Too Rich for a Bride (30 page)

Otis said nothing as he drove the team down to the end of Bennett Avenue, then up a dirt road toward a stand of pines in the hills.

The list of things Tucker appreciated about his friend was a long one, and the fact that Otis didn’t feel a need to speak first and think later was near the top. Since they’d added employees and routes and diversified the company’s offerings, they’d both been working on different wagons to train the others. Tucker had set today aside for the two of them to run deliveries together and then find a proper Christmas tree to take home to Abraham and his three younger brothers.

“You wanna talk about it?” Otis’s dark eyes brimmed with compassion.

Tucker pulled his collar tight to ward off the chill, drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “It’s good news that Willow wrote to me, that she’s writing to our parents. They’ll be thrilled to hear from her.”

Otis nodded and cocked his head. “But …”

“But she sent their letter here.”

“You never told her?”

“Only that I had come to help the folks for a while. Not about my father’s illness. She doesn’t know they’re living in Colorado Springs or about the sanitorium.”

Otis clucked his tongue to spur the horses up a steep, snowy incline. “Guess you’ll just have to take the letter to them.”

It wasn’t a question, and Tucker had no trouble filling in the blanks he saw on the man’s face.
It is Christmas, after all
.

Perhaps his father’s last Christmas. The finality in that thought hit Tucker in the pit of his stomach. Glancing up, he caught his friend’s knowing gaze and nodded.

An hour later, they’d found the perfect four-footer, and the tree lay secured to the top of the wagon. Otis directed the horses back through town and toward Poverty Gulch, outside the city limits on the east end of Myers Avenue.

They’d just driven under the trestle when Tucker spotted Abraham running toward the wagon. “Mr. Tucker!”

Abraham’s younger brothers, Isaac and Noah, followed closely on his heels. Nathaniel brought up the rear of the swarm, squirming in Naomi Bernard’s arms. Otis steered the wagon to the front of the canvas tent-cabin. There was little chance the tree would fit inside the cabin and still leave room for anyone to live there. As it was, the home needed some repairs.

“Thought about using that bonus money you gave me to get lumber to make proper walls,” Otis whispered, “but I’ll be able to do a whole lot more when my mine stock pays off.”

Tucker cringed. He didn’t have anything against buying and selling stock if one had the extra money. Using money you needed to live on was a whole other matter. An opinion he’d kept to himself, and now he wondered if it had been the right thing to do.

A time to keep silence, and a time to speak
.

He still had trouble discerning which was which.

“Welcome to our home.” Naomi wore a frayed apron over a brown housedress. “Real nice day. It’s warmed a little, and the boys can’t stand being cooped up inside.”

But they all needed heavier coats.

“Thank you. I feel the same way about being cooped up.” Tucker bent down and tickled Noah in the ribs, earning a heartwarming giggle from the boy.

Otis jumped down from the seat and walked around to the back of the wagon. The three older boys scrambled to keep up with him. When he and Tucker had untied the ropes from the hooks at the corners, Otis hoisted the tree down from the top of the wagon. The boys cheered and ran back to their mother.

“Daddy’s got a tree!” Isaac pumped his arms in the air.

Otis carried the tree to the center of the yard and set it up.

“Mighty fine tree, Mr. Bernard. Mr. Tucker.” Smiling, Naomi shifted Baby Nathaniel to her other hip. “I guess I need to find a decoration.” She ducked into the cabin.

The boys skipped and danced around the tree. Pure joy filled their faces as they shouted, “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas to all!”

Tucker wiped a tear from his cheek. When had he moved so far away from the joy of Christmas? How had Christmas become more of a chore than a wondrous occasion?

My focus keeps getting foggy. Forgive me, Lord
.

The neighboring tents and plank cabins emptied out. Children of all colors ran to join the Bernard boys in their impromptu Christmas celebration. Soon familiar tunes with unfamiliar words filled the air as families gathered together.

Naomi stepped out of her home carrying a cup of coffee and some freshly ripped strips of cloth. Looking in her eyes, he could tell she’d just sacrificed a calico dress for the festive occasion. “For you, Mr. Tucker.”

He accepted the tin cup. “Thank you, Mrs. Naomi.”

“Thank you.” She met his gaze, her brown eyes full of gratitude. “I know you’ve been takin’ good care of my Otis. My man likes workin’ with you.”

They watched as Otis held each one of his boys and six other children up in turn so they could drape the garland around the tree. Cloth striped the tree from trunk to tip. As Tucker drained his coffee cup, he heard the slap of wood and looked down at the ground. At the foot of the tree, a stringy-haired girl stacked four small logs together and then pulled a ragdoll from the pocket in her dress. She laid the baby on the makeshift manger, and patting the cloth doll, she began to sing a familiar refrain, but in Italian.

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus lay down His sweet head …

I love Thee, Lord Jesus …

Tucker knelt at the community campfire ring with Otis and set up logs for a fire. Christmas in Poverty Gulch wasn’t about gifts you could wrap, but about unwrapping the gifts you had awaiting you.

Tucker added another log and glanced at his friend. “Think you could run things tomorrow without me?”

“I’d be happy to.” Otis shook hands with Tucker.

“All right, then. It’s settled. I’m taking the train to Colorado Springs first thing tomorrow morning.”

Otis nodded, then smiled down at the boy who’d wrapped himself around his leg.

Tucker watched them and longed for his father’s embrace.

