Polka With Pauline

by Caroline Clemmons

  “I’ve no idea. I don’t understand why the doctor hasn’t suggested one.”

  “You remember I mentioned I was in a lot of pain when this first happened and had to take laudanum. I was out of touch and that might be why he didn’t. Plus, Henry shouldn’t be lifting or helping lift me. When I fell, a couple of people passing by the house stopped to help.”

  “No doubt ordering a wheelchair from a catalog would take too long to arrive. Someone in Creede must have one they’re no longer using. Perhaps Reverend Theodore knows of one. Shall I check?”

  “Would you? I’d send Henry, but he had a bad night. I think he should stay here in his favorite chair until his afternoon nap time.”

  “Good idea. As soon as I’ve cleaned the kitchen, I’ll seek out the minister.”

  Pauline let her aunt and uncle know she was leaving and headed for the church. The parsonage was next door. The minister, Reverend Theodore, referred Pauline to the doctor.

  Dr. Thomas referred her to Mr. Reed. “He had to repair the chair after the last person used it and volunteered to let us leave it there. He has room in his workshop whereas I don’t.”

  “Can you direct me to his workshop?”

  “Better than that.” He went to a doorway. “Will, could you come here?”

  When a teen-aged boy came into the room, the doctor laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Miss Brubaker, my stepson, Will Meeks, who is as like my son as if he’d been born mine. Will, please escort Miss Brubaker to Mr. Reed’s workshop. Come straight back, son.”

  The two set out from the doctor’s home-office. Curiosity about Creighton Reed’s workshop made her eager to arrive there. Apparently she was retracing her steps from earlier. She and Will proceeded past the home of her aunt and uncle.

  “Are we getting close?”

  “Only a couple of blocks to go. See the green warehouse-looking place?”

  He indicated an elderly-appearing green frame building. As they approached she noticed the building was long. Over the door hung a sign announcing Reed Woodworks in large black letters outlined in gold. Under that, slightly smaller lettering read Fine Custom Furniture. She didn’t know what she’d expected but the only thing impressive was the signage.

  Will opened the door and waited for her to enter before he followed. Strong odors greeted her. The interior was no more impressive than the outside except that it was especially neat for a work area. Several pieces of very attractive furniture set against one wall. Woods of different types were stored on another wall. The center was filled with a worktable covered with tools and pieces under construction. One looked to have varnish drying. Another appeared to have been rubbed with Tung oil if a can beside it disclosed the truth.

  Creighton Reed looked up and his face lit with a smile. He set aside a can and a rag then wiped his hands on another cloth. “Miss Brubaker, Will, what brings the two of you here today?”

  Will stared at her then, when she didn’t speak, at Creighton. “Miss Brubaker needs to talk to you but I have to get back.”

  Will turned to her again. “Are you all right to get back to the Chambers’ by yourself or should I wait?”

  “I’ll be fine, Will, and your stepfather specifically requested you come straight home. Thank you for escorting me here.”

  “Nice to have met you. See you later, Creighton.”

  When Will had gone, Creighton—she didn’t think of him as Mr. Reed—gestured to a chair. “Sitting there is safe. I’m glad to see you but wonder what has brought you here.”

  She took the seat he’d indicated. “I’ve been trying to track down a Bath chair my aunt can use until her leg heals. Dr. Thomas said you have one here.”

  “I do and it’s a sturdy one. By the way, everyone calls him Dr. JT.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know. Your workshop is well-kept. Those are beautiful pieces of furniture, especially that rocking chair. I’ve never seen prettier even in my father’s fine furniture department.”

  “Don’t spoil the surprise, but I made that rocking chair for your aunt. Your uncle is giving it to her for her birthday next week.”

  She stood and looked more closely. “That’s wonderful. Is it ready so that I can sit there now?”

  He held up a hand. “Not yet. Give the varnish a couple more days to harden. Then, I’ll polish it with fine steel wool once more.”

