To Catch a Bride

by Gina Welborn

  David let down the back edge of the wagon and pulled out a chicken crate. “Slipped and hit the back of his head on a rock.”

  “Where was he found?”

  “Over there.” David motioned with his chin toward the gap in the trees. “In the creek.”

  Jonas’s eyes narrowed. “Face up or face down?”

  “Why?” Foreboding swirled inside David’s stomach.

  Jonas set the berries in the back of the wagon bed. “A dead husband followed by dead sheep is suspicious enough to warrant further investigation.”

  David searched for anything significant he could remember regarding Gunder Svenson’s death. He inhaled when he recalled a specific fact—one that made the senseless slaughter of a few sheep pale in comparison.

  He looked Jonas in the eye. “Svenson was found face down with a wound in the back of his head.”

  Chapter 4

  While they loaded up Mrs. Svenson’s personal items, livestock, and everything in the cabin and barn that David knew he could sell in his shop—plus a few things he found unrecognizable but thought he should take anyway—he and Jonas debated how to share the news about her sheep.

  Telling Mrs. Svenson their suspicions about her husband’s death wasn’t an option; they agreed on that immediately. Not when they had no proof. And certainly not when she was expecting a child, although David kept that news to himself. It was Mrs. Svenson’s right to tell whomever she wished, not his.

  They were halfway back to Helena when Jonas said, “I don’t see how we can keep her from finding out that her herd is reduced. She doesn’t seem the type who would hear Please allow me to do what’s best for you, and leave it at that.”

  Proof, yet again, that the man had a gift for assessing character. And—regardless of the pregnancy—Mrs. Svenson would be more upset if they tried to cover it up than by hearing about it.

  “I know,” David said grimly. “I’ll tell her tonight when I see her.” Hopefully, he could soften the blow with news of a rental home where she could keep her chickens and cow. The sheep were raised for selling anyway, so David would also talk to the butcher about paying more for the remaining ones to keep Marilyn from suffering any financial loss.

  If Oleson wouldn’t agree to a higher price, David would pay for the three sheep himself.

  They returned to town, and Jonas helped unload Mrs. Svenson’s belongings into the storage room of The Resale and Repair Shop before heading off for a late dinner. David placed the camouflaged jars of gold into a small travel trunk and then placed several folded dresses and a sleeping gown around them. He then ran one more errand. By the time he returned and walked to the Palmer home a few blocks away from the shop, it was half past eight.

  Mr. W. H. Palmer answered the door. “Evening, Pawlikowski.” He stepped back. “Come on in. Ellen and Marilyn are reading.”

  “Thank you.” David stepped inside the house and smelled berries. He glanced at the table, then at Mrs. Svenson, who was sitting on the settee across the room. “Is that pie? It looks and smells delicious, so I’m fairly sure you didn’t make it.”

  She laughed, the sound rejuvenating him after the long day. “You’re right. I supervised while Ellen made it.”

  Mrs. Palmer, who had looked offended before Mrs. Svenson laughed at his joke, offered him a slice. “I have coffee, too, if you’d like.”

  “I would, thank you.” He held the travel trunk out. “Where would you like me to put this?”

  Mrs. Svenson rose from the settee. “In my room. Let me show you.”

  David followed her toward the bedroom, setting the trunk down just inside the door. “I have both good news and bad.”

  Her hands went to her belly. “Tell me.”

  As briefly as possible, David recounted finding the dead sheep and dog. “We buried them to keep predators away and penned the remaining sheep. Mr. Oleson was planning to ride out this evening to get them. He was as appalled as I was and offered to pay you a bit extra per head so you don’t suffer a financial loss.”

  Mrs. Svenson raised her eyebrows. “He offered or you bartered with him?”

  David smiled. “He offered.”

  “Then I am as indebted to him as I am to you.” Her words were somewhat clipped.

