Utah Sunrise (Rocky Mountain Romances Book 1)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Jo shook her head at her friend’s gentle teasing. “Of course I can afford to send letters, and yes, I’ll write. I imagine I’d go crazy if I didn’t. You know how I need to write out my feelings every chance I get.”

  “And you know how much I enjoy reading about them. You are quite an entertaining storyteller—much better than any novel I’ve read.”

  Jo blushed. “That’s a bit of praise I don’t deserve.”

  “Well, you also don’t know what sorts of novels I’ve been reading lately.” Moriah stood up and gave Jo a hug. “Father asked me to meet him back at St. Andrews, and so I’d better go. Take care of yourself, Jo, and please write as often as you can. I’ll miss you.”

  “And I’ll miss you.” Jo tried to ignore the aching in her heart as she walked with her friend to the front door and let her out. She hoped and prayed she’d find friends soon in Utah—being alone was a cold prospect indeed.

  Chapter Three

  “Del Prescott, as I live and breathe. Whatever brings you to my part of town?”

  Del turned and swept his hat off his head. “Miss Georgia, a pleasure as always. I’m just here conducting some business.”

  She leaned against the pillar that held up the awning over the general store. “I rather hoped you’d come to see me.”

  A wave of irritation swept over him, but he pushed it back. “No, I’m sorry to say. I don’t find myself in need of a ladies’ hat this afternoon.”

  “Now, Del, you know you don’t need to buy a hat when you come to my shop. We could sit and visit. I’d enjoy that quite a lot.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. For now, I’m afraid I really must go. Have a good day.” He gave her a slight bow and continued down the street, breathing a sigh of relief.

  He passed a man and his wife and a young woman who appeared to be their daughter, a striking blonde in a blue satin dress. He couldn’t help but catch a bit of their conversation.

  “You see, my dear? A new courthouse, a new theater—Ogden has much more to offer us than Silver City ever did.”

  Del glanced at the family over his shoulder as they continued their walk. Silver City? The rich mining district up in Idaho? They certainly looked wealthy, and Del immediately dismissed them in his mind. The girl was pretty enough, but he didn’t want anything to do with an uppity society doll who couldn’t string two sentences together and had apoplexy if she couldn’t find a parasol to match her gown.

  He’d been down that road before and hadn’t found it to his liking.

  Lost in thought, he made his way toward the banks of the Weber River and didn’t realize he was on the boardwalk leading to the train station until he heard his boots clomping on the slats. He chuckled to himself. He’d taken this route so many times, apparently his feet could bring him here without any input from his brain. Many of the locals complained about the quarter-mile boardwalk necessary to access the train station, but he’d rather walk on it than slosh through the swamp, and it was an honor to have a railroad hub right there in Ogden. The railroad was changing the face of Utah and of the entire west.

  “Mr. Prescott, a pleasure as always.” Mr. Hannigan, the station manager, greeted him with a smile. “Your lumber shipment came in right on time and is just waiting for your wagon.”

  “That’s good. I’m sorry to say that my wagon has a crackled axle and I’m getting it repaired, although it might not be until tomorrow. I tried to rent another wagon, but there weren’t any to be had.”

  “That’s fine, that’s fine. We’ll throw a tarp over it if need be.” Mr. Hannigan paused. “I should tell you, though, that should you come tomorrow, I won’t be here. I’m being replaced.”

  “Replaced? Whatever for?”

  Mr. Hannigan chuckled. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not as young as I once was. Getting up and down and around this place is becoming more difficult every day, and I decided it was time I passed the job onto someone with a little more vinegar in them.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Hannigan. You’ve certainly always done a good job by me.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Prescott. That’s a mighty nice thing to hear.” Mr. Hannigan gave a short nod. “I’ve heard some good things about the new fellow.”

  “I’ll keep my eye out for him. Thank you, Mr. Hannigan, and I’ll be back as soon as my wagon’s ready.”

