Twice a Bride (10 page)

Ida pressed her lips together and nodded. “It’s hard to explain, but I already felt like a mother.”

Willow squeezed Ida’s hand. “You haven’t talked to your sisters about this, have you?”

“I couldn’t. Nell hasn’t been able to conceive. Vivian is nearly ready to deliver her first baby, and Kat is carrying another child. They don’t need to be thinking about my problems.”

Willow nodded. She understood wanting to protect those around her. “You know how Sam died.”

“Yes. Tucker told me Sam went into the river after him, and about how he blamed himself when Sam drowned.”

Willow’s heart raced after the memory, but she had to keep going. “Tucker wasn’t to blame. No one was.” Willow breathed another prayer for grace and guidance. “And because I was Tucker’s big sister and loved him dearly, I tried to protect my brother from my grief. I felt I had to in order to assuage his grief, to comfort him, and to assure him Sam’s death was an accident and he wasn’t responsible.”

“It’s what big sisters do.”

“Yes, but we need to be comforted too.”

Ida nodded, her lips quivering.

“You’ve been worried about Tucker. And about me.”

Another nod.

“You’ve been concerned about how your sisters feel because of their own pregnancies.” Willow met Ida’s gaze as she remembered Maria’s wise counsel. “We have to look our own grief in the face before we can receive and accept the comfort we need.”

A slight smile began to clear the clouds from Ida’s blue eyes. “I’m so glad you stopped by.” She straightened her back. “I know I haven’t thanked you nearly enough for what you’re doing for me at the icehouse.”

Willow wanted to say she was glad she’d been available. She was, but—

“I needed time to work through what I was feeling. And Tucker, well, it’s different with him.”

Willow glanced at the mantel, her gaze settling on Tucker and Ida’s wedding photograph. “Sam and I weren’t married long, but he’d hung around our house for four or five years before that. Plus I’ve had a brother for much of my life. Men don’t react to sorrow the way women do.”

Ida nodded and looked at the rag rug beneath their feet. “He said he doesn’t blame me.”

Tears stung Willow’s eyes. “Of course he doesn’t. Losing the baby wasn’t your fault.” She softened her voice. “Only God knows why it happened.” She wouldn’t say there would be other children. She didn’t know God’s plan. “Tucker didn’t know how to comfort you.”

“So he cut the lawn and pruned the roses.”

“Exactly. He felt the loss and was sad for you, but—”

“He hadn’t had a baby growing inside him.”

The image of her brother ripe with child prompted a laugh that erupted before Willow could stop it.

Ida’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened, and then she began laughing too. “There’s an image we won’t soon forget. Speaking of Tucker, he told me about an advertisement he’d seen in the
Cripple Creek Times
and thought it might be of interest to you.”

Willow sobered. Dare she think it was the advertisement Mr. Van Der Veer had printed for the studio job?

“We have a new photography shop in town, and the owner advertised for an artist who could paint portraits from his photographs.”

“A Mr. Van Der Veer.”

“You know him?”

“I applied for the job.
That
Saturday.”

A familiar shadow crossed Ida’s face.

Willow continued. “When I left the depot, I went to the library. I figured my mother had all but twisted your arm to give me a job, so I went to read the advertisements for employees.”

Ida looked at her arm, a slow grin lighting her eyes. “She may have twisted some. You’d come to tell me?”

“And to check on you. I knew you had to be feeling badly not to see Mother off at the depot, but I never thought—”

“We were all surprised.” Ida’s voice trailed off to a short silence. “Did you ever hear from Mr. Van Der Veer?”

“That’s why Hattie stopped by the showroom yesterday. The courier had returned my sample portrait with a letter from Mr. Van Der Veer.”

“He offered you the job, didn’t he?”

Willow nodded, keeping her smile to herself.

Ida leaned forward and grabbed Willow’s hand. “That’s wonderful!”

“You really think so?”

“You don’t?” Ida straightened. “What, you’re afraid you’re going to miss selling iceboxes?”

Willow giggled.

