Ruth paused in lacing her shoes. “The bluff is John and my favorite spot. It’s at its most beautiful at sunset. Behind us will be the home we’ll share together. God will still be looking down on us whether we’re in His house or not.” She stood and lifted the bouquet of fall flowers from the table. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
Grandma led the way then scuttled off to stand to the side while Deborah, Sarah, and Tilly walked with measured steps toward Hank, Luke, and Moses. Ruth had chosen to have no one give her hand to John but God. She glanced into the crimson and orange sky. Thank you, Father. You have given me a gift I don’t deserve, but one I will treasure all my life.
John glanced her way and Ruth’s feet moved of their own accord toward him. It took all her willpower not to sprint to his side. Instead, she counted her steps and kept to the pace set forth by her sisters. The closer she got to John and the preacher, the more her vision blurred with tears. She had to be the luckiest girl in the world.
After an eternity, she stood beside the man she loved and faced the pastor.
“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God…”
Ruth focused on John’s face. She lifted a hand and touched her fingers to his mouth. A sob escaped her throat when John slid his mother’s ring on her finger. When the pastor named them husband and wife, John bent her into a dip and kissed her, shutting out the rest of the world.
The End
CHARITY’S GOLD RUSH
Woman of Courage, Book 3
By Cynthia Hickey
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares
the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm
you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)
Chapter 1
Montana Territory, 1868
“Tis no use talking when the harm is done, Lucas.” Charity O’Connell slapped the wet shirt against the tin wash bucket. It was the tenth such proposal she’d received today, and Lucas had whiskey on his breath to boot. The man spent more time at the saloon than he did at his claim.
“I meant no harm, Miss Charity.” The wizened old man grinned. He missed several teeth and the ones he still possessed were tobacco stained. “It’s your beauty that makes me loco.”
“You’re as old as me dead uncle.” Charity hung the clothes on a stretched piece of rope. Why couldn’t she receive one offer from a strapping, good-looking young man and not one as old as the earth or as dirty as the bottom of a mud pit? She worked harder in America than she ever had in Ireland. If only the days were longer and the amount of work shorter.
“You’ve a mean heart.” Lucas spit a stream of tobacco in the dirt. “But I’ll try again tomorrow.”
Charity laughed. “Off with you. And leave that bag of clothes in your hand behind. I’ll have them ready tomorrow.”
When she’d hung the last pair of overalls on the line, she placed her hands on her hips and leaned back, popping the kinks from her spine. Backbreaking labor, that’s what it was. But there were few ways for a girl to make a living in the mining town of Virginia City, Montana, and Charity refused to be a saloon girl. Da spoiled her for too many years when the gold was flowing.
She knocked the basin of dirty water over, letting the suds sink into the thirsty ground. With a laugh, she kicked off her shoes and sunk her toes deep into the wet softness. The squishy mud soothed away some of the aches of the day and left her feeling like a child again, if only for a moment.
Ah, silliness. She’d be better off taking stock of tomorrow’s work and heading down the street for a bowl of stew than acting like a wee child. She glanced into the darkening sky. Oh, Da, I miss you. We had such fun despite your gambling ways.
She moved to a nearby horse trough and splashed her feet clear of the mud before slipping her shoes back on. With her stomach rumbling, eating needed to come first.
A restaurant, run by an elderly couple named Connor, served the best stew in town. Ma and Pa’s Kettle filled many a miner’s belly. Charity pushed open the rickety door and stepped inside.
Immediately, the rumbles of at least twenty men ceased, greeting Charity with their stares and silence. She rolled her eyes. How many times did she have to eat there before they grew used to her presence and stopped gawking like she was a prize sheep on display? They all stood as one and waited to see which of them would have to give up their seat. Mrs. Connor insisted on manners in her restaurant and would harangue any man who didn’t offer his chair to a lady.
Charity shook her head and motioned for them to sit. They followed her instruction, and she scooted into the curtained-off area that served as a kitchen. “I’m in no mood for a marriage proposal today. May I please eat in here?”
