by Keli Gwyn
“That sounds like Tildy. I’ve been working with her on exercising discretion in her speech, but she’s young yet.”
He chuckled. “I find her honesty refreshing. To my way of thinking, she has a better understanding of prayer than some adults. God wants us to feel free to come to Him.”
“Your sermon was interesting. I’ve never heard one like it. You have a way of making the scriptures understandable.”
“Then I’ve done what I set out to do. And I thank you for your kind words.”
Elenora warmed at his graciousness. He was far easier to talk with than her minister in Omaha. Perhaps because Mr. Parks was younger, about ten years older than Mr. Rutledge’s thirty-five, it would appear. The reverend’s russet hair held a hint of gray. “I’ve enjoyed the elders’ messages, but it’s been lovely to have you with us today. How many other churches do you serve?”
“Four in all. Most months I spend two Sundays at the main church in Placerville, one at Georgetown, and the last split between Diamond Springs and here.”
“Two services in one day?”
“Diamond Springs is only two miles east on the main road.” He held out a hand toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains, which stretched their majestic peaks to the azure sky.
“I’ve not been up the hill yet. My shop keeps me busy.”
“I hear things are going well.”
She shrugged. “For now, but that could change.”
“If you’ve given your plans to the Lord, you can rest in Him. Have faith, Mrs. Watkins.”
Mr. Rutledge approached, gave her a cursory nod, and smiled at the minister. Why did everyone else get a warm greeting while she got cold water tossed her way?
“You’ve met my competition, have you, Mr. Parks?”
Elenora couldn’t believe her ears. Mr. Rutledge might have been short with her on occasion, but she’d never seen him show disrespect toward others. “I’ve met Reverend Parks.”
“He doesn’t use the title, Mrs. Watkins.” Mr. Rutledge said it matter-of-factly, but his comment still rankled.
“Miles is right. Some people resist a man of the cloth. I learned years ago that it’s easier to build bridges when I don’t insist on formalities.”
Mr. Rutledge’s expression hadn’t changed. Apparently he’d intended to educate her, not pass judgment. “I’ve never thought of that, Mr. Parks, but I can see your point. My father made me wait on any man wearing a minister’s collar whenever one came in his shop. Pa said he didn’t want any reminders of the God who took Mama from us.”
Mr. Parks gave her such a compassionate look that her respect for him grew. “Your father didn’t share your faith?”
She shook her head and blinked to clear the sudden moisture. “Mama took me to church when I was young. After I lost her, I went by myself. I knew that’s what she’d have wanted.”
Mr. Parks directed his attention to Mr. Rutledge. “A mother’s love is a blessing. Wouldn’t you agree, my friend?”
Mr. Rutledge chuckled. “Most days, but mine has become rather meddlesome of late.”
Elenora peered at him through her lashes. How could he joke about his mother’s interference, and with the minister no less?
A smile tugged at Mr. Parks’s lips. “I heard about a surprise dealt you two. Instead of being partners, you’re competitors? But friendly ones, I trust?”
Mr. Rutledge didn’t answer. She searched for a suitable response. “We…that is to say I…don’t wish him ill. There’s business enough for the both of us, as I’ve told him.”
Mr. Parks looked from her to Mr. Rutledge and back. “El Dorado’s not a big town. I’m sure he’s feeling the effects.”
The smile on Mr. Rutledge’s face evaporated, replaced by something she had trouble identifying. “I’ll weather the storm. No doubt it’ll pass quickly.”
“Huh!” Elenora clutched her Bible to keep from forming fists. “You, Mr. Rutledge, are in for a surprise. My business is doing better every day.”
“For the time being.”
Mr. Parks spoke, his soft voice filled with concern. “I sense some friction between you.”
She let out a ragged breath. How disappointed Mama would be if she knew her daughter had lashed out in front of a minister of the Gospel. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Mr. Rutledge seems determined to discount my abilities.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at him and focused on Mr. Parks instead.
“I’d say the opposite is true. If you posed no threat, would Miles be concerned?”
