Silver Belles and Stetsons

by Caroline Clemmons

  She had forgotten. Whenever they'd had a problem growing up, Mrs. Harold always imparted little nuggets of wisdom for encouragement.

  Angel raised her head, sat up in her chair, and took a deep breath. Her spirits lifted with the knowledge her friend supported her even if it was only in her thoughts and memories. She could do this.

  The sound of booted feet clomped onto the porch followed by a knock. Startled, she stood, grabbed her pistol from the fireplace mantle, and rushed to the window. All she could see was tree limbs. She didn't know who was at her door, but she refused to open it to any stranger. Look at the madness the last stranger had brought.

  “Who's there?” she called out. She reasoned her new husband had no need to knock. He'd simply open the door and come in.

  “It's Jamey,” he shouted. “Open up and give me a hand.”

  She did as he asked and found herself face to face with a cedar tree. Shoving the pistol into her skirt pocket, she grabbed a handful of branches and pulled as he pushed to bring the tree inside.

  After she'd closed the door against the chilled outside air, she placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Why on earth would you cut down a tree?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve.” He stepped back onto the porch and brought in a familiar box. Handing it to her, he smiled. “I thought ye'd like to decorate.”

  “I haven't—I mean, I don't—it's just that—”

  He’d stunned her with the tree and his offer to celebrate Christmas. Silently, she set the box onto the table. Truth be known, this was her favorite time of year but, due to the circumstances, she hadn’t celebrated in a couple of years. Her last Christmas had been shared with Cissie and her family. She lifted the top of the box to reveal a few of the items she’d managed to pack from her previous life.

  Picking up a small silver ornament in the shape of a pinecone, she thought back to the last time she'd seen it. Her fingers traced the delicate contours of the design.

  In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “These ornaments belonged to my mother and grandmother. They brought them on the ship from the old country. This little pinecone was Mama's first one. I didn't know they survived the trip across the Red River. Where did you find them?”

  “They were in a trunk out in the barn behind hay bales and farm equipment. Ye didn't know they were there?”

  “No. I'm sure Will mentioned he put the trunk there. But it's been over a year, so I guess I just forgot.”

  She looked at a couple of other treasures, replaced them and pushed the box away from the edge of the table. Here was yet another example of her gullibility and naivety. She trusted too easily.

  “Did you happen to notice what else was in the trunk?” She hated to ask, afraid to hear what he’d say, but needed to know.

  “Bedroom and kitchen linens, ladies things and these.”

  “Is there any jewelry or silver service?”

  “I didn’t go diggin’ too deep, though now that I think on it, the contents were none too organized.” He took a seat across from her. “What aren’t ye tellin’ me, Angel?”

  Fingers interlaced, she tightened her grip and looked toward the window. She was back to the trust issue and she had a decision to make. What she was thinking could destroy a man’s memory.

  Meeting Jamey’s intense gaze, she said, “Will didn’t tell me he brought the trunk here. I thought it was still stored at the hotel. In the beginning, he told me either he forgot to pick it up or the wagon was full and he’d get my belongings the next trip into town. He would get so agitated, I finally stopped asking.”

  “What happened?”

  “Helmut and I came with a wagon train from Ohio to Texas to join Helmut’s family in Boerne. It had rained heavily for a few days and the river was over its banks. Even though we waited for the level to go down, the current was too strong and our wagon overturned. While trying to save us, Helmut had a heart attack and died.

  The wagon master told me he’d store my belongings at the hotel once we made it to Denison.”

  “Helmut was your . . .”

  “He was my first husband.”

  “I see.” He rested his hand on top hers.

  “I had very little money and could only afford to stay at the hotel a few days. I found a job at the café where I met Calliope Thorne. She gave me a place to stay.”

  “That’s when you met Will.”

  “Yes, after a time.” Uncomfortable with the touching, she pulled her hands from his. She also decided she’d shared all the dirty laundry she cared to for today.

