Angel In The Saloon (Brides of Glory Gulch)

by Jeanne Marie Leach

  “C’mon, Corrin,” Paul said and then sipped his sarsaparilla. “Give her a chance. You’ll see. It won’t be that bad. How could someone that sweet and innocent be any trouble at all?”

  “Yeah, she seems to have a certain amount of self-reliance already. I’m sure she’ll be helping out around here more than you think, Corrin,” Jeremiah said and the two gentlemen nodded to each other in agreement. “You’ll probably hardly even notice she’s around.”

  Corrin narrowed her eyes at her friends. “What kind of spell did she cast on you two? In a matter of just a few minutes, you’ve decided that she’s this wonderful, self-reliant, helpful, sweet, innocent, precious little darling that will hardly be any trouble at all. Well, we don’t have any idea what she’s like and you both know it.” Corrin guzzled the rest of her beer.

  Paul suddenly pulled a gold watch out of his waistcoat pocket and opened it. “Oh, I gotta get going. I promised Jake I’d be back in the office by 3:30 and it’s after 4:00 now.” He stood to leave, replaced his watch in his pocket and finished off his Sarsaparilla. Walking around the table, he stopped behind Corrin and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll be glad to come by around dinner time to help you get over the awkward introduction stage, if it will make you feel any better.”

  “I’m not surprised. But, if it’ll make you feel better, dinner will be at seven.”

  “Yeah, I heard you tell her. Remember?” Paul displayed an impish grin, patted Corrin’s shoulder, and then nodded toward Jeremiah. “Cowan, as usual, it’s been…” He paused for a second, drawing out the ‘n’. “Usual.” He laughed and headed back to work.

  “Corrin, why’d you let him invite himself to dinner tonight? That’s all you two need this first night is for him to be under foot.” Jeremiah leaned back in his chair, lifting the front legs off the floor.

  Corrin wasn’t sure if her friend was actually showing concern for her or if it was just the usual bantering between Paul Strupel and himself. Or maybe he was upset because Paul beat him to the invitation. Whatever he meant, she just didn’t care at this point.

  Thinking ahead to dinner time and the transition her life was passing through, Corrin fought with every ounce of her being the unpleasant memories this young lady’s presence now forced her to recount. She swallowed hard, gulping back the bitterness and anguish that had been set free from the dark dungeon of her heart where they had been locked securely for over twenty years.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Amelia awoke in a strange bed. Sitting up, she brushed her tousled hair back behind her shoulders and quickly recalled having been thrust mercilessly into this new world and being introduced to her aunt who seemed to have a pleasant enough voice---what little she heard of it. She had behaved rudely toward her and now felt guilty for it. But at that time all she could think of was to escape.

  The rest had refreshed her and she noticed the slight grumbling in her stomach. Evidently it wasn’t seven o’clock yet, assuming her aunt would come for her, knowing Amelia was unfamiliar with this place.

  “This place,” she said aloud. “This place is a saloon! Dear God, how can I possibly live in a place like this when it stands for everything the Bible says is wrong? I don’t understand why you would allow this to happen to me. What good could possibly come out of this? Your Book says that you direct the paths of your people. Well, what possible reason could you have had for directing me here? What was my mother thinking when she wanted me to come here? Didn’t she know what kind of a woman Aunt Corrin is?”

  Amelia paused for a moment to reflect on the question she had just asked of herself. She actually didn’t know anything about her aunt who may actually be a nice lady. She was probably just another lamb who has lost her way and needed someone to direct her toward the Lord, Jesus. Maybe that’s why God wanted her to come to this place. She folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head.

  “Lord, I still don’t know why you brought me here, but I trust you. I know that everything you do is for a purpose. Please, help me to see that purpose. Help me to correct my attitude toward my aunt and toward living in a saloon. Thank you for humbling me, for letting me see that I was regarding her as someone inferior to me because of her chosen vocation. I know you love her as much as you love me. I see that now. Help me to show true, Christian love toward her. And forgive me for grumbling. I’m grateful to have a bedroom of my own instead of being sent to one of those dreadful institutions. Thank you for giving me family to live with instead of outsiders. Thank you for listening to me and for showing me the truth. Amen.”

