Bright Morning Star

by J. R. Biery

  “I want to introduce you to the Dutch couple who run this store. Ida and her husband gave us shelter when Phillip was attacked and wounded here in town. They are dear friends of ours. Phillip and the rest will join us here later.”

  As they entered the store, Claire was amazed at its size. She remembered the little store they had visited in Independence. When the store owner came out and bought a third of Henry’s inventory to stop them selling on the street in front of the store, they had helped deliver the goods to him, entering from the back of the store. She remembered it was just one story, and had only about half as much floor space. The couple and their three children had lived at the back of the store in a single room.

  Lynne left the newlyweds to look around while she walked to the back of the store calling to her friends.

  Henry sniffed and Claire inhaled, then sneezed from all the dust on the open shelves. As they walked around the store, Claire was amazed at the variety and quantity of the stock. She stared up at the open area above them, surrounded by a rail. When she found the grocery area, she found the source of the smell. In a bin, there were some rotten potatoes. Henry looked at her and shook his head.

  Claire tsked at him, but lifted the pan from the scale and carefully added the squishy potatoes and from the next barrel, a wrinkled apple. She found and removed a pair of sprouting onions, then handed the pan of rotten food to him. Henry raised an eyebrow, but took the gross stuff and found the back door. When he came back, with the empty pan, he wasn’t surprised to see his new bride with a large smock over her best dress and a broom in hand. He put the empty pan back on the scale, then took the broom from her, making a little face.

  Claire gave him a radiant smile and Henry removed his coat and hung it on the high stool behind the counter. As soon as he started sweeping, a cloud of dust motes floated above her. As though she had been placed in charge, Claire walked to the front of the store and opened the front door, propping it open with a nail keg near the front. She located a used feather duster and proceeded to dust the shelves all the way to the back, where she repeated propping open the back door with an oversized can of beans.

  While Henry pushed the dirt to the back of the room, Claire stood at the front of the store, staring at the filthy windows. When she worked at Henry’s shop in Boston, she had wished they had store windows so they could display his wonderful clothes to entice people into the store. She stood on the porch step, hand on hip just staring at the elaborate gold lettered store name that hid all that was inside.

  Immediately Claire visualized reorganizing the entire store. Instead of randomly putting supplies on shelves, and in rows of bins, she would have a clothing store on the left side of the window with dresses and men’s wear displayed on either dressmaker dummies or wire cage displays like they had used in Henry’s store. On the right, she would have groceries, with the fresh produce displayed in crates on the street, calling to weary travelers to come in and restock their supplies.

  Claire raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and stared at the store across the street. As Henry joined her, she described what she thought the Vandemeres needed to do to compete with the shop across the way. He stared at the little blonde, tilted her head back to stare in her amazing eyes and wiped a spot of dust from her nose.

  “I’ll stay down here. You’d better go upstairs and see what Lynne is doing. The others will be coming by for us in minutes.”

  Claire saw the way Henry was staring at her mouth. She was burning up in the oversized smock and her thin wool dress. Her combed and neat bun was frizzing into little curls. She was tempted to see if she stood on tiptoe if he would kiss her right on the street.

  “Go on, hurry,” he ordered and she handed him the feather duster and scooted past him.

  <><><>

  At the top of the stairs, Claire took a deep breath, and removed the dusty smock. There were four doors off the gallery, one in each direction. She couldn’t help but stare up at the skylight. Such an unusual feature, especially in this wilderness. Finally, she noticed there was only a path to one door, the one straight ahead and she walked up and knocked softly.

  She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath, but Lynne opened the door and came out to stand beside her. “Mother and Father will be here soon. Henry and I straightened up and dusted downstairs. Did you find your friends? What’s going on here?”

  Lynne grabbed both of Claire’s hands and moved so they were behind the railing in the shadows. “Ida’s husband tried to kill himself.”

  “Oh, Lynne, how horrible. Is he all right? I thought you said they were good friends of yours.”

