A Daughter's Quest

by Lena Nelson Dooley

The tall, handsome blond man who had rescued her strode down the street carrying a heavy anvil as if it didn’t weigh much. When he had caught her as she exited the stagecoach, she felt the strength of those bulging muscles. The blacksmith in the mountain community near her home was an old man.

  Even though he was strong, he never could have had a physique like this smithy.

  Constance started down into the street, almost missing the wooden step…again. She had to forget that man and pay attention to what she was doing. With as much aplomb as she could manage, she swept toward the hotel. She didn’t want anyone to know how out of her element she felt.

  Thankfully, the clerk at the hotel didn’t seem to know what had happened. Her embarrassment had been on the other side of the coach from this building. He probably hadn’t seen her descent and the aftermath, and apparently word of the event hadn’t reached him.

  “Are you alone, or is someone traveling with you?” The man peered up over his glasses as he handed her a pen and inkwell.

  Constance dipped the nib into the black liquid, then proceeded to write her name on the register. “I’m alone.” She opened her reticule and glanced up. “How much is the room?”

  After he told her, she pulled out enough money to pay for a week, careful not to let anyone see how much she had left. Traveling alone was frightening enough without giving someone a reason to rob her.

  Her room was on the second floor of the hotel, facing the street. She unpacked her carpetbag and placed the items in the chest of drawers beside the door. The pitcher on the washstand contained fresh water, so she was able to take care of her toilette.

  Even though it was not quite evening, the strain of the journey pulled Constance toward the inviting bed. She laid down and closed her eyes, expecting to fall asleep immediately. However, her thoughts returned to the incident in the street. When she had missed the step, fear shot through her like an arrow, lancing the carefully constructed wall around her heart.

  As the memory assailed her, Constance once again felt that strong arms were lifting her. She had never been so close to any man except her father…and he hadn’t carried her in his arms since she was a small child. She didn’t understand the flurry of emotions that scattered through her. Nothing settled them until her gaze connected with the man’s beautiful blue eyes.

  Could she call a man’s eyes beautiful? Well, no matter. His were. And his expression held a special kindness that Constance wasn’t ready to analyze. She hoped she would never see him again. At the same time, she hoped she would. Confusion ruled her thoughts, and she fell asleep dreaming about a tall blond man.

  Morning sunlight pulled Constance from a deep sleep. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Not in the mountain cabin on a mattress tick filled with corn shucks. When she turned over, nothing rustled, and the softness of the featherbed caressed her body in comfort. After she opened her eyes and looked around the room, which seemed luxurious to her, a loud rumble from her stomach reminded her how long it had been since her last meager meal. While she hurried to dress, the fragrance of bacon and biscuits from somewhere below teased her senses.

  When Constance reached the dining room on the first floor of the hotel, the room was almost empty. She wasn’t used to sleeping this late. While she stood poised in the wide doorway between the hotel lobby and the restaurant, a grandmotherly woman swathed in a large apron came through the door from what had to be the kitchen.

  “Well, come on in if you’re hungry.” The woman’s smile lit her eyes with laughter. “You’ve come to the right place.” She ushered Constance to an empty table by one of the front windows. “Would you like bacon, eggs, and biscuits or flapjacks?”

  “What are flapjacks?” Constance couldn’t help looking puzzled.

  “Some people call them pancakes or griddle cakes. I like to make them with buckwheat, and we have real maple syrup, not just cane syrup.”

  “That sounds good.” Once again, Constance’s stomach made a loud protest.

  “I’ll be right back.” The woman bustled through the door and returned immediately with a mug and a pot of coffee. “Would you like a cup?”

  While she sipped the hot beverage, Constance studied the street outside the window. Browning City was larger and busier than the small town near the home place. People on horseback, in wagons and buggies, and walking on the boardwalks all seemed to have a purpose. Constance had a hard time imagining all she had seen in her journey. Even though she had read about these things in the books that filled the school library, to see them for herself made her feel almost giddy. To think, she probably never would have ventured as far as Fort Smith if her father hadn’t extracted the promise from her. How was she ever going to find Jim Mitchell?

