Golden State Brides

by Keli Gwyn

  He aimed his words at Tildy but his grin at Elenora. “Very glad.”

  The women had finished their trial of the sewing machine. The nosy one, Mrs. Pratt, planted herself in his path and pointed a finger at him, a gesture so rude Elenora swallowed a gasp. “Shopping at your competitor’s place, Mr. Rutledge? Now I’ve seen everything.”

  Miles paused before the mirror in the back room of his shop and checked his hair. He slid the comb set into his jacket pocket and gave it a pat. If anyone had told him he’d proudly carry something as showy as that, he wouldn’t have believed it. But Ellie had a way of knowing exactly what would appeal to a person. Abe couldn’t stop talking about that new razor of his, and every time Mr. Morton removed his new ebony baton with the ivory handle from its case, he practically caressed it.

  Ellie could be a handful though. She’d bristled like a cornered dog and yanked the comb out of his hand yesterday because he asked her to read his name. And that was before she’d realized what he was up to. But dealing with her huff had been a small price to pay in order to have her say it. Even in her pique, hearing his first name on her lips was music to his ears. If only he could convince her to use it. But try as he might, she insisted on keeping things formal.

  That wasn’t entirely true. She no longer looked liked she’d chomped into a dill pickle when he called her Ellie—as long as he didn’t count the near disaster in front of Tildy yesterday. He’d come close to doing irreparable damage. Too close. He’d managed to catch himself, though—and make Ellie smile.

  But he had more important things to think about. That Grayson fellow was a problem. He must be seriously considering offering Ellie the partnership—likely a more permanent one than she realized—since he’d come all this way to see her. Judging by the warm reception she’d given him, she was prepared to accept it.

  Not that Miles could blame her. Grayson wasn’t a bad sort. He’d shown that he knew Ellie quite well, spice and all. And anyone could see he was enamored with Tildy. He was shrewd, too. Giving her that five-dollar gold piece so she could buy a Stetson from the mercantile had earned him her gratitude. And Miles had to admit it had been a clever—albeit wasted—attempt to establish some goodwill with him, too, since Ellie didn’t carry the popular felt hat.

  Unlike Tildy, who’d been over to buy her cowboy hat without delay, he preferred a dignified derby. He grabbed his, set it carefully on his head so as not to disturb his hair, and donned his jacket. Ellie hadn’t said a word about Grayson at dinner yesterday. Since her place was empty, now would be a good time to try and find out when she planned to make her decision.

  Miles crossed the street, stepped onto the walkway in front of Ellie’s shop, and stopped. He hadn’t noticed the hand-lettered sign in her window from the mercantile, but there, in youthful scrawl, were the words, “Mr. Rutledge shops here.”

  That wasn’t Tildy’s writing, and it certainly wasn’t Ellie’s, but he had a good idea who’d put the message there. He stormed though the open door.

  “Ellie, are you aware what’s in your window?”

  She wheeled around. “My sign. And perhaps a cobweb or two. I have a hard time reaching the ceiling, even when I stand on one of the stools.”

  “Come with me, would you?”

  She followed him outside, took one look at the placard propped against the glass, and burst out laughing.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Oh, but it is. Quite.”

  “You know who’s responsible, don’t you?”

  She leaned over, studied the sign, and straightened. “Their writing is similar, but my best guess is Timmy. However, I doubt it was his idea. Tommy is usually the instigator.”

  “Aha! So you admit it? They are troublemakers.”

  “I hardly think a harmless prank like this is reason to slap a label like that on them. Come to think of it, this isn’t even a prank. Merely a statement of fact. You did shop here.”

  “That wasn’t why you got the comb, was it? To entice me into making a purchase?”

  She turned away. “Won’t you come inside? We can talk there without being overheard.”

  He followed her and took a seat on one of the stools. She removed the small sign from the window, laid it on the closest display case, and took a seat on the stool next to his.

  “Mr. Rutledge—”

  “Miles. Please.”

