by Kit Morgan
Lula sighed in contentment, allowing herself a moment with her new husband before getting back to worrying about her sisters. For now, she wanted to enjoy this day, her day and Baxter’s. She could only hope and pray Effie and Minnie had fared as well as she had. Please, Lord, she prayed silently as the wagon rumbled along. Please let it be so.
*
Baxter beamed. He didn’t think he could be so happy – he felt ready to burst! Lula sat at his side at the head table at the wedding supper. Old Henry Fig and several other men were playing fiddles. Folks danced at one end of the hotel dining room, spilling out into the lobby. Children ran and played between the tables of wedding guests, some of which were still eating. He was surprised there was any food left.
He glanced at the tables along the far wall near the kitchen. Good old Irene Dunnigan had taken up her usual post as overseer while Sally Upton and her sisters Edith and Marybeth, along with the Cooke women, bustled between the dining room and kitchen. Sometimes other women had these usual jobs, but this time around it was the Cookes’ turn. He sighed in contentment. Yeah, Clear Creek was as much an extended family as a town. He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
He glanced at Lula, who’d turned away from him to speak with Elsie Drake. His new bride hadn’t commented yet on him not using his crutches all day. But she’d probably heard enough stories of Doc Drake at this point to know the truth. The good doctor had taken care of Baxter’s ankle the day he examined it, for the most part. Baxter sent up a prayer of thanks before taking another sip of lemonade.
Now if the good Lord would see fit to help him find his new bride’s sisters, because he wasn’t sure where to begin. He could check parish registers, he supposed, but Oregon had so many little churches like Preacher Jo’s, and it was a big state. Would the state capitol in Salem have records of weddings in the state? Should he plan a trip there? Or was it handled on the county level? And that only covered Effie, not Minnie – she could be anywhere …
“What are you thinking?” Lula asked, taking his hand.
He smiled at her. How not to fail you ran through his head, but it was lacking specifics. “About your sisters. Where to start looking.”
Her face brightened. “Baxter, thank you. Thank you so much.”
“I’d help you find her even if we weren’t wed.”
She blushed. “You’re an honorable man. A special man.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not so special as some around here.”
Lula frowned. “Don’t say such things. You’re special to me and to a lot of other people in town. So what if you’re not a duke or a queen or a miracle worker. You’re mine and that’s all that matters to me.”
Baxter reached up and brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. “You’re more special than anyone I know, Mrs. Adams.”
“I should hope so – I am your wife.”
He leaned toward her and gently kissed her. “You certainly are. And I’m your husband.”
She smiled. “I’m sorry I had such doubts when I arrived.”
“You had reasons. I didn’t – I should be the one apologizing.”
“Are you two still yapping?” Eleanora said from the other side of the table. “Aren’t you going to dance?”
Baxter, thankful his sister didn’t expound on her earlier comment, nodded. “A wonderful idea. Shall we?” He stood, helped Lula do the same and together they followed Eleanora, who’d grabbed Sam Cooke by the arm and was bringing him along. Baxter wondered if his sister asked him, then left him waiting to come fetch them, or just caught him unawares and was dragging him off. Could be either – Eleanora wasn’t one to stand on ceremony.
A lively tune was playing and Lula laughed. “It’s wonderful! But what dance are they doing?”
Baxter laughed. “Whatever they want. This isn’t formal.” He took her by the hands and led her into the chaos. “Let’s do the same!”
And so they did, dancing until their feet were sore. When they finally sat, Lula looked at his ankle. “So it’s true, isn’t it?” She glanced at Doc Drake dancing with Elise. “He really is …”
“A vessel for the Almighty’s handiwork, yep,” Baxter finished for her. “But we don’t talk about it with strangers. Makes them antsy.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Your father told me what happened.”
“I know, he said he had.”
“Was it awful?”
“Scary. Theron and I were young – nine, ten years old. I try not to think about it. I’m sure he does the same.”
