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Maisie trudged up the mercantile steps and went inside. Mama had been exceptionally stubborn this morning – not only about eating breakfast, but getting dressed as well. Honestly, what woman wanted to stay in her nightclothes all day? It’s not as if she was sick – she didn’t have a fever, didn’t complain of any aches or pains. She was just ...
... losing her mind? she thought. Please, God, don’t let it be.
“Good morning, Maisie,” Abigail said as Maisie approached the counter, then looked at her a little closer. “Is everything all right?”
Maisie leaned against the counter and felt like beating her head against it a few times. If Mrs. Petroff wasn’t nearby looking at ribbons, she might have. “It’s my mother. Again.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry. What ...?”
“Don’t ask.” Maisie held up a hand.
Abigail nodded in understanding. “Though I will ask what you’re planning to do,” she said softly.
“What I should have done yesterday and didn’t – speak with the doctor. It’s just that ...” She rubbed her hand across her eyes, fighting tears. “Never mind. I’d rather not talk about it.”
Abigail put a hand on Maisie’s arm. “I won’t press you. But if you want to talk later, you know where to find me.”
Maisie smiled at the slight joke – it would be just the two of them minding the store for the rest of the day. This being Wednesday, Jasper would be making his afternoon rounds to the local farmers, buying produce to sell. This time of year, that meant pumpkins, squash and the like.
“Abigail,” said Mrs. Petroff as she joined them at the counter. “How much for this green ribbon?”
“Five cents, but is green really your color?”
“It’s not for me,” Mrs. Petroff said with a giggle. “It’s for Merritt.”
“Your granddaughter?” Maisie said, glad for the change of subject. “Is she back?”
“They’ll be back any day now. She and Rafe had a lovely time in Seattle. I hope that Rafe didn’t find himself a job there and is coming home to whisk us all away.”
“He would really do that?” Maisie asked in surprise.
“Rafe most certainly would – he’s the adventurous type, you know. Thank heavens it’s getting too chilly for the men to be out playing that base ball.” She gave Maisie a pointed look. “Ever since he taught the men in town that game, that’s all they think or talk about all spring and summer.”
“Or do,” Abigail added. “Be glad you’re not married yet, Maisie, or your husband would be lured into the base ball circle too.”
Maisie smiled despite her despair. Jasper had played the game a lot over the warmer months. But everyone looked forward to the games Rafe had started eight years ago.
“I’d better get home,” Mrs. Petroff said. “My poor husband is probably starving and wanting his supper.”
“Say hello to him for us, will you?” Abigail said.
“I will,” Mrs. Petroff turned to Maisie. “And you say hello to your mother for us. How is she, by the way?”
Maisie’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to talk about her mother, but it looked like she had no choice. She didn’t want to be rude. “I’m afraid she’s not well, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Oh, you poor dear,” Mrs. Petroff said, her voice laced with sympathy. “Such a dutiful daughter. Land sakes, if I had a son, I’d introduce him to you in an instant!”
Maisie felt herself blush.
“Oh look, Abigail, her cheeks are pinking.” Mrs. Petroff smiled broadly. “Have you thought of marriage?”
“Oh, Mrs. Petroff,” Maisie said, abashed. “What girl doesn’t now and then?”
“Well, you go right on ahead and keep thinking, dear. The right gentleman will come along in time.”
Abigail snorted, catching their attention. “Abigail, it’s nothing to laugh about,” Mrs. Petroff scolded. “Matrimony is a serious matter.”
Abigail put a fist to her mouth to hide her smile, but Maisie saw it anyway. What was she thinking? She looked at Mrs. Petroff, who seemed to be as curious as Maisie.
Abigail snorted again.
“For Heaven’s sake, Abigail,” Mrs. Petroff said. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m sorry – it’s nothing, really. Nothing.” She folded her hands in front of her.
