Some passers-by bid good afternoon to him. He knew they were hoping to be introduced to Miss Jackson to satisfy their curiosity. But he would simply return their greeting and continue on with their stroll, devoting his full attention to his lovely, young companion.
Occasionally, he introduced her to a shop proprietor, particularly those whose emporiums he felt she might like to frequent, the Conner’s at the Mercantile, Miss Amy Jefferies, the dressmaker, and Johan Stuben at the Bakery.
He was quite surprised when she began to strike up a conversation with Beau upon reaching the Blacksmith Shop as she greeted him by name. She even knew his dog's names and stroked their fur and talked with them as if they were long lost friends.
Amelia told him this tour was very successful, because she was not going to be confined to the porch. Paul considered it a triumph because she appeared to be enjoying his company. He was much more comfortable in this situation than in their prior meetings and felt confident she was warming up to him.
› › ›
“What time is it, Mr. Strupel?” Amelia asked when she noticed a hungry feeling in her stomach and remembered Mr. Cowan was expecting to dine with her that evening.
She heard a faint click as he opened his watch. She could envision it in her mind from her memory of her mother’s heirloom pocket watch that once had belonged to her father. A pang of loss threatened to overtake her. She breathed deeply to keep the tears of grief from rolling down her cheeks.
“Why, it’s nearly six forty-five. No wonder I’m feeling hungry. There’s a restaurant right across the street from here. Would you care to join me for supper tonight, Miss Jackson?”
It had never occurred to Amelia that Mr. Strupel would invite her to dinner also. She paused a moment to consider the situation.
“I’m sorry for not asking you in advance. It simply hadn’t occurred to me that we might be out this late.” Actually, he had planned to invite her to dinner, but it just never occurred to him that she may already have other plans. “Is Corrin expecting you for dinner? If she is, we could do this another time.”
“No. It’s just that I previously accepted an offer to dinner at seven o’clock this evening with someone else. I do hope you understand.”
“Well then, we had better be getting you back home so that your dinner companion won’t become concerned about you.” This sudden turn of events dismayed him, and he escorted the young lady back to the Saloon in silent discouragement. How could she have met someone else so quickly? He thought back to this morning. Aaron Cowan. Of course. It made sense. She was closer to his age, but she deserves far better than a simple timber boss.
“Perhaps I could escort you to church on Sunday morning,” he offered.
“I’d like that. Thank you. But I don’t know if my aunt had plans—“
“She doesn’t attend church.”
Miss Jackson frowned and her face showed a certain sadness.
“You know she has to work so late at night; she couldn’t possibly be up in time for church.”
She nodded. “Yes, I hadn’t thought of that.”
They entered the saloon, and after a brief interlude where Amelia informed Corrin that she was fine and would be getting herself ready for dinner, Mr. Strupel escorted her to the bottom of the stairway.
“Thank you so much for the wonderful tour of Glory Gulch, Mr. Strupel. I enjoyed myself thoroughly.”
“You’re welcome for the tour. I enjoyed spending the afternoon with you. It was very relaxing and helped me to forget the worries of the business world. I had better take my leave now and allow you time to freshen up for your dinner engagement. Good evening, Miss Jackson.” He said and then kissed the back of her hand.
“Good evening, Mr. Strupel.” She disappeared up the stairs.
Paul sauntered back toward the door when he was hailed by Jeremiah Cowan.
“Strupel, why don’t you join me in a beer?”
“You know I don’t drink any more, but a cool Sarsaparilla would sure hit the spot.” Paul decided Cowan’s table would be a perfect vantage point from which to spy on his competition. He waved to the waitress who understood his gesture. “And what are you doing here this time of day, Cowan?”
“Oh, I’m meeting a friend,” he answered. “Say, by the way, I saw you escorting Miss Jackson through here a few minutes ago. Been showing her around town? Getting a little friendly with her, are you?”
