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Maisie Woodhouse put a blanket over her mother’s legs and tucked it around her hips. “There. Can I get you anything else?”
“No,” her mother snapped.
Maisie did her best not to sigh. Sarah Woodhouse had been beside herself with grief since Papa died. Unfortunately, her behavior was growing worse, and Maisie was worried.
She supposed she couldn’t blame her mother. Samuel Woodhouse had grand ideas about starting a newspaper and print shop in a little town somewhere. He’d heard about Cutter’s Creek from a relative who knew the founders of the town and told him all about it. To Papa, Cutter’s Creek sounded perfect. So he packed Maisie and her mother up, left Virginia and headed west. But he barely survived the journey – he died from influenza not long after they reached town, just over a year ago.
Maisie had been supporting her mother as best she could ever since. At first they took in laundry, much to her mother’s displeasure. Then Maisie got a job at the mercantile several days a week, and between that and washing sheets, they were getting by. Barely.
Mother and daughter shared a room at Mrs. Whitehall’s boarding house, as it was all they could afford. Thankfully Mrs. Whitehall didn’t mind their laundry operation since the money supplied her with the extra rent needed to help her make ends meet. The woman let Maisie and her mother use the backyard to do the washing and hang the laundry in exchange for doing all the boarding house washing for free. Mrs. Whitehall wasn’t unkind, just practical.
“You are making supper when you come home,” her mother said flatly.
“Yes, Mama, I plan to. Don’t worry, you won’t have to cook.”
“See that I don’t. I worry away myself just keeping food on the table. Isn’t that enough? Must I have to cook too?”
Maisie closed her eyes and counted to ten. One, two, three ...
“And the dishes – you’ll do the dishes?”
Maisie yawned, hoping her mother didn’t think it rude. That would be a whole other lecture.
“Did you hang the last batch of laundry?”
“Yes, Mama,” she said, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. “I did.”
“Good. I don’t want folks around here thinking we’re not doing our jobs.”
“You mean that I’m doing mine,” Maisie said, unable to help herself. At this point she was the one doing most of work – her mother was sleeping most of the day. That behavior also worried Maisie, and she wasn’t sure what to do. Every time she brought up getting a doctor, her mother would get angry. Mainly over money, of which they had none.
“You’re cooking tonight?” her mother asked again.
Maisie felt tears sting the back of her eyes. Was her mother losing her wits? “Yes, Mama. I already told you I was.”
“And a good thing too,” her mother said with a frown. “Work my fingers to the bone, I do. Isn’t it enough I feed you? The least you can do is cook.”
Frowning, she handed her mother a book. “I’ll be home in a few hours. Do some reading, relax.”
“Of course I’ll relax! I deserve to relax!”
Maisie kissed her mother on the forehead. “Of course you do,” she mumbled. What else could she say? Her mother was beginning to make no sense. She turned to leave, wondering if she should tell her employers Abigail and Jasper how her mother had been acting. Better yet, she should go tell the doctor and be done with it. Her mother didn’t have to know she paid him a visit.
“Maisie?” her mother said, her tone deeper, angrier.
“Yes, Mama?” Maisie said, standing on the threshold, not turning around.
“Don’t you be talking to men on your way to work, you hear me, girl?”
Maisie rolled her eyes. “If there were any men to talk to, Mama, I’d remind myself. I’ll see you in a few hours.” She quickly left, not wanting to give her mother another chance to gripe. When her tone changed like that, she knew the woman’s bitterness was rising. A far cry from the loving mother she once had.
Before Papa died, the three of them had been so excited about leaving burned-out Richmond and coming west. It was a grand adventure, starting over – even grander now that the railroad made the journey easier. But they didn’t get to ride the rails the entire way. And the railroad didn’t keep her father from contracting the flu. Personally, she thought he picked it up in Kansas City, but who could say?
“Off to work, Maisie?” Mrs. Whitehall asked as Maisie descended the stairs.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back in a few hours. You don’t mind if I heat something up for Mama later?”