  The familiar peace flooded Amelia’s spirit. She arose in anticipation of her new life---and supper. She was very hungry. Finding her pointed-toe walking boots and pulling them on, she then felt her way around the edge of the bed to her trunk, opened it and felt inside for the brush her mother had given her for her seventeenth birthday, remembering she had placed it in the lower right corner. Yes, there it was. She untied the ribbon that held her hair out of her face and brushed her silky curls.

  She now wanted to make a good impression on her aunt. It was important to her because her aunt was important to God. Her spirit soared as she began to very quietly sing the words to the hymn, Holy! Holy! Holy!

  When she had finished replacing the bow to her satisfaction, Amelia felt her way around the room to the dressing table. Having placed the brush safely into the top, right drawer, she begin searching for a wash stand and discovered a pitcher of fresh, cool water waiting for her. Did her aunt always keep fresh water in the rooms or could she have possibly slipped in while she slept and quietly placed it there? It didn’t matter. She was thirsty and poured herself a glass of the cool, refreshing liquid. It tasted wonderful and seemed to wash away more than mere trail dust. She poured herself another glass.

  Then she meticulously drew some of the water into the basin, and, while bending over, carefully splashed her face to wash away the dried, tear stains. This refreshed her even further. She found a linen towel, being careful to replace it on the stand when she was finished.

  Amelia felt like her proper self again and was now ready to face anything that this life might thrust upon her. She finished unpacking her trunk, finding a place for all her precious belongings, particularly being mindful of the order in which she unpacked her clothes. Her white blouses were on top, three of them. Those would hang on the far right side of the wardrobe. Then her assorted colored shirts, dresses, waistcoats, jerseys and riding frock in a matching sequence. Her system had not failed her for years and had become as much of an obsession as it was a habit. But the less Amelia had to rely on others, the better she felt about herself. After all, her mother had raised her to do as much for herself as she possibly could.

  The thought of her mother brought a smile to her attractive face. Grace Jackson had made each and every piece of clothing she owned---right down to her chemise and drawers. She always received lovely compliments on whatever she wore because her mother had been careful to choose only the prettiest fabrics that would set off Amelia’s eyes or match her complexion. And her mother was an excellent seamstress. Grace Jackson could embellish the simplest garments and make them seem to be more costly than they actually were. Her mother’s voice almost rang audible in her mind. My sweet girl, always remember that ready-made is inferior quality. And a lady never settles for less than perfection. Would her aunt take the same care with her appearance as her mother had all these years?

  Amelia found a home for all of her belongings; shoes, parasols, corsets, toiletries, books, perfume. She dabbed a small drop of her favorite cologne behind each ear and on both wrists. After all, if the first impression she gave wasn’t what it should have been, maybe her second could make up for it.

  Everything tucked neatly away, Amelia sat on the edge of the bed to contemplate what to do next. The minutes ticked by mercilessly. Sitting alone in unfamiliar surroundings didn’t appeal to her right now, so she decided to head downstairs to see if she could locate her aunt and maybe hel
p prepare supper in some way. Taking her cane in her right hand, she proceeded out into the hallway and promptly located the stairs.

  The saloon was now very much alive with activity. Amelia paused to listen, hoping to locate her aunt. The voices closest to the stairs were about the only articulations she could comprehend amidst the din and the blaring piano.

  “I just can’t believe you’re actually going to eat with us!” One man said.

  “Yeah, well at least I was invited. You invited yourself, remember?” Came the retort from another man. Both gentlemen Amelia overheard possessed strong, confident, masculine voices.

  “I’m sure you either did or said something to make Corrin feel obligated to invite you. I know you, Cowan. You just couldn’t stand the thought of my having a nice time in the company of two beautiful women without you.”

