Twice a Bride (28 page)

Trenton pulled another print out of the tray and hung it on the line. His Wednesday had started earlier than usual. And far more abruptly. He’d been deep into a delightful dream when his neighbor’s dog began barking relentlessly. He’d later discovered the dog had good reason but not good sense. The canine had lost a predawn stare-down with a short-tempered polecat, and the unfortunate mutt was outside being forced into a tub of suds.

When Trenton’s attempt to return to sleep failed, he’d decided a brisk walk to Mount Pisgah and back might provide much-needed time for contemplation. He’d returned to town and opened the office at eight o’clock.

Now, as he slid the last print out of the fixer, he recalled the dream. Again. Willow Peterson walked toward him wearing a frilly pink dress and beaming a
smile that rivaled the brightest ray of sunshine. Mollie Kathleen Gortner walked beside her, carrying a garden spade. Tucker Raines stood with Trenton, holding an open Bible.

Trenton returned the fixer to its jug and stowed it under the printing table. Pausing, he shook his head. It was only a dream. A crazy dream inspired by a delusional mine owner who liked to talk about marital status and seeds that need tending. He wiped the table and tidied the shelf of chemicals above it. He and Willow may have planted seeds of friendship, but he couldn’t expect anything more. He wasn’t marriage material—a blithering fool and a heathen to boot. He picked the trimmings from the day’s prints from the floor.

The bell sounded on the outside door.

“W-welcome. Be r-right—”

“Morning, Trenton. It’s only me.” It was the voice of the man who had stood beside him in the dream with an open Bible.

Had Tucker seen him through the window in the sanctuary door? Maybe the little old man who’d seen Trenton sitting in the foyer told him. Or was he here for a different reason? Mrs. Peterson?

“Be r-right there, R-Reverend.” He pulled the chain on the light in the darkroom and stepped out into the office.

Reverend Raines stood at the counter. “Tucker. Please call me Tucker.”

“Is your sister all right?”

“She’s fine, as far as I know. I haven’t seen her since Sunday, but she seemed fine at church. She even won a game of checkers at our Sunday lunch.” Tucker removed his felt preacher’s hat. “Never mind that it was an eight-year-old girl she beat.” Chuckling, he met Trenton’s gaze as he feigned seriousness. “You can’t tell her I said that.”

Trenton raised his hand as if to take a vow. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Ironic word choice. And here he was talking to the brother of the subject of his recent dreams. “We men have to stick together.” He glanced at the wood stove in the corner. “You want a c-cup of coffee?”

“Sounds good. Feels like an early snow is on its way.”

“C-coffee’s boiled.” Trenton pointed to the extra chair in front of the desk. “I didn’t have electricity on the road in the photographic v-van.”

Tucker seated himself and set his hat on the desk. “Sounds like we’ve both drunk a lot of campfire coffee. I was an itinerant preacher before coming to Cripple Creek.”

This preacher wasn’t anything like the fraudulent Reverend Olum. For one thing, Tucker hadn’t looked down on Trenton or accused him of living a sinful life that caused his
affliction
. He was down to earth. He’d even told a funny story about himself in his sermon last Sunday. Trenton pulled two mugs from the bottom drawer and filled them with hot coffee.

“Thanks.” Tucker took a full mug from him. “Have you always had a stammer?”

“S-since I was a boy, sch-school age, I guess.”

Tucker blew across the top of his coffee. “And photography, how long you been interested in that?”

“Almost as long. My mother was d-dragging me to see another sp-speech therapist when we had to w-wait for a photographic van to roll by.” Trenton paused. “I s-stared at the poster on the side until she pulled me away. The next day I saw the m-man taking photographs in front of the courthouse. I talked to him while my mother was in the dry-goods store.” He took another deep breath. It felt good to get the whole story out. “What about you? Born with a Bible in your hand, were you?”

Tucker chuckled and gulped coffee. “Nope. Mine wasn’t a churchgoing family. Until my father’s last couple years of life, he figured he was good enough to get to heaven, if there was one. He wouldn’t admit to needing any help. Probably assumed he could talk his way in when the time came.”

Sounded familiar. Trenton resisted the impulse to loosen his collar.

“My brothers-in-law and I gather on Wednesday mornings for Bible study and prayer,” Tucker said. “We meet at Morgan Cutshaw’s house on Carr Avenue. I just came from there. You’re welcome to join us next week, if you like.”

Trenton slid his finger along the inside of his collar. It was so much easier to avoid such discussions and expectations when he was on the road, moving from town to town. “I’ll think about it.”

Tucker nodded, and his lazy smile said he knew a dismissal when he heard one. He pushed himself up in the chair and set his coffee mug on the desk. “I almost forgot what I came here for. We’re having a church picnic a week from Sunday, on the sixteenth. I thought it’d be nice to have a group photo taken.”

“Folks m-might object to me w-working on Sunday.”

Nodding, Tucker plucked his hat from the desk. “Then I guess you’ll have to come take photographs for the sheer fun of it.” He stood. “We’d pay you a sitting fee. And folks who want to pay for prints can stop by the studio during the week.”

Trenton sighed. “Fair enough.”

“But you’ll want to make sure you allow plenty of time to sample my wife’s potato salad and Miss Hattie’s fried chicken. Not to mention my sister’s apple pie.”

Willow Peterson
. The perfect reason for him to attend.

“I’ll be there, and I can have prints ready by Monday afternoon.”

“I’m happy to hear it.” Tucker brushed the brim of his hat. “Good day then.” He was almost to the door when he turned. “It was good to see you in church this past Sunday.” A grin crept across his face. “Maybe this Sunday you’ll venture all the way into the sanctuary?”