Maisie rolled her eyes and walked behind the counter. She knew it wasn’t nothing – Abigail’s friend Mr. Bridger was not only new in town, but an eligible bachelor. But would he stay? What if he decided he didn’t like the town? And did it matter if he stayed in Cutter’s Creek? Mama would never allow a man to call on her, let alone court her.
“Until next time, ladies,” Mrs. Petroff called from the door. She left the mercantile with a wave.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Abigail inquired again once she was gone.
Maisie leaned against the back counter, gripping the edge with both hands. Tears burned her eyes and her stomach twisted. What is the matter with me? she thought. She suddenly felt as if Papa had died all over again. “I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was weak and sure to raise Abigail’s suspicion. “Really.” She cleared her throat. “Just tired.”
“Well, if you’re sure ... we got some new dresses in. Would you like to see them?”
Maisie smiled at her and nodded. Ready-made clothes were rare in these parts – most everyone sewed, Maisie included, or went to Brown & Brown Clothiers if they could afford it. But she hadn’t had much chance to sew lately, what with taking care of Mama. Speaking of which, had she eaten the fruit Maisie left her? She certainly hoped so, but what if she hadn’t? What if she refused to eat supper?
For now, there was nothing Maisie could do. She had a job and she needed to do it. She took a deep breath. “All right then, let’s see those dresses.”
* * *
JONATHAN RODE IN PEACEFUL silence back to town. Cecilia and Max – and Lucius and Emma’s little ones – had worn him out. He’d wrestled with all five. It was a good kind of tired, the kind brought on by lots of laughter, good food and good company. Yet there had been something missing.
He noted his surroundings, figuring he’d better memorize them in case he wanted to return to the Judrow ranch on his own. He’d been so deep in conversation with Eldon on the way out, he hadn’t paid much attention to landmarks, only the time it took to get there.
The Montana Territory was beautiful country, but despite the setting sun just disappearing behind the mountains, he felt empty. Lonely. Maybe it was from having so much peace and quiet, something he was still getting used to. Could he? His life had been one long torturous battle with his family, day in and day out. Could it be part of him missed the chaos?
“No, I don’t!” he exclaimed. But he could feel an emptiness growing inside of him, a relentless stirring of ... what? He had no idea. Maybe he just needed to feel like he belonged somewhere. Cutter’s Creek hadn’t had time to grow on him again, that was all. He kicked his horse into a trot and let him have his head. The animal knew where he was going, his ears pricked forward in anticipation. But if he wasn’t careful, it might speed up and gallop back to the livery stable.
He slowed the gelding to a walk again. “Nothing wrong with taking our time ... er ... Cinnamon? No, that’s not right – Sugar?” Good grief, he couldn’t remember the horse’s name? He was told him what it was when he rented the horse, but all he could remember was that it was a seasoning of some sort. Parsley ... nutmeg ... “Pepper!” he shouted triumphantly.
Pepper, in turn, spooked and took off like a shot. Jonathan almost lost his seat, and it took him a moment to right himself and slow the horse down. “Sorry, old boy. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Pepper snorted in response and shook his head.
“Oh no, you’re not taking off like that again. I’m in no rush to get back to ...” Jonathan stopped and stared straight ahead. “... town.” He gazed at the lights of Cutter’s Creek through the trees. Could he build a life here, he wondered? Could he maybe find a wife, start a family, be as happy as Aggie and Eldon?
He bit his lower lip in thought. Aggie had brought up Maisie Woodhouse more than once. After all, if he did settle here, she was almost the only eligible girl in town. “Wouldn’t it be my luck she’d have no interest?” he asked the horse.
Pepper snorted again and tossed his head, anxious to get back to the livery and his supper.
“Well,” Jonathan said with a sigh. “I don’t suppose it could hurt to see if she likes me. After all, where else am I gonna go? I have friends here ...”
Pepper pulled at the reins, wanting to go faster.
“Wouldn’t you stay, make a go of it? I got me a good job ...”
Pepper wasn’t the least bit interested.