  So, these individuals knew her aunt. Deciding that perhaps they could direct her, Amelia began to descend the stairs. A little more than halfway down she heard the somewhat familiar voice of Corrin Dannon.

  “Well, hello, Amelia. You’re just in time. I was just heading up to check on you. I trust you’re feeling better after your rest? Did you find the fresh water? I hope you don’t mind that I entered your room. You certainly were tired. Never even stirred.”

  “Oh yes, Aunt Corrin,” Amelia said with a smile as she reached the first floor of the saloon. She extended her left hand toward the origin of the pleasant, chatty voice. “Thank you for the water. And that was the most comfortable bed I have had the pleasure of reclining on in such a long time.” She had accentuated her Southern drawl, much to her own disconcertion. She tended to do that whenever she was nervous or tense about something. So, she breathed in a deep breath, hoping it would calm her.

  Amelia noticed that the establishment had come to a quick hush. She hoped it wasn’t because of her. The only thing she could think to do was hold firmly to her aunt’s hand. And then she felt her cheek flush.

  Whispers could be heard asking, “Who is she?” with the answer always being, “I don’t know.”

  “Boys,” Aunt Corrin said in a loud, clear voice. “This is my niece, Amelia Jackson. She’s staying with me now. And anyone who bothers her or gives her any trouble will have to answer to me!”

  The place roared with laughter. Amelia couldn’t tell if she’d missed a joke or someone had done something funny.

  “And me!” added one of the men Amelia had heard as she descended the stairs.

  “And me!” The other familiar voice said.

  “Me too!” a third man’s voice boomed through the room.

  “Me too!” someone called from the other side of eh room, even though his high-pitched voice sounded like it belonged to a man with small stature and would certainly not be much of a threat to anyone.

  The laughter subsided quickly. Perhaps thought of tangling with any of the first three burly fellows had given them pause. The patrons definitely understood what was being said, and straightway went back to their merriment.

  Amelia swallowed hard. The reality of her living arrangement was sinking in with each passing minute. This was a saloon frequented by men. And God only knows what kind of men! Why would her safety be an issue with her aunt? Did God really know what he was doing by sending her to live there?

  “Supper is almost ready. We’ll eat in the kitchen tonight. It will be more private than out here.” Corrin grabbed Amelia’s arm, tucked it under her elbow and retreated to a room located at the back of the saloon.

  Amelia was instantly comforted by the homey smells of her aunt’s cooking. This room was quieter than the outer one and felt cozier and warm too. She deduced that the footsteps she heard behind her belonged to two men. This was confirmed when her Aunt introduced her to the two gentlemen. Recognizing their voices, she thanked them for their gallantry in speaking up for her in the saloon.

  Corrin then lead them to the table for supper. The gentlemen scrambled to see who would be the first to help Miss Jackson with her chair.

  “Please, allow me.” Mr. Strupel was the quicker of the two, and he pulled out her chair for her, taking her by the arm and gently guiding her to it. Amelia thanked him and gracefully posed herself on the chair. Mr. Strupel sat to the right of her and Mr. Cowan to the left.

  Amelia cleverly felt the edge of the table to obtain an idea of where all her utensils had been placed, and after locating her napkin, slipped it onto her lap. She had never dined with complete strangers in her life. Her earlier resolve to be strong wavered, and she breathed deeply to keep herself from crying.

  › › ›

  As Corrin served her guests, Amelia reached toward her right and found Mr. Strupel’s arm. “Would you mind doing me one small kindness, sir?”

  “Of course, Miss Jackson. What can I do for you?” Paul threw a quick victory glance toward Mr. Cowan.

  “Supposing my plate to be a clock and that the hands are pointing to the various foods Aunt Corrin has placed there, would you kindly tell me what position my foods are located?”

  All three sighted friends sent silent signals to one another that told they were baffled and looked to each other for the answer. But, in turn, they shrugged their shoulders and just remained silent.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve confused you.” Amelia pointed directly in front of her. “Straight up is twelve o’clock, to the right is three o’clock and so on. So, Mr. Strupel, what time is my meat located at?” She smiled toward his direction.

