Sarah overheard and rounded on the woman. “Do you call yourself a Christian!”
Robert found Addie later, outside, standing apart from the others, staring into the bonfire, which still burned.
“What’s the matter? Why did you leave the dance?”
“There are some who don’t want me there.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Who?”
She refused to answer.
“Did one of the men say something?”
“No, one of the women.”
“The women will be harder on you than the men. It’ll take some time.”
“I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this. It just hurts a little more than I thought.”
“So are you going to knuckle under and hide in your house again?”
She looked up into his face, which was illuminated by the shifting firelight. “No. I’ll be back tomorrow to finish what we started.”
He smiled and said, “Atta girl, Addie. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
The dancing was short-lived: everyone was tired; they’d worked hard today. No beer was allowed inside the church, and the single keg that had been tapped emptied fast. The Spearfish Valley folks went home. Those with children had packed them off to bed. Robert and Addie had disappeared. Noah took Sarah’s hand and repeated Robert’s words. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
They climbed the steep hill where the day’s melt-off was still gurgling downhill. A half-moon had risen and rimed the gulch with silver. The night had the raw-earth smell of near-spring. Below, the new church steeple and rafters stood out like a drawing on a blackboard.
Between Sarah and Noah, everything had changed. Everyone knew. Soon the church would be complete and there would be a minister. Sarah had said she’d name a date.
Neither of them spoke until they reached her doorstep. Noah took both her hands and said a single word. “When?”
She’d expected the question and had prepared an answer on her way up the hill.
“How about the first Saturday in June?”
His grip tightened on her hands. In the moonlight she made out his swift smile.
“You mean it, Sarah?”
“Yes, I mean it, Noah.”
He kissed her in jubilation. Then in speculation, the mood changing as he angled his head and opened his mouth. He drew back, sent a silent message into her eyes and lowered his open mouth to hers once more. She moved against him and opened hers, too, and felt ardor dawn as a wondrous, impulsive force. It fed upon itself and gave way to outright temptation, fueled by the touch of his tongue upon hers and the caress of his hands on her back, her ribs, her breasts. She shuddered once in pleasure, amazed that it should be so, that she could allow the intimacy and revel in it. How different it felt, sanctioned almost, by their plans to be married in a mere three months.
But when his hands moved to her throat as if to free buttons, she halted them.
“No, Noah, we mustn’t.”
They stood in the grip of the silent impasse with his hands detained by hers. She folded his much longer hands between hers and kissed his fingertips.
“Not because I don’t want to,” she whispered.
He relented, releasing an unsteady breath against her face.
“I won’t apologize this time.”
“There’s no need to,” she replied, and for the first time said the words without prompting.
“I love you, Noah.”
CHAPTER
19
There was one thing Addie had done since leaving Rose’s that had brought her both pride and pleasure: making the curtains. A service with questionable potential, curtain-making, but one she could, in spite of her limited sewing skills, perform with a degree of self-confidence. Why wouldn’t it succeed? The womenless men of Deadwood Gulch lived in bare-bones houses, lacking the time and know-how to dress them up. Might they not pay someone else to do so for them? Furthermore, everyone in town was predicting a deluge of settlers when spring came, prompted by the continued excellence of the gold prospect, the presence of the telegraph, daily stagecoach service and now the church, with a school sure to follow by autumn. Deadwood had all the earmarks of a boomtown destined to live on. When the ladies started flooding in, Addie’s Window Dressings would be there waiting for them.
From Mr. Farnum’s suppliers of yard goods and sundries she ordered a selection of ginghams, poplins and calicos, braiding, tassles and lace. They arrived on True Blevins’ first ox train in late March, along with twenty other carts loaded to the heckboards with everything from ice boxes to window-glass to a twenty-four-inch-diameter brass bell for the First Congregational Church of Deadwood. Addie placed an advertisement in the Deadwood Chronicle: “Fine quality, hand-stitched curtains made to order for your windows from my large supply of material and trimmings. See Miss A. Merritt, Mt. Moriah Road.”
