An Unexpected Widow (The Colorado Brides Series) (3 page)

The storm had left a thin blanket of white over the newly planted trees and the shrubs that surrounded the house. The skies had cleared already, but islands of fluffy clouds remained in the sky. The weather in Colorado was unpredictable, as storms moved in quickly and left the next day. It was rare that it rained more than two days in a row.

I had dressed, wearing a simple calico outfit with an apron, fixing my hair into a tight bun that would loosen as the day wore on. In the kitchen, I made biscuits with warm maple syrup for dunking and scrambled eggs with bacon. A teapot was on the table, with dainty cups. My kitchen was a big square with a wooden table and four chairs in the center. Frank had built shelves, but they were crudely implemented. One day, I wished to return to New York and retrieve some furnishings my mother was keeping for me, but it would be difficult without a direct train route.

“That’s done then.” Frank appeared at the door, his hat covered in a dusting of snow. “Here’s the milk.” He handed me a metal bucket; the handle was freezing.

“Thank you.”

“Something smells delicious.”

“Sit and have some. Here are the eggs.” I placed a plate in the center of the table. “We need one of the chickens for dinner tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned.

Wiping my hands on the apron, I joined him, pouring tea into a cup. “What are your plans today?”

“Well, after I kill a few more prairie dogs, I’ll measure out the new bunkhouse.”

I sat back in the chair. “Leave those poor animals alone. Good gosh. They’re adorable, the way they stand up on their mounds. They’ve probably built tunnels underground, don’t you think?”

“They’re vermin. They carry disease, honey.”

“What do we need a bunkhouse for?”

“I can’t do the farming alone. I need help getting the field ready for planting. If I hire people, they can stay here.”

“Why?”

“I have to wait until harvest to pay wages. They can work for room and board.”

“Oh.”

“I’m thinking of buying more cows. We got a hundred and twenty acres. It’s fertile ground, honey. I’m hoping to cultivate at least thirty acres for corn, wheat, and potatoes.”

“My goodness. This sounds serious.” This was the first I had heard of it.

“I want a smokehouse too. Those pigs are awfully tasty that way. Whatever we don’t eat, we can sell for profit.”

A hint of a smile toyed around the edges of my mouth. My husband wasn’t raised in the country; his family had lived in New York City most of their lives. From the expression on his face, it was obvious that he relished the idea of self-sufficiency. He enjoyed getting his hands dirty and building things, although some of the walls in the house weren’t entirely plumb. However, he had made a fine roof that kept the water off our heads. I could forgive a crooked wall or two, because once I put up the wallpaper, no one would be the wiser.

“Come harvest, we should see a profit. We’ll get our money back. Don’t you worry.”

I placed a hand over his. “I’m not worried. I just can’t believe how lucky I am. You’ve given me so much, Frank.”

He squeezed my fingers. “I’d do anything for you, Hannah. I’m sorry I took you away from everything you’ve ever known, but this is our opportunity to make something of ourselves. I look around at the house, and I’m proud. It’s the first real thing I’ve ever built. Once the baby comes, we’ll be a family.”

“Yes, we will.”

Chapter Three

I was in a rush Sunday morning, hastily ironing Frank’s shirt. He had gone out to the barn to milk the cow, while I had gotten breakfast ready. On his return, he brought back a basket full of eggs.

“We should sell some of these. We can’t eat them all, honey.”

“I know.”

He’d gone upstairs, his feet thumping on the ceiling above my head. I had to finish the shirt and fix my hair, wanting to look my best. I had struggled to get to sleep last night wondering what Adaline and Sally wanted to discuss. It seemed to be an important matter. When I finished the chore, I left the iron on the stove and went to Frank, who sat on the end of the bed, polishing his shoes.

“Thank you, my dear.”

“I have to get dressed.”

“Pay me no mind.” I glanced at him over my shoulder, and he winked at me. “I do so love your naked shoulders.”

“Oh, don’t say another word, mister. Not on the Lord’s day.”

“All right, but you know I'm thinking about it.”

“Oh, shush.”

He chuckled in reply.