  “Yes, they are. I think he will be all right. The doctor has given him some Laudanum to dull the pain. Ida is staying beside him to tend him and to prevent him making another attempt. Claire, where is Henry?”

  Claire pointed downstairs and Lynne and she listened as Henry talked to and finally filled a cowboy’s order. He appeared half-way up the stairs. “Claire, are you ready? I can see the oxen and wagon coming down the street.”

  Claire started down after him and Lynne followed. “Wait, please, I want to talk to both of you.”

  Claire stopped when she reached Henry. Calmly, he reached up to smooth back some of her curls. Lynne stared at the newlyweds and began.

  “I have no right to ask this of you. I was telling Claire how Ida’s husband is in bed, with a broken arm and leg.”

  “How did he…” Henry began.

  “He tried to kill himself, although Ida claims he fell down the stairs by accident.”

  “Woah,” they all recognized Phillip’s voice and hurried out onto the boardwalk. He had stopped the buggy, which was being driven by Mother and Mary Anne. Behind them was the covered wagon that had been home to them all this long trip. Now there was only one wagon and Claire could see that Henry’s boxes and belongings had been piled into the wagon, covering the familiar mattresses that had been their beds.

  Phillip rode up to the porch and stared at his beautiful wife, noted the serious pose and the way she was clutching at Claire’s hand.

  “It’s the Vandemeres. Henrique,” she shook her head, unable to continue for a minute. Phillip dismounted and tied his horse and then put the brake on the buggy and told everyone to dismount.

  “Go get a piece of candy kids, then come back out and watch the wagon and buggy while we talk.”

  He flipped a penny at each one, and they left, looking around until Claire pointed the way to the candy on the counter at the back of the store.

  “What is it darling,” Mother complained.

  <><><>

  The adults had huddled for thirty minutes before Ida Vandemere came down the stairs. “He is sleeping. Lynne, she is as pretty as you said. You are the handsome businessman she married?”

  Claire immediately smiled, liking the tall, haggard woman. Henry nodded, “We’re Henry and Claire Lambton.”

  “Henry,” the woman gasped and looked like she would fall. Phillip reached out and wheeled a lidded keg over for her to plop down onto.

  “Her husband is Henrique, or Henry too,” Phillip said.

  Claire pulled at Henry’s arm and he felt the same chill. He moved his arm around her back to pull her closer.

  Robert looked out at the children, who were arguing about who had bought the most candy for their penny as they climbed up and down on the wagon, buggy, and even the backs of the patient oxen. “We’re losing daylight. You said it would take at least four hours to reach your place, maybe more with the oxen.”

  “Will you do it? Will you stay and help me run the store until Henry, until Henrique is better? I do not know you, ja, but you look like good people. I can give you room and board. I will divide the profit from all sells.”

  “We have a lot of items still to sell from my Boston store,” Henry said.

  “Ja,” she said to the serious young man. “Sell them, keep all your profit. I vish I could pay you, but splitting the profit on our stock is
the best I can do.”

  “So you’re staying,” Robert asked, surprised that Henry was considering it. “We had hoped Claire and you would settle next to us.” He sounded so hurt, Claire moved from Henry into her Father’s arms.

  “I want to stay. I have a lot of ideas for the store, if Mrs. Vandemere will allow us to run things our way, then I would like to stay.”

  “What is your way?”

  “Well, I would clean the windows and in one display the clothing. Move the groceries to the front and display them in the other window and on the street. The rest, I think we could organize into departments, so it would be easier for your customers to find things and for the clerk to wait on them more efficiently.”

  Henry stared at Claire as though she had grown a new head. “You want to stay?”

  Mrs. Vandemere was finding her feet, her hands on her hips. “You can’t just come into our business and take over running things.”

  Claire shook her head. “Then I’m sorry, Ida, but we can’t stay. There is no way to make money with everything such a mess. You’ve heard my Father, he would rather we stay together.”

