Thomas would be performing the ceremony. How had she not thought of that before?
Hattie looked up at her and chuckled. “Did you see Frankie up there on that roof, a-guidin’ that bell whilst the men pushed it?” She shook her head and took off her wrap. “Ain’t nobody what don’t see it with their own eyes going to believe that’s Frankie a-wearin’ that special gown you’re making her. You gonna make yourself a gown like it when you get married?”
The words stabbed straight into her heart. “Don’t talk foolishness, Hattie! I told you I will never marry.” She slammed the door closed and carried Goldie to the kitchen to prepare a bottle.
Thomas stepped up onto the stoop, fisted his hand and rapped on the door. A grin tugged at his mouth. Did Viola have any idea of the conspiracy Hattie was conducting, with the help of their friends, to help him win her as his bride? Margie Sanders had tracked him down after the bell was installed this afternoon to tell him Viola was planning on bringing the finished pew cushions to the church tonight. And here he was, excuse in hand, ready to offer his services as a pack mule.
The door hinge squeaked. He wiped the grin from his face, saw Hattie grinning at him, and let it return. “Good evening, Hattie. May I come in? I have some business to discuss with Viola.”
“Well, you can come on in, but Viola’s a mite busy.” She gave him a wink and stepped back. “She’s tryin’ to figure out how to get all these cushions she’s made to the church tonight. They’re crowdin’ us out of the house.”
He stepped inside, spotted Viola standing beside a pile of long red velvet pads that reached to her waist and grinned. “Looks like you’ve got a problem.”
She shot him a perplexed look. “I was planning on hiring Matthew to carry these for me, but they are heavier than I thought they would be. But I’ll manage. I’ll just have to make several trips.”
He crossed the room, lifted one of the pads. “You can’t carry these, Viola. They’re too heavy for you. And with their length, they’d make an armful for a man. I’ll carry them for you.”
She wanted to refuse, he could read it in her eyes. She looked skittish, like a deer that scents a hunter and is ready to run. He frowned, not pleased with that thought.
“What about your shoulder and arm?”
“I won’t use them. I’ll carry the cushions on my back. Like this.” He picked up the end of the top pad and twisted his good arm around as if he were putting on a cape. When he stopped, the end of the pad curved down over the top his head and the length of it hung down his back. “Got it?”
Her lips twitched. “You’d make a terrible king.”
He laughed and leaned forward so she could reach his head. “Load them on.”
“Well…if you’re sure.” She picked up the top pad and draped it over the one on his back. He opened his hands, positioned where his neck joined his shoulders, and clasped the edges of it. “I think five will be as many as I can hold on to.”
She nodded, added three more pads to his load, then walked to the door and opened it. He stepped outside, waited for her to join him, then started down the road.
She giggled.
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
“Nooo, it’s only—hunched over like that, you look like a big red turtle.”
He laughed, gave her a sidelong look. “Is that better or worse than a terrible king?”
“I think they’re about the same. Here we are.” She ran up the church steps and opened the door.
He trudged up to the stoop and followed her through the entrance into the sanctuary, stopped by the first pew.
“Turn around.” She slid the pads off his back, onto the seat.
He straightened and grinned down at her. “No more turtle.”
“Until the next load.” She gave him a cheeky grin and headed for the door.
He gritted his teeth, threw a silent plea for mercy toward the ceiling and followed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tomorrow was Frankie’s wedding day. Viola pushed a wayward curl off her forehead, opened the kitchen door and stepped outside. Snow-cooled air, sinking off the mountain behind her cabin, touched her face and hands.
She wrapped her arms about herself and strolled through her backyard, wishing away the restlessness, the discontent that plagued her day and night of late. All of the busyness, the hard work and late nights of sewing, had not driven it away. What would she do when life returned to normal after the wedding? Caring for Goldie, holding her, playing with her only increased the dissatisfaction. Not with the baby. She was so precious, such a joy. But there was always this vague feeling that there should be more.