  Del thought about that as he walked back to town proper. He supposed every man got old and had to turn his livelihood over to someone else, but it sure seemed a depressing prospect. Work made Del feel alive. Without it, he wouldn’t know who he was. Perhaps that was part of getting older—putting aside the things you’d always counted on and learning to count on other things. He wished Mr. Hannigan well.

  ***

  The Sinclairs’ new home was nothing like their old one had been. It was the difference between a small mansion and a large cottage, and Jo pulled in a deep breath. They could do this. There was a spacious parlor, a nice bedroom for her with a dormer window, and a beautiful flower and herb garden just outside the kitchen door.

  “Just think, Mother. We wouldn’t have wanted anything larger—we can take care of a home this size with hardly any work at all.” Jo forced a bright note into her voice.

  Rosemary stood in the middle of the dining room and turned in a slow circle. “I would never have believed it,” she muttered. “My own husband, reducing me to this.”

  Jo’s heart clenched. She crossed the floor and put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “We’re going to be happy here. Look at the beautiful neighborhood. And do you hear the birds?”

  Rosemary looked at her like she was crazy. “Josephine, we live on the edge of a swamp. We’re breathing the air kicked out by those horrible, beastly trains. With all the clattering of the wheels on the tracks, I don’t imagine we’ll ever get a moment of rest. How can you be so cheerful about our circumstances?”

  “All right, things aren’t ideal, but I was thinking how nice it is that we’re close to Father’s work. It will only take him a short time to come home every day.”

  Rosemary shook her head. “I can’t continue this conversation with you, Josephine. You seem determined to take your father’s side in everything. I feel as though I’ve lost my daughter.”

  Stunned, Jo took a step back. “No, you haven’t, Mother. I’m just trying to find the good in things so we aren’t utterly miserable.”

  “If utter misery is to be our fate, we’d best accept that and get on with it,” Rosemary retorted. “I for one refuse to skip around chattering away about butterflies and rainbows when our entire lives have been cast into this upheaval. Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe our bedroom furniture has been moved into place. I’m going to find my bed and rest.”

  Jo sank onto the window seat and stared through the glass, only just noticing the movement of people as they passed by. Her mother’s melancholia went deeper than she’d suspected. Did Rosemary really believe that all this was some sort of ploy on her father’s part to punish them or be cruel to them? He had suffered just as surely as they did—why would such thoughts even enter her mother’s mind?

  She sat there until she noticed that the sun had begun to descend in the sky. They’d hired some men to help bring their things down from Silver City—just a few things, as they knew there would be no room for it all. They had the basics, and that was good for a start. Now she needed to be thinking about dinner.

  She walked into the kitchen and noticed the crates of kitchenware sitting here and there. She turned slowly, looking at everything, feeling utterly overwhelmed. She’d asked Alice to teach her some basic cooking skills, and their last week in Idaho had been spent doing just that. Well, that was certainly well and good, but she had no idea where anything was. That could create a bit of a problem.

  “Hello?” She heard her father’s voice call out from the front door.

  “In here, Father. Just trying to find . . . well, anything, really.”

  Gerald entere
d the kitchen looked around with a bemused expression on his face. “You seem to have yourself a bit of a mystery here.”

  “I do. We need some dinner, and I know we had a crate with some flour and a few other things, but I certainly don’t know which one it is.”

  “I believe I can put your mind at ease regarding dinner, my dear. I just met a very nice lady outside who tells me she’s our neighbor, and she would love to bring us over some bread and soup in about twenty minutes.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful. That gives me until tomorrow to sort through all this.” Jo flapped her hand at the stacks. “With any luck, you’ll have some breakfast before you head out for your first day.”

  “All I really need is some coffee,” he said.

  “Yes, and so I need to be able to find the coffee pot and the coffee tin.” Jo passed a hand over her eyes. “Mother has shut herself away again. I tried talking to her, but she seems to believe that this is all a conspiracy designed for her destruction.”