“Wait a minute.” A frown creased Ida’s forehead. “I told Mr. Davenport you’d telephone him with the delivery date, as if you’d be working there forever. And you never said a word.”

“You needed me.”

“Well, now I need to go back to work.”

“About that … I’m a little nervous about your return.”

“Don’t be.” Ida folded her hands in her lap. “I’m feeling much better now. Besides, it’ll be good for me to think about something else.”

Willow cleared her throat. “That’s not what I’m nervous about.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not a businesswoman and definitely not a bookkeeper.”

Ida laughed. “This is your way of telling me I may find a pile of loose numbers in my ledger Monday morning?”

“Yes. I did my best, but—”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll manage just fine.” Ida wagged her finger. “But you let me know if you need any help keeping track of the money Mr. Van Der Veer owes you.”

Willow smiled. “Gladly.”

Thirty minutes later, Willow had helped Ida pack the few baby things she’d already gathered and was on her way back to the boardinghouse. Miss Hattie had errands to run this morning. With her landlady gone, the boardinghouse would be a lonely place to celebrate. Willow’s stomach fluttered with the prospect of working as a portrait painter. Now that Ida didn’t need her help anymore, she could finally be excited about her new job.

Ice cream!

Her steps quickened as she walked down the hill toward town. At the bottom, she turned right on Bennett Avenue and stepped onto the boardwalk. Even on a Saturday morning, Cripple Creek buzzed. Carts wheeled up and down the muddy road. Horses whinnied and burros brayed. A gentleman doffed his bowler in a greeting, and she offered a quick nod in return.

Collins Pharmacy, one of the many new businesses in Cripple Creek, was situated in the middle of the block just west of Second Street. Willow carefully crossed at Third, dodging a boy cajoling a moody mule. Lace curtains framed the gilt lettering on the pharmacy door.

COLLINS
PHARMACY
ICE CREAM PARLOR

A matching lace curtain hung on the open eave above the door, fluttering
in the breeze and waving her inside. Today was as good a time as any to investigate the pharmacy and taste the parlor’s wares.

The heels of her high-top shoes tapped the black-and-white checkerboard linoleum. The left side of the store boasted row after row of drugs, medicinal liquors, balms, and various sundries. But the parlor area drew her to the soda fountain along the far wall. Willow stood behind the only open stool. On the wall behind the counter, rows of sparkling glass dishes and mugs lined the shelves in front of a large mirror. A big painted menu hung from the ceiling above the dipping cases and soda pulls.

The rotund man behind the counter offered her a toothy smile. “May I help you, Miss?”

Ignoring the label, Willow smiled. “Yes, please. I’ve come for some ice cream.”

“You’re in the right place.” He stabbed at the countertop with his pudgy index finger. “Got us a special today. A large soda-water float with two scoops of vanilla ice cream for two bits.”

“Mmm. I’ll take one of those. Root beer soda, please.” She pulled her coin purse from her reticule and laid a quarter on the counter.

He jerked the soda handle, partially filling the fluted glass, then reached into the cabinet, pulled out two perfectly round scoops of vanilla ice cream, and carefully dropped each one into the glass. He slipped in a tall teaspoon, added a spiral-striped paper straw, then slid her celebration treat to her with a flourish. “Here you go. One full-to-the-rim root beer soda with two scoops of vanilla ice cream.”

“Thank you.” Willow lifted the straw to her lips. Cold and sweet. Delicious.

An older man and woman sat on the stools to her left, a younger couple to her right. Round tables with red porcelain tops dotted the back corner of the pharmacy. Couples occupied four of the five tables. A lone man was seated at the far table, and he was looking straight at her.

Mr. Trenton Van Der Veer.

Willow gave him a polite nod, and he did the same.

Turning back around, she slid onto the empty stool and took a long drink of her creamy soda water, trying to ignore the fact that her boss was doing the same thing just a few feet away.

Two married people having ice cream alone and in a public place. Except she no longer had a husband.

Mr. Van Der Veer didn’t need to know that.

