“It’s inside this room.” Jack’s rigid tone matched his stance. “I’ll find it.”
Birdie yanked free of Maybelle’s grasp and rushed to his side. “I’ll help you. What kind of box are we looking for?”
The tension in Jack’s shoulders eased. “A small blue one.”
Horatio huffed in indignation. “A travel case’s small size is part of its grandeur. This particular gentleman’s grooming set is a work of art. Each piece is crafted from ornate French Guylock.”
“Guilloché,” Birdie corrected.
Horatio scowled at her. “What?”
“The pronunciation is Guilloché.”
“Whatever. The box is priceless. The hand mirror itself is worth hundreds.”
Priceless but he could still assign a dollar value. Birdie strove to keep her expression neutral.
“What if someone stole it?” Horatio demanded.
Birdie fought another battle not to fidget when his stare stayed on her. Was he insinuating that she’d done the deed?
Horatio’s gaze went to the empty spot beside him. He blinked as if startled until his skittering gaze found Maybelle. “What are you doing so far away from me?”
She made a grand show of sashaying back to his side and linking her arm with his.
“Much better.” He gave her hand a primly awkward pat. “Now, tell me, did you see a bride behaving suspiciously on yesterday’s journey?”
Maybelle’s chin rose to a haughty angle. “Most definitely.”
“Which ones?”
“All of them.”
“Oh, the travesties abound!” Horatio clutched his chest in horror, but his eyes shone with glee. “If I were not so busy a man, I would report their deplorable behavior in my paper as well.”
“You are too good for this town, Horatio.”
“I tell myself that at least a dozen times a day.”
Horatio and Maybelle maintained a constant stream of conversation while she and Jack searched.
Jack handed her a small bag of letters. “Can you put these in the top drawer directly behind you? We’ll sort them later.”
When she opened the drawer, a shiny enamel box—the color of a robin’s egg—lay there.
“Jack,” she said in a hushed voice, not wanting to alert Horatio to her find. “Is this—?”
“Has it been there the entire time?” Horatio boomed like a cannon as he reached across the counter for the box.
Jack shoved a leather-bound journal between the man and his target. He flipped it open and jabbed the page with his index finger. “You know the rules. Sign the ledger first.”
Gus snorted a laugh. “My grandson’s a stickler for details. You should appreciate that, Horatio.”
With a flamboyant flourish, the newspaperman wrote his name.
“It is a beautiful box,” Birdie remarked, wishing to fill the stilted silence. “A calming blue.”
“A royal blue fit for a king.”
Birdie bit her lip against correcting him again.
“Isn’t that a darker, more vibrant shade?” Maybelle surveyed her with sudden envy. “Like the color of her dress.”
Horatio’s Adam’s apple bobbed as if he realized his mistake. “My box,” he stated loudly, “is a hundred times more regal than the vulgar pattern on her dress.”
Birdie flinched liked she’d been cut. It’d been a long time since anyone criticized one of her creations, especially one she wanted so desperately to find favor.
“You’re right, of course,” Maybelle rushed to say. “My vision was overpowered by the dreary clutter of my surroundings.”
“One too drab. The other too showy.” Horatio stared down his nose at her as he stroked his mustache.
It wouldn’t take much to clip his arrogance. Seamstresses often made good barbers. Her hand went to the scissors waiting in her sewing chatelaine.
“The only thing more beautiful than Miss Bell’s dress,” Jack replied in the firm tone he’d eventually come to use with his grandfather, “is Miss Bell.”
Birdie felt her jaw drop along with Horatio and Maybelle’s.
“You are lucky you found my box.” Horatio steered Maybelle toward the door. “I was a heartbeat away from reporting you to Sheriff Draven.”
The air in Birdie’s lungs vanished.
Jack slammed the door closed behind the departing pair. She clutched the counter to stop herself from leaving as well. If she ran out, she’d definitely get the attention she craved from Jack—but for the wrong reason.
Gus patted her shoulder. “Ignore Horatio. He’s all bluster ’n no substance.”
Jack moved to the window. He was the perfect height to see what she could not. “I need to talk to Draven before our newspaperman, or someone else, does.”
Birdie gasped in disbelief. “But your grandfather said—”
“I keep forgetting things,” Gus interrupted in a glum voice. “Like this family doesn’t need another thief making a mess of things.”
“Grandpa,” Jack said with a sigh. “Nothing has been stolen, and messes can be cleaned up. Look at how Birdie helped tidy our office and find Horatio’s box. The most important thing is that we work together.”
How could he talk so calmly? Even an accusation of dishonest behavior could ruin a person’s standing in a community. The Peregrines’ fortunes could plummet as quickly as hers had.
Jack went back to searching the stacks of freight. “We’ll find the rest of the Christmas Eve shipment.”
The news that they hadn’t found everything sent a chill up her spine. “How much more is missing?”
“Only a handful of small items. Their size is probably why we haven’t located them. But they’re in this office. Somewhere.” His perplexed frown was at odds with his confident tone. When he glanced her way, and found her staring at him, he gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m not concerned and neither should you be.”
