“Build a school for Margaret’s girls?” Llewellyn roared.
Potter glowered. “With our money?”
Gideon shook his head. “Not just for Margaret’s girls. Miss Craig is teaching four of the town’s youngsters at her house. You men considering marrying one of the Craig sisters might do well to remember—after marriage come babies. There’ll be more youngsters needing schooling, and they might be yours.”
He saw right off that was the wrong argument. These men obviously hadn’t thought far enough to get to the cradle part of a marriage.
“Second,” he continued before they had a chance to think on the first reason too long, “the building could be used for a church and a town meeting hall.”
Potter snorted. “We don’t need a church or meeting hall.”
“I didn’t see the parson holding any meetings in your office during the rainstorm last month,” Gideon reminded.
Llewellyn carefully settled his hat back on his head. “I’m not aiming to pay for a school for nobody else’s kids. If I wanted to spend my money on that sort of thing, I’d have stayed back East.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
The rest of the men followed—all except Amos. When the others had left the building, Amos leaned against the bar. He smelled of metal and smoke, as always. His skin was almost as gray as his shirt from his work. He reached between his leather apron and shirt and pulled out a crumpled magazine. He smoothed the magazine out on the bar, refusing to meet Gideon’s gaze. “I was wonderin’ if you’d read somethin’ for me.”
“Sure, Amos.” Gideon glanced down at the magazine and almost bit his tongue to keep from embarrassing the blacksmith. It was a mail-order bride magazine.
Amos opened it and pointed to a sketch. “Would you read ’bout her?”
Gideon read the glowing terms describing the prospective bride. He hadn’t the heart to remind Amos the woman may not be as desirable as described.
“Would you write to her for me, Gideon? See if she’d consider comin’ to Lickwind?”
“Why you looking to send for a wife, Amos? Don’t you find Bess or Bertie Craig attractive?”
“Aw, Miss Bertie, she’s not lookin’ for a husband. And Miss Bess, she’s too smart for a guy like me. Besides, it’s plain as sand in Wyoming that you two are stuck on each other.”
Gideon jerked up straight. “I’m not even in line to court her.”
“I might not be able to read or write, but I know what it means when a man looks out for a woman the way you look out for her and when a woman looks at a man the way she looks at you.”
“She doesn’t look at me any particular way.”
“If you say so.” Amos tugged at his handlebar mustache. “Do you think Miss Craig would teach me to read and write?”
“Don’t know why not.” Sure seemed to Gideon this was one Lickwind man thinking about a wife, babies, and schooling. Gideon snapped his fingers. “Say, I just came up with a plan to get us a schoolhouse and church.” He leaned closer to Amos and explained his plan in a rush. “You with me?”
Amos reached out one of his huge hands and shook with Gideon. “Count me in.”
When Amos left, Gideon pulled out a chair, hiked his feet up on a table, and joined his fingers behind his head. Yep, a schoolhouse and church building would solve all his problems. He’d have his saloon back again. One of the men in town would marry Bess Craig then. After all, no one could expect a man to propose to a woman when she spent her days in a saloon with soiled doves, no matter how honorable her intentions. Once Bess Craig was married, he’d have his house back.
He allowed himself to daydream about life in his own house. His new house. No women to protect from drunken men or cows to protect from wolves. No men coming and going all hours of the day for meals or baked goods or to court women. No cats or dogs. Just him and his new house. That’s all he wanted.
So why did the thought of it put him in such a foul mood?
The hay-filled mattress ticking scrunched beneath the blanket when Bess sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled the pins from her hair, undid her bun, and started to brush her hair. The Wyoming wind filled it with sand, no matter how she wore it.
Bertie flopped down beside her. “Are you going to marry Mr. Riker?”
“What? Ouch!” The brush bristles caught on Bess’s ear. “Why would you ask such a thing? You know I’m not courting him.”
“Harry says anyone can see you and Mr. Riker are sweet on each other.”
