The word exhilarating sprang to Ida’s mind.
Mollie hooked her finger under Ida’s chin. “Best close your mouth before you cage a dragonfly in there.”
Ida spotted Boney Hughes off to one side, unshaven and wearing coveralls. Smiling, the old miner brushed the brim of his equally dressed-down canvas hat. She gave him a courteous nod, then returned her attention to the business at hand, though she was perplexed by his presence in such chic company.
A short gentleman approached Mollie. Removing a pipe from his mouth, he studied the two of them, his thick brow narrowing. “Not enough you’re in the club, Miss O’Bryan? You had to bring in reinforcements?”
“Mr. Eugene Updike, I’d like to introduce Miss Ida Sinclair. She works with me.” Mollie’s voice was soft, but her eyes were not. “You know Miss Sinclair’s brother-in-law, Dr. Morgan Cutshaw.”
He tucked the tip of his pipe into the corner of his mouth. “Is that so, Miss Sinclair?”
Ida nodded.
“Unfortunately, from the looks of things, it appears you won’t do any better job of minding your own business than Miss O’Bryan does.” His expression held no hint of an attempt at humor.
Ida felt herself become the big sister in the school yard reacting to the bully who’d just hassled one of her sisters. “Scoff if you must, Mr. Updike, but we’ll take your money just the same.” She held her hand out flat in front of the man.
Glaring at her, he crossed his arms. “Welcome to the snake pit, Miss Sinclair. Sounds to me like you’ll fit right in.”
As he turned and stomped to his seat, Ida’s insides recoiled. She’d hissed at a complete stranger. Never mind that he’d deserved it.
“Way to feed that old goat some crow.” Amusement danced in Mollie’s green eyes. “If I had any doubts that you could make it in this business, they just walked away on Updike’s back.”
The woman had a spitfire way with words, but Mollie was right. Ida couldn’t let sour men like that hold her back. She deserved to be here as much as he did, and she was here to stay.
Up in the loft, Tucker stuffed clean straw into one of the four bags he and Otis carried on the wagon. A snort and a stomp drew his gaze to the floor of the barn where Titan and Trojan chomped hay in adjacent stalls.
Tucker tossed the full sack over the edge, watching it land on the canvas over the back of the ice wagon. He grabbed another sack off a sheaf of straw and continued the process. He and Otis had completed the ice deliveries by two o’clock that afternoon. Even after he’d stopped by the livery to order a hay drop and done some shopping at the Blue Front Grocery, he’d still been home by half past three.
If it had been Monday, he would’ve spent an extra hour on the last delivery, visiting with the warm and wise Miss Hattie and eating shortbread cookies. Yesterday’s conversation in the post office with Miss Ida Sinclair had shown him that Miss Hattie wasn’t the only woman who possessed a compelling blend of compassion and wisdom. And it was Ida Sinclair he most wanted to see.
“Rushing to her would be my first instinct as well.”
Ida had shown wisdom in questioning his initial yearning to rush to Willow’s side at the first sign of hope. She was right—perhaps his absence would be better for Willow. For both of them. Perhaps his presence had served to remind her of the tragedy that caused her ailment and helped keep her mired in the depths of melancholia.
“What you’re doing here is of great significance to your parents.”
Although delivering ice and talking to bankers, lawyers, and brokers didn’t seem of great significance, he was doing what he felt God would have him do. His being here, trying to build up the business, honored his father and mother.
But alone in the barn with only horses and mice for company, the urge hit him to go directly into the house, pack his bag, and march straight to the train station and buy a ticket to Stockton. For home.
Tucker tossed the last sack of straw over the edge of the loft and climbed down the rustic wooden ladder.
The parsonage in Stockton had been home to him until nearly four weeks ago. He hadn’t felt at ease in his family home since the day he’d told his father he’d chosen to move to San Francisco to attend seminary. A war of words ensued, and he’d stomped out with a saddlebag full of his belongings. That had been his last day in the ice business. He’d bunked at Sam’s house for the month before he and his best friend left for seminary. The Lord had blessed him with Sam’s friendship, even though their time together was short.
“Taking over your father’s business so he can receive the care he needs … is a noble task in and of itself.”
For now, this was where he belonged. He would watch and wait, look for God’s provision, and praise the Lord for His faithfulness. Even when doubt clouded his vision.
Tucker, his mouth and throat dry, decided he’d done enough chores. He needed a cup of coffee and some psalms. He glanced at the stall, where Titan and Trojan savored the remnants of their supper.
“See you later, fellas.” He pulled off his worn work gloves and tossed them on the wagon seat, and then closed the barn door on his way out. Before he headed to the house, he glanced toward the creek and the bench he’d placed on a knoll at the creek’s edge.
She wasn’t there. Silly to think she would be. For one thing, Miss Ida Sinclair would still be at work. And why would she trust this part of the creek to be any safer, after what had happened to her farther down? Besides, it was better she didn’t come. He needed to concentrate on the needs of his own family. Whenever Ida came near, she proved to be a distraction.
Life seemed so much simpler in Stockton. He’d see Willow on Wednesdays and travel by horseback to preach on the weekends. Nothing here had been anything less than complicated since the moment he’d stepped off the train.
