by Cat Cahill
Ada. Jasper shifted his stance and forced himself to look away from Miss Daniels. “I’ll see you on Monday at nine.”
She nodded enthusiastically, and before he could offer to escort her back to the boarding house, she’d sped down the wooden planks and disappeared around the corner to Main Street.
Jasper stood for a moment, watching where she’d left, and wondering if he hadn’t lost his mind completely. Both Molly and his mother would think it a splendid idea.
It was himself he worried about.
Chapter Five
After telling Mrs. Geary and a few of the other girls about her unexpected day, all Grace wanted was a bath and a good night of sleep. Turning the events of the day over in her head, she could hardly fathom what had happened. And now on Monday at nine a.m., she was supposed to be at Mr. Hill’s store.
“Take this and get some rest.” Mrs. Geary patted her arm and handed her the weekly newspaper. She’d taken notice that Grace searched the paper eagerly each week and often set the copy aside for her to read after supper. “I’ll ask Lila to fill a bath for you. It’s the least I can do after sending you to work for that horrible man.”
Grace reassured Mrs. Geary that it hadn’t been so awful, although it had. But the last thing she wanted was the poor woman feeling badly about finding Grace work. She’d been helpful, even if the situation hadn’t turned out well.
Grace tucked the paper under her arm. After she’d had a relaxing soak in the tub, put on her nightclothes, and thoroughly brushed and braided her hair, she sat at the small dressing table in her room and opened the paper in the lamplight.
Each week, she hoped she might find her letter to Miss Lovelorn, and each time she’d been disappointed. It most likely wouldn’t be in print today either, she told herself. It was best not to get her hopes up. She flipped past the ads and articles until she reached the page she was looking for. But instead of seeing another letter from Sad in San Francisco or Neglected in New York, there was one from Confused in Colorado.
Grace’s heart leaped into her throat. She was Confused in Colorado.
Pressing the paper down, she leaned over to read the fine print.
Dear Lovelorn,
I am in desperate circumstances. My betrothed sent for me by train, but when I arrived, I discovered he’d married another woman. I am stranded here, with little in the way of funds. My shame won’t allow me to write to my family or friends and request to live with them. I have taken up respectable work with the most terrible conditions. All I wanted was to marry a good man and have a family of my own, but now I find myself working from dawn until dusk with no prospects at all. What should I do?
Confused in Colorado
Well, at least one thing had changed since Grace had sent that letter—she no longer had to go into that terrible dress shop. But the remainder held true. She’d still be working, she had little in the way of funds, and she certainly had no prospects for marriage. Eager to see what Miss Lovelorn’s advice might be, she continued reading:
Dear Confused in Colorado,
You are a resourceful woman. Use that resourcefulness to create prospects for yourself. Be attentive to your surroundings, and you might be surprised to find love waiting for you. Your future husband may be passing you on the street, purchasing goods in the same store, coming into the place you work, or be the relative of a new friend. Love can often be found where you least expect it. Be resourceful, and you’ll find happiness again.
Yours Truly: The Lovelorn
Grace closed the paper with a frustrated sigh. Miss Lovelorn’s advice was not the answer she’d hoped it would be. Be resourceful. Grace let out a short laugh as she folded the paper. She imagined Miss Lovelorn daintily strolling the streets of St. Louis, drawing attention from every man she passed. She likely visited the newspaper office, which was filled with men. She probably had a circle of well-connected friends. And then she could use the money she earned from writing her column to go to shops to buy fun and frivolous items, instead of giving most of it to the woman who ran the boardinghouse. Or—Lovelorn was a man and could not relate at all to Grace’s problem.
Grace extinguished the lamp and got into bed. Although Lovelorn’s advice was not what she’d hoped for, she decided to be optimistic for her future. At least she’d no longer have to see Mr. Trace again. Instead, she’d start work at Mr. Hill’s establishment in two days’ time.
