by Mona Hodgson
“What you did was amazing.” Willow walked up the hill toward him with a pie plate in her hands, a vision of remarkable grace and beauty. “How many photographers would attempt to assemble and organize sixty squirming men, women, and children?”
Not many that he knew.
“I brought you a reward.” She glanced at the dish.
“You saved half of a p-pie for me? However did you manage?”
Pink tinged her cheeks, the perfect complement to her burgundy plaid shirtwaist. “Believe it or not, I hid it in a crate under the table.”
“For me?”
She nodded, a smile teasing her tantalizing lips.
He accepted the dish, his mouth watering for more than just the pie. “Thank you.”
She dipped her chin. “You may want to reserve your thanks until after you’ve tasted it.”
He scooped a forkful of apples and savored the sweetness. “Mmm. Thank you.” Her apple pie was sweet, but her lips were the true distraction. If they weren’t in public, with her brother less than thirty feet away, he’d likely try to steal a kiss from her.
“I don’t want to spoil your dessert,” Willow said, “but Susanna looked quite upset when she left.”
“I t-told her I shouldn’t have just run away. I should’ve t-told her the truth.”
“The truth?”
“The real reason I couldn’t m-marry her.”
Willow quietly took his hand. “What was it … the real reason?”
“I didn’t l-love her. I thought I did. B-but I didn’t know what love was. I told her I was sorry for the embarrassment I’d c-caused her. She’d hurt me, and I childishly wanted to do the s-same to her.”
“What did she say?”
“If she was to accept my apology and my decision, wh-what was she to do?”
“You told her you’d purchase her train ticket?”
“I did.”
Willow’s eyes glistened. “You, Trenton, are indeed a man of integrity and a very generous man.”
“She asked me if it was you.”
“Me?”
“Who had taught me what love was.”
Her breath caught. “What did you tell her?”
“That she could th-thank God for the lesson, and that credit was due you f-for the introduction.”
A tear rolled down Willow’s cheek, and Trenton desperately wanted to reach up and touch her face. She brushed it away before he could give in to the temptation. She was so genuine. At the confectionary, Susanna had attempted sincerity and failed miserably.
The candy! He cleared his throat. “You distracted me so much with the p-pie that I almost forgot I have s-something for you.” He handed her the pie plate and bent over his box of camera supplies. He pulled out the pink box of fudge and handed it to her.
“That’s why you were at the confectionary,” Willow said, smiling.
“Susanna told you?”
“She gave me her version.” Willow set her hands over his and met his gaze. “I like your version better.”
“I’m sure I do too.”
While he savored a few more bites of pie, Willow ate a piece of the pecan fudge, giving him knee-weakening smiles. When he could wait no longer, he set the dish on top of the box and looked into her warm eyes, drinking in the assurance that her interest in him exceeded their professional relationship.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he said.
She stilled.
“M-might you be ready for courtship?”
A slight grin deepened her dimples, and his heart did a flip. “I suppose it depends on who the caller is.”
“Me. I want to court you.” Kiss you. Marry you. But first things, first.
“Yes.”
“The ice-cream parlor this Tuesday at four o’clock?”
“Yes.”
Her smile was far more valuable than anything to be found in a gold mine.
Ida held two corners of the quilt, and Tucker folded the other two corners. “Your sister is going to be all right.”
He nodded, his brown eyes glistening with tears. “Trenton’s a good man. He came by the church yesterday for a talk and surrendered his life to Christ.”
“That’s wonderful.” Joy and relief caused Ida’s voice to quiver. She retrieved the picnic basket from the grass littered with golden leaves. “She loves Trenton.”
“Even I can tell.”
They were laughing when Father and Miss Hattie returned from the parsonage and diverted their attention. Hattie’s hand rested on his arm, and the smile on her face tickled Ida clear to her toes. Her father had obviously admitted to himself and to Hattie that he loved her.
Father stacked his other hand on Hattie’s and regarded the family gathered around them. “We have some news.”