  “Ja, ja,” the woman looked around frantically. “Everything is going to hell after the Morrison’s built that damn place across the street. The miners are moving on. Too many thieves and killing Indians. Not enough business anymore, not for two stores here in Butte.”

  She turned to storm away from the travelers. “Stay, go, I have to see to my Henry,” she stopped halfway up the stairs. “You look like an angel, but you are a damn, hard businesswoman, ja?”

  “Ja,” Claire said with a smile.

  <><><>

  Claire washed the last of the dust from the second large window. Her back ached and her arms were sore. She hated to think what the strong vinegar was doing to her hands. Phillip hadn’t spoken to her. He had spent the hot afternoon carrying things up to their new bedroom, or setting them aside to display in the store while Claire finished cleaning up. At least Father, Phillip, and the boys had made quick work of unloading and moving all the belongings inside the store.

  If Father hadn’t been in such a rush to reach the Gant homestead before nightfall, Claire could have tried to explain again why she thought staying was the right thing.

  But how did you convince so many angry people that you were doing the right thing when you couldn’t convince the man who was supposed to love you? Married one day, and already Henry was probably regretting his decision.

  The positive thing about the day was how busy they had been. Maybe it was seeing a pretty girl working in the store window, more likely just small town curiosity. But everyone seemed to have to stop by the Vandemeres to buy something. Henry waited on most. But Claire climbed out of the window a couple of times to greet and help the women with their shopping.

  She had forgotten how much she enjoyed being a clerk. Every time she made a sale, she felt like she had won a game of checkers or dominoes. If Henry were honest, he was happier talking to customers, helping them with their purchases. At least, more than he had been since leaving Boston. Was he really excited about building a house near the Gants and becoming a rancher? Claire shook her head.

  She knew she had made the right decision. Fate had taken a hand and set them down here for a reason. It wasn’t just to care for the sad couple upstairs. Henry was a businessman, just like Lynne had described him. She knew if anyone could run this store at a profit, it would be her husband.

  Claire tried to straighten up, arching her back to relax the muscles. When she thought of all the tearful farewells, she wanted to cry again. She had never been apart from her parents. Then saying goodbye to her friend, when she had only reunited with Lynne made her gasp. And then there were the children. She had known they would all return to live with their sister, but she hadn’t realized how quiet it would be without Tom and Jim arguing or Mary Anne singing or telling her some fanciful tale from her books.

  Henry came down the stairs, turning at the waist to stretch his back and shoulders. He pulled his left arm across, putting pressure on his shoulder until he felt the tightness give. He repeated it with the other arm. He paused, wondering despite himself where the other Henry had landed in his attempted plummet to death. He could understand how a man could be driven to such desperation. A man who had traveled around the world so far into the unknown, built this wonderful building, and then seen all his work and dreams vanish.

  Henry stood still, watching Claire try to stretch out her aches as well. In the fading light, she was split, one side still illuminated by the evening sun, the other half black in shadow. His little virgin bride. She had worked like a slave all day, stopping only to cry or to wait on a customer.

  Had he thought her fragile and helpless? He had been wrong on every count. At least no one had called her silly goose today.

  Henry walked past her and moved the barrel back inside before closing and locking the front door. He wondered how long she would let him continue his charade of being angry.

  As he closed and locked the back door, he turned to see her standing face to face with him. Toe to toe, she was a head shorter than him, even with the little heeled shoes and tallest mountain of blonde hair.

  “Henry, I’m sorry,” but she didn’t get to finish since he had her in his arms, close against him, kissing her apology away. When he finished, she hung limply in his arms.

  “God, you irritating woman. I wish I still had enough strength to carry you upstairs and show you what I think of taking orders from a woman. But I can’t, I’m exhausted and utterly famished.”

  They dined on cheese from the big wedge under glass, crackers from the barrel, and wine from a big brown bottle. It was red and had a wonderful fruity taste. Ignoring her smelly hands, Claire cut another wedge for each of them, then took an apple out to polish and slice.