She picked up a small dried twig, snapped it into tiny pieces and threw them away. She had work enough…more than enough. There were so many stampeders passing through Treasure Creek daily now, she had to turn their business away. It was Thomas. The only time she was really contented now, was when she was with him. He was so kind and so thoughtful. Always ready to help her. And so…charming.
Oh, this was all his fault. He was the only man who had ever treated her as if…as if he cared about her. And it had put these foolish notions, these impossible dreams in her head and her heart. And Frankie’s happiness over her coming marriage to Ed didn’t help. It fed the dreams. She had thought them harmless, but they weren’t. Love, marriage and a family were inappropriate dreams for an ex-lady of the evening. She simply had to give them up and come back to her senses. Beginning now.
She marched to the door and went inside to go to bed.
Dong…dong…dong…
Frankie twisted her head to peer out the window. “Look at all the people going into the church, Viola. Must be half the town’s squeezing in there. That bell works right well at drawing them.”
“It’s not the bell, Frankie.” Viola brushed Frankie’s short black curls until they made a soft, ebony frame for her heart-shaped, freckled face. “Everyone in Treasure Creek considers you and Ed their friends.”
“Not the ones we’ve arrested or escorted out of town because they were drunk or carrying liquor on them.” She laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“Frankie, you are the only young woman I know of who would stand in her wedding dress and talk about arresting people. You are the perfect bride for Ed Parker.”
“I sure hope he thinks so…when he sees me, I mean.”
“He will, Frankie. You look beautiful.”
A flush tinged Frankie’s face, made the freckles dusted across her nose look darker.
Dong…dong…dong…
“You almost through with what you’re doing, Viola? I don’t want Ed wondering where I am.”
She picked up the wide headband, trimmed with a cluster of roses she’d made out of the same cream-colored silk as Frankie’s dress. “I’ll be through in just a moment. Hold still now.” She nestled the band in among the dark curls, tied the ends in a soft bow at the right temple.
“Good thing my cabin’s catty-corner from the churchyard. At least I haven’t got far to go when you get done. Though I don’t rightly know if I can make time in this dress.” She twisted her head to look over her shoulder. “That sweepy thing on the back isn’t too practical. But it sure is pretty.” She turned back, gasped. “Is that me?”
Viola nodded, tightened her grip on the large mirror she held.
“Willikers…” Frankie’s voice was soft, full of awe. She ran her hands she had creamed to softness down the fitted bodice and over her tiny waist. “You did it, Viola. You made me a dress that makes me look all girly and…and…”
“Beautiful, Frankie.” She swallowed hard and smiled. “You look beautiful.” She leaned the mirror against the wall and lifted the train of Frankie’s dress. “Now hold your skirt hems up a little to keep them clean when we cross the road and let’s go get you married.”
The church was abuzz with chatter when they entered. Margie and Lucy, standing by the entrance to the sanctuary whirled and started forward when they ope
ned the door. “It’s about time, Fra—” They stopped, their blue eyes widened, their rose-red lips gaped open. “Frankie?”
Viola smiled at the chorus of disbelief.
“Course it’s me!” Frankie nodded toward the sanctuary. “Is Ed here?”
Her sisters stared, nodded, stepped forward, enveloped Frankie in a huge hug and stepped back. Margie cleared her throat. “Come on, Lucy, let’s tell them she’s here.”
“Move over by the doorway, Frankie.” Viola arranged the train of Frankie’s dress. Her breath caught as the organ struck a note and the hum of conversation in the sanctuary quieted. The hymn, “Faithful and True” floated out to them. Margie stepped into the doorway and motioned for Frankie to come in.
Viola leaned close to Frankie’s ear. “Don’t forget to hold your hems up, so you don’t trip on them.” The whispered admonition finished her job. She stepped to the side, out of view, peeked around the door frame, looked at Ed’s stunned expression and smiled. Frankie’s wish had come true.
She ducked back, leaned against the wall and closed her tearing eyes.
