An Unexpected Widow (The Colorado Brides Series)

by Carré White

  Bells clanged, as the door swung open and a woman entered. “I thought that was you!” she gushed.

  I met the gaze of a friendly face. “Adaline Ross.”

  “It’s so good to see you.”

  She was the banker’s wife. “We’ve been wanting to come to town all week, but we were horribly busy.”

  “I understand. How are you?”

  “I’m well, and you?”

  She leaned in, whispering, “I’m just fine. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Can you come over for tea after church? I’ve invited Rhoda Caldwell and Sally Higgins as well. Our husbands have some influence in Denver City. It’s time we had a discussion about where things are going.”

  I wouldn’t miss this opportunity to be social, although I had no idea what she was talking about. “Of course. I’d love to join you after church.”

  “Excellent.” Her smile was genuine. “I’ll let them know then. You have a good day, dear. It’s been a madhouse. Supply wagons came yesterday.”

  “Oh, that sounds promising.”

  “They really need to bring the railroad out.”

  “I couldn't agree more.”

  “With miners coming every day, it won’t be long before it happens. Things are changing rapidly.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Please, say hello to your husband for me. I must be going.”

  “I’ll see you on Sunday, Adaline.”

  “Sunday.” She hurried out the door, her green skirts whooshing behind her.

  I waited ten minutes for Frank to get the mail; my excitement was palpable, seeing the small stack of envelopes in his hand. I would savor each letter, reading it in peaceful solitude later.

  He held open the door for me, as we left. “You’ll be pleased to know that everyone in your acquaintance has written and I’ve received only one letter from my sister.”

  “I’m anxious to read them, but we have other errands first.” In my excitement, I had forgotten about the drunkard who had unceremoniously fallen at my feet. He stood against a wood beam, his hat slightly askew, watching us, as we strolled down the walkway. I hid under the bonnet, avoiding his gaze. “Mrs. Ross says hello to you.”

  “That’s kind of her.”

  “She’s invited me to tea after church.”

  “Excellent, Hannah. I can stay and get some work done.”

  “I’d like that very much. I hardly ever see anyone.”

  “It’ll be good for you.” A gust of wind picked up the loose dirt from the street. “Something’s coming in fast. We’d best hurry or we’ll be caught in it.”

  I’d nearly forgotten. “You didn’t get your Bibles?”

  “No, unfortunately. Another shipment’s coming in on Monday.”

  I smiled sympathetically. “It’ll be all right. We’ll make do.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  At the carpenters, I waited just inside the door, while Frank bought a new hammer and a bag of nails, along with glue. He was packed and ready within minutes, escorting me to the mercantile. There were several items I needed here, among them, sugar, tea, and mason jars. If there was any money left over, I could indulge in fabric and thread and possibly even yarn.

  We weren’t through the door more than a second before I heard, “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Clark! How are you, Hannah?”

  “I’m well, Mrs. Higgins, and you?”

  “Well as can be expected.” She was tall for a woman; her blonde hair fell to the sides of her face, while the rest had been done up in a braided bun.

  “How’s Mr. Higgins?” asked Frank.

  “Just fine, Pastor Clark. I’m not usually one to gossip, but a little birdie told me you’ve completed your house.”

  “We have,” I said. “I really should invite everyone out. Perhaps, when the weather’s better, we can have dinner, and you can see all the improvements.”

  “That would be lovely, Hannah.”

  “You know about tea on Sunday, don’t you?”

  “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  “So will I.” I glanced longingly at the selection of fabric stacked against the wall. “Oh, those look marvelous.”

  “New shipments came in yesterday. You’re more than welcome to have a look.” I glanced at my husband, whose expression was deceivingly blank. “There’s lovely lace and ribbons.”

  “I think I’ll visit the lumber store for a spell. I’ve some ideas for a bunkhouse. It seems like you’ll be here…for a while.”

  He was going to indulge me! “I’ll try to be quick about it.”

