by Jo Noelle
Callum’s toe pushed against the floor, and the front legs of his chair lifted from the boards. “Oh, that wasn’t how we became acquainted. We met in a boxing match.” His smile erased years from his age, hinting at the feisty younger man he must have been.
Julianne’s face warmed with the surprise she felt. He father was also a huge man, but she couldn’t imagine the gentle person she knew pummeling another soul for sport.
The smile on Hugh’s face grew, and he asked, “There’s a story here. Care to share the tale?”
A faraway look came over Callum, and the front legs of his chair hit the floor. “After the potato crop failed in the Highlands in 1850, the same year I was born, the landlords began offering to help starving families resettle. I left Scotland and my family—or what was left of it—in 1861. My father had died the year before, my two brothers found work with shipping companies, two of my sisters were married, and another one was working as a seamstress. Millie, our baby sister, went with my mother to live with a cousin in Inverness. I was relocated to Canada before I made my way to America.”
Callum stretched out in his chair and settled back to tell more of his story. “Shortly thereafter, I met your father. We were both prospective candidates at the Princeton College in New Jersey when bare-fisted brawls were full of zeal but cloaked in secrecy. Those two traits seemed to bring out the devil in a man. Fights were illegal unless you met as an exhibition. I guess we were both eager to show our manly strength, so we stepped onto a theater stage and eyed each other over. It was a barbaric affair, and we imagined ourselves just the hooligans to become champions.”
Callum stared sightlessly toward the wall, but Julianne knew he was looking into his past. “It was brutal to step forward, toe up to the scratch line, and strike another man without cause, without conscience. When I started the evening, I thought only of fame, and if I won, a fatter purse.
“Your father and I, we both had the strength for it, but not the heart. I kept wondering what my sainted mother would think of me if she could see me like that—bare-chested and cut-lipped with another man’s blood on my fists. I knew she’d be ashamed.” Reverend Bing leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
He took a deep breath. “The fourth round, neither of us rose from our seats to come up to scratch. I sat on that milking stool with my back rounded and my shoulder sagging, considering my own shame. When I lifted my eyes up enough to see your father, he was shaking his head. I thought maybe he was thinking the same thing.
“It ended with a draw. We left the stage no richer, but bruised, bloody, and with more than a couple of broken fingers.”
Callum’s fingers flexed and relaxed as he continued, “The next day when I reported to the pastor for my apprenticeship, there sat your dad,” he said to Julianne. “Our pastoral training required us to work alongside each other in active duties of the ministry. Well, repentance was in order, confessions were made, and friendship was secured. We worked for months after that to love, serve, and shepherd the little flock we were given. You might say that boxing made me a preacher.”
Julianne could hardly imagine her father as a young man, rowdy and full of pride. The yellowed picture of her parents she’d brought with her, had been taken a year before she was born, already depicted the serious man she grew up knowing.
“Callum chose a ministry on the frontier,” Millie added to the story when her brother stopped. “And your pa took a position in Illinois. I never met your folks.” She laid her embroidery aside. “I suppose it’s time we let you get home, Mr. Fontaine.” And at that signal, the chairs were replaced, and Hugh walked to the door.
He pulled the handle and swung it open wide. “Thank you for the stew, ma’am.” Then he nodded to Reverend Bing. “And the company.” Finally, he gazed at Julianne. He paused there, the door open. He seemed reluctant to leave the little room, and Julianne wished he could stay.
Hugh stepped outside the door, but Julianne stopped within the frame. “Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked.
Excitement flashed across Hugh’s countenance, and his eyes sparkled. But just as quickly, his face darkened. “It’s Sunday.” He paused and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “I thought you’d be busy with your worship services.”
“I won’t be otherwise engaged if you attend with me.” There—if it hadn’t been stated outright, it was at least implied that she was interested in developing Hugh’s association. Honestly, her heart whispered, “And maybe a lifetime of companionship.”
