Lula

by Kit Morgan

  What were the rest of her clothes like? If anything like her traveling dress, his sister Eleanora would be jealous. Lula and Eleanora were probably the same age – a good thing, as Lula should be happy having another woman around to talk to besides his mother …

  The door to the parsonage opened. Good grief, had he even knocked? “Baxter!” exclaimed Annie King, the preacher’s wife. She peeked past him, then noticed the crutches. “Oh goodness, what happened now?”

  “I, uh, took a tumble off the platform at the train station.”

  Worry creased her brow for a moment. “Not in front of your bride, I hope.”

  “No. Turns out she came in on the stage instead of the train. I fell off when I found out.”

  She laughed. He didn’t mind – much – at this point. It was a little funnier in retrospect. “My guess is you’re looking for my husband,” she said.

  “Yes, is he in?”

  “He’s in his office. I was just heading that way – you’ll join me, won’t you?”

  He nodded, following her off the porch and down a path alongside the church. The office door was at the back of the building. Annie entered without knocking, and Preacher Jo, sitting and working at his desk, barely glanced up at the intrusion. “Hi, sweetie,” he mumbled.

  “Hello, darlin’,” Baxter replied.

  Preacher Jo jumped, took one look at Baxter standing next to Annie and laughed.

  Baxter grinned. “Gotcha.”

  “You certainly did!” laughed Preacher Jo. He grinned at his wife. “I didn’t see him at first.”

  She smiled. “He needs to speak with you.”

  “What happened?” Preacher Jo asked as he noted the crutches.

  “He fell off the platform at the train station,” Annie answered before Baxter could.

  “Waiting for my mail-order bride,” Baxter added sheepishly.

  “Who came in on the stage instead,” finished Annie.

  Preacher Jo glanced between them. “Anything else?”

  “I’d like to get married right away, but Doc Drake thinks I should wait a few days on account of my ankle,” Baxter explained.

  Preacher Jo’s brow knit as he looked around, clearly not seeing a bride-to-be in evidence. “And …?”

  Baxter’s eyes flicked to Annie and back.

  She picked up the hint, then did the same with a lunch tray on the edge of the desk. “I’ll just take this back to the house and leave you two gentlemen to it.” She gave her husband a parting smile and left the office.

  “My wife knows when to stay and when to go,” Preacher Jo said proudly.

  Baxter nodded. Rev. Josiah and Annie King were another interesting thing about Clear Creek he wasn’t sure Lula would take to. They had no children because Annie couldn’t bear them, due to trauma and abuse she’d suffered before coming to Clear Creek. If not for Preacher Jo, she’d probably be dead. The man had loved and cherished her through her healing and rescued her from a horrible fate.

  Preacher Jo’s story was just as fraught with danger and heartache – he’d been an outlaw for a while before becoming a minister. He was still one of the fastest guns in town, behind only the Turner brothers, who’d learned their skill on the right side of the law. The elder Turner, Tom, was now Clear Creek’s sheriff and chief purveyor of tall tales, and his younger brother Eli was one of his deputies.

  Still, what would Lula think of the preacher and his wife once she learned of their pasts? Would she scoff at them? What sort of church had she attended in New York City – a grand cathedral of some sort? Would she cringe at the town’s simple white chapel?

  “What’s troubling you, Baxter?” Preacher Jo asked kindly. “You look like you’re someplace else.”

  Baxter shook himself. “I’m sorry, I … I was.”

  “Where?”

  Baxter swallowed hard. “Well … just woolgathering what my future bride is gonna think about … everything. The whole town. You and Annie. Me …”

  Preacher Jo sat back in his chair with a creak. “Sit down, Baxter. Talk to me.”

  Baxter did, leaning his crutches against the desk. “I don’t know what’s wrong, really. I’m just so nervous.”

  “You’re about to marry a complete stranger. You should be nervous.”

  “It’s not that. It’s … making sure we do marry.”

  Preacher Jo’s eyebrows went up. “Why wouldn’t you? It’s what she came for, isn’t it?” He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk. “Has she told you she doesn’t want to marry?”

