by Jo Noelle
On Sunday, Mark decided to attend Reverend Bing’s services since that’s where Paul would be. During the lunch that followed the Sunday service and the men whittling as the women quilted, Mark sat next to Paul von Hemberg. Paul often advertised in the Candle. He had the biggest freight business, serving Creede and Lake City. If anyone knew the competition, he would. “I saw a delivery the other day, and I couldn’t figure out who owned the company. Maybe you have an idea.”
“Maybe.” Paul tore open a roll and buttered both sides. “What’d you see?”
“It was nighttime, so I didn’t see much. But it looked like the freight wagon was painted a dark color. There wasn’t any writing on the sides or the tailgate.”
Paul had stopped chewing, and he put his roll on his plate. “Was it a Studebaker wagon with thick wheels?” His voice was low enough that no one else would be able to hear their conversation.
Mark caught the tension in his voice and looked around. “Yeah, it looked pretty sturdy.”
“They’re likely bootleggers. They make and sell rotgut alcohol. They’re not reputable, but it’s cheap. They say it’s made of dynamite, old miners’ boots, and black coffee for color. No one knows what’s really in it.”
“Guess that makes sense why they don’t advertise.” Mark stabbed a boiled potato, breaking it in half.
“Don’t expect business from that lot.” Paul shook his head.
The men returned to eating, but Mark’s mind whirled with the possibility. The wagon delivered an order to the Frog Knees Saloon. Ab Helm sent some intimidation Mark’s way for noticing. He probably didn’t want his saloon’s reputation tarnished.
On Monday morning, Mark rode to his shop with his full attention on the roads and the sides. It wasn’t that he wanted to find another dead body but just the opposite. He wouldn’t want to pass up a person who needed help. He was relieved when he entered his shop and started preparing for the day. As he stepped out later to go to Hearth and Home for breakfast, he noticed Rio Lopez’s crew doing some maintenance on Main Street and walked over to him.
“We’ve had a few crazy days on the roads. Everything all right now?” Mark asked.
“There weren’t any new bodies yesterday or today.” Rio pushed his dark hair away from his face and put his cowboy hat back on. “I hope we’ve seen the last of it.”
“Where were they?” Mark asked. “I know the one I saw was over there, but where were the others?”
“The first one we found was headed north toward Bachelor. The second one was near the train depot. And the third one was at the other end of Main in front of the theater.”
But none in the wee hours of Sunday or Monday. Why? What was different about those times? “I hope that’s over,” Mark said.
“You and me both.”
Chapter 6
Rhona
Yesterday, Mark had walked her to work, and they were busy all day long. She had so enjoyed the lunch with him and had hoped they’d go together often.
Today, she decided to get to know Mark a little better while they worked. She already liked what she knew of him. He was self-assured but also shy. He cared for those around him. Whether it was holding a door or moving a chair, when he saw something he could do to help others, he did it. Being kind when he didn’t have to be told Rhona he had a good heart.
“You told me you’ve been here three years. Where are you from originally?” Rhona asked.
Mark pressed the roller against the inker, but he didn’t answer her question. He walked back to ink the letters and stood there for a moment, his dark eyelashes closing before he looked at her.
She thought she saw uncertainty. Why had that simple question caused such a pause in him? His whole body slumped for a moment. Rhona wanted to put her arms around him and tell him it was all right. Instead, she concentrated on making a perfect alignment with the side of the paper inside the frame.
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I grew up in an orphanage in Boulder—that’s north of Denver. I was taken in by a printer named Orman Gish when I was twelve. His father had just died, and he needed help in the shop, so he taught me this trade. It’s been good for me.” His voice had gotten stronger with each sentence. He cleared his throat. “That was probably more than you wanted to know.”
“You were lucky to have someone teach you a trade, and now you have a fine business.” There was something there that bothered him, though. Rhona was sure of that, but he’d gotten past it, and she wasn’t going to bring it up to satisfy her curiosity.
He looked as if he was weighing her comment, then replied, “I was taken into Orman’s home not as an apprentice but like a brother. He was only ten years older. It was the only time I felt what it must be like to have a family. I envy you, having a big family.”
Rhona found that she’d been slowly walking his way as he spoke. Now she was standing near the back of the press, only a couple of feet away. “You may yet have a family of your own.” She stared into the tender longing in his gaze.
“I hope that’s true and soon.” Mark rounded the back of the printer and stood in front of her, never breaking eye contact, entrancing her by their gleam of passion. When he pulled both her hands into his, she stopped breathing for a moment, carried away by her intense awareness of touching him. She felt an instant longing, looking into his face. She wanted to do that all day and never part from him. His eyes seemed to be saying the same thing to her. Time stalled, and the world shrunk to just his face.
The bell on the door rang as it opened. Mark stepped past her and picked up a stack of flyers, which he carried to the counter. Her sister Eileen met him there.
“Hi, Rhona,” Eileen said. Then to Mark she said, “Edwin would like to place an order . . . for . . .” She leaned around Mark and said, “Are you all right, Rhona? You look a little flushed.”
Mark had also turned to face her, his back to Eileen. A smile grew slowly across his face, leaving Rhona a strong desire to place her hands along his strong jaw and kiss him until he felt as unsteady as she did now.