Her first customer was the future Mrs. Noah Campbell, who ordered curtains made for the house she would occupy with her husband, come June.
Her second was the Reverend Birtle Matheson, who arrived by stagecoach in early April.
Addie had finally decided to join the Ladies’ Society, who took it upon themselves to outfit the log house and have it all homey when the new minister arrived. They scrubbed and cleaned it, polished its windows, blacked its stove and wove rugs for its floor. Addie, meanwhile, had volunteered to make the curtains.
She got the flu, however, which lasted two days and put her under the weather. By the time she felt well again and completed the curtains, the Reverend Matheson was already installed in his house.
The day she delivered them it was feeling like spring. The sun was bright and the air was filled with the scent of rain-washed pine from the previous night. It was warm enough to leave her coat behind and wear only a fringed shawl over her blue dress. She packed the new curtains into a basket, along with a hammer, hooks and a cluster of dowels to use as curtain rods.
She knocked on the door of the parsonage, expecting a middle-aged man to answer. Instead, the door was opened by a man only a few years older than herself. He wore brown trousers and a white shirt, open at the throat, with the sleeves rolled to midarm. He had attractive eyes, beautiful wavy hair the color of cherry wood and, overall, a set of unexpectedly handsome features.
“Reverend Matheson?” she inquired.
“Yes.” He smiled, showing perfect teeth.
“I’m Adelaide Merritt. I’m a member of the Ladies’ Society and I’ve brought the curtains for your house.”
“Miss Merritt, come in.” He reached out and shook her hand, then drew her up the last step and over his threshold. His door faced south. He pushed it back against the wall, letting the sun flood his front room. He hitched his hands onto his hipbones and stood regarding her in the comfortable, wide stance. “What a beautiful day. And what a beautiful surprise!” She had the startling impression he was not speaking only of the curtains in her basket. He smiled at her with his whole face, raining upon her the considerable force of his attention.
His youth came as a shock. Perhaps it was his name—Birtle—that had led her to believe he’d be old, a widower perhaps, for they’d been forewarned he had no wife. Addie had asked Sarah, who’d already met him, what he was like, but Sarah had only said he was a very nice-looking man.
He was all that and more as he stood before Addie alert and attentive with no cleric collar in sight.
“Curtains, you say?”
“Yes. I’ve started a business making them, and I volunteered to make yours. I’m sorry they weren’t up when you got here, but I had the flu.”
“The flu... I’m sorry. You’re feeling better, I hope.”
“Yes. Much.”
He smiled at her long enough to make her uncomfortable, then moved abruptly, as if just remembering he hadn’t done so for a while.
“Well, come in. Let’s have a look.” He took the basket from her hands and set it on a square table. “Show me what you’ve made.”
While she took them from the basket he said, “You must let me pay you.”
“Oh no, it’s my contribution. I’m not much of a cook, so I didn’t bring any cakes. And I don’t care much for rug-making so I didn’t help with those, but curtains I’m getting a little familiar with. I’ve also brought some things to hang them with.”
The curtains were of broadcloth, white on white, with a design of ivy leaves woven within vertical stripes. “The white will show the soot more than a color would, so they’ll have to be washed regularly, but this cabin is rather dark. I thought it could use brightening up.”
“Indeed, it can, Miss Merritt. It is Miss Merritt, isn’t it?”
Her glance returned to his Mediterranean-blue eyes. “It’s Miss,” she answered, and his smile unabashedly doubled in candlepower.
“Miss Merritt,” he repeated. A lull followed, charged with his attention and her discomfort at being its object. “Well!” He clapped his hands once and rubbed them together. “Can I help you hang them?”
