BY LENA NELSON DOOLEY
SummeRSIde
PRESS
Summerside Press™
Minneapolis 55438
www.summersidepress.com
Love Finds You in Golden, New Mexico
© 2010 by Lena Nelson Dooley
ISBN 978-1-935416-74-6
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
Scripture references are from The Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV).
The town depicted in this book is a real place, but all characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental.
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Summerside Press™ is an inspirational publisher offering fresh, irresistible books to uplift the heart and engage the mind.
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to my agent, Joyce Hart. Thank you for believing in me all these years. I’m so glad you negotiated this publishing match for me, and I look forward to many more.
It’s also dedicated to Fred and Kay Johnstone, long-time Christian friends who’ve shared many of my ministry experiences. Fred thought it was fun for me to borrow their last name for my villain. His wife, Kay, went to be with the Lord in January of 2010.
And to Beverly and Fernando Henry, who adopted all three of their children. I also borrowed their last name for a character.
Special thanks to the team at Summerside Press for giving me such a warm welcome—Rolf, Carlton, Jason, Rachel, Susan, and Ramona, who helped my book to shine. And to Jeane at Wynn-Wynn. I enjoy working with all of you, and I’m blessed to know each of you.
And, as always, my book is dedicated to my husband, James Dooley, who has filled my adult life with the knowledge that I’ve always been loved and cherished. Thank you for the wonderful forty-five years we’ve shared.
And the land shall yield her fruit,
and ye shall eat your fill,
and dwell therein in safety.
LEVITICUS 25:19
LOCATED ON THE TURQUOISE TRAIL, ONE OF THE NATIONAL Scenic Byways, Golden, New Mexico, is situated between Albuquerque and Santa Fe. In 1825 Golden became the site of the first gold strike west of the Mississippi, an event that preceded the strikes in both Colorado and California by several years. Two mining camps quickly sprang up, and in 1830 the historic San Francisco Catholic Church was built. In the late 1800s, Golden supported several businesses—saloons, a stock exchange, a gold-stamping facility, a school, and a post office. As mining began to dwindle, ranching grew as a mainstay of the economy. Golden General Merchandise Store opened in 1918. This is the only business that continues to operate in Golden today. By 1928 the dwindling population forced the post office to close, making Golden an official ghost town. In 1960 author and historian Fray Angelico Chavez restored the San Francisco Catholic Church (featured on the cover of this book), which is one of the most photographed buildings along the Turquoise Trail. Today, a resurgence of interest in Golden has brought residents who have built new homes or restored older ones. However, it’s still a quiet place with many reminders of the past.
Lena Nelson Dooley
Chapter One
Early spring, 1890
Golden, New Mexico
“Are you plumb crazy?” Jeremiah Dennison’s loud retort bounced around the main room of the adobe house and returned to mock him. “Where did you get such a harebrained idea?”
Trying to control his anger, he shoved his clenched fists into his denim trousers’ pockets, paced to the window, and stared out, paying scant attention to the piñon trees bending in the wind. He loved Philip Smith like a father, but the man could vex the weather. And this latest idea was the most farfetched yet.
Philip gave a snort. “Harebrained?” He put his rocking chair into motion that sent out a rhythmic squeaking. “Why’d ya say that? It’s worked fer other men.”
Jeremiah tried to calm down. He wanted to measure his words, season them with wisdom that would awaken his elderly friend to all the pitfalls he would face. “What would you do with a mail-order bride?”
The old miner stilled the chair and stared at Jeremiah, obsidian eyes piercing under his bushy white brows. “Somethin’”—he smothered a hacking cough with his fist, then swiped a clean handkerchief across his face—“has a deadly grip on me.”
“I know you’re sick. I take care of you, don’t I?” Jeremiah resented the fact that what he’d done wasn’t enough. Otherwise, Philip wouldn’t even consider such a preposterous proposition.