She ventured a gaze at Mr. Rutledge. It appeared the gentle rebuke had affected him also. He’d uncrossed his arms, and his forehead was no longer furrowed. “I’m concerned, Mrs. Watkins, but not about my business. To show you I don’t harbor ill will either, I invite you and Tildy to join us for dinner at my house. Mr. Parks will be there, along with the Duprees.”
Mr. Rutledge was concerned about her business, was he? Did he doubt her abilities that much? She had half a mind to decline his offer, but she’d enjoy visiting with Pearl, and Tildy would love to have time with Constance.
She’d just have to ignore her host as best she could.
Two hours later Tildy stood in front of Mr. Rutledge’s house and gave her friend a hug. “Good-bye, Constance.” The young girl climbed aboard the wagon, and Tildy waved until Will turned his team onto the main road and the Duprees disappeared from view. She skipped over to Elenora. “Mrs. Rutledge said Constance can visit me one day this week. I can’t wait.”
“Constance is a delightful girl. I’m sure you two will have a wonderful time.”
“They’re a fine family,” Mr. Parks said. “Will and Pearl’s wedding ceremony was the first I performed in this church. Hard to believe that was thirteen years ago, isn’t it, Miles?”
“Sure is. I’ll never forget the day Will first set eyes on Pearl. His chin hit the floor so hard I expected to see a bruise.”
Tildy sidled up to Mr. Rutledge. “Have you ever been in love?”
Elenora cringed. “Tildy, dearest, that’s a personal question.” One that produced a pained look on his face. He’d never mentioned his late wife, but he must have loved her very much. Elenora’s heart went out to him.
He rallied quickly and eased the awkward silence. “I was, once. She passed away, like your papa.”
Tildy’s face fell. “Oh, that’s sad. Do you still miss her?”
“It was a long time ago.”
Eight years, from what Mrs. Rutledge had said. Why had he never remarried? Surely a handsome and successful man like Mr. Rutledge would have his pick of the eligible women. “I think it’s time we were leaving, sweetheart. We could take that walk I talked about.”
“If you’ll wait for me to gather my things,” Mr. Parks said, “I could join you two. I’m heading back to Diamond Springs. An orchardist and his mother who attend our Sunday meetings invited me to stay with them.”
“It’s kind of you to offer, but I had my heart set on a leisurely stroll through the countryside.”
“It won’t be leisurely,” Tildy muttered. “Mama doesn’t know how to slow down.”
“We’ll have a good time. You’ll see.”
Elenora thanked Mr. Rutledge for the dinner invitation, bid the minister farewell, and took Tildy’s hand. The lush green landscape beckoned. Birds called from the arms of plentiful oaks, and a breeze tossed strands of hair that had escaped Elenora’s chignon.
How could it be that a full month had gone by in which she’d not gone on a single walk or even once played her violin? The shop took most of her time. Then there were the mornings and evenings when she had to see to meals, laundry, ironing, and the many tasks Pa’s housekeeper had taken care of. Poor Tildy must feel neglected.
They’d gone but twenty feet when Mr. Parks called Elenora’s name. “Yes?”
“Since you’re unfamiliar with the terrain, Miles would like to accompany you.”
“He would?”
Chapter 8
Miles addressed
Mr. Parks in a low voice. “I would?”
“I know a gentleman like you wouldn’t want anything to happen to two lovely ladies who don’t know the lay of the land, so I felt certain you’d want to join them.”
Put like that, how could he refuse? “Of course.”
“Are you coming?” Tildy bounded up to him. “Please say you will. The walk would be heaps more fun if you came.”
Mr. Parks grinned. “It’s settled then. Have a good time.” He headed into the house.
Tildy skipped down the street toward her mother, a cloud of dust billowing about her ankles.
Miles followed and stopped beside Mrs. Watkins. “It seems you have a tour guide.” Judging by her tight smile, the idea was as unwelcome to her as it was to him.
She nodded. “Is he always so…helpful?”
“He’s persuasive.”
“I don’t need a guide, but since it seems we have no choice, I think it only fair to tell you I intend to take a long walk.”