She watched the doctor and his wife finish the dance and head to the refreshment tables. “And Mr. Brody, the hotel manager – I haven’t had a chance to speak with him, but he’s blind …”
“And functions as if he’s not, that’s right. I’ve lived here all my life, Lula.” He didn’t snap, but didn’t like the tone that accompanied his words either. “Sorry. Clear Creek is different, no doubt about it. I don’t know if the good Lord saw fit to make this place that way, or it happened on its own.” He turned to her. “All I know is that I … I don’t want to let you down.”
“Let me down?”
“Effie. Minnie.”
“Oh,” she said in understanding. “We won’t know how the search will go until we start, Baxter.”
“I know. I also know this might take time. I don’t want you to be disappointed if we don’t find anything right away.”
She closed her eyes as if in resignation and nodded. “I know. Thank you.”
Baxter tucked a finger under her chin. “Lula, look at me.”
She opened her eyes. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
Her eyes went wide. “Baxter …”
“I do. I don’t know when it happened. Maybe while we were saying our vows. I just want you to be happy.”
She studied his face as if searching for something. “Baxter, I will be happy …”
“What if we don’t find them right away?” he interrupted.
“But we will eventually. I don’t know how I know … but I know.” Lula smiled, leaned forward and kissed Baxter, then said three words that sent him heavenward. “I trust you.”
Chapter 13
Clear Creek, Oregon, at the annual town picnic, June 1888
“Still no word?” Sheriff Turner asked Baxter.
A ball suddenly rocketed their way. Tom Turner caught it before it could hit him in the face, eyed it in annoyance, then handed it to the young girl that came racing after it. “Hannah, tell yer brother to watch where he’s kickin’ this thing.”
Baxter smiled at Hannah Turner. She had to be at least fifteen by now and was turning into quite the beauty with her long chestnut locks and hazel eyes. He glanced around, but there was no sign of her brother anywhere. “Where’s Silas?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “He took off the minute he saw this headin’ for Pa.” She turned and ran toward “His Majesty,” the huge oak tree in the meadow of Cooke’s Canyon.
“There you are,” Lula said as she watched the girl depart. “Who was that?”
“Oh, that there was one of mine,” Sheriff Turner said.
Lula watched the young girl chase a boy around the massive trunk, brandishing a stick. “She’s, um, certainly a fast runner.”
“That she is. Good thing for Silas he’s faster. Um, Mrs. Adams? Ya wouldn’t happen to mind doin’ me a favor, would ya, ma’am?”
It took Lula a second to register Tom was talking to her. She was still used to her mother-in-law being “Mrs. Adams,” not her. “No, not at all, Sheriff. What did you have in mind?”
“It’s Hannah.” He tossed his head at his daughter, who looked ready to murder poor Silas at this point. Old Patrick Mulligan the saloon owner had stuck his foot out and tripped him. Hannah pounced and was now dragging her brother, kicking and screaming, toward the creek, much to the amusement of onlookers. “As ya can see, she ain’t exactly a refined lady like yerself …”
Lula exchanged a quick look with
Baxter, who merely shrugged. “Yes, I’d have to say ladies do not enter a creek fully clothed and begin to dunk their brothers.”
“Nah, course they don’t,” Tom agreed. “That’s why my wife Rose and I were talkin’, and seein’ as how ya ain’t got no little ones of yer own yet, could ya maybe give our daughter a few lessons in that there fancy etiquette?”
Lula’s eyebrows shot up. “You want me to teach your daughter manners?”
“Yeah, we do. She ain’t a total heathen, mind …”
“Heathen?” Lula said, aghast. “Naturally not. That’s a harsh word to use.”
Sheriff Turner smiled. “I guess, but it fits sometimes. Picked it up from a friend of mine, says it all the time.”
Baxter glanced between the two. “Lessons, you say?”
“Yeah, ya know, how to be a lady?” Sheriff Turner said, getting back on track.