His old friend reached up to scratch the scraggly beard he’d worn all the years he was a miner, but it no longer covered his clean-shaven chin. Old habits died hard. “Jerry, I don’t wanna be a burden on ya.”
“You’d rather be a burden to a woman you don’t even know?” Jeremiah regretted his cynical tone the moment the words flew from his lips. He softened his tone. “I’ve never considered you a burden any more than you thought I was a burden when I came to the gold fields as a greenhorn.”
Philip clutched the arms of the rocking chair and slowly rose. He took a moment to steady himself before he ambled toward Jeremiah. “I ain’t come to this decision easy.” He squinted up into Jeremiah’s face. “I done studied on it fer a while.”
Jeremiah straightened the fingers he’d gripped into fists and relaxed his stiff spine. “What do you mean, ‘studied’?”
“Well, I figure a woman who’d answer them ads in the newspaper must be purty needy, maybe even desperate to get out of a particular bad situation.” He gave a vigorous nod that riffled his snowy hair. “Made me a fortune when I sold my mine. More money than any man can spend in his lifetime. What good is a fortune to an old-timer like me? Won’t never have a family of my own. Maybe I’ll git me a woman with children. She can take care a me, and my money can take care a her.” Another nod punctuated his last statement. “And her young’uns, if she has any.”
How could Jeremiah deny his mentor’s request? Philip never asked for much. If he didn’t do this, the stubborn old man would look for help from someone else. A lesser friend might have a wagging tongue and spread the story all around Golden. Philip didn’t need people gossiping about him sending for a bride. And other miners might try to nab her for themselves when she arrived. If Jeremiah had his way, it would be fine with him if they did, but his friend would be too disappointed. He didn’t want to break Philip’s heart, just talk him out of making this mistake.
“Jerry, ya ain’t mad ’cause I’m plannin’ to give my money to someone else, are ya?”
The words stabbed Jeremiah’s heart. How could Philip believe that about him? “I don’t need your money. I have more than enough of my own, thanks to selling my own mine and starting the ranch like you told me to.”
The hoary head nodded. “That’s what I figured.”
“Where you going to send the ad?” Jeremiah couldn’t believe he was considering being a part of this crazy scheme. But what else could he do?
Philip limped toward the sturdy pine dining table where a stack of newspapers was piled haphazardly beside blank paper, an inkwell, and a pen. “I read all these, and I think I’ll send it to the Boston Globe.” He picked up the top newspaper and shoved the rumpled pages toward Jeremiah.
Taking the newsprint, Jeremiah glanced at the headlines on the front page. An unusually h
ard winter had left many people out in the cold. “Why Boston?”
“Don’t want jist anybody. Wanna help a lady in distress.” Philip folded his scrawny arms across his bony chest. “Figure most a the women in Boston are ladies. My aunt Charlotte come from Boston, and she was a lady.” He stopped and cleared his throat, then wheezed out a slow breath. “You do the writin’, ’cause mine looks like hen scratchin’.”
Judging from the stubborn tilt to the older man’s chin, Jeremiah knew Philip’s mind was made up. He dropped the newspaper back on the stack and pulled out the chair beside the stationery. “What do you want to say?”
He picked up the pen with the golden nib—another of the things the old miner had bought after he’d sold the mine. It had never been dipped into the inkwell until now.
Philip leaned both hands on the table, puffed out his chest, and wrinkled his forehead in concentration. “How about, Wanted, a… No. Makes it sound like she’s an outlaw, or somethin’. Do it this way. A Christian man in Golden, New Mexico, is seekin’…” He waited for Jeremiah to finish writing the phrase. “Sound all right so far?”
Wanting to laugh, Jeremiah kept his eyes trained on the words before him. Philip was so serious. “What are you seeking?”
The old miner scratched his head. “I want a lady. Done already told ya that.”
“Maybe we could say, a Christian lady. That should cover it.”
