The Dove_The Second Day

by Shanna Hatfield

  “Are you certain? I think you should…”

  “Come along, dear,” Mrs. Boonesbury said, sliding an arm around Kezia and turning toward the door. “It’s time for us to go.”

  “Go? Where are you…?” Culver glanced at the doorway as the reverend and Mrs. Walters marched out, trailed by the brides.

  “It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Daniels.” The sound of Kezia’s voice threatened to turn Culver’s knees to half-cooked pudding as he remained rooted to the saloon floor, watching her leave.

  When the last bride departed the building, he backed up to the bar and leaned both elbows against it for support. “I’m in trouble, Seamus. Big trouble.”

  The barkeep chuckled and thumped him on the back. “That’s what happens when you agree to take a bride, Culver. Women are nothin’ but a lifetime of trouble.”

  Chapter Two

  Kezia slowly walked back and forth across the bedroom floor, rocking her arms with each step, trying to get her baby to sleep.

  Worn out from the tiring day, her six-month-old daughter yawned and rubbed one chubby fist across her left eye.

  “Let your dreams enfold you, my little dove,” Kezia whispered to the baby. She lifted the precious bundle in her arms and kissed the dark curls covering Jemimah’s head.

  “Why do you call her your little dove?” asked a woman named Pearl as she stepped into the room.

  Kezia turned and smiled at her, studying the good-natured harlot. “Her name means dove, and it fits my darling girl.”

  “It certainly does,” Pearl said, gently rubbing her index finger along the curve of the baby’s velvety cheek.

  Surprised, again, by this unexpected woman who had been a blessing to all of the brides, Kezia held the baby out to Pearl. “Would you like to hold her for a moment?”

  “Oh, I’d love that,” Pearl said, in a soft, wistful tone. A look of longing glimmered in her eyes as she eagerly took Jemimah, cuddling her close.

  Earlier, when Reverend Hammond led the women to a two-story structure, no one gave any thought to the place being unrespectable. Then nearly naked men clattered downstairs and raced out the door. In seconds, it became apparent the accommodations the pastor arranged for the twelve brides and Mrs. Walters were in a house of ill repute.

  Kezia’s husband had threatened to sell her to such an establishment times too numerous to count. The fact she made him more money as part of his circus act was the only reason she hadn’t been forced to join the ranks of women like Pearl.

  In spite of the woman’s profession, Kezia liked her. Pearl had a big heart and a kind manner. With the help of the sheriff, the other employees of the brothel had been moved elsewhere for the night, but Pearl stayed behind to help the brides adjust to their surroundings.

  Kezia wondered what brought Pearl back up to the room. She didn’t mind sharing the baby with Pearl, at least for a moment or two. The way the woman tucked Jem’s blanket around her and cradled her so tenderly made Kezia glad she’d offered to allow Pearl to hold her most priceless treasure.

  “She’s such a sweet baby, Kezia.” Pearl whispered. A smile transformed her features to true beauty as she watched the baby’s eyes flutter shut. A soft sigh blew from Jem’s little rosebud lips, wrapping around Kezia’s already conquered heart.

  “She has her moments,” Kezia said with a grin, unable to keep from brushing an unruly curl away from her daughter’s forehead. “But she is a good-tempered baby who brightens my whole world.”

  “You’re fortunate to have her.” Pearl carefully handed the baby back to her mother and watched as Kezia settled Jem in the middle of the bed.

  When she finished, she rested a hand on the headboard and watched her daughter sleep before looking back at Pearl. “I am grateful every day for the blessing of this child.”

  Pearl’s smile faded and she took a step closer to Kezia, resting a comforting hand on her arm. “Do you miss her father terribly? Has he been gone long?”

  Kezia shook her head. “You’ll think me the most horrid of women, but I won’t lie.” She glanced back at her daughter then turned to Pearl again. “My husband was a wretched, cruel, terrible man. His death came as a shock, but I didn’t waste even a minute mourning his passing. It wasn’t until a few months after he died that I realized Jemimah was on the way.”

