“Go, dear.” Mrs. Walters lifted Jemimah’s hand in hers, helping the baby wave goodbye.
With a resigned sigh, Kezia stepped outside. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the fresh air. She could smell wood smoke and a hint of pine.
With no destination in mind, she wandered along the main street of town. She saw the sheriff speaking to someone in front of his office while the smells of food cooking wafted from the restaurant across the street. She’d met Nacho Villanueva, owner of the restaurant, the previous day. He seemed to be a likeable fellow, even if the smell of his cooking made her question his choice of recipes.
She stopped to look in the window of the dry goods store. The business appeared to have a good selection of merchandise, as Culver had mentioned. Not interested in browsing at things she couldn’t afford to buy, Kezia continued meandering down the street.
Worry pricked at her over leaving Jemimah with Mrs. Walters. Agatha was around and the baby was familiar with her and some of the other brides, but anxiety clenched her stomach. What if Jemimah started crying and wanted her mother. What if they couldn’t find the spare diapers? Or if Jem was hungry, what would they do then?
Kezia turned around to run back to La Maison then stopped. Mrs. Walters was right. She did need some time alone to sort out her tumultuous thoughts.
After curtly dismissing Culver the previous evening, she supposed he wouldn’t have a thing to do with her now, even if she wanted him to.
As she stood across the street from the blacksmith shop and livery while the sounds from the mine drummed in the distance, she wondered what Culver would do if she strode inside. How would he react if she took his face between her hands, and kissed him until they both lost the ability to think with even a drop of sense.
Stunned by her preposterous thoughts, she spun around and marched back in the direction she’d come.
She almost scurried inside the brothel to check on her daughter. Instead of giving in to the urge to rush to Jemimah, she kept walking.
Her feet carried her past Chinatown and the Chinese laundry near the river. She walked across the bridge spanning the frigid water and made her way off the road. She found an old log resting on its side and used the hem of her cloak to brush away the snow.
Kezia sat down and let the stillness envelop her. Closing her eyes, she replayed every moment she’d spent with Culver since her arrival on Christmas Eve.
When she’d agreed to wed the man chosen for her, Kezia had no expectations. Love was for starry-eyed girls who’d been raised in a good home by caring parents. It wasn’t something a wandering waif could ever expect to know.
All she’d hoped for from this arranged union was a place for Jemimah to grow up — a place where her daughter would be safe with a warm roof over her head and plenty of food to eat, and a man who would never raise a hand to her.
Although her distrust and general dislike of men made her cautious, instinctively she knew Culver would never harm her or her daughter.
In spite of his initial foible at meeting Jem, he’d more than made up for it the rest of the day. She smiled, recalling how she’d spied on Culver as he showed Jem the turtledoves and made animal sounds to her before they ate supper. The gentle way he interacted with her daughter had touched her soul and threatened to obliterate the wall she’d erected around her heart years ago.
Culver Daniels was a good man — a solid, dependable man. He was someone who’d always do what was right, no matter the personal cost to him. And she admired him for it.
He might not be debonair and dashing, but he was handsome in a rugged, untamed way. His smile warmed her clear to her heart while that little cleft in his square chin intrigued her. Multiple times the previous day she’d wanted to run her fingers through his thick hair, to graze her hands over the solid muscles of arms and chest.
The attraction she felt to Culver wasn’t just on the surface, though. She liked the easy, quiet way about him. He wasn’t the type of man who felt the need to boldly announce his presence or spread his charm around as thick as honey on a hot biscuit.
Culver didn’t lack confidence, by any means, but there was a humbleness about him that made him infinitely more appealing to her than any other man she’d known.
What would it be like to be loved by him? Kezia was still waiting to find out what it would be like to be loved by anyone, other than Jemimah. Love wasn’t what she saw when men looked at her. Desire or derision was the most common emotion she witnessed, but never love or kindness.
Yet, when Culver looked at her with those gorgeous green eyes, she’d seen interest, humor, intelligence, and gentleness.