  Was she angry at him for taking charge without permission or at whoever killed her animals? “I was able to retrieve all eight of your chickens, your rooster, and the cow,” David added quickly. “And I have one more bit of good news.”

  Mrs. Svenson dropped her hands to her sides, the only sign of distress in how her fingers were curled into fists.

  How was it she remained calm in the face of such news? Klaudia would have been screaming or weeping—probably both. The difference between his late wife and Mrs. Svenson was remarkable.

  “Did you find a house for me already?”

  Her question drew him from his reflection. “I did. It won’t be ready to rent for a couple more weeks, and you’ll need to check that it will be suitable for your needs, but I think it will work quite well.”

  She smiled at him, this one lighting her blue eyes. “Mr. Pawlikowski, you are a hero.”

  David’s chest ached with pride. It was a feeling he could get used to.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Marilyn walked to The Repair and Resale Shop after helping Ellen with breakfast and a bit of lunch preparation. The woman didn’t cook, she created with food. The difference enthralled Marilyn so much, she’d been unable to tear herself away earlier for Mr. Pawlikowski’s shop to discuss the things he’d hauled to town from her homestead.

  The streets were rather empty, as was the shop, which smelled less rank without a dozen miners loitering about. Marilyn went straight to the counter after entering. “Where is everyone this morning?”

  Mr. Pawlikowski, sitting on a stool behind the counter, looked up from the ledger he was reading. “Mining their claims. They’ll work until about noon, bring their gold to town, and then spend it all before starting the cycle again tomorrow.”

  “Makes sense.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “It does? I’ve always found it nonsensical. Why go through the hardship of mining a claim if all you’re going to do is blow your entire earnings on . . .” He shook his head.

  “You can say alcohol and women,” Marilyn said. “I’m not a naïve schoolgirl. It’s not like one can miss the numerous saloons and Prostitute Alley while walking through town.”

  He closed his ledger. “I was about to start on your wheel, but since you’re here, we should talk through what you want sold and what you want to keep.”

  His reluctance to speak of the baser conduct of men in town reminded her of another topic she wished to discuss. “When Mr. Forsythe and I were conversing over dinner last night, he mentioned that Helena will need to diversify if it’s going to survive after the gold runs out.”

  “You had dinner with Jonas?” There was an odd inflection in Mr. Pawlikowski’s voice.

  Jealousy? Or surprise? She shouldn’t prefer the former, but she did. “He was in the telegraph office wiring a message when Ellen delivered Mr. Palmer’s lunch, so she invited Mr. Forsythe for dinner.”

  “Ah.” Mr. Pawlikowski strolled around the counter. “Shall we go examine your goods?”

  “Yes, but first . . .” Marilyn studied his perfectly imperfect face, trying to judge his mood. “I have a proposition for you. Two, actually.”

  He gave her a skeptical look. “Are either painful?”

  She chuckled. “One could be. The other not likely.”

  He looked heavenward. “Should I run, Lord?”

  Marilyn playfully swatted his arm. “You are intolerable. However, I need your assistance so I will overlook your”—she waved at nothing in particular—“penchant for drama.”

  His laughter filled the shop.

  Marilyn waited until he finished. She liked seeing him like this. “I want you to build me a house in exchange for candles.”

  He blinked twice. “
Excuse me?”

  “You can see how it’s a good exchange for us both.”

  He rubbed his forehead and squinted. “No. Not at all.”

  “Candles,” she repeated. “And fancy soaps.” When his expression didn’t clear, she added, “In exchange for building me a house, I will help you diversify your shop.”

  “Diversify my shop?”

  Marilyn nodded. “And the town. We need to make Helena more attractive to reputable women by selling candles and soaps. Ellen has several recipes using flowers and scented oils. I decided we would make up a few batches and you can put them on the shelves. Then you just need to point them out to the miners so they can write to their women back home. Not to say that the miners themselves wouldn’t benefit from fragrant soaps.”

