"And my father, a policeman, beat his wife and son, just because he could get away with it."
Amelia hadn't meant to say that, but she was so glad she never had met her father.
"I'll swear on every Bible in town, Amelia, that I would never lose my temper and lay a hand on you."
"I didn't think you are the kind of man who would, but let me tell you, I'd be pounding on my uncle's door to throw you in jail if you ever did."
"I'm glad to hear you'd stand up for yourself."
"What about the rest of the men? How were they raised?" Amelia asked as they slowly walked the length of the downtown, two blocks.
"Some had better adoptive parents than others, but we were still better off than our situation in New York," Barton said with a note of hardness in his voice.
"We haven't talked about your past there, but you would have been old enough to remember your parents, right?"
"Let's sit down on the bench in front of the butcher shop for a minute. I should tell you something about my past that might change your mind about me courting you," Barton said, as he gently pulled Amelia down beside him on the wooden bench.
Amelia was still stuck on him saying "courting you" when he let go of her hand and turned to face the street instead of her.
"Our parents weren't dead when I knocked on the orphanage door and pushed Gordon and Squires inside when it opened. I meant to leave them there and live on my own, but Squires was bawling and screaming and I... stayed when the worker asked if I'd like a hot meal."
"Oh, Barton, I'm so sorry. Your parents should have taken care of all of you. You were too young to be responsible."
"I'd taken care of my brothers for years. My father became a drunkard who couldn’t hold onto a job, and my mother was wasting away with consumption.”
"What finally led you to take them to the orphanage?" Amelia asked with compassion.
"When my father came home that last time and took his anger out on Squires..." Barton said just above a whisper. "I'd been noticing the groups of kids on the train platforms, cleaned up with new clothes on, ready to leave the past, to live with a family who wanted them. After what happened in the shack we lived in, I pulled the boys out and went straight to the orphanage."
"Did your parents come looking for you?"
"If they did, it was only because of the money I brought in working in the mill during the week and selling newspapers on Sunday. But I fibbed on our names and made sure we weren't outside to be seen until we left on the train."
"What are your real names then?" Amelia was curious at this new layer of mystery on the Miller men.
"I honestly haven't spoken them out loud in years, and I don't think Gordon or Squires remember them, hopefully. Maybe if we marry I'll tell you," Barton replied with a half-smile on his face.
"Well, I'll respect your secret then," Amelia replied, not bothered by his admission. The ten-year-old Barton did the right thing for his little brothers, even if it still haunted him at times.
They had arrived at her house, and she had no choice but to go inside, even though Amelia didn't want to.
"If I didn't ruin my chance with you by revealing my secret, will I see you tomorrow night? I will vouch for Tobin's stew. He is a good cook," Barton said as he turned toward her.
Amelia caught his hands in hers. "Yes, I'll be there for Tobin's stew. Would it be all right if I show up at noon at the smithy with a sandwich lunch to share?"
"I'd like that, and any history about the business and patrons you can share too."
Barton pulled their clasped hands up against his chest and leaned in close to whisper.
"Know what else I'd like to share?"
"No, what?" Amelia breathlessly asked.
"Our second kiss," Barton said before he lightly touched his lips to hers.
Amelia pulled back and looked up at Barton. "Our second kiss?"
"Uh, weren't you the person who kissed me last night when we were blindfolded?"
Amelia waited a few seconds to answer him, amused as his eyes widened in concern.
"Yes, and now I want my third kiss," Amelia hinted as she stood on tiptoes to meet his lips.
Chapter 9
The heat radiated from the fire, soaking Barton's clothes with sweat. But Barton relished working with hot iron and tools even if it was hot, dirty work. It was satisfying to turn a piece of raw metal into something useful and functional.
"Good joint, Barton. I'm impressed with your work," Kiowa noted as he looked at the metal part Barton had just pulled out of the cooling tank and set back on the anvil.