It had become their normal routine to jab each other, sometimes turning it into a competition of sorts, both trying their best to outmatch the other’s wisecracks with their own quick wit and humor. Not feeling like bantering with him today, Paul ignored the question.
“Why did you bring her back so soon, Strupel? Why didn’t you invite her out to supper, too?”
“If you must know, Miss Jackson has other plans for dinner.”
“Other plans? She’s only been here a day and a half. How could she have other plans already? With whom?”
“She didn’t say. It’s not any of my business---nor yours, for that matter. Besides, it really doesn’t matter to me. Like you said, she’s new to town. She’ll be meeting lots of other people who will be inviting her places.”
“Oh, I see. You’ve positioned yourself at my table to catch a glimpse of who it is that will soon be escorting the lovely Miss Amelia Jackson to dinner tonight.” Mr. Cowan sipped his beer. “And knowing you, Strupel, it’s driving you crazy. Right?”
“Cowan, sometimes you can be so irritating.” Paul shot to his feet. Then, realizing that his friend had got the best of him, he withdrew to another part of the room, Cowan’s laughter taunting him with every step he took. His high spirits borne by this pleasurable day had been broken by the prattle of one of the most insensitive individuals he had the misfortune of knowing.
Paul initiated a mindless conversation with Corrin, looking over his shoulder to hurl another look of disgust at the fellow who, to his surprise, was no longer sitting at the table. Casually glancing around the huge room proved that Cowan was nowhere in sight.
“Why couldn’t he have disappeared five minutes ago?”
“What did you say?” Corrin asked.
“Nothing. Just mumbling to myself.”
Corrin smiled broadly and headed in the direction of the stairway.
As Paul watched her go, his eyes were drawn toward the stairs where, to his complete astonishment, Amelia Jackson was gracefully descending arm-in-arm with Jeremiah Cowan. He watched intently as Corrin affectionately kissed her niece on the cheek and bid the two a fond good evening. He gritted his teeth and set down his Sarsaparilla on the bar so hard it sloshed over the lip of the glass. Harry, the bartender, tossed him a towel and he wiped off his hand and shirt sleeve.
When he looked up toward the door, Jeremiah arrogantly winked at Paul, gestured as if he were tipping a hat to royalty, and then proceeded to steal out into the night with the prize catch of Glory Gulch.
Paul glared at him in disgust until the two were out of sight and then slunk down into the chair nearest him. The nerve of that Cowan! This just proved how cold-hearted the rogue could be sometimes. And poor Amelia Jackson was about to spend her evening with this trouble maker. He scowled as he became absorbed with envy.
› › ›
Amelia listened intently as Jeremiah articulated the details of his concern for his friend. She was slow to offer advice, unlike so many people who foolishly and selfishly attempt to council others. She asked him sensible and intelligent questions that allowed him to think clearly, thereby discerning for himself the best solutions for dealing with the issues facing him.
Often, whenever the conversation allowed, Amelia reverently quoted appropriate Scriptures to him, saying that the comfort and hope they had afforded her a myriad of times would also permeate him as a soothing balm penetrates and comforts one’s aching muscles. She extended an offer to pray for him, but did so without coercion.
She was gracious, attentive company to Jeremiah, and her unex
pected, genuine concern for his friend as well as himself overwhelmed and pleased him. The delectable dinner and effectual conversation conjoined with Amelia’s stunning attributes and exceeding beauty all contributed to a warm and most pleasurable experience for him. If he wasn’t completely taken with her before, he certainly was more attracted to her now.
After the last morsel had been consumed and the conversation turned toward lesser topics, the two finally stepped out into the welcome coolness of a nocturnal breeze which scooted and frolicked about them as if executing a lively dance.
› › ›
Amelia found herself being drawn toward Mr. Cowan, the strength of his character, his powerfully masculine way of talking, and the apparent ease in which he opened himself up to her. He was quick to laugh, easygoing and polite. Yet he possessed a certain wildness that she had never discerned before in a man. This intrigued her. He was certainly very hearty as evidenced by his occupation as a logger. Whenever he offered his arm in assistance, she could feel the sinewy brawn of his muscles through his buckskin jacket. She judged him to be well over six feet tall and his vigorous stride had to be restrained in order to accommodate her dainty steps. He stood straight and tall and proud, and she felt completely protected when she was with him.