Trenton smiled. “I’ll think about that too.”

Yep. He liked Reverend Raines. It was his feelings for the man’s sister that troubled him.

N
ell wrapped another diaper around Victoria. The fifth since she’d arrived at the cabin this morning. Thankfully only one of the twins was having issues with Vivian’s milk today. Content to sleep away the hours, Veronica made sweet sleep noises in the cradle while Vivian gathered their dinner dishes. Her sister had already washed a load of diapers and hung them on the line.

Now, her hands full of soup bowls, Vivian turned toward the sink and tripped on the base of the cradle.

“Ouch!”

Nell instinctively bent over the cradle to protect Victoria, but somehow Vivian managed to keep hold of the dishes and steady herself. She straightened.

“How ever did you manage not to drop those?” Nell asked.

“Practice. Good to know I learned something of value during my days as a hostess.” The sarcasm added a shimmer to Vivian’s brown eyes. When she finished pinning the diaper, Nell pulled Victoria’s dress down and lifted her from the bed. The crunch of wagon wheels on the rocky road out front drew Nell and Vivian to the open window. Father sat tall beside Miss Hattie, at the reins in her surrey. Cherise sat behind them, next to a mound of packages. Today was the grand shopping day for school clothes.

Without looking away from the window, Vivian stroked the top of
Victoria’s hairless head. “They’re all smiling. I’d say the shopping excursion was a success.”

“Perhaps in more ways than one?”

Vivian dipped her chin and nodded, a grin framing her thin lips.

The three of them looked every bit a family, despite the extreme age spread between Cherise and the adults. Now that Nell had observed her father with the child and gotten to know her better, it wasn’t surprising that he wanted to provide a home and a family for her.

“They do make a rather sweet family, don’t they?” Vivian arched a thin eyebrow.

“I was thinking the same thing.” Nell walked to the door. “I doubt he’d be able to turn Cherise over to any of us now.”

“I think it’s Father’s turn for a second chance, and I’m praying he’ll see the light and take a wife.”

“Miss Hattie? Do you think—”

Vivian opened the door and stepped out onto the small stoop. “You watch the two of them together for a few minutes,” she whispered, “then tell me what you think.”

Hattie cradled baby Victoria in the crook of her arm and breathed in her sweetness—a blend of talc and mother’s milk. This day bubbled with bliss. Shopping with Cherise and Harlan, then lunch at the Third Street Café. Harlan had told them about the report he’d submitted to the railroad after the train wreck and about the letter they’d sent, offering him a job in the Cripple Creek District. He planned to remain.

Yes, a blissful day.

Nell was at Vivian and Carter’s house helping Vivian with the twins. She showed Cherise how to hold three-day-old Veronica, the other twin.

Vivian came in from outside carrying a basket of diapers. She shivered. “Sun’s still shining, but it feels like it could snow tonight.” She sat on one end of the sofa and set the basket on the floor in front of her. “I don’t normally fold clothes in the parlor, or when I have guests, but …”

“We’re all family here.” Harlan seated himself in a wing-back chair across from Hattie.

Vivian looked up from the diaper and met Hattie’s gaze. “So … Father said you three have been clothes shopping.”

“We have indeed.”

“That must have been fun.” Hattie recognized the lilt in Nell’s voice. The third-born Sinclair sister was an incurable romantic.

“It was an enjoyable time.” Hattie shouldn’t have looked at Harlan, but she did, and his tender smile stirred her own romantic notions.

“Hattie really has an eye for sensible fashion.” He still hadn’t looked away.

“Thank you.”

“And she’s so good with Cherise.” He smiled at the child. “You’ll look like a princess in school next week.”

“I show my clothes?” Cherise’s enthusiasm startled Veronica and the baby whimpered.

“We’ve kept Miss Hattie out long enough.” Harlan glanced from Cherise to each of his daughters. “But there is something I’d like to discuss with her before we take her home. Would you girls mind entertaining Cherise for a few minutes?”

Vivian looked up from the diaper she was folding, amusement shining in her brown eyes. “We don’t mind.”

Harlan bent toward Hattie and reached for baby Victoria. “Do you mind a private conversation?”

Hattie shook her head, unable to form words around the questions clogging her throat. She handed him the snuffling bundle. What could he possibly need to speak to her about that required privacy?

He kissed his granddaughter’s forehead and carried her to Vivian. A moment later he returned to the sofa and extended his arm to Hattie. She stood and laid her hand on his arm, feeling his warmth through the jacket. He led her into the entryway and glanced back toward the room where two of his daughters remained. Apparently their whispers had reached his ears too.

“I’d hoped we could speak privately, but it may be too cold outside for lingering,” he said.

“My mantle will keep me warm enough.”

“Very well.” Harlan pulled her wool cape from a coat tree and laid it over her shoulders. She looked into his azure blue eyes and nodded, not at all sure what she was agreeing to. He held the door open. “I thought we could sit on the porch for a spell.”

Hattie stepped past him, breathing in the scent of shaving soap and hair tonic.

When the door clicked shut behind them, Hattie noted the chairs normally cluttering the porch were missing. She moistened her lips and seated herself on the porch swing. She pressed her hand to her stomach to still the soaring butterflies and glanced at the empty space beside her. Harlan sat down. His elbow brushed hers, sending a shiver up her spine.

“I think Cherise is happy with the clothes we found her,” she said.

He nodded, his clean-shaven chin not more than a foot away from her own. “You are so good with her. So kind.” Pausing, he drew in a deep breath. “You should be a mother.”