"Thanks. My adoptive father had a forge on his farm. He did work for area farmers," Barton shrugged, acknowledging who had taught him the skills.
"I'm happy with the horseshoes he made for me, Kiowa," Elof Lundahl, the farrier, added his opinion, which Barton was happy to receive. "Fixed my buggy wheel too, so he's adaptive to different types of repairs."
Barton held his breath as the two men walked out of the large front opening to have words in private. Barton liked the work and hoped it was officially offered to him. Kiowa was the owner, but Elof was the main customer.
Amelia had told him the smithy closed for a while when Kiowa's wife and step-daughter fell down the dress shop stairwell. Mary hurt her back and her girl, Burdette, broke her leg. That prompted the family to move to a remodeled house where Mary could move around in her rolling chair.
Kiowa had reopened the shop part-time, but work had to be piling up. This was the opportunity for steady work that Barton wanted and needed to establish himself in town.
"I'll see you later," Elof called out to Barton as the man walked away. Barton waved as he watched Kiowa walk back inside.
"Here's what I'd like to offer you," Kiowa started, and Barton held his breath.
"I'll offer you a living wage to run the blacksmith shop and a place to live unless you can buy it all outright now."
"Could I have the option to buy it later, say in four to six months?" Barton asked. He'd lived frugally for years, but he didn't want to invest his money in a business if the town didn't work out for his brothers or friends.
"Possibly. Why?"
"I want to be sure Clear Creek is the right town for the six of us to settle. It's only been a week since we arrived."
"I admire your loyalty and reasoning. Let's revisit the idea of a sale in four months. Have you looked over the apartment yet?" Kiowa asked as he opened the door between the smithy and the apartment.
The living quarters was only one room, but it was adequate. Kiowa took a step further in the room toward another door, but Barton stopped to point at things in the quarters. The next door was locked, and Barton assumed it was a storage area.
"I looked around the room, and it's furnished with everything I need. Bed, wardrobe, table and chairs, stove, cooking utensils. I appreciate the sink has water piped to it instead of me having to haul the water in from the back well."
Kowa looked at Barton a moment before commenting.
"I added that sink when I updated the cooling tank in the shop. I got tired of hauling buckets of water to fill it. There's a ditch on the back side of the building that carries the water runoff down the alley to a larger ditch."
"Having my own privy right behind the smithy instead of having to use the public one a half block west will be appreciated too."
Kiowa had an amused look to his face but didn't say anything more.
"I appreciate the job and will take good care of the building for you," Barton said as he held out his hand, hoping Kiowa would agree, making the blacksmith shop his new profession and home.
"Thank you for showing up in town and being a blacksmith. You're now officially open for business." Kiowa said with both his words and firm grip.
Barton felt a chunk of the burden falling off his shoulders. He had a job and a place to live. Now to be sure the other five had the same thing and they’d be settled too.
Kiowa looked at the floor a minute befor
e looking up. "I see the Peashooter's set you up with Maisie Brenner. How's that going?"
Barton shook his head and thought about how to stall answering Kiowa's question. "Does everyone call the preacher's wife and her friends by that nickname?"
"Yes, even the preacher himself, but don't you ever address them that way in person," Kiowa warned him. "You don't want to get on their 'shoot' list."
"Thanks for the advice. Uh, actually, Amelia and I have kind of hit it off. I hope that doesn't bother you that I'm seeing your sister-in-law. Will that cause problems with the blacksmith offer?"
"Not at all, providing you take care of and respect her. The Shepards are good people, and they've welcomed me into their family. Besides leather work, Amelia does silversmithing for the saddles and bridles she makes. She's worked with me a little on the forge too. I think you'd be a suitable match for her."
"Thanks for the endorsement. Actually, she's bringing lunch for us to eat here today. Is it all right if I give her the news about my working here?"
"Absolutely. In fact, I'll give Amelia the key to the back room since she's coming over," Kiowa said before he walked out of the living quarters and through the shop.
