Kezia looked at him and shook her head. “I don’t want your pity, Culver Daniels. What happened is in the past and that’s where I am determined to leave it.”
“But Kezia…” Culver caressed her hand still held in his.
She shook her head again. “I shouldn’t admit it, but I was relieved when Bavel died. We were doing a show in Boston. He was so full of himself, of his talents, he refused to perform with a net below him. It terrified me, but not Bavel. Then he slipped and broke his neck. The doctor said he was dead when he hit the ground. Thankfully, he never knew about Jemimah. It was a few months later when I realized I was… um… in the family way. I hid it as long as I could, but the moment the circus owner discovered my condition, he kicked me out. The circus was in Denver at that time, so I took the first job I could find; washing dishes at a restaurant in one of the fancy hotels. I sold most of my performance clothes to people at the circus and anything else I had of any value. Jemimah is my one priceless treasure.” The look she cast her daughter’s direction held such warmth and affection, Culver could feel the love she owned for her baby.
In truth, Culver was coming to care a great deal for the tiny girl. The fact Kezia had a child had startled him at first, but he truly didn’t mind. The little squirt was about as cute as she could be and the more time he spent with her, the more she tugged at his heartstrings.
“It’s a shame you felt the need to turn your daughter into a hidden treasure.”
Kezia appeared chagrined. “I know I should have told you about her in my letter, but I was frightened you’d reject her and me.” Her gaze latched onto his and he saw the doubt, the wariness her father and Bavel had placed there through their brutality.
“She truly is a gem, Kezia. One you should be proud of.”
A sigh of relief floated out of her and he could feel her relax as he continued holding her hand. Culver liked the way her palm fit so well against his. Despite how delicate she seemed to him, he knew she was resilient and strong.
“How did you end up with Mrs. Walters’ bunch of brides?”
Kezia smiled. “A woman I met at the hotel mentioned Mrs. Walters’ work and encouraged me to meet her. I put it off for a while, but it got harder and harder to manage my job and take care of Jemimah. Finally, I knew I had to do something different, so I went to meet her. Mrs. Walters is a very kind, caring woman and she promised if I was willing to come to Noelle, she would find me a suitable husband.” She gave him a long, observant look. “I grew up with an abusive, controlling father and was forced into marriage with a temperamental, horrid man. In spite of what many of these women are searching for, Culver, I have no delusions of love. I’ve survived one loveless marriage, so I know how to endure what I must. After meeting you, though, I think I might actually enjoy being married this time.”
Culver grinned. “I’m glad you haven’t decided to lump me in with the dregs of humanity, at least not yet.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. Her fingers trembled at the touch of his lips to her skin. Pleased she wasn’t completely indifferent to his attentions, he kissed her palm again before he released her hand.
“If we do decide to wed, Kezia, I want you to know I’ll never raise a hand to you. I may not be the husband you dream of marrying, but I would treat you well and offer you the best I have to give.”
Tears pricked her eyes and she nodded, dropping her head and brushing at her cheeks.
Sensing her need for a few moments to regain control of her emotions, he finished eating another meat pie then watched as Jemimah rolled on her back, kicking her feet in the air and shaking the rattle in her hand. Amused by the baby’s antics, he turned back to Kezia.
Admiration for what she’d survived warred with his concern about how her past might influence her future. It was clear to him she distrusted all men and hid it behind a bright smile and coquettish manner. He didn’t want a wife who offered false gaiety or one that behaved submissively because of some deep-rooted fear.
Although a woman’s tears made him want to run the opposite direction, he’d much rather see Kezia crying with true emotion than tamping down her feelings and pasting on a fake smile.
Culver had kept his life simple since the war. Things were either dark or light, right or wrong. But he had no idea what to do about Kezia, what to make of her past and the things the men she’d known had done to her. Kezia wasn’t the innocent bride he’d expected. She was a woman who’d lived through years of trauma, but smiled at her baby with her heart in her eyes.
