Colorado Courtship

by Cheryl St. John

  “Has she passed on?”

  Her brother had used the same phrase. “Yes.”

  “My mother passed on when I was a baby. And I was only two when my father died.”

  “You were still just a baby,” Violet said. “Your brother raised you?”

  She nodded. “We had Mrs. Gable to take care of us until a few months ago. Her sister got sick, and she went to take care of her family.”

  “Was this her room?”

  “No, she stayed downstairs. Ben Charles said this room hasn’t been used much at all. He painted the ceiling and had the wallpaper replaced.”

  Violet took out several books and a few framed pictures she’d wrapped in clothing.

  “Are those of your family?”

  “I don’t have any likenesses of my parents. These are pictures of horses I saved from magazines. I’d like to hang them on the wall if you don’t think your brother would mind.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t.” Once Violet had set down the frames, Tessa looked at the pictures. “You’re fond of horses?”

  Violet nodded. “They’re incredible animals.”

  “There are several in the stable.” Tessa stepped to the window. “There are two in the corral now.”

  Violet joined her and held back the curtain to gaze out at the horses. “Both are black.”

  “They’re all black. Ben Charles says they look smart pulling the hearse.”

  Violet let go of the curtain.

  “Surely after your trip you’re ready for a bath. I’ll go check on the hot water and fill the tub,” Tessa said.

  * * *

  The best part of her bath was warming her feet. Violet could have stayed in the tub the rest of the day, but the water cooled and she finished bathing. Less than an hour later she let her hair dry by the fire before dressing and making her way to the kitchen. She carried her stack of white aprons, in hopes of finding a convenient place to store them.

  Though the house was forty years old, the kitchen held the original charm, but boasted an icebox and two electric pendant lights hanging from the ceiling. Violet tested one by turning the key above the bulb. Incandescent light filled the room. In the town where she’d come from, only stores had used electric lighting.

  Turning, she discovered a stove she’d seen only in the Montgomery Ward & Co. catalog. With shiny chrome edges and ornate trim, the range was conveniently waist high with a reservoir in the back and a narrow shelf above. She hoped it wasn’t fueled by gas. She’d read about those and the idea didn’t sit well. Hesitantly she checked behind, to her relief seeing nothing out of the ordinary. She had enough new things to learn. On closer inspection she found ashes inside and a supply of evenly cut wood in a cubby on the brick wall. The supply could be stocked from a small door on the outside.

  Through a long window she surveyed the tidy dooryard, spotting no garden or any type of animal. After familiarizing herself with cupboards and the pantry, she made a list. In one cupboard she discovered a row of shapely narrow bottles filled with dark liquid, and recognized the cola drink from magazine advertisements.

  “A refreshment is in order after your journey.”

  She turned at Ben Charles’s voice. He wore dark trousers, with galluses crossing his shoulders over a white shirt. His hair looked as though he’d run his fingers through it in lieu of a comb. He seemed more approachable this way, less severe. She had an inappropriate urge to reach up and push a lock of hair from his forehead. Her fingers tingled, so she clasped her hands. “Perhaps a cup of tea,” she answered.

  “Tea if you prefer. Or you might join me in a glass of cola?”

  She wanted to taste the drink. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Grab a couple of glasses.” He took a pick and mallet from atop the icebox, opened the insulated door and knelt to chip ice.

  Violet brought him a bowl, and studied his wide flexing shoulders as he filled the bowl with ice slivers, then stood and filled both glasses. He’d lifted her crates as though they were light as a feather, which she knew they weren’t. With a bottle opener he took from a nail inside a cupboard door, he removed the metal caps. The hissing sound surprised her as much as the mist that rose from inside the bottles.

  Ben Charles filled both glasses halfway and foam rose on the surfaces of the liquid. After waiting a moment he filled them the rest of the way and handed her a glass.

  She met his gray-green gaze for a moment, before taking the drink. Her fingertips brushed his, warm against the cold glass.

  The bubbles tickled her nose before she could get her lips to edge of the glass. Startled, she drew back.

  Her employer lifted his glass and took a long swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his white shirt.

  Violet took a dainty sip, blinked at the carbonation and then drank a swallow. The overpowering bite and syrupy sweetness took her by surprise. Her eyes watered. “Oh, my.”

  Ben Charles grinned, his full mouth inching into a smile that revealed his teeth and an appealing dimple in his cheek. “Is this your first cola?”

  “You must think me very unsophisticated.”

  “Your reaction is charming.” He nodded toward the pantry. “Did you find the supplies adequate?”

  “I’ll need a few things, but for the most part the pantry is well stocked.”

  “Good. The iceman comes by every other day, and the dairy truck stops early each morning. Set the empty bottles outside the back door the night before. When you need wood replenished, leave Henry a message on the chalkboard.”

  Violet noted the wood-framed chalkboard near the door. “Everything seems quite efficient.”

  “Things run smoothly when they’re organized. Having you here is going to take a big load from my shoulders. I’m not much of a cook.” He finished his drink. “Can you manage supper with what’s here?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll shop tomorrow. I was wondering...”

