by Zina Abbott
Catherine watched Andrea tear up. She hadn’t realized the quiet, young woman was so desperate to leave home. And she realized at that moment her words were more than an assurance for Andrea. They were true. Although she and Andrea had never been close friends, it would be comforting to have someone she knew from the town where she had lived all these years who could come with her so they could continue to be friends. They would have common memories they could share, including those concerning her Aunt Sophie.
“You would really do that for me? You would help me get away from the ranch so I can marry and have a family?”
“Yes. What are friends for?” Then, giving Andrea a quick hug, Catherine looked her in the eye. “I know how your pa is, Andrea. And, I don’t want to alarm you, but when you’ve come to town, I’ve noticed how that ranch foreman your pa has looks at you. It’s only a matter of time before he wants to court you. He’s way too old and uncouth for you. I’d hate to see you end up with someone like him.”
The more Catherine thought about it, the more she wondered if Lloyd McCreary had already started making advances on Andrea, and if that was why she now wanted to leave home. Now was not the time to ask her about it. Andrea would tell her later if she wanted to confide in Catherine. Right now, she would focus on helping her friend. “Let’s go talk to the pastor and see if he has some paper and a pen or pencil in his office.”
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CHAPTER 5
~o0o~
Fully clothed, Harold Calloway lounged on his bunk, debating about walking over to the Corner Saloon to see if he could scare up a game of billiards with someone. His thoughts were interrupted when one of the Prosperity Mine owners, Royce Bainbridge, entered the bunkhouse. His loud, distinctive voice rang through the building. “I’ve got mail for you men. Anyone who is writing to their future brides needs to come read what their sweethearts have to tell them.”
Harold moved with a speed and agility that, due to his size, surprised most people. He was big-boned with a barrel chest. His thick arms had served him well when it came to swinging a pick in the mine. With his round jowly cheeks and thick neck, he knew a lot of people did not consider him particularly handsome in spite of his thick medium brown hair and blue eyes—eyes which many ladies had told him was his best feature. Regardless of what women had told him, when it came to other men, he knew he possessed the build and strength of a man that cannot be knocked down or bested in a fight, and that garnered him a certain degree of respect.
Harold was off his bunk and standing within a few feet of Royce in case there was another letter in the pile from Catherine.
Harold was writing to two ladies, Catherine Everett and Henrietta Crabtree, but it was Catherine he felt drawn to. It was her letters he looked forward to receiving, and her letters he quickly answered. With Henrietta, he wrote more out of obligation and to be polite.
Catherine’s letters were interesting and amusing. She had a way of taking the saddest, most distressful situations and writing about them with a spirit of hope shining through her words. She had told him all about caring for her aunt while the woman was sick, and how her louse of a cousin was forcing her from her home of many years. She had explained how her pastor had helped her with advertisements in various newspapers for help wanted. After looking at everything, she decided to sign up with the bridal agency. She preferred to be a wife and mother more than the other jobs available for single women.
Harold hoped she was as pretty as she described herself, although she had never said she was pretty. However, she had written she had wavy blonde hair and brown eyes. He liked blonde hair on a woman. She said she was thin, but strong, after spending years lifting and caring for her aunt plus cleaning and caring for the house and garden by herself. If she had told him she was a little heftier, Harold would not have complained. After all, he was no skinny fence post himself.
The prospect of having a thin, pretty woman by his side to protect excited him. And, considering who some of the miners were, some of whom shared this very bunkhouse, there might be times he would be called upon to protect a pretty young wife. She had told him she was twenty-four. Not the youngest of brides, but younger than he was by several years. Why no other man had snatched her up before him he had no idea. Perhaps it was because of her devotion to her aunt through years of illness. Now was not the time to worry about it. He’d know soon enough if he’d struck gold in this silver mining town, or ended up with a woman who looked like a pile of gangue, the worthless rock mixed in with a lode of precious metal.
No, I won’t allow myself to think that way. The way she writes, she has to be a beauty.
Royce held out a letter in Harold’s direction. “Only one for you today, Calloway.”
Harold nodded his thanks as he reached for the letter before any of the jokesters that lived in the bunkhouse could snatch it first. He held it to his nose and smiled. He didn’t have to look at the handwriting or read the return address to know it was from Catherine. He began to open it as he walked back to his bunk.
Someone scurried to his side and slightly behind him. Charlie. The man leaned forward long enough to take a deep whiff before Harold’s sweeping arm threatened to knock him off his feet. “Whew! Must be from Miss Rosewater again. Stinks like roses. No wonder your clothes smell so funny with you keeping them in the same chest with all them letters.”
Harold muttered to the man as he began to read Catherine’s missive. “Find something else to do, Charlie.”
Harold guessed Charlie to be somewhere in his late forties. The man claimed he had tried the married life once, but had no desire to do it again. That didn’t stop him from heckling the men who had signed up with the bridal agency.