  “No, but …”

  Preacher Jo’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied him, and Baxter suddenly felt as if his entire heart was exposed. “But what?”

  Baxter took a deep breath. “You know Sheriff Tom gets a letter from his Uncle Harlan at least once a month, right?”

  “Yes, and last I heard our esteemed ex-sheriff was enjoying married life on the Weaver farm and couldn’t be happier.”

  Baxter nodded. “True, but in his last couple of letters he told Tom what some folks up in Nowhere are saying about Clear Creek.”

  Preacher Jo sighed. “Folks are always saying something about this place. You know that.”

  Baxter felt a chill go up his spine. People did talk, and not just in the little town of Nowhere up in the Washington Territory where Tom Turner had been a deputy. He’d taken over as sheriff in Clear Creek over ten years ago when Harlan Hughes left to marry Mary Weaver up north. The citizens of Nowhere had heard stories about Clear Creek from Harlan and Tom, which was nothing new.

  What was new were the folks passing through Nowhere and telling the residents the stories they’d heard. Folks from as far away as San Francisco and Denver. “Preacher Jo,” Baxter began. “Clear Creek …”

  “Is different, I know,” he finished for him. “And I, for one, like it that way. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else – would you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then what are you worried about? Are you afraid your mail-order bride won’t like it?”

  Baxter gulped and stiffened in his chair. “Yes. I mean, she’s from New York City!”

  Preacher Jo sighed. “You know, you’re not the first person I’ve had this conversation with.”

  “I’m not?”

  Preacher Jo slowly shook his head. “About ten years ago, Eli Turner pulled me aside one day while courting his bride, worried about the same thing.”

  “He was worried Pleasant wouldn’t like the town?”

  “Of course he was, she being a Southern belle and all. Quite aside from Clear Creek’s more unusual aspects, this was far from what she was used to. The same probably holds true for your New York City bride. But look how many Bostonians are here now – the Van Cleets, Belle Cooke, Levi Stone – and they settled here when Clear Creek was even smaller than now. Same with your Uncle August from Buffalo, not to mention all the English arrivals.”

  Baxter nodded but said nothing.

  Preacher Jo steepled his fingers in front of him. “So what’s really bothering you?”

  Baxter blew out a breath. “Me. I’ve hardly got a penny to my name. I live with my parents. I’ve got an education with no place to use it. What in tarnation was I thinking, sending off for a mail-order bride?”

  Preacher Jo sat back again. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Baxter shut his eyes and shook his head. “I’m an idiot.”

  “No, you’re human. We all sometimes need a little incentive to put our talents and skills to work. A wife often does the trick.”

  Baxter ran a hand through his hair. Now that he’d gotten down to the root, he had to figure out how to deal with it. “It’s bad enough I don’t have much – that alone could scare a woman off. But then you toss in Clear Creek …”

  “As well you should. We love this town, and most people who come here fall in love with it. Let her see you, the town and everyone in it, and maybe she’ll fall in love too.”

  Baxter sig
hed.

  “This isn’t about what happened with Doc Drake years back, is it?” Preacher Jo asked.

  Baxter froze. “Why do you think Theron left a few years ago?”

  Preacher Jo stared at him a moment. “Theron left because he was finishing up his divinity studies in San Francisco. Bowen and Elsie just got a letter from him – he got a position in Nevada City, California. His own church – that’s something to celebrate.”

  “That’s good news. I’m happy for him. But he said he left because of his father’s … gift.”

  Preacher Jo steepled his fingers again. “So this is about what happened. You’re afraid your new bride’s going to hear the stories of those outlaws that forced Bowen to perform a miracle at gunpoint, get scared and leave. Or maybe one of a dozen other unlikely-but-true tales from here.”

  Shame struck Baxter like an anvil dropped on his head. “I shouldn’t have come today. I should never have sent away for a mail-order bride. This is gonna be one big mess.”