  She needed time to figure out what Will's motives were for lying to her apparently about everything during their time together. Had he ever been honest?

  And what was behind Jamey O'Donnell's kindnesses? Was he purposely deceiving her, too, for his own motives?

  She needed answers to these questions in order to get her life on track and to achieve her independence. From now on, she promised herself and Cissie, she would be in control. No one, including Mr. O'Donnell, would take advantage of her again.

  Forcing a smile, she stood. “Now, where are we going to put this tree?”

  ***

  Jamey had thought it odd she wouldn't remember the trunk being stored in the barn. After all, the contents meant so much to her. But hearing Will had lied to her made him wonder even more what had happened with his friend and why he’d waited so long to reach out.

  But Angel was right to put the discussion aside. The whole point of the tree had been to put a smile on her face and hopefully improve her mood. She'd been sad and quiet since they’d left the bank. The smile he received, though, looked more like the masks he’d seen at Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

  “What about in the front corner by the window?” He dragged the tree over so she could see what it would look like. “I can anchor it to the wall here. What do you think?”

  “That's fine.” Her answer was short, but its tone had a tinge of approval.

  “Good.”

  Half an hour later, Jamey had the tree firmly planted in a bucket full of ashes from the fireplace. Twine looped around its midpoint anchored it to the wall. Snow fell from the limbs onto the floor as he shook the trunk to check for stability. When he was satisfied the tree was stable, he stepped back to take a look.

  “There.”

  Angel appeared beside him with the pinecone ornament. Holding it by the hook, she hung it onto a limb, front and center. Obviously pleased with the placement, she strategically hung the remaining ornaments and decorations and admired her handiwork.

  “Oh, that's lovely.”

  “Ye've done a fine job,” he agreed. His stomach grumbled and he remembered they hadn't eaten since breakfast. “Say, did ye open the brown paper-wrapped package I brought in?”

  “No, should I have?”

  “Not necessarily, but it's dark out and a bit past supper time.” He snipped the twine holding the paper around several boxes. “I stopped by the hotel kitchen and purchased enough food to last us a few days.”

  “This smells heavenly,” she said, as she sniffed the mouth-watering aromas wafting from the packages. “How about I put the contents into the warming oven while we put the rest of the things away? Then we'll eat.”

  “That's all the convincing I need.” Smiling, he set about restoring order to the cabin. He didn't have to win the war today. Small accomplishments would do fine.

  Chapter Seven

  Angel dried her hands on a cup towel and put away the last dish. She found it interesting she was tired but not yet ready to go to bed. Jamey sat at the table sharpening the carving knife, so she poured them both a cup of coffee and joined him.

  She wished he'd stop being nice. His being helpful made it hard for her to maintain the tough shell she needed to survive on her own. Her grandmother's stern raising kept her from being rude.

  “Thank you for doing that,” she said, breaking the silence that continued after supper. “I hadn't realized how dull it was. Guess I've gott
en used to it.”

  He chuckled. “It did sort of chew the ham into chunks, didn't it?” He tested the edge's sharpness with his thumb. Apparently satisfied with the results, he wiped the oil from the knife and dried the sharpening stone, placing it back into his saddle bag. Rejoining her at the table, he sipped at the hot coffee and asked, “I always thought Will preferred to be off by himself. How'd ye end up married to him?”

  “That's none of your business.”

  He shook his head. “I'm not meanin' to pry, Colleen. Just makin' conversation.”

  But it felt like prying no matter what he said. The only way to stop talking about it, though, was to get everything out in the open and be done. He deserved to know what he’d gotten himself into.

  “My life since crossing the Red River has not been what I'd hoped. When I was forced out of the hotel, I had no place to go. That’s when I met Calliope. She owned the café that fed the drovers and railroaders and gave me a job and, as I said, a place to stay.”

  “That was kind of her. She sounds like a good woman.”

  “She is and I treasure our friendship, but Calliope isn’t welcome in certain town circles and her reputation transcended to me.”