It was one of the most bizarre hours of her life. Birtle Matheson acted like no minister she’d ever imagined. He took her shawl and folded it over the back of a chair. In his rolled-up shirtsleeves he stood on a chair and drove the hooks into the window frames where she told him to. He conversed in loquacious fashion, punctuating his speeches with frequent laughter, asking her a hundred questions about herself and the town, supplying information about himself. He was fresh out of the seminary and determined to do well in this his first assignment. His father was a minister in Pennsylvania, his mother was dead—her maiden name had been Birtle—and he had two sisters back east, both older and married. He had once had ringworm and lost half his hair and promised God that if he’d just let it grow back, he would follow in his father’s footsteps and become a minister. He had answered the Deadwood advertisement because he saw it as an opportunity to build a church from the ground up and form a strong bond with his congregation. He liked to fish, read Dickens, sing and watch sunsets.
“You won’t be able to watch sunsets here,” she told him.
“Of course I can. They just happen a little earlier.”
He had a contagious optimism and when he rested his unsettling eyes on her she found it difficult to look away.
“Perhaps sometime we can watch one together,” he suggested, again facing her directly with his hands on his hips.
“I don’t think so.” She handed him a curtain shirred on a dowel.
He stepped onto the chair, hung it and stepped down, resuming his forthright stance—a stance with which she was rapidly becoming familiar. “Why not?”
“Ask anyone in town,” she replied, turning away, heading to retrieve her basket and shawl now that the last curtain was hung.
He followed, said at her shoulder, “I’ve been unpardonably rash. Forgive me, Miss Merritt. Now you’re running away.”
She flipped her shawl around her shoulders, put her hammer in the basket, the basket over her arm and turned to face him.
“You’re forgiven,” she said. “And I’m not running away. The curtains are all up. I must be going now.”
“You’re sure you’re not running?”
She was, but lied. “I’m sure.”
“All right. Then thank you, Miss Merritt,” he said, detaining her by offering his hand for shaking. She obliged. He squeezed her hand hard, his smile entering her eyes like rays of blue sun. “Will I see you tomorrow at services?”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
“Till tomorrow then.”
She went away feeling stunned. A minister! And a bold, young, attractive one at that. It had been so long since an ordinary man had shown an interest in her. It felt very good, being admired and wooed, exchanging repartee with a man the way young people were supposed to. It was a part of life she’d missed. Of course, he had no way of knowing her past. He’d find out soon enough.
The following morning, Sarah and Addie attended church with Noah and Robert, a prearranged plan. When they arrived, Reverend Matheson was standing out in front shaking hands with his new congregation.
“Ahh, Miss Merritt,” he said, shaking Sarah’s hand first, recalling her from earlier. Likewise Noah, whom he greeted by name. “Soon to be my first nuptials. How nice to see you here together.” They moved on. “And the other Miss Merritt, who brightened my house yesterday.” There was no denying he retained his hold longest on Addie’s hand, and his smile was specially bright and steadfast upon her. In his black suit and white cleric collar he was an eye-catching sight. The sun radiated off his auburn hair and his perfect teeth. “The curtains add a real touch of hominess. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.”
Behind Addie, Robert observed, feeling a riffle of annoyance at the man’s undisguised interest in her.
“I thought perhaps one day soon I might call on you and your sister, pay an official greeting, as it were, on the founders of the women’s group, which I’m sure will play an important role in both the charitable and social future of our church.”
“Sarah founded it, I didn’t.”
“Have I your permission nonetheless?” he inquired.
“Yes, of course. We’d be happy to receive you. May I introduce you to our friend Robert Baysinger?”
Matheson shook Robert’s hand firmly and offered a smile, but Robert’s smile was a veneer, short-lived, scarcely touching his eyes.
“Reverend Matheson,” he said.
When they moved on, Robert spoke quietly at Addie’s ear. “Seems you’ve made an impression on our new minister.”
“All I’ve made, Robert, are his new curtains.” They entered the church at that moment, cutting off the possibility of further exchange.