“I understand.”
They reached South Street, the alley that ran between his house and the mercantile, and she paused.
“Did you have a destination in mind?” he asked.
She dipped her chin. “Perhaps I was a bit hasty. I’ve seen what lies to the west, so I thought I’d go east, since I don’t know what’s out that way.”
“East it is.” He led them down the alley and stopped when they reached the intersection in view of the Wells Fargo office across Main.
Mrs. Watkins held out a hand to the south. “Where does this road lead?”
“It’s the major route through the Mother Lode. Goes to Amador and Calaveras Counties and towns like Jackson and Angels Camp.”
Tildy bounced up and down, her braids swinging wildly. “I know about Calaveras County. Jim Smiley’s frog jumped there.”
He smiled at the animated girl. “You’ve read Mark Twain’s story about Dan’l Webster, have you?”
“Lots of times. I’d like to see a frog-jumping contest. Do you have them around here?”
“Nothing as grand as that, but we had a pie social shortly before you arrived in town, and our next concert will be in June.”
Mrs. Watkins wheeled around. “A concert? Where?”
“It’s held above my shop in Rutledge Hall.”
“Who’s performing?”
“The Mud Springs Musical Society.”
Her shoulders drooped. “Oh, I thought it might have been a classical performance, not fiddling and such.”
What did she have against fiddling? “Have you ever played folk music?”
Her brows rose. “Certainly not.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a lady and don’t have a fondness for smelly barns and coarse men who’ve overindulged in strong spirits. I prefer concert halls and gentlemen in tailcoats. I realize things are different here and that I may have to be content playing for my own pleasure.”
“I think you’re in for some surprises. California is no longer the Wild West. Over in Placerville the hotels have running water, the streets are lit with gaslights, and they have a Philharmonic Society.”
She brightened for a moment, and then the light in her dark eyes faded. “But this isn’t Placerville.”
“No, but we do all right. Would you like to see a gold mine? The Union and Church Mine sites are two miles southeast of town near Deadman Creek.”
Tildy squealed. “I would. Deadman Creek sounds spooky.”
Mrs. Watkins’s reaction was less enthusiastic. “I suppose.”
“Do you think we’ll find any gold?” Tildy asked.
“The only gold we’re likely to see today are the fancy baubles in your mother’s shop. She has a rather impressive selection of them.”
Mrs. Watkins planted a fist at her waist. “Are you poking fun at me?”
He grinned. “I’m trying. Is it working?”
“Perhaps.” She smiled.
He’d have to tease her more often. She had a lovely smile.
They’d walked for half an hour when Miles led Mrs. Watkins and Tildy off the main road down a path lined with oaks, an occasional evergreen, and a profusion of wildflowers. Clusters of bunchgrass waved in the gentle breeze, and frogs croaked in the distance.
“Wait a minute, Mr. Rutledge. Tildy’s fallen behind.”
“Is she all right?”
“Just tired, I suspect.”
Mrs. Watkins obviously enjoyed walking and showed no signs of fatigue, but Tildy dragged her feet. She gave a halfhearted smile when she reached them.
He lifted her chin so he could see her face beneath the wide brim of her bonnet. “You look like a wilted blossom.”
“I didn’t know we’d be going so far. I’ll wear out my boots with all this walking.” She stuck out her lower lip.
“I have an idea.” He squatted with his back to her. “Hop on. You can ride piggyback.”
He waited, but when she didn’t climb up, he glanced over his shoulder. She stood frozen in place, a look of apparent disbelief on her face, while Mrs. Watkins brushed her cheek as though she was wiping away a tear. What had he said to elicit such responses?
Tildy roused first. “I’ve never had a piggyback ride before. Papa didn’t play with me. He didn’t even want me around. He mostly just hollered.”
“Then it’s high time you had a ride.” It was a good thing Jake Watkins was no longer among the living, because Miles would’ve been sorely tempted to throttle the man. How could he have mistreated this wonderful girl? And if he’d mistreated a child, what had his wife endured?