Lula turned to Baxter. “Will I have time? Ephraim will be home any day now.”
“You have time. I’ll continue the search.”
“Oh, about that,” Sheriff Turner said.
Baxter cringed. He’d been telling the man he’d been coming up empty handed, again, when he was nearly clobbered with his son’s ball. “I’ll try Portland next. Maybe they have it recorded.”
“I doubt it,” Sheriff Turner said. “Portland’s a decent-sized town. What man from a place like that sends off for a mail-order bride? There’s plenty of womenfolk there to marry.”
Baxter nodded. “He’s right – we’d best concentrate on the small towns where women are scarce.”
Lula sighed, then nodded her agreement.
He put an arm around her. He hated to see her go quiet, something she did when she was trying not to cry. “I’ll start checking the ones east of here.”
“Are there many?” she asked.
“A few. Some bigger than others. Don’t worry, we’ll find her,” he assured.
“I’ll help any way I can,” Sheriff Turner said.
“Thank you – you’ve been a great help already.” Baxter tightened his hold on Lula. “Now, what say we go try some of that pie you baked?”
Lula cringed. “Do we have to?”
Baxter laughed. Her cooking and baking lessons were coming along, but not without their share of mishaps. How did one manage to burn so many things? At least this last batch of pies hadn’t come out black like some of the others. He tightened his hold and off they went.
At the food tables, Cyrus and Polly Van Cleet sat in chairs brought from the Cooke ranch, reminding Baxter of a king and queen on their thrones in the shade of His Majesty. “Good afternoon,” he greeted. “Are you enjoying the picnic?”
“Very much,” Cyrus said and sipped his lemonade. “Ah, wonderful! Any luck lately with your search?”
Baxter lowered his arm from around Lula’s shoulders and took her hand instead. “No, but we’re still looking.”
“Well, you let me know if I can help.”
“We will, thank you, sir.” He steered Lula toward the desserts.
“Why didn’t you take his offer?” she asked.
“I don’t want to tax him. They’re very old, remember.”
“There are quite a few elderly people in this town. I’ve never seen so many, not even in New York.”
“Longevity tends to run in families around here,” he commented, handing her a plate. He served them each a slice of apple pie and guided her toward a spot near the creek that flowed into a deep pool. Children were wading there, and poor Silas Turner was laying like a drowned rat on the grassy bank in an attempt to dry himself out.
Lula laughed. “His sister won.”
“Yes, looks that way,” Baxter said with a smile. He took Lula’s plate as she seated herself, sat next to her and handed it back.
“It’s so beautiful here, Bax,” she said.
Heat rushed to his cheeks at her use of his nickname. He liked when she used it – it made him feel closer to her. “I love this place. Everyone does.”
“I’ve heard lots of stories over the last few weeks,” she said with a wink.
“I can only imagine. But there are no secrets here.” He took a bite of pie.
“Are they all true?”
He finished chewing and swallowed. “Every last one. How true, though, depends on who’s telling it, of course.”
She gazed across the meadow at the townsfolk. “Amazing. Why does no one know about this place?”
“Because we don’t want them to.”
She gaped at him. “But why?”
“You’re talking about the town, right? After everything you’ve heard, what do you think?”
She sighed. “Okay, I see your point. Half of it I never would’ve believed.” She dropped the subject and concentrated on her pie.
He didn’t like talking about the oddities of Clear Creek with her. In fact, sometimes he felt like he was competing with the town for her affection. He loved Lula, loved her with all his being, and didn’t want to be compared to Clear Creek’s more famous residents, past or present.
Lula finished her pie and lay back on the grass with a sigh of contentment. “Happy?” he asked.
“Yes, terribly so.” She closed her eyes. “Baxter?”
“Hmm?”
She opened them, looked right at him. “I love you.”
Baxter’s chest swelled. He bent to her. “I love you too, sweetie. And when we get home, I’ll show you just how much.”