Mrs. Connor chuckled. “Suit yourself.” She waved a sticky gravy ladle toward a lone chair. “I wouldn’t mind the company. Mr. Connor is at the butcher. Still can’t understand why you don’t get hitched. A pretty gal like yourself ought not to be washing other men’s unmentionables.”
Fingering her faded calico dress, Charity sighed and sat, looping her feet around the chair legs. “Sure, it’d be nice, but a girl has to make a living and sitting on a brocade sofa acting like the queen of England ain’t going to get it done. Besides, none of them makes my heart flutter.” Silly or not, she wanted to feel something for the man she married. She picked at the frayed hem around her sleeve.
She needed to get to the mercantile for soap and thread. New fabric for a dress, too.
“Ah. Holding out for love.” Mrs. Connor stirred the pot, then ladled a bowlful for Charity. “You wait. Love is waiting.”
It’d been a mighty long corner. Charity sighed and dipped a biscuit into the thick broth of the stew before sticking a bite in her mouth. Beef and vegetables melded on her tongue and quieted her grumbling stomach.
Cooking and cleaning for one man sounded like a dream come true. But the right man. Not somebody she could smell coming up the road or old enough to be her da, with no teeth. Most were stained with tobacco. She popped the last of her biscuit into her mouth. And most of the men in town gambled away whatever gold they dug out of the ground. Just like her da. No, it looked like Charity O’Connell would be a spinster in a city full of men. A sad state of affairs, to be sure.
*
Gabriel Williams pulled his buckboard in front of the mercantile and set the brake. “Come on, young’uns.“
“Ah, Pa. Can’t we wait out here? There’s more going on.” Sam tugged the brim of his hat lower.
“Fine. If you’re good, I’ll buy you peppermints.”
“Sure thing, Pa.” Eight-year-old Sam leaned his dark head over the seat. Beside him, six-year-old Meg did the same. “We won’t move a muscle.”
Gabe grinned and climbed down. “See that you don’t.” He didn’t like leaving the children alone on a rowdy street, but as a widower and a new Pa, he didn’t have many options. They needed to learn responsibility sometime.
He stepped onto the sidewalk and opened the mercantile door as a woman waltzed out, her arms piled high with brown paper packages. Green eyes the color of a spring meadow peered over the top. The tantalizing scent of lilac soap teased his senses. Gabe tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”
“Thank ye, kindly, sir.” An Irish lilt sounded musical above the crude shouts of men.
The smell of pickles, tobacco, and wood stove smoke greeted Gabe as he stepped inside. He glanced back to see the woman make her way down the sidewalk, her dress swaying with each movement of her hips. He would’ve liked to have gotten a look at her face to see whether she was as pretty as she sounded.
He’d had his eyes open for a temporary ma for the children for a few months now and wondered whether the little gal was attached or not. Unlikely. Women were as scarce as an egg-laying rooster in Virginia City. A man had to get while the getting was good. And a pretty gal that smelled clean was definitely a prize.
“Howdy, Gabe. What can I get for
you?” Mr. Miller, a spindly man with thinning hair leaned across his counter. “Don’t see much of you anymore. Not since your Maggie passed on, God rest her soul.”
“Lots of work to do.” Gabe handed him his list. “This ought to hold me for a couple of months. Be back one more time before winter sets.”
“Ought to get yourself another bride.” Mr. Miller plunked a twenty-five pound sack of flour on the counter. “Winters won’t seem so long then. Women are soft and warm on a cold night.”
“Been thinking about it.” A lot more than he wanted, to be honest. Especially since that stupid wager he placed against his, uh, Maggie’s, land. Plumb loco, that’s what he was.
Maybe he could put an ad in a newspaper for one of them mail-order brides. If he was quick, she’d get here before the snow hit and be a true help with the young’uns. Sam didn’t always tell the truth, and Meg would follow along with whatever trouble her brother found. Somebody needed to keep an eye on them and it wasn’t possible for him to be that someone.
But would a woman be content with a marriage that lasted a short while before getting annulled? Gabe couldn’t be responsible for anyone longer than that. The frontier wasn’t a safe place.