  “I don’t think I can sleep without a bath. Smell me,” she held out her hand and Henry pretended to bite it. “Nope, not really a pickle, but I think I want one. You?”

  Claire giggled. “Just a bite, maybe.”

  “There’s a pump in the kitchen. I’ll bring up a bucket. Don’t think I have the strength to go get the pitcher, fill it, and carry it back up. Did you notice where they had the buckets?”

  “In the middle, on the left side of the store, but you better take a candle or lamp to see. There’s a lot of stuff in boxes along every aisle.”

  Henry left, and she heard him bang into at least one crate before returning with a large new bucket.

  She listened to him filling the bucket with water. Remembering the couple upstairs, she found a plate and loaded it with cheese, crackers, another sliced apple. She waited until he returned and held to his shirt as she followed him back up the stairs.

  Claire stopped and knocked on the door, waiting again. When Ida opened it, Claire looked inside and sighed. Someone needed to empty the slop bucket. But for now, she settled for passing the tired woman the plate of food, then handed her the half bottle of red wine.

  “I will try to cook something tomorrow. But this is what we ate for supper. Do you need me to keep a tally of the things we use?”

  “Na, this gude. Goodnight hard angel.”

  Claire managed a crooked smile and backed out as the woman closed the door.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Claire woke to see Henry staring at her again. When he leaned down to kiss her he groaned and fell back. Claire started to roll over to kiss him and heard herself groan as well. Lying side by side, they both smiled. Henry lifted her hand in his and kissed it. “Maybe today will be easier.”

  She could tell from Henry’s expression he didn’t believe it either. Claire forced herself to roll out of bed. She quickly pulled on the brown dress she had worn to cross the plains. Somehow, this morning, she was only sure it wouldn’t show the dirt as easily. While she sent Henry down to find the stove and get a fire started, she faced the unpleasant task of assisting Ida to clean and air out the room. At least she was used to waking
before the sun.

  As repulsive as the task was, she quickly took care of the worst chore, then returned to open the curtains and window and help Ida in moving her husband into a more comfortable position. While she worked, she shared Bonnie’s travails and how the hardest part came in overcoming the addiction to the doctor’s prescription. Leaving the woman deep in thought, she descended to the kitchen. If he had a difficult time of lighting the stove, Henry didn’t complain and for that she stopped and kissed him.

  The impulsive gesture brought a smile to his face. Like her, moving about had helped to ease his stiffness. This time when he took her into his arms, the moan was in pleasure. Claire washed up at the kitchen pump, delighted to see the little store had been outfitted with the latest conveniences. It had a deep, white porcelain wash sink with indoor water and a wide white wood-burning stove. The stove had three eyes and a warming plate for the kettle. Henry explained what he had figured out about the stove. Soon she had coffee on, oats boiling, and bacon frying.

  “Well, the one thing I can say about living in a store. One doesn’t have to go far to find anything.”

  Unlike the rest of the store, the only light in the kitchen came from a small window over the sink. They sat at the tiny table across from each other and Henry smiled. “This feels like the beginning of our new life, doesn’t it.”

  Claire stared into his eyes and wished the table wasn’t between them so she could kiss him again. Instead, she blushed with pleasure as he reached across to take her hand as she reached for his. “I never knew you were so romantic, Henry.”

  “There’s a lot we still need to learn about each other.” They were both startled when a cobweb covered bell over the sink rang.

  This time it was Henry who took the tray up to the sick room while Claire cleared up. She was just washing the last dish when he brought down a tray with dirty ones from upstairs. He started to apologize, but realized she was singing as she sat the whole mess into the sink, tray and all. “Look at this. It’s such a pleasure, the sink is at waist height, no bending or trying to wet them with a small amount of water. And it’s so deep. Look at all the suds. Feel.” She grabbed and plunged his fingers beneath the water.