  “—I didn’t intend for you to buy the comb. It was to be a gift, a way of thanking you for all you’ve done for Tildy. But there were customers in the shop, and I knew if word got out that I’d given you something so…personal, the gossip mill would grind out new stories. After the gibes and innuendo I endured in the days following the incident at the rehearsal, I didn’t want to go through that again.”

  She was right. A woman only gave a gift like that to her betrothed. But Ellie had planned to give him the comb. That could only mean one thing. She did have feelings for him. She might not be ready to admit it, but he could hope that one day she would.

  Mrs. Sanders considered a trip to visit her sister in San Francisco cause for new dresses, and she wanted fabric for a special one. “She’s going to take me to the symphony, so I’ve got my heart set on a silk gown.”

  Elenora pulled out several bolts in a dazzling array of colors and arranged a selection of coordinating notions with each.

  The matronly woman examined them and settled on the navy. “I think it would have a slenderizing effect. But I’m not at all fond of having silver or pearl buttons with it. I think a row of those down the front of the bodice could draw attention to my, um, full figure. If you have navy ones, I’ll take the silk as well as the fabric for the other two dresses.”

  Navy buttons? Oh dear. She’d sold the last of hers the day before. But wait. She knew just where to get some. Although she didn’t relish the idea of traipsing into the mercantile after Mr. Rutledge had accused her of buying the comb to trick him into making a purchase, she wasn’t about to lose the sale. Since it was Tuesday morning, she’d be able to dash over while he was at Abe’s, and Mr. Rutledge wouldn’t have to know about her visit. She checked the watch pinned to her bodice. Ten minutes to eleven.

  “I don’t want to keep you, Mrs. Sanders. You could tend to your other business and stop back by for the parcel this afternoon if you’d like.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Elenora waited until Mr. Rutledge disappeared into the barbershop, the mercantile was empty, and few people were about before dashing across the street.

  The bell on the door rang, and his young clerk looked up. “Good morning, Mrs. Watkins. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m after navy dress buttons.”

  “I’ll show you what we have.”

  Sammy completed the transaction and handed her the small parcel, which she tucked in her reticule. “I’d appreciate if you don’t tell Mr. Rutledge I was here.”

  She returned to her shop, packaged Mrs. Sanders’s order, and waited on a customer.

  At noon she locked her shop and set out for Mr. Rutledge’s house, but something on the door of the mercantile caught her eye. Had he put up a poster advertising El Dorado Day? She stepped onto the walkway and read the notice.

  For those things not available in her own store,

  Mrs. Watkins rushes through the mercantile door.

  Mr. Rutledge stepped from behind a nearby wagon. “Are you laughing now?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “Sammy assured me he wouldn’t say anything.”

  “He didn’t, but Miss Crowley, Mr. Olds, and Mrs. Pratt did.”

  “But the poem was your idea, wasn’t it?”

  He grinned, and those beautiful blue eyes of his twinkled. “Shall we head up the hill? Mother’s got something delicious cooking. I’ve been smelling it the past hour.”

  “Mrs. Watkins!” Tommy bolted down the street waving something in his hand. He arrived and drew in several noisy breaths while Elenora waited. “I was down at the post office. Mr. Willow said y
ou’ve been waiting for this.”

  She took the envelope, glanced at the return address, and smiled. “Thank you, Tommy.”

  “Anytime.” He doffed his hat and dashed off.

  “It’s from Marysville, isn’t it?” Mr. Rutledge’s good humor had faded as quickly as newsprint left in the summer sun.

  Well, she wouldn’t let his foul mood spoil hers. The letter was likely the one in which Mr. Grayson formalized his offer of an equal partnership.

  Chapter 23

  Will spread his final pitchfork full of straw in the milk cow’s stall and hung the tool on the barn wall. He tossed his gloves on his worktable and beckoned Miles to follow him to the paddock. They stood by the gate and watched the children saddle their mounts. The sun lay low in the western sky. Not a single cloud could be seen in the azure expanse.

  “Tildy has become quite an accomplished rider. You taught her well.”

  Miles rested a foot on the bottom rung of the slatted fence. “She’s an apt student. Mother agrees. You should hear her boast about how much progress Tildy has made with her cooking and sewing. She’s started piano lessons, and Mother said she has a natural bent for music. Doesn’t surprise me. El—Mrs. Watkins definitely does.”