She stared up into the darkness toward the ceiling as possibilities entered her mind. Perhaps Miss Lovelorn’s advice could apply, at least somewhat, in her new position. Mr. Hill had described his mother’s work as happening in a “corner.” Surely, that meant a corner of the actual shop and not a dark, windowless back room. She’d be in the store each day with Mrs. Hill, near the customers. Perhaps she’d have the opportunity to meet a few of them. Perhaps she could take Miss Lovelorn’s advice to heart.
Her newfound hope settled around her as she closed her eyes. And yet, as she drifted off to sleep, it wasn’t a handsome rancher or a rich banker who came to mind as she pictured her new life working in the general store.
It was, instead, the store’s owner.
Chapter Six
Hill’s General Store was always busy first thing in the morning. Jasper spent a solid hour fetching items from the storeroom on Monday while Molly took orders at the counter. When he finally had a moment to stand still, it was nearly eleven o’clock. Molly worked on tallying receipts for the morning at the counter, a couple of ladies browsed the shelves, and the low murmur of voices sounded from the front corner of the store, opposite the counter.
Jasper returned his watch to his pocket and strode across the smooth wooden floor until he could see across the front of the store. There, settled comfortably in a chair between one of the large windows and a display of sewing accouterments, sat Miss Daniels. Curls of blonde hair fell about her face, but even those couldn’t hide the smile she wore as she listened to his mother natter on about someone’s baby.
Just the image of it brought a smile to his own face. It was impulsive, offering work to a woman he barely knew, but Ma had taken to the girl instantly at the depot, and Miss Daniels seemed suitable enough company for her. While it was true Ma had more work than she could handle at a decent enough pace, he’d hired Miss Daniels to be just as much a companion for his mother as a seamstress. And then, of course, there was that irrational need he’d felt to make things up to Miss Daniels after the way she’d been treated at Trace’s dress shop when he voiced his impatience.
But Jasper tried not to think too much on that.
He ought to go over and welcome her, thank her for taking on the work, but he hated to interrupt their conversation. Ma appeared happier than she had in a while, and Miss Daniels looked the very picture of joy. After all she’d been through, coming out here and finding her intended had abandoned her with nary a word, then having to work in that disgrace of a shop, it was amazing that she could still smile and chat amiably as she did. He wasn’t certain Ada could have handled such a thing as well. She was more temperamental. When Ada was upset, the world knew it.
Jasper returned to the counter where Molly had finished with her tallies.
“We ought to order more of those hair combs. They’ve proven quite popular with the younger ladies. And we’ve nearly sold out of shovels.” Molly handed him her list.
Jasper tucked it into the account book. He’d write up the orders for the items they needed tonight after he added up the books. “What do you think of Miss Daniels?”
Molly rested an arm on the counter as she glanced at Ma and Miss Daniels. “I think they’re getting on quite well. She’s a sweet girl. I’d never thought Mr. Burcham capable of doing Miss Daniels such wrong by marrying Dorothy. You know, I heard Dorothy’s mother had a heavy hand in their marriage. Which doesn’t surprise me one bit. Her mother’s an awful gossip, but she won’t stand for anyone to talk poorly about her or her family. Something must have happened between the two of them. Dorothy and
Mr. Burcham, I mean, to have caused it to happen so quickly.”
Jasper merely grunted in response. He didn’t care a whit about who or what caused the butcher to marry the town gossip’s daughter, but it wouldn’t be surprising to hear Mr. Burcham had put a woman in a compromising position. He was hardly the most upstanding man in town. “Miss Daniels is far better off.”
Molly raised a dark eyebrow. Ma often said Jasper and Molly were the spitting image of each other, just a year apart, with the same mannerisms.
“Care to explain that look?” Jasper tucked the account book under his arm.
His sister lifted the corners of her lips into a sly smile. “I believe you might be sweet on her.”