My husband’s libido was a formidable…pleasure…and I shouldn't dwell on it either, or else I’d arrive for the service with a flushed face and I wouldn't be able to look anyone in the eye. Once dressed and ready, we hurried from the house, having already taken too long. It was imperative that we weren’t late. The wagon had been prepared, and the horse was waiting. I sat on the wooden bench, smoothing my skirts, which billowed out before me, exposing the ruffled edges of the petticoat.

When we were near Denver City, we passed Jason Franklin’s farm. He stood on the front porch, a revolver firmly in hand, while his wife, Laura waved. While their dogs barked up a storm, I waved back. “Good morning!” I called.

“Good morning!”

Frank took the reins with one hand, waving. “He looks like he had lemons for breakfast.”

“That he does,” I giggled.

There was a chill in the air, my jacket barely kept me warm, and, if it weren’t for my Indian shawl, I’d have frozen all the way through. We were early for the service, Frank wanting to prepare his sermon in peace and quiet, while I swept the floors and dusted the pews.

I left the front door open, although the breeze was frosty. I sat three rows from the pulpit, to the right, and waited for the room to fill in. Miners came with their wives, although most were single men, as their families waited back east. There were several newly married couples, and strangers I had never seen before. The Ross’s and the Higgins arrived together, sitting across the aisle from me, the men removing their hats upon entering. The town doctor, Samuel Caldwell, and his wife, Rhoda, arrived as well, although her chin was raised slightly higher than everyone else’s.

I wouldn’t let myself glance over my shoulder, as it was impolite to turn and stare at others in church. I remained as composed and at peace as I felt, waiting for my husband to take the pulpit and begin the sermon. He’d prepared for more than an hour, scribbling notes on a piece of paper, and holding places within the Bible for reference. When he emerged at last, the murmur of voices dimmed, and he began to speak. I adored his voice, the appealing baritone that I had come to know so well. Frank read from Exodus 33:12-23, which I hadn’t expected. My husband was in fine spirits today, not only because his eyes sparkled with happiness, but he was surprisingly passionate in the delivery, imparting upon the importance of goodness, benevolence, and mercy.

After the hymns had concluded, we got to our feet, my back aching from having to sit so straight. While Frank talked with several parishioners, I made my way over to Adaline, who stood with Sally.

“That was a lovely sermon,” said Adaline. “You must be so proud of your husband. For someone so young, he has quite a presence.”

“He’s in rare form this morning.”

“You’ll be joining us for tea, soon, won’t you?” asked Sally.

“Of course. I just have to finish up here, and I’ll be right over.”

“We’ll be waiting for you.” Adaline’s heavily trimmed bonnet was tied with a black ribbon just under her throat. “Don't be late. You don’t want to miss my famous Old-Fashioned Short Cake. It’s divine.”

My stomach rumbled. “I won’t. It sounds wonderful.”

Twenty minutes later, I bid my husband farewell and hurried from the church, grasping the shawl, as the wind wanted to snatch it away. Boisterous music from the saloon was accompanied by ruckus laughter, as the miners inside drank and gambled their earnings away. Worse was the brothel across the street, but I would not dare gaze upon that house, especially not on a Sunday. The mercantile was open, although the shop was closed, but the Higgins’ lived on the second floor, with the kitchen at the back. Knowing I was expected, I took to the stairs, finding Sally and Adaline seated alongside the doctor’s wife, Rhoda Caldwell, in a pretty parlor. A short table was filled with adorable crockery: dainty teacups, flower etched plates, and a rounded teapot of the same pattern. I sighed at the sight, because porcelain was a weakness of mine.

“I’m sorry I’m late. What a lovely tea service.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said Adaline. “It was a wedding present, but…that was long ago. Have a seat.”

I did so, leaving my drawstring purse in my lap. “That smells delicious.” The sweetness of the cake teased my nose. “Vanilla and…”

“Almonds,” supplied Adaline. “I make it with almonds.”

“Oh, inventive. I can’t wait to try it.”

“All right, ladies,” said Rhoda, who poured steaming dark tea into my cup. “We have important things to discuss. The first meeting of the City of Denver Temperance League will now come to order.”

“W-what?” I hadn’t been expecting that.

“It’s nothing really official,” laughed Sally. “It’s actually unofficial. More like secret.”