  “What were you wondering?”

  “If it might be possible to keep a few chickens.”

  He appeared to think for only a moment. “I don’t see why not. If you want to take care of them.”

  “I wouldn’t mind. I need eggs to make good coffee.”

  He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Coffee?”

  “Äggkaffe,” she explained. “I learned from my Swedish father how to make coffee.”

  “All right. As weather permits I’ll see about constructing a coop out of the wind.”

  “What time would you prefer to have your supper?” she asked.

  “We’re used to eating at six.”

  She gave a nod to confirm. “Six it shall be.”

  “I’ll leave you to your work,” he said. “If you need anything, Tessa is no doubt still upstairs reading and I’ll be right next door.” He set his glass in the basin, and pointed to a door she’d assumed led to a cellar. “Through there.”

  He strode to the door and opened it. Violet imagined cold dank air seeping from the other side, but all she saw was a chalkboard just like the one in this room before he closed the door and was gone from sight.

  A shiver ran up her spine.

  A connecting door.

  Everything about her new job had seemed so perfect only moments ago. But now she knew there was a door connecting the place where she’d be spending the majority of her time to the funeral parlor.

  Somehow she had to learn to ignore that door and do her job. It was her only choice. Back in Ohio there were people who believed she’d started a fire that had destroyed the bakery where she’d worked.

  Her employer had made it clear a year ago that he wanted her to marry his son. Wade Finney had been in trouble so many times, Violet had lost count. He constantly caused an uproar at a local establishment or came to work reeking of alcohol and stale tobacco. Sometimes his friends showed up during work hours and enticed him away from his job. Wade was trouble and she’d held no intentions of marrying him, but his father had constantly pressured her to give Wade a chan
ce. All he needed was a good woman to settle him down, he’d say.

  Wade was an only child and Mr. Finney had reminded her often that the bakery would go to his son and whomever he married. While Violet wanted nothing more than to own her own bakery, a life with Wade wasn’t an incentive.

  And Wade hadn’t wanted any part of her either. He despised the bakery and everything related to it including her. On that fateful night only weeks ago he’d climbed the side of the boarding house where she’d been staying, broken her window and burst into her room.

  Violet had been terrified that he’d come to hurt her. He’d been drinking, and his threats had held a tone she’d never heard before. He’d grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the window. In the moonlight thick smoke had curled into the night sky above the bakery two blocks away. “You soaked your apron with kerosene and used the matches you keep in your bin. You hate me enough to burn down the bakery.”

  “I didn’t! I’ve been right here.”

  “There are witnesses who saw you near the building only moments ago. My father will believe you set the fire.”

  Violet’s heart had pounded in terror and confusion. “Why?”

  “Get dressed,” he hissed. “Do you have a bag? I’ll send the rest of your things to the station in Pittsburgh. Send for them using the name Tom Robbins.”

  Trembling, she’d taken the dress she’d pressed from a hook. “Turn around. Why are you doing this?”

  While she’d dressed he had taken her clothing from the bureau drawers and had shoved it into the valise, then had held up the bag and swept the surfaces with his arm, dumping her belongings into a jumble on top.

  She’d perched on the chair and hurriedly pulled on her stockings and boots.

  He’d grabbed her hand and roughly shoved something into it. “I’m not going to marry you. I’m not going to be stuck in that bakery for the rest of my life.”

  “I never had any intention of marrying you.”

  “But you were too cowardly to tell my father that. He’d have convinced you eventually.”

  “No. No, I—”

  “Buy a ticket to somewhere far away. They put people who start fires in jail.”

  Violet had stood in the alley behind her boardinghouse, tears streaming down her face. Lights had come on in the windows, and at first she’d thought other boarders had heard the commotion in her room and on the stairs, but as her head had cleared the sounds of people in the street had alerted her. The fire had been discovered.

  And Wade was going to make sure everyone believed she was responsible. For a confused moment she’d considered staying and pleading her innocence. She hadn’t done it—surely the truth would come to light.

  A window had opened overhead, and a voice had called down. “Violet? Is that you? What are you doing in the alley?”

  She’d been standing in the dark with her bags packed for flight. Like a guilty person.

  Violet had turned and run.

  Now she had no choice but to make this work. Either make a go of it here or leave and hope for something else. She glanced around the Hammonds’ kitchen, her gaze touching on a glass-front cabinet filled with blue-and-white plates and platters. She took in the long uncovered window that let in the light, her aprons stacked on the table.

  After starting the stove, she pumped water into a kettle and set it to heat for dishwater, then found a drawer in the pantry and stored her aprons.

  She could do this. She would do this. She had no other choice.

  Chapter Two

  In his bright sunlit office Ben Charles ran his finger down a column in the open ledger on his desk. The numbers weren’t adding up today, and the problem was due to the pretty little distraction he’d picked up at the train station.

  He’d prayed about hiring someone to help out after Mrs. Gable had resigned to care for her sister. The woman had been with them since Tessa’s childhood. She’d been a part of his and Tessa’s little family. He’d been sorry to see her go, and not only because of her cooking and housekeeping abilities. Her cheerful countenance had been sorely missed these past few months. Tessa needed another female around.

