Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Dear Reader,
I’m very sorry to say that as I was preparing this manuscript for publication, I ran into some unforeseen circumstances that kept me from completing it on time. My son’s health has always been delicate, and he has struggled with some new issues that have taken up a large amount of my time. I apologize from the bottom of my heart.
I would like to encourage you to do the following.
Go into your Kindle dashboard and return this book within seven days. Your money will be refunded to you.
Email me at [email protected] and let me know that you received this file. I will send you the full and complete book at no charge to you, and I will also send you one of any other book from my backlist as a thank you.
Please feel free to read the rest of this file—well, before you return it, that is—which contains the first portion of the story, to whet your appetite for the remainder, which will be sent you.
Thank you so much for your patience and understanding.
Amelia Adams
Utah Sunrise
Rocky Mountain Romances Book One
by Amelia C. Adams
Chapter One
Silver City, Idaho
1887
Josephine Sinclair had never heard her mother scream. It was considered unladylike, and if there was anything Rosemary Sinclair prided herself on, it was being a lady. So when Jo heard shrieking clear from her upstairs bedroom, she rose from her desk and ran downstairs, all but skidding to a stop outside her father’s study door. Eavesdropping was also unladylike, but Jo had to know what was going on before she burst in—bursting being almost as bad as screaming and eavesdropping.
“I can’t believe it. I just simply can’t believe that you would endanger the well-being of your family in such a . . . such a reckless, disgraceful way. You . . . you fool!”
Jo winced as she heard something shatter. Had her mother thrown a vase? Of course not. Rosemary Sinclair would never throw a vase. Then what really was going on?
“Darling, I’ve explained it a thousand times, and I’ll explain it again,” her father said, his mellow voice a stark contrast to his wife’s high-pitched harping. “I thought it was a good opportunity to invest, and everyone I spoke to about it felt the same way. I didn’t rush into this decision by any means, and the fact that it didn’t work out . . . well, that’s how investing works sometimes. We’ll make it back eventually, I promise.”
“You promise? And eventually? Gerald, your daughter is of marrying age. She should be out in society, attending plays and lectures and concerts, meeting the right sorts of people. I’ve planned to send her to New York for months—you know that. How can she possibly be expected to make a good match if she never interacts with her peers? There’s no one suitable here—I’ve already looked into it—and so she simply must travel. How is she to do that if you’ve lost all our money?”
Jo eased back a step and pressed herself into the corner by the staircase. Her father had lost all their money? What did that even mean—just their savings, or their day-to-day living expense money too?
“Josephine will be respected wherever she goes, my dear, and she’ll have no problem attracting male companionship.”
He must have thought he sounded soothing, but his words had the opposite effect.
“It’s not about her, Gerald. Of course she’ll attract male companionship. But what sort of males will she attract? Isn’t that the real question? We’re not going to allow her to run off with the first man who comes knocking. He must have breeding, education, common sense, and it would be helpful if he had more than two nickels to rub together.”
“There are men of that sort in Utah.”
“Utah?” Rosemary’s voice reached a new dimension. “Gerald Sinclair, please correct yourself this instant. We are not moving to Utah.”
“I’ve been approached by the railroad, and they’ve offered me a position. This will give us the money we need to get back on our feet. It’s a tremendous opportunity, my dear.”
“I don’t want to get back on our feet—that sounds perfectly miserable. I want the kind of lifestyle we’re used to. What our daughter is used to. And as far as Utah goes—Gerald, that place is crawling with Mormons, and I will not have one of those polygamists snatching up our child to be his twelfth wife!”
“Not many Mormons actually practice polygamy these days, my dear,” Gerald replied. “And I promise, we will not allow any one of them to snatch her up. Unless she wants to be snatched. That would be an entirely different matter.”
Jo wasn’t at all eager to get snatched by anyone, Mormon or not, and she greatly disliked it that her parents were having this conversation without her. However, it seemed that’s what parents did—they had long conversations about their children and decided their futures and probably even named all the grandchildren before such a thing was even in the offing.
And Utah . . . she’d never even thought about living in Utah. Her father had built a beautiful home here in Silver City due to the successful mines in the area, and it had never occurred to her that they’d ever leave.
“They’re saying that the mines are starting to dry up,” her father continued. “Wouldn’t it be best for us to relocate before that happens? Find someplace new?”
Her mother scoffed. “The mines will never dry up, Gerald. Those are rumors being spread by gossipmongers who enjoy creating panic. I think you’re holding the truth of it back from me. Be honest. What’s the real situation?”
Jo heard her father sigh. He was probably sitting in his favorite chair by the fireplace, a glass of brandy at his elbow. He had one small serving every evening before dinner, and never any more. It was a tradition established by his father amongst the men of the family.
“Rosemary, we don’t have a choice. The bank is taking our home from us, and the only way we’re going to pull out of this is to move to Utah and take this position.”