Bess’s heart seemed to leap in her chest, but she only said, “Harry is as good as a newspaper—one that spreads nonsense.”
“I like him.”
“Harry?”
“No, Mr. Riker. Don’t you think he’d make you a good husband? Better than that two-faced banker or too good-looking lawyer.”
“Mr. Riker owns a saloon,” Bess reminded. “If the Lord has a husband in mind for me, I’m certain he’ll be a God-fearing man.”
“Harry says he’s seen you making calf eyes at Mr. Riker.”
“I have not!” Bess swallowed hard. “Calf eyes, indeed. You must quit spending time with that young man. His language is frightful.”
“He likes me. He wants to ask your permission to let him court me, but I said no.” Surprise washed through Bess. “He wants to court you?”
“For true.”
Bess lowered the hairbrush and studied Bertie’s face. The girl looked extremely pleased with herself, but she didn’t look like a girl who’d lost her heart to a man. Bess breathed a sigh of relief. “Apparently, the young man has more sense than I believed.”
Bertie sat up. “You think so? For true? Even if I don’t dress like a lady?”
“You’ve a beautiful heart, Bertie. You’ll be a blessing to a husband one day.” Bertie beamed. “I don’t want to marry Harry, though. I don’t want to marry anyone.”
“Then the Lord must not think it’s time for you to marry yet.”
Bertie chewed her lower lip, a sure sign that she had more to say. Bess continued brushing her hair and waited.
“If I married Harry, you could get married, too. You wouldn’t need to worry any more about ending up an old maid.”
Bess dropped her brush. “An old …” She leaned forward to pick up the brush from the floor and hide her face.
“I’ll stay with you always, Bess. I won’t leave you to grow old alone.”
Bess swallowed twice before she trusted her voice. “It’s sweet you’re willing to make such a sacrifice for me, but let’s see what the next couple of years bring before we decide whether it’s necessary.”
Bertie flopped back, hands behind her head. “Do you think God truly cares about us?”
“Of course He does.” But Bess’s heart caught at the thought of the future spreading out before the two of them. She loved Bertie dearly and would never abandon her to live on her own, but she did want marriage for each of them. Corrie had Luke and the twins. Matty had Jim and their new son, Matthew.
Each day it grew more difficult to deny her attraction to Gideon Riker. Even if Gideon didn’t own a saloon, Bess couldn’t expect him or any man to take on the responsibility of Bertie along with a wife.
Sadness settled over Bess’s spirit as she put out the lamp and laid down. She’d told Bertie the truth. She did want a God-fearing man for a husband. So why was Gideon Riker, saloon owner, the only man in the vicinity of Lickwind—or anywhere else in the country—who lit a candle in her heart?
Chapter 10
When Bess arrived at the saloon the next day, Gideon stood on the saloon’s boardwalk. He grinned at her. “Morning. See my new shingle?” He pointed overhead.
She looked up at the sign that creaked in the wind that swept down the street. Large white letters advertised RLKER’S SALOON as they had since the day she stepped off the train, but this morning a large red X was painted through SALOON. Below it in red letters, someone had added SKOOL.
She burst into laughter.
Gi
deon joined her.
When they finally caught their breath, Gideon said, “It’s intended as an insult, but the spelling shows how desperately the painter could use your lessons.”
The mistake provided a fun example in her spelling lesson for Margaret’s girls and brought many townspeople into the saloon to tease Gideon.
Bess noticed most of the men’s humor changed to anger when they spoke to Gideon. The anger seemed to center on a large tin can on the bar. Curious, she approached Gideon when the lesson was over. “What is the can for?”
“It’s the school and church fund.”
“What?” Surely she hadn’t heard right.
“Town needs a school and a church. No one wants to fund them, so Amos and I decided to do something about it.” She eyed him warily. “How?”
“Amos doesn’t provide service to anyone unless they contribute money or labor to the school and church. We figure one building will suffice for both.”