  “What did you do?” Pearl asked, stepping back as Kezia moved away from the bed and went to stand in front of a window.

  Snow swirled in the darkness outside, making Kezia shiver. Or perhaps it was her memories that gave her a chill. “I found a job working in a hotel in Denver, washing dishes. Someone told me of Mrs. Walters’ organization and I got in touch with her. When she suggested I consider becoming a bride to one of the men in this remote mining town, I decided marriage had to be better than the work at the hotel. It was a daily struggle to do my job and care for Jem.” Kezia turned to study her baby again. “Even the worst this town has to offer would be better than my husband. I want a better life for Jemimah than I can provide alone.”

  “You’ll find some good men here, Kezia,” Pearl said, giving her arm an encouraging squeeze. “Which man are you to marry?”

  “Culver Daniels,” Kezia said. A note of interest rang in her voice while a spark of attraction flickered in her eyes at mere mention of the burly man’s name.

  Pearl laughed. “I don’t think you have a thing to worry about with Culver. We call him the gentle giant. He might be intimidating in size, but he owns a heart of gold.” The woman leaned closer to Kezia and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Culver never comes here, at least I’ve never seen him… well, he’s one of the most upright men I’ve ever met. If we didn’t already have Reverend Hammond, I could see Culver filling in as a pastor. He’ll do right by you and your girl.”

  Relieved Culver wasn’t among the men who frequented the bordello, Kezia released the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

  The moment she and Agatha had stepped inside the saloon, which seemed like such an odd place to welcome the brides, her gaze had zoomed to the towering man with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. Culver hadn’t exaggerated when he’d described them as being as wide as an axe handle. In truth, she thought he’d downplayed his size. Not a man in the saloon bore the same height as the blacksmith. Unlike the other men in the saloon, he wore his shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows, giving her an unobstructed view of corded forearms.

  His solid chest and strong arms garnered her admiration. However, the muscular thickness of his thighs as he walked across the room directly to her caused her mouth to go dry.

  Something sizzled between the two of them, something she had no idea how to explain or understand. As he strode toward her and Agatha, she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same magnetic pull to her as she did to him.

  When he’d stopped and introduced himself, Kezia had been both thrilled and terrified that this rugged, masculine being was the one she’d promised to wed. Culver wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever seen. But he was good-looking, very much so, with a cleft in his chin and a determined square jaw. Yet, in spite of his obvious strength and confident bearing, gentleness radiated from his beautiful green eyes that brought to mind a vision of Christmas holly.

  Rapidly grasping onto the knowledge that the man who captivated her was the man she’d traveled to Noelle to wed, Kezia didn’t know what to think. She’d learned from an early age to never trust a man, any man, but Culver threatened much more than her trust. Intuitively, she knew he could destroy her heart.

  Bells of warning clanged loudly in her head, but she ignored them. Instead, she wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through Culver’s thick brown hair or press a kiss to his tempting lips.

  Grateful her daughter’s wiggling disrupted her wayward thoughts, Kezia had shifted Jem beneath the cover of her cloak then felt nervous when Culver offered to take the bundle she held.

  Mindful it was wrong to keep secrets from her future husband
, Kezia hadn’t been able to force herself to admit the truth to Culver. As far as he knew, she was Miss Mirga, not Widow Mirga with a baby.

  Agatha had agreed it might be best to ease the men of Noelle into the idea that one of them would get a ready-made family rather than springing it on them all at once. Twelve disgruntled brides were more than they could handle as it was.

  So far, no one, not even the pastor, knew about Jemimah. Kezia needed a few hours to come to terms with the fact she really was going to marry, again. Worse still, it wouldn’t be for love, either, but to secure her daughter’s future.

  “Lost in your thoughts?” Pearl asked, pulling Kezia back to the present and away from the window.

  She smiled at the woman and nodded her head. “Today has provided much to think about.”