Jo’s heart thudded to her feet. A moment ago, it had sounded like this was just a possibility, something that he was batting around. Now it sounded final, absolute.
“You’ve spoken to the bank? This has all been arranged and decided? Gerald, just how long have you known about this?”
“A little over two weeks.”
“And you haven’t breathed a word about it until now? Did you want to spring this on me with no warning—have I done something to deserve that kind of treatment?”
“My dear, I didn’t tell you before because I wanted more information. I wanted to know what I should say and what decisions we should make. And of course you’ve done nothing to deserve being treated poorly. I’m sorry if that’s how this all seems to you.”
“I don’t know how it could seem any other way. If you had respect for me or my feelings, we would have talked about this as soon as you knew.”
“I never meant to hurt you. I promise that if something of this magnitude ever happens again, I’ll speak with you before I do anything else. Now, there’s one other person we need to tell, and I believe she’s been listening from the hallway for quite some time.”
Jo squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn’t meant to be discovered.
“Josephine, come in, please,” he called out.
She took a deep breath, smoothed down the front of her dress, and attempted to walk into his study like a lady. “Yes, Father?”
“I imagine you heard the bulk of our conversation?”
“I did happen to catch a word or two in passing.”
Her fa
ther raised an eyebrow. “In passing, or as you hovered outside the door?”
“Hovering might be a little more accurate.” She shook her head. “Honestly, Father, how did you know I was there?”
“The way you came thumping down the staircase, sounding like a herd of elephants, I’d have to be deaf not to know you were there. Haven’t you taken any of your mother’s lectures to heart? Glide, my dear. Not galumph.” His eyes twinkled, and she smiled. He knew how very much she hated her mother’s lectures, and he tried to rescue her from them as often as he could.
“Exactly so. I’m glad that one of you listens to me.” Rosemary Sinclair stood in front of the fireplace, her maroon satin dress a lovely contrast to her blonde hair. Her father had been wealthy in his own right, running a shipping company out of New Jersey. She had never known what it was like to be without the finer things of life. Again, Jo wondered just what it meant that her father had lost all the money. “All” was so very much.
“Father, since we all know that I overheard your conversation, may I ask you a question about it?”
“Of course, kitten.” He patted the small chair next to his, and she took a seat.
“Just how much money do we have left?”
He nodded. “That’s a nice, straightforward question. No beating around the bush.”
“And does it come with a nice, straightforward answer?” She peered into his face, wishing she could read the emotions she saw reflected there.
“The truth, kitten, is that we have two hundred dollars remaining, and no more. That will get us relocated, into a new home, and put food on the table for a bit. By then, I’ll be well established at the railroad and will have regular paychecks. There’s no reason to feel that we’ll be cast out or destitute.”
“Two hundred dollars? That’s all we have left in the world?” Rosemary turned toward the window. “And you think we’re not destitute?”
“It’s enough to buy our daughter a pretty new dress if she needs one,” he rejoined, touching Jo’s nose with the tip of his finger.
“Father, I have so many dresses, I most likely won’t need a new one until I’m eighty,” Jo replied. “What does this mean for Alice and Robert and Harold?”
He looked down at the carpet. “The most difficult thing of all is that we’ll need to let them go,” he said slowly. “We could probably retain them and be all right, but I can’t guarantee anything, and we must be conservative with our funds until we see how we level out.”
Rosemary turned from the window, her gaze like ice. “You risked everything we had, including our home, lost it all, and now you’re telling me that we won’t even be keeping the servants? This is not the kind of life you promised me, Gerald. This is nothing like it at all.” She strode from the room, saying over her shoulder, “I’m going to lie down. I don’t want dinner.”
Jo waited until she heard the door to her mother’s room close. Then she turned back to her father. “What can I do?”
“What you have always done—be a comfort to your mother. That, in turn, comforts me.” He placed a hand on her head. “I value your sensibility, my dear. You have not burst into tears or berated me for the loss of your pretty things. Tell me, Josephine—what do you think of all this?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she answered truthfully. “I don’t know how to live without servants or money—what if I’m quite terrible at it?”
He laughed. “I doubt you could be.”
“But what does it mean? Learning to cook, clean, sew—those sorts of things?”
“I’m afraid so. I’m also afraid that I did you a grave injustice by not insisting that you be schooled in those things as a matter of course. It seems only reasonable now, but at the time, it was more fashionable for young ladies to learn French and how to paint and to sew flowers on pillows. Tell me, my dear—have you ever used one of the pillows you so painstakingly stitched?”
“No, because they’re utterly impractical. If you try to sit on them, they’re in the way, and if you try to lie on them, you get the outline of a flower or a word on your cheek. What good is it to have a pillow you can’t use?”
“I’ve often asked myself the same thing.” Gerald smiled, but then grew serious again. “My dear, I’m worried about your mother. She will be unsuited to this new life, at least to begin with. Will you help ease her way through? She listens to you when she will not listen to me. And that is the injustice I have done her—I never spoke to her when she was willing to listen, and now that I need her understanding, she has moved past hearing.”