If she would look at him like that, even once, he’d have no qualms about their future. However, the fact she still gave him guarded looks made him worry about the state of not just her heart, but also her spirit.
Then again, Kezia Mirga seemed entirely too full of life to be one who would break easily.
She stood and lifted something from the bottom of the big basket he’d carried, drawing him from his worrisome thoughts. His mouth began to water as the scent of cinnamon wafted to him.
“Did you save room for dessert?” Kezia asked, sliding a knife through the flaky crust of the pie.
“I always have room for dessert,” Culver said, holding out his plate as she placed a generous slice of apple pie on it. He lifted it to his nose and breathed deeply, inhaling the aroma of spices and apples.
“This is my gift to you, Culver, my Christmas gift. You said your favorite pie was apple.” Kezia sat back and smiled. “I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
He forked a bite and relished the taste of the pie, among the finest he’d ever eaten. “This is delicious,” he said, taking another big bite. “You’re an excellent cook.”
“Thank you,” she said, sipping from her glass of water as he cut off another bite of the pie.
He motioned to the pie tin on the table. “You better have a piece, too. You hardly ate any supper, just one meat pie.”
“I’m not overly hungry and the apple pie is for you alone.”
Culver finished eating that piece and helped himself to a second. He could certainly grow accustomed to eating Kezia’s cooking with no hesitancy. The last time he had such a good apple pie was before his mother passed away.
He appreciated the efforts she made to prepare a meal for him and include something he’d mentioned in his letter to her. If he wasn’t trying to use his best manners, he could have eaten the whole pie in one sitting. The apples were cooked to perfection, the filling sweet and laced with just the right amount of spice.
Kezia’s ability to cook was definitely one more mark in her favor. Did the good outweigh the bad, though? He still hadn’t come completely to terms with her being secretive about Jemimah. If she tried to hide the baby from him, what else was she hiding? What else would she try to hide?
Culver had no tolerance for dishonesty in anyone. Could he put up with it in his wife?
Plagued by questions he didn’t know how to answer, he finished his pie and stood, carrying the dishes over to the sink.
“I’ll do those,” Kezia said, attempting to nudge him out of the way.
“No, I’ll wash them. It won’t take but a minute. You can grab that towel over there…” He tipped his head toward a hook on the wall where a once-white dishtowel hung, “…and dry them if you want to help.”
Wordlessly, she picked up the towel and dried the dishes, setting them on the counter. While he put them into a cupboard, she wiped off the table and set the pie back in the basket, covering it with one of the towels she’d borrowed from the cathouse.
“I reckon it’s probably time to head over to the saloon for the Christmas service. You and Jem ready to go?”
“Yes,” Kezia said, picking up Jemimah and blowing on the baby’s tummy, making her giggle.
“She’s sure a happy little thing,” Culver said, stepping beside Kezia and holding out his finger. Jemimah wrapped her hand around it while her sweet smile and bright eyes ensnared Culver’s heart.
“Jem’s always been a happy baby and content, for the
most part. I worried for so long that she’d be like Bavel, but she’s nothing like him. I’m thankful she looks nothing like him either.”
Culver tucked away that tidbit of information as he held Kezia’s cloak. She stepped beneath the warm, woolen folds and fastened it, then twined the scarf around her neck. He reached for the baby, but Kezia shook her head.
“She’ll stay warmer tucked against me.”
He couldn’t argue with her, but he sensed that wasn’t the only reason she wanted Jemimah close. Kezia was no doubt fearful of how the other men in town would react to the baby and didn’t want to let her get too far away from her grasp.
Culver grabbed his hat and coat from the hooks by the front door then escorted Kezia outside into the frigid air.
“Is it always this cold?” she asked, tucking her chin down into her scarf to block some of frosty air from her face.
“This isn’t too bad. Wait until we get to mid-January and winter really sets in.” Culver’s thoughts shifted to ways to stay warm on those long winter nights. His gaze fell on the raven waves of Kezia’s hair and he tamped down the urge to run his hand through it.