So did they, but Kat’s baby news could wait a couple of minutes.
Father looked at Ida, Nell, and Vivian. “Your Miss Hattie has agreed to be my wife.”
Cherise squealed and rushed to Father. He and Miss Hattie wrapped the child in a tearful embrace.
Tears streamed down Ida’s face. God was handing out second chances to Father and Hattie, Cherise, and Willow. Ida joined in the celebratory hugging and looked at her husband. She so wanted to tell Tucker that God was giving them another chance at parenthood, but she needed to be sure.
Willow stepped out of the mercantile behind Hattie and breathed in the crispness of autumn. Each of them clutched a package. Willow had purchased more paints and brushes while Miss Hattie collected eyelet ribbon in preparation for her wedding next month. How was it possible that it could be Saturday already, that a whole week had passed since the church picnic?
Now that Willow thought about it, it was Trenton’s fault. Last Sunday she’d agreed to courtship. Consequently, she was living the busiest week of her life. Monday, Trenton had photographed her in the studio, then the two of them had gone to the parsonage for supper with Tucker and Ida. Tuesday, they’d sat at one of the red tables in the ice-cream parlor and talked about anything and everything over root beer sodas. Wednesday, a midday stroll to Mount Pisgah. Thursday, lunch at the Third Street Café. Last night, Trenton had come to supper at the boardinghouse, and they’d bundled up to sit on the porch swing. They gazed at the night sky until she couldn’t stop yawning and the stars blurred.
And that was only a list of her time with Trenton. It seemed every mine owner in town wanted a photograph taken and a portrait done.
Hattie stopped in the middle of the block, her eyebrows arched. “Where are we going next?” She glanced at their packages. “Do we have time to take these home before the sitting?”
“We started early. It can’t be later than ten o’clock. We should have plenty of time. Unless you get to primping.” Willow grinned. Since the morning Hattie burned the potatoes with Mr. Sinclair in the kitchen, her landlady was spending a lot more time at her dressing table.
Hattie feigned shock and tapped Willow’s shoulder. “I would like to change into my blue calico dress. I didn’t want to wear it shopping and take the chance—”
“That it wouldn’t be perfect for the Sinclair family photograph?”
Hattie nodded, her blue-gray eyes glistening, “I never would’ve imagined that I’d marry again, and into the Sinclair family, no less.” She turned toward the Fourth Street corner. “God is so good.”
“Indeed He is.”
They crossed the street and walked up the hill to the boardinghouse on Golden Avenue.
Hattie stepped onto the front porch first and peered down at the stationery peeking out from under the door. “That wasn’t there when we left.”
“Maybe Trenton came by.”
“Or Harlan.” Hattie stepped to the side as she inserted the key into the door, allowing Willow access to the letter.
Willow shifted her package to one arm and bent to retrieve it. “It has my full name on it, but it isn’t Trenton’s penmanship.”
Hattie unlocked the door and pushed it open. “A client, perha
ps?”
Willow set her package and reticule on the entry table next to the vase of sunflowers, then carried the envelope into the parlor. Standing in front of the warm stove, she slid the stationery out of the envelope and started to unfold it. “It’s from Miss Woods.”
Hattie walked into the room. Her eyes widened, deepening the creases that framed them. “That could be interesting.”
Or distressing. Neither Willow nor Trenton had heard a word from Susanna, nor seen hide nor hair of her, since her appearance at the church picnic last Sunday. They had both avoided the confectionary, and, thankfully, Susanna had stayed away from them.
Until now.
Given the young woman’s spite on Sunday, Willow wasn’t sure she wanted to read the note. She finished unfolding the rough piece of parchment paper anyway and read aloud.
Greetings to you, Willow Peterson,
What you said Sunday set me to thinking. I thought I knew what I wanted … until I met you. It doesn’t feel good to admit it, but you were right. I do consider myself to be a handsome woman, with much to offer the right man.
Hattie tittered. “You said all of that to her?”
