Logan always liked Max’s plain way of speaking. “I don’t. Drew and I wholeheartedly approve and I know Noah will as well.”
“I’ll be taking her up to the cabin for some fishing after her birthday.”
Logan approved of that, too.
“How are you and the housekeeper getting along?”
“We’re not arguing every five minutes anymore, if that’s what you mean.”
Max turned his way and studied him silently.
“Yes?” Logan asked suspiciously.
“I hear the reverend spent some time with her at Feather’s party last night.”
“He did.”
“Good man, Reverend Dennis.”
Logan didn’t respond.
A ghost of a smile played across Max’s face. Logan didn’t respond to that either.
Chapter 18
Mariah was so pleased by the arrival of her crates, she could’ve kissed Mr. Rudd for his kindness in delivering them. “Thank you so much.”
The two wooden crates were nailed shut, so he’d brought in a pry bar to help with unsealing them. The first crate held clothing and, wrapped protectively in an old quilt, her beloved Singer sewing machine and its foot pedal. Having it in her possession again was like being reunited with an old friend. The two pieces would need to be put back together, but once that was achieved, she’d be able to begin Feather’s wardrobe and see about fulfilling the orders of some of the women she’d met at the party. She turned her happy face Logan’s way and he met it with a smile.
Also inside were two letters. She recognized Kaye’s handwriting on one, but the handwriting on the other wasn’t familiar. Deciding to read them later when she was alone, she stuck both into the pocket of her skirt.
“How about Max and I take these to your room?” Logan asked.
“That would be wonderful.”
They were just about to do so when the door pull sounded.
“Can you get that, please?” he asked her. “We’ll go ahead and take these to your room and be right back.”
She nodded and went to answer the door.
On the porch stood a portly gentleman wearing a very nice gray suit and matching hat. She assumed he’d arrived in the buggy parked near Mr. Rudd’s wagon, but she had no idea who he might be. “May I help you?”
“Ah, there she is,” he purred. “The woman of my dreams. How are you, Widow Cooper?”
Mariah was a bit taken aback by the surprising greeting. “Have we met, sir?”
“Yep. Last night at the Indian girl’s party. Name’s Silas Cook.”
She didn’t remember him, but she’d been introduced to a large number of people. “Please forgive me for not remembering you.”
“That’s okay. Can I come in and visit for a spell?”
“Certainly. Let me get Mr. Yates.”
“Didn’t come to visit with Logan. Came to visit with you.”
She stilled. “May I ask why?”
“Want to talk about you marrying me.”
She stared into the mischief in his eyes. “Um. Would you excuse me for just a moment? I think I hear Mr. Yates calling. Why don’t you take a seat on the porch. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Don’t keep me waiting long now, sugar.”
Sugar!
“I—won’t.”
Once assured that he was seated, she all but ran to the back of the house.
“Silas Cook?” she enquired of Logan and Mr. Rudd.
Logan spoke first, “What about him?”
“He’s on the front porch. Says he’s come to visit with me so he can talk about marriage.”
“You did say you were looking for a husband.”
Not the response she’d been expecting nor cared to hear. “Is he sane?”
Max chuckled. “Depends on who you ask and what day it is.”
Another disconcerting response. Logan looked entirely too amused for her liking.
“He’s not a bad sort,” Logan offered. “Cattleman. Has a nice spread a few miles from here.”
Max tossed in, “But he’s also got two of the worst-mannered boys in the state. They’re nine now. Mama died when they were babies. Silas’s last wife took off about a year ago.”
“Last wife? How many has he had?”
Max appeared to think a minute. “Let’s see. The boys have run off three, maybe four?” He looked to Logan as if seeking help with his memory.
“Three at least.”
“Oh my.”
“He’s pretty harmless,” Logan assured her. “So have a good time. Max and I are going to work on the bunkhouse. I’ll see you later.”
Her eyes widened.
Logan touched his hat, and a heartbeat later, he and Max exited via her back door.
She did not have a good time. One, Silas Cook kept referring to her as “sugar,” and two, when she told him she was flattered by his proposal but uninterested in becoming his next wife, he refused to take her seriously.
“Playing hard to get are you, sugar?”
She took in a calming breath and held onto her temper.
“I’m a pretty big bug around here, if you don’t know. Girl with nothing in her pockets like yourself could do a lot worse.”
She wasn’t sure if he was trying to insult her, or simply relaying his version of kind advice. “Thank you for the visit, Mr. Cook, but I need to return to my duties.”
He stood and picked up his hat. “Think about what I said, and I’ll stop by again in a couple of days. Maybe we’ll go into town and have a meal. I’ll bring the boys.”
Mariah closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, he gave her a wink.
He finally drove away. Hoping to never ever see him again, she left the porch and went back inside the house.
A second man arrived less than an hour later. He had nut brown skin and looked old enough to have died years ago. He, too, had on a nice suit but was standing with the aid of a cane.
“May I help you?” she asked, stepping out of the door and onto the porch.
“Morning. Are you the Widow Cooper?”
“I am.”