Viola settled into the rocker, situated Goldie in the crook of her left arm and gave her the bottle. The chair quietly creaked out its ageless message of calm and comfort as she set it in motion. But it didn’t reach the empty spot inside her.
“I ain’t never seen anything like it, Viola.” Hattie looked up from her knitting, shook her head. “There wasn’t a person in that church could believe that was Frankie Tucker when she come walkin’ in wearin’ that dress. An’ Ed—” Hattie chuckled, turned her work. “Ed looked like he got kicked in the head by a mule. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her when they was standin’ there sayin’ their vows.”
“Yes. Frankie got her wish.” Thomas had looked so handsome today. But she hadn’t looked at him after the wedding started. She didn’t want a memory of him standing beside that dress. Foolishness. She had given up her hopeless dream, so what did it matter?
“Evelyn said, from now on, every woman in Treasure Creek plannin’ on gettin’ married will be comin’ to you to get their dresses made.”
“That will be nice. I enjoy making beautiful gowns. It’s more fun than mending tents or torn jackets.”
“Once, when everyone was crowded around talking to Ed after the wedding, he had looked around and found Frankie and smiled. He had a wonderful smile. It made you feel…special. “And Thomas—”
“Hattie, could we not talk any more now please?” She looked over at the older woman and sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m…tired. And I have a bit of a headache.”
Hattie nodded. “You been workin’ awful hard doin’ for the church and for Frankie. You want me to take Goldie so you can go lay down?”
She shook her head. She didn’t want to let go of Goldie. She was her one source of comfort. “No. She’s almost asleep. I’ll take her in to bed.” She set the empty bottle aside, lifted Goldie to her shoulder and carried her to her bedroom, breathing in the sweet baby smell of her. It helped ease the empty place a bit. Thank You, God, for giving me Goldie. Thank You for giving me a family.
Thomas prowled through the house, too restless to read or study for Sunday’s sermon. And he sure wasn’t going to bed. He frowned, listened to the sound of his footsteps echoing through the empty living room and kitchen. He should give up this ridiculous waiting and buy more furniture. A man needed more than a chair and a lampstand in his living room.
Hah! Listen to him. A man who had lived in a crowded, one-room bark hut until a few weeks ago. How quickly our needs, our…wants changed. Except his want didn’t change. It just kept getting bigger, deeper. He wanted Viola Goddard for his wife. And today, when he’d seen her standing in the sanctuary doorway with Frankie… Whoo!
He’d been hard put not to walk up to her, take her in his arms and declare his love right there in front of half of the town. Not that that mattered. Most of them already knew he loved her. Only Viola was oblivious to his torment. And now…
He scrubbed his hand over the nape of his neck, glanced up at the ceiling. “Lord, I’m doing my best not to envy Ed Parker tonight, but I’m not doing a very good job of it. He’s got the woman he loves in his heart, in his arms and in his home for the rest of his life. I want that, Lord. I want Viola in my arms and in my home for the rest of my life. She’s already in my heart.”
He went to the window, stared out into the purple night. “If this love I have for Viola is Your will, Lord…if it would be pleasing in Your sight for us to be one for the rest of our lives, then I ask You to heal Viola’s heart and set her free to accept my love. Amen.”
Viola stopped in the kitchen doorway, sniffed and swept her gaze over the bowls and clutter sitting on the table and hutch. “What are you doing, Hattie? Is that bread I smell baking?”
The older woman glanced up from her work. “Yep. I set me some dough to risin’ last night after you went to bed. Thought I’d bake some potato bread and doughnuts. Had me a good time makin’ them doughnuts the other day.”
Her gray head bowed over her work again. A towel was whisked off of a large washbasin, and a plump fist punched into a mound of yeasty dough. “I left that end of the table clear for you. Gruel is ready on the stove.” The dough slid from the tilted washbasin and thumped to the table, raising a cloud of flour dust. A long, sharp knife sliced through it, divided it into four parts. The towel flapped down over them.