“Keep your wild ideas to yourself. I’d never hurt Ada that way.” He wasn’t blind to the fact that Miss Daniels was quite beautiful, but he barely knew her. He’d known Ada since they were children. Both their fathers had been among the first to arrive in the area, seeking gold during the rush, when Cañon City was barely a town. Ever since she’d kissed him in the livery when they were fourteen, he’d had eyes for no other woman.
Yet here they were, both twenty-five years of age, and unmarried.
The nagging thought that maybe she’d left for New York with her mother to find someone better worked its way into his consciousness. He brushed it aside with a determined sigh. He’d courted her for years. And then, frustrated with waiting, he’d been forthright with her about his feelings before she left last September and asked her to marry him. She’d given him a kiss, told him she loved him, and promised to talk more about it with him upon her return. He said he’d wait, although now, after so many months, he wondered if his promise had been foolishly made.
“And when was the last time you received a letter from Ada?” Molly picked up a rag and began wiping down the counter, but she shot a furtive glance his way.
“I expect one any day now,” he lied.
“Mm-hmm. It’s been, what—about ten months, hasn’t it?”
Molly was right. It was almost exactly ten months since Ada had last written him, barely a day after she’d arrived in the city. He’d received nothing since then, and his impatience had grown by the day. Yet something wouldn’t let him give up on her. “New York is a busy place. She’s attending balls and socials and, I don’t know, sewing circles.”
Molly laughed. “If Ada Boone ever set foot into a sewing circle, I’d sell my own teeth.”
“Then whatever it is you ladies do to occupy your time. How am I supposed to know?” he snapped. Molly was getting under his skin, in that sneaky way only she knew how.
“She could spare a few moments to write you a quick missive, letting you know she’s still alive and faithful to you. That’s all I wanted to say.” Molly folded the rag neatly and laid it on the shelf under the counter.
“And I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.”
“Ma agrees with me.”
Jasper huffed. Why God couldn’t have blessed him with a living father and a brother or two, he’d never know. Instead, he got two meddling women. He had no intention of breaking the promises he’d made to Ada, as frustrated as he was. “I need to leave.”
“With the account book?” Molly asked.
Jasper stuffed the book back under the counter, just wanting to get out of the store as soon as possible. But, just to show Molly he could be friendly to Miss Daniels without it meaning a thing, he paused before exiting the shop. “It seems you’ve settled in well,” he said. “I trust you have everything you need?”
She drew her sky-colored eyes away from his mother toward him, and for a moment, Jasper forgot where he was going or what he was doing.
“I’m doing well, thank you, Mr. Hill. I’m happy for this opportunity, and I hope to make you proud you took me on.” She gave him a smile so radiant, he couldn’t help but return it.
“Ah, well, good.” He reached for the doorknob.
“Jasper, are you leaving without your hat?” Ma held a needle poised over a trouser hem.
“I . . .” He felt for the top of his head, and realized that yes, he was indeed leaving hatless.
Molly laughed from behind him and tossed his hat onto the counter. “Jasper has other things on his mind right now.”
He fixed her with a glare and resolved to write Ada again tonight. He took the hat and made for the door, not looking back at any of them. Molly’s laughter tinkled out from behind the shut door and he could imagine Ma’s smile and Miss Daniels’s sweet, confused face.
He’d write—no, he’d wire Ada today and insist she tell him when she would return. Then he could arrange for the minister and they could finally be married.
She didn’t promise you marriage.
Jasper shook the voice from his head. Ada was the only woman he’d courted in earnest. Surely, she’d have let him go years ago if she didn’t also hope they’d be married. But then . . . if she were serious about him, wouldn’t she have written?
He directed his steps to the telegraph office. She couldn’t ignore the urgency of a telegram. One way or another, he’d get an answer.
Chapter Seven
Grace could hardly draw her gaze from the front window where passersby happened across every few minutes. This was a busy little town, and there was so much to see through that window. She’d wondered where Mr. Hill had gone and when he might return. He seemed fussed when he’d left, likely due to something his sister had said. Having two sisters of her own, Grace understood completely how well a sibling could say just the right thing to pivot one’s mood on the spot.