He glanced out the window at the empty wagon and clenched his teeth. If he didn’t already have children, he doubted he’d plan on any. Not after their ma died. He’d stay a bachelor. The worry almost wasn’t worth it, no matter how much he loved the rascals. Hadn’t he proved that by keeping them? Nah, no woman in her right mind would agree to such a set-up. He’d have to continue to muddle through on his own.
“Here you go, Gabe.” Mr. Miller slapped a box of nails on top of Gabe’s growing pile of supplies. “Need help carrying it out?”
“Nope. Can make two trips, but I’m obliged.” Gabe hoisted a sack on each shoulder and pushed through the door. He tossed the flour and sugar into the wagon bed and glanced around for his missing children. He should’ve known they wouldn’t stay put. A flash of yellow caught his eye.
His heart sank to his toes at the sight of Meg rolled into a ball beneath a rearing horse.
*
A scream rent the air. Charity dropped her packages and whirled to face the street. A little girl cowered beneath the waving hooves of a reared horse. “God have mercy.” Charity dashed into the street and hunched over the little girl. “Somebody help us!” She reached up with one hand and fumbled for the horse’s flapping reins.
Charity gave the child a push. “Go stand by my packages. Hurry.” The girl darted out of the street like a bullet. Charity rolled out of the way then leaped to her feet and grabbed the horse’s bridle. “Shhh, beautiful. Shhh.”
The horse snorted and tossed back its head. The rope set Charity’s fingers on fire as it burnt its way along her palm. She hissed and let go.
“Are you loco!” A man shoved her out of the way and hurled himself at the wide-eyed animal. His hat fell at Charity’s feet in a puff of dust.
Once Charity picked herself up out of the road, she gathered the crying little girl in her arms. The man, who towered over her by at least a foot, calmed the horse, and retied it to the closest hitching rail.
He turned and pierced her with eyes that appeared dark in the night. “I thank you for putting yourself in danger for the sake of my daughter, but …” He bent and picked his hat up out of the dirt then slapped it against his leg. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”
The little girl wrenched free of Charity’s grasp and flung her arms around her father’s hips. Charity brushed the dust from her dress and gathered her packages. “You’re welcome.”
He put a hand on her arm, stopping her from leaving. “Please, let me carry those for you. It’s the least I can do.”
Peering at him over the stack in her arms, she couldn’t help but feel small and insignificant next to his height and muscular build. My, but God was good to the man when He handed out looks. Charity’s heart fluttered, and she smiled.
“Thank you.” Charity was more than happy to relinquish her burden. As soon as her hands were free, the little girl slipped her small one into Charity’s hand.
“I’m Meg. That’s my pa, Gabriel Williams. My brother Sam is …” She glanced up at her father.
“Where is your brother?” Mr. Williams said. His brows drew together.
“He made me promise not to tell.” Meg ducked her head.
“Meg, I asked you a question.”
Charity squirmed as much as the child next to her under the man’s stern gaze. Must he be so mean? The child just endured a horrifying experience.
“He’s at the saloon. Said he could sweep and make a few coins.” Tears welled in Meg’s eyes.
“Please show me to your home, Miss.” A muscle twitched in Mr. Williams’s jaw, alerting Charity to the fact he barely held his temper in check.
“Don’t you want to fetch your son?” Charity frowned.
“Nobody in Virginia City will hurt him. Except me. I’ll most likely tan his hide.” His neck flushed crimson.
Charity fairly ran back to her tent. The sooner Mr. Williams delivered her purchases, the sooner he could take his stern attitude somewhere else.
They approached the place Charity called home, and she ran ahead to open the flap. “Just drop them on the table.”
Mr. Williams set them down and held out a hand to Meg. “Come along, Meg. We need to fetch Sam and the rest of the supplies. Ma’am.” He tipped his hat, turned, and was gone, making Charity’s home bigger by his leaving.
Poor child. Such a furious man. What would his son have to endure at his hands for disobedience? Chills ran down Charity’s spine, and she shook away the picture of violence from her mind. It was none of her business, and the lass had looked healthy enough. Most likely, the lad received a swat on the behind and little else.