Walking back toward the house, Tucker watched Colin Wagner drive a black enamel carriage up the road. He might understand the attorney having business with him on a weekday afternoon, but why would Reverend Taggart accompany the attorney for such a visit?
The reverend stepped out of the buggy and waved. Tucker liked the clergyman, but the verdict was still out on the law counselor. He told himself his uncertainty had nothing to do with the man’s obvious attentions to Miss Ida Sinclair.
“Reverend Taggart.” Tucker shook his hand then regarded his companion. “Mr. Wagner. Welcome, gentlemen.” He shook the spruce attorney’s hand as well.
“I hope we haven’t come at a bad time.” The reverend wore his few strands of hair splayed across the top of his balding head.
“Not at all.” Tucker removed his hat and slapped it against his dusty pant leg. “Just finished my chores for the afternoon, and I’m headed into the house for a cup of coffee. Join me.”
Once inside, they hung up their coats and hats. After Tucker showed the men to the parlor, he went to the kitchen to pour the coffee. He’d lit the stove and started the pot before going back outside, but he wasn’t used to entertaining guests. What else did he need? He drank his coffee black, but not everyone did. Tucker retrieved a bottle of cream from the icebox, a bowl of sugar from the shelf, and a spoon from a cupboard drawer.
When the brew was ready, he filled three mugs and carried the tray to the parlor. He set a steaming cup in front of each of the men and sat on the sofa across from them. “So what brings you two down here on a Thursday afternoon?”
Reverend Taggart glanced at Mr. Wagner and reached for the sugar bowl. “Colin and I have been talking about you.”
Tucker couldn’t say why, but the thought dried out his mouth even more. He lifted the coffee and let its warmth soothe his throat while he waited for his answer.
“When you first visited the church, you and I chatted afterward.” The reverend pushed his round spectacles up on his crooked nose. “You shared with me that you’re a preacher.”
“I was, yes.”
Reverend Taggart nodded, causing his thick neck to bob on his shirt collar. “I’ve accepted a pastorate in up
state New York, starting after the first of the year. And we wanted to talk to you about—”
“Like Reverend Taggart said, we’ve been talking about you.” Colin Wagner diluted his coffee with a generous dousing of cream and clanged the spoon against the sides of his cup. “I learned about your chosen profession in our interview for the prospectus. Ever since the reverend told the board of deacons his plans to move, we’ve been praying for a suitable replacement. Someone comfortable living and serving in a rough-and-tumble mining town.”
“We’d like you to think about accepting the pastorate, Tucker. Pray about it.” The reverend lifted his cup to his mouth, causing his spectacles to fog.
Tucker suddenly felt encased in a fog of his own. His second Sunday at church, he had asked the reverend to call him by his given name, never dreaming he could be asked to take on the man’s duties here in Cripple Creek. “I’m not planning on staying in town any longer than is necessary to see that my parents’ business is prosperous enough to provide for their needs.”
Reverend Taggart glanced up at the ceiling as if receiving a message from God.
Or perhaps it was Tucker who received the message, as a piece of scripture pressed itself into his thoughts. Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding … and he shall direct thy paths.
Tucker held back a sigh. “I’ll pray about it.”
“That’s all we ask.” Colin set his coffee mug on the sofa table and stood.
Reverend Taggart followed suit. “And that you lead the responsive reading of the Scriptures on Sunday mornings.”
Wearily, Tucker agreed. Lord, You don’t plan for me to stay here, do You?
TWENTY
or his mercy endureth for ever.”
Ida’s voice blended with the others in the congregation. Tucker Raines stood on the platform and led them in a responsive reading from Psalm 136.
“For his mercy endureth for ever.”
How was it possible to read responsively while thinking of something else entirely?
“For his mercy endureth for ever.”
Despite her best efforts to think spiritual thoughts, other matters caused her mind to wander. This week had held more ups and downs than the railway through Ute Pass.
“For his mercy endureth for ever.”
She’d received her first wage. She’d visited the Exchange for the first time and bought stocks. Both wonderful firsts. So why couldn’t she just enjoy her new life without impediment from people who didn’t know anything about the business?
“For his mercy endureth for ever.”
Hattie had been the first to step forth as a naysayer. “I gathered Mollie may have her ducks lined up too tightly.” Her landlady’s comments had washed away with the rains. Ida could also write off her brother-in-law’s concerns easily enough. She couldn’t expect a mine accountant to understand her work with stockbrokers and investors.
“For his mercy endureth for ever.”
But ignoring a sister’s words of caution was nigh to impossible.
“Some people don’t agree with the way Mollie obtains information … It sounded like she was buying stock based upon what you’d learned from a client.”
“For his mercy endureth for ever.”
Ida sighed and flexed the hand that supported her Bible. She was only doing her job and seizing opportunities that the Good Lord Himself had set before her.
“For his mercy endureth for ever.”
And then there was Colin Wagner. The attorney stood in the front pew, directly in front of Tucker. The two men couldn’t be more different from one another than a seafaring ship was from an ice wagon. One wore a gray herringbone suit with a navy blue silk tie. The other wore brown trousers, a white shirt with a string tie, and a tweed jacket.