If Eileen only knew. I’m absolutely burning with fever at the moment. “I’m a bit dizzy.” She’d never understood the heady passion her married friends had talked about, but that one moment convinced her. It would be bliss.
“Do you feel well enough to still go to Tuesday Tea, or do I need to get you home? There’s a bit of illness going around.”
No. If Eileen would just leave, Rhona was sure the feeling would pass—with a little cooperation on Mark’s part.
Eileen looked at Mark. “Can you spare her this afternoon, Mr. Carroll?”
“Yes.” To Rhona, he said, “I do hope it’s nothing serious, and you can enjoy Tuesday Tea. Get rested.”
Oh, she doubted she would rest one little bit, and she’d never felt anything more serious in all her life.
Rhona and Eileen entered the tea shop and settled in with éclairs and peppermint tea.
“That was quite the advertisement in Saturday’s paper, Rhona. It’s true, then—there’s a matchmaker come to town?” Hannah asked.
“We’ve heard the rumors even down in Topaz,” Vivian added.
“It figures that Holt and Boone are still out in Telluride when there are brides being brought right to Creede,” Seffi said in a huff. “Having a bride come to town unexpectedly worked out perfectly for Waylon.”
“The search starts tomorrow,” Rhona said.
“We might have more ladies joining our female ranks very soon.” Eileen’s voice sounded happy to Rhona, but she could see a sullen expression about her eyes. Rhona thought for sure that Eileen and Sterling McCormick would have started courting by now, but they hadn’t, and Eileen wouldn’t talk about it, even to her sisters.
The women enjoyed the hour they had together. Then Eileen, Isla, and Rhona walked back to the boarding house. Rhona felt a bit guilty for taking the afternoon off, but he’d said she should take a rest. An inkling of an idea lit in her chest that she had af
fected him as much as he had her. Maybe it was that he needed the break when he told her to take the afternoon off. She hoped so.
On Wednesday morning, Rhona debated whether writing a story about the matchmaker was more important than walking on Mark’s arm to the print shop. Her opinion was at odds with her responsibility to write articles for the paper. Reluctantly, she stayed at Hearth and Home after Mark left to watch the interviews with the prospective grooms. At least two dozen men lined up on the boardwalk in the wind while they awaited their turn to visit with the matron.
Some men entered with confidence, and others looked scared. Dionysia greeted each one warmly and smiled at them throughout their ten-minute appointment. She had a family-type photo album that she and the men flipped through, pointing to and commenting on the women in the pictures. Rhona noticed that several times, Mrs. D’Arcy handed a man her card before he left, but she didn’t give a card to every man.
It was lunchtime when all the men in line had had their interview. Rhona approached the matchmaker. “I’d like to do an article about the brides. The whole town has been talking about it since the advertisement you placed in Saturday’s paper. Do you have some time we could talk? Maybe over lunch?”
The matron turned a smile on Rhona that she’d never received before. She’d seen it given to Mark at the print shop and to the men as they entered for their interviews. She felt like she was looking at a very lovely mask.
“That would be charming. Please sit with me.” She returned to her table and sat down.
“I’ll just grab a pot of coffee from the kitchen and join you in a moment.” Rhona retrieved the pot and set two cups and saucers on the table, then poured out.
“What would you like to know?” The matron took a sip.
“How does it work? How do you choose a husband for the women?”
“It’s a talent, really. A gift. I know the ladies very well. Before I came here, I spent time with each one, learning about her and her preferences.”
“Are the women from England, too?” Rhona flipped to a new piece of paper and continued to take notes.
“No, I haven’t lived there in years. I’m recently from Boston. The women are from Massachusetts, also.”
“What do you talk with the men about?”
“The men often have a certain idea of what beauty is to them. Of course, I need to know what that is to thin out the possibilities. But I also need to know what they think of a woman’s inner beauty. Some might like a woman with a quick wit. Others appreciate a woman who is smart. Still others would adore a woman who nurtures those around her. There are many qualities that come up in the discussion.” Mrs. D’Arcy added some sugar to her cup and stirred it.
“Then do you know which woman might be a good match?”
“Not yet. I’ve invited a few men back to talk with me again. I’m trying to get an idea of who they are. That way, I’m also fitting the man’s qualities to the ones the women admire. It’s a very delicate process.”
That’s more than Rhona thought was more than most mail order bride companies did. “How long does it usually take?”
“A few weeks. They’ll exchange a letter each. Then, if they think they’ll suit, the women will come out before the end of the month, and we’ll have a wedding.”
“Is there anything you’d like me to add to the article?”
“Just make sure the whole town knows that it will be a grand affair—the likes of which Creede has never before seen.” Then she launched into tales of other matches she’d arranged. Rhona took notes until her fingers hurt, and Dionysia paused long enough for Rhona to thank her for the interview.
The woman smiled broadly at Rhona, the kind of smile that made her uncomfortable—like a smirk. “Thank you, and enjoy your afternoon, Mrs. D’Arcy.”
