Springwater Seasons

by Linda Lael Miller

  Jessica blinked and ran her fingertips lightly across the smooth metal letters, the last issue, surely, of the Springwater Gazette, as published and edited by Michael Barnes. It took a moment to make out the headline, since the type was set backwards, but when she did, she wanted to weep: CALLOWAY: THE MAN WHO WOULD BUY SPRINGWATER. She rounded the press to read the rest of the article, in which Michael maintained that citizens should not be misled by Mr. Calloway’s engaging nature and seeming generosity. He was, Michael claimed, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and taking office as mayor was only the first step in a plan that would, if unchecked, take him all the way to the territorial governor’s office.

  Jessica frowned. Gage Calloway had political aspirations beyond Springwater. Had he tried to put Michael out of business simply to silence him, to quell articles like this one?

  She reminded herself yet again that Calloway still entertained hopes of persuading her to sell the Gazette, clear as she’d been in refusing. Publishing a newspaper, even in such a sparsely populated area, would give him significant influence; as a rule, people tended to believe what they read, simply because it had been set in type and printed. She must be wary, on her guard, and never let herself be taken in by his charm.

  Jessica sighed. She hadn’t the first glimmer of how to run that ancient press Michael had so treasured, but she had a good mind and, given time, she would figure it out. After pushing up the sleeves of her practical calico dress, she fetched some wood from the covered bin that stood out back beneath the broad eaves, and started a fire in the small stove in one corner of the room. When the frost melted from the floors and the cold receded somewhat, Jessica circled the great, cumbersome press, studying it thoughtfully.

  After a while, when it seemed to her that the construction of the machine made at least a little bit of sense, she set the type box where it seemed it ought to go, inked the rollers, and turned the heavy hand crank at one side of the looming iron mechanism. The paper, housed on a great cylinder, wrinkled and then jammed the works.

  Muttering, Jessica put on Michael’s apron and turned the full and formidable force of her will upon the task at hand. By that time the following week, she vowed silently—and fiercely—she would put out an issue of the Gazette, however humble it might be.

  *

  He paused on the sidewalk, heedless of the bitter Montana wind sweeping across the range and straight down Springwater’s main street, watching as Jessica labored over the recalcitrant press. She was covered in ink, smudged and splotched and shining with the stuff, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a lovelier sight in the whole of his life.

  He supposed he ought to go in there and show her how to manage the simple but stubborn machine—his grandfather published one of the largest newspapers in California, after all, and he’d virtually grown up, along with his half-brother, in the midst of the enterprise, an ink monkey by association—but the plain truth was that he was scared to approach her, feeling the way he did right then. His reason, highly developed, told him she was the wrong sort of woman for him, willful and prickly; he’d fallen for that sort of woman once, and look where that had landed him. What he needed was a sweet, pliant wife, one who needed protecting.

  His heart, on the other hand, had a different opinion entirely.

  He stood there for a time, torn between courage and cowardice, hope and fear, and then moved on. Reason had prevailed over more tender sentiments, but he couldn’t exactly have said he was relieved, and a part of him, some reckless, rebellious portion of his spirit, stayed behind, with Jessica Barnes.

  *

  It was getting dark when Jessica finally gave up her efforts to produce one coherent page of copy—for the time being, at least—and dragged herself upstairs. Alma, bless her heart, had a simple supper of eggs and toasted bread at the ready, and the babies were sleeping soundly, blissful in their innocence. It was fortunate, Jessica thought, that they couldn’t know they were at the mercy of a spinster aunt with nothing to offer them save a pile of crumpled newsprint.

  “Look at you,” Alma said with a little laugh as she steered Jessica to the table and set a plate in front of her. “Why, a body would hardly recognize you, under all that ink!”

  It required a supreme effort just to lift her fork; Jessica simply wasn’t up to idle conversation.

  “What you need,” Alma went on cheerfully, “is a nice hot bath. Wouldn’t that be a fine thing?”

  Jessica wanted to weep at the mere prospect. When had she last enjoyed such a luxury? Not since she’d left the Covington mansion in St. Louis, certainly, where she’d shared a bathroom with several of the maids.