Julianne realized that she was falling headlong into infatuation and admitted the thrill was delicious. What would it be like to kiss this man? With a will of its own, her body leaned toward him as she held the doorjamb.
When Hugh’s chin dipped, bringing his lips very near to hers, her whole body seemed to pulse with anticipation. Moonlight lit one side of his face, accentuating his strong jaw but leaving the other side in mysterious darkness.
Julianne’s free hand lifted to his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath. His head pressed toward her palm in response. Increasing waves of desire fluttered through her. His chest rose with each breath. His eyes closed as if to memorize the moment. His hand lightly rested on her waist. The press of each finger burned into her awareness.
Hugh smiled, but it was small and tight as he leaned away. Cold air rushed to flood the spot his hand left behind. Had she misjudged his kindness as fondness? Worried that she’d made a fool of herself, she pulled herself upright and took a deep breath.
Without looking at him, she said, “Thank you for your friendship, Mr. Fontaine. We’ll look forward to seeing you again.” Her voice sounded stronger than she felt.
He nodded and strode away without looking back.
She watched his back, though she couldn’t see him very clearly through her watery vision, and felt loneliness creep through her body and settle in. The clomp-clomp of his horse’s steps faded into the distance.
He was gone. She wiped her fingers across her eyelashes and dried them on her skirt. I needn’t be silly. He has only set my life back to rights. She straightened her back and shut the door. And I have a school to start.
Reverend Bing crossed the room and handed her a paper. “The day after you reached Bachelor, I went to see Arthur Jameson.”
“He’s the telegraph operator,” Millie added.
Callum continued, “I sent a telegram to your father to let him know you arrived safely. Arthur brought this reply today.”
Julianne held the folded paper and ran the crease between her fingers. Half of her wanted to see any words her parents would send. The other half dreaded knowing the way they might feel about how she had left. She felt unsure about their reaction, but never about their love. That gave her enough courage to open the page and read the single line. “Sick with worry. Lord guarded her path.”
Chapter 11
Hugh Fontaine
It wasn’t the sun shining in the clear Sunday sky that brought the sheen of sweat to Hugh’s brow. He slid out of the saddle and led his horse up the hill and into some trees to stand among the shadows. When he’d left his cabin that morning, he was confident about attending church. After all, he’d been invited. He recalled last night’s sweet goodbye with Julianne. She was opening her life and possibly her heart to him.
He watched as people walked through the doors. But courage abandoned him at the sight of the church house.
A dark figure sat on the steps, apparently unnoticed by the members entering. Hugh knew him, though. The cowpoke waved, beckoning Hugh to follow him. Instead of going into the church, the cowboy walked a ways down the road and veered off into the forest on the other side.
Hugh started to follow him, but at that moment, a large black horse came up the road. He would know that mount and rider anywhere—Little Archie. The man stopped a good hundred yards from the church and followed the same path the cowpoke took.
Curiosity overwhelmed Hugh, who followed Grady. From where he stood, Hugh had a glim
pse of him talking with a very tall, rough-looking man with shaggy brown hair and a carrot–red beard—a man Hugh knew as Dougal. He sold his brute strength around town to many merchants who needed intimidation to do a job. No secret meeting with that man could lead to any good.
Little Archie pulled a money pouch from his pocket. “Take her to the storage room.”
Dougal nodded. “We’ve got eight with this one. When do we move them?”
“In a day or two. I have a railroad car coming with the next train. Until then, keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.” Archibald handed the man the pouch of money before he turned away and the man hiked farther up the hill.
Hugh wondered if the man was buying mares or maybe heifers. Why all the secrecy? Seemed to Hugh that Little Archie was playing a wild card, but Hugh didn’t recognize the game. Although the old cowpoke was gone now, it was a sure bet he wanted Hugh to know about this. He even might have wanted Hugh to do something about it.