She smiled and pulled him down for a kiss. So what if they were in public? They were married, after all. Besides, he’d been waiting for her to say it right out of the blue, no prompting from him, just a heartfelt declaration. He smiled down at her. “Lula, I’ll find them.”
She smiled back. “I know.”
*
Clear Creek, Oregon, July 1888
“Land sakes, child, what’s the matter with you?” Mrs. Dunnigan asked. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Lula stood, a letter in her hand, her hands shaking. “It’s from my father … I never thought to hear from him again.”
Mrs. Dunnigan scrunched her face up at the missive. “Well, are you going to keep yourself in suspense or read it?”
“Irene, don’t badger the girl,” Wilfred admonished. “Letters are a private matter.”
“Maybe so, but from the looks of her, she’s going to faint if she doesn’t open it.”
Lula looked at the elderly storekeepers and nodded. “I will open it. I must.” She tore the envelope open and pulled out the letter.
“Maybe you should fetch Baxter,” Irene suggested to her husband. “In case it’s bad news.” He nodded and quickly left the mercantile.
Lula ignored him, too busy reading the letter:
My Dearest Daughter,
First and foremost, please forgive us. What your stepmother and I did was abominable, but we hope not unforgivable. I wasn’t in my right mind after losing everything, or you wouldn’t be where you are right now. None of you would be. I hope to make it up to you and your sisters any way I can. Know that we have experienced things these last weeks and months that have changed or lives for the better. Fanny and I now realize what joy we had by simply being a family, one that should never have parted.
I’ve written to Effie and Minnie and both are doing well. Effie isn’t far from you in Baker City, Oregon. Minnie is Columbia, California. I have sent them funds for a visit to New York so we might be reunited and meet their husbands. Herein I do the same for you, daughter. There is enough money accompanying this letter to see you and your new husband to New York, or to bring you home should you find your circumstances far less than you’d hoped.
The door to home is always open, and restored. Yes, your uncle and I have back what we lost and then some. We are back in business, our reputations intact. The Lord is good.
I hand the next part of this letter over to your stepmother. I look forward to hearing from you and the dates you plan to come.
Your loving fath
er
*
Dear Lula,
There is no excuse for what I did and I will not blame you if you never wish to speak to me again. But I seek forgiveness and your help in forgiving myself. For I fear even after you and your sisters find it in your hearts to forgive me, I shall lack the strength needed to forgive myself.
Fanny
Lula’s eyes drifted from the letter to the envelope. Money peeked back. “Father …”
“Bad news?” Irene asked as she came around the counter.
Lula shook her head, still too stunned for coherent speech.
Just then, Baxter burst into the mercantile. “Lula!”
She slowly turned to him, the letter in one hand, envelope in the other. “They want us to come.”
“I figured they would.”
“What?”
Baxter grimaced. “I know you didn’t want to write them, for fear your stepmother would destroy the letter. So … I did.”
She gasped. “You did?”
“Yep. I wrote to both of them just after the town picnic.”
She walked over to him, still looking at the letter. “What did you say?”
“The truth. That we’re looking for your sisters, and it’s a slow process. I also told them how you were afraid to write and ask where they were, that you thought Fanny cared so little for the three of you, you feared she would tear up any letters sent.”
Lula dropped what was in her hands.
Baxter picked them up. “Sweetie, your father needed to know. They both needed to. Whether they knew what they were doing or not, sending your sisters and you away was wrong.”
Lula blinked. “Yes, it was. But …”
“No buts. You’re my wife and no one is ever going to treat you like that again.”
“She asks my forgiveness. They both do.”
Baxter sighed as he put his arms around her. “Then you need to give it to them.” He kissed her, then asked, “Can you find it in your heart to do that?”
She swallowed hard and buried her face in his chest. “I have to, or it’ll eat me alive. Who knows what this has done to Effie and Minnie and my cousins …”
“They have to do what they think is right. And like me, their husbands will have to do what they think is best to protect them.”