  She contrived to nod once, in order to let Alma know she’d heard, then swallowed an exhausted sob along with a bite of warm, buttered bread.

  Alma was bustling about with sudden and rather alarming resolve. “Nothing like a good, hot bath to restore body and soul. Yes, siree. I’d like to go back home knowing you’re strong and hearty, and well able to look after these babies.”

  Jessica tried to protest—Alma was not young, however energetic she might be feeling at the moment, and the setting out of a tub, the fetching and heating of water, were hard and heavy tasks.

  For all of that, nothing would sway Alma from her quest, and by the time Jessica had finished her supper and washed her plate, fork, and knife, the older woman had dragged a round copper tub from the pantry to the hearth in the parlor, where a lively fire blazed. After emptying the stove reservoir and the two buckets of drinking water to serve her purpose, Alma finally ran down. Jessica, somewhat revived by the meal, took over for her, carrying steaming kettles to the tub.

  At last, the bath was ready. A towel had been found, and a bar of lilac-scented soap that had been Victoria’s. Jessica dimmed the last lamp to a faint flicker, undressed, and stepped into the tub, lowering herself into the water with a sigh of contentment. In that lulling, suspended state, the days ahead did not seem so overwhelmingly difficult as before. She knew, in those moments and thereafter, that even if she did not succeed brilliantly, she could at least manage. She could and would make a good and happy life for herself and her nieces, and devil take the plain fact that she wasn’t sure how to go about any of it.

  She would face down Michael’s enemy and prevail. Her brother would, she thought, as she drifted off into a brief, sweet sleep, have been very proud of her.

  *

  Emma Hargreaves presented herself at the door of the Gazette’s humble office the next day, right after school let out. She was a beautiful girl, fifteen or sixteen, Jessica supposed, and the lively agility of her mind showed in her dark eyes and in each of the myriad expressions that played upon her face.

  “I’ve come to help you print the newspaper,” the girl announced, removing her cloak and hanging it carefully beside Michael’s printer’s apron. Apparently, it had not crossed her mind that her offer might be refused.

  Jessica saw no reason to delay the inevitable, but she took care to speak gently, for she liked Emma already and did not wish to discourage her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid I can’t afford to hire help just now.”

  Emma beamed, unfazed. “Oh, you needn’t pay me,” she said happily. “My pa has shares in a silver mine, the Jupiter and Zeus, so I don’t need money. I just want to write stories and work the machine and all like that.”

  It took Jessica a moment to assimilate the implications of such an offer. The girl could hardly be more inept than she herself—perhaps between them, they might actually print the news, sell advertising, and get the business to turning a profit.

  Emma did not wait for a reply—indeed, she was bent over, peering into the mechanism attached to the paper rollers. Jessica had still not mastered this demon’s device.

  “I think this is stuck, this tiny part here,” the girl mused, poking a finger into the small but baffling system of gears. There was a metallic click and Emma straightened, smiling broadly again. “It ought to be fine now. May I work the lever?”
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br />   Jessica gestured for her to go ahead, feeling skeptical and hopeful and a little indignant, all of a piece.

  There was a shrill, grinding sound, and then the roller began to turn and the page of type Michael himself had set was impressed upon a wide sheet of paper.

  Jessica tore the page off and stared at it in delighted amazement. “How did you do that?”

  Emma shrugged modestly. “I used to come by and watch Mr. Barnes print the paper whenever I could. He published one of my poems once—it was about a wolf.”

  Jessica put out an ink-stained hand. “You’re hired,” she said.

  *

  Later that week Alma’s husband arrived, driving a buckboard, and collected her. She glowed with happiness at the prospect of going home, even as she wept to leave the babies.

  “Why, they might be grown women before I see them again,” she sniffled, settling into the wagon box.

  “Now, Alma, don’t take on,” Pete scolded fondly. He was a big, rugged man, probably handsome in his youth, and he clearly loved his wife.

