by Jo Noelle
The coffee pot clinked against the shelf as Clara set it down. “You’ve been so helpful,” she said when Rita’s attention returned to her.
“When would you like this delivered?” the young woman asked.
“We’ll be home after four. Would that work?” Clara’s excitement for setting up her house grew. The kitchen would be ready after tonight.
“That will be fine. Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Newell”
Each time she heard her new name, it took her a moment to realize someone was talking to her. “Goodbye.”
After Millie and Clara returned to the restaurant, they served lunch and then started the second shift of bagged meals. At the end of it, Bernard said, “Do you suppose it’s time we go home?”
Clara looked toward Millie and a very untidy kitchen behind her.
“Go without a worry,” Millie said. “Edwin’s sisters are coming to help with all of this, and the supper meal, too. Be off with you.”
They walked and chatted along the two blocks home. Bernard opened the door, stepping aside for her. She felt his hand softly touch her waist, the gesture warming the small of her back. It wasn’t possessive. Rather, it was gentle and affectionate. She liked it very much. She’d been shown more courtesy in the past two days than she had in all the years before.
Clara had made some scones with candied lemon rind for dessert. She’d made half a dozen, hoping Bernard liked them enough to eat them now and for breakfast. She’d been right. He ate three. It felt good to cook for a man again.
After their meal that evening, Bernard helped Clara clean the kitchen. She put up a fuss, but he was firm. They had both worked the same hours that day, so sharing the work at home seemed fair.
“I wonder if you’d like to sit for a while,” Bernard asked as he dried the plate Clara handed him. “I bought a couple of books, and I thought we might make a habit of spending some time each night reading. That is, if you agree?”
Clara knew she wouldn’t be the one reading. That was done with much effort by her, but she thought she would greatly enjoy hearing his voice. “Oh, yes. I’d like that.” She sat in a stuffed armchair while Bernard settled onto the sofa.
He smiled in her direction. “Would you join me here?” he asked, patting the cushion beside him.
Clara’s cheeks warmed. “Yes, of course.” She rose from the chair. She was glad he’d asked but still felt self-conscious when his smile continued to grow as she approached. He gave a little wink as she sat down, making her stomach tumble with nerves. She reached down for the cushion to steady herself as she sat.
“Which one shall we start with? I have a volume of poetry by Emily Dickinson and a story called The Scarlet Letter . . . ” He flipped the book to look at the spine, “By Hawthorne. It isn’t a new story, but it’s new to me. Do you have a preference?”
“Either one is fine.”
“Poems for tonight, then.” His hand covered hers momentarily. Then he opened the book.
Bernard began reading and sounded as if he’d read the poems before. The words were like music, lilting with the meaning behind them. His voice was strong and soft to her ear, competing with the beauty of Dickinson’s words. At times, she looked at the book—at others, she looked up at Bernard. After he turned the page, his arm stretched behind her and coaxed her to scoot closer, which she did. So close, in fact, that her shoulder rested on his chest, and she leaned against him. His arm behind her cushioned her neck and then hung down, his fingers caressing her sleeve. The rhythm of the movement provided a steady beat behind the words and lovely chills racing up and down her arm. She believed that if she’d let it, this marriage could be an affectionate one. Did she dare? Yes, this much. Tonight, this much was just right.
Chapter 5
Bernard
One day down. Bernard supposed the first day might be the most important in getting things off to a good start. He’d had the idea that, to make a success of this, he’d have to do the opposite of what he’d seen growing up. He’d start now. When he offered to help in the kitchen, Clara had truly seemed shocked, but he had no intention of making her a slave.
There had been a little break between clients that day, and Bernard had walked to the mercantile for a special purchase—the books. Later, they sat together on the couch to read. That might have been the best part of the day. Having her so near made him feel like he really could be a new man. He couldn’t remember even one time his parents had sat together. Even at meals, his mother stood and served and then ate alone.
It seemed Clara wasn’t convinced that they were a couple yet. He’d work on that.
A few days later, Bernard stared at Clara’s shoes as she started down the stair. Next came the hem of her rose-colored dress, swaying and turning and trailing behind her. Each stair she took revealed a few more pink-silk inches. It hugged her in a most becoming way, hinting at the alluring woman beneath. She’d worn it only once to church, and Bernard had found that his mind was less than focused on devotion. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea that he’d suggested she wear that dress to the theater. He was tortured enough being around her without the extra enticement it presented. Finally, he could see all of her and watched as she continued down.
Oh, he knew why he asked her to wear it. She was a beautiful woman, so much so that she took his breath away. He knew it, and he wanted her to know it.
She stood before him at the landing. “You are so beautiful,” he said and then leaned over to kiss her cheek. As his lips met her soft skin, he heard her quick intake of breath. His body responded, wanting to take her into his arms and kiss her again and proper. If he did that, they’d likely miss the opening night of the Creede theater. When he looked into her face, a lovely blush brightened her cheeks. “The carriage is here. Shall we go?”