Purposefully redirecting his thoughts, he asked her about the other brides who’d traveled to Noelle to wed.
“I’m surprised so many of them are genuinely friendly. Most people don’t want a thing to do with me.”
Culver shot her a questioning glance. “Why would they shun you? You’re friendly and fun, and kindhearted.”
She ducked her head at his words of praise and he wondered if she’d heard much of it in her lifetime.
“I’m a gypsy and if that isn’t enough to get me kicked out of any social circles I might like to enter, I’m a former circus performer. Real ladies don’t want someone like me around and men assume I’m something I’m not.”
Culver shook his head. “Then they’re a bunch of idiots.”
Before she could respond, they arrived at the saloon. Kezia stepped inside and looked around. Culver moved behind her. He could sense her hesitation so he placed a hand at the small of her back and subdued a grin when she jumped at his touch.
“I promise no one will bite, yell, or try to have you forcibly removed,” he said in a quiet voice as he bent close to her ear. The tantalizing scent of her fragrance filled his nose and when she turned her head to glance back at him, the gold flecks in her eyes drew him in almost as much as her beguiling smile.
“I’m holding you to that promise,” she whispered then moved forward. Several miners drank at the bar while others played cards. Some of the men cast interested glances at the gypsy beauty. She’d plastered on what Culver thought of as her performance face as she greeted them with bright smiles.
He didn’t like her being friendly with the other men. Not one bit.
Culver placed a possessive hand on Kezia’s shoulder as they made their way across the room to where some of the other brides waited. Cold swirled around them as Reverend Hammond hurried inside with Felicity Partridge and Judge Whipple.
In what seemed no time at all, the reverend wed the woman who’d originally planned to marry the mayor.
“They’ll make a wonderful couple,” Kezia whispered as Reverend Hammond swept his wife into his arms. Hoots and hollers followed by a few gunshots of celebration startled the baby who’d been asleep. Jemimah began to cry.
The reverend didn’t notice as he carried his bride up the stairs to his room, but many men looked around for the source of the noise. Kezia lifted her daughter from beneath her cloak, tucking her against her shoulder and rubbing her back, trying to calm her.
The barkeep, Seamus, shouted, “Drinks on the house!” and the ruckus around them rose to a deafening volume.
Unaware of a handful of men gawking at Kezia and making inappropriate comments, Culver spoke with a few of his friends. When he turned to include Kezia in the conversation, he discovered she’d already left.
Without a word of explanation, he rushed outside and saw the purple and gold of Kezia’s cloak swishing across the snow as she marched down the street.
“Zee! Wait a moment!” he called, jogging to catch up to her. She didn’t slow her pace or even acknowledge his presence. “Kezia!”
He caught her arm in his hand, pulling her to a stop. “What’s wrong?”
“The noise upset Jemimah.” She yanked her arm from his grasp, obviously angry.
“I don’t think she’s the only one upset.” Culver kept step with her as she continued toward the brothel. “Did someone say something to you? Something they shouldn’t have?”
Kezia refused to look at him. “As a matter of fact, a few of the men made rather lewd comments. Men only see what they want to see. To them, I’m a worthless gypsy who might as well work at a place like this.” She waved her hand at the bordello in front of them. “I saw the way they looked at Jem, with disdain, and at me with… with...” She sighed in defeat. “I won’t raise her in a place where people will despise her for her heritage instead of accept her for who she is. And I certainly won’t remain around a bunch of men who expect me to be no better than a harlot.”
“Now, Kezia, don’t get so riled. Most of the men in this town are good people. There are a handful that work up at the mine who are um… well, they’re just…” Culver refrained from expressing his true opinions of those men. He gently clasped a hand on her shoulder to stop her from rushing inside. “Please don’t judge everyone by the small minds of a few.”
“It’s not just that,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze as she stared out into the night. “Our differences are too great to make a peaceful marriage. I’ve just realized how very ill suited we are, Mr. Daniels.”