“It won’t be a secret for long, if I have my say.” Rhoda’s stern expression would not be gainsaid. “I have had it up to here,” she indicted her neck, “with the drunkenness and debauchery. You don’t live in town, young lady.” She eyed me. “You have no idea how rowdy these miners get after they’ve been drinking all day. I’ve had four bullets in our office this week alone. One almost broke the window.”

My mouth fell open. “My, that’s terribly dangerous.”

“Indeed it is.” She sat rigid, her shoulders back. “I’ve made up the pamphlets, and they’ve gone to the printers already.” She passed a piece of yellow paper my way. “We’re going to hand these out on Friday afternoon before the saloon. That’s when the ruffians will be at their absolute worst.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Frank would never allow me to participate in this, even if I wanted to, and that was doubtful.

“She has a point,” said Adaline. “Friday might be too rowdy. I say Thursday afternoon is better.”

Mrs. Caldwell pursed her lips. “Let’s take a vote on it then, ladies. Who’s for Thursday?”

“I am.” Sally smiled, reaching for a knife. “I’m cutting this cake. I have to have a piece.”

I scanned the pamphlet.
The Women’s Christian Temperance League of Denver is committed to social and moral reform. Our wish is that everyone might live in a productive and sober world, where values are placed on abstinence and purity
. I scanned the rest.
The dangers of alcohol are too numerous to count…leading to poverty…wife beating…and the destruction of the family
.
The answer is God, my friends. Return to the fold, and be reborn. Do not waste yourselves on the evils of liquor.

“Did you write this, Mrs. Caldwell?” I glanced at her.

“Of course I wrote it. Are you going to help us, Mrs. Clark, or are you going to sit idle while the town disintegrates into a haven for drunks and thieves?”

“I’ll…have to think about it. I might be able to come on Thursday.”

“Excellent.”

Sally handed me a dainty plate filled with cake. “Thank you.”

“Now, what about that parlour house?” asked Adaline. “Must I walk past it each and every day?”

“One thing at a time, my dear,” said Rhoda. “We’ll tackle the drunks first.” Her stern expression revealed distaste. “Then the soiled doves.”

“Some of these women are poor widows,” said Adaline. “Catherine McDermott was a good, fine woman before Charlie died. She only resorted to…er…selling herself to feed her children.”

“My dear, if she had been a good, fine woman as you say, she never would have resorted to something so base. She would have strengthened her faith and found salvation in God. It’s shameful, I tell you.”

Mrs. Caldwell held firm opinions about nearly everything. I wasn’t used to such plain talk. “This dessert is wonderful.”

“Thank you,” said Adaline.

“Now,” said Rhoda. “Hannah, what do you think of my handiwork?”

I stared at the pamphlet. “It’s…to the point, Mrs. Caldwell. I just don’t know if it’ll stop the miners from drinking. They seem bent on self-destruction, from what little I’ve seen.”

“There were a few in church this morning,” said Sally. “They were to the back with the…several ladies of ill repute.”

I gasped. I hadn’t seen this. “I beg your pardon?”

“Some of them do go to church.”

“I didn’t know that. I really should take the time to look around, I suppose.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about such a thing, knowing that these women had darkened our doorway, but, then again, it was the house of the Lord, and I should be ashamed for thinking that they didn’t deserve salvation.

“It’s all right, my dear,” said Rhoda. “They were dressed discreetly in their Sunday best. You’d never know by looking at them that they…were prostitutes.” She glanced around the table. “But we know, don’t we? I tell Samuel he isn’t to treat them when they come in…sick and such, but he won’t listen. I won’t horrify you ladies with the details, but…things other than fornication happen in that house. Those women know how to…get rid of babies…and it’s not pretty.”

This conversation was so shocking; I felt the blood drain from my face. My appetite had vanished. Placing the fork on the table, I stood, scraping the legs of the chair on the floor. “I…need some air. Excuse me.” In the hallway, I leaned against the wall, taking several deep breaths. I wasn’t alone for long.

“She’s always like that,” said Adaline. “She’s a doctor’s wife. She knows all sorts of gossip.”

“I shouldn’t listen to it.”

“I’m sorry, if you’re offended. I told her she best get off that subject right now. It’s not our business what these women do with their bodies and such. I prefer not to know.”

“I can’t wash it out of my brain now.” Horrible images filled my mind, and I struggled to push them aside. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that. I’ll do the pamphlets, but those other women…I won’t go near there.”