  “I’ve tried talking to her too, but considering that I’m the instrument of that conspiracy, I’m less than desirable right now.” He paused. “Let me change out of my suit, and I’ll help you go through these boxes.”

  “Do you even own clothing that’s not a suit?” Jo asked, teasing.

  “I have some plain trousers around here somewhere. Of course, if they’re in a crate, it might be some time before they’re found.” He gave her a wink, then headed up the stairs.

  Jo was grateful that he was doing what he could to maintain a positive demeanor through this whole thing. He’d taken quite a blow when the news came, both professionally and personally, and if anyone had a reason to lock themselves away in a room, it was him. She hadn’t realized how very much she counted on his stability until it was threatened, but he’d remained strong.

  Now it was up to her to do the same thing.

  She turned back to the crates. “All right, coffee pot. Where have you gone?”

  Chapter Four

  When Jo heard a tap on the door a short time later, she set down the small crowbar she was using to open crates and wiped her hands on the dishtowel she’d found. She was quite sure that she looked like a complete mess, but there was nothing to be done about that.

  She opened the door to find a plump middle-aged woman standing on the porch, a large basket over her arm. “Hello there! You must be Josephine. I met your father a little bit ago, and he tells me you’re moving in. I’m Mrs. Tate. Gertrude Tate. Although you can call me Gertie.”

  Jo smiled. “I’m very glad to meet you, Gertie. Yes, I’m Josephine, although you can call me Jo. Won’t you come in?”

  She led the way into the kitchen and motioned to the chaos. “I’m sorry about all this. I’m trying to set things to rights, but they just won’t be set.”

  Gertie laughed. “A very familiar problem. My husband and I moved here from Salt Lake City about three years ago, and I felt surrounded by crates for months. Let me see if I can give you a hand.” She set the basket down in the corner, picked up the crowbar, and began popping lids off crates faster than Jo had imagined she could.

  “What in particular were you looking for?” Gertie asked.

  “The coffee pot and the coffee,” Jo replied.

  “Hmm. Well, this looks like knives and other sharp objects. I won’t be sticking my hands in there all willy-nilly,” Gertie said with another laugh. “Let’s take everything out and set it on the table. I see that you have your cupboards in place—we can put things away when we know where they go.”

  They worked side by side for a moment, taking the empty crates and stacking them on the porch.

  “Oh, there’s the coffee pot!” Jo exclaimed as they unearthed a crate at the very bottom. “It would be the one clear down there, wouldn’t it?”

  “That’s how it always is. The thing you need is never on top.” Gertie gave her a smile. “Now, in that basket is some soup, bread and jam, and a pie. I suggest you eat it soon or the soup will be cold, and I haven’t seen a pot here yet for rewarming.”

  Jo chuckled. “The pots are probably on the bottom too. I should start there.”

  “But if you start there, you’ll find it on the top.” Gertie sighed and shook her head. “Don’t force yourself to get this all put together on your very first day. If you work too hard, you’ll only get sick, and that won’t do anyone any good. In fact, you should come to the dance tonight.”

  That was such a quick change of subject, Jo blinked. “There’s a dance?”

  “There is. It’s just being held in a barn, but it’s a new barn, so it doesn’t smell like cows yet, and it should be a fun time.” Gertie looked at her curiously. “Your father tells me you aren’t Mormons.”

  “That’s right. Do . . . do you think that’s going to be a problem?”

  Gertie laughed. She did that frequently, but it was a pleasant sound, and Jo enjoyed hearing it. “We have a fairly wide mixture of different religions here, especially so close to the railroad, with people coming in and out from everywhere. I think you’ll be just fine. That isn’t to say that you won’t encounter a certain amount of prejudice. There are, unfortunately, some who don’t trust nonmembers, but those folks are grumpy in general and you probably wouldn’t want to associate with them anyway.”

  “That’s good to know.” Jo paused and rested her hand on the back of a kitchen chair. “If I went to this dance . . .”