She smiled and took his arm. As they rode, Bernard thought about what he’d learned of his wife so far. She was making his house a home by cooking excellent meals and creating pretty pillows to toss around. She was thoughtful of him and others. He could hardly wait to see what else he learned in the coming days.
When they arrived and were seated near the front, nearly every seat was filled. Soon after, the curtain was pulled back. The opening act was a quartet singing some familiar tunes. Then the play was announced, The Martyrs of Salem.
Bernard hoped he didn’t err by bringing Clara to such a performance. As it progressed, her reaction gave him confidence that she was enjoying it. She gasped at the accusations of the women being witches. Her hand covered her mouth when the verdict was passed. And tears rolled down her cheeks at the deaths of the women determined to be guilty.
He handed her his handkerchief.
“Thank you. That was truly cruel, wasn’t it? It happened? That’s a true story, isn’t it?”
He could see the compassion in her expression. What a gem Clara was. Her heart was tender. He didn’t know what her brother had been like, but he had some idea. Yet, she was preserved with a gentle soul. He wished he could tell her that the play was only fiction. “It happened.”
Before he could say more, the theater manager announced that a singer recently from The Metropolitan Opera House in New York City would favor them with several selections. Clara reached for his hand as the soprano sang. Bernard was happy to provide some comfort to Clara’s aching for the women portrayed in the play. She was tender-hearted. He had suspected it and was again grateful for the fine wife he knew the Lord had provided for him that day.
At the end of the evening, Clara held his arm as they walked to their carriage. “I’m so happy you brought me here tonight. Having a theater in town makes Creede a better place. We’ve been so isolated and uncivilized, but that all changes tonight, I think.” After he handed her into the seat, she said, “I have some pie at home. Would you like some?”
“Of course.” Day by day, he could see little changes in how Clara felt about him. She was softening and acting more sure around him. It was going well.
Their driver dropped th
em off at their door, and soon the couple sat together at the kitchen table with slices of apple pie in front of them. Bernard couldn’t believe the fortune he had in finding Clara. He hadn’t even thought to have a wife. He’d barely settled down. He wondered if he would have found her had he not been trying to escape his family. That might be the only good that came from that.
When they finished their treat, he stood, ready to go to bed. “You make a delicious pie, Mrs. Newell.” He knew he sounded too formal, but he liked that she wore his name.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Newell.” Her smile was coquettish, and his knees felt weak.
When she stood, he slowly stepped in front of her. She watched him with wonder in her eyes. That small kiss to her cheek earlier had been just a seed that was growing within him, blooming with the scent of passion. His hands rested on her hips. She could move if she wanted to. He’d let her. But if she was as ready for a kiss as he was, he thought she might stay.
Her arms came to rest on his. Then her hands pushed upward to his shoulders, and her fingers wrapped behind his neck. For just a moment, Barnard’s vision filled with only her face. A new secret in her eyes was revealed to him. Small flecks of gold swam among the center ring of green next to her pupil. She knew what he wanted. He was waiting to see if she would allow it. Time seemed to hold its breath, or Bernard did, waiting for some signal to go ahead. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she leaned the last few inches needed for their lips to touch.
It might have been the hint of cinnamon and apples from the dessert that mixed with the taste that was uniquely Clara, but Bernard knew he was lost to this kiss. He didn’t know how far to take it, but when Clara pulled him closer and threw herself into it, he responded eagerly.
Her lips, sweet as pie, made Bernard’s stomach flip, and his arms tightened around the petite woman standing within them. She seemed to welcome each movement and give back little surprises—a nibble on his lower lip, lifting her chin to move his lips down her neck. How did she know what he wanted? She seemed like his perfect match. A delicate moan escaped her when his hands caressed her back and hips and waist. A heady sensation washed through him, part victory and part worship.
His mouth released and slanted across hers the other way. It was like a completely new kiss with new discoveries.
Too soon, her hand touched his cheek, and her lips parted from his. She kissed him lightly once more but stepped back carefully. “I don’t believe I’ve had such a convincing show of appreciation for pie before, Mr. Newell.” He could tell she was trying to draw in more breath when she added, “I’ll be sure to make pie again. Soon.”
“Or perhaps you could make cake, and we’ll see what happens.”
She chuckled. “Goodnight. Thank you for the wonderful evening.”
Bernard brushed his palm across her jaw. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”
She nodded and turned toward the stairs. Then he watched her as first her golden hair and then the silk gown, and finally, her shoes disappeared a few inches at a time up the staircase, reversing the evening to its beginning.
The air in the house seemed to follow her up. He had to take a deep breath before he moved. He was sure that he’d be lying abed thinking about her for the next few hours. He also wanted to plan more evenings they could share. If it was possible to have a repeat of the kisses at the bottom of the stairs, he’d have to give it some thought on what to do next.
He continued to his bedroom after Clara disappeared upstairs. What could he do next to move along their courtship?
After dismissing several ideas, Bernard wondered if having dinner with friends would make Clara happy. He admitted that he didn’t know her friends very well. He’d never seen his father or mother have a friend. They had acquaintances or people who worked for them, but that was it. He was glad that his parents’ bad examples were proving good for him in a twisted way. Sharing friends, he decided, was an important part of making this marriage work.