  Preacher Jo leaned forward. “Son, my advice to you is to marry this gal. Stop worrying whether or not you or the rest of us are good enough for her. Besides, I’m sure she has her own trail of tears dripping along behind her – we all do to some degree. And if she does, then this is the best place on Earth for her.”

  “Theron and I were only children at the time,” Baxter said with a far-off look, as if he didn’t hear him. “When we saw them hold Elsie at gunpoint to make Doc heal one of their men, something Doc would’ve done anyway …” He paused and looked away. “I used to have nightmares about it, Preacher Jo.”

  “What kind of nightmares?” he asked with concern.

  “That they’d come to my house, hold Ma at gunpoint and try to make me or Pa do something we couldn’t. And I always failed, and because I did they shot her. Right in front of me …”

  Preacher Jo rubbed his temples with his fingers. “Mercy, son. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  Baxter shrugged. “They’re just dreams.”

  “No, they’re not just dreams. Do you still have them?”

  “Sometimes. Not often.”

  “When was the last time?”

  Baxter looked him in the eye. “A few nights ago.”

  “Well.” Preacher Jo drummed his fingers on the desktop. “This explains a lot.”

  “Does it?”

  Preacher Jo stopped his finger rapping. “Baxter Adams, I’ve known you all of your life. I’ve watched your family through good times and bad. And I’ve seen what memories of past events can do to a person’s heart and mind. And not just yours – plenty of folks around here have suffered tragedy, including Annie and me. Memories can follow folks for a long time, unless we do something to overcome them.”

  “How?” Baxter asked, still not understanding exactly what was happening to him to make him feel the way he did. “How do I overcome it?”

  “Talk to people, for one. Did you ever tell your ma or pa about your nightmares?”

  “No. They were troubled enough after it happened, especially ‘cause I was there.”

  Preacher Jo nodded. “Tell you what, first we’re gonna pray. Then there are a few folks I think you should talk to.”

  “Like who?”

  “Irene and Wilfred Dunnigan, for one. They can share a few things with you about why they came west. Harrison and Colin Cooke, too – Harrison had to handle everything when his mother died while Colin and Duncan were in prison.”

  “I know that story. Everybody around here does.”

  “Yes, but did you ever hear what it felt like? Or for that matter, why Doc Drake came here, and what that felt like? Or your English aunts? Or Patrick and Mary Mulligan?”

  Baxter thought a moment. “No.” He shook his head. “But what’s this have to do with marrying?”

  “Everything. Besides, what’s a rich girl from New York City doing way out here as a mail-order bride?”

  That stung. Baxter had thought the same thing the minute he’d laid eyes on Lula, even before he knew where she was from. What was her story? “That’s a good question. One I haven’t asked yet.”

  “Ask it,” Preacher Jo sat back in his chair. “Look, there’s nothing wrong with you sending off for a mail-order bride – you’re a grown man, and a man your age starts to feel like something’s missing in his life, no matter what his circumstances.”

  Baxter couldn’t argue with that. It was true, he’d been thinking about a wife for a long time, and knew that to get one in isolated Clear Creek, he’d have to send away for one. He never thought about his circumstances until he saw her, when everything caved in on him.

  But Preacher Jo was right. The real issue wasn’t being embarrassed about the town or his family or even his circumstances, though a woman of her obvious station might turn her nose up at any of those. No, it was about losing something precious to him. And heck, he hadn’t even given Lula a chance to become precious yet. Was he so afraid of losing a wife that he was looking for excuses not to have one to lose? How on Earth did someone get that crazy notion? But there it was.

  Preacher Jo cleared his throat. “Baxter … let’s pray.”

  Chapter 7

  After Cyrus gave Lula his tour of the hotel and deposited her in her room, she bathed, washed her hair and donned a pretty yellow day dress. She thought by now Baxter would have sent up a note to let her know he was on his way home and would see her later, but there was no word from him. Maybe he took her advice and found a quicker way home to rest his injured ankle. Either way, she likely wouldn’t see him until tomorrow.

