Twice a Bride (14 page)

At the Midland Terminal Depot.

With Aunt Alma.

Instead he’d chosen to bring a stranger to the Sinclair family reunion. Nell contemplated the little French girl clinging to Father’s side like a coat pocket. Straight, dark hair framed a round face. Her eyes remained hidden, buried in the fabric.

Cherise didn’t belong here. She was a motherless child in a foreign land. A single man had no moral right to put her in this situation.

Sighing, Nell glanced at the gathering in the entryway. She should be more generous in her thoughts—to both of them. They had, after all, been involved in a train accident. Father had a knot on his forehead to show for it. Of course she was grateful they weren’t harmed, but she could think of no logical reason he should make this journey with someone else’s child.

He was nearly fifty years old, a man without a wife. A father who hadn’t seen his daughters in nearly two-and-a-half years. Was Cherise the reason Father had seldom penned a note to them? Had she replaced Nell and her sisters in their father’s affections? Her thoughts were selfish, perhaps even silly, but she felt caught in conflicting emotions.

Father sniffed the air like a hound on a hunt, then glanced at the child. “Cherise and I haven’t eaten since Colorado Springs, and this house smells mighty good. Like my girls have been cooking.” He smiled as if he’d neither said nor done anything out of the ordinary and everything was normal.

Nell pulled her head up straight and squared her shoulders. “Willow prepared the pork roast. Kat baked the potatoes, and I snapped the peas while Vivian entertained your grandchildren.”

Father met her gaze, his eyes the same blue as hers. “Wonderful. And Ida has quite a story to tell about her activities. Cherise was missing, and I was—”

“Beside himself.” Ida’s matter-of-fact statement was testimony that she too had been blindsided by his actions.

His hand on Cherise’s shoulder, Father bent and whispered something to her in French. Was he reassuring the child in her unfamiliar surroundings? Nell’s insides knotted. She’d needed reassuring the day Father put her on the train west to marry a man she’d never met.

Hattie cleared her throat and glanced toward the dining room. “For certain, that is a delicious fragrance coming from the kitchen.” Could her father’s new landlady sense the storm brewing? Hattie draped her shawl on the coat rack. “Mr. Sinclair, I’ll put the finishing touches on supper while you visit with your daughters. It’ll only take a few moments.”

“I’ll help you.” Nell caught Vivian’s attention on her way to the door. “You’ll keep watch on William?”

Vivian nodded, her brown eyes narrowed in a knowing look. Their father’s surprise had to be especially hard for Vivian to swallow. She wasn’t yet sixteen when he left her in Maine to take the job in France.

Nell followed Hattie and Willow into the dining room. She stopped at the end of the table where she’d abandoned the stack of silverware. Willow continued into the kitchen, but Hattie paused and enveloped Nell’s hand. She looked into Hattie’s blue-gray eyes. Hattie had been like a mother to her the past two years. “This shouldn’t be so hard.”

“But it is.”

Nell nodded. “I should be happy he’s here … I am, but it’s nothing like what I thought it would be.”

“You expected your aunt to accompany him, not a little girl commanding his attention.”

“Yes.” Blinking back tears, Nell leaned toward her dear friend and whispered, “He hasn’t even held his grandchildren.”

“He will.” Hattie’s voice held more promise than her weak smile did. “Most men aren’t given to such demonstrations. And your father did just cross the country and survive a train wreck. Give him time.”

When Hattie disappeared into the kitchen, Nell busied herself placing forks, knives, and spoons beside the plates.
Help me, Lord. I don’t feel the least bit patient
.

The table ready, Nell went to the kitchen to help carry out the meal. Hattie held the meat platter. Willow balanced the dish of peas in one hand and a bread basket in the other. Nell followed with a tray of water glasses.

She’d just cleared the doorway when Father strolled into the dining room, holding her son’s hand. Her breath caught. Cherise followed directly behind him, grasping his coat.

Perhaps Hattie was right. They needed to get reacquainted, and that would take time.

In the meantime, her questions probably wouldn’t be addressed tonight, let alone answered.

Susanna peered out the train window as if she could see into the darkness speeding by her. She probably could if Helen weren’t burning the gas lantern overhead. Her thoughts seemed to roll in rhythm with the clacking wheels as the West Coast Zephyr sped farther away from Kansas and toward her intended destiny. As they’d crossed the flat expanse of the Great Plains, all she could think about was Cripple Creek and what she’d say to win back Trenton Van Der Veer, photographer to the rich and famous. She wondered how long she’d be stuck in Colorado before he married her and whisked her away to New York.

Helen flipped a page of a fashion magazine. “I can’t believe we’re nearly to Colorado.” She yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth the way the women in New York’s high society would.

“Yes, tomorrow.” Susanna glanced at their tight quarters. “And if our berth wasn’t so small, I’d be dancing.” By the time she woke in the morning, assuming her excitement allowed her any sleep, she’d be viewing the famous Rocky Mountains of Colorado. Soon after that, she’d step onto Denver soil, the gateway to her new life. She regarded her slouched friend. “Are you sure your brother won’t mind another houseguest?”

Helen cocked her head and raised a reddish eyebrow. “He won’t mind. It’s not like you’ll be staying very long.”

Susanna shook her head. No longer than it took her to secure a suitable ride from Helen’s brother’s home to Cripple Creek.