  She walked around the chair. The high back had delicate carving across it. Sturdy arms offered a comfortable resting place with appealing scrolled ends just right for hands to hold. The wood was dark and polished to a soft shine. To have created this he was an artist.

  “Aunt Nancy will be so pleased. Your work is amazing.”

  He offered a wide smile. “I’ll get the wheel chair. Follow me if you wish.” He wove around furniture and storage items and through an interior door.

  She did and stopped when they went into another room. “Oh, this looks like a parlor.”

  He chuckled. “Good, because it is a parlor. My rooms here at the back of the workshop aren’t fancy but they’re convenient, especially in bad weather.”

  She tried to hide her shock by composing her face into a smile. She wasn’t a snob—at least she didn’t think she was. From what she could see, the rooms were shabby in her opinion. Paper on the walls was water-spotted and the furnishings threadbare. Every surface was clean, however.

  Why would he be content here? Perhaps he was so used to them that he didn’t really see them any longer. Perhaps he didn’t earn enough to live anywhere nicer.

  “How long have you lived here?” She sat on a disreputable appearing couch and felt a spring push against her backside.

  He wore a worried frown as he sat in a chair facing her. “I came here four years ago. Strictly speaking, to protect your reputation I shouldn’t have invited you here without a chaperone.”

  She echoed him, “Strictly speaking, I realize I should have asked Will to stay until I left but his stepfather asked him to come straight back.”

  She wondered if he thought she would try to trap him into an engagement. Surely not when they’d just met. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

  He gestured around them. “Shabby as it is, I was happy when I found this place.”

  So, he did realize it wasn’t nice. “Where had you lived before you came here?”

  “I worked for a furniture maker in Boulder. I started with him when I was sixteen and he taught me how to create fine pieces. He had an excellent reputation back then.”

  “You were so close to Denver.”

  “For years we sold furniture to people from as far away as Denver and even Cheyenne. We parted ways over . . . sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you.”

  “You weren’t, so please go on with your story. Why did you part ways?”

  He exhaled and leaned forward. “I want to make heirloom quality furniture, pieces that will endure for generations. About five years ago Rex’s wife died. He started drinking heavily and had a complete change in personality. He took short cuts and was content with anything he could sell. I hated to leave after he’d helped me but he became impossible as a boss, argumentative and slovenly. I didn’t want my name associated with the pieces he was selling.”

  “I’m glad you persisted in creating fine pieces. Oh, I see the chair.” She stood and walked for a closer look. “It appears comfortable.”

  The chair had a woven cane seat and back. The large wheels were intended for the user to be able to propel them. A handlebar was attached to the back to allow someone else to push the chair. Wooden leg and foot rests and wooden armrests would add comfort.

  He followed her. “I have it because it needed a new seat.”

  “You mean you also do cane weaving?”

  “I do if necessary, but I’d rather work with wood.” He nodded toward the wheelchair. “This is an expensive chair and nice for its type. I’ll warn you it’s difficult to push outdoors.” He demonstrated how the legs raised and where a person held the large wheels to
self-propel.

  She shoved it a few feet. It moved easily on the hardwood floor. Pauline realized that with a person sitting in the chair, driving would be more difficult.

  “Thank you for telling me. I had planned for my aunt to remain at home or maybe if it’s warm enough to sit on their porch. Oh my, I hope she doesn’t want to attend church or go anywhere else. My uncle’s heart is acting up and he doesn’t need to be pushing her. I’ll do my best, of course.”

  “If she insists on leaving her house, let me know. I can make sure she gets where she wants to go and back home again.”

  “Thank you, Creigh . . . Mr. Reed. You’re very kind to offer.”

  “Please call me Creighton. Not many people do and I enjoy being addressed by my first name.”

  “Is Creighton a family name?”

  He grew solemn. “I don’t know. I was dropped off at an orphanage when I was two. I know nothing of my family except that my father had died. My mother attached a note to my shirt. She said she couldn’t earn a living and look after me properly. She wanted me where I’d be cared for.”