  He’d been impressed with Violet’s replies to his ad, but after meeting her he wasn’t confident she had the maturity he’d been counting on. He had a good ten years on her, if not more. Only time would tell if she had what it took to run the place—or the stamina to stay. If God had directed her to them as he’d prayed, then Ben Charles had to believe she would work out. He and Tessa had both grown up in a home where the undertaker lived and worked. For Ben Charles it had been his father, for Tessa that figure was himself. The way they lived was normal to them. A death meant carrying out the duties required for a service and a respectful burial. There was nothing uncomfortable or repelling about it.

  In his experience people appreciated his calling and stuck closer than brothers during their time of need. But as for friends and marriage prospects, they kept their distance.

  Only once had he thought he’d met someone who understood his work and who would make a good companion. He’d been very young, very naive. Madeline had been interested, but only in a perversely curious fashion. He’d been an oddity, someone her friends whispered about, someone with whom keeping company drew attention, and she’d liked that.

  Afterward he’d even wondered if she’d shown interest on a dare, if, after their evenings together, there had been curious inquiries. While hope had sprung to life in his heart, he’d been no more than a passing peculiarity to her. She’d married a banker and moved to Denver. And he’d learned his lesson. He stuck to business, devoted himself to his sister and his work, and didn’t aspire to be like other people.

  At five-forty he closed his ledger, capped the bottle of ink and headed next door. The smells emanating from the kitchen made his stomach growl. He’d missed a meal at noon and eaten only a handful of pecans at his desk.

  Violet started when he entered the room through the connecting door. “Sorry,” he said.

  “I didn’t know whether to set this table or the one in the dining room, so I set that one for you and your sister, and I set places for Henry and me in here.”

  He glanced at the two plates on the long wooden table. “Unless you prefer to eat in here, I’d rather you join us in the dining room.”

  Her expression showed her surprise.

  “Is that a problem?” he asked.

  “No, sir. It’s just—well, employees eating with the family is unusual.”

  “We’re an unusual family.” He dipped water from the reservoir into a small pitcher. “I’ll be back down in just a few minutes.” He climbed the narrow back stairs.

  Tessa wasn’t in her favorite place at the other end of the hall near the front stairs, so he called out.

  She poked her head from her room. “I’m ready for dinner.”

  A few minutes later, washed and wearing his jacket, Ben Charles pulled out Tessa’s seat and waited for Violet to return and take hers. She blushed as he held her chair. “Everything looks and smells delicious.”

  “It’s only scalloped potatoes and ham. Not much effort involved in opening a jar of green beans. I did make biscuits when I saw the crock of honey.”

  Henry had seated himself before Ben Charles had entered the room, and his expression showed appreciation for the feast on the table.

  Ben Charles reached for Tessa’s hand and she took his immediately. Henry bowed his head. Violet looked from one to the other, then followed their lead.

  “Thank You for Your generous provision, Lord,” Ben Charles prayed. “We’re thankful for Miss Bennett’s safe journey and her presence here at our table and in our home. I pray her transition into this household is smooth and that she feels welcome.”

  He was praying about her? The only person Violet remembered hearing pray was the reverend who performed her father’s burial service, and his stilted language had sounded nothing at all like the conversational tone Ben Charles was using to speak to God. The heat
creeping into her cheeks would no doubt give away her embarrassment at being singled out.

  “Keep us healthy, Lord,” he continued. “And bless the abundance of this food to the nourishment of our bodies. We humble ourselves in Your presence and rejoice in Your grace and mercy. It’s in Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Tessa and Henry chorused. Henry picked up his fork. Tessa spread her napkin on her lap. Violet was slow to raise her head, and when she did, she didn’t meet Ben Charles’s eyes. She leaned forward to serve the casserole.

  Ben Charles inhaled the aroma of the steaming creamy potatoes on his plate. “Where did you learn to cook like this, Miss Bennett?”

  “Both of my parents were excellent cooks,” she replied. “My mother worked for a family for years, and when I was small she took me with her. As she cooked she used to share stories about her family and her childhood. All her recipes were in her head, and she’d add a pinch of this or a handful of that as she talked.”

  Tessa gave her an encouraging smile. “Those sound like good memories.”

  “They are. My father was a baker. After Mama died and there were only the two of us, I helped him before and after school. Father was precise and businesslike while he measured and mixed.”

  “Your parents are no longer living?” Ben Charles asked.

  She set her fork on her plate and sat with her hands in her lap. For a moment he didn’t think she’d answer, but then she said, “Mother has been gone since I was small. My father became ill several years ago. He was forced to sell the bakery and I took care of him. After his death nearly two years ago I worked for the man who bought our bakery...until recently when—when it closed.”

  The pain of her loss was plain in her voice and expression. “It’s always difficult to lose a parent, whether we’re children or not.” He took a sip from his water glass and glanced at Henry. “Miss Bennett will need to shop. If weather permits tomorrow, please have the carriage ready in the morning.”

  “Yessir. It snowed some this afternoon, but nothing to keep us from going out.”