Matheson gave a thumping, exuberant speech—hardly a sermon—thanking the town for their rousing welcome, Mr. Pinkney for the donation of the land, the men for the spanking new church, the women of the Ladies’ Society for his comfortable house, and especially Miss Adelaide Merritt for his new curtains. He gave a thumbnail sketch of himself, gaining a round of laughter (from everyone except Robert Baysinger) when he told the story of how he was drawn to the ministry by a case of ringworm. He announced plans to begin a children’s Bible study class immediately, and to visit the homes of the townspeople and even venture out to the mines to personally invite those outside the town limits to join the parish. He invited the Ladies’ Society to affiliate themselves with the church and use it for their meetings. He announced a hymn, then led all in a voice so true and enthusiastic, the combined chorus fairly loosened the pegs holding the building together.
After services, Matheson again took up his post at the church door. Robert, however, steered Addie around him without pausing.
She pulled her elbow free and remarked, “Robert, how rude!”
“You keep away from that man!” Robert ordered.
“Ro-bert!” Indignant, Addie drew to a halt. “He’s a man of the cloth! And furthermore, I don’t take orders from you!”
Robert appropriated her arm and forced her on. “Keep walking, Addie. People are staring.”
“I don’t doubt it, with you storming out of church and giving the minister the cold shoulder on his first Sunday in town! Let me go! I’ll walk on my own.”
She did. All the way home. While Robert stalked along beside her, glowering. When they reached the house she stopped on the doorstep and turned to him, plainly to prevent him from following her inside. “I don’t like your proprietary attitude, Robert. Thank you for walking me home, but you don’t need to do that anymore either if you can’t be civil to the people who are civil to me.”
She turned and entered the house, leaving him simmering on the step. He spun and marched down the hill, meeting Sarah and Noah coming up.
“Robert?” Noah said as the other man strode past with a stormy expression on his face. “Hey, Robert, what’s wrong?”
Robert spun around and ordered Sarah, “Tell your sister, Fine! If that’s th
e way she wants it, that’s fine by me!”
Executing a brisk about-face, he stalked away.
Sarah gaped at Noah. “What do you suppose that was all about?”
“Probably the new minister. He seems a little moonstruck by Addie.”
Birtle Mathespn came to call that very afternoon. Addie answered his knock and had difficulty hiding her shock. “Why, Reverend Matheson!” He was dressed in his black suit with the white cleric collar. His eyes were quite as blue as the sky behind him, and his eyelashes were the kind that make old ladies say, he should have been a girl.
“It was a little lonely in my house all alone. I hope you don’t mind that I came unannounced.”
“No, not at all.”
“May I come in?”
“Sarah’s not home. She and Noah have gone over to their house to do some cleaning.”
“Perhaps we could walk then.”
“Walk?” Wouldn’t Mrs. Roundtree have a field day with the news that Eve, the ex-prostitute, had spent her Sunday afternoon walking with the new Congregational minister?
“It’s a lovely day.” He squinted at the sun. “Feels like spring. I think I heard some peepers down by the creek.” He transferred his most convincing smile to her.
“I think not,” she answered.
“Why?”
“It wouldn’t be good for you.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“Please, Reverend Matheson, I cannot walk out with you.”
“Because you used to work at Rose’s?”
Addie’s face paled. She stood stalk-still, waiting for the blush that was sure to follow. Not a reply came to mind.
Birtle Matheson put his hands on his hips, caught one shoe on the threshold. “I did some inquiring after your remark yesterday afternoon.”
“Then you know how inappropriate it would be for the two of us to be seen together.”
“Not at all. Judge not, lest ye be judged.”
She studied him in amazement. “You’re crazy,” she whispered.
“I think you’re a very pretty lady, Adelaide Merritt, and you’re single, and I’m single, and it’s a beautiful spring day and I should very much like to take you for a walk. Now what’s crazy about that?”
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