Bess shook the can. It rattled. She peeked inside. A handful of coins lay on the bottom. She raised her eyebrows and gave Gideon a skeptical look. “And Amos’s customers come here to make their contribution?”
Gideon grinned. “Nope. That’s my customers’ contributions. I have the same rules as Amos. I serve no one who doesn’t contribute.”
Bess wondered whether God would want money raised from selling liquor to be used for a house of worship.
“Maybe the money from here will go for the school part of the building,” Gideon suggested.
Obviously, he’d guessed her thoughts. “At this rate, it’s going to be a long time to afford even a small building.”
Bess’s doubts were soon banished. The other businessmen, furious that they had to pay above and beyond the normal price for Amos’s and Gideon’s goods and services, began to demand the same of their customers. Soon all the businesspeople required donations as a prerequisite to providing services. As the fund grew, everyone stopped being mad and grew excited.
One evening as dusk fell, Gideon slipped into a stiff new shirt, shaved for the second time that day, left the saloon in Harry’s care, and headed over to the Back Porch. “Mighty nice sunset, Miss Craig. Could I convince you to go walking with me?”
Was it wishful thinking, or did she look pleased at the invitation? He knew it pleased him when she said yes.
He wasn’t brave enough to jump right into his purpose in seeing her. “The school and church committee think we’ve enough money to begin plans,” he told her. The banker, lawyer, and Linus Hatch made up the committee. Gideon had thought Bess should be on it, but the other men didn’t agree. Bess suggested Gideon, but the other men didn’t agree to him either. Both Bess and Gideon were grateful the rest of the town was finally behind the project, regardless of who staffed the committee.
“I’m so glad. Have they decided where to build it?”
“At the end of the street, by Doc Mitchel and Llewellyn’s houses.”
They walked on in silence a few minutes, Gideon working up his courage. “I’m making some changes in my life, Miss Craig. I wanted to tell you about them before you heard about them from someone else.”
She stopped walking and turned to him, a question in her eyes and something that looked like fear in her face.
“Nothing awful,” he hurried to reassure her. “I’m quitting the saloon.”
“Quitting? Selling?”
He shook his head and laughed. “Can’t sell. My conscience won’t let me.” He risked reaching for her hand. Hope flickered when she gently returned the pressure of his fingers. “My life changed the day you walked into my saloon, Bess Craig. I watched you and saw that unconditional love of God you talked about lived out in your life.”
“Mine?” She looked stunned.
“Yours. You reached out to Walter and Regina and Margaret’s other girls—people others thought beneath them. You’ve changed their lives. You changed my life. I couldn’t deny God’s love when I saw you living it.”
Bess looked down at the ground. “You exaggerate my importance in God’s work.”
“I don’t agree. I don’t want to keep selling liquor. God’s opened my eyes. I can’t pretend anymore that liquor’s going to help men who are cut up inside. I was angry with God for a long time. I’m not angry at Him anymore.”
A beautiful smile brightened her face. “That’s the best news you could give me, Gideon.”
She didn’t seem to realize she’d used his given name. The sound of it on her lips stepped up his heartbeat. Did her heart beat faster, too?
“What will you do with the saloon?”
“I have an idea about that, but it depends on you.”
“Me?”
“Your Back Porch business has about outgrown the house. Do you think you’d like to expand it into a restaurant? We could build a kitchen in the saloon’s back room. There are already tables and chairs and lots of glasses.”
“It sounds perfect, but I’ll need to go over the figures and see whether we can afford to rent it from you. And, oh, where will you live? Do you want your house back?”
“I have an idea about that, too.”
He hesitated, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. “Yes?” she encouraged.
“I thought if you’re willing”—he swallowed hard—“we might court a bit. Until the church is built.” He reached for her other hand. “Then, if you find me passable, we might start that church out right with a wedding.”
Bess gasped.