  Constance didn’t look forward to trying to get information about the man. People might get the wrong idea if she were too obvious with her questions. While she ate the wonderful flapjacks and bacon the waitress brought her, she devised a plan. She would make her way unobtrusively through the town, listening to conversations, trying to hear something about Jim Mitchell or his family. She didn’t want anyone else to know about the gold before Mr. Mitchell had a chance to give it back on his own. That way, he might not get into trouble with the law.

  Hans was striding toward the mercantile when he noticed the woman from the stage crossing the street. Morning sunlight gleamed on the shiny curls that peeked out from under the brim of her bonnet. He’d heard his mother call that style coal shuttle. The way it tipped up in the back made the young woman look almost saucy.

  He quickly glanced toward the front windows of the store so she wouldn’t see him staring at her. Wonder what she’s doing in Browning City? Would she stay long?

  The bell over the door announced his entrance into the store where a customer could find almost anything. Hans moved toward the area where the proprietor kept nails. He had bent several this morning. For some reason, his aim must be off. Of course, he hadn’t gotten as much rest last night as usual. The remembered feeling of that woman’s soft body in his arms burned in his mind, chasing away sleep. Her lovely face with the large, multicolored eyes had beguiled him. He tossed and turned for hours before finally drifting into an uneasy slumber filled with dreams about an elusive woman who beckoned to him, then flitted away.

  Hans shook his head and read the sizes written in pencil on the sides of the tins holding nails. Maybe he should get several different kinds. The bell above the door rang again, pulling his attention from the small metal spikes.

  She had come into the mercantile, too.

  Even though he turned back toward the hardware, the fragrance of flowers that accompanied her wafted toward him, reminding him of his torment during the night. Hans tried to keep his attention on what he was doing, but he was aware of her every move even though he didn’t turn to follow her with his gaze. She glided around the store, stopping to finger different merchandise.

  Several other customers clustered around the space, carrying on conversations. The woman moved near a group and looked at things on shelves nearby. When Hans glanced at her, she seemed to be paying more attention to the people than the merchandise. She looked up and noticed him studying her, so she moved on. She stopped near another group of people, fingering fabric as she covertly watched them.

  Something didn’t feel right to Hans. Was the woman trying to steal something? Surely she couldn’t be a thief. He wanted to make sure, so he angled his body to where he could observe her without her knowing it. Of course, that put him near things he wouldn’t be interested in, not in a million years. He just didn’t want the proprietor to be taken advantage of by this woman…and he didn’t want to believe that she could be dishonest—a pretty woman like her with a delicate air about her and the hint of some hurt lurking behind her eyes.

  When she moved on, nothing was missing from the shelf, and her handbag was so tiny, it wouldn’t hold much if she did try to stuff anything in it. But something about her didn’t seem quite right. Her movements loo
ked furtive, as if she had something to hide.

  Finding Mr. Mitchell might be more difficult than Constance had thought. Although she spent almost an hour in the general store, listening to see if anyone would mention the Mitchell family, not one person did. Perhaps she should go elsewhere.

  Out on the sidewalk, Constance decided to explore the town a little more. She walked the other way down the street, stopping to peer into windows when it was possible to do so without drawing attention to herself.

  Soon she had passed several businesses and found her way into an area where houses lined the streets. One of them had a sign out front that proclaimed Barker’s Boardinghouse. If Constance didn’t find the Mitchells fairly soon, she might move there instead of staying at the hotel. Although her father had quite a bit of money saved, the cash wouldn’t last forever.

  She returned to the business section of town, hoping to eavesdrop on other conversations. A number of people milled around. She meandered about, trying to listen to conversations, but nothing helped her in her quest.