It was funny how a week ago, he never thought of anyone else’s happiness, but now he wanted nothing more than to improve hers. He loved the joy that made her eyes shine. He liked to see her dressed up, and he especially enjoyed the reward he had received after they got home. Yes, doing good for others did make one feel good.
Millie and Julianne seemed an obvious choice since their friendship with Clara grew daily at work. He was beginning to interact more with them as well. Hugh and Edwin were considered his friends already. Since he was trying to extend their society to other couples, he decided to wait on extending them an invitation.
He mulled it over until sleep took him.
For the next few days, Bernard noticed that Clara walked closer to him than she had before the play, but there was no repeat of kissing. He continued on his plan to invite friends to dinner, thinking about who to invite. The next morning after sharing a few moments with Clara over coffee and toast, they began their walk to work. On the way, Marshal KC’s horse trotted up next to them.
“Good morning,” he said, tipping his hat.
“Good morning, Marshal. You’re up early,” Clara commented.
“That I am. If I have anything to do with it, though, I won’t be up for much longer. I’m headed home.”
“Say hello to Eliza for me,” Clara replied.
“Will do,” KC answered.
Bernard noticed the warmth in Clara’s voice. Eliza had also been one of the captives, and whenever she came into the restaurant, she and Clara would spend a little time talking before Clara went back to work. Bernard often worked with KC on legal matters and would welcome the opportunity to extend that acquaintance into friendship. KC and Eliza might just be the right couple to invite to dinner.
KC rode past and tethered his horse at the post outside his office while Bernard and Clara walked around the back of the restaurant to the kitchen door.
Bernard walked through and toward the table where he usually sat. It was there and all four chairs. They were even right-side up. But they were wrapped in newspaper. The sight made him laugh. Then he examined the work. The pages were wrapped, folded, and tucked to stay in place. He began carefully removing the paper. Although he enjoyed reading the paper each morning, he didn’t usually have to work so hard for it.
Shortly, Clara came in, carrying a plate of eggs, stopping beside him. “The prankster strikes again,” she said. “That’s twice for you.”
“Three times,” he said. “I also had a penny mysteriously appear under my plate when I know for a fact the table hadn’t had the coin on it before.”
When he’d cleared a portion of the top of the table, Clara set his plate down, then he pulled the rest of the paper off.
“If you don’t need that, may I have some of it?” Edwin’s sister Rhona asked, pointing at the newspaper.
“Be my guest. As much as you’d like,” he answered.
She shuffled through the pages, ordering them back to the way they would have been when delivered. “Thank you,” she said and sat with it at a different table.
Bernard ate his breakfast but noticed Rhona using a pencil to draw circles on the paper. He chuckled a little to himself. He knew she must be circling mistakes. He saw them as he read the paper each day but tried to ignore them. Apparently, she didn’t ignore them.
After he was finished eating, Clara returned and retrieved the plate. To his surprise, there was another penny on the table. He shook his head.
How did the pennies get there? Was Clara putting them there? Perhaps she had one in her hand and set it down when she did the plate or as she picked the plate up. He hadn’t suspected a mischievous side to his new wife, but he’d have to watch closer to see. That still didn’t answer how the table became wrapped. She’d been with him before they’d entered Hearth and Home. She couldn’t be responsible.
He pulled out his pocket watch. His first client wasn’t coming until after the lunch rush. That gave him just enough time to ride out to the Murrays’ cabin near the Turley ranch and back again, figuring a
half hour each way with his horse at a trot. KC had looked dead tired a few moments ago when they’d spoken. If Bernard hurried, maybe he’d catch him before he dropped into bed. He picked up his horse from Otto at the livery and took the road toward Lake City.
The early morning air was crisp. Twice so far this month, the grass had been frozen in the morning. That was one of the big adjustments he’d had to make upon moving to Colorado. It was cold. The weather started to change in September most years, and they soon received the first snowfall. Then by January, there was enough snow to be up to a man’s shoulders. The good thing about living in a mining town was that getting out the precious cargo from the mines was important enough that roads never closed and the train ran twice a day no matter what workers had to do to keep it that way.
As Bernard passed Bad Egg Baldwin’s place, his mind wandered back to Clara. Would she rather live in a home instead of the quarters he’d had built with his law office? He thought maybe women liked having a garden or a place for chickens. This place was for sale with a hundred and sixty acres—enough room for cattle. It made his stomach turn inside out to think about being involved in the cattle business again. Maybe sheep would be better. Nah. They die too easily. He tried to imagine what Clara would say, but he had no idea.
As his horse continued down the road, Bernard realized there were a lot of things he didn’t know about his wife. He didn’t know about her family other than Arlo. Of course, she could say the same about him. He’d be less than excited to tell her about them. She might feel the same way or not have any other family.
Although he knew her age, he didn’t know her birthdate. Or the town, or state for that matter, that she’d grown up in. Or even if she had a middle name. It was time they got acquainted.