Soon they stood on the boardwalk in front of the saloon with its raucous clamor of voices, clanking glasses, roguish games, and piano blaring out rough show tunes.
“Mr. Cowan, I don’t feel comfortable traipsing through a busy saloon at this time of the night...”
“Miss Jackson, you just trust yourself to my charge, and I’ll be more than happy to guide you safely to your door.”
“Thank you very much for understanding.”
Jeremiah guided her toward the stairs and, recognizing several of his acquaintances, smiled and nodded in their direction.
Corrin stopped them and kissed Amelia. “Good night, sweetie. I’ll talk with you in the morning.”
“Good night, Aunt Corrin.”
And in an instant the two found themselves sauntering down the second floor hallway.
“Here you are, safe at your own door.” Jeremiah was a little disappointed that this splendid evening had to terminate so abruptly. “Thank you for such a pleasant evening, Miss Jackson. Your insight has given me much to think about.”
“I’m glad I was able to help, Mr. Cowan, even if I mostly just listened.”
“Please, call me Jeremiah. I can’t recall the last time I’ve been called Mr. Cowan. Such formalities don’t suit me you know. I’m just an ordinary working man.”
“All right, I’ll call you by your Christian name from now on. And you may call me Amelia.” She smiled in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. It shone with the light of innocence. He could find nothing fake about this young lady, unlike so many females her age, who prowl around handing out coy smiles meant to entrap a husband.
He smiled at her, longing to touch her porcelain-like face and to kiss her delicate mouth. But not wanting to alarm her by advancing too quickly he took her hand and gently kissed it. “May I call on you again sometime, Amelia?”
“I think I would like that,” she replied in her Southern accent.
He then stood very close to her and took her hand in both of his, drawing it toward his chest. Looking intently into her angelic face, he said in a soft, low voice, “Good night, Amelia. May your dreams be sweet.”
› › ›
Amelia’s heart pounded as she sensed his nearness. The hushed earnestness of his strong, masculine voice unnerved her. His huge hands had engulfed hers, but were doing so with such tenderness. Her voice was hiding somewhere deep within, and all she was able to muster up was a weak, “Thank you. And good night to you, Mr. Cowan---uh, Jeremiah.”
Reclaiming her trembling hand, Amelia fumbled for the door handle, unable to locate it for an awkward moment. Jeremiah’s chest brushed against her shoulder as he reached around her and opened it. Maneuvering into the recesses of her pitch-dark room, she shut the door behind her, closing herself off from the rest of the peculiar, new world engulfing her. She leaned her back against it preparing to calculate her steps to the dressing table, but immobilized a moment to reclaim her breath and placed her hand over her heart in an attempt to calm its wild beating.
She couldn’t recall having ever been affected like this before and quietly whispered into the darkness, “Jeremiah Cowan, you unnerve me so!” Then she reminded herself she was blind. Who would truly want someone like her? It was only a dream told to her by her friends. It couldn’t. . . wouldn’t happen to her.
After locating the dressing table, Amelia removed her hair ribbon and brushed her long, silky hair that spilled down the distance of her back, all the while reflecting on the events of the day. She undressed, laying her clothes across the trunk and flung herself down on the bed. How could so much have happened since yesterday afternoon since the first time she lay sprawled across this bed in protest? She was already beginning to gain a sense of belonging. It had been months since she felt this secure. And it felt good.
Then kneeling at the side of the bed, Amelia began her nightly prayers. She had a lot to discuss with God and took all the time she needed. When finished, she climbed back onto the bed and tried to sleep. In addition to the muffled sounds of merriment wafting upward to her room, her mind kept wandering and she couldn’t sleep. Sometime around eleven o’clock she finally drifted off.