  “Take your time. The weather will hold. You should enjoy yourself, while you can.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  He tipped his hat. “Good afternoon. I’ll retrieve my wife in fifteen minutes.”

  Once he’d gone, Mrs. Higgins said, “Your husband is entirely devoted to you, Hannah.”

  My fingers ran over a length of cloth, delighting in the softness of the fabric. “He is. He spoils me so. I think I’ll need two yards of this…and possibly a yard and a half of the calico.”

  “Good choice.”

  My happiness could hardly be contained. Not only did I have an abundance of mail to read, but I also had enough fabric and yarn to keep me busy for at least three weeks. I felt blessed then and quite lucky in the life God had chosen for me.

  Once all the packages were stowed securely in the back of the wagon, we were seated on the wooden plank, braving the gusty weather, as thick, grey clouds began to settle in on top of us. The temperature had plummeted, alluding to rain or possibly even snow later in the evening. By the time we reached the house, the first droplet fell, and I thanked my lucky stars that we hadn’t stayed in the city any longer than we had.

  After making dinner and tidying up, I sat on the sofa, which was the one item of luxury I was able to bring, and read my letters by lamplight. My older sister, Louisa, attended a woman’s college in Troy, and she was planning a wedding soon. Paulina had stars in her eyes, wanting to join me out west. She was seriously considering traveling with friends, who wanted to homestead in California. She had dozens of question about how we had survived for two months on the Oregon Trail. The youngest, Fanny, was still in school. There had been a death in the neighborhood; Mr. Porter had fallen over during dinner, in what they say had been a serious heart malady. My sisters rarely discussed politics, although a storm was brewing with the south over slavery.

  When I’d had my fill of all things related to family, I turned down the lamp and went upstairs, where Frank was in the process of changing into his nightclothes. A dim lamp sat on a bedside table. All of our furniture, besides the sofa, was rustic; the bed had been bought in Denver City from a Dutch merchant. It was plain looking, yet functional.

  “So tell me,” said Frank. “How are the energetic Hoffman sisters?”

  “Fine. Louisa is getting married soon and Paulina wants to come here. Good gracious. It’s such a long journey. I don’t think I could do it again, even if I wanted to. They all want to know what’s happening with the gold. They seem to think it’s falling from the trees.”

  Frank washed his face and hands in a white ceramic bowl on the dresser. “If they only knew the truth. It’s dirty, filthy, backbreaking work.”

  “Is it true that a miner dies every day on the mountain?” I’d begun to unhook and unbutton the dress.

  “Not every day, but close.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Should I help you, my dear?”

  My arms were behind my back. “Would you?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” The husky tone in his voice gave me pause, as little butterflies began to bounce in my stomach.

  Once the dress was off, the task of removing the corset began, Frank untying the laces. My crinoline wasn’t nearly as big as some I had seen at home. I had to be practical when it came to how I dressed, and I only wore the steel cage to town and to church. In my daily life, such garments were unfeasible. When I had undressed completely, leaving only a chemise,
a pile of frilly white things were draped over the chair. I found my nightclothes in a drawer, and Frank turned his back while I changed. Then I washed my face and hands with tepid water. Crawling into bed, I listened to the rain hitting the dormer windows.

  “We’re getting a good soaking.”

  “The roof seems to be holding.” He turned the lamp down. Then he slid next to me, his nose near my neck. “You smell sweet.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Hands were suddenly on me. “Oh, Frank. I have my monthly.”

  “We’ll be…careful.”

  I pushed against him, intrigued yet worried over the possible mess. “You’re incorrigible. Stop that.”

  “Kiss me.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “No.”

  “Pretty please with molasses on top?”

  “We should get to sleep. We’re up so early.”

  The bed creaked with the weight of his body, as he was now on top of me. “I’m stealing the kisses then. You’ve been warned.”

  “Oh, you—” I giggled, enjoying teasing him, although I knew I would give in. Our lips met, breaths mingling, as things suddenly became far more heated.