  He swung his gaze left and right. “This is a resale and repair shop, not a mercantile. Talk to Ingraham. He’ll buy your soaps and candles.”

  “Of course, he would. Helping him is not a concern to me.”

  “Because you want me to build you a house?”

  “Exactly!” Marilyn smiled. “A house in exchange for candles, soaps, and men bragging about the plethora of honorable wonders a man can purchase at the finest resale shop in all of Montana Territory.”

  His jaw clamped into a resolute line. “I’m a businessman, Mrs. Svenson. I haven’t even built myself a house. Why would I build you one?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She sighed. “I don’t mean you build my house. I need you to hire reputable men to do it. I have a sketch of what I want right here.” She opened her reticule, then grimaced. “I left it on my bed.”

  He rubbed his forehead and murmured, “You’re gonna need to sell a lot of soap and candles.”

  “Oh ye of little faith.” Marilyn looked around the shop and pursed her lips as she inventoried her options. “Your shelves are rather full, so we’d need to clear a space. Or maybe you could build a display shelf just there.” She pointed to a blank space on the back wall.

  “I’m not a carpenter.”

  “But you know one.” She smiled because she could tell by his expression that he did know one.

  He hooked his thumbs on his white apron. “I can’t sell soaps and candles.”

  The man sold everything from tents to tin cups. What was so hard about two necessities?

  “You don’t have to. I’ll do it.”

  He put his hand to his forehead again. “You want me to hire you to sell candles and soaps from which the money goes to build you a house?”

  Marilyn glanced around just to be sure they were still alone. They were, yet she lowered her voice anyway. “I have gold to pay for the house.”

  “Have you decided not to leave Helena after the baby is born?”

  “Oh, returning to family in Minnesota is still the plan.” A new idea struck. “I’ll even deed my home to you after I leave, to show you the depth of gratitude for all you’ve done for me.”

  He paced the floor for several minutes.

  Marilyn happily gave him the time he needed to see reason. Her ideas were solid, and would benefit both of them. And while her house was being built, and while she worked in his shop, he might decide he wasn’t much of a not a marrying man after all.

  To help his deliberations, she said, “I would only be able to work a few hours in the afternoon”—as that was his busiest time of the day—“and you wouldn’t have to pay me much, just enough for the supplies to keep making the candles and soaps.” She lowered her voice again. “Would you be able to afford that?”

  His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Yet no words came forth. He strode to the front door, stepped outside, and looked heavenward, head shaking.

  He marched back to her. “Tell me if I’ve got this straight. I pay you to work for me selling candles and soaps that I don’t want, because by selling them, my business will increase. In return for my gratitude for my business increasing, I build—no, I hire men to build you a house that you will eventually deed over to me when you leave Helena.”

  “Excellent.” Marilyn brushed her palms together. “Now that’s settled, let’s go see what you brought back from my homestead that we can sell.”

  * * *

  August 17, 1865

  After his initial shock at hiring himself an employee he didn’t need, David found Marilyn’s part-time employment to be the best decision he’d made in a long time. He had more business than ever and sold every scented candle and square of soap as fast as Mrs. Palmer made them—some to men with neither a wife nor a lady friend back home.

  And Marilyn, who insisted they call each other by their first names on the third afternoon she worked, turned out to be better at dickering than he was. Of course some of her bargaining ability was because she was the loveliest woman in the town, a widow with property, and she wasn’t above batting her eyelashes at a man to get him down to a reasonable price. She never cheated anyone, but she could soften even the toughest miner with a sweet smile.

  If the woman had a fault, it was that she had the attention span of a gnat. Her grand idea for making candles and soaps fell to Mrs. Palmer, who seemed not to mind the work. Marilyn’s grand idea to rearrange the shop resulted in him moving things around, only to put them all back once she realized his arrangement was indeed more efficient. But we wouldn’t know if we hadn’t tried another way had been her cheerful response.

