She was in bed all day Sunday, and assumed she’d be well again by the next day. But Monday morning, she seemed even less comfortable than before. He rose a full two hours before needing to head off to work; he was unable to sleep in much longer than sunrise on most mornings. Jeremiah combed his hair nervously and cut his beard close to his jaw, remembering that Polly had told him she’d been frightened of beards until she was a teenager. They’d joked about it in their letters to each other, and Jeremiah had looked forward to teasing her about it in person as they bonded and grew easy with each other—but the playful Polly he’d gotten to know in correspondence had, so far, been missing. As he watched her move silently around the kitchen after a single word of greeting, he wondered if he’d mistaken her tone. Had she only been being cordial with him, instead of affectionate? Earl always called him a lady-killer, and he’d had his share of admirers, but Pollyanna was a proper lady—she had her own funds, had her own home before she’d moved, and was used to going to the sort of parties where all the ladies wore long white gloves and had their fingers kissed over glasses of champagne. He’d read all of that in her letters—but had he misread her eagerness?
Polly finally sat down to have a bowl of oatmeal, and Jeremiah decided to test the waters. “That was a beautiful dress you were wearing yesterday,” he said, smiling. “It looked like something you made for a special occasion.”
Polly looked up from her bowl in surprise. “Um…thank you. It’s just a simple trumpet skirted gown. Not special at all.”
Jeremiah tried to hide his disappointment. “Well, I guess Sutter Creek isn’t exactly New York. I bet you’re used to real elegance. We’ve got some things to out here, though, don’t you worry. My brother and I weren’t the type who went without culture our whole lives.”
Polly laughed, and the sound wasn’t as kind as he expected. “I’m not sure we like to do the same things, Jeremiah.” Her smile seemed forced.
Annoyance rose in him for the first time, and he couldn’t stop himself from sounding aggressive. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Polly’s cheeks reddened, but she met his eyes resolutely. “If the garters I found in your brother’s room are any indication, you’re more like the miners I’ve known in my life than you led me to believe.”
His annoyance turned swiftly to anger. “Like those ‘dirty men’ you wrote to me about in your letters? The ones you’ve already said I was nothing like?”
“Did I mention I found three different sets of garters?” Polly shot back, her voice shaking. “That’s more than dirty, Jeremiah. Do you men ever clean your rooms? Or are you too busy getting your jollies?”
“Don’t you talk about my brother that way,” Jeremiah said, louder than he intended. “He was a good man. Better than any man I knew. Everyone in this town loved him.”
Polly sniffed. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
He stood suddenly, and he saw a flash of regret in her eyes as he strode toward the coat rack. “I’m going to work. Maybe you ought to acquaint yourself with that room a little more.”
The door slammed behind him, and he half expected Polly to come after him, but he was too angry to care. She had no right, he thought, fuming; to snoop around is one thing, but to be judgmental about it was another. A man had urges, and so did women; who cared if they helped each other as long as everyone was willing? But as he got closer to the mine, his anger cooled, and he admitted he should have gone through the room more thoroughly after Earl’s death. He’d been so unwilling to accept his passing that he’d only done a cursory sweep of the room and changed the linens, unable to look too closely at his grief; Jeremiah certainly wouldn’t have been happy if he moved into a new room and found used undergarments left by the previous occupant, either.
It was nearing dark when he left work, and he was too drained to be angry anymore. As he walked past the saloon, Jeremiah told himself he would try to be less defensive and more considerate toward his new fiancé, even if that meant staying quiet when he felt he shouldn’t. He was beginning a new chapter now, and he owed it to Earl to give real happiness a try. Fred had been right about that, at least.
Jeremiah opened his front door and was greeted by the smell of something savory baking in the oven. Polly was bent over something on the counter, her back to him as she poked at the dish with a fork. She was wearing a crisp green gown with a white apron tied around her middle, and her brown curls were piled atop her head again. She jumped when she turned and saw him standing at the doorway, and the fork she was holding went clattering to the floor.