  “Ah.” Jamey raised his chin in understanding. “Miss Thorne is a lady of the evening.”

  “Yes, but not only that, she’s a smart business woman, too. She owns the business and the café.”

  “Angel, you don’t have to sell me. She helped you and that’s enough.”

  “Oh . . . well, it wasn’t long before Calliope introduced me to Will.” She looked him squarely in the eye. “I guess that brings you up to date. I’m afraid, Jamey O’Donnell, you’ve stepped into a sticky situation but you’re at least prepared if Mrs. Krutchmeyer goes through with her threat to expose my reputation to you.”

  “I wondered what she was sayin’ to ye when I walked up beside ye.”

  She wrapped her hands around the cup and examined the contents. “I’ll understand if you want me to leave.”

  He stood and moved his cup to the drain board. “There’ll be no talk of leavin’, Colleen. I don’t put much stock in other’s opinions.”

  Then he did something that took her by surprise. He came to her, pulled her out of her chair and into his arms. He simply held her in a tight embrace. She was hard pressed to remember the last time she’d been held like this. Her arms settled around his waist and she drew comfort and strength from his warmth.

  Easing his hold on her, he looked down at her and asked, “Do you need anything before I turn in?”

  More of this. Afraid to say the words out loud, she answered, “No, I don't.”

  “I'll be seein' ye in the mornin', then.” He kissed her forehead then sat, pulled off his boots and laid down on his make-shift bed, giving her his back. “I'll keep the fire goin’, but leave yer door open so the room will stay warm.”

  “I will, good night.” He was snoring almost before the words were out of her mouth. It seemed the past days’ happenings were taking a toll on him, too. Hopefully tomorrow would be less eventful because she needed to think about making a plan for the future. Her future. Her new husband had his own plan and a life that probably wouldn’t include her. And, for some reason she couldn’t understand, the thought was devastating.

  Too tired to change into her nightdress, she slid beneath the covers and closed her eyes. A couple of ideas for her future survival sparked in her imagination. She couldn’t muster enough gumption to get her wooden box that held her stationery and pen. She’d just have to write them down tomorrow.

  Sometime before daylight Angel awoke to a great howling wind and sleet hitting the bedroom window. She wanted to burrow deeper under the blankets, but the slap of the barn door startled her. When she looked out the window, huge clouds of snow swirled over the already covered ground. The sight was beautiful but held deadly potential. As she strained to see anything through the flurries, the blustery weather blew open the front door.

  Still dressed in her clothes from last night, she started for the main room and found Jamey standing in the entrance.

  He shouted to be heard over the roar, “Angel! Get dressed, I need yer help.”

  ***

  Jamey hated to ask her, but he couldn’t do alone what needed to be done. The stock had to be taken care of. He’d looked in on them before dinner and thought they’d be warm enough but, when the wind woke him up, he realized the temperature had dropped significantly.

  He warmed his hands by the fire and called out to her, “Put on as many layers as ye can. I can't have ye freezin' to death.”

  “How cold do you think it is out there?” Angel came into the room wearing a woolen shirt, the boots she’d worn the day they’d first met and a pair of men’s pants. After she finished cinching them in at the waist, she pulled on a knitted cap and handed one to him. “Here, this will help keep your head warm.”

  “The thermometer on the barn wall read nine degrees.” He held up the cap. “This’ll feel good, thanks.”

  “It wasn't this cold last winter. You’ll have to tell me what you need me to do.”

  “Makin’ sure there’s plenty of feed and water is important, but we also have to plug some of the gaps in the planks to keep the barn as warm as possible. I have an idea that may work.” He walked to the door, pulled on his gloves and rested his hand on the latch. “Are ye ready?”

  Putting on Will's coat, she smiled. “Might as well be.”

  “Good, let's go.”