  “Oh, I understand now.”

  Corrin thought she was quite clever to have devised such a plan.

  “Meat at ten o’clock,” Paul told her. Potato at one o’clock, peas at four o’clock, and biscuit at about seven.”

  “Oh, goodness.” Amelia shook her head. “Not peas.”

  “I’m sorry; is there a problem, Amelia? Are you allergic to peas?” Corrin was a little irritated that this may be another negative detail of her having her niece as a permanent house guest. She didn’t care to cater to someone else’s whims. She’s been independent all her life and certainly didn’t welcome it now.

  “Actually, Aunt Corrin, I love peas. It’s just that they are the most difficult food of all for me to eat.”

  “Difficult?”

  “Yes. The little fellows simply won’t help me out at all.” Amelia giggled.

  Corrin thought it sounded pleasant. She halted that line of thinking. She didn’t want to like the girl.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to completely clear my plate whenever peas have been served. You see, because of their shape, I simply can’t catch all those little rascals.”

  Everyone laughed about the peas which put the whole table more at ease. And in this way, the conversation began. They all had a fine time. The food was delectable, the atmosphere relaxed and charming. But Corrin reserved her judgment. One successful dinner didn’t mean this was going to be easy.

  And much to everyone’s pleasure, Amelia enchanted them all with her wit and humor. It astonished Corrin to discover how capable she was of doing many things without the assistance of others. This lessened her apprehensions about the whole situation considerably, and she soon allowed herself to enjoying the company of her two closest friends and her charming niece.

  Amelia was able to sustain a conversation about any topic, either by contributing her own knowledge or by asking questions to gain the information she lacked. But Corrin sensed her niece avoiding much conversation with her. She had the feeling Amelia held a low opinion of her, probably because of her occupation. And yet this girl wanted to live there with her? Corrin bristled at the thought. Why had she signed those papers earlier today? Had Mr. Johnston somehow tricked her into this? Surely she had a choice in the matter.

  Amelia certainly kept the gentlemen’s interest by asking them about their lumber operations which they were more than happy to talk about. They looked pleased that she was showing such a genuine interest in their work. They informed her that the Glory Gulch Sawmill, owned by Mr. Stru
pel, was located about a mile outside of town on the Colorado River. His workers who didn’t have families in town bunked up the mountain at the Cowan Brother’s Logging Company. They told her that with the Denver-Rio Grande Railroad making its way through the mountains and the booming gold and silver mining towns in the area, they were making a small fortune in the lumber business with their green gold.

  “But, you haven’t told us much abort yourself, Miss Jackson,” Jeremiah said.

  “Well, my mother and I lived in a modest house. She kept me busy by always trying to stretch my mind in one way or another. She couldn’t afford to send me to a school for the blind, but she did send away for many of their textbooks and taught me herself.”

  “What kind of things did she teach you?” Corrin asked, hoping some of it would be useful to her.

  “Well, how to use this cane to get around without bruising myself and how to count paces whenever I go somewhere so I could negotiate trips around town by myself. She taught me how to read Braille and taught me geography, arithmetic, religion, manners and music.” Amelia sighed and lowered her head a bit.

  Corrin’s heart tugged at her. She knew this girl had lost everything just four months ago. She studied her niece’s features---so like her sister Grace, so like her own. If things had turned out different over two decades ago, would this have been her own daughter eating dinner with her?

  “Miss Jackson,” Paul said. “I don’t think you are aware of this, but you and Corrin look very much alike. You even have the same hair color and both of you have those lovely blue-gray eyes, even though I think yours are prettier.” He winked at Corrin.

  Had he heard her private ruminations? Her pulse quickened. She had to get control of her thoughts, lest they betray her. She’d managed to keep them hidden all these years; she’d now have to be very careful not to reveal too much.

  “Thank you, Mr. Strupel. I’ve been told that I have my father’s eyes. But my favorite color is pink.”