Spring Creek Bride

by Janice Thompson

“Pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you,” she managed.

  “Have a good day.” He gave her a nod then began to move in the direction of the barbershop. Ida watched as he disappeared through the crowd.

  One of the railroad men shouted, startling her. “Ida, sweet pea, you’re the woman of my dreams.”

  “More likely the woman of your nightmares, if you don’t back away and let me pass,” she muttered under her breath.

  Shaking her head, she plowed forward. Four paces. Three. Two. One. Ida crossed over the threshold of the mercantile and let out a huge sigh of relief. Now, if she could just keep her mind off handsome strangers and on her work, all would be well.

  Mick eased his hat back onto his head and continued across the street, ignoring the magnetic pull of the petite blonde. His heart had quickened at the sight of her, likely the result of her undeniable beauty. He was taken with her simple, small-town appeal, her flushed cheeks and determined expression—all things he loved in a woman.

  And spunk. Yes, he could read the spunk in those flashing blue eyes, eyes whose image would linger in his mind for quite some time.

  Mick quickly reminded himself of his reason for coming to Spring Creek. Not to find a woman, but to build a gambling hall. They were two very different things. Best to stay focused on the task at hand. After all, he had his investors to answer to.

  Then again, he would need the help of the local women, wouldn’t he? Yes, he would surely need barmaids and dancers. However, the woman he’d just fixed in his mind looked like the sort who was more at home on a church pew than a bar stool. If all the women of Spring Creek were like the one he’d just met, he’d have to look elsewhere for employees.

  But he suspected that the blue-eyed beauty who’d practically run him down was one of a kind. One of a kind indeed.

  Chapter Three

  Ida entered the mercantile at exactly five minutes past two. She slipped on her apron and started arranging canned goods.

  “Well, it’s about time.”

  Ida’s brow wrinkled in concern as she heard Dinah’s voice. She looked up, seeing the strong family resemblance in her aunt’s stern eyes. Papa and his younger sister bore the same features, without question. And they had similar temperaments, as well, despite their vast difference in age. Dinah was a mere twenty-eight, though her mannerisms often led folks to believe otherwise.

  Dinah had suffered much over the past couple of years and the cares of life had aged her somehow. But since the death of Dinah’s husband, the family had grown closer than ever and Ida treasured her friendship. Papa had taken his only sister and her son under his wing, caring for their every need. No one could doubt his generous nature or his kind heart. And that very kindness had prompted him to purchase the mercantile and place it into Dinah’s capable hands last fall.

  “Because I know you will do it right,” he had proclaimed. “You will make the Mueller family proud.”

  And indeed she had. Nestled amid saloons and restaurants, the store remained the town’s last sensible place, where folks could come to share a good story, purchase life’s necessities and hear Dinah’s ardent presentation of God’s love. The shop stayed full from morning till night with those hungry for companionship and direction.

  And Ida, always ready to lend a hand, came every day at two o’clock to spend time behind the counter so that Dinah could focus on Carter, her five-year-old son.

  Only two o’clock never seemed to come at the right time, particularly not on days like today with so many chores to be done.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. Really, I am.” With a gesture toward the street, Ida added, “But this time I have an excuse. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I ran right into this man. He was…It’s hard to describe. He wore the most beautiful clothes. He must have just arrived on the train. Funny—I didn’t even get his name.”

  Dinah gave her an inquisitive look. “Why, Ida, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this side of you. You’re smitten.”

  Dinah’s comment startled Ida. She tried to busy herself arranging jars of honey. “I would hardly call it that. I’m simply curious.” She paused to think about her aunt’s words before adding, “It’s just that he’s so different from all the other fellas. Those railroad men are…they’re impossible. This stranger was a true gentleman.” She put down the jar and looked out the window at a couple of men who’d taken to scuffling with each other in the street.

  “Are they still giving you a hard time on your trip to town?” Dinah picked up a broom, as if ready to do business with anyone who dared to enter in a flirtatious state of mind.