“Name’s Beattie McDowell.” He had the kindest eyes she’d ever seen.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. McDowell.”
“Same here. Please forgive me for speaking so frankly, but you are the prettiest little thing I’ve seen in many a year.”
“Why, thank you, sir. Would you care to take a seat?”
He chose one of the chairs and set his cane beside him. “Don’t want to take up much of your time, but whenever a new lady comes to town, I pay her a call. Haven’t gotten a one to say yes to marrying me for going on thirty-five years now, but I keep trying.”
She found him sweet. “I’m going to have to say, no, too, Mr. McDowell.”
“Figured you would.” But he didn’t appear angry or put out. “Being in your presence has been more than enough to make this old man’s day, lovely lady.”
They chatted for a short while longer about the weather and his work at the church. He looked pleased to hear she’d be attending come Sunday. “Reverend Dennis is a good preacher. Last one we had talked so long half the congregation stopped coming, and the other half used his sermons to catch up on their sleep.” He stood. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Cooper.”
“Same here.”
He gave her a departing nod and made his way back to his buggy. That time, she reentered the house wearing a smile.
Next to arrive was middle-aged widower Orville Rose. He came carrying a framed photo of his stern-faced deceased wife, Maebelle.
“She was the finest woman on the face of this green earth,” he explained. “Been gone eight years but she’ll always be first in my heart.”
That wasn’t something a potential wife wanted to hear, but Mariah didn’t say anything. She thought it best left to someone actually interested in succeeding Maebelle.
“Now, if we do get married, you have to understand it’s Maebelle’s house. I don’t want nothi
ng changed or replaced. Haven’t moved not even a doily since the day she passed away.”
“I’m very flattered by your offer, Mr. Rose, but I don’t think I’d be able to fill your Maebelle’s shoes.”
“Haven’t met a woman who can. Least you’re honest.” He stood. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Cooper. Give Logan my regards.”
“I will.”
Shaking her head, she went back inside.
Over at the bunkhouse, Logan and Max watched Orville ride away.
“What’s that now, three?” Max asked.
“Yep.”
“Who’s this riding up?”
Logan grinned. “Dex Sawyer.”
“Got that banjo of his on his saddle.”
Logan set his hammer aside. “This one I have to see.”
Mariah sighed at the sight of the tall, thin young man on the other side of the door. He was wearing an old suit that was a couple of sizes too large and he had a battered banjo in his hand.
“You, Mariah Cooper?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes.” She prayed this wasn’t another proposal but knew the prayer wouldn’t be answered.
“Name’s Dex Sawyer. Me and my folks raise pigs.”
Unfortunately, her nose already knew that.
“Can you step out here for a minute? Got a song for you.”
Mariah wondered if she were being punished for something. Putting on a pleasant face, she stepped outside just as Logan walked up.
“Hey Logan,” the young man said. “You’re just in time to hear my new song.”
“I’m all ears.”
The glint of humor in his eyes made Mariah want to box his ears, but she turned her attention back to the troubadour.
He strummed the banjo with more force than talent, and to the tune of “Oh! Susana” sang in a somewhat tuneless bass voice: “Oh! Mariah. Oh won’t you marry me?
I come here with my banjo so please say you’ll agree!”
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them he was still standing there looking as eager as before.
“So, what do you think?” he asked as if she might actually say yes.
Logan’s shoulders were rising and falling with silent laughter. She ignored him.
“I’m sorry, Dex, but my answer is no.”
“No! I spent all night working on that song.”
“I could tell, and I’m very flattered but I’m going to go lie down now. Thank you for visiting.”
“But it rhymes and everything!”
Mariah entered the house and didn’t look back.
When Logan followed her inside a few moments later, she warned, “If you say a word, I will find a hatchet and chop you into tiny little pieces and feed you to whatever will eat you.”
Chuckling, he came over and took a seat next to her on his battered old settee. He draped his arm casually across the back. “Interesting cast of characters you had over today.”
She shot him a look.
“Did Orville show you a picture of Maebelle?”
She massaged her temples in hopes of preventing the headache coming on. “Yes, and he told me should we marry I couldn’t change anything at all in Maebelle’s house. How he expects to find a new wife is beyond me.”
“Same question everybody asks.”
“And Mr. Banjo. Lord. And has the nerve to tell me he spent all night on that so-called song. How many more will I have to endure?”
“Probably until you pick one out.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes. “This would be comical were it happening to someone else.”
“I’m having a good time.”
She sent him another look.
“You wanted to find a husband.”
She pushed herself to her feet. “I do, but I prefer one not employed by the circus, although Mr. McDowell was rather nice.”
“As old as Beattie is, a wedding night would probably kill him, but he’d die happy.”
Mariah laughed in spite of her mood. “That’s an awful thing to say.”
“Still true, though.”
His words made her think about their night together. Because of the topsy-turvy day, she’d managed to put it out of her mind for the past few hours, but now, it was back along with all its vivid memories.
He asked quietly, “Did you get all your things put away?”
