Silverton: Claims On The Heart (3 page)

“The poor man.”

Why did Collin McAllister come to mind when her father spoke? That well-muscled body, handsome face, the light in his green eyes as he tried on hats, his wavy dark hair resting just below the brim, had made quite the picture. If he stayed in the mining business long enough, he, too, might grow thin and ill. He had seemed such a gentleman, compassionate and gentle as he'd helped the fallen woman to her feet.

“Well, wouldn't you like to see it?” her father asked. He produced a key.

“It's ours already? We can move in?”

“Yes, to both. I signed a lease with the bank. We move in tonight.”

“Does it have furniture?”

“It does, though the table is a bit rickety and only one bedroom is furnished. I'll have to order another bed from the town carpenter.”

Kathleen grabbed her bonnet and pulled it over her dark hair. “I can't wait to see it.”

Her father grabbed a few supplies and held out his arm to his daughter. “Can you watch the store?” he asked Vic. “I've just found a house on Reese Street very close to the church.”

“Be glad to.”

They walked down Green Street, turned the corner to Reese Street, and her father stopped at a little square house not far from the church. It was boxy and the whitewash was fading. But it meant rescue from the dark and dirty shelter above the store. This would be her house to clean and improve, to sew curtains for the windows, and plant flowers in the garden. She would make it home for both of them, and she would not think of the home she had left behind. Life in these circumstances would be as comfortable as she could possibly make it for her father and herself.

The yard was filled with native grass and blue and pink flowers that reminded her of snapdragons.

They climbed the two concrete steps.

Her father turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door.

The stale odor of mice, soot, and dust greeted them. The wood plank floor groaned in protest under their feet.

Improvements were needed, especially a broom and lots of lye soap, all of which she could get from the store. Once the floor was clean, a few colorful coiled rugs would brighten the room.

Her father lit a lamp.

The kitchen had a sturdy black stove, dirty, but usable, a large wash basin for the dishes, a wooden table and two chairs. Two rows of shelves lined the walls, along with several hooks.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“With a little work, we can make this a comfortable place.” She laughed. “I should see the bedrooms before I get too confident, though.”

Her room contained a bed and small wardrobe. The bed was stripped bare of sheets, leaving only the stuffed straw mattress. Kathleen eyed it doubtfully. “Do you think it's clean?”

“It would be a simple matter to re-stuff it with clean straw. I could get you some tomorrow.”

“Let's see your room.”

“Not much to see yet. It's bare as bones.” He was right. The only things in his room were a few discarded tins of snuff. “It shouldn't take long to get a bed frame made.”

“I'll get some material from the store and make your mattress when I do mine,” Kathleen said.

“Once we're settled in here, we'll be snug and cozy this winter.”

“We won't want for anything, except for supper, if I don't get some started.”

Her father carried the lamp back to the kitchen, and then helped light the stove. From its sooty inside, he managed to coax a steady fire.

Kathleen opened a can of beans and the sausage that Papa had brought from the store. While she cooked, her father returned to town to rent a cart from the livery to carry their belongings back to the house. When he returned, they sat down to their supper. The kitchen was cozy in the flickering light.

For the first time since her mother's death, her father was showing interest in something. This home and store seemed to raise his spirits. He had needed a good shaking up, something different to take his thoughts off what they'd lost.

Someone rapped on the front door.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

Her father shook his head and went to answer the summons.

Kathleen followed.

Martin stood on the stoop. “I hope you don't mind that I came by. Vic told me where you'd gone. I wanted to bring by a little present to celebrate your new house.”

“We don't mind, do we, Kathleen?” Papa stepped aside.

Martin held a bottle and three glasses in his long, slender hands. “I bought this at the hotel, the best they have. I hope you like red wine.”

“It's my favorite,” her father answered. “I've been known to indulge in it from time to time.”

Since he'd gone to the expense of buying it, Kathleen would do her best to drink a little, even though she didn't really care for spirits.