  “I’ll bring them to see you,” Jessica vowed in a rash moment, having no earthly idea what such a trip might involve. “I swear I will.”

  Alma took her at her word and, as quickly as that, she was gone, rattling away toward home.

  Unable to face being alone just then, Jessica put on her best afternoon dress, did up her hair, and proceeded to pay the promised call on June-bug McCaffrey, at the Springwater station. It was quite an enterprise, given that she was taking the twins along with her. They made two great, bulky bundles in her arms as she high-stepped her way through the hard-crusted, glittering snow.

  The other woman greeted her with a cry of delight, immediately claiming one of the babies for herself. “Why, just look at this precious little smidgen!” she beamed. “And here’s her sister. I declare, in twenty years’ time, they’ll have broken every heart in Springwater.”

  Warmed by June-bug’s cheerful reception, Jessica smiled. Perhaps she might fit in here after all, one day. She’d just have to stay out of Gage Calloway’s way as much as possible.

  June-bug bustled to make beds for the babies by stuffing blankets into wooden freight boxes and gently setting the children inside. They cooed happily, as though they too felt welcome at the Springwater station.

  “Sit down and I’ll make you some tea,” June-bug commanded, while Jessica stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do next. She’d been one step above a servant for all her adult life, and she wasn’t sure how to go about being entertained. “Did Alma get on toward home?”

  “She’s gone,” Jessica said, a little forlornly, and took a seat in one of the chairs near the fireplace.

  June-bug merely nodded, busy at the stove with the teakettle, and went right on chatting. “Jacob says the pond down by the spring is froze over solid. There’ll be a bonfire there tomorrow night, and skating, too. I hope you’ll bundle up these dear little babies and come join the fun.”

  Jessica did not point out that she was, for all practical intents and purposes, in mourning. Perhaps it was due, at least in part, to the fact that she knew Michael would not approve of such withdrawal. She’d known all along that he would have wanted his life to be remembered and celebrated, not the single day and hour of his death.

  “I haven’t any skates,” she said, at a loss for other conversation.

  June-bug, still busy at the stove, was undaunted. “I do believe Victoria owned a pair.” Her lovely, vibrant face darkened, if only for a moment, when she looked back at Jessica over one shoulder. “Poor girl. She was never very hearty, but Lord knows, she tried.”

  Jessica frowned a little, puzzled. “Tried?” she echoed.

  June-bug gave a weighty sigh. “To please Michael, I mean,” she said, frowning reflectively. “Her heart wasn’t really in it, though. Livin’ way out here, I mean, amongst plain folks. Not that she was unfriendly, or high-nosed, or anything like that. She just didn’t seem to like it here much.”

  Jessica had known her sister-in-law only slightly, prior to her marriage to Michael. She’d been bookish, sweet. Shy and delicate, too. Victoria had begged Michael not to go west to seek his fortune, adding her voice to Uncle Samuel’s, and maybe she’d been right. If they’d stayed at home in St. Louis, if Michael had joined the family business, both of them might be alive today.

  If. Jessica shook herself inwardly. Fruitless speculation, that was. What was done was done—Michael and his bride were gone, forever. It was up to her to pick up the fragments and move forward into the future, however uncertain it might be. Part of doing that was joining in community activities—like the skating party.

  “Was my brother happy?” she asked, as June-bug set a tray on the small, sturdy table between the two chairs facing the fire, sat down across from Jessica, and began to pour tea. “In his last days, I mean?”

  June-bug reached out to pat her arm. “Why, sure he was,” she replied with reassuring confidence. “Up until poor little Victoria passed on, that is. Losin’ her took a lot out of him, but that’s natural. He got to workin’ at all hours of the day and night, but he loved those babies of his, and the newspaper, too. Oh, he had high hopes for the Gazette, and that’s a fact.”

  Jessica sipped her tea and reflected silently upon her brother’s lost dreams.