  Pearl laughed quietly and backed toward the door. “It has at that. I hope you and little Jem have a peaceful night, Kezia. The other brides sharing the room will be up soon to ready for bed. Merry Christmas to you both.”

  “And to you, Pearl. Thank you for being so kind and helpful to us all.”

  “You’re welcome,” the harlot said before disappearing down the hall.

  Kezia changed into her nightgown, braided her hair, and slid into the bed. Carefully, she adjusted the covers around her sleeping daughter, wishing she’d thought to pack the wooden crate she’d used as the baby’s bed. She worried about the other women sharing the bed being able to sleep with the baby there, but they’d all have to make do.

  Weary, Kezia let her thoughts drift to the blacksmith who was nothing like she imagined yet better than she’d dreamed.

  “We’ll just see how he reacts to you, Jem. That will definitely make it clear if this is all a mistake or not,” she whispered, nestling her daughter closer and closing her eyes as exhaustion overtook her.

  Chapter Three

  The first day of Christmas

  December 25th, 1876

  Sleep proved an elusive foe for Culver during Christmas Eve night. He rolled onto his side then flipped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling through the darkness surrounding him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the image of Kezia Mirga out of his mind. Her dark, wild beauty taunted him while the honeyed tone of her voice tormented him. The widow with her, Mrs. Boonesbury, prevented him from getting close enough to discern Kezia’s fragrance, but he’d bet every tool in his blacksmith shop that it would be something exotic that left a man’s mind befuddled.

  The fact he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts left him antsy and angry. Culver had purposely set aside all emotions years ago and locked them away. Yet, a few moments in the company of his bride-to-be and Culver felt the lid jouncing on that box of emotions as the contents tried to break free.

  If he wasn’t a man of sense and reason, he would have surrendered to the notion the woman had hexed him. He didn’t know much about gypsies, but what he’d heard didn’t speak well of them. Didn’t they utter curses, rob people blind, and live devoid of morals and ethics?

  Good lands! What if his wife was no better than the women who worked with Madame Bonheur at the brothel?

  The thought of Kezia being a loose woman caused Culver to sit upright in bed and grab his head with both hands. What had he gotten himself into? What kind of crazy person married a woman he knew nothing about?

  The one letter he’d received from Kezia after he’d written to her in the autumn only held a few brief lines. He’d read it so many times, he had it memorized:

  Dear Mr. Daniels,

  Thank you for your informative letter. I will agree to marry you and am not frightened by your size. I am twenty-four and willing to work hard. Your offer of marriage is appreciated. I’ll do my best to be a good wife to you. May the knowledge that I do know how to cook bring you a smile. I hope you look forward to the end of your days dining on salt pork and beans.

  Until we meet in person, I shall remain faithfully yours,

  Kezia Mirga

  Culver had often wondered what Kezia looked like, if she would be as tall as he pictured. Her height had caught him off guard almost as much as her attractiveness. She was so much lovelier than he dared to dream.

  That mass of dark wavy hair was enough to make a man crazy. Coupled with her enticing features, the light dancing in her eyes, and her enchanting smile — it would take a man made of stone to ignore her considerable charms.

  He thought of her colorful cloak, embellished with gold stitching. It looked like something a performer might wear. He recalled the mention of her talent at performing arts. He wished there had been time to ask if she’d worked as an actress. What if she’d had an act in a saloon?

  Worry gnawed at the practical side of Culver. Kezia was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. But would she make a good wife? She seemed too flamboyant and free-spirited to be willing to settle down to domesticity. Would she marry him then run off in a month or year to a new adventure? Would she be faithful to him?

  He sighed and ran a hand over his face. Would Kezia be able to adhere to the order and routine that comprised Culver’s ordinary days?

  Did he really want her to?

  The part of Culver that still owned a bit of adventure whispered that there was nothing ordinary about the extraordinary woman and it would be a shame to try to make her change.

  “Perhaps she’d be better off marrying someone else,” Culver muttered to himself as he rose from the bed, knowing sleep would never find him this night.