Barton turned back to study the room again. He could move in right away. All he needed was to put his few clothes in the wardrobe and buy coffee and food.
What would Amelia think of living here until he saved enough to buy the shop and a home for their family?
The place was dusty. He needed to clean the table and chairs before Amelia arrived. Start the cold stove to warm up the cool space and make coffee for their meal. Flowers on the table would be welcoming.
Barton’s mind was flashing ideas to impress Amelia faster than he had time to do them in.
He glanced at the shelf and didn’t see a coffee grinder. Shoot. Hopefully, he could get some beans ground at the store instead of investing in a grinder right away.
Barton could take a quick trip to the mercantile, then stop at the parsonage to ask Kaitlyn for some flowers from her garden.
No, then the woman would ask questions, and Barton wasn’t ready to reveal who he was gathering flowers for. Best to stop by Mrs. Wilerson’s home instead. She had yellow and rust chrysanthemums in full bloom, and she was one of their sponsors.
Barton shoved the heavy wooden doors on the smithy shut and quickly walked down the street to the mercantile. He barely had time to get things done before Amelia arrived.
"Hey, Gordon! Can you grind me a pound of coffee beans right now?" Barton called to his brother as soon as he walked in the door.
Gordon was talking to a woman by the back counter, and both people turned to look his way.
Well, well. Avalee Paulson was conversing with his brother.
"Uh, sure. After I add up Miss Paulson's purchases," Gordon said as Barton looked down at the small pile of items on the counter.
A tiny package of lemon drops, a spool of black thread, and a package of needles. That shouldn’t take long to add up.
"Hello, Miss Paulson. You’re looking mighty pretty in your sapphire blue ensemble today," Barton said, just to test Gordon's reaction, which was close to a low growl.
Oh yes. He thought his brother was smitten with the physician’s assistant.
"I got great news," Barton said to change the subject and tell of his good fortune. "Kiowa just hired me to run the blacksmith."
"Congratulations, Barton. And will you be living in the smithy's back apartment?"
"Yep. That's why I need coffee. Amelia is coming over for lunch," Barton couldn't help revealing.
"All that hard work for Pa Miller paid off," Gordon answered solemnly. Avalee looked at Gordon because of his remark, but Gordon avoided it by telling Avalee her total.
Barton stepped back from the counter to let the two finish their transaction.
A few shelves were empty of merchandise, but not as many things were missing as Barton thought there would be, given the store was being divided into two.
Barton turned back to the front door when he heard the bell above it ring. Avalee was leaving the store with her handful of purchases. Turning to the back counter, he watched his brother watch Avalee as she vanished down the street.
“Nice, but a quiet woman. Do you like her?” Barton asked Gordon.
"Yes, I do, and I think she might like me, but she's stalling for some reason. Her sister, Nadine, told me she doesn't have a fiancé as she claims. She made that fictional character up to detour someone who’s been giving her more attention than she wanted."
"Does Avalee need protection from her unwanted suitor?" Barton asked, wondering if Gordon had already thought of that.
"Possibly. I was trying to find out when you interrupted us," Gordon sounded exasperated, which wasn't like him.
"If you need help, let me know. But right now, I need coffee for my luncheon date."
"You going to move out of the barber's apartment?"
"Yes. After living in Miller's crowded house and the army barracks, I want my own space. Sorry, but that's the way it is, brother."
"Doesn't bother me."
"I thought the Taylors would have more merchandise out of here by now," Barton commented as he watched his brother pour coffee beans into the grinder.
"Mister and Misses are arguing about that. Last conversation I overhead didn't sound good for me. Now, they are thinking about keeping the shop instead of splitting it."
Barton inwardly groaned, so hoping this store would be his brother's livelihood. It would fit his personality and make a good living for his future family.
"But in Mrs. Taylor's next breath, she told her husband they should just sell the store and move to California—of all places."
