Golden State Brides

by Keli Gwyn

  They set off for their Fourth of July picnic at the Duprees’ farm and arrived to a warm welcome. The children dashed off to play, and Elenora followed Pearl inside.

  Her cheery kitchen smelled of fried chicken. White eyelet curtains framed the open windows, but there wasn’t even a hint of a breeze to stir the air. Elenora took a seat at the kitchen table, pulled out her fan, and did her best to create enough of a breeze to bring some relief. “I can’t believe you spent time over a stove in this heat, although we’ll all enjoy the chicken. I boiled the eggs last night after the sun finally set.”

  “The first summer’s the hardest, but you’ll acclimate. Will chose a picnic spot under a cluster of oaks where we’ll have plenty of shade. But enough about the weather. We only have a few minutes before we leave, and I want to hear what happened in Sacramento City. Will said Miles asked you to be his partner after all, but from what I can see, you’re more intent on competing with him than ever.”

  “I met the sweetest man. He’s about my father’s age, but he’s much different. He heard me talking with one of the vendors and struck up a conversation. We spent the rest of that day and the next together. He’s considering making me a full partner in his mercantile up in Marysville.”

  Pearl covered the platter of fried chicken with a dishcloth and took a seat beside Elenora. “I’ve heard the scuttlebutt, so I know about the offer. I don’t mean to pry, but is this man romantically interested in you? There are those who believe that may be the case.”

  Elenora laughed. “It sounds like you may have been talking to Mr. Rutledge. I think Mr. Grayson sees me more as a daughter. He lost his and has no one to leave his business to. He left his mercantile in the hands of his clerk and has been traveling throughout the Gold Country seeking just the right person. From what he’s said, I could be the one. He’s going to come up here and visit my shop, so I’m doing everything I can to build the business.”

  “I can understand how attractive his offer is, but I wouldn’t want to see you rush into anything. I suggest you pray about it and listen for the Lord’s leading.”

  “I’ll pray, but I’ve never really heard from God the way some do, although I wish I did. It would make things clearer.”

  “He speaks in a number of ways. You could ask Him to communicate with you in one you’d recognize. And now if I can ask you to make the lemonade, I’ll slip into the dining room and get a tablecloth.”

  Elenora grabbed a plump lemon, cut it in half, and mashed it onto the juicer. The clean scent of the fruit chased away the odor of fried chicken, and a refreshing mist from the rind settled on her. She gave a good squeeze, and a stream of juice shot into her eyes. She closed them, groped for a dish towel, and swiped at her moist face.

  Heavy footfalls sounded as someone crossed the room. “I didn’t expect my arrival to bring you to tears.”

  She dropped the cloth, opened her eyes, and blinked until the stinging subsided.

  Mr. Rutledge picked up the towel, dabbed at the tears streaming down her cheeks, and increased the temperature in the room with his radiant smile. “Tears of joy, I hope.”

  “But of course. There’s nothing I like better than spending time with the man who wants to put me out of business.”

  He chuckled. “And I cherish the opportunity to share the holiday with the woman determined to bring me to my knees in an admission of defeat.”

  Why must he be so charming? Doing battle with him would be easier if he didn’t have the ability to unsettle her with his ready laugh, blinding smile, and easy manner.

  Will pushed himself from the blanket spread on the leaf-strewn ground and patted his stomach. “You ladies certainly outdid yourselves. I won’t need to eat for a week.”

  Pearl laughed. “You say that now, my love, but I suspect you’ll be the first to ask when supper’s ready. You do like your meals.”

  “I like the cook.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  Miles smiled. Will and Pearl had something special. Something he and Irene had never had. Something he wanted. His gaze wandered to Ellie, who swiped the back of a hand across her forehead and blew a breath over her face. The heat must be hard on her. Those not accustomed to temperatures that hovered around the century mark for days on end often suffered.