From the time she was twelve, Kezia had drawn the attention of men, even when it was unwanted and unwarranted. She’d learned to keep them at arm’s length, smiling and flirting, while her father picked their pockets or robbed them blind. Then her father had sold her to Bavel. She’d known from the moment she’d met his dark, cold gaze that he would make life with her father seem pleasant compared to what awaited her. In the nine years they were married, he treated her like a slave, there to serve his every whim. As his wife, she had no choice but to obey him or receive a beating.
What a blessing it had been that her sweet little Jemimah never had to spend a single second in the presence of the insufferable, evil fiend.
How could Kezia marry Culver, an honest, upright man, knowing what her past had been? Glibly, she’d told him she’d left her past behind her, but a part of her would always be haunted by her childhood and years with Bavel.
As she turned her face up to the sky, she thought of all those amazing pieces of artwork Culver had created that gathered dust and cobwebs up in the loft of the livery. She wished he could see his creations as she did, as things of unbelievable beauty and value.
The stupid men in town who’d made fun of his talent ought to be smacked upside the head. Repeatedly.
She hoped Culver would send his pieces to Denver and sell them, not for the money they’d bring, but for the validation he would receive of his creative abilities. Whether he admitted it or not, he was an artist.
If more people came to Noelle, would he still hide his spectacular creations?
Kezia gazed back across the river at the town. Did it hold promise? Could it truly become a wonderful place to raise a family? Was she willing to stick around and do her best to help shape the future of Noelle?
She closed her eyes again and sent up a prayer for direction, to know what choice to make that would be best for them all, but especially for Jemimah.
Would she find another man who was so good with her little girl? Jem had adored Culver from the first moment he held her. Kezia shared the baby’s feelings for the blacksmith.
If Kezia cared to admit the truth, she’d already done the thing she’d vowed never to do and fallen in love. Even in such a short time, she knew her feelings for Culver were true — real, and lasting. Culver was everything she’d ever dreamed of finding in a husband. Should he ever decide to take her in his arms, she wouldn’t be able to muster an ounce of resistance.
Why, then, was she so eager to run from him? Kezia Mirga was no coward.
Quickly rising, she felt the steel of her resolve straighten her spine. Before she made plans to return to Denver she wanted to know exactly how Culver felt about her. If he had no interest in her at all, she’d leave and never look back.
But if she gazed into his eyes and saw what she hoped she’d find there, then Culver Daniels better get used to the idea of having an unconventional wife. Maybe she didn’t deserve him, maybe they were nothing alike and never would be, but she loved him and that was more than enough to propel her feet forward.
Kezia jogged back across the bridge, determined to speak from her heart to the man she loved.
Culver tried to sleep after leaving Kezia at the cathouse, but he did nothing more than toss and turn. At half past midnight, when his bed coverings were in a heap on the floor, he finally gave up on getting any rest. He
rose, lit a lantern, plopped down at the table, and ate another piece of pie.
Did a woman bake a pie for a man she’d barely met, knowing it was his favorite, just to be kind? Was there something else behind the gesture? Had she cared for him, even a smidgen? Or was it all just an act to snag a husband?
Tormented by his thoughts, Culver dressed in a worn pair of denims and a threadbare shirt, rolled the sleeves above his elbows, and then headed into the blacksmith shop. He needed something to work on, a project that allowed him to pound out his frustrations.
As he stoked the fire and heated a piece of metal, he mulled over the previous day. When he was with Kezia, all he could think about was how much he wanted to marry her, to claim her as his own.
It wasn’t until they were apart the doubts and fears crept in, making him question whether he could spend a lifetime with a free-spirited woman who would never conform to his ideal of what a wife should be.
Then again, if she fit the mold he’d created in his mind, would he want her? Half of the reason he was so fascinated with her was because she was opposite of everything he’d ever anticipated finding in a woman, if he lost his sense and took a wife.
The vision of her twirling on the rope in the livery was something he’d never get out of his head if he lived to be a hundred. She was like a mythical, mysterious being who’d breezed into his life, bringing vibrancy and excitement to his ordinary, ordered world.