The tone of his voice and the way he studied her conspired to awaken the parts of herself that wanted to answer his silent call. “For the most part. The sewing machine is still unassembled but I can take care of that later?”
“Do you need assistance?”
She shook her head. “I spent many a night before going to bed repairing my mother’s machines. She didn’t believe in spending money, whether it was needed or not.”
A memory rose of something she hadn’t thought about in years, and with it came old pain. “One time I was so ill the doctor had to be called. He told her what type of medicine he had for me in his bag and she asked the price. When he quoted it, she said it was too expensive, then asked what would happen if I just went without. I remember him looking at her for a very long time and then over at me in the bed. He reached in his bag, gave her the medicine without asking for any money, and he left.”
“How old were you?”
“Seven. Eight.” The terrible thought that her mother might’ve actually wanted her to die made her so incredibly sad, tears stung her eyes.
“ ‘Riah,” he said emotionally, but she slowly raised her hand and replied softly, “It’s all right Logan. I’m here, she isn’t.”
His jaw throbbed visibly.
To ease his worry she walked over and kissed him gently. “I’m very thankful that Alanza brought me here.”
“Had I known, I’d’ve sent for you years ago.”
The tears she was holding back almost burst free. She ran a finger across his strong jaw. She was in love with a man she’d met less than seven days ago. Lord help me. “I’m going to finish emptying my crates.”
“Okay.”
Only when she was out of sight did she allow herself to cry.
Logan sat there a long time. He was torn between finding her mother and tying her down on an anthill in the desert, and whether to ask Mariah to marry him now or wait for a better time. He refused to live the rest of his life without her. That he, who’d eschewed marriage his entire adult life would suddenly find himself determined to marry a woman he’d known less than a week was as baffling as it was humbling. He refused to contemplate her being with another man because it wouldn’t come to be. She was his. Period. The reverend couldn’t have her, nor could Beattie McDowell, Silas Cook, or banjo-playing Dex Sawyer.
His decision made, he left the house and went to see if Max was still around.
He was. “Didn’t think you were coming back. She pick any of them?”
“No, because she’s picking me.”
Max chuckled. “Really?”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t know it yet.” Logan continued to contemplate the correct timing.
“I see.” Max peered at him for a moment before asking, “You okay? She didn’t knock you over the head with anything, did she?”
“No, but I am going to marry her. I’ll figure out the details on the way. And don’t tell Alanza. If you do, she’ll head straight for Mexico City and buy every christening gown she can find instead of going fishing with you.”
“Good point.” Max studied him again. “You’re real sure about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll help if you need any.”
“Thanks. How about we call it a day.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“I’m going to grab my fishing gear and go catch some dinner.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Max nodded and departed.
Logan got his fishing gear and headed to the river.
Once Mariah had everything put away, her still somber mood was lif
ted by a surprise she found inside a small wooden box tucked into the bottom of one of the second crates. Opening the box revealed dress pins, pairs of embroidery scissors, threads, thimbles, and a fancy pincushion made to be tied around her wrist. There was also a short note inside that read: To get you started. It was signed Aunt Libby. And below the signature she’d added, PS. I’ve also included two letters. One from Kaye and the other from a surprising source who wanted to send you good wishes.
Mariah wondered who that might be. She knew her mother’s handwriting, so the letter hadn’t been penned by her. She set Libby’s note aside for a moment to return to the contents of the box. She still needed things like buttons and frogs, and an assortment of hand needles for hemming and such, but she now felt closer to her goal of starting her own shop.
After placing the gift atop her dresser, she asked herself why Libby couldn’t’ve been her mother, but it was a silly question, so she didn’t dwell on it. Instead, she went outside to sit on the bench in her cleaned-up little courtyard to read the two letters. She was still curious about the one with the unfamiliar handwriting but saved it for last because she wanted to read Kaye’s first.
Dearest Mariah,
I know you’ve been gone only a few days but I’m already missing you terribly. I am determined that we will meet again. Carson continues to love me, so our wedding is still on. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for my gown. I know I thanked you incessantly before you left Philadelphia, but it seems I can’t stop. I’ll be a very beautiful bride because of you. I hope you are well and that California is even more than you hoped it would be. Please write me back as soon as you are able. I’m looking forward to reading about all you’re doing and seeing.
Your friend for life.
K.
Mariah set the letter in her lap and sighed. She missed Kaye dearly as well. Now that they were apart, their friendship seemed that much more precious. She made a mental note to buy stationery so she could write to Kaye as often as she wished.
She picked up the second letter. Opening it, she glanced down at the signature on the bottom and went still, seeing Tillman’s name. “What on earth is he doing, writing to me?” she wondered aloud.
Dearest Mariah,
I hope this letter finds you well. I had no idea you’d left Philadelphia until after you were gone. In talking with your mother she expressed her worry that you were lured away by nefarious sources. Her concern has affected her business and my mother worries that the gown she’s chosen for my wedding will not be ready if your mother doesn’t find peace. So to ensure that all goes well for everyone involved I have agreed to accompany your mother to California so we can bring you back to Philadelphia where you rightfully belong.
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