“Are you sure?” Kezia asked, handing the baby over to the young woman.
“I’m certain.” Josefina blew a kiss on the baby’s neck, making her giggle.
Kezia settled back into her seat and lifted the teacup, studying the décor of the room. She wondered if the women who normally lived there had a warm place to stay last night. A prick of guilt niggled at Kezia for being one of twelve reasons the harlots had been uprooted from their home, but the men should have used better sense. After all, they’d known for months the brides would arrive. They could have made more suitable arrangements than stuffing twelve brides and their chaperone into a brothel, of all places.
Before she could further contemplate the faulty workings of men’s minds, a tap on the door caused her to crane her neck toward the front entry.
Unable to sleep well in spite of her exhaustion, Kezia had been up for hours. From the window in the bedroom, she’d watched men milling about on the streets of town, some who’d made their way to La Maison to visit their brides-to-be. She’d both anticipated and dreaded seeing Culver today. Would he come to see her? Seek her out? Or had their first meeting in the saloon frightened him away?
She’d found him attractive, engaging, and intelligent in the few moments they’d spent together under the supervision of Agatha.
It was ridiculous to be so intrigued with the man. He was just a man, after all, and she knew the vindictive, malicious, terrible things they were capable of doing, particularly to women they regarded as helpless or stupid. Apart from how handsome, charming, or outgoing one might appear, underneath the exterior, members of the male species were all the same. At least that’s what she tried to tell herself as she set her teacup on the table and listened to a man speak. The walls of the parlor muted the words, but she recognized the deep rumbling tone of voice. Two sets of footsteps kept a staccato beat down the hallway as they approached the parlor.
“Kezia, Mr. Daniels is here to see you,” Penny Jackson announced as she entered the room. The woman tripped on the edge of the rug and bumped into the side table. Kezia grabbed the lamp and her teacup before they tumbled to the floor while Culver caught Penny’s arms, keeping her from falling.
“Thank you, Mr. Daniels,” Penny said, blushing as she turned and hurried from the room.
Culver picked up the hat he’d dropped when he helped Penny and clenched it in one big hand while his gaze melded to Kezia’s. “Is she okay?” he asked, tipping his head toward the door.
“Penny has an unfortunate inclination toward misadventures, but she’s a delightful, sweet person.” Kezia carefully set the lamp back on the table along with her teacup. “What brings you here early this morning, Mr. Daniels?”
“Shoot, Miss Mirga, this isn’t early. I’ve been up for hours.” Culver grinned at her and took a step closer. “Although I realize it may be too early for a social call. I can come back later, if that would suit you better.”
Kezia breathed in the aroma of smoke and shaving soap mingled with the fragrance of virile man. Disgusted by how much she enjoyed Culver’s scent, Kezia turned away, aware of several sets of eyes watching their every move.
“Would you like a cup of coffee or tea, Mr. Daniels?” she asked, waving her hand toward the beverage service Pearl had prepared for them.
“No thank you, Miss Mirga.” Culver dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a small package. “I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and bring you this.” He held out the plain paper-wrapped parcel. “It’s a little something I made for you.”
“Oh, thank you.” Kezia smiled. Unsure of the motive behind the gift, or if one existed beyond genuine kindness, she accepted the package.
When she continued staring at the gift as it rested on her open hand, Culver chuckled. The sound of his amusement awakened something in her, something she’d never felt before. She raised her gaze to his and saw a flicker of emotion in the verdant expanse of his eyes. Truly, it was a pity she hadn’t met Culver years ago, before detestable men had carved her heart into tattered shreds.
“The paper and twine aren’t the gift, Miss Mirga. There’s something inside for you.” He inched closer and pointed to her hand.
“How silly of me,” she said, wanting to prolong the wonder of receiving her first gift, unless she counted Jemimah. The baby was the most precious gift she could ever receive, but Culver’s offering was her first Christmas gift.
Slowly, she untied the bit of twine and set it on the table behind her. With great care, she folded back the paper and drew in an astonished gulp.