“Oh!”
Jeremiah walked into the kitchen cautiously. “Hello. Are you making supper?”
“Shepherd’s pie,” she said, her eyes glittering with anxiety. “And I have a cherry pie cooling on the counter as well, for dessert. Do you like Brussels sprouts?”
“I love them,” Jeremiah said, and Polly smiled.
“I thought so. I wasn’t sure.”
She looked down at her hands, apparently working herself up to speak. Then she raised her eyes again. “I’m sorry about this morning.”
Jeremiah didn’t try to hide his surprise. “Uh…thank you.”
“I was tired,” she continued. “And I think I told you before, I’m not exactly a fan of the miners’ lifestyle.”
“I know,” Jeremiah said mildly. “You’ve made that clear.”
Polly sighed and pressed her hands to her eyes, and Jeremiah felt a sudden rush of remorse for his cold attitude. He reached out and took both of her hands in his, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“Polly, I don’t know why you’re so against miners, and I won’t pretend I don’t want to know. But I don’t need you to tell me, I just need you to try not to feel that way about me. You were so sweet to me in your letters, and I’m still the same man. Have I done anything to make you think I’m not the man you wrote to a year ago?”
Polly shook her head slowly, and shame was starting to take over her delicate features. “No, you haven’t. I…I feel very silly now.” A blush spread to her cheeks, and she met his eyes sheepishly. “Jeremiah, I’m very sorry. You must think I’m quite rude.”
“No, just human,” he said kindly. “And maybe tired and hungry, like me. Is the food done?”
Polly smiled brightly and started to pull dishes down from the cupboards. “How was work?”
“It was okay,” Jeremiah answered as they started to serve themselves. “I’m more interested in your day, though.”
Polly’s pink lips curved up in a joyous smile, and Jeremiah felt his heart do another energetic tumble. “I actually did finish a dress that I’ll need to send back East. It’s a silk gown for a wedding. I’ll get acquainted with the town tomorrow when I find the post office, I suppose.”
Jeremiah nodded. “Did any of the neighbors come by yet?”
“A woman named Rose Boone came by, Samuel Boone’s sister,” Polly said. “She gave me the cherries for the pie, actually. Very nice woman.”
“She works at Boone’s general store,” Jeremiah said. “Hardest working woman in the town.” He took a bite of food, then closed his eyes in bliss. “Wow, this is great, Polly.”
She smiled and dipped her head demurely. “You’re too kind.”
“I’m serious,” Jeremiah pressed, happy to see the rosy tint back in her cheeks again. “This must be what they serve in heaven. How did you escape the gates?”
Polly giggled and waved one hand at him. “Oh, stop, you fool. You’ll swell my head with that talk.”
Jeremiah smiled and met her warm brown eyes. “You mean there’ll be even more of that lovely face?”
Polly shook her head and laughed again. “How did you get so good at flattery? Are you sure I’m your first wife?”
Jeremiah chuckled. “If you aren’t, it’s news to me. Sure doesn’t look like a woman has ever lived here.”
After they finished eating, they cleared away the dishes together. Jeremiah insisted on helping wash, so he handed her
dishes to dry after he scrubbed them in the basin. They stood with barely two inches of space between them, and he was painfully aware of every move she made. He nearly dropped a plate after their hands collided and he felt a sizzling flare of energy where their skin met, and tried to laugh it off while Polly teased him about it.
“Aren’t you red in the face, Mr. Butterfingers! How do you mine anything with those hands?”
“I may not be able to hold plates, but I can hold axes,” he answered. “And forks, unlike you.”
Polly gasped, feigning offense. “You startled me! That’s not fair.”
“What’s fair? You startled me,” he answered, smiling.
“How? By touching you?” she demanded.
Jeremiah turned toward her to meet her eyes. “Well…yes. You’re distracting me, too.”
Polly opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He suppressed his laughter as she searched her mind for something to say, but she settled on saying nothing. He was afraid he’d made her uncomfortable again, and looked for a way to correct it.