  “You’ll make a fine mother to these children, you know,” June-bug said in a quiet voice, laying a hand to Jessica’s shoulder. “You just wait and see.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  POOR AS SHE and Michael had been, Victoria had indeed owned a pair of ice skates; probably she had brought them with her on the journey west to Montana Territory. Jessica found them hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, their blades dull and rusted, amongst a sad collection of small mementos—dried flowers from her wedding bouquet; a few letters, the paper thin as a spill of light on glass, tucked into yellow-edged envelopes; and various small baubles.

  Just the sight of those simple, unassuming things, so obviously treasured, filled Jessica with guilt. She had grieved so much over Michael that she had almost forgotten to mourn Victoria, a young woman who would never watch her own babies grow, or hear them laugh, would never see another spring …

  Jessica took a deep breath and guided her mind in another direction. Holding the skates close against her chest, she remembered her girlhood, when she and Michael and a crowd of friends had spent winter afternoons skating on a pond not far from their uncle’s house. Those had been some of the happiest times of her life; she’d felt free while skating, exhilarated by her own smooth velocity and the brisk caress of the wind.

  Soon enough, though, her thoughts turned back to Victoria, robbed of so much. Rest easy, she told her sister-in-law, in the silence of her heart. I’ll look after Mary Catherine and Eleanor as long as they need me. I promise you that much.

  The babies were lying on the bed behind her, cooing and kicking, content because they’d just been fed and changed. Looking at them, their lost mother’s skates in her hands, Jessica felt a surge of joy so poignant that it was all she could do not to grab up her nieces and hug them with all her might.

  June-bug was right; they were precious. Treasures for whom she would go anywhere, do anything.

  “I love you,” she said to them. And they gurgled happily in response.

  The skates might have been made for Jessica, they fit so well, but she was sorely out of practice. She stood, teetering, and flung out her arms for balance, like a high-wire artist performing in a circus. She looked at the babies, who were watching her with expressions of drunken wonder, each exactly matched to the other, although the twins were not identical.

  “Suppose I fall through the ice and catch pneumonia and the pair of you are all alone in the world?” she asked.

  It wouldn’t work as an excuse to stay home from the skating party; even if she did meet with such a dire and dramatic fate, the Parrishes would gladly take her nieces in and raise them with love.
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  “All right, then,” she speculated. “It’s sure to be too cold out there for a couple of brand-new babies such as yourselves. Suppose you get sick? Why, I simply couldn’t bear it.”

  But the babies would not take ill, her logical side argued. June-bug had told her that careful provision was always made for infants and small children. They would be held and passed around, close by the fire. In the years they’d been holding these community celebrations, not one of the little mites had been lost.

  Jessica teetered over and laid a hand to each of the twins’ foreheads. Both were satiny cool.

  It was settled, then; she’d join the rest of Springwater in heralding what was bound to be a bitterly cold night. She might even enjoy herself, if she could stop worrying long enough.

  She removed her skates, put the babies back into their cradle, where they promptly fell asleep, exhausted by a morning spent socializing with June-bug McCaffrey, and made for the kitchen without bothering to put her shoes back on. There, she made a pot of tea.

  The brew smelled lovely and rich, and she heated milk to flavor it. She felt afraid of what the future might hold, that was for sure, but there was a certain quiet joy within her, too. For the first time in her life, she was truly on her own. She would be the one to make the rules she abided by—not her uncle, not her employer, not even her brother, much as she’d loved him. No, she was going to be independent from here on, and, scary as that was, it made her want to spread her arms and laugh as she had done long, long ago, spinning on the skating pond until the world was a blur of color and shape.

  *

  Jacob himself had built the horse-drawn sleigh for just such nights as that one, and it was already full of fresh hay and crowded with laughing people when he drew the team to a halt in front of the newspaper office.

  Gage jumped down from the flat bed of the sleigh and marveled at the jittery twitch in the pit of his stomach. Just the prospect of seeing Jessica Barnes again did that to him, and the hell of it was, the reality was bound to affect him even more. He just hoped she didn’t slam the door in his face, that was all, with half of Springwater down on the street listening for any word that might pass between the two of them. Trey and Landry were already ribbing him about Miss Barnes anyway, and here he was, letting himself in for more grief.