Her father turned up the lamp in the parlor.

Kathleen whacked dust off the sofa. Entertaining a gentleman when the house needed so much work was awkward. Martin's fine dark pants would surely show the particles of grit that coated the upholstery. Yet, he didn't seem to notice.

She sat next to Martin and accepted a goblet of wine.

His hand lingered, touching her fingers. “Nothing but the best,” he repeated as his gaze roved from her hands to her face.

“We didn't expect such a treat.” Kathleen spoke, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. “It seems Silverton has its share of refined comforts.”

“You haven't experienced Silverton until you have dined at the Grand Hotel.” Martin handed her father a goblet, too. “I take most of my dinners there. Since you're from a fine city, you would appreciate dining there.”

Kathleen took a small taste of wine to be polite.

Martin swirled the ruby liquid in an exaggerated air of refinement.

Her father had a look of pleasure on his face.

“This was very kind of you, Martin,” Kathleen said. “I never sleep well the first night I'm in a new place. But after a glass of wine, I'll sleep like a baby.”

“I like a woman who enjoys her wine without overdoing it.”

“Tell us more about your business,” Papa encouraged Martin. “I admit I'm ignorant about mining.”

Martin was happy to oblige. He spent the next half hour explaining the workings of the stamp mill and his cleverness in bringing it to Silverton.

Kathleen's eyelids grew heavier.

His voice became a monotonous drone.

She wanted to excuse herself and go to bed. Her muscles ached from cleaning the store and doing the small amount of cleaning she'd done here in their new home.

At last, Martin drew out his gold pocket watch. “With such good company I didn't realize it was getting so late. I had better let you both get some sleep.”

Kathleen attempted to hand him her glass, but he stopped her, his fingers covering the top of her hand. “Keep the glasses. Perhaps we can have another drink together.”

Kathleen and her father accompanied him to the door.

“Will I see you in church?” Martin asked.

“You will if you are attending the Congregational Church.”

“I am.” He ducked out the door with a last nod to Kathleen, bending slightly to clear the door frame.

“I think you have an admirer,” her father said, after he shut the door. He grinned at Kathleen.

“All I want now is a good night's sleep.”

“Of course. You're tired. Take your bedding to your room. I'll sleep here on the sofa. Tomorrow we'll make up proper beds.”

Kathleen hauled her sheets to her room and piled them atop the straw mattress. She crawled in and wrapped herself like a mummy before falling instantly asleep.

She stirred early the next morning at the crowing of a neighbor's rooster. A column of sunlight slanted down the wall, illuminating every stain on the fading whitewash. The room was bare. But this was home, her new home, and she was eager to fix it up.

Kathleen swung her feet onto the floor and swept up her covers. She would start their breakfast, and then haul water to the metal washtub she'd seen outside the kitchen door. After she had washed their clothes and bedding, she intended to haul the tub inside and give herself a good scrubbing from head to foot. Only then would she feel presentable for church.

Her father roused and joined her in the kitchen, looking sleepy-eyed and tousled. Rays of light through the kitchen window illuminated the top of his balding head, wreathed by thin strands of graying.

She filled a pan of water while he started a fire in the oven. Soon she had breakfast mush bubbling on the stove. “I wish we had eggs and milk to go along with it,” Kathleen said.

“Once we get to know folks, we'll be able to trade staples from the store for extras.”

Kathleen spooned their breakfast into bowls. “Today, I'll settle for new material for mattress covers.”

After breakfast, Kathleen set about doing their wash. She boiled water and poured it from the kettle into the wash tub. She added lye soap and stirred the bedding with a stout broom handle until she was sure it was clean. Her father helped her drain the tub and rinse the bedding, and he even helped hang it over branches of a sturdy aspen to dry.

“I'll bring you some rope and make a proper clothes line,” he promised.

Kathleen poured hot water from the kettle into the now empty washtub for her bath. She could not wait to slip out of her soiled and rumpled clothing and be properly clean.