“What is it, Kezia?” Avis asked, rising to her feet from where she’d sat across the room.
Kezia held up a beautiful hair clasp. The twists and turns of the metal made it a functional work of art. She’d never seen anything quite like it. The clasp was magnificent, but what she loved most was the fact Culver had made it for her.
“Oh, Mr. Daniels!” Kezia struggled to find her voice as sentiment clogged her throat. “You made this? Just for me?”
He nodded and Kezia felt warmth flow through her.
“It’s beautiful,” Avis said, admiring Culver’s gift. “You do fine work, Mr. Daniels.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling at the woman then turning his attention back to Kezia. “Do you like it?”
“It’s the finest Christmas gift I’ve ever received.” She tamped down her emotions and pulled herself together. “You’re a very talented craftsman, Mr. Daniels. I thought you were just a blacksmith.”
“I don’t think there’s such a thing as just a blacksmith,” Avis said, taking the clasp from Kezia. She loosely twisted the sides of Kezia’s hair and fastened it at the back of her head. “There. That’s lovely.”
Kezia gave Avis a grateful nod then turned back to Culver. “I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Daniels. It really is a wonderful surprise.”
“Do you like it well enough to go for a walk with me? I’d be happy to show you the town and the blacksmith shop. If you wanted, I could saddle two horses and we could go for a ride.”
“That sounds delightful, Mr. Daniels, and I’d love to go, but I can’t.” Kezia held back a cringe when his smile disappeared into a concerned frown. A vertical line stretched across his forehead while his strong, square jaw tightened.
“I understand, Miss Mirga. I’m sorry for assuming…” His words remained unspoken as movement in the doorway captured his attention.
“Here she is!” Pearl said, hurrying into the room carrying Jemimah.
The baby squealed and reached out both hands to her mother. “Ma, ma, ma, ma!”
“Hello, little dove,” Kezia said, taking her daughter and kissing her cheek.
“What is that?” Culver asked, pointing to the baby. The thunderstruck look on his face suggested he thought Jemimah might turn into a venomous reptile that would attack them all.
The other women in the room giggled while Pearl sidled next to Culver and patted him on the back, as if he were a small, misbehaving boy. “Haven’t you ever seen a baby, Culver Daniels?”
“Of course I’ve seen a baby,” he snapped, moving away from Pearl. He again pointed to Jemimah. “Who does she belong to? No one mentioned anything about a baby. I heard one of the women brought a goose, but a baby? What’s the idea behind hiding such a thing?”
Kezia straightened to her full height and held herself stiffly, aghast at his reaction to her daughter. All humor fled at the cool gleam in her eyes that froze on the blacksmith. “Jemimah is my baby. If you have no use for her, then you have no use for me.”
She turned and stormed from the room, rushing upstairs. Culver called after her, but she ignored him as she marched into the bedroom she shared with several of the other brides and slammed the door.
Agatha looked up from where she dug through her traveling case, startled. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” Kezia said. She sniffled as Agatha wrapped her arms around both her and the baby. “Simply everything.”
Chap
ter Four
Aware he’d blundered things badly with his intended, Culver mumbled his goodbyes to the women in the room and showed himself out the door.
With no destination in mind, he wandered through town, wishing he’d handled the unexpected appearance of Kezia’s baby with better manners.
A baby.
What was he supposed to do with a baby?
A blacksmith shop and livery was no place for a little one. What if she fell into the forge or got trampled in a stall by one of the horses? Sparks from hot metal could burn her smooth, delicate skin in a blink. Thoughts of anything marring the baby’s beauty made something painful clench around his heart.
He hadn’t been in the vicinity of little ones for a while, but he knew Kezia’s baby was prettier than most he’d seen. With a head full of dark curls and big, inquisitive eyes, the child greatly resembled her mother, from the shape of her chin to her enchanting smile.
How could he willingly take her in knowing everything about his home and business would endanger her?