She unwrapped yards of blue calico and another few yards of yellow. Doing laundry might be backbreaking work, but it paid well. Finding the time to sew the new dresses would be the hardest part. Keeping the fabric neatly folded, she placed it in a battered trunk with the rest of her precious belongings.
She’d hung up the last of her personal wash, donned her nightclothes, and sat on a three-legged stool, when a shadow loomed outside her door. Charity froze, her hand holding the brush suspended above her head.
“Ma’am? It’s me, Gabriel Williams.”
Heavens! Charity grabbed the quilt from her cot and wrapped it around her cotton nightgown. “Go away. I do not entertain men in my tent!”
“No, ma’am. I … uh, that is … please, could you step outside for a moment? My children are waiting in the wagon.”
That should be safe enough and not do too much damage to her reputation. She wrapped the quilt tighter and stepped outside. A quarter moon cast deep shadows between the trees and tents. Charity squinted and peered under Mr. Williams’s hat.
“Might I ask your name, ma’am?”
“It’s Charity O’Connell.”
He removed his hat and twisted the brim in his hands. “Miss O’Connell, I’ve come to ask you to be my bride.”
2
His what?! Charity flushed and glanced around him. The children leaned over the seat staring in her direction. She transferred her attention to the strapping man in front of her. “Why?” After all, they’d barely met and from the looks of the supplies in the back of the wagon, the man was headed … somewhere.
“Uh, well, I’m a widower and the young’uns need a ma. I’ve got a good ranch started half a day’s ride from here. It’s too difficult with two little ones and all the work I got to do. Place needs a woman, and Meg likes you.” The words left his mouth in a rush of air.
The thrum of locusts filled the air, along with the occasional gun shot and whoop of a drunken miner. Not the most romantic proposal a girl ever received. Charity stepped closer and sniffed. No stench of alcohol or tobacco. She wasn’t positive, but she thought he had all his teeth. His son still looked in one piece, so maybe the man’s b
ark was worse than his bite. She could definitely do worse. And given the caliber of men in the vicinity, worse was all she was likely to get.
She refocused her gaze on him and stepped closer. His lips trembled in an effort to smile. Charity sensed his nervousness, and her heart softened. Other men approached her with daring or drunkenness, not timidity.
Could she wed a stranger? Even a handsome one? Other men would leave her alone if she got hitched. The notion of having a man provide for her sounded good. No more mounds of laundry and marriage proposals from desperate men hankering for a wife. She gave a curt nod. “My answer is yes.”
“Good.” His shoulders relaxed. “I’ll pick you up in the morning. If you need anything, me and the young ‘uns will be bunking at the boarding house. Preacher is in town so we can get married right away.” He clapped his hat back on his head and jogged to the wagon, climbed up, and once again, left Charity alone.
She shuffled back inside and sat on the cot. Despite the fact she’d marry in the morning, tears stung her eyes at the formality of his proposal. A girl wanted flowers and sweet words, not two children looking on from a wagon full of supplies, a horse snuffling over the prospected groom’s shoulder, and a night too dark to see the man’s face properly.
“Oh.” Charity plopped back. She was a silly ninny, for sure. The man made her heart flutter. Isn’t that what she told Mrs. Connor she wanted? But was it also wrong to want someone to love her?
Morning arrived with her still sprawled across the bed like a stranded seal. Charity untangled herself from the quilt and struggled to sit up. What would she wear that wouldn’t have her looking like an impoverished immigrant? If only she’d had time to sew a new dress. Her yellow calico would have to do. Besides a small singed hole near the hem, it was the better of her two dresses and looked nice with her light red hair.
By the time she dressed and had her hair smoothed back and tied up with a ribbon, she heard the rumble of a wagon outside. Charity glanced around her home, noting the few items she’d take with her. The trunk of treasures, the quilt on the cot, the cot itself, a few blue tin plates with white speckles, and a shelf of books. That’s it. All she had to her life. No matter. She was embarking on a new journey. With head held high and nerves strung tight, she strolled outside.
Woman of Courage (Four Full length Historical Christian Romances in One Volume): Woman of Courage Series Page 46