Jeremiah dipped the pen in the inkwell. When he held it poised over the paper, waiting for Philip to agree with his suggestion, a small drop fell and quickly spread into an unsightly blob. “I’ve messed up this sheet. Do you have a pencil? I could use it while we figure out the wording. Then I’ll copy it in ink.”
Philip made his way to the sideboard against the back wall of the large open room and pulled out a drawer. He shuffled through the contents before holding up the stub of a pencil. “Here’s the onliest one I got.”
“It’ll do.” Jeremiah reached for the pencil and continued, “A Christian man in Golden, New Mexico, seeks a Christian lady… where do we go now?”
Once again, Philip was deep in thought. “…who needs a chance at a new life.”
Jeremiah nodded and added the words. “I like it. Do you want to say anything else, or should I just put your name and address?”
“That’s enough, but put General Delivery as my address.” A smile crept across the older man’s face, bringing a twinkle to his rheumy eyes.
He returned to his rocking chair while Jeremiah copied the words with ink, folded the message, inserted the paper in an envelope, and wrote the address for the Boston Globe on the front.
“I suppose you want me to take this to the post office.” He knew Philip didn’t get out much in the chilly spring air of the Ortiz Mountains, because it aggravated his breathing problem.
“If ya don’t mind.” Philip reached into the watch pocket of his trousers and pulled out a coin. “Here’s the money.”
“I don’t need your money.” Jeremiah headed toward the front door. “I just hope you aren’t making a mistake.”
Philip cleared his throat. “Jerry?” Huskiness colored his tone. “I’m thankful fer all ya do to help me.” He paused until Jeremiah gave him a nod. “I’ve talked to the good Lord about this. I’m sure He agrees with what I’m doin’.”
What could Jeremiah say to that? Nothing. He couldn’t explain why, but when Philip Smith talked to his Lord, things happened. Jeremiah pushed his hair back before donning his Stetson and exiting through the front door, being careful it latched behind him. He didn’t want Philip to have to get up and close it again if it should blow open after he was gone. Let him rest in his rocking chair. After all his long years of mining, he’d earned it.
Marching down the cobblestone street toward the post office, Jeremiah hoped he wouldn’t meet anyone who wanted to talk. The sooner he got this letter mailed, the sooner he could wash his hands of the whole situation. Maybe no one would answer the ad. Or maybe he could just tear the whole thing up and not tell Philip he didn’t mail it.
If he wasn’t honorable, he could get away with that. But he couldn’t lie to the man who meant more to him than anyone in the world. Wouldn’t be right. He’d make sure to look over any letters Philip received. He wouldn’t let some floozy use his friend as her meal ticket and think coming here was her golden opportunity—in more ways than one. No sirree, he’d watch anyone who came with an eagle eye. She would have to pass his inspection before he’d introduce her to Philip. Even if his old friend did say he’d talked to God about it.
As Jeremiah walked into town, he fastened the top button on his long-sleeved shirt. The day would heat up later, but spring brought cool breezes in the early morning. When he passed the hotel, Caroline Oldman stepped through the door and started sweeping the boardwalk.
“Morning, Caroline.” He tipped his hat to the proprietress, who was also the wife of the preacher. They’d been good friends to Jeremiah since they arrived in Golden. Their influence had calmed the rowdy town a lot.
He kept walking toward the post office. Would Philip hear from a woman before summer? Jeremiah hoped the old miner wouldn’t receive a single answer to his ad.
Jeremiah thought back to when he came from Missouri to New Mexico searching for gold. Philip was the first miner he’d met. Thin and wiry, the old man’s face was almost hidden behind his long beard and thin gray hair that reached to his shoulders, but he had a heart of gold. He’d befriended Jeremiah and helped him learn all about mining. He was even there when Jeremiah’s partner was killed in a cave-in at the mine they owned together.
Philip had listened to all of Jeremiah’s rantings and guided him toward becoming a cattleman. He knew Philip prayed for him all the time. But Jeremiah couldn’t accept all that God nonsense himself. Where had God been when train robbers killed his mother and he was left in the clutches of his cruel uncle and father?