“Of course not, child – you know supper’s included in your rent. I don’t know why that woman insists you cook for her when my cooking’s perfectly fine.”
“I know, Mrs. Whitehall,” she said with a smile. “But Mama ... has her ways.”
“She’s just creating more work and expense for you,” Mrs. Whitehall said. “She hasn’t come down to eat with the rest of us for weeks. Ain’t right for a body to stay cooped up in her room like that.”
Maisie’s eyes drifted up the staircase. “On that we agree. I’m going to see the doctor this week. I can’t think of what else to do.”
Mrs. Whitehall shook her graying head. “I don’t know how you do it, child. You’re an angel on earth to put up with that woman. But I know it’s not her fault – some folks just can’t handle hard times or losing a loved one. She must have loved your pa very much.”
Maisie pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders. It was late October, and Montana autumns felt like Virginia winters. “I’ve heard that too – maybe that is what’s wrong with Mama. But the doctor should know, shouldn’t he?”
“We can only hope,” Mrs. Whitehall said. “If not, child ... well, then I’m afraid you have to start praying for a miracle.”
* * *
MAISIE WALKED TO WORK as if to the gallows. She knew her mother was getting worse, but the reality of it sunk in when Mrs. Whitehall mentioned it. There was no use denying it – Mama needed help. Maisie wasn’t sure what or how, but surely the doctor would know. Then she could get her mother on the mend.
But what if he didn’t? Then where were they?
The wind picked up, whipping at Maisie’s skirts She leaned into it and walked on. Leaves blew past in flashes of brown, gold, red and orange. She loved this time of year, even if it was getting colder. She just wished she had a coat. Thankfully the boarding house wasn’t far from the mercantile, so she wasn’t out in the elements for long. Still, the winters out here were far more severe than in Virginia.
She reached the mercantile doors, patted her dark hair and took a deep breath, not wanting Abigail to notice she’d been fighting tears. Crying was something she refused to do. She’d shed enough tears over Papa’s death to last a lifetime, as had her mother. Mama was still grieving and hard too. Maisie wondered if Mama would ever get over it – only time would tell.
She put her hand on the doorknob. “You can do this,” she whispered. “Bright smile, Maisie, bright smile.” She opened the door and stepped inside. The bell announced her arrival and she plastered on a smile for the Smiths ... a wasted effort, as neither of them seemed to be minding the store. “Where is everybody?”
“Is that you, Maisie?” Abigail called up the hall.
“Yes,” Maisie called back and went behind the counter. She took her shawl off, folded it up and tucked it in a cubbyhole. “Has it been busy?”
“No, thank Heaven,” Abigail said as she appeared with a grin.
“What are you so happy about?” Maisie asked.
“We have company,” Abigail said. “An old friend we haven’t seen in years.”
“That’s nice.” She studied the shelves behind her. Hmmm ... she’d have to do some re-stocking, from the looks of things. “Have you been visiting with them long?”
“The last couple of hours.” Abigail turned to the hall. “Jonathan, come to the front – there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Maisie wasn’t feeling particularly sociable, not after that last bout with her mother, but put her smile back on anyway. Jasper appeared, followed by a young man with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes. He wasn’t the dashingly handsome type she’d read about in novels, but he certainly wasn’t hard to look at. She suddenly realized her smile had turned genuine.
“Jonathan, this is our new helper, Miss Maisie Woodhouse,” Abigail said. “Maisie, may I introduce Jonathan Bridger? As I said, he’s an old friend from years back. He and his family used to live here.”
Maisie’s eyes darted between the three, coming to rest on Mr. Bridger. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. When did you live in Cutter’s Creek?”
Mr. Bridger glanced at the Smiths, as if he wasn’t sure if she was addressing him. “Almost ten years ago. I was just a boy then.” His ears turned pink.
Oh dear – had she just put her foot in her mouth? Not having any brothers, she had to remind herself that men were sensitive about the darnedest things. “Did you used to work here?”