  He’d spent many a night falling asleep wondering—worrying, actually—what grand idea she’d come up with next. Most of her ideas were failures. None of the failures, though, ever discouraged her. According to Marilyn, each failure put them one step closer to success.

  Them.

  The word brought as much joy as heartache.

  She’d been working for him about a month when he felt comfortable leaving her alone while he went out to a miner’s claim to haul back some of his heavy equipment. Once he returned to the shop, he discovered a feather bed in the middle of the building. The mattress was folded in half, the bottom part on the floor and the top part propped against crates and barrels stacked along the wall. It was large enough for two people and blocked both a pathway and a number of useful items for sale behind it.

  He stood in front of it for at least thirty seconds wondering who on earth hauled the thing to Helena and if Marilyn had purchased it for the store. Surely she had better sense than that.

  Oh, she had better sense—that he knew with certainty.

  But having good sense never seemed to stop her from another what if we tried . . .

  She drew up next to him. “It’s marvelous, isn’t it?”

  He turned his head a fraction to see her out of the corner of his eye. “That’s one word for it.”

  “I bargained him down quite a bit.” Her voice was tinged with her familiar braggadocio that tempted him to walk out of the room in exasperation. Or to kiss her. “I wasn’t sure how much you would be willing to pay for it, and the gentleman who brought it in wasn’t willing to wait until you returned.”

  David closed his eyes and held back, I’ll just bet he wasn’t. He angled his head and looked at her. “How much did you pay for it?”

  “Five dollars.”

  “Five dollars?”

  “That’s what I said.” She stepped closer to the mattress and ran a caressing hand over the top. “If no one else buys it before my house is finished, I’ll take it.”

  Well, at least there was that. As she touched the mattress, a powerful longing came over him. He turned away and hurried to the back of his store, pulling the privacy curtain closed behind him. His heart was pounding so hard that he started sweating. He’d known Marilyn for almost a year, had seen her every day of the week for the past month, and never looked at her as anything but a sister in Christ.

  Now he smelled her lavender soap long after she left his shop.

  “David?” Marilyn called from the other side of the curtain. “It’s five o’clock. Do you want me to lock up?”

  He took two deep breaths. “Sure.
Thank you.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  He nodded even though she couldn’t see him.

  His habit was to watch her walk the three blocks from his shop to the house she was renting until hers was built, but he just didn’t have it in him today. He might do something stupid like chase after her.

  The moment he heard the latch on the door click, he exhaled. David eyed the curtain separating his office from the store where the foreboding mattress rested. He couldn’t exactly leave it there to taunt him.

  But where to put it?

  Odds were, no one would buy it before Marilyn’s house was finished next month.

  He climbed the ladder to his living area loft. He’d built his store with two stories. The bottom half held both the retail space and a small repair shop. The retail portion took up three-quarters of the first level and faced the main street through town. The back quarter of the store was both storage and his repair shop. A doorway with a privacy curtain separated the retail and repair portions. Upstairs was his living quarters for now. In a few years, if Helena continued to grow, he’d build himself a home and expand his business to both floors.

  Or he’d build a larger building farther away from Prostitute Alley.

  He crossed to the basin and pitcher, poured some water into the chipped porcelain bowl, and splashed water on his face. Raising his head, he forced himself to look at the man in the mirror.

  I wish I’d never married you.

  Klaudia’s insults were as sharp today as when she’d first uttered them.

  He reached for a towel and wiped the water from his cheeks. If only he’d listened to his mother when she warned him that Klaudia was too spoiled to make a good wife. He’d brushed off Mama’s concerns, so enthralled that a woman of Klaudia’s wealth and beauty had chosen to be with a gangly man with a little bit of money and a great big dream.

  If only he had—

  “David? Are you still here?” Marilyn’s voice came from downstairs.

  He tossed the towel on the washstand. “Yes,” he called out. “I thought you’d gone home.”