  “Yes.” Ida’s dander rose as she revisited the trip down Midway. “Our little town is looking more like Houston every day. Railroad men. Taverns. Primitive behavior in the streets. The place is losing its innocence, which is why it’s so refreshing to see a man of refinement for a change. I do hope he’s here to stay, and not just passing through on his way to Houston.”

  “Most of the strangers who come to Spring Creek do not come with the best of motives.” Dinah crossed her arms at her chest, looking more concerned than ever.

  “Oh, I know.” A sigh escaped Ida’s lips as she reflected on the problem their town now faced. “And you can be sure the afternoon train brought in more riffraff. Every day they come, headed to the land agent’s office to buy up their piece of the pie. The town is growing up too fast. It’s frightening.” She felt a little shiver run up her spine.

  “At least business is good.” Dinah gestured to the cash register with a smile. “I sold several pounds of coffee this morning. And there’s not enough chewing tobacco in the state to keep these men happy.” She paused a moment as she gazed around the very busy shop. “Best of all, they pay cash.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Unlike so many of the locals. I can’t tell you how many of them buy on credit and then don’t pay their bills on time. It’s a problem, Ida.”

  “I know, but—”

  “I’ve traded some of my best merchandise for butter, eggs, herbs, even chickens,” Dinah said with exasperation. “And then there’s Mrs. Gertsch! Would you believe the woman actually wanted to trade in a stack of her used dime novels for honey?”

  Ida couldn’t help but chuckle at that news. After all, she’d sold the elderly woman those dime novels in the first place—they’d spent hours discussing the adventure stories. But this might not be the best time to share that information with Dinah.

  “I’m not saying I mind so much,” her aunt continued, “but cash money is a good thing for a business.”

  “Still,” Ida argued, “I’ll take a hardworking local over a cash-handling railroad man any day to make the town safe again. It’s hardly worth risking life and limb just to get down Midway. Whatever happened to our sleepy little town?”

  “Woke up, I guess.” Dinah took to sweeping the floor.

  “Humph.” Ida shook her head in defiance. “I’d give my eye teeth for a return to the way things used to be.”

  She continued to look out the window, trying with all her might to remember the little town that had captivated her heart when she was a child. In her mind’s eye, she saw what Spring Creek would be like now, if the railroad had never come through. She saw churches, fields of sugarcane and delightful little shops. Women and children walked about in safety, packages in their arms and carefree smiles on their faces. Men gestured kindly to one another, never shouting obscenities, and never, ever whistling at women. In that quaint place, people would feel safe, secure.

  Dinah’s son, Carter, bounded into the room, breaking into Ida’s thoughts. Jam stains covered his face, from brow to chin.

  “Son, what have you done?” Setting the broom aside, Dinah rushed to his side and pried the jar of homemade strawberry preserves from his tightly clenched fist.

  “Mine, Mother.” He grinned with mischief in his eyes. Though Ida knew he deserved a good scolding, she had to stifle a laugh.

  “At two o’clock in the afternoon?” Dinah
asked as she placed the sticky jar on the countertop. “You believe this to be the proper time for sweets?”

  “Anytime is the proper time, so long as it tastes good. Right, darlin’?” Ida scooped her young cousin into her arms and spun in circles until they were both dizzy. Carter let out a giggle, which bounced around the room and startled a few of the store’s patrons.

  Ida didn’t mind a bit. In fact, she couldn’t help but spoil this precious child, who was the spitting image of his father. Oh, if only Larson had lived to see his son grow up. If only that awful railroad man hadn’t—

  No, she would not focus on the family’s losses today. Surely this blessed little boy was the good Lord’s reminder to all who gazed upon his innocent face that life could go on, even after tragedy.

  “Oh, fine.” Dinah shook her head. “You’re a big help.”

  “I know, I know.” Ida carried Carter to the back of the store where she located a rag and some lye soap. “Give us a minute for a Texas spit-shine, and we’ll be as good as new!” she hollered.