“Oh no,” he said with a chuckle. “I worked at the livery stable. In fact, I’m going down to talk to the blacksmith about hiring me back. It’s the same blacksmith, I understand.”
“Good for you. That means you’ll be staying?”
He nodded, his eyes meeting hers. “Yes, I suppose.”
She liked his smile. There was something charming about the man – he wore his boyish innocence comfortably, like a favorite hat. “I’m glad to hear it. That’ll bring the population up.”
He laughed again, and Maisie couldn’t help but smile. She could be witty when she wanted, but these past months had drained her sharp mind and quick smile. Not only was her mother seemingly sinking into a deep, dark pit, she was dragging Maisie down with her.
“Jonathan knows Agatha and Eldon Judrow quite well,” Jasper said.
“Yes, and we invited Jonathan to supper after he gets settled,” added Abigail. “We want to invite Agatha and Eldon as well. Would you like to come too?”
Maisie’s heart sank. Mama would never let her leave. She always complained for days if she left her alone at night, especially around supper. “I’m afraid I can’t. My mother hasn’t been feeling well lately ...”
“Say no more,” Abigail said with a sympathetic smile. “She’s still not herself?”
Maisie leaned against the counter and stared at the surface. “I’m afraid not. There’s been no improvement that I can tell.” Quite the opposite, she thought.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Abigail said. “I know it’s been hard on the both of you since your father passed.”
Maisie glanced at Mr. Bridger. She wasn’t in the mood for condolences either. Sometimes her mother’s strange antics had her nerves drawn so tight, she felt like she would snap in two. This was one of those times – her earlier despair resurfaced, and she could only sigh and nod at Abigail in response. Thankfully, Mr. Bridger remained quiet, settling for looking compassionate. She smiled shyly in return, thankful to not have to speak of her father’s death to a stranger, no matter how handsome.
“We got her favorite candy in,” Jasper said, trying to be helpful.
“Thank you, but I can’t keep feeding her candy. At this point I must owe you three dollars.”
Jasper shook his head. “No, you don’t owe a penny. And don’t think I’m going to take it out of your wages either, because I’m not.” He turned to Mr. Bridger. “She’s very stubborn about that.”
Mr. Bridger smiled warmly. “And how long have you been working here?” he asked Maisie.
She licked her lower lip and let her eyes drift to the counter again. “Almost a year. That’s not very long, is it?”
“That depends on how you spent the rest of your time,” he said with the same sympathetic look as earlier.
She knew he was referring to her father’s death, and slowly nodded. “That’s very true, Mr. Bridger, very true.” She turned abruptly to Abigail. “I’d better re-stock the shelves.”
Abigail smiled in understanding – she knew Maisie well enough to know she was uncomfortable and wanted to end the conversation. “All right, you go ahead and I’ll be there to help you in a minute. Jasper’s going to walk Jonathan down to the livery stable.”
Maisie looked at the men. “Does the blacksmith need help?” Oh heavens, that didn’t sound good – as if Mr. Bridger had to have Jasper there to ensure he got a job. Though as far as she knew, no one in town was hiring.
“I’m feeling nostalgic,” Jasper explained. He reached up as if to ruffle Mr. Bridger’s hair, but stopped his hand. “Sorry – guess you’re too old for me to do that now.”
Mr. Bridger laughed and shook his head. “A lot taller too. Besides, I was too old back when you used to do it.” That threw Abigail and Jasper into hysterics.
Maisie smiled but didn’t feel like laughing at the moment. Her mind was still on Abigail’s invitation to supper. There wasn’t a single man around Cutter’s Creek for miles, let alone one as easy on the eyes as this one. But she had no business thinking such things – her mother (who would raise Cain if she went) came first, and that was that.
Jasper gave Abigail a peck on the cheek, slapped Mr. Bridger on the back and headed for the door. Within moments, the storefront was quiet, peaceful and void of anything that would bring tears to Maisie’s eyes.