When he’d agreed to marry a woman for the good of the town, Culver had resigned himself to the fact the woman would probably be a little long in the tooth with annoying or strange habits that had left her unfit to wed.
The last thing he’d expected was to look across the saloon and immediately fall for the enchanting gypsy woman.
Kezia Mirga was ten times more beautiful than he’d dared imagine. Tall and graceful, she carried herself like a queen, but he knew she saw herself as a peasant.
Culver wished he’d met her years ago, before her husband had tried to break her spirit and before the war had damaged his. They both had endured hardships and trials, pain and horrors.
In spite of it all, Kezia had such an easy smile with a warm, friendly manner that drew people in. No wonder the men at the saloon kept staring at her. Thoughts of them ogling her, though, made Culver clench the heavy hammer in his hand and beat the piece of white-hot metal with more force than necessary.
As he worked, he found himself humming the tune she sang yesterday. Realization of just how thoroughly she’d overtaken his every thought made him irritated and out of sorts.
So he worked.
For the remainder of the night, Culver filled an order for a knife and repaired two wagon wheels. When that wasn’t enough to keep his hands and mind busy, he fashioned a set of sleigh bells on a long leather strap.
By the time he finished, sweat dripped down his face. The first fingers of dawn stretched across the sky in shades of pink and gold, bringing hope in the new day.
He wiped his brow on the shoulder of his shirt then went into the livery. With quick, efficient movements, he milked the cow then fed the horses and the cat.
After straining the milk and rinsing the bucket, he washed his laundry and hung it up to dry in the walkway between his two businesses. He tidied his rooms, remade his bed with clean sheets, ate another piece of pie, and decided to head back into his blacksmith shop to work.
Yet, before he could stoke the fire, he found himself setting water to heat for a bath. He bathed and shaved, all the while arguing against the little voice urging him to go see Kezia, to talk her out of leaving. To give her a reason to stay.
Once he was dressed and had hauled the bath water outside, he grabbed his coat and hat. He forced himself to go to the saloon. Maybe someone there could talk some sense into him.
The excitement of the preacher’s unexpected marriage to the mayor’s intended bride the previous evening seemed to be the preferred topic of conversation. Culver was glad Reverend Hammond had found a bride, someone he appeared to love, who loved him in return. They made a striking couple and he hoped they’d have many happy years together.
In no mood to talk about weddings when his bride planned to skedaddle out of town as quickly as arrangements could be made, Culver strode over to the bar.
“Mornin’, Culver. What can I get you?” Seamus asked, giving him an odd look since the times he’d ordered a drink could be counted on one hand with several fingers left over.
“You have any coffee?” he asked, leaning on the bar.
Seamus nodded and poured a mug full of the steaming brew. He slid it in front of Culver with a curious look. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve got a heapin’ helpin’ of woman trouble vexin’ you this day.”
Culver sipped the coffee and slowly nodded his head. “I guess you could say that.”
“What’s troublin’ you?” Seamus polished a glass as he waited for Culver to speak.
“My bride decided she doesn’t want to stay here and is planning to return to Denver.” Culver took another drink of the coffee. It was strong and stout, but he didn’t taste anything except defeat. Even if Kezia hadn’t tangled his heart up in knots, her leaving meant they wouldn’t meet the requirements set forth by the railroad and their efforts to save Noelle would fail. How could he possibly find a replacement wife in such a short amount of time? More importantly, how could he marry anyone else when he wanted Kezia?
Seamus stopped polishing the glass and set it down on the bar. “Did she say why she won’t stay?”
“It seems she didn’t appreciate the men staring at her last night or glaring at the baby.”
“Baby?” Seamus’ voice raised in volume. “What baby? She has a wee one?”
“Didn’t you see her holding baby Jemimah last night after Reverend Hammond’s wedding?”
Seamus shook his head. “No, I missed it in the ruckus. And what men were gapin’ at her?”
