind swirling into the office before the door closed behind her.
“She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?” Mary Theresa said softly.
He turned toward her. “We need to talk.”
“I know. There’s ever so much to decide.” Her eyes brightened and her cheeks grew rosy. “First we must choose a date for the wedding. Mother thinks early spring would be the best. Surely you’ll be able to return home by then.”
To be honest, except for his job at the newspaper, there might no longer be any reason for him to remain in Idaho. It seemed there wasn’t much more he could learn about his grandfather’s past. And if the look on Daphne’s face and in her eyes had told him anything, it was that she would prefer never to see or speak to him again. If that were true, he might as well go back to St. Louis and marry Mary Theresa.
Might as well…but he wouldn’t.
TWENTY-FOUR
For two more days, Joshua tried to find a time and place where he could speak with Mary Theresa privately. But each time he thought he’d found his chance, she seemed to slip away from him, the opportunity past. In the meanwhile, people kept dropping by the newspaper or stopping him in the street to congratulate him on the impending nuptials. All he could do was respond with a smile and a “thank you,” hating himself a little more by the minute.
On Wednesday, with only two days remaining before Mary Theresa and Blanche were scheduled to leave on the morning train, he made up his mind that he would tell her what he thought when they met for lunch at the hotel, even if he had to do it in the dining room with her cousin at the same table and townsfolk and other guests seated around them.
After leaving the newspaper office, he walked along Main and was nearly to the corner at Washington Street when he caught a glimpse of an orchid-colored coat disappearing into the hat shop. Daphne. How many other coats of that
unusual color could there be in this town? Had she seen him? Had she gone into the small shop to buy a hat or to avoid meeting him on the street?
Without a plan in mind, he opened the shop’s door and entered. Daphne stood at a display, holding a black fur hat in her hands.
A clerk came out of the back room. “May I help you, Miss McKinley?”
“No, thank you, Miss Overgard. I’m just looking.”
“And you, sir?”
“Thank you, but I’ll wait.” His words drew Daphne around. “Miss McKinley.” He tipped his head.
“Mr. Crawford.” Her expression revealed nothing to him.
“I like the silver one you’re wearing better.”
She waited a heartbeat, then held out the hat to the clerk. “I’ll take this one. Please put it in a box for me.”
Ah, that revealed plenty. She was putting him in his place. She didn’t care what he thought.
As the clerk returned to the back room, Joshua lowered his voice. “Daphne—”
“How is your fiancée? I hope she has changed her mind about Bethlehem Springs now that she’s been here a few more days.” Although she smiled a little as she spoke, the look in her eyes was as cold as the wintery day outside.
“Mary Theresa is fine. But I’d like to explain about—”
“There’s no need for explanations, Mr. Crawford.”
“But there is.”
Several quick steps took Daphne to the doorway to the back room. She swept aside the curtain. “Miss Overgard, I have some other errands I must see to. Would you please have my purchase delivered to my home?”
“Of course,” came the answer from the other room.
Daphne faced him again. “Good day, Mr. Crawford.”
He stepped aside and allowed her room to pass. The door closed behind her with hard finality.
She was angry. Very angry. He took a measure of hope from that discovery. Surely it meant she still cared for him, at least a little.
He left the hat shop and hurried on his way to the hotel. God willing, this lunch with Mary Theresa would be the first step he took toward setting things right.
Robin Lee Thatcher - [The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs] Page 18