  How she regretted causing him bad memories. “That must have been so hard for her and for you. She must have loved you a great deal to think of your well-being before her wish to keep you with her. Do you know where she is?”

  “No, the orphanage is near Denver, but she could have gone anywhere. She included a photo of her and my father with her holding me as a baby. She wrote the names on the back of the photo.”

  “I hope you can find her, Creighton. I’ll bet she thinks of you every day. Is the photo where you can easily show it to me? What’s her name?”

  He took a cabinet card from a shelf. “Naomi Ruth Reed but she may have married again. The orphanage let me keep my name since my mother was alive. Usually, they change a child’s name.”

  Pauline examined the photo. The man was handsome and the mother pretty. Baby Creighton was adorable but she wouldn’t tell him. The date on the back was 1866. Thomas Ezekiel Reed, Naomi Ruth Sanders Reed, and Creighton David Reed, age six months.

  “You were born four years before me. I’ll bet your father was in the war, survived that, and then died when he came home. Seems unfair.”

  “It is unfair. I used to make up stories about them where my father hadn’t died and he and my mother were coming to get me. Sometimes we’d go to a ranch, other times to a fancy house in Denver. Sounds silly now but it helped at the time.”

  “Not silly at all.”

  He accepted the return of the photo and set it back on a shelf. “May I call you Pauline?”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  “Thank you. I suppose I’ll call you Miss Brubaker when we meet socially and anyone else is around.”

  “I don’t expect situations will arise where that will happen. Since helping them is why I’ve come to Creede I’ll stay close to my aunt and uncle’s place.”

  “Would you allow me to call on you there?”

  She smiled at him. “I’d like that, Creighton.”

  Pauline sighed and pushed the chair toward the door. “I’ve kept you away from your work too long even though I’ve enjoyed our conversation.”

  He turned the sign on his door to Closed – Back soon. “I’ll push the chair and escort you back to the Chambers’ home.”

  “There’s no need to close your workshop. I am quite capable of getting this to my aunt.”

  “I know you can, but you need an escort.” His voice was firm. “You forget how many rough people are in town.”

  Did he think she was some fainting miss who couldn’t handle a confrontation? He sounded like her father.

  “I can see my aunt and uncle’s picket fence from here. Certainly I’m able to push this chair a couple of blocks.”

  “Pauline, you shouldn’t—”

  “Good day, Creighton.” She pushed the chair down the walkway.

  ***

  Creighton stood inside the door and watched Pauline walk toward the home of her aunt and uncle. With a heavy heart he observed her until she turned at the Chambers’ gate. She was displeased with him for trying to escort her.

  There had been no doubt about the flash of revulsion he’d seen on her face when she’d entered his parlor. That look had ignited his temper and he’d failed to tell her he was saving to buy a nicer place. He hoped to locate a better home to raise a family. If only he had enough time to look for the right house, he had enough saved for a good down payment. Every week he delayed increased his savings.

  He’d really enjoyed attending the dance with Pauline and talking with her today until the end of the visit. She was stubborn and so was he. But, he didn’t intend to put on airs to impress her. Any woman he courted would have to accept him as he was.

  So he lived in shabby rooms behind his workshop, so what? When he considered how far he’d come since leaving the orphanage, he was proud of what he’d achieved. Shouldn’t that be enough for any woman?

  In his heart he admitted it wasn’t. Women—and men—wanted a good home in which to raise a family. This wasn’t that place, although he would have been happy to have this as a home with parents when he was growing up. He probably would have been happy living anywhere as long as he had parents.

  A week ago, his life had been uncomplicated. He had a good business and friends in the town. His savings were growing. After struggling for years, he believed he was finally succeeding professionally.

  He admitted he’d been lonely of late, a different awareness of wanting more from life. This wasn’t the sort of sensation a visit to a brothel would scratch. Years ago he had visited a harlot on two occasions. While he’d sated his lust there he’d received no comfort for his loneliness. Never again would he seek that way as a solution. Now he yearned for a relationship with meaning—passion, respect, common interests, love.