“Girls, it’s time you thought about retiring for the night.” Mrs. Granstadt stood in the doorway. “We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mother.” Helen closed the magazine and tucked it into her bag.

Susanna pressed her lips together to avoid a confrontation. Her own mother was no doubt still pouting. She hadn’t even come to the depot to see Susanna off on her adventure. Her mother led a sad life, and that wouldn’t be Susanna in twenty years. No, if she had her way, she’d be in New York by springtime.

When Mrs. Granstadt left the doorway, Susanna leaned against her friend. “You’re twenty, Helen. So am I. Neither of us is a girl.”

She was a young woman who would soon strike out on her own.

In the meantime, a little beauty sleep would do her some good. She glanced up toward her hidden sleeping cot. Her father had given her enough money to ride in this well-appointed Pullman car with Helen and her parents. She and her friend didn’t have a private bedchamber, but they would at least be able to stretch out for their rest.

Within moments a round-faced porter stood in front of them. “Young ladies, are you ready for me to make down the beds?” With a white-gloved hand, he gestured toward the folded berth.

“Yes, we’d appreciate that.”

Helen stood and moved into the aisle. Susanna followed her, watching the
porter release the latches. The bed swung down and latched into place with a reassuring clunk.

“Is this your first trip to gold country?” the porter asked as he reached across the bed and pulled the linens into place.

“Yes. Neither of us has been there,” Susanna answered.

“But my brother lives in Denver,” Helen said.

And Susanna’s future husband lived in Cripple Creek. Now all she had to do was convince Trenton. This time she wouldn’t mess it up.

E
arly Thursday morning Trenton unlocked the studio door and headed straight to the darkroom. When he’d finally returned from Phantom Canyon last evening, he’d developed the negatives and made ten prints. The dried prints hung on a line. His job this morning was to choose the best images, a few for the railroad and a couple for display in the newspaper office. Once he’d delivered those, he’d make a few more prints to display in the studio and have available for sale.

He freed the photographs from their clips and carried the stack to his desk. Despite the commotion and his several moves for different angles, the photographs were good quality. Now it was a matter of who would want various shots. The railroad president should be happy he’d managed to capture the wreckage from all angles, including a wide shot from above the bridge. The newspaper would most likely be interested in that shot and a couple of the ones he’d taken of the passengers.

The printed images took him back to the dry wash and the acts of kindness and heroism he’d witnessed. He’d had other plans for his Wednesday afternoon and evening, but his involvement in the canyon yesterday would go a long way in helping him become established in Cripple Creek. The jobs photographing Denver’s politicians had been noticed by a few of the local mine owners, and the article in the
Denver Post
had gained him recognition with the Women for the Betterment of Cripple Creek. But if the railroads liked his work—

The bell on the front door jingled, interrupting his thoughts. Probably an anxious newspaper man.

Still holding the stack of photographs, Trenton stepped into the main office. A man he didn’t recognize stood at the counter.

“Mr. Van Der Veer?”

“… Yes. T-Trenton Van Der Veer.” Trenton extended his hand over the counter and the man shook it.

“Tucker Raines.” He had a warm smile. “So, you’re the photographer.”

“I am.” Trenton set the stack of pictures on the counter.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you.” Mr. Raines glanced at the photograph atop the stack—the image of the two passenger cars lying tipped and twisted in the dry wash. “I’m the pastor at the First Congregational Church.”

Raines. Reverend Raines
. “Your wife runs the ice company.”

“Yes.” Tucker chuckled. “Her reputation seems to precede me.”

Trenton felt his cheeks warm. Why had he mentioned the man’s wife? “I’ve known J-Jesse at the l-livery since we were school boys in Maryland … He’s mentioned you and your w-wife.”

“Jesse is a good man and quite the smithy.” The reverend set his flat-brimmed hat down beside the photographs. “This world is even smaller than that. My sister is a businesswoman too, and I hear she’s working for you now.”

Trenton shifted his weight. A much smaller world than he was used to. “Mrs. Peterson is your sister?”

“She is.”

“S-small world indeed.”

Perhaps too small. His new employee’s brother was a pastor. Childhood memories assaulted him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Reverend Raines, too, would think his stuttering was of the devil. As a boy, he’d assumed all pastors were the same. An opinion not easily changed. But Mr. Raines was probably only here to make sure his sister would be safe working for Trenton. Her husband would most likely call on him next.

“I didn’t come in to talk about the women in my life—my wife or my sister,” Mr. Raines said with another friendly chuckle. “I wanted to welcome you to town and invite you and your wife to our services at the Congregational Church.” He raised an eyebrow. “That is, if you’re not already attending elsewhere.”

“Thank you.” Trenton swallowed hard. He’d rather talk about his marital status than his church attendance. Fatigue and tension seemed to make it all the more difficult to coax the words out. That, and the memories. “I’m n-not m-married.”

And he was content to remain single. Well, he was working on being content.

The reverend looked back down at the photographs. “These are from the wreck in the canyon yesterday?”

Trenton nodded.

“Mind if I have a look?”

“No. Go right ahead.”

The reverend examined each photograph, his eyes widening with shock and amazement.

All the while, Trenton kept watch on the door, wondering when Mrs. Peterson’s husband would show up.