With a shudder, he shook his head to dislodge the images invading his thoughts. The less he thought about the past, the better. Too much pain and suffering there.
He was sure Philip had prayed about sending this letter, but Jeremiah wasn’t convinced there was a God. And if there was, why would He care whether some greedy woman came to fleece the old miner?
No, Jeremiah would guarantee that didn’t happen.
Chapter Two
Early spring, 1890
Boston, Massachusetts
Maddy Mercer pressed trembling fingertips against the throbbing ache in her temples. “I need to see how Loraine is faring.”
“But Miss Madeline, your dear father has been gone only a few weeks.” A deep frown marred Sarah Sneed’s face, even though the words held compassion. “You’re still in mourning. You shouldn’t go traipsing down to that shanty town.”
The usually cheerful woman, who had been more than a servant to Maddy since her mother died when she was only a child, turned to stir a pot on the stove. “Frank has been taking food to her. She hasn’t gone hungry.” The swirls of the long-handled spoon kept cadence with her words. “He’ll take the basket to her this morning. There’s no need for you to venture out into the cold.”
Maddy closed the fasteners on the black, woolen, full-length mackintosh, ending at her neck, then straightened the double cape attached at the top. “I know, Sarah, but I’ve been praying for her, and I feel a strong urgency to see her myself.”
At the sound of Sarah’s huff, the outside kitchen door flew open, letting in Sarah’s husband and more cold air than the stove could stave off. After he shut the heavy door, he stomped his feet on the doormat.
“Tell her, Frank. Miss Madeline shouldn’t be out in this weather.”
The ruddy-faced handyman and driver studied Maddy’s face but said nothing.
“I’ve been cold before, and I can’t continue to stay in this house. All I do here is mope and dwell on what I’ve lost.” Maddy pulled a knitted hood over her hair, tucking in the few stray curls that refused to stay in her bun, and tied the st
rings in a bow under her chin. “Going to see Loraine will help me forget my sorrow for a little while.”
Frank nodded and picked up the basket on the table and the heated brick his wife had prepared for him. He offered his other arm to Maddy and escorted her to the waiting surrey. “You’re doing a good thing, helping these women. Most of the young people in your circle never think about what the poor are going through.”
She turned tear-filled eyes toward this man, who more often than not was silent. His words touched her heart. “Father taught me about benevolence. How can I not help them? I’d want someone to help me if I were in their situation.”
“I’m always glad to visit them for you, but Loraine sorely needs a woman right now.” Compassion haunted his somber eyes. “It’s a good thing you’re going today.”
After helping her into the back seat, he placed the brick wrapped in wool beneath her feet and tucked a heavy lap robe around her. Then he took his place in front and picked up the reins.
“Let’s go.” As his tongue clicked, the two matching black horses pranced down the slushy street.
Even though Frank had lowered the heavy side and back curtains on the large, leather-topped buggy, the wind clawed at Maddy with chilled fingers, sneaking toward the lump of ice that had settled in her heart when she lost her father. She ached with loneliness, an emptiness that nothing had been able to fill, not even the loving ministrations of this loyal couple who attempted to bring her comfort.
The surrey’s strong springs couldn’t keep the buggy from rocking as the wheels bumped over the cobblestones. On any other day, the swaying motion would have soothed Maddy, but her thoughts were so jumbled about losing her father and Loraine’s immense needs that heaviness clouded her mind. And each breath of icy air burned her lungs.
When the buggy finally stopped outside the tumbledown shack, Maddy took a deep breath, immediately regretting it. She pressed a white linen square against her nose to block out the unpleasant odors of garbage mixed with human waste and who knew what else. She closed her eyes for a moment. This cluster of ramshackle shanties was an eyesore that should be torn down, but where else would the poor occupants go? It was the only place available to them. Boston wasn’t ready to welcome these people inside the borders of the town.
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