  Even as he thought about Kezia taking up with one of the other residents of Noelle, Culver shook his head. He wanted her for his own. In spite of his cautious, sensible brain telling him to run for the hills and let her go, his heart commanded him to proceed with his plans to take Kezia Mirga as his wife.

  Culver had made an ornament to give Kezia for Christmas, something she could hang on the community tree in the saloon, but now he wanted to make her a personal gift.

  Hastily donning a pair of denims and yanking on a worn shirt, Culver made his way into the blacksmith shop and stoked the fire. He’d need it good and hot if he wanted to complete his gift before breakfast.

  Three hours later, Culver wrapped his gift to Kezia in brown paper and tied it with a length of twine. While water heated for his bath, he fed the horses in the livery, milked his cow, then poured warm milk into a pan for the cat that kept the mice at bay. After eating a heaping plate of salt pork, Culver drained his coffee cup then washed his dishes. He tidied the rooms that made up his home, and laid out clean clothes. For a moment, he debated slipping fresh sheets on the bed, but decided he might be getting ahead of himself. Just because he was ready to make Kezia his bride didn’t mean she was willing to exchange vows before they spent more time together.

  Determined to be patient, he folded his long legs into the entirely too small tub and took a bath, eager to rinse away the sweat he’d generated making Kezia’s gift, along with the metallic smell of the blacksmith shop that seemed embedded in his skin.

  He shaved, donned his fresh clothing, combed his hair, and took a deep breath. He ought to forget about Kezia, about the way she made his heart trip around in his chest, and go on with his day. Reverend Hammond planned to offer a Christmas service that evening, so Culver had the entire day before him to do whatever he liked.

  Since he rarely sat still, reading a book held little appeal. He didn’t like to linger at the saloon, and he’d already completed all of his morning chores. He could always work on the never-ending list of projects at the blacksmith shop. If he wanted to go for a ride in the mountains, he could stop in and visit his friend Zeke, but he wouldn’t. At least not now.

  Not when all he really wanted was to see Kezia again.

  Before he changed his mind, Culver shrugged into his coat, settled his best hat on his head, picked up Kezia’s gift, and strode out into the cold morning air.

  From behind her cup of steaming, fragrant tea, Kezia hid her smile. One of the women commented on how peaceful it was with Maybelle
still asleep.

  “Why, it’s perfectly uncivilized the way…” the contrary Maybelle frequently complained. If she wasn’t extolling the many desirable characteristics of her husband-to-be, the woman did little else beyond acting belligerently to the other brides and whining about the deplorable state of everything around her.

  Kezia had learned within moments of meeting Maybelle that she detested anyone she deemed different. That encompassed most of the brides on this adventure, but especially Josefina Morales de Zapatero, a Mexican woman, and Liu Meizhen, a lovely Chinese girl. The only thing Maybelle disliked more than them was someone of gypsy birth. The wretched woman had actually yanked her skirts away then screeched when Kezia happened to take a seat beside her the previous morning. She’d meant to be kind since no one else wanted to sit next to the wasp-tongued woman, but her temper fit caused Jemimah to scream in terror. Kezia decided her good deeds, at least where Maybelle was concerned, were finished.

  Thankfully, Maybelle continued sleeping long after the rest of them had risen for the day. Several of the brides gathered in the parlor for tea and coffee.

  “Are you two enjoying your morning?” Kezia asked, greeting Josefina and Avis Smith when they entered the room.

  Avis smiled at the baby as she poured a hot drink and stirred in a spoon of sugar.

  “How is our little miss doing?” Josefina asked, making a silly face at Jemimah that caused the baby to smile.

  “She’s very well, thank you,” Kezia said, setting her cup of tea on a side table and glancing down at her daughter. Jemimah rested on her mother’s lap, staring with wide eyes at the women in the room. “But I think it’s about time for a change of her diaper.”

  “Oh, let me take her,” Josefina volunteered.