T
uesday, Hattie watched the action from her chair at the head of the dining room table. A long piece of white butcher paper stretched the full length of the table. The twentieth of September had arrived, and Mr. Sinclair was due in at the Midland Terminal depot at one thirty this afternoon.

All four of the Sinclair sisters had gathered at the boardinghouse to design a banner to ballyhoo his arrival. A wooden pencil box lay empty in front of Hattie. Each of the sisters had claimed a pencil, and the three youngest had lined up on one side of the table. Kat and Vivian, in the last weeks of their pregnancies, had chosen to sit while Ida officiated from the far end. She’d closed the icebox store today in preparation for the reunion with their father.

Ida tapped her narrow chin. “Do we want pictures on the sign or just a big, colorful
Welcome
?”

Vivian rested her hand on top of her rounded belly. Five days had passed since she’d been bothered by what Kat referred to as a
false start
. “You know Father. No frills.”

Hattie swirled the ice shavings in her glass of lemonade. “He has four daughters, and he doesn’t like frills?”

Vivian shook her head.

Nor did he favor talking on the telephone, at least not with the woman who had tended to his daughters in his absence. Nevertheless, Harlan Sinclair
had fathered four delightful girls, and Hattie was eager to meet him. She leaned back in the cushioned chair and raised her glass to her mouth. She was more excited to greet his guest. She’d met Alma Shindlebower last year when Alma accompanied Vivian across the country, and the sisters’ aunt had proven to be enchanting company. During this visit, Hattie would see that Alma spent more time with Boney. She sipped her lemonade, contemplating her reputation as a first-class matchmaker.

Nell bent over the banner and wrote a big swoopy
W
. “I vote for drawing embellishments on the letters. Then we can frame the word with our names.”

A grunt and a groan in the opposite corner of the room drew everyone’s attention. Thirteen-month-old William sat empty handed, staring at seventeen-month-old Hope, who stood over him waving a wooden block in each hand.

Kat rose from her chair with the speed of a desert tortoise. She looked in her daughter’s direction and cocked her head. “Hope Joyce, are you sharing the blocks with your cousin?”

Nodding, the little girl widened her eyes and bobbed her curly locks. Hattie covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. The child had her mother’s auburn hair and her father’s blue eyes—a winning combination. Hattie should look away, but she couldn’t bear to miss a minute with this family.

“Hope?” Kat dipped her sharp chin. “Did you take William’s block?”

Hope copied the dipped chin and peered at her mother through dark lashes. Her lips pressed together, Hope handed one of the blocks to her younger cousin.

Kat leaned on the table. “Nanny Hattie has plenty of blocks for each of you. Don’t you take his block again.”

After a quick nod, Hope plopped on the floor beside William and reached into the cloth sack. She pulled out another of the blocks George had carved.

Hattie swallowed a bite of regret. She and George had expected to have a house full of children, and they would no doubt have had a baker’s dozen of
grandchildren by this time. But the good Lord had other plans for them. She diluted her residual regret with a generous swig of gratitude. The Lord had been so good to her.
Nanny Hattie
. What a gift it was to be a part of the Sinclair sisters’ lives and their families. Hopefully that was a frill Mr. Sinclair could abide.

Hattie returned her attention to the banner. Vivian had pulled the paper to the edge of the table and with grand flourish wrote the
C
in
Welcome
.

Ida glanced toward the doorway. “I haven’t seen Willow. Is she working today?”

Hattie moved the pencil box to the buffet. “She hasn’t received any painting jobs yet, but she did come home yesterday with all sorts of art supplies. She has an old tintype of me and is upstairs practicing her portrait painting.”

Kat covered her mouth. If she was trying to hide her yawn, she hadn’t managed it. “Does anyone know the photographer she’ll be working for?”

Ida shook her head. “Tucker and I haven’t met Mr. Van Der Veer yet, but knowing my husband, I’m sure he’ll be paying a visit soon.” She started on the second
E
while Kat filled in the center of the
O
with a red pencil.