Willow shrugged. “I do remember saying she was a handsome woman and something about it being a shame that she would waste time pursuing a man who didn’t have affections for her.”
“You must have had the power of the Holy Ghost behind your words.”
Willow was thankful but wondered where Susanna was headed with the declaration. She returned her attention to the letter.
I do want someone who will love me for who I am. Trenton deserves the same. Please tell him he’s free of me. This morning, I will board the train for Denver. Miss Carmen misses you both at the confectionary.
With warm regard,
Susanna Woods
“She’s leaving.”
“That’s good news.”
It was, but mixed feelings plagued Willow. She tucked the letter into the envelope.
“You’re going to the depot, aren’t you,” Hattie said.
“I can’t say why, but yes.” Willow pulled her reticule off of the entry table and reached for the door handle.
“I’ll meet you at the studio,” Hattie said, rushing the words.
Willow nodded as the door closed behind her. She proceeded to the street and down the hill at an unladylike pace. She hadn’t heard the train whistle blow to signal departure yet, but she knew the time was short. It made no sense that Willow wanted to see the young woman again, but she did.
At Bennett, she crossed the street and turned left. She’d just passed Jesse’s livery when the train whistle blew. She hitched her skirt at the side seams and picked up her pace again. The depot was busier than a beehive and no doubt just as noisy. She maneuvered between horses, wagons, and carts and dashed to the platform.
Susanna wasn’t there. Willow glanced toward the stream of people pouring out of the depot, then up at the train. Walking past the second passenger car, she spotted Susanna. Her blue eyes wide and her jaw lax, the young woman looked as surprised to see her there as Willow was surprised to be there.
Smiling, Willow held up the envelope, then pressed it to her breast.
Susanna returned her smile and nodded. She’d been a bit foolhardy and shameful in her nefarious pursuit of Trenton, but Willow wanted to believe that Denver held more promise for the young woman.
The locomotive belched a noxious cloud of sulfur-scented steam as it strained to take up the slack in each coupling, the metallic clunks deafening.
Susanna waved.
As Willow watched the train chug up the mountain toward Ute Pass, waves of relief and concern washed over her, along with gratitude for the right words and God’s use of them to help Susanna move on.
You’re guiding Trenton, Lord. Guide her too.
Trenton studied the studio, from column to Brady stand, from settee to tripod. After photographing the entire church congregation, the Sinclair family should be easy enough for him to frame, even with fifteen members. He draped a Greek column backdrop over the rod on the back wall, then positioned the settee in front of it, leaving a few feet between them for creating layers.
On his way to the darkroom for prepared plates, he caught himself humming again. Something he’d been doing all week—since Sunday evening when he’d returned home from the picnic. He was especially given to humming after returning from spending time with Willow. At every hint of a sound or shadow, he glanced toward the office and the main door. The Sinclair sitting was still half an hour off, but he expected Willow to arrive early, which probably explained the humming. Today, it was “Bedouin Love Song.” Yesterday, a tune from some silly romantic play. He seemed to alternate between the two, even though as recently as last month, he wouldn’t have recalled either.
“Hello?” The bell above his door accompanied the voice as if on cue. But it was Miss Hattie’s voice, not Willow’s.
“I’m b-back here, Miss Hattie.”
Willow’s landlady peeked into the darkroom. “There you are.”
“Yes. I’m j-just gathering supplies for the s-sitting.” He stopped. “You look especially n-nice today.”
“Why, thank you.” She relaxed the shawl about her, revealing the crocheted lace accents at her neckline.
He drew in a deep breath for dramatic effect. “I can see where we could have a p-problem.”
“Oh?”
“Mr. Sinclair m-may have trouble taking his eyes off you long enough to l-look at the camera.”
She tittered, waving a gloved hand. Her wide-brimmed hat may be a distraction too, or at least a positioning challenge. No matter. He’d made a sport of guessing what kind of hat Miss Hattie would wear next. He had his answer for today, and he’d make it work.