  She gave the youngster a good scrubbing. He fought her attempts, but only in fun. When they finished, she led him by the hand through the carefully organized aisles of dry goods up to the front, where Dinah stood waiting, hands on her hips.

  “See?” Ida grinned. “Cleaner’n a whistle.”

  Carter skipped behind the front counter and eyed the candy jars. “Jelly beans, Mommy?” he begged.

  “No, son. I think you’ve had enough treats for one day.”

  “Peppermint?” He pointed to a second jar.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Ida stepped in front of the row of glass jars so they would present no further temptation. Surely he would be pleading for licorice whips or gum before long. Or taffy. He loved the colorful, hand-wrapped delicacies from nearby Galveston Island.

  Safely distracted, Carter grabbed his bag of brightly colored marbles. As he settled onto the floor to play, the bag spilled open and they rolled around in every direction, making all sorts of racket against the wood-planked floorboards.

  “Peawee, Mother!” he hollered, then dashed underneath the counter to capture his favorite marble in his tight little fist. “Peawee!” he said again, holding it up.

  Dinah sighed as she reached to pick up the other wayward marbles.

  “The only problem I see with boys,” Ida said with a wink, “is that they grow into men.” She joined Dinah behind the counter in preparation for the usual midafternoon influx of customers.

  “You’d best not carry on with that train of thought,” Dinah said, “or you will never catch a husband.”

  Ida rolled her eyes as she responded, “I’m not looking for one, I assure you.” Before she could stop it, an image of the handsome stranger floated through her mind. She quickly pushed it away, determined to remain focused. Sensible girls were not swayed by fancy clothes.

  She thought of her childhood friend, Sophie Weimer, who had no greater wish than to marry and present her husband with a half-dozen children in steady succession. Ida shuddered at the very thought of such a life. No, she would not marry—at least not unless the Lord presented her with exactly the right man. And she wasn’t likely to stumble across the right man in a place like Spring Creek.

  At that moment, a couple of rough-looking railroad fellows made an entrance. They jabbed one another in the ribs and let out simultaneous whistles in the direction of the ladies.

  “None of that in here.” Dinah faced them, brow furrowed, ready for a battle. “Or you’ll have me to contend with.”

  Their gazes shifted to the floor and they wandered off to play dominoes, pulling wooden-slatted chairs around a barrel and settling in for a game. The menfolk often gathered in the store to pass the time this way. No wagering, of course—Dinah would never abide such a thing.

  Ida didn’t mind their presence in the store so much, as long as they kept their language clean. And they were better off here than in the saloons, after all. There was nothing wrong with an innocent game of dominoes.

  “I wish I had your patience.” Ida spoke to Dinah in a hoarse whisper. “Truly. I can’t seem to look a man in the eye without wanting to slap him.”

  Dinah gave her a sad smile. “That’s because you haven’t yet loved a man.”

  Ida nodded, as if Dinah’s words settled the matter, but a feeling of uneasiness settled over her. Love did not carry the same appeal for her that it did for others. It almost seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. “I could happily live my whole life without knowing what that feels like.”

  “Oh, my dear,” Dinah said, turning to face her. “I predict you will one day look a man directly in the eye and slapping him will be the furthest thing from your mind.”

  Mick managed to locate the barbershop in short order and entered to the sound of raucous laughter from the patrons inside. The barber, an elderly fellow with smiling eyes, introduced himself as Orin Lemm, a native of Spring Creek. His assistant, a young fellow named Georg, ushered Mick to a chair and promptly took to lathering up his whiskery chin, a minty smell filling the air.

  “Work for the railroad?” Orin asked as he finished shaving a man in the chair next to Mick’s.

  Mick guarded his answers. “I’m from the Chicago area. Just visiting.” There would be plenty of time to explain his reason for being here later on.

