3

Patience smoothed the crisp, clean sheets across the bed and tucked them in, breathing in their fresh smell of the spring outdoors. Her new boarder, who called herself Emily, was a pretty young girl who worked at the café just down the street. “I’ve been living in the back of the café,” she had explained, “but I sure would like someplace nicer . . . like here.” The girl smiled, and Patience liked her immediately. It turned out that it would cost Emily only a little bit more than her current room.

Patience was tired and very tempted to crawl between the sheets herself after tidying everything up. She stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the spacious bedroom. It had taken her most of the morning to lug up a bucket of suds to wipe down the window and mop the floor. Now sunshine sparkled through that window, highlighting the fluffy pillows and rose-colored quilt adorning the bed. After numerous trips up the stairs today, her legs and back were sore. But she hummed to herself, trying to forget how weary she was.

She was truly happy to finally have a few more boarders. Not everyone ate in her dining room all the time. But she always provided a hot breakfast in the morning and a good meal at supper. She had changed her schedule so that instead of giving them lunch, her boarders were on their own—which freed her up to do her chores and find a little time to herself. Guests who had previously come for lunch now often joined her boarders for the evening meal.

She gathered up her cleaning supplies to take downstairs and paused, rubbing her back, at the bedroom window. Her mind drew her back to the town of Helena, her mother—and Russell. She and Russell had become friends, and she was pretty sure he was about to ask her to marry him. And then came his tragic death. She still agonized over it all, wishing she knew more details about his accusers and the awful hanging.

Setting the cleaning items down once again, she shook her head and turned away from the window, her stomach in a knot at the terrible memory and the appalling scene she’d imagined way too often. She was still sure it was all a terrible mistake. Russell had just begun a small ranching operation with his brother, Nathan. There was no way he would even think of stooping so low as to steal a neighbor’s cattle. Never. Of that she was sure. Her heart ached at how unjust it all was.

They’d met at church where she played the piano, and together attended several dances and outings. He’d been charming and, in her mind, perfect for her. When she’d learned of his death, she thought her life was over too. She hadn’t seen Nathan since and idly wondered if by now he’d moved away.

Back in Helena, she’d considered driving over to their place to see what she could learn, but she would’ve had to rent a buckboard and horse, and money was as tight in Helena as it was here. Besides, she reminded herself again, Russell had never invited her to his ranch, probably because he was so busy fencing it in. Either way, there wasn’t anything she could do about it now, but it was hard convincing her heart of that.

Only a few months after that terrible loss, her grandmother had passed away, leaving the boardinghouse to Patience—much to her mother’s dismay. Patience had been happy to leave home and start fresh. Especially away from her mother’s eyes, both pitying and prying.

It was hard to believe the place needed so many repairs after being open only about two years. It looked like it had been hastily built, and with the constant flow of miners and travelers, it already had begun to show wear on the rugs and furniture. She’d just have to live with it until she could squirrel away some money to get things done the way she’d like them. At least she’d keep it clean and neat.

Patience shook her head and turned her attention to happier thoughts—her situation was beginning to look up. Tomorrow she would find out if she could buy paint for the front of the boardinghouse. It was in desperate need of a sprucing up, and she thought she could do it herself. She’d have to borrow a ladder, but she figured someone around here would loan her one. Emily would know of someone, she was sure.

As she turned to leave the room, satisfied now that it was as immaculate as she could make it, her eye caught her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. At twenty-five, she was considered an old maid. Right now she was a sight to behold—smudges on her face, unruly dark hair falling from its pins, buxom on top and hips flaring beneath her soiled apron and dress. But her green eyes were still clear and bright. She considered them her best feature. Now, if only she could look like the new boarder, Emily—a little taller and thinner—she just might see a bit of interest from some eligible bachelor.

Patience sighed, picked up the mop bucket and cleaning items, and made her way downstairs. No point in whining about her looks. She couldn’t change what she was, but hopefully someone of God’s choosing would look at her heart and not her outward appearance. Stay focused on the tasks at hand and work as unto the Lord, she repeated silently. She wanted her grandmother to be proud of her—maybe look down from heaven with a smile. It made her sad that her grandmother had a soft spot for her that her own mother did not. Especially after her father died. Without him there to intervene on her behalf when it came to her mother’s demands, she felt her life had been totally controlled and stifled.

She decided to have just another tiny slice of her lemon cake. That would surely make her feel better, wouldn’t it? Tomorrow she would pay the marshal a brief visit.

Patience placed sizzling sausage, scrambled eggs, hot coffee, and fresh biscuits on the sideboard for her guests. Three biscuits she kept aside, wrapped in a blue-checked napkin. She paused, considering whether to add the sausage to her basket. It seemed that a man like Marshal Jones would enjoy meat with his biscuit, so she tucked two of the sausages in with them. She donned bonnet and shawl and picked up the basket. If she got to the marshal’s office early enough, no doubt it would be breakfast she was delivering.

She stepped into spring’s chill, pausing to watch the morning sun just beginning to spread its golden rays across the mountain ridge. She surveyed the small town, barely six blocks long, which was host to thousands of miners traipsing to and from Alder Gulch. With three general stores, two saloons, a butcher, livery stable, and blacksmith, even at sunup there was always steady activity. She lifted her skirts at the end of the boardwalk to avoid the disgusting road littered with horse droppings. So unlike Helena. But I don’t miss living with my mother, she reminded herself. She rather liked her newfound independence. She would no longer be viewed simply as a spinster but instead as a businesswoman with her own boardinghouse.

Delicious fragrances drifted from The Star Bakery as she hurried along. She’d bought a cinnamon bun there once, and enjoyed chatting with Hannah, the middle-aged lady who owned the establishment. But it was an extravagance she really couldn’t afford—at least not very often. She nodded to Hannah through the shop window and hurried on.

She was pleased to see light from the marshal’s window and quietly swung open the wooden door. She found him leaning back, hat over his face and boots resting on his desk. She called out a cheery good morning as she placed her basket on his desk. Yanking off his hat, he quickly sat up, boots thumping on the floor, and blinked at her. He swept his hand through thick hair and ran his fingers over his mustache. It appeared he’d slept in his chair all night.

“What in the world are you doing here at this hour, Miss Patience?” he growled.

“You could be a bit nicer, Marshal—a little less grumpy,” she admonished, tucking her arms beneath her shawl. “Actually,” she said, moderating her lecturing tone, “I brought you some of my biscuits as a peace offering for my rude interfering last week. By the looks of you, I’d say you haven’t already eaten—am I correct?”

He just stared back at her—Disbelief or irritation? she wondered—and she was afraid he was going to throw her out. She stared back into his deep-set, dark eyes and at the dimple in his chin—which she bet could be disarming if he wasn’t always scowling.

Jedediah pulled the basket over and lifted the napkin. He closed his eyes, sniffing the hot biscuits. “Oh my! Miss Patience, for this, you deserve an olive branch and a good morning!” He rubbed his hands together and licked his lips—apparently delighted by the addition of the sausage links. Standing up, he motioned toward a chair. “Uh, please have a seat while I boil some coffee to go with this mighty fine peace offering.”

She complied and watched as he filled the pot, added coffee, and lit the wood stove. She noted his shirt pulled tight across his broad back and the shaggy, dark hair curled into his collar. When he turned around to retrieve two mugs from the shelf, she pretended to be gazing out the window.