Accidental Courtship

by Lisa Bingham

  “The men brought some of their own furniture to help you feel more comfortable as well as a few...ornaments.”

  He pointed to a stuffed moose head hanging from the far wall and a trio of ferrets dressed like clowns positioned on an upright piano.

  “Klute Ingraham has a fondness for taxidermy. You can feel free to...redecorate things later if the women find such things objectionable.”

  Objectionable wasn’t the first word that sprang to mind. Bizarre would have been a better description. Maybe unnerving.

  “If you’ll come this way...”

  Jonah took her through a doorway at the far end. There, she discovered a kitchen of sorts with a dry sink, a smaller table and chairs and an iron range.

  “For your meals should you choose. We figured you women would like a cup of tea now and then.” He pointed to planks of wood that had become makeshift shelves. Besides canisters marked Tea and Coffee, she saw a battered coffeepot, a chipped teapot and a collection of mismatched teacups. On a lower shelf were bags of foodstuffs: salt, dried fruits, flour, sugar.

  Jonah took her hand, his fingers warm through her gloves. He led her to a staircase near the rear door, taking her up, up, to what had once been the loft.

  “We’ve divided the upper floor into smaller living quarters. A few are private. None houses more than three women.”

  He opened the doors one by one to reveal neat cots and borrowed dressers.

  “Where on earth did you get all this furniture?”

  “The men. I don’t think there’s a soul in Aspen Valley who hasn’t brought something.”

  But it was more than that. There were also crocks filled with untidy clumps of evergreen boughs, bowls filled with pinecones, water pitchers and basins, rag rugs and even an attempt at curtains in a couple of the spaces.

  At the last door, Sumner’s throat grew tight. “You and your men have gone to so much work, Mr. Ramsey.”

  “Jonah,” he reminded her softly.

  “Jonah.”

  He squeezed her hand. “There’s one more.”

  He took her down the stairs again where they crossed through the kitchen to yet another room beyond. The space looked newer than the rest of the building, and the walls and floors gleamed with newly planed planks. The air was redolent with the scent of pine. She blinked back sudden tears when she saw that the space had been divided in half with a curtain. To one side was a primitive examining table and bookcases to hold her supplies, two cots and a nightstand. To the right was a homier space with a tall tester bed, a highboy, wood pegs to hold a selection of clothes and an elegant rocker.

  “Oh.”

  “This is for you. You can tend to the women’s doctoring needs on one side and have your own private area on the other. With only a curtain between you, you’ll be able to hear if someone calls out to you.”

  “Oh, Jonah,” she breathed.

  He touched the back of the rocker—one that looked like it had hardly been used—sending it swaying.

  “Try it.”

  She quickly sank into its depths, loving the way that the runners caused the chair to lean back.

  “It’s so comfortable.”

  “My mother used to call these ‘baby tendahs.’ They’re made to recline ever so slightly so that a baby—or something else—can be balanced on your lap.”

  She stroked the arms of the chair. “It’s beautiful. I don’t know if I should borrow something so fine.”

  “I made it,” Jonah blurted, interrupting her. “It’s yours. Call it an early Christmas present.” He pointed to something else on the floor. It was similar in shape to a loaf of bread, made of metal, with handles on either end. The center section had been wrapped with a section of braided rug. “That’s a foot warmer. When you pull on the handle, a metal tray will come out and you can fill it with hot coals.”

  Sumner found herself speechless—which her father would probably insist was a rare occasion. She remembered how Jonah had once described the way his father had prepared his mother’s rocker, a lap quilt and a foot warmer so that she could enjoy her evenings.

  “You made these?” she breathed. “For me?”

  “Yes. I wanted you to...have something special.” He quickly added, “For all the work you did helping my men.”

  But shivering behind the words was the fact that he’d given her something personal.

  According to the dictates of polite society, she should refuse such expensive gifts. But...

  She’d been rebelling against polite society for a very, very long time.

  “Thank you, Jonah.”

  That familiar secret smile hovered around his lips.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “When you said you liked to carve, I envisioned...little animals or small toys, not...” Her fingers trailed over the armrests that ended in a spiral inset with three-dimensional blossoms.

  Orange blossoms.

  Like her favorite scent.

  Or a bridal headpiece.

  Where on earth had that thought come from? Sumner had decided long ago that marriage wasn’t for her. There wasn’t a man alive who would allow a woman to work once they were married. And she’d had enough of controlling males telling her what to do.

  But that thought didn’t stop the image of spending time with someone like Jonah, someone who regarded her as a partner. An equal. A relationship like that might sway her opinion on the usefulness of men.

  “Do you think that the women will find their new home agreeable?”

  She nodded. The miners had managed to make a difficult situation bearable.

  “As you said, compromises will be made on both sides, but I think that the women will feel more comfortable here.”

  “The men have volunteered to help with the move. A pair of sledges will be sent to the Miners’ Hall tomorrow at midday. My crew will take care of all your trunks as well as anything else you see fit to bring with you from the hall.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of all of you.”