  ***

  The barn door slamming must have woken me. Frank had gone out to milk the cow. Rolling over in bed, I stretched, arching my back, relieved to know that most of my chores had been completed during the week. There was breakfast to be made, but, other than food preparation, I would be free to sew, and I had several exciting projects planned. I got up to look out the window.

  The storm had left a thin blanket of white over the newly planted trees and the shrubs that surrounded the house. The skies had cleared already, but islands of fluffy clouds remained in the sky. The weather in Colorado was unpredictable, as storms moved in quickly and left the next day. It was rare that it rained more than two days in a row.

  I had dressed, wearing a simple calico outfit with an apron, fixing my hair into a tight bun that would loosen as the day wore on. In the kitchen, I made biscuits with warm maple syrup for dunking and scrambled eggs with bacon. A teapot was on the table, with dainty cups. My kitchen was a big square with a wooden table and four chairs in the center. Frank had built shelves, but they were crudely implemented. One day, I wished to return to New York and retrieve some furnishings my mother was keeping for me, but it would be difficult without a direct train route.

  “That’s done then.” Frank appeared at the door, his hat covered in a dusting of snow. “Here’s the milk.” He handed me a metal bucket; the handle was freezing.

  “Thank you.”

  “Something smells delicious.”

  “Sit and have some. Here are the eggs.” I placed a plate in the center of the table. “We need one of the chickens for dinner tonight.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he grinned.

  Wiping my hands on the apron, I joined him, pouring tea into a cup. “What are your plans today?”

  “Well, after I kill a few more prairie dogs, I’ll measure out the new bunkhouse.”

  I sat back in the chair. “Leave those poor animals alone. Good gosh. They’re adorable, the way they stand up on their mounds. They’ve probably built tunnels underground, don’t you think?”

  “They’re vermin. They carry disease, honey.”

  “What do we need a bunkhouse for?”

  “I can’t do the farming alone. I need help getting the field ready for planting. If I hire people, they can stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to wait until harvest to pay wages. They can work for room and board.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m thinking of buying more cows. We got a hundred and twenty acres. It’s fertile ground, honey. I’m hoping to cultivate at least thirty acres for corn, wheat, and potatoes.”

  “My goodness. This sounds serious.” This was the first I had heard of it.

  “I want a smokehouse too. Those pigs are awfully tasty that way. Whatever we don’t eat, we can sell for profit.”

  A hint of a smile toyed around the edges of my mouth. My husband wasn’t raised in the country; his family had lived in New York City most of their lives. From the expression on his face, it was obvious that he relished the idea of self-sufficiency. He enjoyed getting his hands dirty and building things, although some of the walls in the house weren’t entirely plumb. However, he had made a fine roof that kept the water off our heads. I could forgive a crooked wall or two, because once I put up the wallpaper, no one would be the wiser.

  “Come harvest, we should see a profit. We’ll get our money back. Don’t you worry.”

  I placed a hand over his. “I’m not worried. I just can’t believe how lucky I am. You’ve given me so much, Frank.”

  He squeezed my fingers. “I’d do anything for you, Hannah. I’m sorry I took you away from everything you’ve ever known, but this is our opportunity to make something of ourselves. I look around at the house, and I’m proud. It’s the first real thing I’ve ever built. Once the baby comes, we’ll be a family.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  Chapter Three

  I was in a rush Sunday morning, hastily ironing Frank’s shirt. He had gone out to the barn to milk the cow, while I had gotten breakfast ready. On his return, he brought back a basket full of eggs.

  “We should sell some of these. We can’t eat them all, honey.”

  “I know.”

  He’d gone upstairs, his feet thumping on the ceiling above my head. I had to finish the shirt and fix my hair, wanting to look my best. I had struggled to get to sleep last night wondering what Adaline and Sally wanted to discuss. It seemed to be an important matter. When I finished the chore, I left the iron on the stove and went to Frank, who sat on the end of the bed, polishing his shoes.

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “I have to get dressed.”