Jo had never heard her father speak so candidly about her mother before, and for a moment, she wondered if it was appropriate for a daughter to know such things. Then she patted his hand. “Of course I’ll do whatever I can, Father. And perhaps I won’t be terrible at housekeeping—someone who loves bread as much as I do should be good at making it, don’t you think?”
He laughed and patted her hand in return. “I hope so, kitten. If it keeps us all from starving, I certainly hope so.”
Chapter Two
Considering that there were just over two thousand people in Silver City, it wasn’t surprising that the news of her father’s bad luck spread like wildfire. Jo had to endure the condolences and well-wishes of everyone she knew, and in some cases, their condescension. The family was respected, but in some circles, not necessarily liked, and Jo overheard two particularly opinionated ladies sharing their thoughts that perhaps this was a comeuppance that was long overdue. She was quite tempted to deliver a punch in the nose that was also long overdue, but decided that probably wouldn’t be ladylike.
When church ended on Sunday, she was more than eager to escape the confining, although beautiful, walls of St. Andrews and walk home. She pulled in a deep breath as she stepped into the sunshine, trying to chase the gloom and doom from her mind.
“Jo! Jo, wait!”
She turned to see Moriah Jensen chasing after her, hand on her hat so it wouldn’t blow away. Moriah was one of her dearest friends. They’d attended some classes together and often saw each other at regional social events, and from time to time, she’d ride along with her father when he had business in Moriah’s hometown of Oreana and they’d visit for the whole afternoon. She chuckled and waited for Moriah to catch up.
“Mother says that running down the street is a sin to be avoided at all costs, even including times when you’re being chased by a murderer or a bear,” Jo told her friend.
“Your mother might not approve of running, but I think you added on that bit about the murderer and bear yourself.” Moriah adjusted the hat ribbons under her chin. “At any rate, I’m not running now. How are you doing? Is everyone driving you crazy?”
“Quite. Half the town is shocked that we’re going to be doing our own laundry, and the other half is elated. It’s funny in a way—I never stopped to think about how we were regarded in this community until this week. It seems that not everyone has been entirely honest with their feelings.”
Moriah tucked her arm through Jo’s as they approached the Sinclair home. “They say that money brings out different sides of people, and that includes their reactions to other people’s money. Maybe someday we as a society will get past all that, but for now, I’m afraid that’s just how it is.”
“My biggest consolation right now is that no one in Utah knows who we are, so we can start fresh without people whispering behind our backs about how rich we used to be and what a shame it is.” Jo blinked and turned to her friend. “You’re a welcome surprise. What brings you to Silver City today?”
“Father needed to talk to Mr. Higgins about something—I don’t even know what. As soon as he said he was coming out this way, I begged to ride along. I hope you don’t mind if I sit in your parlor and eat all your biscuits and demand to be entertained for at least a couple of hours.”
“I’d be more offended if you didn’t.”
***
“I just don’t know why any one person needs so many dress
es, but Mother says that a young woman of high breeding should never be forced to wear the same thing in public twice.” Jo stood in front of her wardrobe, contemplating all her gowns. “It’s always been a struggle to fit them in here, but now that I think about it, I’m grateful to have them. I’d much rather wear these over and over again than to ask for anything new for quite some time—Father is so worried about our finances.”
Moriah nodded from where she sat on the edge of Jo’s bed. “I know that you and your mother have never seen eye to eye on the subject of clothing, but I’m glad that you have a good supply. Perhaps she was being wise after all.”
“I believe it’s more like a happy coincidence that I ended up needing them.” Jo plopped herself on the other side of the bed, plopping most definitely not being considered ladylike. “Mother hasn’t left her room in three days except to tiptoe around, dealing with necessary things, and vanishing again as soon as possible. I’ve tried speaking to her, but she keeps her door locked and won’t let me in.”
“Chocolate cake,” Moriah suggested. “I’ve never known anyone who could keep their bedroom door shut in the face of chocolate cake.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll give that a try.” Jo played with a thread that was trying to work its way loose from her cuff. “Have you ever been to Utah?”
“I have, briefly, and it seems to look quite a lot like here, although it does have its desert areas too.” Moriah put her hand on Jo’s arm. “You’re more nervous than you’re letting on, aren’t you?”
Jo nodded. “I’ve been trying to be strong for Father and encouraging for Mother and cheerful for everyone else, but yes, I’m nervous. Starting over will be good for us, and yet . . . leaving so much behind is going to be difficult.” She paused and chuckled. “Of course, some of the snide comments I’ve heard are making it a little easier to go.”
“Maybe that’s a reason to be grateful for them, then.” Moriah gave her arm a squeeze and then let go. “Promise me that you’ll write often and tell me how you’re getting along. You can still afford to send letters, can’t you?”
Utah Sunrise (Rocky Mountain Romances Book 1) Page 1