  Jonah nodded, holding out a hand. “Shall we?”

  When she placed her palm in his, he pulled her upright, but he didn’t immediately release her. Silence spooled between them, warm and silken and sweet as honey. A frisson of gooseflesh ran up her arm when his thumb stroked across her knuckles. Even through the thin layer of her kid gloves, she could feel his strength and warmth.

  Strangely, she wanted to wallow in the peculiar new emotions that engulfed her. But she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. Nothing could ever come from them. Jonah had already made it clear that he had no desire to ever leave the valley. And she...

  She would never be allowed to stay.

  As if sensing her disquiet, Jonah’s free hand lifted, hovering in the air next to her cheek, before finally, he touched her, briefly, lightly, soft as a butterfly’s wing.

  In that instant, she felt beautiful. Feminine.

  Cherished.

  It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to lean into that caress. In another world, she might allow herself the fantasy of a future where anything was possible.

  “I’m sorry that Aspen Valley hasn’t turned out the way you’d hoped,” Jonah murmured. “But I’m glad I had the chance to meet you, Sumner.”

  “And I, you, Jonah.”

  Again, the silence twined between them, binding them together. The air shimmered with possibilities.

  Then a door slammed somewhere and a voice called out.

  “Boss? You in here?”

  Jonah’s hand snapped to his side and he released her. Clearing his throat, he took two ground-eating strides.

  “Back here, Creakle.”

  Barely a half dozen heartbeats had passed before the old man joined them. “Hey, Doc! What do y’ think?”

  “Everything is lovely, Mr. Creakle.
”

  He jerked a hand in Jonah’s direction. “This one here demanded nothing but the best. Told us to imagine our own wives or sisters or sweethearts needin’ a place t’ stay if’n they was stranded. What he said made the men work ’specially hard.”

  Sumner met Jonah’s gaze for only a moment before he looked away, and in that moment, she found her estimation of the man doubled.

  “You’ve all been very kind, Mr. Creakle.”

  Creakle grinned at her, then turned his attention to his boss.

  In an instant, Jonah’s eye grew shuttered. Professional.

  “Did you need something, Creakle?”

  “We got a problem in tunnel six. It’s fillin’ up with water and the men can’t pump it fast enough.”

  Jonah nodded. “I’ll be right there. In the meantime, make sure that all crews are accounted for in case we need to evacuate the tunnel.”

  “Yes, boss!”

  Jonah waited until the door slammed before turning to Sumner.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Yes.”

  But he didn’t move. Not immediately.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to escort you back. But I’ll send a Pinkerton to come fetch you. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes for him to get here.”

  She could have insisted that she was more than capable of walking back to the hall on her own. But...

  Compromises need to be made on both sides.

  Besides, if she waited for her guard, she would have some time alone to absorb her new home.

  “I’ll be fine. Go. They wouldn’t have sent for you unless it was important.”

  “It is. I’ll...” He grimaced. “I’ll check back with you after Devotional, just to make sure that the women have what they need.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, perhaps you could join me in the private dining room for a meal? We could talk more freely there.”

  “If you’re sure you’ll have the time.”

  And there was that ghost of a smile that she was beginning to love.

  “I’ll make time.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jonah remained true to his promise. In the days that followed, he made a point to break from his usual routine to spend some time with Sumner.

  At first, it had been easy to justify his visits. He needed to ensure that the women were safe, warm and as comfortable as possible in their new home. He oversaw the need for firewood to be stacked against the rear wall and arranged for water and foodstuffs to be delivered. Then there was the matter of a repair to a portion of the roof that was leaking and clearing the paths when it snowed. All in all, he had plenty of reasons to visit the Dovecote, as the men were beginning to call it.

  He wasn’t the only one who found himself being drawn to the Dovecote. When something needed to be done, there were ample volunteers. Rather than putting the women out of the miners’ minds, their new home drew the men like moths to a flame. What had once been an ugly eyesore of a building had become a home. Lamplight glowed from the windows through a filter of lacy curtains cobbled together from old feed sacks and stashes of fabric the women had brought with them in their trunks. Soon, the window coverings were adorned with crocheted trim as fine as a spider’s web. Music wove into the darkness from the upright piano, the out-of-tune notes softened by a chorus of feminine voices. And the scents that floated from the stovepipe...since the women had begun to make many of the cook shack treats in the Dovecote, the aromas of cinnamon and apples, ginger and yeast, swirled around the building with their delicious perfumes.

  But Jonah knew that even all those elements paled to the warmth and friendliness that flowed from the women themselves. The men used any excuse possible to complete a chore nearby, just to be invited inside to warm themselves by the fire and wallow in a bit of feminine fussing.