Charlie refused to give up. “Anyone else writing to this same woman? Don’t recollect any of the rest of these galoots getting mail that smells like a rose garden.”
Harold lifted his eyes from the letter and perked up. He knew the woman who ran the bridal agency had set everyone up to write to at least two people. Even though in his mind he had already chosen Catherine, he knew he was writing to two, out of politeness, if nothing else. However, if another man was writing to his Catherine, he wanted to know who his competition was. He looked around at shrugging shoulders and blank expressions. If anyone knew, they weren’t saying.
“Maybe it’s Brinks. Since he don’t live here, his mail don’t come here.”
Harold looked over at Herbert Price, the miner who had made the comment. He considered Aaron Brinks. The man lived in a room above his parents’ mercantile. He was quiet, did his job well, and generally didn’t offend. He wasn’t as well-liked as many others, though. He never was found at the Silver Dollar saloon with its willing women that kept many of the single men at the mine happy. Only occasionally did he enter the Corner Saloon for a game of billiards, but it was impossible to get him to join a friendly game of cards anywhere.
Harold forced his face to show no reaction. What if Aaron Brinks was also writing to Catherine? The man was quiet, preferred to read rather than join the other men for a friendly beer after work. The way Catherine wrote, she seemed to be well-educated. Maybe she preferred the more scholarly type.
Herbert refused to leave it alone. “He’s a church-goer, too. Your lady, there, she like church boys, Harold?”
Bristling, Harold turned to the man. Yes, Catherine did like to attend church regularly. It was her pastor who had led her to signing up with the bridal agency and would help her get her belongings to the train when it was time. One of the concerns she had raised in her first letter was whether or not Jubilee Springs was big enough to have its own Protestant church. Harold had assured her she would feel right at home with Jeffrey and Minna Alwin who ran the Community Church.
“None of your business, Herbert. Besides, I’ve been known to show up at the church on a fairly regular basis. Maybe not every Sunday, but often enough the pastor knows my name.” Harold realized once he married
Catherine, he better plan on showing up to church every Sunday.
“Yeah, but Brinks and his folks show up there every single Sunday without fail, him always wearing that suit of his. He’s a regular monk.”
A disembodied voice from a bunk back in the far corner joined the conversation. “They don’t have monks at the Community Church. It’s Protestant.”
Herbert turned towards the corner with a retort. “Well, if they did have monks, he’d qualify. When he’s not working, all he does is sit around and read.”
The disembodied voice spoke again. “Monks don’t have wives.”
Herbert refused to leave it alone. “That don’t mean they don’t want one. Me, you’re not going to find me turning into no monk. Not going to find me getting married to no bride, either. That’s what those girls at the Silver Dollar are for.”
Charlie jumped back into the fray. “That’s pretty harsh, Herbert, considering your brother is signed up to get one of those brides.”
“That’s him, not me. Although I won’t mind showing up at his place for a good home-cooked meal now and then, I got no intention of getting tied down like that.”
Harold returned to reading his letter while he slowly walked back to his bunk. He’d get tied down to Catherine in a heartbeat.
Charlie continued to dog Harold’s heels. “She say anything interesting, Harold?”
Catherine said a lot of things, but under no circumstances did he intend to share most of what she wrote with the other men. “Says she has a friend from church down there who is interested in becoming a bride for one of us up here. She had this woman write a letter to the bridal agency, but since it’s so late and she hasn’t had a chance to correspond, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to come by the Independence Day weekend when the rest of the brides are due to show up.”
“Another woman, huh? Who knows, Harold? Maybe after you meet her, you’ll decide you like her better than Miss Rosewater, there.”
Harold turned to face Charlie, puffing himself up to his full height and bulk as he stared down at the smaller man who had become an annoyance. “Charlie, don’t you have something better to do other than pester me? If not, I’ll find something.”
Charlie laughed as he turned to walk away. “Just having a little fun, Harold. But, who knows? Maybe you will like the new woman better once you get to meet them all.”
Harold scowled as he watched the man walk away.
Let the monk have the new woman.
Harold had nothing against Aaron Brinks. But, any man in Jubilee Springs who got any ideas in his head about taking his Catherine away from him would have to go through him first.
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CHAPTER 6
~o0o~
The next afternoon Catherine mailed off her letter to the Colorado Bridal Agency with Andrea’s letter tucked inside hers. Catherine sincerely hoped Andrea would be approved, even though she wrote so late. The desperation in her friend’s voice had tugged at Catherine’s heartstrings.
Catherine also mailed two letters to the two miners with whom she had been corresponding. The letter to Aaron Brinks was short. She simply didn’t know what to say to him. The other to Harold Calloway proved to be much longer. As she was continuing the conversation from the things had he shared with her in his most recent letter, the words flowed,.