  “Pay me no mind.” I glanced at him over my shoulder, and he winked at me. “I do so love your naked shoulders.”

  “Oh, don’t say another word, mister. Not on the Lord’s day.”

  “All right, but you know I'm thinking about it.”

  “Oh, shush.”

  He chuckled in reply.

  My husband’s libido was a formidable…pleasure…and I shouldn't dwell on it either, or else I’d arrive for the service with a flushed face and I wouldn't be able to look anyone in the eye. Once dressed and ready, we hurried from the house, having already taken too long. It was imperative that we weren’t late. The wagon had been prepared, and the horse was waiting. I sat on the wooden bench, smoothing my skirts, which billowed out before me, exposing the ruffled edges of the petticoat.

  When we were near Denver City, we passed Jason Franklin’s farm. He stood on the front porch, a revolver firmly in hand, while his wife, Laura waved. While their dogs barked up a storm, I waved back. “Good morning!” I called.

  “Good morning!”

  Frank took the reins with one hand, waving. “He looks like he had lemons for breakfast.”

  “That he does,” I giggled.

  There was a chill in the air, my jacket barely kept me warm, and, if it weren’t for my Indian shawl, I’d have frozen all the way through. We were early for the service, Frank wanting to prepare his sermon in peace and quiet, while I swept the floors and dusted the pews.

  I left the front door open, although the breeze was frosty. I sat three rows from the pulpit, to the right, and waited for the room to fill in. Miners came with their wives, although most were single men, as their families waited back east. There were several newly married couples, and strangers I had never seen before. The Ross’s and the Higgins arrived together, sitting across the aisle from me, the men removing their hats upon entering. The town doctor, Samuel Caldwell, and his wife, Rhoda, arrived as well, although her chin was raised slightly higher than everyone else’s.

  I wouldn’t let myself glance over my shoulder, as it was impolite to turn and stare at others in
church. I remained as composed and at peace as I felt, waiting for my husband to take the pulpit and begin the sermon. He’d prepared for more than an hour, scribbling notes on a piece of paper, and holding places within the Bible for reference. When he emerged at last, the murmur of voices dimmed, and he began to speak. I adored his voice, the appealing baritone that I had come to know so well. Frank read from Exodus 33:12-23, which I hadn’t expected. My husband was in fine spirits today, not only because his eyes sparkled with happiness, but he was surprisingly passionate in the delivery, imparting upon the importance of goodness, benevolence, and mercy.

  After the hymns had concluded, we got to our feet, my back aching from having to sit so straight. While Frank talked with several parishioners, I made my way over to Adaline, who stood with Sally.

  “That was a lovely sermon,” said Adaline. “You must be so proud of your husband. For someone so young, he has quite a presence.”

  “He’s in rare form this morning.”

  “You’ll be joining us for tea, soon, won’t you?” asked Sally.

  “Of course. I just have to finish up here, and I’ll be right over.”

  “We’ll be waiting for you.” Adaline’s heavily trimmed bonnet was tied with a black ribbon just under her throat. “Don't be late. You don’t want to miss my famous Old-Fashioned Short Cake. It’s divine.”

  My stomach rumbled. “I won’t. It sounds wonderful.”

  Twenty minutes later, I bid my husband farewell and hurried from the church, grasping the shawl, as the wind wanted to snatch it away. Boisterous music from the saloon was accompanied by ruckus laughter, as the miners inside drank and gambled their earnings away. Worse was the brothel across the street, but I would not dare gaze upon that house, especially not on a Sunday. The mercantile was open, although the shop was closed, but the Higgins’ lived on the second floor, with the kitchen at the back. Knowing I was expected, I took to the stairs, finding Sally and Adaline seated alongside the doctor’s wife, Rhoda Caldwell, in a pretty parlor. A short table was filled with adorable crockery: dainty teacups, flower etched plates, and a rounded teapot of the same pattern. I sighed at the sight, because porcelain was a weakness of mine.