  “From what I hear, last night’s rehearsal didn’t go much better than the one the week before. Musically, that is.” Will chuckled, causing the piece of straw tucked in the corner of his mouth to bobble. “According to Abe, you two sound more like a couple of calves bawling their lungs out in a hailstorm than the Society’s top violinists performing a duet.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on. She does fine on the other pieces, but when we work on the duet, she seems flustered and makes a passel of mistakes.”

  “Have you tried switching parts?”

  “Didn’t help. She can’t seem to feel the music. She’s too uptight.”

  Will pointed the straw at Miles. “Sounds to me like you need to help her relax.”

  “That’s about as likely as snow in August.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen her lately. After her practice Monday night, she joined the children in a game of Blind Man’s Bluff.”

  “Practice? What practice?”

  “Target practice.” Will held the straw like a gun and pretended to sight down its length.

  “You’re teaching her?”

  “You’re jealous.”

  “Never!” Miles lowered his voice. “Just curious.”

  “You don’t need to get in a lather about it. She goes to the back field by herself.”

  “Do you think that’s safe?”

  Will shrugged. “She’s a grown woman. Besides, judging by the condition of the cans, she’s become a fair shot. Your trouble is, you underestimate her. You’d better wise up, my friend, or she might best you.” He gave Miles a playful punch in the arm and strode to the house in answer to Pearl’s call.

  There was truth to that statement. Ellie seemed determined to prove she was every bit as capable as he in all respects. First she’d opened her business across the street from his. Next she’d joined the Society and ended up playing a duet with him. Now she had the ladies in town convinced the El Dorado Day competitions should be a showdown between the sexes.

  From what some husbands had overheard, the women had taken it on themselves to think up activities that would be more exciting and well received than those the men came up with. He’d better give some thought to the event and not spend so much time thinking about the captivating woman heading up the female contingent. A woman who was being tight-lipped about the contents of a certain letter.

  Mr. Rutledge took Elenora’s hand and bowed his head for the prayer, as he’d done many times. And yet today was different. She wanted to hold his hand, to feel his warmth, to—

  “Did you…want something?” he asked.

  She looked up to find three pairs of eyes on her.

  “No. Why?”

  “You, um, well, squeezed my hand. I thought perhaps you wanted me to include something in the prayer.”

  “I—I don’t think so. I’m sure you’ll say the right thing. I’m sorry.”

  Tildy giggled, and Mrs. Rutledge shushed her.

  Elenora dipped her head so low her chin practically rested on her chest. How embarrassing. She’d better be more mindful of her movements, or Mr. Rutledge might wonder what was behind her unusual actions.

  Ever since the letter with Mr. Grayson’s official offer had come the week before and she’d seen Mr. Rutledge’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction, she’d had a hard time keeping her mind on business. Her thoughts strayed to him far too often. She’d expected him to be happy for her. After all, he’d no longer have to deal with a competitor taking business from him. Instead, he’d been withdrawn and closemouthed.

  As she considered Mr. Grayson’s offer, she found herself comparing the two men. Both ran a successful mercantile. Both had offered her a partnership. Both had blue eyes. But the similarities ended there. Mr. Grayson was like a stream in the lazy days of summer, steady and predictable. Mr. Rutledge was like a river swollen by the spring runoff, powerful and subject to unexpected surges. Being with him made her feel fully alive. If she weren’t careful, she’d be swept away by the flood of feelings threatening to erode her self-control.

  Now was no time to weaken her resolve. She’d worked too hard to give up her dream. The opportunity Mr. Grayson had offered her was more than she could have hoped for. She couldn’t give way to a temporary bout of loneliness and longing—no matter how much she enjoyed Mr. Rutledge’s company.

  He’d just finished the prayer when a bell tolled in the distance, loud and insistent. He charged out of the room without a single word.

  “What is it?” Tildy asked.

  Mrs. Rutledge looked stricken.“The fire bell.”