Then she surprised him again but taking a step closer to him and placing both hands on his broad shoulders. His heart stopped for a moment as she gazed up at him, her expression nervous and giddy all at once. Then she pulled herself up to his height on the tips of her toes and pecked his lips, pulling back before he realized what was going on.
Jeremiah stood there for a moment, stunned, until Polly started to giggle again.
“Wow,” she said breathlessly. “I really do startle you. You’ve definitely never been married before; are you sure you’ve even had a girlfriend?”
“Hey!” Jeremiah protested, laughing. “I was startling you plenty earlier, so you have no room to talk!”
“Well, you didn’t tell me you looked like one of those fancy cowboys,” Polly grumbled. “I’m sure you got more than looks from the girls in your heyday.”
“Maybe, but none of them were right for me,” Jeremiah admitted.
Polly smiled. “Lucky me.”
His heart skipped a beat. “Lucky me, I think.”
They talked more about their younger days over pie. Polly told him about her first crush, and Jeremiah told her about his. They talked about their family and friends well into the night, until Polly reminded him they both had things to do in the morning. He walked her to her room, and before she went in, she stopped and looked back at him, expectantly—but only for a moment; she hurried into the room and shut the door behind her before he realized that she might have been waiting for him to kiss her.
Stupid!
But that night his dreams were far more pleasant, and he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.
Chapter 3
The days slipped by, and Jeremiah felt more and more at ease. Polly was warming to him, and they were starting to get along swimmingly, even though there were still bumps every now and then—an odd remark about gambling, accidentally insulting a dress, or just brief bickering after a bad night’s sleep—but after a month and a half, they’d mostly settled into a comfortable rhythm. Polly had her first big order to work on, but she’d always have her things put away and dinner ready for him when he got home, and she was happy to see him, even if she was quiet. Jeremiah learned to stop taking her quiet moments too hard, and always took great interest in her day, taking care not to seem like he was brown-nosing her; this was especially because he really did find everything about her fascinating. Her nimble fingers, her dry humor, even the stories she had from years of working with men and women from all walks of life were enchanting to him. He whistled at the detail of her designs, which she kept in a notebook of fine paper bound with dark, polished leather, every drawing as sharp and realistic as the finished product would prove to be.
“Have you tried painting?” he asked her one evening after looking at a page of designs for riding habits.
Polly was surprised at the question. “A bit,” she said hesitantly, brushing away an errant curl. “I’m not very good.”
“I bet you’re great,” Jeremiah said earnestly, taking her smaller hand in his.
Polly blushed and smiled at him sheepishly. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not,” he insisted. “I’d love to see something you painted. Anything. I know it will be wonderful.”
She’d given him a wide smile, and her brown eyes sparkled with joy. And then she’d kissed him—though it seemed too simple to say that she ‘just’ pressed her lips to his; no matter how many times she did it, it was always electrifying, and it always left him gasping for air. He was pleased to see that Polly was left as giddy and breathless as he was, and that she felt comfortable enough to share kisses with him and even cuddle together on the sofa, but she’d so far stopped short of going public. Polly hadn’t set a date for the wedding, and she didn’t allow him to show affection toward her in public, insisting that they wait until they were official.
“But aren’t we official now?” Jeremiah had asked.
“Not until the minister decrees it,” she said mildly, and he’d been too afraid to push the subject that evening.
But the men at mine had started asking, too—they’d all seen Polly by now, and the ones who had wives had met her, too, since she’d gone around to let them know about her business. But they’d all remarked on the title she introduced herself with: Miss instead of Missus, and always her maiden name. They, too, assumed it was already official, and Jeremiah couldn’t explain the problem—because he didn’t understand it himself.
He walked over to Boone’s general store early one Sunday morning. The air was getting crisper, but he saw barefoot children racing around in their small yards as if the cold didn’t reach their skin. Jeremiah couldn’t remember what it was like to be so reckless; after Earl had died, he was especially wary of everything that could do him harm. Strangely enough, he was far less afraid to meet an untimely end than he had been during the previous year; what had changed?