Afterwards, Catherine walked home, her spirits buoyed. She slowed as she noticed the fresh wagon wheel tracks leading up to the front of the house. She didn’t see where anyone had dismounted, although there was a disturbance to the side of the wagon with small paw prints running away towards the house. Whoever it was had left. She wondered if it was the new owner who had stopped by, hoping to get a glimpse of the inside of the house. There wasn’t much to see, since Arnie had already come and removed almost all the furniture and knickknacks from the place. She did still have the bed to sleep in since Arnie said the people who bought the house had also bought the chest of drawers and beds she and Caroline had used. They needed the additional furniture for their growing family.
Catherine carefully walked around to the back door she kept unlocked, searching for any sign someone had been snooping around the place. She saw no footprints she didn’t recognize as her own. Sighing with relief, she reached for the doorknob.
A plaintive cry reached her ears. It sounded like a small animal in distress. She wasn’t used to wild creatures from the surrounding fields coming into town, let alone into her yard. If it was wild, and she came near it, it might get frightened. If it was here because it was sick, and lunged at her and bit her, she could end up with some awful disease. Rabies came to mind. She shivered.
Catherine turned to enter the house. Probably if she ignored the animal, it would eventually go away. She heard the cry again. The animal had moved closer. She turned back and gasped.
The head and front paws of a gold and white tiger-striped kitten peeked out from behind one of the bushes next to the back stoop. The kitten opened its mouth again, and Catherine realized what she was hearing was a meow. At the sight of the helpless baby animal she realized it was more frightened than she was. Catherine’s heart melted.
Catherine pulled her skirt tight behind her knees and squatted. She reached out a hand to the kitten. “Come here, you little cutie. Will you come to me, or are you feral?”
The kitten held back, but did not run away. Catherine decided the best way to see if it was domesticated was to offer it food. She slowly stood and entered the kitchen through the mud room.
Catherine pulled down the small china bowl that was part of the set she had inherited from her mother. After Arnie had cleaned out the house and removed every dish his mother had owned, she had made sure he was good and gone, then pulled out a place setting of china and flatware to use until she left for the Simpson’s house. From a crock full of milk one of the neighbors had left her after they realized her cousin had sold the cow and it had been hauled away, she poured out a small amount for the kitten. She carefully balanced the dish so the milk wouldn’t spill as she walked until she got it outside.
The kitten had gone back into hiding. Once she put the bowl down and stepped back several feet, she softly called for it. It cautiously inched it way forward until it began lapping at the milk. Once the milk was almost gone, Catherine decided to take the next step.
Let’s find out if you are used to people or are feral.
Catherine reached out to pet the top of the kitten’s head. It allowed it. When it had finished all the milk, it looked up at her. She reached for it with both hands and picked it up. Instead of trying to get away, as she pulled it close to her body, it clung to her with its claws and fought to work its way up her bodice towards her shoulder.
Catherine broke into a smile, perhaps her first smile in weeks. She nuzzled the head of the kitten under her chin. “You are just a breath of sunshine, aren’t you? That’s what I’ll call you—Sunny. Whether you are a boy kitty or a girl kitty, that name will fit.”
Sunny had belonged to someone. Since the kitten was at least a month past weaning age, whoever owned the mama probably had a whole litter of kittens to find owners for and had dropped at least some of them off in empty yards of unsuspecting homeowners. That explained the wagon wheel tracks in front of the house. They had come while she was in town and not in a position to accept or refuse a kitten.
Catherine crooned to the gold and white ball of fur in her arms. “You’re just like me, aren’t you, Sunny? You thought you had a home, and then all of a sudden, you were tossed out to make your own way alone in the world. Well, you won’t be alone anymore. We’ll face whatever the future holds together.”
Catherine brought Sunny inside. It didn’t take her long to realize that not only was Sunny accustomed to being around people, she was used to being inside of a house. She found her way upstairs and made herself at home on Catherine’s bed, curling up in a ball next to Catherine’s pillow.
“You enjoy
your nap, Sunny, I won’t be able to allow you to spend the night there. I don’t know how house-broken you are.”
Catherine changed out of her nicer dress she had worn to town and put on her oldest work dress. She made a trip out to the burn pile behind the house Arnie had started for things he didn’t think would sell and didn’t want. Catherine had not been happy at first he had not taken care of it before he left, worried the pile would attract rodents. Now she was happy it remained, especially as she went in search of something she recalled had been tossed there. She soon found the large wicker picnic hamper with its broken reed hinges intended to hold the lid to the basket. She shook the dirt off them, deciding to take the pieces into the house for a good scrubbing. She searched through the pile for anything else that might be helpful for the kitten.
The cleaned picnic hamper inside with the lid reattached with metal hinges she had fashioned from some pieces of baling wire she had found rested proudly on the floor. There had been enough frayed and stained pieces of cloth she had salvaged and washed to line the bed and to spread on the floor for the kitten. Her aunt’s house had a bathing room with a tile floor, and she would leave Sunny along with some bedding in there at night. It might take him a few nights to become accustomed to it, but the clean-up would be easier than the wood floors in the rest of the house.