He lay low behind a boulder, wondering which man to follow. Then Archie returned to his horse and continued up the road. Hugh crept to the edge of the trees and saw him enter the church.
Figuring that since the church didn’t combust when Grady stepped in, Hugh followed at a distance. He ducked in and scooted onto the last bench. His gaze was immediately drawn to the back of Julianne’s head beside Millie’s. He looked across at her bench. It was full, as was the row behind her.
Her hair was woven into a bun at the base of her neck, and above that sat a whimsical yellow hat, decorated on one side with two black bird wings. When she turned to whisper to the small child at her other side, her profile took his breath away. He sternly reminded himself that he’d walked away last night for her benefit, not his own. Yet, here he sat.
Hugh then noticed Grady just a row behind her and off to the end, admiring her beauty too.
The congregation sang. The reverend prayed, and then he began to preach. If he noticed Hugh, he gave no particular attention to it. After he read Luke chapter nineteen, he said, “Maybe you’re a rich man in need of a savior. Or maybe you’re a sinner who is despised by many, but you try to be an honest man all the same.”
Hugh wondered if the reverend meant to get the attention of Archie and himself with the story of Zacchaeus. Sister Esther had always advised her students to think of themselves in the scripture stories. Hugh could well imagine himself in this one.
Callum continued his sermon. “Or maybe someday you’ll just find yourself stuck up in a tree.”
Julianne stiffened, bringing a smile to Hugh’s face. Reverend Bing winked at her, disguising it by scratching beside his eye.
A long pause followed the comment. Reverend Bing ducked his head as if he was studying the good word or waiting for the members to ponder their own state. Hugh thought the reverend might be pushing a grin from his face too. How did he know Hugh and Archie would be here? Maybe he was seizing the opportunity they presented when they all arrived that morning.
Finally, Reverend Bing resumed. “You will be in need of divine intervention. Whatever the case, we are all Zacchaeus. We must climb to higher ground in our lives and look for our Savior. Consider now—when Jesus asks to sup with you, will you invite Him into your home?”
Reverend Bing preached for a few more minutes, but Hugh pondered what he’d already heard—was the Lord welcome to be with him? He used to be. Hugh realized that he had become embittered by the rejection he felt so many years ago.
He asked himself if he could he be an honest saloonkeeper. He doubted that was even possible. Would God accept him even if he did change? Hugh wasn’t sure He would. There’s too much water under my bridge. When the congregation began to sing, Hugh slipped out the door without so much as a longing look toward Julianne.
The message of the reverend’s sermon clung to him. He felt as if his heart had been cut open and laid bare. When he looked inside it, he didn’t like what he saw. He could never show that to Julianne unless he changed.
I’d never be able to change enough.
The cowpoke was again sitting on the church steps, shuffling a deck of cards. “I reckon you’ve seen these a time or twenty,” he said, holding them up. He cut the deck and faced the card toward Hugh. “Ace of spades.” The old wrangler took that card and set it on the porch. “Thing about this card is that it can turn and point in a different direction. See that.” He turned it both ways. “This here shows the day of decision. Everybody has one, and yours is now. Your life is at a crossroads, Hugh. Are you gonna choose this way or that way?” The cowboy turned the ace to point first one way, then the other.
The deck of cards didn’t look like a regular one to Hugh. The art on the back was a dove surrounded by a sunburst—the Holy Spirit—the same artwork that adorned the ceiling of the nave in the Cathedral of St. Louis in the French Quarter of New Orleans. He knew that place—at least he used to.
How many times did I sit in mass with my attention on that mural with Jesus surrounded by his apostles and that sunburst above him? I imagined myself at the Savior’s feet—a believer, a disciple.
The cowboy reshuffled the rest of the deck on the steps. “This here game’s called life—you heard of it? I’ll turn over six more cards. You get to play your cards many times, but the game isn’t over until you meet your Maker. If you lose, you could lose your life, or someone you love. If you win, you just might get true happiness. You care about that?”