“Fine,” Culver said, pride thoroughly stung. If she wanted to assume he was like the dunderheaded buffoons at the saloon, then so be it. “If you don’t want to stay here, if you don’t want to marry me, I won’t try to convince you otherwise. I’ll release you from our marriage contract, if that’s what you want.”
“I’ll let Mrs. Walters know tomorrow we have no interest in marrying,” Kezia said, opening the door and glancing back at Culver. “Good night.”
He turned away from the door and wandered back through the darkness to his blacksmith shop, wondering why he’d never noticed how lonely it was there. Without Kezia’s colorful presence and baby Jem’s laughter, it seemed far too dull and gray.
What had he done, offering to release her from her agreement to marry him? Was it really what he wanted?
Regardless of what his heart shouted at him, common sense said it was for the best. He and Kezia were nothing alike. He needed someone dependable and solid, a woman who would work steadily beside him. Someone quiet and calm would provide a much better match.
A girl not quite as attractive as Kezia would be good, too. Culver didn’t like the jealous feelings that stirred in him each time a man looked at her. He’d experienced the most insane cavedweller-like urge to punch a dozen of the men in town in the nose as they gazed at Kezia earlier in the saloon. He couldn’t go around beating up his friends on a regular basis.
No, someone other than Kezia would be a smarter choice, if he still had to take a bride.
Kezia was like a vibrant, rare bird who would find it impossible to settle down into a simple nest. On top of that, she’d most likely never learn to trust a man.
Convinced he had no future with a woman like her, he climbed between the cool sheets of his big bed, aware for the first time of the vast emptiness of it as well as his life.
Chapter Nine
The second day of Christmas
December 26th, 1876
Kezia’s brow furrowed as she wondered for the hundredth time if she’d done the right thing by telling Culver she didn’t want to marry him.
The gnawing sense that they didn’t belong together, that he was too good for the likes of her, continued to grow until she thought she might suffocate beneath the burden of it. Yet, after telling him they were ill-suited and she no longer wished to mar
ry him, the weight pressing on her heart was unbearable.
She’d barely slept a wink and finally rose in the wee hours of the morning, making her way down to the kitchen where she set bread to rise and made cinnamon buns for breakfast. After nursing Jemimah and settling her back to sleep, she indulged in a bath.
Hopes of the bath refreshing her spirits as well as her body were in vain. Her heart felt just as heavy as she sat combing out her damp, tangled tresses.
Culver had to be the finest man she’d ever met, but she still wasn’t sure she could trust him. She’d meant what she said to him last night, too. Jemimah deserved better than to be raised somewhere people would judge her for being a gypsy or the daughter of circus performers. No, she wanted much more for her baby girl.
By the time Kezia had sipped her way through two cups of tea, endured breakfast with the other women, and spent an hour playing with Jemimah, she felt so restless and on edge, she could barely contain her need to expend some energy.
When a moment presented itself to speak with Mrs. Walters, the woman attentively listened to her. Rather than tell her she’d send her back to Denver as quickly as possible, Mrs. Walters lifted Jemimah into her arms with a smile. “I think you should go for a walk and get some fresh air.”
“But, Mrs. Walters, don’t you think I should…”
The woman smiled again and pointed to the door. “Go outside right now? Yes, I do. I think that’s exactly what you need.” She patted Jemimah on the back when the baby eyed her mother. “We’ll take good care of your little one while you’re out. Now, go on with you, Kezia. There’s nothing like a brisk walk to put things into perspective.”
Kezia thought it would take a lot more than a walk in the December air to settle her thoughts, but she pulled on her cloak and wrapped a scarf around her neck.
“Are you sure I…”
“Go, dear.” Mrs. Walters lifted Jemimah’s hand in hers, helping the baby wave goodbye.
With a resigned sigh, Kezia stepped outside. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the fresh air. She could smell wood smoke and a hint of pine.
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