The worry lines on his face told her differently.
She pulled a random dress from the line, claimed a seat by the stove, threaded a needle, and sought her own serenity. Making a dress usually settled her nerves and allowed her to see a way forward. If she could concentrate on her work, her path might become clear again.
Jack’s footsteps came toward her and stopped by her side.
She didn’t look up. She kept sewing and struggling to breathe normally.
“I couldn’t have tackled today without you, Birdie. Thank you.”
His kind words made her throat tighten. She had to swallow several times before she could speak. “I’m always glad when I can help.”
“Would you like to…” his voice lowered to a husky murmur, “…join me for a meal at Nacho’s Diner now?”
She shook her head. “I need to finish this dress.”
“You need to eat eventually as well.”
“Maybe later.”
“You found a buyer for the garment? That was quick.” He edged a step closer to her.
Probably to get a better look at her handiwork. It’d be foolish to crave something else.
“Is that why you need to complete it now?” he asked.
Why was he suddenly so interested in a dress? And why had he only commented on the one she wore after Horatio had insulted it? He’d called her beautiful. Was she merely a possession that a man needed to defend and parade on his arm like doll? She’d seen too many of those women pass through her dress shop in Denver.
Not for the first time, she wished she had a friend she could talk with freely. Other than Jack and Gus, the only people in Noelle whom she’d had a genuine conversation with were Mrs. Walters and Pearl. Maybe Pearl being a resident of Noelle could explain Jack’s behavior. Even if Pearl couldn’t, it’d be a relief to share her worries. Not all of them of course, but a few.
“I’m not selling this dress. I’m giving it away.”
“That’s very kind of you. Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Hopefully a new friend.” If she told him she wished to win
Pearl’s friendship, would he forbid her from attempting to befriend a fallen woman? Many people considered them no better than thieves and their abettors. Unredeemable souls. Like the Bellamy family.
“What do you mean by hopefully?”
“Why are you badgering me with so many questions?” She tried to sew faster. She needed to finish this dress and get back to La Maison. She pricked her finger on her needle and winced.
Jack captured her hands and held her still. “Birdie, please slow down. I know Gus and I aren’t a perfect family but if you give us a chance, I promise I’ll look after you. I want you to eat and rest. I need you to stay strong.”
She waited for him to mention vows and marriage.
When he didn’t, she pulled her hands from his. “What did Horatio mean when he said you’d installed me in your brother’s place?”
“Max makes his own creations. He worked on them beside Grandpa Gus while I labored in my carpentry shop. Your shelf replaced the one I built for Max. That’s all.”
Of course! This was why he hadn’t spoken of their marriage since her arrival. She’d misread the way he’d studied her. Jack only wanted her as a helpmate for his business and his grandfather. He didn’t really want to marry her. But he’d have to save the town and his livelihood.
She bowed her head to hide the tears stinging her eyes, and hugged the dress tight. All she had was her work. She rose to her feet. “It’s time I returned to La Maison.”
The dress could be completed there just as easily as here. Then what? She didn’t want to run out of work distractions, so she gathered a selection of fabrics and notions that might form a dress for Kezia’s sweet baby Jem.
Jack frowned at the load in her arms. “Let me carry that for you. We’re walking together, remember?”
She’d promised she’d do that. She donned her coat quickly. Jack pulled his on much more slowly. As soon as he got the door opened, he reached to take the items from her arms.
He also cast a worried look at Gus.
Outside on the street, she glimpsed a pair of brides heading the way she needed to go. “I’ll walk with them. That way I won’t be alone and neither will your grandfather.”
His arm shot out to block the doorway and her escape. “Are you running away from me, Birdie?”
She wished he’d wrap his arms around her and never let go. She shook her head, rejecting her foolish longings.
His voice lowered to a husky whisper as he leaned closer to her. “Tell me that you want me to come and visit you tomorrow at La Maison.”
“You ask for too much.” She ducked under his arm and raced away before he could stop her from joining the brides who, unlike her, still had the hope of adding love to their lives.
CHAPTER 7
The 2nd day of Christmas
December 26, 1876
Birdie raised the hood of her coat, bowed her head and plowed into a chill headwind as she left La Maison and slogged through the snow toward Peregrines’ Post. She clutched her newest creation against her chest when another stab of unease pricked her conscience.
Her mother’s words rose from her memories along with a dusting of snow disturbed by her strides. Sewing while upset often results in unwelcome creations.
No turning back now.
At least her sewing had calmed her enough to face another day in Noelle. Or maybe it had been Jack’s question about running away from him. Her feet may have scurried to La Maison but her entire body balked at going any farther.
In the early morning, the street was shrouded by slowly brightening skies over a blanket of white. A peaceful vista but not hushed like yesterday. A deep rhythmic pounding beat like a drum, echoing down the street from the higher ground at the mine.
She breathed easier when she once again passed the jail without incident. By Cobb’s Penn, the dry goods store, she glimpsed a thin figure peering in the window. A puff of red hair tipped in white frost shone like a beacon below the man’s flat cap and above his raised collar.