  Unlike many who dressed too warmly their first summer, she’d chosen wisely. The dotted Swiss with its navy spots and the red bow at her throat were fitting for the day, but he preferred her in purple with the cluster of silk violets at her throat. The color suited her—regal and elegant.

  Ellie was a beautiful woman, but she didn’t seem to realize that. Unlike Irene, who’d fussed over her appearance, Ellie didn’t seem overly concerned with hers. She sold fancy hair combs, ear-bobs, and the like, but she didn’t indulge in such things herself, which he preferred.

  The children were absorbed in a game of tag. Mother sat in the chair Will had brought along for her and dozed. Pearl began clearing the remnants of their picnic dinner, and Ellie jumped up to help.

  Miles joined Will at the wagon and helped load it for the trip back to the farmhouse.

  “I’m glad you decided to accept Pearl’s invitation, my friend.”

  “Couldn’t resist. Her fried chicken is the best in El Dorado Township.”

  “You came for the chicken, did you? I thought it was the company.” Will inclined his head toward Ellie and grinned. “When are you going to wise up and go after what you want?”

  “She’s intent on—”

  “Beating you in business? I know.”

  “On leaving.”

  Will put the last basket into the wagon. “Leaving? Yes, Pearl mentioned that. What’s the story?”

  Miles told Will about Grayson’s offer. “How can I stop her? It’s what she’s always dreamed of.”

  “There’s more to life than business. I’m not a rich man, but I have what matters most.” Will held out a hand to Pearl, who stood with their three children gathered around her. “If you’ve seen what you want, don’t let it get away.”

  Miles mulled over Will’s comment all the way back to the house.

  Tildy rushed up to Miles. “It’s time for my lesson now, isn’t it, Mr. Rutledge? Please, say it is. I’ve been real good and haven’t pestered you, have I?”

  “You’ve been very good. Let’s get that new saddle and get this lesson underway.”

  The next hour was one of the best he’d ever spent. Tildy was an apt student—bright, eager, and teachable. Before he knew it, she was ready to go off with the Dupree children on her first ride. He hated to see the lesson end. Will was right. There was more to life than working, but could he convince Ellie of that before it was too late?

  Miles returned to the paddock and reined in his mount. “Remember everything I told you, and listen to Paul. He won’t let you get into any trouble.”

  “I will.” She rode over to Ellie, who stood in the shade of the barn. “Don’t I look like a real Western girl, Mama? All I need is a cowboy hat like the sheriff wears.”

  “You look lovely, dear. Have a good time, but—”

  “Be careful. I know.”

  Paul, the Duprees’ eldest child, rode up and beckoned Tildy to follow him. She was off in a flurry of dust.

  Miles closed the gate and watched them leave. “She’ll be fine, Ellie. I’ve never seen anyone take to riding as quickly as she did. She’s a natural, and my mare is a docile creature.”

  “I’m trusting you on this.”

  Nothing she said could have meant more to him. Now to see if he could get her to have a little fun of her own while Tildy was away. “I need to care for my horse, but how would you like a ride on the swing afterward? I could push you.”

  “I—I don’t know. I haven’t swung since I was Tildy’s age.”

  “Did you like it?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “You might not believe it, but I was quite brave back then. I used to love to jump out. I would imagine I was a bird soaring over the countryside.�
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  “Then it’s high time you took flight again.”

  Miles made short work of grooming his horse, led Ellie to the swing, and pushed her. Once he got her so high that he could no longer reach her, she pumped.

  He leaned against the trunk of the sturdy oak and savored the sight. When she extended the endpoint of her arc to where the seat bounced, she straightened her arms, threw her head back, and ceased pumping. How captivating she looked, with her skirts fluttering about her ankles and sheer pleasure curving her lovely mouth into a wide smile.

  She gradually slowed and leaned forward, focused on the ground before her. He positioned himself far enough in front of her so he’d be ready to catch her when she made her flying leap. She let go of the ropes and hit the ground running—right into his arms.