  On one street, Constance noticed a school set a couple of blocks from a church. Back home in Arkansas when the circuit-riding preacher came through, they held services in the schoolhouse. She had never been in a building that was just a church. Maybe she would visit on Sunday, which was five days away.

  Constance spent the next four days casually exploring the town, listening in on conversations but keeping her distance from people. One day, she went down a street that led to the livery stable. Just past that, a blacksmith shop stood with its wide doors flung open to the spring breezes. She stopped and quietly observed the man who had caught her when she fell. He pounded on red hot metal, forming what looked like a horseshoe. No wonder he had no trouble helping her. The strength she had felt in his arms made his work look easy, even though she knew it probably wasn’t. Why was she spending so much time thinking about and observing him? No other man had ever spent so much time in her thoughts.

  When Hans glanced up and saw the woman standing under the spreading branches of a tree down the street, he stopped hammering against the anvil. If he didn’t, he would probably miss and smash his hand. It had taken all his willpower this week to keep his thoughts from dwelling on the way he had felt when he carried her the short distance from the stage to the boardwalk. While he stood staring, she turned and started back toward the center of town.

  Hans plunged the horseshoe in cold water. Steam hissed up around him, bringing sweat to his brow. After placing the finished item on his worktable, he wiped his forearms and face with a towel and rolled down his sleeves. He pulled the doors closed and hurried up the street to follow the woman. Today, he intended to talk to her. Enough of this cat-and-mouse game they had been playing.

  He almost caught up with her when she stopped to look at something in a store window. She turned and started back toward him, so Hans leaned against the front of the café in the next block. He heard a commotion in the alley that separated the two buildings and stuck his head around the corner of the building just as two boys started running toward the street. They weren’t looking where they were going, and they should reach the end of the boardwalk about the time the woman would step down from it. If they collided with her, they would knock her into the dirt.

  “Now where do you scallywags think you’re going?” He grabbed each boy by the collar.

  They turned angry eyes toward him.

  “What are you doing, Mister?” The tallest boy sounded belligerent.

  Hans looked up in time to see the woman smile at the three of them. “I’m just trying to keep you from running into this lady.”

  The boys stopped resisting and glanced up at her. “I’m sorry,” they said in unison.

  She turned her smile on them. “It’s all right. You didn’t see me coming, did you?”

  They shook their heads and thanked her before moving more sedately down the street, at least for a little ways.

  “Thank you for saving me again.” Her rich melodious words stretched between them, making an indefinable connection.

  Hans felt tongue-tied, something he had never before experienced. He nodded.

  She held out her hand. “My name is Constance Miller.”

  He looked at it a moment before engulfing it in his. “And I’m Hans Van de Kieft. I’m…”

  “The blacksmith.” She finished his sentence when he faltered. “I saw you working in your shop earlier.” She looked down at their still-joined hands and gently extracted hers. “I’m glad to finally know your name.”

  While Hans watched Constance walk away, his heart thundered in his chest, and his stomach tied in knots again. He needed to talk to someone, so he started toward the parsonage. Hopefully, Jackson was home and had time to visit.

  The pastor opened the door after the first knock. “Hans, come in. Mary has gone to the store or I would offer you something to eat.”

  Hans shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” He was afraid that if he tried to eat, he wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite. Of course, the sensation in his midsection wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

  “Well, that’s a first, isn’t it?” His best friend led the way into the parlor. “Is this just a social call in the middle of a workday, or did you come for a specific reason?”

  Hans dropped into his favorite chair and leaned his forearms against his thighs, letting his hands dangle between his knees. “I kind of wanted to talk to you.”

  Jackson sat down and leaned back in his chair, resting one ankle on the other knee. “As a pastor or as a friend?”

  “Both, I think.”

  “This sounds intriguing.” Jackson’s eyebrows rose in question. “How can I help you?”