“I’ll show you where you all will gather.” As he stepped between the darkroom and the studio doors, he glanced toward the street out of habit.
“Willow said she’d meet me here. I’m sure she’ll be along in a few minutes,” Miss Hattie said.
He nodded and carried the glass plates to the table next to the tripod. “Thank you, again, for the supper last night.”
“It was my pleasure. My love of cooking is one of the reasons I wanted to open a boardinghouse.”
“I k-know Willow enjoys l-living there.”
“And it’s been thrilling to watch her flourish in the new life God has given her here.” Miss Hattie sighed. “You have overcome much as well. What an incredible journey you’ve had as a child with a stammer and as an apprentice on the move.”
“I’m th-thankful I’m not that child or that a-apprentice anymore.”
She nodded, bouncing the hat brim like an Oriental palm fan. “We’re all thankful you chose to settle here.”
“Thank you, m-ma’am. I am too.”
“Life is ever changing, even when settled in one place.”
He could certainly attest to that. Meeting Willow, working with her, and courting her this past week had changed everything. His business life, his spiritual life, and his personal life.
Miss Hattie cleared her throat. “Did Willow tell you Mr. Sinclair and I have set a date to be married? Thanksgiving Day. Don’t you think it’s a perfect day for a wedding?”
He met her gaze and offered her a slight grin. “I do, actually.”
When the realization of what he wasn’t saying dawned on her, she tipped her head and a generous smile lit her eyes.
The outside door opened, and he leaned toward her and whispered, “For now, it’s our secret.”
Miss Hattie pressed a gloved finger to her mouth and nodded.
“Willow?” He stepped into the main office just as Willow reached the end of the counter. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind about being my assistant today.”
“No. I’ve been looking forward to it.”
He gazed into her eyes, his soul drinking in the love he saw there.
She pulled an envelope from her reticule. “Susanna is gone.
She left on the morning train.”
“I don’t understand. She didn’t ask me for the ticket I’d offered her. How did you—”
“Miss Hattie and I returned from the mercantile this morning and found this note from her.” Willow pulled a piece of stationery from the envelope and handed it to him.
He went from reading it with a smile on his face to trying to read through tears.
“I just came from the depot,” Willow said. “I felt compelled to see her off. Her being alone and all.”
Compassion ran through Willow’s veins. Yes, the reasons he loved her were filling his heart to the brim.
Miss Hattie was still in the studio, but he didn’t care if she stepped out and was a witness. He’d waited long enough.
Trenton laid the letter on the counter. “You, Willow Peterson, are an invaluable treasure.” He rested his hand on her cheek, trailed his finger down her face, then lifted her chin. Quivering, she leaned toward him. Their lips met, and her kiss was every bit as sweet as he’d imagined.
It wasn’t going to be Mr. Sinclair’s distraction that caused a problem during the sitting, but Trenton’s own distraction. Susanna’s chapter in his life story had come to a close. And Willow Peterson was proving to be an undeniable leading lady.
Willow sat in her bedchamber, hooking her calfskin boots. Trenton had been courting her for two feverish weeks. Root beer sodas at the ice-cream parlor. Sitting together in church. Sunday lunch with the Sinclair family. Buggy rides. Walks to the library. Dinner with Tucker and Ida at the Third Street Café. But today felt different.
Trenton said he planned to take her somewhere special. Despite her persistent questioning, he refused to divulge the destination. She’d even told him she needed to know so she could dress appropriately. His answer still made her smile. “You, my dear Willow, could dress in tatters and look lovely.”
The only hint she’d been able to tease out of him was that their destination involved a full day of travel. At breakfast this morning, Miss Hattie offered a few guesses, but they couldn’t be sure.
Willow captured the last button on her boot. Since he’d used the word special, she’d chosen to wear her burgundy walking skirt, her frilly cream-colored shirtwaist, and a bolero jacket for a dash of panache. She took the jacket from her wardrobe. Next, she pinned a black felt riding hat into place and slipped a pair of black crochet gloves into her reticule.