“O give thanks unto the God of heaven: for his mercy endureth for ever.”
The congregation joined Tucker in reading the final verse of the chapter. Pretending to study the Bible passage further, Ida stole a glance at the ice man as he returned to the back pew and sat down. He read Scripture as if its essence had bubbled up from his heart.
A man who set aside his plans to tend to his family’s needs. A man with a sick sister he cared deeply about. A noble man.
The man she needed to avoid. And she would, after today’s Sunday supper at Miss Hattie’s. Ida’s landlady had extended the invitation to Tucker Raines in the vestibule when they first arrived, and he’d promptly accepted, earning a shy smile from Faith. Perhaps the two fancied one another.
A pang of jealousy tightened Ida’s throat and she swallowed hard against it. If those two did care for one another, she could more readily concentrate on more sensible pursuits.
Reverend Taggart was more formal in his preaching style, but Tucker enjoyed hearing him present the Word of God. His current series topic was especially engrossing—the unlikely servants of God. Walking from the church to Miss Hattie’s, Tucker viewed Nehemiah’s story from a different angle. A cupbearer for the king who became the impetus God used to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. Tucker rubbed his chin as he dodged a mud puddle.
Was that why he was in Colorado? Had God wooed him here as a means to rebuild the Raines family?
If that were the case, how did Miss Ida Sinclair fit into His plans?
A friend. Certainly, she was a picture of determination and tenacity—a person dedicated to her family. And she’d already given him good counsel.
As he approached the yellow house with white trim on Golden Avenue, Colin Wagner came to mind and Tucker wondered if the attorney had been invited to Sunday supper as well. Wagner hadn’t sat with Miss Sinclair during the service, but he’d certainly showered her with attention beforehand.
Scolding himself for caring, Tucker reached for the bell pull. Soon his father’s business would be stable enough that he could return to California. To Willow.
Morgan Cutshaw met him at the front door and ushered him inside. “Judson and I are chatting in the parlor.”
Tucker hung up his coat and hat.
“It’ll be good to have another man in—” A distant burst of giggles interrupted the doctor. He grinned. “Unless you’d prefer to take your chances in the kitchen with five women.”
Tucker shook his head with vigor. “Rumors of me achieving such a high standard of bravery are sorely unfounded.”
Morgan laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “We haven’t either. You can hide out with us.”
Judson waved at him from where he sat in a wingback chair. “Welcome to the men’s hideout.”
Tucker extended his hand to Judson. “You heard that, did you?”
Nodding, Judson stood and shook Tucker’s hand then glanced down at the cup of coffee sitting before him. “You want a cup?”
“No, thanks. I’ll wait.” Tucker lowered himself onto the sofa across from the two men.
“On a more serious note”—Morgan paused—“have you heard anything from your parents since they left for Colorado Springs?”
Tucker leaned against the cushioned back of the sofa and propped his booted foot on the opposite knee. “I received a letter from my mother at the end of last week. My father is less than pleased with the living arrangements, but he seems to have stabilized. She said he’s breathing easier and able to walk the grounds some.”
“That’s good news.” Morgan loosened his tie and unbuttoned his vest.
“Ida said you’re staying on to run the ice business.” Judson reached for his cup of coffee.
“For a while. If I can build up the business, I’ll turn it over to someone who can run it.”
Morgan lifted his coffee cup from the table. “Don’t be too surprised when you discover you don’t want to leave Cripple Creek.”
Tucker brushed his hand through his hair. “I have responsibilities in California. I plan to return there as soon as possible.”
Judson tugged the cuffs on his shirtsleeves and met Tucker’s gaze. “You mind if I ask you a pers
onal question?”
More matchmaking? Planting both feet on the ground, Tucker drew in a deep breath. “Go ahead.”
“You play checkers?”
Tucker laughed. “That’s your personal question? Do I play checkers?”
“It’s a lot more serious a question than you might realize.” Morgan lowered his voice as if being heard would usher in the apocalypse.
“So, do you?” Judson returned his cup to the table.
“I do play checkers, actually.”
“You any good at it?”
Tucker leaned forward. “Just the best in seminary.”
“I like the sound of that.” Morgan gave Judson an exaggerated nod. “I think we might finally have an advantage against the Sinclair sisters.”
Light footfalls drew Tucker’s attention to the doorway.
“Dinner is served.” Miss Faith Dunsmuir was the only person he knew with that small a voice. She stood in the doorframe, rocking on her heels.
All three of the men jumped to their feet, and Tucker followed the others into the dining room.
A feast filled the table. Slices of roasted beef, creamed peas, whipped potatoes, and golden brown dinner rolls.
Ida Sinclair stood behind a chair, facing him. He held her chair out for her and then did the same for the more timid Miss Dunsmuir. As he did, he couldn’t help noting the distinct differences between the two young women.
Timid was not a word he’d ever use in describing Miss Ida Sinclair. Instead, he’d use words like confident and deliberate.
Mona Hodgson Page 13