The baby gurgled and jiggled up and down, twisted around toward the table. She laughed and kissed Goldie’s warm, chubby cheek. “All right, I’ll get your cereal.” She sat her on the floor where she would be safely out of the way, gave her a spoon to play with and picked up her bowl.
“Milk and sugar’s here on the table. Been usin’ it.” Hattie gave an audible sniff, turned and opened the oven door, thumped a crusty brown loaf.
The smell of the fresh-baked bread made her mouth water and her stomach remind her it had been a long time since supper. She stood back and watched as Hattie removed four loaves from the oven, then whipped off a towel covering four more loaf pans. White dough puffed up out of them, overhung the sides. She should learn to bake bread. Maybe…
Hattie stuck her knobby hand inside the oven, pulled it out and shook her head. “Too hot.”
“What do you do about that?” She was learning there were tricks to the art of cooking and baking and Hattie knew them all.
“Let out some of the heat.” Hattie shoved the loaves in the oven, grabbed a long, narrow stick from a crock on the warming shelf and stuck it in the side of the door near the top, holding it open about an inch.
An effective trick to remember. Viola smiled and dished up Goldie’s cereal, lifted the baby onto her lap and watched Hattie dump the baked bread out of the pans and set the hot loaves on a rack spanning the woodbox to cool. Eight loaves of bread? No, twelve counting the four Hattie was now shaping into loaves and slapping into the emptied pans.
She frowned, spooned cereal into Goldie’s sweet little mouth and looked across the table. “Hattie, we can’t possibly eat this much bread. And you haven’t even started on the doughnuts.” She indicated the bowls sitting on the reservoir, their towel covers lifted by the dough that was rising beneath them. “What are you going to do with all of these baked goods?”
“Take them to Tanner’s.”
“To Lana and Mack’s? What—”
“Nope. To the store.”
Her mouth gaped like Goldie’s.
Hattie lifted the loaf pans to the warming shelf, flopped a towel down over them.
She gave the baby another bite. “I don’t understand. Why—”
“To sell them.”
Her mouth gaped again.
Hattie wiped her hands on her apron and took the chair beside her. “It come to me the other day when them stampeders was buyin’ our doughnuts faster’n we could make them, there ain’t no one bakin’ nothin’ to sell in this town. So I went and talked with Mack Tanner about me startin’ up a
bakin’ business.” Her winkled face creased in a wide grin. “He said I was a genius, and he’d sell my baked goods right there in his store. Give me these here pans and supplies on credit to get me started.” She chuckled, waved a hand in her direction. “You should see your face, Viola.”
She made an effort to gather her wits about her. “I’m…astounded, Hattie. I had no idea…” She frowned. “Have you needs I haven’t met? If so—”
“It ain’t that, Viola. You’re awful good to me. It’s just… This idea’s been a-itchin’ at me ever since that day. I like bakin’ and I’m good at it.” Hattie chuckled, rose and lifted a towel to check on some dough. “And I kinda like the idea of gettin’ my share of the gold floatin’ ’round town from them stampeders. Charley would have been proud of me.” She frowned and looked her way. “It could get a mite crowded and busy here in the kitchen just at the start. But I figure to add me on a bakin’ kitchen when the gold starts comin’ in. That all right with you, Viola?”
She nodded, her head still reeling from Hattie’s news. “Of course it is, Hattie. This is your home.” She jumped, looked toward the living room. “Someone’s knocking.” She gave Goldie a kiss and sat her on the floor with her spoon to play with. “I’ll be right back, sweetie.” She smoothed down her long skirt and hurried to the door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I’m coming.” Viola brushed a curl back off her forehead and opened the door, swept her gaze over the young man standing on the stoop. He held no clothes or packages. She glanced at the wagon out front, looked back at him. “Yes? May I help you?”
He snatched his hat off his head, nodded. “I’ve come for my baby girl.”
Another one. She stiffened, stepped back to close and lock the door, stopped. What if he truly was Goldie’s father? She looked at his eyes, saw nothing threatening and stepped outside and closed the door.
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