by Carré White
“Never had kids.”
My sister approached. “I’ll take your plate, Willow.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re doing just fine in the kitchen. Don't you worry about a thing.” She glanced at Guss. “Can I get you more coffee, sir?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Certainly.”
After she had gone, he asked, “Are you the older one?”
“Yes.”
“Not as talkative either, eh?”
“No, sir.”
“Why the shyness?”
“Guess…I’m just not so sociable.”
“Well, that’s all right. Some men like to be listened to. A friend of mine’s wife used to holler at him from sunup to sundown.” He grinned, his humor returning. “Boy, you could hear her across the cornfield sometimes, especially when she was riled up. She’s probably still yellin’ at him now.” His gaze skimmed over my face, his expression unreadable. “I bet once you’re married, you might holler a time or two yourself.”
Leona returned, handing a steaming mug to Guss. “There you are, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No. We’re good.”
After she left, I said, “Well, I ought to get back to work.”
“What is your age, if I may ask?”
“Eighteen.”
“You look younger.”
How could he tell with the marks on my face? “I’m not that young.”
“I sure look forward to dinner. Breakfast was delicious.” He patted his belly, grinning.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
He placed the napkin on the table. “It’s time to see about a job. If I can find somethin’ here, I might stay a while. Who can say. Life has a funny way of leading you in the right direction sometimes.”
“There are plenty of jobs prospecting, sir.”
“I imagine so. It’s not as sustainable though. The free gold will run out eventually, and then it’ll be harder to get. I’ve seen the inside of a mine. It’s hard work. Toilin’ all day in the damp, cold darkness. They use mules in there, you know. Those mules go blind after a while.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Lost some friends in those places. Bad timbering let the chamber collapse, killing ten men.” He seemed to turn within himself for a moment; his eyes were unfocused.
Before he was able to speak again, my mother approached. “Willow, my dear. I see you’ve had a breakfast companion.” She smiled at Guss. “My daughter rarely comes out of the kitchen, sir. It’s good to see her in the dining room.”
“She’s been pleasant company, Mrs. Brady.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She held out her hand.
“Guss Hindman.”
“Are you just passing through to other parts or will you prospect here?”
“Not too sure, ma’am. I’m exploring my options.”
“Our mayor, Arthur Walden, might have some suggestions for you, if you wish to speak to him. I can introduce you.”
“Thank you kindly, but I’ll just take a gander around, and then think on things.”
“Are you here with your family?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Oh, I see. It’s a hardship to travel west alone. So many men leave loved ones behind. We’ve seen a lot of that, haven’t we, Willow?”
“Yes, Ma.”
“Perhaps your family will join you once you’re settled.”
“Coffins don’t travel so well, Mrs. Brady.”
“I…what?” She hadn’t been expecting that.
“My wife’s passed on.” His affable countenance had vanished.
He was about to stand, but instinct took over, and I reached for his hand, squeezing it. “I’m sorry, sir.”
I’d surprised him, as he jerked his head in my direction. “It’s quite all right, Willow. Not all of us are blessed with longevity. She was my faithful companion for twenty years. I’ve no right to complain.”
Chapter Three
It was the oddest thing. After breakfast, I found myself humming a tune softly, the music drifting through my mind. Most of the dinner preparations were made in advance, with special consideration given to the number of people occupying rooms. The meal would be served at six.
When it seemed everything was in hand, I took that moment to freshen up, removing the apron and washing my face and hands in my room. Leona was with mother, helping the maid, Milly, while Ellen was outside smoking tobacco.
My mood today was due to a combination of things. Firstly, the conversation with Mr. Hindman had been a pleasant surprise. He was an affable man. He did not show any sign of revulsion when looking at me. It was almost as if I were…normal. The other reason I was in good spirits was that the overland freighters would arrive today, bringing with them a person I had secretly set my cap at. But, William Stanford would never deem me worthy of being his wife, especially since he was devoted to the town beauty, Cybele Houston.
None of that mattered at the moment, as I hurried from the room, determined to catch a glimpse of the elusive Mr. Stanford, who had been gone for nearly three months. He worked for Majors and Russell now, although he once said that, after he married, he would obtain a homestead near Dry Creek and settle down.
I’d worn an especially big bonnet, my favorite, because it hid most of my face. Using the servant’s staircase, I descended quickly, my boots clomping on the hard wood. I was outside in a matter of seconds, taking a back exit. The kitchen garden was located here, enclosed by a wooden fence, which kept the hungry rabbits at bay. The beauty of the day was not to be understated, the sweet smell of grass and wild flowers filling my lungs along with the stench from the outhouse. Having so many guests had left its mark on the little building.
I stood by the fence near the edge of the yard, peering out onto the thoroughfare, although it was quiet at the moment. There were businesses on either side, a bakery, a mercantile, carpentry shops, and other assorted establishments, including the post office. Narrow alleyways separated the wooden buildings, while white tents that belonged to miners were scattered far and wide. Men stood over cooking fires, while others tended to their animals. The better off travelers could afford a room at an establishment such as ours, but most were determined to save every dollar, and three dollars a day was a good wage for a miner.