  Pauline was from a wealthy family. To her this place must seem like a hovel. In spite of her stubbornness, she was the most interesting woman he’d ever met. He’d have to step up to attract her. Tomorrow he’d start searching for a suitable house. If nothing came of courting her, he’d still need a place to live. Eventually he’d find a wife and they’d start a family.

  Chapter Three

  On the way to her aunt and uncle’s, Pauline was deep in thought. Creighton was an interesting companion at the dance. She’d enjoyed talking with him today even though he appeared overprotective . . . was he dictatorial or being a gentleman?

  She’d had enough of her father being controlling but she had to tolerate Papa. She had no intention of taking orders from a man she’d only just met. Now that she had time to think about their conversation she decided he was being a gentleman.

  But the place where Creighton lived?

  She supposed when a woman fell in love, she overlooked such things. Surely she would be able to do so. Suppose she developed a romance with Creighton, how would she feel about his rooms?

  They might be all right for the two of them, but not after they had children. She’d only seen the parlor and had no idea how many bedrooms or what sort of kitchen he had. She wondered if the furniture in his home was all as dilapidated as that in the parlor. Shouldn’t a furniture maker have the best of his creations in his own home?

  Oh, she was being silly to even consider such things. She’d met the man only twice. For goodness sake, she was twenty-two, not a schoolgirl.

  She’d do better to concentrate on this uncooperative wheeled monster that appeared determined to go any way but forward. She was grateful when she turned in at her destination. Pauline wrestled the chair up the porch steps and into the house.

  If Aunt Nancy wanted to go out, they’d have to have a ramp built. Her aunt had six more weeks to be in a cast and then she wouldn’t need a wheelchair. Perhaps she’d be content to move about the house and sit on the wide porch.

  Once Pauline had gained access to the foyer, she wanted to sit in the chair herself. She continued to her aunt’s bedroom. “I’m back and here’s the Bath
chair.”

  Aunt Nancy was sitting in bed with pillows at her back. She wore her bed jacket over her gown and had been knitting. “Thank you. Was it hard to find?”

  Pauline explained how she’d tracked it. “I still have no idea who actually owns the chair. Creighton Reed also does caning and repaired the seat. Do you want to try it now or later?”

  Her aunt laid aside her yarn and needles. “If you’re willing, I’ll try it now.”

  “You’ll have to be careful. Let me get Uncle Henry to hold the chair while I help you balance.”

  Her uncle walked into the room. “I’m here. What do I need to do?”

  “Keep the chair from moving. I know there are brakes but I don’t know how good they are.” Pauline showed her uncle where to stand.

  “Aunt Nancy, let me help you balance on your good leg. Throw your arm around my shoulders and we’ll pivot slowly so the back of your good leg is against the chair seat.”

  Once her aunt was in the chair, Pauline elevated the broken leg. “Do you want your knitting? This is a lovely dark lavender shade of yarn.”

  “I’ll take it with me. I’m making gifts and this awful fall has put me behind.”

  Pauline took over from her uncle. “I’ll have to be careful going through doorways and turning corners. Uncle Henry, we may have to move a few things to make way.”

  He hurried ahead and set a small table closer to his favorite chair.

  When her aunt was settled near her uncle, Pauline excused herself to go prepare lunch.

  ***

  The next morning, Creighton watched for Marshal KC Murray. On most mornings he came this way on his patrol of the town. When Creighton spotted the marshal step up on the boardwalk in front of his shop, he opened the door.

  Creighton stepped onto the boardwalk. “Good morning, KC. Looks like a chilly day.”

  The marshal nodded. “Started out that way, hasn’t it?”

  “I’m asking you because you know everyone. You know of any houses for sale that have a large carriage house or barn?”

  The marshal rubbed his jaw. “You’re talking in town?”