Rhona walked to the print shop, thinking about Mark. She supposed that all the talk about marriage made her wonder what being his wife would be like. They seemed very compatible. Daydreaming about him was her favorite pastime when her mind wasn’t engaged in a task. She’d spent many hours since the hand-holding on Tuesday trying to figure out what it all meant. Had she seen affection in his eyes? Or just desire? She admitted that she’d felt both.
They worked hard that afternoon, making layouts for the paper. There was no repeat of the intimate lunch, the touching, or the near kiss as Rhona had hoped there would be. Customers came in wanting advertisements, keeping Mark busy. She set type and had plenty of time to write the new matchmaking article for Saturday’s paper. She’d also had more than enough time for desire to build in her chest and no way to expend it.
Creede Society News
Perhaps the most interesting event of the past week occurred at Hearth and Home on Wednesday. Although a coming storm brewed and wind blew in their faces, some two dozen men waited on the boardwalk for their chance to meet with Mrs. Dionysia D’Arcy, Matron of Matchmaking. The purpose of the interviews was to determine the suitability of contracting a marriage with an interested woman. Mrs. D’Arcy affirms the sanctity of marriage and is looking for husbands who have like sentiments. There will be opportunities for more interviews this week on Thursday if there are gentlemen desiring the benefits of companionship and homemaking. She mentioned that the social event of the year for Creede will be the marriage ceremony of the twelve couples in just over two weeks from today.
Chapter 7
Mark
Saturday was the best day of the week, as far as Mark was concerned. He arrived early and was met at the back door by a group of boys. They would deliver the papers to the various businesses who sold them to the citizens. The pressure of sending out the paper was past, and he’d have a day off for the Sabbath.
He strolled to Hearth and Home for breakfast. Mama M stood in front of the door.
“You haven’t done as I asked yet, laddie.” Her arms were crossed, and her eyebrows pinched in a frown.
“I did. I asked to read her story. She refused.”
“Ask again. Get her published. Of the now.” Mama M looked inside the restaurant window, then turned back to Mark. “Show some interest in her, boy.” She batted her eyes and puckered her lips.
Mark recognized that his face must look shocked. He snapped his mouth shut and schooled his features. He wondered if he could go around to the back door and avoid the angel.
Through puckered lips, she said, “Be persuasive. Be creative. Make her want to give it to you.”
It was more than true that he’d love to kiss her but not just to see her writing. Rhona had a mind of her own. He liked that about her.
“Aye. She can be a stubborn one. The youngest usually is. They have to hold their own against the bigger ones, and the fight stays with them as adults.” The angel shook her head. “Try your best, laddie. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s best for her.”
Mark ate his breakfast and pondered on the situation. The angel seemed to think the book needed to be read. Rhona hadn’t wanted to share it at all. He went back and forth while eating eggs, flap-jacks, and sausage.
When he was nearly done, the chair next to him scraped across the floor. “May I join you?” Rhona asked, holding a cinnamon bun and coffee.
Mark stood. “Please.” He held the chair while she sat down, and then returned to his seat. Maybe it was time he could ask again. Some people were shy about their talents and didn’t want other people to know about them. Maybe she was afraid. Mark lifted his chin and looked past her shoulder.
Mama M stood in the middle of the room. He thought she’d left. She was pointing at him and pointing at Rhona. She pushed her hands to the side as if to scoot him closer to her. Then she made her hands talk like puppets. “Ask her,” she mouthed. Then she tapped her finger on her wrist. “Of the now. Hurry.”
Mark had no idea how to even bring up the topic. He’d asked before, and she’d refused. End of story.
Mama M popped over to their table. She sat in the air as if on a chair, then picked up her left hand and pretended to
write on her palm with her right hand. She turned her palm toward him.
To his surprise, it was written on. “She will keep her light under a bushel unless you help her show it to the world.”
Mark looked into the angel’s face and saw such love there. He could do it. Rhona deserved a chance to shine. He cleared his throat. “How are you feeling about the articles you’ve written for the paper?”
“I guess I’ve been surprised. I hadn’t expected it to be a good experience. In fact, I was ready for people to make fun of me and tell me that I had no talent and that I’d ruin your newspaper.” She went silent and then gave him a sad smile. “I was ready for you to sack me.”
“I would never.” Instinctively, his hand covered the top of hers where it sat on the table. “You’re doing a fine job.” He looked into her eyes. “Better than fine. I’ve never employed anyone who worked harder, had great instincts, a wonderful sense of humor . . .”
Suddenly, he realized his hand was still on hers, and they were leaning closer together over the tabletop. Beyond her shoulder, he could again see Mama M, watching wide-eyed, her hands clutched to her chest. What was he doing? This was a very public place. He didn’t want to let her go, but he wanted more for her reputation to be spotless. He leaned away and slowly removed his hand. “Or a . . . better speller.” He smiled in amusement.
This time, Mama M wore a mask of shock. She raised her hands to heaven and mouthed, “Why?”
Rhona blinked as if she were waking from a dream. “Oh, well, spelling is important. And I appreciate your attention to margins.” She looked at him as if to challenge him to top her compliment.
“When you fill the composing stick, it’s nice and tight. I don’t have to worry about the letters coming out,” he replied.