Barton shook his head as he dug coins out of his pocket to pay for the coffee.
"Hard to say how it will turn out then. Hopefully, there's another job in town for you if this one doesn't work out."
"Yeah. I'd like to stay nearby to watch over Avalee," Gordon said absentmindedly, as he searched out the window for Avalee again. She probably went to the hotel for lunch with her family.
Meantime, Barton had his own things to think about.
“See you tonight at supper. I look forward to Tobin’s meal, whatever he ends up fixing.”
“Could be a surprise knowing Tobin, but he’ll work to make it special for the ladies.”
“Thanks,” Barton called back as he wound through the merchandise tables to get to the front door. He wondered if he should talk to the Taylors on Gordon’s behalf, but decided he needed to stay out of Gordon’s business. He was a grown man and no longer needed his older brother’s help.
Barton barely had time to beg Millie Wilerson for flowers, get back to the shop to start the wood stove, get the coffee brewing and clean himself up. He'd stripped to his waist, washed the worst of his sweaty grime off his chest, arms, and face and changed into a clean shirt, right before he heard Amelia's tentative knock on the quarter's door. Good thing he had closed it.
Now Barton swung open the door, anxious to see Amelia's smiling face. He leaned against the doorframe, staring at her pretty face—which had a smudge of something brown on the side of her nose.
"Hello. Please come into my new home," he gave a slight bow before reaching for the wicker basket she held in front of her.
"Thank you. Kiowa stopped by the saddle shop and said you're now in charge of the blacksmith. Congratulations. How's that make you feel?"
Barton rolled his shoulders with pent-up energy. "Excited, nervous, excited. Let me carry our meal to the table. My table. I know it's only one room, but the living quarters will work fine for myself, and a wife for a while, before I can afford a home for us.
"What do you think of the place?" Barton asked Amelia, now anxious about what she might think.
"I like it. It's homey with the flowers you added to the table," Amelia commented, trying her best not to break into a wide grin.
Barton glanced at the stems he'd stuck in a pitcher he
found in the shop. "I asked your aunt for the flowers before I cut them."
"That's good. I'd hate for my uncle to have to throw you in jail for stealing flowers."
"No, that wouldn't be the best way to becoming a successful business owner," Barton said, trying to relax now that Amelia was here.
"The coffee isn’t quite ready yet, but we can unpack the basket and start eating. I know you want to get back to work, and I need to start work. Elof was here this morning and gave me an order of horseshoes to make. Tobin stopped on his way home for lunch to say he'd be bringing over some wagon wheels to fix midafternoon.”
"Since we're waiting for the coffee," Amelia said as she reached into her skirt pocket, pulled out a key, and held it out to him, "how about you look around in the other section? Kiowa stopped by to give me the key."
"Oh, thanks. It must be a good size storage area when you look at the back of the building,"
Amelia said nothing but moved right behind him when he turned the key and opened the door.
"Wait, what?" Barton was puzzled at what he was seeing. Instead of a dusty storeroom with shelves holding iron bars and wooden planks, it was a hallway with brocaded wallpaper. Brocaded wallpaper?
Barton looked back at Amelia who was biting her lip to keep from laughing at him.
She waved a hand toward the hall. "Keep going. Walk in."
"I don't think my boots are clean enough to step on the Persian rug!” Barton commented as he leaned against the doorframe, kicked his boots off, and set them right outside the door. “What is this place, Amelia?"
"This is your living quarters, Barton. The first room was just what people believed Kiowa lived in, being a poor half-breed, or so they thought. But Kiowa and Mack secretly built onto the back and Mary added her own decor, a piece of furniture now and then so people didn't suspect their secret."
"What secret?" Barton asked as he tiptoed through the living room and into the dining and kitchen area.
"They had married in Niagara Falls, New York, months before and this was their secret meeting place."
Amelia Changes her Fellow Page 6