  It took a moment for Hans to verbalize his feelings. “Did you hear about me keeping that lady from falling from the stagecoach?” After his friend nodded, he continued, “Odd things have been happening to me since then. I’m not sleeping well, and when I do, I have strange dreams.” He wasn’t sure he had expressed himself in a way that could be understood.

  Jackson didn’t comment, just waited for him to continue.

  “Actually, I just met her again, and when she shook hands with me, I had the same reactions I had when I caught her.” He looked up hopefully, then back down at the floor.

  “What kind of reactions?”

  “I don’t know. She’s on my mind a lot, and I feel unsettled.”

  Jackson gave a soft snort, so Hans looked at him again. Jackson was trying not to laugh.

  “Are you crazy or something?” Hans surged to his feet and moved around the room. “It’s not funny. You’re my pastor as well as my friend. I need to know what to do about these… feelings. I’ve always been able to control my emotions. Actually, no other woman has caused so much havoc in them. I know what lust is, and I don’t believe that’s what I feel, but I wonder if it’s more than I should be feeling. I really want to get to know her, but I’m not sure she’s honest.”

  A sober expression replaced the smile on Jackson’s face. “I didn’t mean to make light of what’s happening to you. It’s not a sin to want to get to know a woman. She may be passing through town, or she may be looking for a home here.” He stopped for a moment as if mulling over something. “Just what about her makes you think she’s not honest?”

  Hans rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Nothing specific. I’ve seen her at the store a couple of times, and she didn’t buy anything. She seemed to be listening in on conversations.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Hans pictured the times, running through every move she made. “No, I’m not. But is it wrong to feel drawn to her since I don’t know anything about her?”

  three

  Bright spring sunshine gave Sunday a heavenly glow, increasing the intensity of the color of new leaves on the trees and of multicolored buds peeking between greenery on the ground. Constance felt confident that she would look as good as anyone else at the church service because she was wearing another of the
dresses she had purchased before she left Fort Smith. Her straw bonnet was decorated with silk flowers that complemented the light green ribbon matching her gown. She had never worn a pair of white cotton gloves before, but the woman at the store assured her that most women wore them to church. Of course, Constance wondered how they kept them clean. Maybe she would remove them and put them in her reticule when she was in the building.

  She loved all the beauty of the day, but something about this prairie land made her feel unsettled. The mountains back home seemed to hold the sky high above her. Here there was so much blue spread from horizon to horizon that it almost pressed down against her. She wished for a few peaks to lift it up.

  As she approached the building with its steeple topped by a small cross that stretched toward the heavens, she was glad to see so many other people streaming toward it. Many walked in family groups, but others rode horses or wagons. A few had fancy buggies such as she had never seen before.

  Although Constance wouldn’t be in Iowa long, she might like to meet a few other Christians. Back home, the circuit-riding preacher didn’t get to their settlement more than once a month. On the other Sundays, her family and their neighbors had an all day singing and dinner on the grounds. It was the highlight of the week, a time when everyone rested from the hard labor of their days and enjoyed Christian fellowship. Constance missed a lot of those gatherings while her father was sick, and she left home soon after he was buried. She shed her tears of grief during the long hours of the night, because her days were busy.

  She had traveled first to Fort Smith, where she had spent a couple of weeks obtaining her wardrobe and learning about travel by stagecoach and about the state of Iowa. After that, she had headed to Browning City. During that time, Constance had felt very alone, afraid of the people around her. Not one of them had reached out to her. Hopefully, today would be different. She knew she could trust people who loved God.

  When she entered the building, light from outside came through the frosted windowpanes that lined the sides of the room. A single, stained-glass window above the hand-carved pulpit drew her attention. The Good Shepherd held a tiny sheep in His arms against His snowy robe. As a child, she had heard the story behind the picture. Constance walked down the center aisle and chose a seat about halfway toward the front of the sanctuary. She slipped off her cape, folded it, and placed it on the bench beside her. Then she removed her gloves and put them in her reticule on top of the cape.