“Grace?”
Grace looked up at Mrs. Hill. “I’m sorry. I suppose my mind wandered.”
The older woman chuckled as she tied off her thread. “I was saying that I don’t hold much store in her, but dear Jasper seems to think the world of her.”
“Of whom?” Grace asked. She’d been here only half a day, and yet she’d already discovered Mrs. Hill loved nothing more than talking about her children.
“Miss Boone. He’s got it in his mind he wants to marry her.”
The words curled like burning paper as they sunk in. Not since Mr. Burcham had left her at the depot had she felt such a profound sense of disappointment. It was a ridiculous thought, considering she barely knew Mr. Hill. Perhaps it was because he’d shown her so much kindness and she didn’t like knowing anyone had treated him poorly. Or maybe . . . It was silly, but somewhere in the recesses of her broken heart, a little spark of hope had lit.
Maybe it was that letter from Miss Lovelorn. It had to be. That letter had her looking for possibilities in all corners, from the gentlemen she passed on the street this morning to the sawdust-covered man from the lumberyard who’d wandered into the shop an hour ago. Of course she’d consider Mr. Hill, too. She’d have to have been blind not to notice how handsome he was.
It would be all right. All she needed was to meet more people, and take Miss Lovelorn’s advice to heart. Then it would be easy to accept that Mr. Hill already had a sweetheart.
“Is that . . . not a good thing?” Grace asked lightly, trying to convince her heart with her voice.
“If you’d met Ada Boone, you’d understand. She’s a flighty thing, easily given to whims. She’s off in New York now with her mama, and I’d be mighty surprised if she came back. Of course, Jasper won’t hear it. He believes she’ll return any day now to marry him.”
“Oh,” Grace said, for lack of anything else to say. Perhaps Mr. Hill knew more about the situation than he cared to share with his mother and his sister. After all, he hardly seemed the sort to pine after a girl who wasn’t interested in him. He was far too practical for such a thing.
“I believe we’ve made some good progress,” Mrs. Hill said. She sorted through the stack of clothing in the basket next to them, which was substantially smaller than when they’d started. “We ought to stop for lunch.”
Grace had been prepared to walk back to the boardinghouse to eat, but Mrs. Hill insisted
she join Molly and herself in the little room behind the shop, where they enjoyed cold fried chicken, cheese, tinned peaches, and tea.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly between conversation and work. Grace found herself feeling sorry that the day was nearly over. What a change from working for Mr. Trace! In between bits of conversation with Mrs. Hill, she’d even found her mind wandering to her own creations. Perhaps if she saved enough money, she could ask Molly or Mr. Hill to order her a copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book so she could peruse the latest fashions. Or she could purchase her own fabric! Her mind flitting with ideas, she pulled out one last shirt to mend before she left.
“If you don’t mind, I might stop for now,” Mrs. Hill said. The way she curled her hands made Grace wonder if she didn’t have rheumatism. Grace’s own mother had greatly suffered from that affliction.
“Of course,” Grace replied. “I’d like to get a start on this shirt, and then I’ll take the finished pieces to the counter.”
“Thank you. You’re a blessing, dear. I hope you know how much it means to me that you’re here.” Mrs. Hill laid a hand on Grace’s shoulder before slowly walking toward the rear of the store.
Molly was working in the storeroom, there were no customers in this last hour of the day, and so Grace was alone in the shop. She laid the shirt out on her lap and assessed it. It was missing the usual slip of ivory paper with a name penciled across—Mrs. Hill’s method of ensuring each item could be returned to its owner. The shirt itself was torn in a couple of places. Thankfully, both were near seams so fixing the tears wouldn’t be so noticeable. Grace collected a few pins and began sliding them in to hold the seams and tears together.
As she affixed a pin near the sleeve, the shirt made a rustling sound. Grace frowned and then pressed a finger against the pocket. It held a piece of paper. Perhaps it was the slip of paper identifying the shirt’s owner.