  Elenora stood in Mr. Rutledge’s flower garden an hour later, shielded her eyes from the sun, and stared at the wisp of gray smoke rising into the sky east of town. Some poor family had lost their home. There might even have been loss of life.

  Judging by the location, the fire had been at either the Talbots’ place or the Blackstones’. A mother raising two sons on her own, or a man and wife with three small children, one a babe in arms. Heartbreaking either way.

  The restlessness that had taken hold of Elenora at the sound of the clanging bell threatened to unnerve her as surely as the acrid smoke was threatening to suffocate the men battling the blaze. She must remain strong and hold out hope that Tommy and Timmy were all right, that none of those fighting the fire had been injured, and that news would come soon and put an end to the agony of not knowing.

  “There you are, Elenora. I wondered where you’d gone.” Mrs. Rutledge joined her and studied the dissipating smoke in the distance.

  “I had to get out of the house. I didn’t want Tildy to see me like this.”

  “You’re worried about the twins, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but it’s more than that. I can’t really explain it. It’s as though I’m feeling someone else’s pain.” She shuddered.

  Mrs. Rutledge wrapped an arm around her. “Why don’t we head over to the bench and sit a spell? I’ve set Tildy to shelling peas, so she’ll be fine for a few minutes.”

  Elenora sank onto the bench next to Mrs. Rutledge, grateful for the support it provided, as it had the day she’d nearly fainted from heat exhaustion. But even more comforting was the presence of the strong woman on whose shoulder her head rested.

  Several minutes passed as they sat in silence. But it was no longer stifling.

  Elenora sat up, cast a sidelong glance at Mrs. Rutledge, and started. Tears coursed down the older woman’s cheeks. “Are you all right?”

  Mrs. Rutledge pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I will be once I know Miles is all right. Fires are so hard on him.”

  Had he lost a house at some point? Or perhaps his business? Mrs. Rutledge had said El Dorado Day was a celebration of the first firepr
oof buildings in town, the mercantile being one of them.

  “He’d been to Sacramento City on one of his buying trips, leaving Irene here with May. When he got home, they were gone. They’d perished in a fire the night before.” She stopped and looked toward the smoke-filled sky, as though summoning strength to finish the tragic tale.

  “Irene had left May at her washerwoman’s place. When she got back, the cottage was engulfed in flames. The woman stood out front paralyzed with fear, so Irene ran inside to get the baby. Sheriff Henderson arrived just as the roof collapsed. He rushed in and found them under a massive beam. Miles’s only consolation was that the end came instantly.”

  Elenora’s chest was so tight she could hardly breathe. A sob broke free, followed by two more before she could regain enough control to speak. “Poor Miles. That’s awful.” She wiped the moisture from her eyes and drew in several ragged breaths.

  “I’d better see to Tildy.” Mrs. Rutledge patted Elenora’s hand and rose. “Thank you for being here—and for caring.” She trudged to the house. Her stooped shoulders and halting steps tore at Elenora’s heart.

  She knew what she had to do. Although she’d not heard a voice, there was no doubt in her mind. She was to go to the church.

  In no time she covered the short distance between Mr. Rutledge’s house and the small sanctuary farther up the hill. A lone figure walked toward her, his face streaked with soot. With the jingle of spurs and ash-dusted Stetson, he had to be the sheriff.

  They met at the churchyard.

  “Mrs. Watkins, you’re just the person I wanted to see.”

  Her hand flew to her throat. “No! Tell me it isn’t so. Tommy and Timmy. They’re not—”

  “They’re fine. No one was hurt, but the Blackstones lost their house. We managed to save the barn and chicken coop though.”

  “Thank the Lord—and everyone who worked so hard. But if it’s not—” The reason for her visit to the church became clear. “It’s Mr. Rutledge, isn’t it? His mother told me about the fire…and his family.”

  “Whenever there’s a fire, he rushes to help. But he was almost frantic today because the Blackstones have a baby. He tried to go in after the little fellow. It took Tiny and me to restrain him. Once he saw the little one in his mama’s arms, he was some better. We sent him to work with the men wetting down the barn.”