The cowhand shuffled the deck again. Hugh watched closely to spot a trick—none. “You ever wish you could see the cards before you placed a bet? Well, today you’re getting that chance.”
The cowpoke didn’t wait for an answer or maybe even notice that Hugh was nodding. He set the deck down and turned over the first card.
King of clubs. The king’s face was in Hugh’s own likeness. It showed him standing in front of an elegant-looking saloon in a fine silk coat and black felt hat.
This is my dream, what I’ve been saving for. He’d never been much of a believer in voodoo, but this card trick smacked of magic. He wondered if it might be best to leave, but he was stuck to the spot.
“You’ve never seen this exact deck. Guess you’ve noticed that this one is special.”
Hugh wondered what the rest of the deck looked like. The cowboy seemed to sense his questions and said, “Go ahead—turn the next one. You’re the only one who can.”
Curiosity burned in his chest and his hand trembled as he reached and turned over the card. Real as life, it was a picture of Julianne as she looked that day, wearing an emerald green dress and yellow hat on the queen of clubs. He quickly turned another card—the jack of clubs. The picture of a young man had Hugh’s brown hair and Julianne’s blue eyes. They could, or maybe would, have a son.
Hugh sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly through his nose. Julianne could be his bride. His heart clung to that thought.
The cowboy placed the cards next to the king. “Well, don’t stop now. There’s more to see. Flip that next card.”
When Hugh turned it over, it was the same picture of him as before, but this time on the king of hearts, standing beside this church, on this very spot, wearing the same coat and shirt he had on at that moment. A piece of hair had fallen into his eyes the same as the king’s face showed. Hugh touched that part on the card and then brushed the hair out of his own face. Quickly, he flipped two more—again, Julianne and the young man were on the cards.
The cowpoke moved the heart suite to the other side of the ace. “Now, see, here’s the dilemma,” he said, swinging his finger between the two sides. “A crossroads.”
As Hugh began studying the cards, the king of clubs walked into the saloon behind him. Suddenly a gunshot rang out. Hugh felt warm blood seeping though his shirt and between the fingers he had pressed to his abdomen. When he looked down, there was no blood, but a burning sensation began to radiate out from his gut.
The pictures of Julianne and the boy started to change too. Julianne was wearing a black dress
and crying. Then both of their faces became gaunt and their clothes worn and ragged. The boy, though Hugh thought he looked too young to work, was painted with the dirt and grime that the children who worked in the mines usually wore.
Panic rose in Hugh’s chest. He wanted to stop the cards from changing, to give Julianne back the spark of joy he so admired in her face, and to give the child a different future.
Hugh looked at the cowpoke, who just pointed to the other suite. This time when the painting of Hugh moved, he entered the church. The other two pictures aged, but didn’t show evidence of a hard life. He squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed with relief.
“Like I said, this is your time to choose. Both of them futures seem to be in your cards.”
Hugh stared at them for a long moment. He wasn’t a churchgoing man. God didn’t want men like him around. He sat down on the steps, his elbows on his knees and his palms pressed over his eyes.
“Which hand will play out?” Hugh’s question was met with silence. The old cowpoke and the cards were gone.
He walked back to the tree where he’d tethered his horse and took it by the reins. He began walking back down the hill to his place. Considering what he had just seen, it appeared that deck had been stacked against him. The only way—the sure bet—to ensure Julianne’s happiness was for him to stay out of her life.
Chapter 12
Julianne Parker
Julianne chose a broad-brimmed hat for that day’s outing since they’d be standing in the sun. The bright blue confection was adorned with velvet ribbons sewn to look like roses. Julianne knew it was a special day for Millie and dressed accordingly.
Truth be told, she was more than a little thrilled for a chance to meet Hugh. She reminded herself that even if she saw him, there would be no repeat of the hand holding or kissing she so much adored from their last meeting. She had spent some time considering the matter and couldn’t figure out how to repeat the event.