  Ellie pressed her palms against his chest and gave him one of her sweetest smiles, the kind that turned his knees to applesauce and gave him a hunger for more. Much more.

  He angled his head and lowered it, anticipation surging through him. How he’d waited for this. Just before he reached her lips, he closed his eyes and kissed—

  Her cheek?

  Yes. She’d turned her head at the last minute.

  “Mr. Rutledge, please.”

  “I thought you wanted it. You smiled.”

  She pushed away from him and took a step back. “If I did—and I may have—I didn’t mean it as an invitation. I have to think about my future. I’m a mother with a daughter to provide for. I can’t get involved. Please. I need to go inside.” She headed to the farmhouse, pausing to look over her shoulder and cast him a glance that said more than all her words combined.

  Ellie could protest all she wanted, but she was attracted to him, too. He was sure of that. And one day he’d kiss her and weaken her knees so that she’d cling to him, her resistance gone as she lost herself in the pleasure of the moment.

  Elenora pulled Tildy’s door closed and paused by her own bedroom. Much as she wanted to lose herself in slumber, her mind raced. She’d played all her favorite pieces, and yet not even her music had been able to soothe her.

  Settling on the small sofa in her pillbox of a parlor, she gazed at Rutledge Mercantile, which was bathed in moonlight. The impressive structure reminded her of its owner. The building towered over those on either side, as he did most people in town. Large uniform gray blocks formed at the nearby quarry and two rows of evenly spaced windows presented a polished front reminiscent of his carefully tended appearance.

  Any similarity might seem to end there, but she disagreed. The crazy quilt pattern of the rock sides brought to mind another aspect of Mr. Rutledge. While he worked to maintain an image of a man with his life in order, his private world was held together with much effort, in the same way the rocks were kept in place with plenty of mortar.

  That day on the train when he’d told her about his daughter, he’d opened a window to his soul, however briefly. Pain had clouded his eyes and caused him to shudder, revealing how deeply he’d been affected by his tragic loss.

  At the beginning of Tildy’s riding lesson that afternoon, a flicker of sadness had passed over his face. Although his reaction was less intense than what she’d seen before, teaching her must have brought back memories of his daughter. He’d spoken May’s name with great feeling, as though the very word itself was precious. Witnessing his agony had drained Elenora—and planted a desire to know what had happened to his family. If she found out, perhaps she’d understand him better.

  His sadness had been fleeting, though. What followed as he’d focused on Tildy could only be described as happiness. No. Not happiness. Joy. He’d radiated it. And her daughter was the reason. Mr. Rutledge and Tildy had formed a special bond, although that bond would make it hard for Tildy when it came time to leave El Dorado.

  But it couldn’t be helped. Mr. Grayson’s offer would enable Tildy to have everything she needed. Well, maybe not quite everything. She would miss her friends here, but children were resilient. She’d meet new people in time. Best of all, Mr. Grayson could become the warm, loving grandfather she’d never had.

  Elenora left her post at the window and settled on the sofa. Who was she fooling? Leaving El Dorado would be hard on her, too. The people here had accepted her. Many of them had gone out of their way to help her. Mr. Rutledge especially.

  But she couldn’t give him what he wanted. Pushing him away when he’d tried to kiss her after she’d jumped from the swing and ended up in his arms hadn’t been easy, but she’d had no choice. Giving in to the temptation to feel his lips on hers would bring nothing but trouble. She must remain firm. Tildy’s future depended on it.

  Elenora wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at the candle’s flickering flame. It sputtered, and a drop of wax plopped on her Bible. She blew on the spot until it hardened, removed it with her thumbnail, and clutched the leather-bound volume to her chest.

  Pearl’s suggestion came back to her. Perhaps if she were clearer about what she wanted, she would actually hear from the Lord. She could certainly use some guidance.

  She dropped to her knees beside the sofa and whispered her petition. “Lord, You know I have difficulty sharing my struggles with You, but I come on behalf of my dear girl. I want to do what’s best for her, but sometimes I’m not even sure what that is. I must not listen well, because I’ve never heard from You the way others do. If You would make Yourself known to me and give me direction, I’d be grateful.”