My wait wasn’t long, as I glimpsed the approaching wagons, looking formidable with their teams of sixteen oxen. The ruckus brought out several people, most of whom I recognized and even more from the post office and saloon. There was Gertrude Harper, who owned the mercantile, and Susanna Smith, wife of Sheriff Smith. A tall, thin woman moved among them, peering down the street. I knew her instantly, and, although I was far from where she was, I recalled her pretty blue eyes and peaches and cream complexion.
William brought the conveyance to a standstill, the wagon bulging with crates and covered in a stained cotton cloth. He had a traveling companion, who took the reins, as William jumped to the ground, rushing towards where Cybele was. It was impossible to turn away now, having to witness their joyous reunion, as he drew her into his arms. She cried loudly, the sound echoing. Although their lips did not meet, his did connect with her cheek, kissing her several times on the face. The unloading of the wagon had already begun, eager business owners wanting their merchandise at once, although the man holding the reins shouted at them.
“You mustn’t take anything yet! I’ve an inventory to manage!”
Cybele’s bonnet had fallen to her back, exposing the breathtaking beauty of her face. Tears streamed down her perfect cheeks, while William held her close. Why I persisted in torturing myself like this, I did not know. They had been my classmates. I’d known them my entire life. They had seen me before illness had ravaged my person, nearly ending my life in the process. Somewhere in their memories, they knew what I looked like beneath these old, discolored scars.
The memories…
When I was nine-years-old, William had held my hand behind a tree once, saying, “Willow, you’re the prettiest girl in town.”
“Do you really think so?” I batted my eyelashes at him.
“Indeed. Someday, when I’m older, I’ll ask you to marry me. I’ve given it a great deal of thought, and I do believe we’d get on rather well.”
“When will that happen?”
“When you’re eighteen, and once I’ve made my fortune. I’ll build you a lovely house, and then we can settle and live happily ever after.”
“With animals?”
“Yes, of course, silly. We’ll need a horse for the wagon and a cow for milking.”
“I’d love a cat. I adore them.”
“Then you shall have as many as you want. We’ll need them to kill the mice in the barn.”
“You have it all figured out, William.”
He nodded affirmatively. “Yes, I do.”
His face, even then, had been filled with freckles, the tiny kind that bespoke of hours spent in the sun. We had been inseparable, entirely devoted to one another, and the strictest of confidants. He had told me about how he had seen his father cavorting with a “painted lady” once, spying him entering a parlour house one night. He’d never revealed this to anyone else, especially his mother. I had given him a lock of my hair, tying a satin ribbon around it for safekeeping. He had lent me a handkerchief, which I had forgotten to return. It was embroidered with his family’s initials in the corner. I was in possession of that scrap of linen still, tucked away in a wooden box with all the other things I held dear and did not wish to lose.
A year later, while I struggled to survive, my lungs filling with choking mucus, my love had been stolen away. While I lay infirm, Cybele had charmed him. Her father owned the Houston Lumber Yard, and they were one of the premiere families in town, which appealed to William’s father, who prided himself on being an astute and upwardly mobile businessman.
After I had recovered, he had come to see me, bravely gazing upon my face, although it was painfully obvious he no longer considered me the most beautiful girl in town. There were stars in his eyes still, but they were for Cybele. As with so many of the dreams I once had, this one died that day, as did all the others, until there were none left. I had accepted that I would never marry, nor have children, and I had thought I had made peace with it. But, the desire for romantic love continued to prick me. It was like the scab over a sore that would not heal.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” I whispered. “At least you have your life. So many died. Be grateful you suffered the lesser of the infections.” When I had been diagnosed, there were others in town who had also contracted the disease, but theirs was worse, with larger pustules and bruising beneath the skin. They had all perished as a result.
Mother had said, “God spared you, Willow. Through His grace, you’re alive, my dear. Whenever you gaze upon yourself from this day out, you must remember how lucky you are.”
I hated giving in to these moments of self-pity, but they were a weakness I had yet to master. I tried my best to appear unaffected by my condition. I knew I was lucky. Even the doctor had found my recovery nothing short of miraculous, especially considering that everyone around me had perished. None of my family had died, nor my friends. There was no reason to be melancholy, even though the boy I had loved had found happiness elsewhere. I would have to carve out my own life wherever I could.
Taking a deep breath, I gazed at the greenness of the vegetable garden, glimpsing the perfection of the cucumbers and tomatoes. Beauty came in many forms, and, although I might not look the way I ought to, I could still find something to admire, even in the mirror.
“Willow!” called Ellen. “These mince pies won’t make themselves.”
“Sorry.” I hurried towards her. “I needed some air.”
“I’ll open a window in the kitchen.”