As he walked into the store, his train of through was derailed. Maxine Boone, Rose and Samuel Boone’s mother. She was in her seventies and going blind, but still insisted on coming into the store every single day to check on things. Right now, she was waving a stick at Ivan, their stock boy, with her wispy blonde hair gathered in a small, tight knot atop her head. Rose stood between them with her hands up in front of the woman in a pleading gesture, her chestnut brown hair done in an identical fashion.
“I don’t care what you think! Ida’s store has got them, you should have them, too!”
Ivan was shouting back at Maxine, his slim face going red. “None of the Mestizos even use this store, and they’re the only ones who buy—”
“Why do you think they don’t use this store?” Maxine demanded. “You’re not trying to cater to them like Ida’s! Get some more product, maybe you wouldn’t be so slow all the time!”
“Home deliveries make up more of our profits than—”
“Bah!” Maxine waved her hands at Ivan dismissively and turned away from him, finally acknowledging Jeremiah as he approached the women and the young man bemusedly. “Smith! Jeremiah Smith. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to arrange one of those home deliveries, actually,” he said, blushing.
“See?” Ivan said snidely. “We’re fine without those…Mestizos.”
Jeremiah wrote his order down on a pad and handed it to Rose, bristling as he wondered what the boy had been going to say instead. “Actually, I know quite a few Mestizos at the mine. They’d love to give you their business, but I’m not sure they’d love to buy from someone who shows them no respect. You may not think you need them, but they surely don’t need you.”
Ivan blushed furiously and stomped away, muttering a stream of curses under his breath. Rose laughed, her green eyes sparkling as she walked away after him, holding her lower back with one hand and small, round belly with the other.
Jeremiah nodded to her. “How far along is she?”
“Six months, about,” M
axine said. “Why the interest now? Don’t you have a dame? I here she’s pretty, too; not as pretty as my Rosie, of course.”
Jeremiah smiled. “You know Rose and I are too different. Besides, Sam’s an old buddy. I bet she knows some unflattering stories about me. I actually just wondered if she’d need some new maternity dresses.”
Maxine raised her eyebrows, catching on immediately. “Ah, the wife’s a dressmaker, is she?”
Jeremiah nodded. “A damn good one, too.” He paused.
Maxine cocked her head. “When’s the wedding?”
Jeremiah didn’t even flinch; Maxine had an uncanny ability to pick out a problem before it was even hinted at. He secretly believed she really was keeping the store running.
“I don’t know what, Maxine,” he said truthfully. “I don’t know when she’ll be ready.”
Maxine leaned forward conspiratorially. “Well, why don’t you just ask her?”
Jeremiah laughed, but he saw she was serious. He paused, turning the idea over in his mind. “You know,” he said slowly. “I guess you’re right. There’s no reason not to just ask.”
“Don’t just ask,” Maxine said, grinning at him. “Did she just move across the country for you? Did she just agree to uproot her business? Maybe you ought to make a big move, so she feels ready to make hers.”
Jeremiah stared at Maxine’s wizened face, stunned. She nodded and walked away, humming to herself in a satisfied manner, and he wondered how he’d been so thoughtless. Of course he should make a gesture out of it—why else would she be waiting to set a date? It had been almost two months, after all, and he’d neglected to show any initiative. It shouldn’t rest solely on her shoulders.
As he walked past the barefoot children again, he saw a patch of wildflowers growing in a field behind the foundry. Jeremiah dashed behind the building and plucked a handful of the yellow and orange flowers, hoping she didn’t have any allergies she was forgetting to tell him about. A gust of wind ruffled his hair, and as the cold surrounded him, he realized why he felt so different about the world and his own mortality. For the first time in a year, he was happy—he was no longer young and reckless, but he was elated and joyful in a way he had never experienced before, and it was because of Polly. I have to let her know, he thought desperately; when she knows how I feel about her, her hesitancy will fade.
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