  But what about his parents and family – when would she get to meet them? She’d planned to ask him about them, but was interrupted by the Van Cleets when they joined them at their table. Maybe it was just as well. She couldn’t hide that she came from money, and soon she’d have to go through the embarrassment of telling her future husband and family what had happened to all of it. Maybe Baxter having to go home to rest his ankle was a good thing.

  A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Lula leaped to her feet to answer it. “Baxter?” she said as swung the door open.

  “Afraid not, honey – it’s just me,” Sally entered the room, carrying a tea tray. “I thought you might be needing something about now, so I brought you a little snack.”

  Lula smiled despite her disappointment. It had only been a few hours, but she realized she missed Baxter. Odd, since she hardly knew him yet. “Thank you. That was very kind.”

  “Think nothing of it, honey.” She poured Lula a cup of tea, then one for herself. “You want sugar too? I always like a little in mine.”

  Lula gaped at her a moment, then composed herself. “Oh, um, yes, please.”

  She watched the woman put sugar into both cups, pick up the saucer and hand it to her. “Here you go, honey – drink up.”

  Lula sat, reached for a spoon and gave her tea a stir. “Thank you. Do you always take tea with strangers?” It was probably rude to ask, but no one in New York would do such a thing, especially not a servant. Though Sally wasn’t a servant, was she?

  “Of course, honey. We’re all one big happy family around here.” Sally seemed to sense her confusion. “You’ll find we do things a little differently in Clear Creek. Some folks would say we’re a little, oh, what’s the word … unorthodox, that’s it! I heard Doc Drake say that once.”

  “I see.” Lula smiled at her. “Are those scones?”

  Sally picked one up and put it on a plate. “Sure are – my own recipe! Want one?”

  Her stomach growled in response. “Yes, please.”

  Sally laughed and handed her the plate.

  Lula set her cup and saucer on the table and slathered her scone with clotted cream. This woman knew how to prepare a proper tea! “Baxter tells me you’ve been here a long time.”

  “That’s right – I arrived when they were still building this place almost thirty years ago. Makes me feel old sometimes.”

  “Have you a husband?” Lul
a asked, then took a bite. Oh, the scone was pure bliss!

  “I was married once. My two sisters and I were all widowed – you’ll meet them eventually. Edna, she’s the youngest, married Jefferson Cooke of the Triple-C. That’s a cattle ranch …”

  “… a few miles out of town. Yes, I heard.”

  Sally smiled. “And Marybeth married Harvey Brown, a local farmer. They live outside town as well. Me … well, funny thing is, I was the one most adamant about coming here and starting over, finding a new husband and all that. But I never did.”

  Lula’s heart went out to the woman. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you. But you’re never too old …”

  “Oh, honey, I don’t need a husband now – I’ve got this hotel! I’m married to this place and it keeps me as busy as any man. And like a man, it gives me a roof over my head, puts food on my table and gives me lots of laughs and company.”

  Lula’s mouth slowly fell open. In her world, if you didn’t have a husband you were an outcast. “But don’t you get lonely?”

  “In this town? Honey, I have more friends here than I’ve ever had in my life. In fact, half of them are like family. I’m never lonely. Crawling into bed at night’s the only time I have any peace and quiet.”

  Lula laughed. She was beginning to really like Sally Upton.

  “Now tell me, honey, what do you think you’d like for a wedding supper?”

  *

  An hour and several cups of tea later, Sally had not only planned Lula’s wedding supper menu, but filled her in on the happenings in Clear Creek a young lady like herself might be interested in. The ladies’ sewing circle met weekly either at the mercantile or the church, depending on how many arrived. There was afternoon high tea daily in the hotel dining room. The church hosted a Christmas play every Christmas Eve, and the Cookes held an all-town picnic every summer down near the creek.

  In addition, Sally and Irene Dunnigan both gave cooking lessons (thank the Lord!) several times a month to the younger women. They were considered the best cooks within hundreds of miles, save for a man named Oscar White whom Sally didn’t spend much time talking about. And there were a number of other long-standing town traditions.