  Jonah himself had begun to see them all less as a batch of inconvenient females and more as individuals. There was Willow Granger, with her curly hair and voluminous clothing, who always seemed too shy to talk but eager to help; Iona Skye, a motherly older woman who knitted the men mufflers from an endless supply of wool she’d brought with her in her trunks; and Lydia Tomlinson, who had taken over the organizing of the cook shack crews and meals with the efficiency of a master foreman. There were the gigglers: Enid, Molly and Milly. And the worriers: Tilda, Zephronia and Sariah.

  And there was Sumner.

  Jonah couldn’t get her out of his mind. Even in the darkest regions of the mine, he found himself remembering her smile, the scent of orange blossoms that clung to her skin, her laugh.

  He wasn’t so much a fool that he didn’t realize that he was falling under her spell. He may have sworn off women of any kind after joining the Batchwell Bottoms Mining Enterprise, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember the headiness of shared affection.

  Over and over again, he tried to tell himself that he needed to take a step back, to remain aloof and to remove himself from temptation. After all, he had absolutely nothing that he could offer someone like Sumner. Even if he didn’t live in a community where women were forbidden, even if he didn’t know that their time together could only last until the spring thaw, he couldn’t erase the more tangible obstacle to any form of relationship.

  He was tainted goods.

  With the shrapnel in his back threatening his every move, he didn’t have anything of worth that he could offer a woman. Even if he might want to consider making her his wife.

  His breath hung in the air as Jonah labored to split the pile of logs at his feet. He’d purposely avoided the Dovecote this morning, knowing that it would be best if he started putting some distance between him and the women.

  Not just the women.

  Sumner.

  But here she was again. Haunting his very thoughts.

  Dragging air into his lungs, Jonah bowed his head, the ax hanging at his side as he fought the demons that had been plaguing him since the most recent avalanche.

  Just when he’d begun to tell himself that maybe he could have a future, that his old injury wasn’t nearly the threat that the earlier doctors had supposed, he’d been met with a new host of symptoms. Rather than the ache that had plagued him for years, he was now experiencing a newer, sharper series of pains. Numbness in his toes and feet. Bouts of weakness to his legs. An occasional loss of balance.

  No.

  Not now.

  Dear Lord in Heaven, please help me.

  “Jonah?”

  He whirled to find Sumner watching him in concern.

  “Are you all right?”

  He nearly laughed aloud. He’d been praying for help and the Good Lord had seen fit to send the object of his torment instead.

  “Wha—no, I’m fine.”

  He couldn’t let her see how weak he’d become. Not yet. Not when it might be a phase that could pass.

  She walked toward him and he watched in confusion as she reached out to take the ax from his grip, then held up his palms.

  Too late, he realized that he’d been so anxious to allow some good, honest exertion to drive the anxiety from his soul that he’d forgotten his gloves and the palms of his hands were blistered and raw.

  “Jonah.”

  This time, her utterance of his name was half sigh, half remonstration. And that British lilt that he loved so much seemed to radiate with concern.

  “You have enough firewood here for the entire camp. What on earth made you punish yourself so?”

  He wondered what she would say if he replied honestly.

  You.

  Because I can’t have you.

  He tried to curl his fingers into a fist, barely feeling the sting to his hands. Instead, he was spellbound by the emotions that swept over her features.

  Concern.

  Regret.


  Tenderness.

  For him.

  The air seemed to trap in his throat in frozen blocks of ice.

  “Come on. We need to see to these or they could become infected.”

  He wanted to resist. But his body had a mind of its own and he trailed after her as she ushered him into his own home.

  No. Not a home.

  If there was anything that the women in the Dovecote had taught him, it was that his bachelor quarters were not a home. His rooms were a shelter over his head, a place to keep warm through the darkness of the night.

  But they weren’t a home.

  “Where’s—”

  “My guard?” Her grin was crooked. Open. Yet somehow private. “Lurking in the trees. I told him that I had a private medical matter to discuss with you and that he could guard me just as well from a distance as he could at my elbow.”

  “And he believed you?”

  Her brows rose. “Why wouldn’t he? I was telling him the truth. I might have led him to believe that I wished to discuss someone from your crew, but I came to check on you.”

  He sank into the chair she’d pulled away from the table, his knees suddenly weak.

  She knew.

  She already knew there was something wrong.

  Jonah swallowed, not quite sure how he felt about that. All his life, he’d fought to appear strong. Whole. He’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t be pitied or dismissed because of his afflictions. There were men who had survived the war who continued to suffer far worse. The last thing he wanted was for others to whisper about him under their breaths. He’d hidden his ailment from most of the men at Batchwell Bottoms, and he would have done anything to have kept it from Sumner, as well.

  But now that she knew...

  There was a sense of relief.

  And fear.

  She would reject him. She should reject him.

  Any other woman would reject him.

  He avoided her eyes, praying that he was wrong. Perhaps she was here to follow up on her earlier examination, to check the cuts and scrapes that had all but healed.

  Sumner crossed to the stove to retrieve the pot of water that was kept over the dying coals during the day. She tested it with a finger, filled the nearby washbasin, then she returned.