› › ›
Jeremiah tarried a moment in the upstairs hallway of the Silver Slipper Saloon, staring at the door that just seconds before had swallowed Amelia Jackson. He reluctantly turned and then proceeded to exit at his normal pace.
Once back outside in the crisp nighttime air of the Rocky Mountains, he turned to glance over his shoulder at the upstairs window of the room that contained the young lady who had affected him so. He smiled at the thought of her, and then set out for his logging camp with a feeling of elation inhabiting every ounce of his being. And he thought that the moon was particularly bright that night and couldn’t recall having seen so many stars.
› › ›
Kneeling at the side of his bed, Paul Strupel prayed, “Lord, I’m sorry if I let you down tonight. I know I shouldn’t have let Jeremiah get me so angry. And I know I shouldn’t have been jealous of him. Please forgive me. But he shouldn’t have treated me that way either. So forgive him also. You know that I’m pretty new at this, and I need your help turning my attitude toward him around. You also know how I feel about Miss Jackson. If I had my way . . . Well, I guess I’m supposed to ask you to have your way in my life, as well as in hers. So bless her, Lord, and keep her in your arms tonight and always. Amen.”
He stood, not quite feeling the peace he had expected. In an instant he knew what he had to do even though it was probably the hardest thing he’d done in a long time. Looking toward the ceiling, throwing his hands up in the air in surrender, he said aloud, “All right, bless Jeremiah Cowan too. Amen.”
When he climbed into his bed that night, he had the overwhelming feeling that he didn’t have to worry about anything because God was in control of all of their lives.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next few days were uneventful for Amelia because Jeremiah was staying up at the logging camp due to a newly acquired lumber contract.
Every morning she could count on Paul, as he preferred to be called, to stop by the bench to visit with her. She noted that he was allowing more time for these visitations, but she didn’t mind. She liked his friendship. Once they began to feel more comfortable and at ease with one another, he became less stuffy and formal. She was particularly glad for that.
Amelia had ventured into the streets of the town a couple of times to explore and to just keep herself busy. The town was small and the news of a stranger traveled fast. So everywhere she went people knew her by name and offered their assistance with crossing the street or walking up a few stairs or locating a particular store. She liked Glory Gulch, Colorado.
One particular afternoon, Amelia, feeling more at home in Glory Gulch, determined to play the piano again. However, upon inquiring of her aunt about using the saloon’s piano for practice, she was disheartened when Aunt Corrin told her no. Corrin told her she couldn’t picture in her mind what a blind person might sound like trying to play a piano and simply wouldn’t have that kind of racket coming from her establishment.
“Sweetie, if you want to practice the piano, maybe you could ask Paul Strupel if you could use his during the daytime while he’s at work.”
“Paul Strupel has a piano? Does he play?”
“No, I don’t think he ever learned how to play. It belonged to his mother. I think he keeps it for the sentimental value. He has a fellow tune it up every once in awhile, and his housekeeper polishes and dusts it regularly. You’d never know it doesn’t get any use.”
Amelia decided she would ask him about it when he came by the next morning. She would definitely feel more comfortable practicing alone in a private residence than in a huge, public hall anyway.
The next morning was Saturday and the town nearly burst at the seams with activity. People wanted to get all their errands completed before Sunday, the one day when the whole town closes down. Amelia was a little disappointed when Paul didn’t stop by to visit. So she decided to go to the Conner’s Mercantile and do a little finger shopping.
When she entered the shop, the pungent smells of new leather, candy, spices and fruit met her at the door. Emporiums such as this were also known for their spicy gossip, which Amelia was prone to listen to from time to time.
“Good morning, Miss Jackson. How are you feeling today?” Shelly Conner greeted her. According to Paul she was a skinny woman in her mid forties with her hair pulled back severely into a tight bun at the nape of her neck.
Angel In The Saloon (Brides of Glory Gulch) Page 5