  Even though God seemed as distant as ever, perhaps He’d hear her plea this time, especially since she’d used everyday language and talked to Him like He was a caring friend the way Mr. Rutledge did.

  Miles unlocked Rutledge Hall and stepped inside. “Whoa!” The place was hotter than Tiny’s forge. The musicians at tonight’s rehearsal would be mighty uncomfortable unless he got some airflow going. He left the door ajar and hurried to open the windows, a task he should have seen to hours before.

  “Good evening, Mr. Rutledge.”

  Ellie was early. He raised the last window and turned to face her. “Evening.”

  They hadn’t been alone since he’d attempted to kiss her. Because she’d assumed her businesslike manner, he had no way of knowing what she was thinking. That put him at a disadvantage, a place he didn’t like to be. He’d wait for her to say something so he could gauge her mood.

  He lifted his violin from its case and began tuning it. She did the same.

  “Oh no!”

  He spun around. “What is it?”

  “I broke my E string.”

  “Do you have one?”

  “Of course I do. I sell them, remember?”

  Her competitive spirit was alive and well. “Just trying to be helpful.”

  “You’ve been helpful all right. Overly so, if you ask me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She threaded one end of the string through the tailpiece. “Nothing.”

  “When a woman says ‘nothing,’ she means something. Are you talking about Tildy’s riding lesson?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Why couldn’t she tell him what was bothering her instead of forcing him to pull it out of her? Perhaps if he acted as though it didn’t matter, she’d say what was on her mind. That tactic had worked with Irene. “It’ll be interesting to see what pieces Mr. Morton has selected for the fall concert.”

  She fed the other end of the string through the peg and gave it two turns. “I hope there’s something by Handel. I’m fond of the Overture to Alcina. Do you have a preference?”

  If he hadn’t known her as well as he did, he might have believed she was totally engrossed in her task. One corner of her mouth twitched, though, which meant she was doing her utmost to keep her smile from escaping but having a hard time of it. “I prefer something that moves right along, such as Mozart’s Serenade No. 13 in G Major.”

  “Since you’re a fiddle player, I can understand your preference for lively music.”

  She was
good. Irene would have given in by now—or lashed out at him—but Ellie had changed the rules and was teasing him instead. He rather enjoyed it. But if she didn’t tell him what she’d meant by that comment about his helpfulness soon, he’d be forced to admit defeat and ask her again. “I like folk and classical music, but I understand not everyone is able to appreciate both. Perhaps those who don’t embrace fiddling are afraid they might have fun.”

  Her hands stilled, and the note she’d just plucked faded. Several seconds went by before she spoke, and when she did her voice sounded as flat as her instrument. “I don’t really have time for fun, Mr. Rutledge. And when I do make the attempt, it can lead to trouble, like it did the other day.”

  Finally. Now he knew what was bothering her. “You’re talking about when I pushed you on the swing, aren’t you? Or what it led to.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  Judging by the flush on her cheeks, she knew that wasn’t exactly true. “It could have.” If things had worked out the way he’d planned, it would have. But she had a habit of thwarting him at every turn—in business and pleasure.

  She clutched the violets at her throat. “No. It mustn’t. Surely you can see that.”

  All he could see was how lovely she looked with the added splash of color on her pretty face and her dark eyes peeking at him through lowered lashes. He ought to be a gentleman and assure her nothing would happen, but he wouldn’t give his word when he knew he might not be able to keep it. “I can see that you need some time. You also need to tighten that string, so I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Yes. Leave me be. Please.”

  A steady stream of Musical Society members filled the stuffy room. While they tuned their instruments, Mr. Morton sorted through sheet music. Promptly at seven he raised his baton, and they ran through their scales. Once he’d had a few members make adjustments and was satisfied, he addressed the musicians.