Wood covered the floors in his private rooms, but the boards weren’t sanded smooth. What if the baby got splinters in her hands and knees when she started to crawl? Was she old enough to be crawling? Culver had no idea.
Sweet mercy, maybe his bride-to-be was a woman of loose morals. Was the baby the result of some illicit tryst? Was it possible Kezia was a widow? What if she’d run away from a husband or lover? Was the baby’s father searching for her?
Filled with a multitude of questions for which he had no answers, Culver strode across the bridge spanning the Cayuga River and continued walking until his feet carried him to the mine’s mule barn.
Although many people thought Woody Burnside, the man who tended the mules, was a little slow and a lot strange, Culver liked him. Woody was honest and kind, and that was more than he could say for many men he’d known.
“Hey, Culver,” Woody said, stepping outside the barn with three chickens clucking around his heels.
“Merry Christmas, Woody. How are your three ladies?” Culver asked, grinning as the hens looked up at him, heads cocked as though they listened to his words.
“They’re just fine.” Woody stepped back inside the warmth of the barn and Culver followed along with the three chickens. “Did you see your bride this morning?”
Culver released a long breath and removed his hat, running a hand over his head. He settled his hat back in place then eyed Woody. “I did, but it sure didn’t go like I’d planned.”
Woody nodded. “I’m getting ready to visit mine.”
“Well, I hope you have a nice time with her,” Culver said, wondering if Kezia was, at that very moment, attempting to convince Mrs. Walters to rip up her marriage contract. He couldn’t blame her if she tried.
“Did you like your bride?” Woody asked, reaching over and absently rubbing the neck of a mule.
“I did like her, do like her, but I don’t think she likes me too much right now.”
Woody shot him a questioning look.
Culver shifted his weight from one hip to the other, recalling how badly things had gone with Kezia. “I accidentally insulted her, something very important to her. I’m not sure she’ll forgive me or give me another chance.”
“I bet she will, Culver. She didn’t come all this way not to marry you.”
Woody had a point. Culver offered him a studying glance. “I best get going so you can go see your bride.”
“I’m not sure she’ll like me.” Woody appeared deflated as he continued petting the mule.
Culver reached out and gave him an encouraging thump on the shoulder. “Just be yourself, Woody. A woman worth marrying would be glad to know she’s pledged her life to a good, kind man like you.”
“Thanks, Culver.” Woody observed him a moment. “Was your bride anything like what you expected?”
“Not at all,” Culver said, recalling how Kezia had looked when he arrived at the brothel. Once Mrs. Jackson had disappeared after tripping her way into the room, he’d nearly had the breath knocked out of him by the sight of Kezia.
The rich hues of her crimson and gold striped skirt topped with a dark green blouse put him in mind of a fancy hotel lobby he once walked through. A wide, heavy belt cinched her narrow waist, accentuating a bounty of curves above and below the band of leather. Curves like that were destined to drive men daft and, unfortunately, Culver was no exception.
The same silver hoops that entranced him yesterday hung from her ears. Light silver chains looped around her neck, hanging over the swell of her chest. Bracelets tinkled merrily around her wrists while rings adorned her fingers. He’d never seen anyone wear so much jewelry at one time, but somehow it fit her.
The glorious mane of her hair flowed freely around her until Miss Smith pulled it back and fastened it with the clasp he’d given Kezia as a gift.
From the look on his intended’s face, he would have thought she’d never received a gift. If that was true, he was pleased to be the first to give her one. Then he had to go and ruin the moment by acting like a clod when Pearl appeared with the baby.
He’d been so astounded by the realization someone had a baby, he hadn’t even caught the little one’s name. He did recall hearing Kezia call her little dove, but that surely wasn’t her name.
Then again, with Kezia’s strange, gypsy ways, who knew what type of name the baby might bear.
Perhaps this little setback was a sign Culver wasn’t meant to take Kezia as a bride. The woman was so full of life and color and exuberance, he felt as exciting as a clump of manure next to her. Maybe, just maybe, what had happened was for the best.