THIRTY-THREE

he tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee and frying bacon wafted up from Hattie’s kitchen and set Ida’s stomach growling. The promise of breakfast made it difficult for her to concentrate as she pinned on her new forest green hat. Or perhaps the real culprit making it so difficult to focus was the memory of the man who had once been attached to the hatpin by way of his dirty boot.

Finally satisfied that her hat was secure, Ida grabbed her new beaded reticule from the dressing table. She stepped out of her room a few minutes early and smiled when she remembered it was the day before Christmas. The pine-branch garland that spiraled down the banister added festive color and a competing woodsy scent to the air. At the bottom of the staircase, Ida went straight to the parlor for a quick peek at the decorations before going to the kitchen. A tree nearly as tall as Tucker Raines stood in front of the window, bedecked with a popcorn garland and candles in tin holders. Boney Hughes and his sons had delivered the evergreen last evening. After supper, she, Hattie, and Faith had sipped mulled cider while they decorated the tree.

Faith had taken the early train to Denver that morning for a family gathering. Ida planned to gather with her sisters that night at Kat’s house.
Next year they’d celebrate in her new home with Vivian there. And perhaps with Father in ’98.

The closer Ida came to the kitchen, the louder came Hattie’s personal off-key rendition of “Joy to the World.” Her landlady stood at the stove, wearing a red apron. A matching ribbon held her gray hair off her face.

“Good morning.” Ida sniffed. “Sure smells good in here.”

Hattie spun around, almost flinging bacon off the plate in her hand.

Ida took the platter from her and set it on the oak table in the corner, then poured two cups of coffee.

Hattie studied Ida’s new red plaid dress and her green hat. “From the looks of things, I’d say you’ve been down at the millinery store again.”

“I went on Saturday.”

“Very festive.”

“Thank you. I thought the outfit might add a little Christmas cheer to the office this morning.”

“But you’ll want to change into a housedress before
we
all begin our baking this afternoon.” Hattie’s silver eyes sparkled. The woman was like a mother hen, and Ida and her sisters and Faith, her little chicks. “This time last year, I didn’t even know the Sinclair sisters existed.” She set two plates full of hot cakes and bacon on the table while Ida grabbed the plate of biscuits from the warming oven.

They both sat down and bowed their heads. Hattie had just added the
Amen
to her blessing when a powerful knock on the front door quieted them both.

Hattie flipped a tartan-print napkin open on her lap. “Who would come calling before eight o’clock in the morning?”

“Perhaps it’s Mr. Boney Hughes bearing more gifts.”

Hattie swatted the air between them while a girlish grin thinned the wrinkles at her mouth.

“What? You can’t swallow your own matchmaking medicine?” Giggling, Ida stood. “I’ll tell Mr. Hughes you’ll see him in the parlor.”

At the front door, Ida pulled the curtain back on a side window, hoping she might see Tucker Raines. But neither Boney nor Tucker stood on the porch, and the woman who did looked every bit as rigid as a soldier marching into battle, except she held a folded newspaper, not a rifle.

Mollie O’Bryan had never come looking for her. Why would she, when Ida was due in the office in an hour’s time?

A deep breath helped Ida regain her composure as she opened the door. “Mollie? Is something wrong?”

Her employer didn’t wait for an invitation to enter the house. She stomped past Ida and into the entryway. If the wood beneath Mollie’s feet had been even a smidgen weaker, Ida was sure she would’ve broken through the flooring.

“You care to explain this to me?” Mollie snapped the newspaper open and shoved it at her.

Ida closed her gaping mouth and stared at the front page. As incensed as Mollie was, her outburst had to be related to money. Ida scanned the assay reports. Then she saw the headline: “Olive Branch Breaks—New Stope in Blackmer’s Mine a Bust.”

“This isn’t possible.”

“So you’re saying the report is a misprint?” Mollie’s green eyes looked as if they could ignite into a blazing fire at any moment. “Or perhaps you’d rather I believe that a trusted assayer in Colorado Springs got it wrong?”

“I was in Mr. Blackmer’s office and heard him say they’d found a rich vein of telluride ore in the new stope in his Olive Branch Mine.”

“That’s what you said.” Mollie snatched the paper from her. “And I believed you.”

“I saw the preliminary report myself.”

“I had you buy thousands of shares based upon your word.”

Ida drew in a deep breath and swallowed her indignation. “I didn’t buy as much as you did, but I sank plenty into that stock as well.”

Clenching her jaw, Mollie slapped the newspaper against her leg. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better when I have to walk into the Exchange next week and dump them for less than I paid?”

Squaring her shoulders, Ida lifted her chin and met her employer’s fiery gaze. “This is not my fault.” She pointed a tremulous finger at the printed report. “Something isn’t right, but it wasn’t I who made a mistake.” Unless she’d trusted the wrong person. Again.

Mollie huffed a sigh. “I want to believe you. I would if I didn’t stand to lose thousands of dollars buying stock you said was going to pay off big.”

“It should’ve.”

“Who is it, dear?” Hattie sauntered into the hallway without her apron. “Miss O’Bryan? You’re just in time for breakfast. Care to join us?”

“I was just leaving.” Mollie marched to the door then spun around and glared at Ida. “Don’t bother coming in today. I don’t plan on being in a good mood.”

“Very well.” Ida held the door open for her. “I’ll be in Tuesday, and I’ll bring answers with me.”

Though just how she expected to find answers to restore Mollie’s faith in her, she didn’t know.

The moment her employer stomped down the steps, Ida clicked the door shut and leaned against it.