I laughed, surprised that I wasn’t unhappy now, especially after witnessing William and Cybele’s tender reunion. Taking a moment to remember to be grateful had alleviated the pity. I would be far too busy over the course of the afternoon to bother with these useless emotions anyhow.
As the suppertime crowd began to file in, dozens of small mince pies, hidden within a thick, flaky crust were ready for consumption. These were filled with tender beef, vegetables, and a sauce that held hints of lemon brandy, cloves, and other seasonings. It was one of my favorite recipes and easy to dole out, because each person was given a plate with a pie and collard greens. The hardy fare was surprisingly filling. Dessert was baked Indian Pudding, which we had also made in advance. Each diner received a large ladle of the softened, sweetened mixture with a dollop of heavy cream.
Ellen stacked the dishes, wiping her hands on an apron. “I’m goin’ to eat now. We’ll start on these in a bit. Come sit with me.”
Exhausted, I held a cup of coffee. “Goodness, I’m tired.”
“There are pies left over. Have one.”
“I will.”
She drove a fork through the browned crust, bringing a heaping morsel to her mouth, while chewing. “Hum….”
“Is it good?”
“Ommm…”
“I guess that’s an affirmative answer,” I laughed.
“I try not to be jealous of you.”
“What?”
“I thought I was skilled in the kitchen. I’ve mastered sausages and sauerkraut and any variety of breads, but you’ve a natural ability with seasonings, girl. Even the simplest sauces you make have more than one taste. It’s the strangest thing.”
I shrugged. “You can’t go wrong with cinnamon. It’s my secret weapon.”
“Yes, but too much ruins it, and you can’t taste too little. That takes skill.”
“I suppose.” A shadow appeared in the doorway, startling me.
Mr. Hindman stood with his hat in his hands. “Miss Brady. Might I have a word?”
I got to my feet. “Of course. Is something wrong?”
It was odd, but I wasn’t self-conscious about my face at the moment, worrying more that I had ruined his pie. Ellen cared less about this recent development, concentrating on the food before her. We stood in the hallway, as the noise from the dining room reached us.
“I wanted to thank you for the excellent meal.” His grin was pleasing, although it wrinkled his face. “I wish I could stay longer, but I’m leaving in the morning. I’ve decided to give prospecting a try. I might strike it rich.”
“I wish you luck, sir.”
“I’m going to miss your cooking. It’s the best I’ve ever had in my life.”
That was quite a compliment. “Thank you.”
“When I come back, I hope I can stay here again.” He glanced in the direction of the dining room. “Lots of folks like this place. The beds aren’t too lumpy. There’s no bedbugs that I can tell and the water’s clear. Can’t ask for more than that.”
“I’m glad you’ve found your stay here pleasant.”
“It is.” His gaze was upon me. “It’s been real nice talking to you, Willow. You’re a shy little thing, but I’m hoping once you get to know me, that’ll change.” There was a husky timbre in his tone, which I had not heard before.
I stared at him, wondering at the strange tingle in my belly. “I-I’m not as shy around family, sir.”
“Maybe one day, you’ll consider me family?” I wasn’t sure how I would respond to that, and, while I was tongue-tied and flustered, he grinned. “You take care now, you hear?”
“I will.”
He placed the hat on his head, hiding unruly, thick hair. “Time for some shuteye. It’s been a long day.” With that, he strode down the hall, taking a set of stairs and disappearing from sight.
Chapter Four
Leona sat on the edge of the bed, her expression thoughtful. “You never did say what you and Mr. Hindman talked about.”
My hair was in my hands, being braided. “Not much really.”
“He’
s handsome in a miner sort of way, don’t you think?”
“A miner sort of way?” I laughed. “What does that mean?”
“In a hardworking, rough way. He’s been outdoors a great deal.”
“Most men are.”
“It’s unfortunate he’s married. I thought he might ask to court you. It’s always a shame when the good ones are taken.”
“His wife died, Leona. That’s why he came west.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” She bit her lip. “Well…that’s interesting…”
“It doesn't matter. He’s gone now.”
“I know, but he’ll come back. Once he’s done looking for gold, he’ll be around again.”
“Why that should be a concern of mine, escapes me completely.”
“Can’t you see it?”
“See what?”
“He’s in love with your cooking. It’s only a matter of time before you charm him with your personality.”
I laughed heartily, the sound filling the room.
“Now, why are you chortling like a fish monger? I mean what I say. I’ve been observing men most of my life. He’s sweet on you.”
I laughed even louder now.
She pushed me playfully. “Stop that! You’ll wake everyone!”
“It’s not my love life you should be worried about. You’re in need of your own beau, Leona.”
“Bosh.” She stood, wandering over to the mirror. “There’s no one in town who interests me.”
“What about Dusty Makepeace or John Harman? They’re suitable candidates.”
“No, thank you.” She held a brush, peering at the ivory handle. “John’s going east soon and Dusty’s prone to drinking.”
“What about Pastor Lloyd’s son, Benjamin? He’s a fine fellow.”
“He’s smitten with Penny Cook.”