“Some of those dunces from the mine.” Culver rubbed a hand across the back of his neck then grinned at Seamus. “I bet if you or I put on a skirt and bonnet, we’d get the same reaction out of them.”
Seamus hooted with laughter and thumped the bar with his hand. “Now, that’s a sight I’d like to see, you in a pink frilly dress with a white bonnet and a parasol. Why, I’d pay dearly for that, but you’re right. Those idiots don’t have the sense God put into the head of Miss Molly’s goose.”
“So you heard about the goose?” Culver took another swig of coffee, wondering what prompted the woman to drag along a goose. He’d leave sorting out the answer to that question to Storm Thornton, her intended.
“Who hasn’t heard about the goose?” Seamus smirked. “However, I’m wonderin’ how a baby remained a secret. Is the little one marred or some such thing that would cause her mother to keep her hidden?”
“No, not at all,” Culver said, leaning both arms on the bar with a wistful expression on his face. “She’s a pretty little thing, looks just like her mama. And she’s good tempered, too. Laughs all the time and smells like a bit of heaven.”
Seamus chuckled and picked up another glass. “You are in it deep, Culver, and twice as bad as most men because it’s as plain as the nose on me face that you not only have feelings for the mother, but care for the daughter as well.”
“Maybe I do,” Culver grudgingly admitted.
“Then why, by all that’s holy, are you sittin’ here at the bar like a lovesick fool, when you’ve a woman to convince she needs to stay in Noelle?”
“That’s a good question,” Culver said, slapping a coin on the shiny surface of the bar and rising to his feet. “One I intend to answer.”
“Go get her, Culver. Surely a man such as you will have no trouble convincing one lovely young woman it’s best to stay in town as your bride.” Seamus guffawed as Culver rushed out the door.
Culver raced down the street, barely acknowledging the men he knew or the women walking alongside a few of them.
His sole focus
was on reaching Kezia. At the bordello, he knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer it. Impatient to see his bride, he raised his hand to knock again when the door swung open and one of the brides gave him a surprised look.
Quickly sweeping off his hat, he gave her what he hoped was an amicable smile. “May I please see Miss Kezia?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Daniels, but she went for a walk. She should return soon if you’d like to wait for her,” the woman said, opening the door wider so he could enter.
The sound of a baby crying drew him inside. “What’s going on?” he asked, striding down the hall.
“Jemimah has been out of sorts since Kezia left for a walk. Mrs. Walters insisted she go, but Jem has been crying for her for what seems like forever.”
Culver stepped into the parlor and took in the flustered women trying to console the distraught child. Without saying a word, he lifted the baby and cradled her against his chest.
Jem looked up at his face and sighed contentedly. “Da, da, da,” she whimpered, rubbing her teary face against his coat as she nestled into his arms.
Culver kissed the top of her head and patted her back. “What’s wrong, little one?”
“Ma, ma, ma, ma,” Jemimah said, followed by a bunch of gibberish he couldn’t hope to understand.
He continued patting her back. “How about we go look at the cow, and Cat, and the horses? Would you like that, Jem?”
The baby grinned at him and he brushed away the tears lingering on her soft little cheeks. He turned and noticed the women in the room staring at him. “Could I get her blanket, please?”
“Here, Mr. Daniels,” one of the women said, handing him a familiar looking blanket from beside a chair.
Awkwardly, but with a great deal of care, he wrapped Jemimah in the blanket then unfastened his coat, tucking it around her. “Let’s go, Jem.”
He walked down the hall, followed by the three women. After he opened the door, he glanced back at them. “Please let Kezia know she can find Jemimah at my shop.”
“Yes, Mr. Daniels.”
Anxious to get Jemimah out of the nippy air, he kept a fast pace to his place. Once they were inside, he hung his hat and coat by the door then carried the baby into the livery. She giggled and cooed at the horses. When Culver showed her the cow, she waved her hands excitedly in the air.
The Dove: The Second Day (The 12 Days 0f Christmas Mail-Order Brides Book 2) Page 9