  “You mean you’re unsure? I’d say it’s the best way for you to begin meeting people, making friends, finding beaus … if any of that appeals to you, of course.”

  “At this point, I’m much more interested in making friends than finding beaus, but you’re right. I should come. Where is this not-stinky barn?”

  “You’re in luck. My husband and I are going, and we’ll give you a ride. He plays the fiddle, so he’s invited to every party. Makes us feel quite popular.”

  “I’m sure it does.” Jo grinned. There was something about this woman that just made her feel lighthearted, something she needed. “Thank you for the offer. What time should I be ready?”

  “Eight o’clock, and it’s nearly six now. I hope that’s enough time.”

  “I just hope that’s enough time to find my crate of dresses.” Jo thanked Gertie again and walked her to the door, then rapped on her parents’ door to let them know dinner was on the table. When they didn’t reply, she shrugged, ladled herself a bowl—now that she’d found the ladle—and ate, then headed up to her room, crowbar in hand.

  She was going on a hunt for a dress.

  ***

  It had been far too long since Del had gone to a party of any kind, and he had nearly skipped this one too. But his mother told him he was becoming an old man before his time and he needed to get out more, so he was making the effort. It was a good thing his mother didn’t live right in town or she’d see just how reclusive he really had become. It wasn’t on purpose—he was just busy, and it was hard to carve out time for laughter and chit-chat when he had so much to do.

  Especially when there was no one he really wanted to chit-chat with.

  Margery Kendall gave him a smile as she whirled by in the arms of Edgar Simpson. He’d brought her punch at the last gathering and listened politely as she told him about each and every one of her cats, but he couldn’t imagine enduring that again. Delilah Montgomery had squeezed his arm and told him she was looking for her Samson. And Georgia Kelly . . . He sighed. Georgia wasn’t going to give up on him until he was safely married to someone else, but he couldn’t involve himself in that direction. She wasn’t known for staying focused in her relationships.

  Del picked up a glass of punch and wandered over to the side of the room. The band was doing a nice job of it tonight, and he found himself tapping his toes.

  “You seem in a jovial mood tonight.” Mrs. Liberty Hancock, one of the kindest and yet one of the nosiest women in town, approached him, a smile on her face. “How’s business, Mr. Prescott?”

  �
�It keeps me out of trouble, Mrs. Hancock—most of the time.” He gave her a bow, then noticed a young woman behind her. “And who is your friend?”

  She turned and gestured. “This is Josephine Sinclair. Josephine, this is Del Prescott, one of our town’s most illustrious businessmen.”

  The girl stepped forward and offered a slight curtsy. Her blue satin gown set off the blonde of her hair, which was quite an enchanting sight, but then she looked up at him and he recognized her from that afternoon on the street. “Miss Sinclair,” he said, fighting back his instant dislike. It wasn’t her fault that her father was rich or that her mother had more than the ordinary number of ostrich feathers in her hat and looked like she had smelled something quite distasteful when she glanced at him. “You mustn’t let Mrs. Hancock’s praise create the wrong impression in your mind. I’m hardly illustrious.”

  “Well, you’re hardly disreputable,” Mrs. Hancock rejoined with a laugh. “I was telling Miss Sinclair what a divine dancer you are, and then I had the idea that instead of telling her, I should let you show her yourself.”

  Del’s gaze flicked over to Miss Sinclair, who stood quite properly with her hands folded in front of her. “And what do you think of that idea, Miss Sinclair?”

  “I enjoy dancing, if my partner enjoys it too,” she replied.

  That was a rather cold response, and Del had no idea what to make of it. “Well, shall we see how we get along together?” He held out his arm.

  “Very well.” She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, and he led her out into the swirl of dancers.

  Del didn’t know just how divinely he danced, but he did count it as one of his more passable traits, and he guided Miss Sinclair around the room with confidence. He was pleased to see that she kept up with him. “I believe I passed you and your parents on the street this afternoon,” he said. “Have you recently moved here?”

  “Yes, we just arrived.”