Mrs. Watkins mouthed “thank you.” She patted Tildy’s shoulder. “Looks like your boots are spared.”
Tildy clambered on Miles’s back, and he shifted the wisp of a girl into position. He reveled in the feel of her slender arms looped around his shoulders. May hadn’t gotten big enough to carry this way, although he’d dreamed of the day she would be. Would his daughter have been as bright and fun-loving as Tildy? Pain gripped his heart, squeezing so hard he ached, as he had the day he returned home to news of the fire.
Tildy broke in on his thoughts, rescuing him from bitter remembrances. “What are you waiting for, Mr. Rutledge? Let’s get going.”
He took a few quick strides, bouncing her about, and she giggled. He laughed along with her.
The gratitude on Mrs. Watkins’s face made him feel like a king. She turned and, with her hand shading her eyes, surveyed the landscape. “The trail’s clearly visible, so I’ll go first.”
“It’s flat here but gets steep near the mines. Tildy and I will be right behind you.”
His eager rider leaned forward. “This is fun. You’re so tall I can see a long ways. How much farther?”
“We’re over halfway.”
She shifted from side to side but soon settled down and rode in silence.
A good ten minutes passed, and yet she hadn’t said a word. “You asleep back there, Tildy girl?”
“I’m doing what Mr. Parks said. There’s a time to keep silent and a time to talk. I was being quiet so I could watch for wild animals. Some men on the train said there are grizzly bears in California.”
“There used to be, but most of them have been killed.”
“A time to kill, and a time to heal. Mr. Parks said that, too. But I think killing the bears is mean.”
“People are scared of them. They’re big and powerful. But if one were after you or your mama, I’d take care of you.”
Tildy craned her neck to look at him. “Even shoot a gun?”
“Even shoot a gun.”
Mrs. Watkins came to an abrupt stop. “Do you have one?”
He nearly stumbled to avoid running into her. “Not with me. I hadn’t exactly planned on this outing.”
“No, of course not. Are we in danger?”
The woman had turned worrying into an art form. “Not from grizzlies, but you could get a blister.”
Tildy chuckled. “Mama’s a fraidycat. She doesn’t like
to think about guns and outlaws and such.”
“What I don’t like, sweetheart, is the harm they do. But I’d protect you.”
Miles shifted Tildy to a more comfortable position. “How? Shoot the bandit with one of your piercing looks?”
“Huh! You think my looks are piercing? You ought to get a glimpse of your own.” Her smile went into hiding, and determination filled her eyes. “I’d pull out a gun if I had one and knew how to use it.”
“You don’t?”
“Pa wouldn’t hear of it. He said it wasn’t ladylike. But I—” Mrs. Watkins clamped her mouth shut.
He wouldn’t have envisioned her as a woman willing to wield a firearm, but if she chose to learn, he was sure she’d rope in some poor sap to teach her. He wouldn’t take that on. Mother had done well, but Irene’s lesson had been a disaster.
Tildy leaned to one side. “Grandpa wanted me to behave like a lady, too, and didn’t like it when I—”
“Hush, my dear. Those days are behind us.” Mrs. Watkins grimaced as though memories of her father brought pain. “Why don’t we think of something pleasant?”
“I have an idea.” Miles set Tildy down and pointed to a nearby plant. “Do you see those little yellow flowers on the long stems? They’re called fiddlenecks. You could pick some for your mama.”
Mrs. Watkins’s laughter rang out. “Are you teasing me again?”
“Me? Tease you? Not this time.”
“Oh Mr. Rutledge, you made Mama laugh. Do it again.”
He would if he could. The woman was far too serious. “A time to weep, and a time to laugh. I think you’re right, Tildy. It’s your mama’s time to laugh. She has a lovely one.”
A becoming flush heightened Mrs. Watkins’s color. She studied him for several seconds before shifting her gaze to the valley. “I th–think it’s time to explore a mine. Isn’t that what I see down there?”
It appeared the solemn widow who kept her laugh under lock and key wasn’t immune to him after all. Interesting.