Culver forced his attention back to Woody as the man reached out to scratch the neck of another mule.
Woody offered him a sympathetic glance. “It’s too bad things didn’t go as you planned. Is your bride the one who won’t stop complaining about everything? I heard about her already.”
“No, that’s not her,” Culver said, realizing things could be much worse. He could have gotten a completely unsuitable bride like the one doomed to marry Horatio Smith.
“Is she homely? Mean-spirited? Lazy?”
Culver shook his head. “No, she’s beautiful and charismatic, and wonderful.”
Woody grinned. “Then what’s the problem?”
“Me,” Culver said, realizing he was indeed the one at fault. Even if Kezia no longer wanted to marry him, he still needed to set things right between them. A sudden urge to get back to his shop made him back toward the door. “I’ll see you later, Woody. Don’t worry overmuch about your bride. I’m sure things will work out just like they’re meant to.”
“I hope so.” Woody waved at him then returned his attention to the three hens as they clucked their opinions on the matter.
Culver jogged over the bridge and rushed into his shop, he yanked on his leather apron and stoked the fire. While the blaze heated, he took down a fine leather roll that held some of his tools and admired the expert craftsmanship of the piece as he spread it out on his worktable.
As though unrolling it caused the man who made it to appear, Gus Peregrine stepped inside the shop.
“Howdy, Gus. Merry Christmas to you,” Culver said, smiling at the man. Although Gus was talented at any number of things, like tooling leather, the poor man was starting to lose his grip on his mental faculties. His grandson, Jack, had his hands full trying to keep an eye on him and run the freight office. No wonder Jack had insisted his bride be strong and resilient. She’d need to be to keep up with the Peregrine men.
“Merry Christmas, Culver. What are you working on today?” Gus walked over to the worktable and grinned as he saw the tool roll he’d crafted.
“I need to make a Christmas present for a special girl.”
Gus nodded. “There’s a bunch of ‘em in town today. As a matter of fact, I’m gonna go find one.”
Culver held back his chuckle. He knew Gus hadn’t been among the men who drew short straws and agreed to wed, b
ut the man seemed to have forgotten that minor detail. In fact, Culver heard he’d raised a bit of a ruckus over at the cathouse the previous evening, seeking out one of the brides. “You do that, Gus, and have a grand day.”
“Oh, I will, Culver.” Gus disappeared out the doorway.
He hadn’t been gone more than a few minutes when Jack Peregrine limped into the shop, favoring the leg he’d lost in the war. Culver had known him back in those days they both would like to forget. “Have you seen Grandpa?”
Culver glanced over at the harried man. “He was just here. Said something about finding his bride. I assumed he was heading over to La Maison.”
“Well, it’s a relief to know he’s somewhere warm and he shouldn’t be able to get into too much trouble there,” Jack said, turning to leave the shop. “Merry Christmas!” he called as he made his way out into the cold morning air.
Culver wondered if he should help Jack but decided the man could round up his grandfather on his own.
He added more fuel to the forge’s fire then realized he still wore his good clothes. After whipping off his apron, he hurried inside his home and changed into work clothes, then returned.
He tied the apron on again, tugged on the cap he wore to keep cinders out of his hair, then set about making a gift that he hoped would serve as a peace offering to Kezia and her little dove.
Chapter Five
“He’s back,” Cara Donnelly said, smiling at Kezia as she hurried into the kitchen where a few of the women washed and dried the lunch dishes.
“Who’s back?” Agatha asked, drying a serving bowl and eyeing Cara.
“Mr. Daniels. He’s asking to see Kezia,” the lovely red-headed woman said with a smile.
Agatha plunked the bowl on the counter with such force, Kezia was surprised it didn’t shatter. The older woman tossed the dishtowel into the bowl and started out of the kitchen.
Before she reached the doorway, Kezia grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. “I’ll handle this, Agatha, but I do appreciate your concern.”
The Dove_The Second Day Page 3