He trembled. “Is that a no, Miss Craig?”
“No, but I can’t be accepting unless you’re willing to take in Bertie.”
He swept her into his arms, laughing, and twirled her about, the way he’d done back in May. “Never crossed my mind not to, Bess. I love you. I’m plumb loco with love for you.”
Her arms tightened about his neck, the sweet violet scent she wore filled his senses, and her soft laughter filled his ears. And then he heard the most beautiful words in the world. “I love you, too, Gideon Riker.”
Gideon stood before the simple altar at the front of the church completed only days earlier in a town church-raising. He held out his fist toward his best man. “Here,” he whispered.
Jim Collingswood frowned. “What is it?” he whispered back. “Reimbursement for the money paid Ellis Stack for Bess. A buck-fifty. Figure it’s only fair I pay for it, seeing she’s my bride.” Jim grinned. “Welcome to the family.”
Bess stood in the front of the new white church in Matty’s wedding dress as Harry played the first strains of “The Wedding March.” After one last hug from each of her sisters, Bess watched Matty start up the aisle, followed by Corrie. Bertie whispered, “I always knew you were sweet on Gideon.” She grinned and followed her sisters.
Bess stepped inside the church. Her gaze sought out Gideon. He met it, smiling, and the warmth in it wrapped around her heart. Imagine this strong, compassionate man loving her!
She’d never expected anything as wonderful as Gideon’s love to come from Ellis Stack’s mistake. She should have known—God doesn’t let mistakes happen. Ellis Stack’s mistake was a miracle of love in disguise.
Bess’s Eggless Cookies
½ teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon baking soda
Flour to make thick enough to roll
2 cups sugar
1 cup butter
1 cup milk
Raisins or currants
Mix nutmeg and baking soda with 1 cup flour and set aside. Cream together sugar and butter. Mix in milk. Add flour mixture. Add more flour as needed to make the mixture thick enough to roll out.
Sprinkle with granulated sugar and roll over lightly with rolling pin. Then cut out and press a whole raisin in center of each; or when done very light brown, brush over while still hot with a soft bit of rag dipped in a thick syrup of sugar and water, sprinkle with currants, and return to oven for a moment. These require a quick oven if using a woodstove. For modern stoves, bake at 375 degrees for 6 to 8 minute
s.
Recipe based on eggless cookie recipe from Buckeye Cookery, 1880.
JoAnn A. Grote lives in Minnesota where she grew up. She uses the state for most of her story settings, and like her characters, JoAnn seeks to serve Christ in her work. She believes that readers of novels can receive a message of salvation and encouragement from well-crafted fiction. An award-winning author, she has had more than thirty-five books published, including several novels published with Barbour Publishing in the Heartsong Presents line as well as in the American Adventure series for kids.
FROM ALARMING TO CHARMING
by Pamela Kaye Tracy
Dedication
In a book about sisters,
it only seems right to honor my own sisters.
To Roxanne Gould, the sister I recently found: I look forward to creating memories that concrete a family.
I wish we’d met sooner.
To Patti Osback, my very first sister-in-law:
You were the perfect matchmaker.
I thank God every day for you.
To Cathy McDavid and Alison Hentges,
the sisters of my heart:
Words cannot express the meaning of our friendship.
Chapter 1
July 1869
The town of Lickwind greeted Thomas Hardin the younger much as it had bid him farewell all those years ago. Fistfuls of fine Wyoming dirt pelted his cheeks, this time flung by nature instead of from the hands of cowboys so angry at Thomas Hardin the elder they didn’t care about the feelings of his impressionable fifteen-year-old son. Of course, in the last eight years, Thomas had seen more than his share of cowboy justice and knew sometimes it was called for, but just as often it wasn’t.
Dust coated his throat, and he coughed as he turned sideways. He’d forgotten about the wicked western wind and how alive it often seemed. Today it whispered angrily as it swirled around him, pressing him to leave.
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