  Out in the barn, she did as he asked, working as hard as he did. Thankfully the well was deep enough that the water hadn’t frozen and he’d been able to bucket up enough for the stock. He’d replenished the feed with extra protein yesterday so that would help keep the animals warm. When he finished with the makeshift roost for the chickens, he found her petting and talking softly to Rusty.

  “Such a good boy, so handsome. We’re going to take good care of you.” She must have sensed him behind her for she stopped her crooning and faced him. “What’s next?”

  “We need to block the two areas along the north wall that have the biggest gaps between the boards.”

  “What’s the best way to do that?” Her brow furrowed in thought. “I suppose we could use the blankets from the beds to hang on the walls.”

  “Good idea, but let’s save that as a last resort. I thought I’d rearrange the hay bales that are already there to cover the gaps. If we can stack them closer and tall enough, it should block the wind.”

  “All right.” She tugged on her gloves and stuffed errant strands of her hair back under the cap. “I'm ready.”

  Thirty minutes later, the bales were in place. The constant flow of air had been reduced to small whistles around the edges. Now they needed to get inside by the fire to warm up.

  “We’ve done all we can do for the time bein’.” He didn't know about Angel, but he’d worked up a sweat and it wouldn't do for them to get sick from over exposure. “Let’s head inside. I'll come back out to check on our work in an hour or so.”

  Angel checked the thermometer. “The mercury’s only at twelve degrees.”

  “Not much gain in warmth ‘tis true, but at least it’s stopped droppin’.” Taking her by the hand, he pulled her toward the barn door. “Come on. I don’t know about you, but I could use a hot cup of coffee.”

  “Sounds good to me, too. I'll set a pot to brewing as soon as we’re inside.”

  When they walked out into the blustery north wind and headed toward the house, she held fast to his hand. Jamey took that as a good sign.

  ***

  Angel fixed a fresh pot of coffee and set it to boil on the stove and then put the remainder of the dinner Jamey bought in town into the warming oven. Now that she was thawing out, she realized she was hungry. The ham, potatoes, and green beans had been delicious last night and even now, chilled from sitting in the room's cooler temperature, the food made her mouth water.

  It would be a while before they could eat,
so she decided to take the time to try and make herself more presentable. It had been a long time since she’d worn one of her pretty frocks. She smiled as she remembered how Mrs. Harold would call out to the girls to not get their frocks dirty while playing outside. She and Cissie had giggled behind their hands at the silly sounding name. Now, she found she rather liked the outdated term.

  She’d like it better if she had the luxury of soaking in a tub of hot water, but a spit bath would have to do for now. When she fastened the last pearl button, she picked up her hand mirror and gasped. Patches of dirt decorated her chin and forehead, while her hair stuck out in a dozen different directions from being under the knit cap. She cleaned her face with cold cream, brushed and braided her waist-length blonde hair and pronounced herself presentable enough for Christmas dinner.

  She opened the door and saw Jamey sitting at the table. When she joined him, he got up and poured coffee for both of them.

  “Thank you, but you should stop doing this.”

  “Stop doin’ what, Colleen?”

  He tried to sound clueless, but she saw his grin.

  “This.” She waved her hand from the table to the stove and dishpan. “Women’s work. I'm not accustomed to men working in the house and it makes me uncomfortable.”

  “I was taught there was no such thing as women’s work.” Sitting back in his chair, he sipped the hot liquid and, setting the cup on the table, he explained, “My ma worked alongside my pa on our farm in Ireland. She raised me to help when I could and otherwise stay out of the way. My sister feels no different.”

  “Your family seems to be the exception. My mother, like most women, was taught to treat men as the lord and master of their domain. Johan Clemens never lifted a finger inside the house.”

  “How did he manage after ye left?”

  “He’s gone now, but he had the housekeeper he hired following my mother’s death.”

  “I'm sorry both yer ma and pa have passed.”

  “Don’t be. I barely remember my mother and my father gave me no reason to miss him.”

  “Do ye have brothers or sisters?”