  “Really?” Orin’s face lit up. “I have a cousin who lives in Sha-ka-gee. Maybe you know ’im.” He dove into a monologue about his cousin’s liver condition, scarcely pausing for breath.

  Once Mick was lathered and ready, Orin moved over to take Georg’s place. As the older man worked the razor this way and that, he continued to talk nonstop. His knowledge of Spring Creek was clear, and his pride in the town surely exceeded that of anyone else. In fact, Mick couldn’t remember when he’d ever heard someone brag to such a degree.

  “Spring Creek was just a tiny place when I was a boy,” Orin explained with great zeal. “Mostly farmland.”

  “Oh?” Mick found that hard to believe, considering the current state of the town. How long had it been since the hotels and stores had been built? Likely they’d come about as a result of the influx of railroad workers.

  “Yep. Sugarcane and cotton,” Orin continued. “But when the railroad came through, everything changed overnight. Much of the land was acquired by the railroad. We’re a major switchyard for the Great Northern now. Fourteen lines of track and a roundhouse.”

  “Not everyone’s happy about that,” one of the railroad men interjected. “Folks ’round here’ve made me feel about as welcome as a skunk at a picnic.”

  Several of the others made similar comments, though most agreed they’d grown to love the area, in spite of the heat and the poor reception from the locals. Mick wondered how they’d stopped perspiring long enough to fall in love with the place.

  “I’ve got no complaints,” Orin was quick to throw in. “Having you men in town has really helped my business. Never seen so many whiskers in all my days. And life’s not boring. That’s for sure.”

  His young assistant nodded in agreement. “You won’t hear me complaining.”

  Orin proceeded to fill Mick’s ears with all sorts of town gossip, covering everything from who was bickering with whom to where to buy the best liquor. He thought the whiskey at the new Wunsche Brothers Saloon was the best around.

  And he discussed, in great detail, the shapely legs of the dancing girls at the town’s most notable saloon, The Golden Spike. This certainly got Mick’s attention, though not because of the women who worked there or their legs. Any saloon, notable or otherwise, would soon pale in comparison to his gambling hall. If everything went according to plan, anyway.

  On and on Orin went, discussing the exceptionally warm weather and the cost of a meal at The Harvey House, a place he heartily recommended, especially on the nights when Myrtle Mae was cooking. Whoever she was.

  Orin snipped away, shifting his conversation to the women in the town. “No
t many to be had,” he commented, “so I hope you haven’t come with hopes of finding a wife like the rest of these fellers.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind.” Though appealing women back home had drawn his eye, he’d never spent enough time with any one of them to be tempted. Not that he had any negative feelings regarding marriage in general.

  No, Mick had no bias against matrimony. And he had nothing against the women in Texas, either, for that matter. He’d already taken note of at least one lovely female. His thoughts shifted to the beautiful blonde he’d just met. Why hadn’t he asked her name?

  Well, no matter. In a town this size, surely someone would know her. He would have no trouble giving an accurate description, having memorized every detail, from the wild hair swept up off her neck, to the blue eyes, to the determination in her step.

  The barber finished up his work, and Mick stood to leave. His cheeks stung from the brush of the razor strokes and the pungent smell of the lather lingered in the air. He rubbed his palm across his smooth chin and smiled at the older man. “Thanks so much.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Mick dropped a couple of coins into Orin’s hand and turned to leave. Exhaustion washed over him. He needed to locate a quiet room for the days ahead, a place where he could sleep off the train trip and begin to sort things out.

  After a few paces, he found himself in front of The Harvey House. From what he’d been told, it was the nicest place in town. Hopefully, it would turn out to be the quietest, too. He’d check in first, then visit the local mercantile to make a couple of necessary purchases, then get some much-needed sleep.

  Holding back an escaping yawn, Mick climbed the steps to the hotel, wishing a rainstorm would come along to wash away the sticky south Texas heat. He stood atop the steps and turned to look out over the little town. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Mick actually felt the definite stirrings of a storm ahead. Only this one likely had nothing to do with the weather.