She angled her course to join Gus. She was glad to see him and have an excuse to stop and catch her breath. “Good morning, Gus—I mean, Grandpa. You’re out early today. What are you shopping for?”
He shot her a glance then turned back to the window. His usual grin from yesterday was absent. “I’m late, aren’t I?”
“For what?”
“Escorting you to our office. I somehow ended up talking to Doc Deane.” He gestured over his shoulder. “His clinic is across the street.”
A worried frown pinched her brow. “Is everything all right with—” She’d been about to say “your health,” but stopped herself in time. Gus probably got pestered about his well-being more than he liked. “The doctor appeared flustered the day we came to town. How is he today?”
When they’d arrived at the saloon on Christmas Eve, she hadn’t known that Noelle had a doctor. She’d learned about Doctor Deane after she’d watched him greet his bride, the flame-haired Cara Donnelly, by kissing her twice and calling her darling. He’d also called her by a different last name.
“Doc must have woman challenges,” Gus replied. “That explains our peculiar conversation a moment ago. He shoulda asked for my advice or spoke to my grandson. Jack has everything firmly in hand.”
Surprise held her momentarily speechless. “Jack said that?”
“He agreed that he needed to brush up on his manners, ’n that it ain’t a good time for anyone to be out alone.”
And yet Gus had stood alone on the street gazing in the shop window.
“Did Jack say anything else this morning?” Or had Gus wandered out without a word again?
When Gus didn’t answer her question, she stomped her feet to shake off the snow and warm her toes. “I haven’t seen a winter like this in a long time.” A pair of snowshoes inside the store had her pressing her nose eagerly against the glass. She hadn’t worn them since her youth. They would make walking in the snow much easier.
“The drifts get deepest beyond the trees. You shouldn’t go there. Or so Jack is always telling me. We’d best get back to him.” Gus offered his arm gallantly, but his expression remained subdued.
With their arms linked, she slowed her pace to match Gus’ as they trudged together through the snow toward Peregrines’ Post. What had he been thinking about to make him stare so intently in the store window? And how firm were Jack’s hands for handling women challenges?
The last question made her jittery with anticipation and anxiety. She summoned a smile and said, “It must be disconcerting having this many women descend upon a town.”
“The more women the better.”
“Even women like Maybelle?” she queried, hoping to coax a smile from him.
She was rewarded with a belly laugh.
Gus’ delight continued as he winked at her and patted her hand. “Yer sweet but you also got sass. I like that. But everyone’s different. I appreciate that as well. Even if I don’t always say so. Standing outside the store, I was recalling how my Willa loved peppermint but our daughter, Ginny, hated it. I once had as many women around me as men.”
Her heart ached for his loss. She wasn’t the only one missing family. “Oh Grandpa, I wish— I wish life were kinder.”
“Me too. But that starts with people. Unfortunately, too many are like Maybelle ’n Horatio.”
She strove for a lighter topic. “What’s your advice for a happy marriage?”
His back straightened like a well-trained soldier as he said, “Listen to yer wife. Do as she says. She’s always right.” His posture relaxed as he paused. “Or at least my Willa was. As were Ginny and her friend, Esther, who married our son, George, and gave us Jack and Max. I was never sure about Lorena though.”
“Who is Lorena?”
“She was…different as well.”
His vague answer made her study him closely as she waited for him to say more. When his whole body sagged, she clutched his arm tighter.
“The good Lord took them from us much to
o early,” he whispered.
She’d experienced no victories for keeping loved ones safe. All she knew how to do was take care of herself. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something to ease Gus’ worries, but he spoke before she could.
“I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” Gus tightened his hold on her as well. “Now, watch yer step. It’s slippery here sometimes.”
Here being the porch of Peregrines’ Post and Freight. The walk had gone quickly with Gus by her side.
The door flew open and Jack filled the doorway, once again looking wild-haired but better than any man had a right to—especially at this early hour. His frown turned to wide-eyed astonishment when he saw her. “You came back.” He glanced at Gus and heaved a sigh. “And you found him.”
Gus snorted. “I found her, because I went looking for her.”
“I asked you to wait here until I—”
“You were moving too slow.”
“I was preparing breakfast. A task you insisted upon in case anyone”—his gaze cut briefly to her—“showed up unexpectedly. Then you slipped out unexpectedly and alone and—”
“Time alone can help with perspective,” Birdie said, recalling her night at La Maison away from Jack, and other memories as well. “During the winter of my eleventh year I walked two miles to school every day with only a pair of snowshoes for company.”
Jack’s lips parted in surprise as he stared at her.
She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from sighing or grimacing. It was a challenge not to do both. Speaking without thinking came from pondering the past too much while loitering outside shop windows.
A slow smile curved Jack’s mouth as he propped his arm on the doorjamb and studied her. “Did you walk uphill both ways as well?”
Was he teasing her? “That doesn’t seem likely.”
“What if your home and your school were on hills with a valley separating them?”
She narrowed her gaze on him. “How often does that happen?”
He leaned even closer to her. “For other people, probably not often. But it was my walk to school when I was a boy in Kentucky.”
The Calling Birds_The Fourth Day Page 5