“I'm going to the store to pick up a few things like flour and sugar and that rope for the clothes to dry on. We can get the other things you'd like later.” Her father left the house.

Kathleen stripped off her clothes and sank blissfully into the tub of warm water. She lathered her hair and rinsed it clean and then scrubbed her skin until it tingled. She had time to get ready for church. She got out of the warm tub and shivered as she dried. The towel was one her mother had carefully hemmed. Kathleen hugged it for a moment, remembering her mother's dainty hands doing needlework.

A rap at the front door startled her. She tugged a clean dress over her damp body and pulled fingers through her tangled hair.

Who could be calling on Sunday morning at such an early hour?

 

 

 

 

3

 

Kathleen opened the door. “Martin,” she said, she brought a hand to her throat, dismayed.

“I thought I might walk you to church.” He tried to peer through the crack.

“It's early. I'm not ready yet.”

“I could wait.”

Her distress deepened. She had found him to be pleasant enough company. But she didn't welcome the idea of showing up on Martin's arm the first time she came to church, looking as if she belonged to him.

“I'd rather go with just Papa today. I have some things to talk over with him.”

“Oh.”

Through the crack, she saw a dark frown stretch across his long face. Martin was obviously a man who did not like to be thwarted. He stepped back from the door. “Then I will look forward to seeing you there. Maybe I could walk you home?” The scowl on his face did not match the forced smoothness of his voice.

“Yes, maybe.”

With a nod, he turned and strode away.

Her lack of commitment had done nothing to lighten his features. To arrive in a town populated by men and be immediately attached to the first one she met was not satisfactory. Her thoughts drifted to young McAllister. His eyes had wavered between merriment and restraint. Perhaps they might meet again, and she'd break through his reserve. She brushed the tangles from her hair and styled it into a sleek chignon.

Papa returned from the store.

Kathleen helped him put away the things he'd brought.

“I'm afraid our Vic went out last night and got himself drunk. He'll be no use when we open this afternoon.”

“I hope he won't make a habit of it.” Setting off for church, Kathleen's nerves fluttered. As they neared Reese Street, they exchanged nods and polite greetings with other people, mostly couples with children in tow, also on their way to church.

The architecture of the frame structure was intriguing. The front was designed as one shorter triangle set directly in front of a taller triangle. Crosses hung just below the top-most point of each steep roof. This morning, the double doors of the white-washed plank building were open and inviting. A murmur of voices buzzed from inside, sounding like a hive of bees.

As Kathleen and Papa came inside to join the small congregation, Martin stepped smoothly in beside her. “I decided to wait for you here.”

She returned his smile and ignored resentment at his presumption.

Nancy Parker waved to her from amidst the sea of strange faces.

Martin and Papa followed as she slid into the polished pew beside Nancy.

“I was hoping you'd come,” Nancy said, looking young and very pretty in a yellow gingham dress that complimented her slim waist. She'd caught up her golden curls on each side of her head and secured them with ribbons that matched her dress. A man, most certainly her husband, sat beside her. He had curly brown hair, bright blue eyes and an easy smile.

Kathleen liked him immediately.

Martin's leg pressed close against her thigh. She was wedged too tightly to shift away from him. As the pastor called the congregation to worship with an opening prayer, she ignored the intimacy.

Collin McAllister sat one row ahead on the aisle to her right. Perhaps they would be able to speak after the service. She stole quick glances at him, smiling when she saw that he wore the bowler hat he bought at the store.

A woman on the other side of Nancy could not contain her desire for conversation. She whispered to Nancy all through the service.

Kathleen hardly heard the sermon.

The pastor said a prayer and then made a closing announcement. “I want to remind everyone of the picnic at one o'clock up in the meadow. Since I see some new faces, I want to invite all of you to pack up a lunch and join us. If you need directions, just ask an old-timer.” He dismissed the congregation, and they began to file out.