“Oh, what do you know – you’re a gelding. You don’t care if the fillies like you or not.” He gave the horse his head and let him break into a slow canter. Best he get back before the sun disappeared – he didn’t fancy riding in the dark.
Once he got Pepper taken care of and fed, he took a walk around town, surveying his new domain. He spent extra time in front of the little red chapel. “Why do I feel more like I’m saying goodbye instead of hello?” he asked it.
The Christmas festival of 1867 flashed before him. He remembered the look on Aggie’s face when they’d gone to speak with Rev. Latsch about volunteering. What a time that was. As awful as his family had been, they were still family, but he knew he couldn’t go back. And he wouldn’t subject any bride of his to them either. The poor girl likely wouldn’t last a week without fleeing or killing one of them.
Jonathan turned and walked down the street to the other end of town and the boarding house, hoping Mrs. Whitehall had left him some dessert. He was hungry again and could do with a snack. Reaching the place, he went inside and straight to the kitchen. Mr. Martensen waved at him over his paper as he passed through the front hall. Then ...
“Oh!” Miss Woodhouse said as she jumped. “Land sakes, you scared me!”
Jonathan stopped dead, his feet glued to the spot. Maisie wore a simple yellow calico dress with white lace at the sleeves and collar. Her dark hair had come loosed from its pins in several places, and her blue eyes shone against the ivory of her skin. “Great Heaven,” he whispered. She was beautiful.
“I beg your pardon?”
Jonathan took a ragged breath and stepped into the kitchen. “Is there, um, any pie left?”
“Yes – would you like some?”
“Please, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” She turned to the cupboard, opened it and took out two pie tins. “Apple or pumpkin?”
“Mrs. Whitehall made pumpkin pie?”
“Actually, I did.”
His eyes lit up. “You did?”
She seemed offended, her dark eyebrows knitting over those stunning blue eyes. “Don’t sound so surprised. I can bake.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t. But when did you have time?”
“I made them earlier today before I went to work. I thought ... well, Mama likes pumpkin pie. It’s one of her favorites.”
“Mine too, only my ma and sister don’t cook well. I haven’t had decent pumpkin pie since Aggie lived with us.”
“Aggie? You mean Agatha Judrow?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how you know her?”
He smiled. “Yes. I guess you could say she and I grew up together for a time.”
She nodded and smiled back. “I’m glad you have kin here, after a fashion.”
“Yeah, after a fashion.” He tried not to stare, but it was difficult. He was looking at her, really looking at her for the first time. And he was concerned by what he saw. As beautiful as she was, she seemed worn down, from her furrowed brow to her dragging feet. Whatever sort of burden she carried, it was heavy. Her dress was clean, but thin at the elbows and frayed at the cuffs. What would she look like rested and refreshed? “Would ... would you take a walk with me sometime?”
Her eyes went wide. “W-walk?”
He nodded, his hat in his hands like a silly schoolboy. “Yes, just around town? If you ever need some air, that is.” Could he have made himself sound any sillier? The words had come out of his mouth before he could stop them.
Her mouth twitched, almost smiling. “I would like that.” She clasped her hands tightly in front of her but didn’t meet his gaze, as if she didn’t dare. Now why would that be?
“I could escort you to work tomorrow,” he suggested. “That would be walking.”
Her smile came easier this time. “Yes, it would. And so is walking home from work,” she added.
He nodded and bit his lip. He slapped his hat against his other hand, and, his smile still in place, turned to go.
“Mr. Bridger? Did you still want your pie?”
Good grief, she’d made him forget about his pie – pumpkin, no less! He smiled again, partly at his own folly. “Yes, ma’am!”
Maisie smiled shyly in return and proceeded to slice him a big piece of pumpkin pie. Jonathan watched her with interest. If she cooked as good as she looked, Aggie’s hints through supper held even more weight. Maybe he could lighten her burdens a little as well ... once he understood what they were.