A Chance at Love Page 4

  “Right here in Kansas.”

  “Slave or free?”

  “Free.”

  That surprised her. “Interesting. Were your parents free too?”

  “Mother was. My father was born a slave in Missouri.”

  “I see. Are they still living?”

  “No, my mother passed away during the war. Pa died about ten years ago. What about your parents? The girls said you lost your mother in a fire?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about your father?”

  “Died in my arms when I was fourteen.”

  In the silence that followed, they walked past the milliner’s shop and Bert Green’s general store. Loreli asked, “The girls doing okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long have they been with you?”

  “Little over a year now.”

  “Must have been quite an adjustment having to take them in.”

  “It still is, but I’m managing,” Jake said.

  “What happened to their father?”

  Jake shrugged. “He left my sister before the girls were born. Never met him.”

  “They’re very special.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “They love you a lot.”

  “They mean a lot to me as well.”

  Loreli was pleased to hear him declare his feelings for his nieces so openly; some men viewed such confessions as unmanly.

  By now the short walk to the boardinghouse had been completed. Standing outside its small white gate, Loreli said, “Thanks for the escort.”

  “You’re welcome. You didn’t really win the bank and store did you?”

  Loreli studied him for a moment, then asked teasingly, “Why? Are you going to make me give them back?”

  “This is a small town with small town folks. They’re not used to being taken by sharps.”

  Loreli wondered if he were deliberately trying to offend her. “We were playing for pennies.” At his skeptical expression, she added, “It was just a friendly game to pass the time, Mr. Reed. Nothing more. Why on earth would I want to own anything in this poor excuse for a town?” When he didn’t answer, she said tightly, “You really need to loosen your stays, Reed, before you injure yourself. Good night.”

  After closing the door to her room, Loreli tossed her handbag on her bed. She knew she shouldn’t let Jake Reed and his judgmental self get under her skin, but he had. If she had a nickel for every time somebody looked down their sanctimonious nose at her, she’d be even wealthier than she was now, but as it stood, she’d learned at a young age to ignore such high-handed folks. Why Jake should be such a thorn was a mystery. Taking off her shawl and hanging it inside the armoire, Loreli began removing the pins from her hair. Maybe Jake’s sneering manner affected her more because of the seeds planted in her heart by his twin nieces. Maybe, because she couldn’t believe a man that handsome could be so—arrogant, was the word she decided upon. He acted as if being around her fouled his air. She still couldn’t get over how he’d bushwhacked Howard Burke’s offer to escort her back here. Jake clearly believed she’d been up to no good. In the end, Loreli changed into her nightgown, and decided his attitude didn’t much matter; in a few more day, she’d be on her way to California and this backwater would just be another memory.

  After tucking the twins into their beds, Jake Reed sat in the parlor’s silence and let the day’s tension seep out of his bones, or at least tried to. The day had certainly ended a lot calmer than it had begun, even with the difficult birth of Bert’s new filly. He could still feel the panic that had grabbed him this morning upon finding the girls gone. How on earth had Loreli Winters gotten them to make that pledge not to run off again? It was quite obvious there was more to her than he initially assumed, a lot more, he mused sarcastically, thinking of the card game he’d found her in tonight. By her flashy clothing and bold ways, he’d initially assumed her to be some type of fancy woman, whore maybe. That she was a gambler threw him a bit; it didn’t raise her stature any higher, but at least she didn’t work on her back.

  He walked out onto the moonlit porch. The path to figuring out the best plan for the girls’ future was no clearer than it had been yesterday. Arthur Gibson was right. The twins needed a woman in their lives. When they first arrived, Jake had been unwilling to admit that fact, because he’d arrogantly believed he had the ability to do it alone. Now? He ran his hand over his hair, a signature move of frustration. Glancing up at the stars, he called out softly, “Your baby brother needs help down here, Bonnie girl. Can you see what you can do?”

  He sat alone in the dark for a few long moments longer, then went inside and went to bed.

  At breakfast on Monday, Jake asked the girls how they’d feel about him marrying Rebecca. In response, the kitchen had been silent for the last two minutes.

  Jake finally asked them, “Well? No opinions? Bebe, what do you think?”

  Bebe fiddled with the eggs and grits on her plate. She shook her head, indicating she had nothing she wished to say.

  He glanced across at Dede. “What about you, De?”

  Dede shook her head.

  Jake spoke gently. “Come on now, girls. You must be thinking something.”

  Bebe told him quietly, “You don’t really want us to say.”

  Her soft voice, so filled with sadness, pulled at his heartstrings. Jake responded with the truth. “You’re wrong, Be. Because whomever I marry is going to be your mother, and it should be someone you can love.”

  Bebe met his eyes. “Then we don’t want Rebecca as our mama.”

  Dede added, “She doesn’t like us to have fun, or to get dirty.”

  “Life isn’t always about fun, girls,” Jake explained.

  Bebe replied respectfully, “But sometimes it is, Uncle Jake.”

  Jake studied her honest little face. She was right of course, and getting dirty was part of that fun. He remembered many a day he and Bonnie had returned home covered with river mud. Amazingly, his Bible-thumping father hadn’t minded too much; he’d send his two dirty children to the pump to bathe, and no sin was attached. “Then who would you want me to pick?”

  “How about Loreli?” Dede asked hopefully.

  Jake sighed. “We’ve already discussed this, De.”

  “I know, but you asked me to tell you the truth.”

  He had, hadn’t he? He tried again. “All right, besides Miss Winters, is there anyone else?”

  Silence.

  Bebe finally declared, “It’s all right, Uncle Jake. Dede and I decided we don’t want a mama anymore. We’ll just grow up without one.”

  That said, Bebe pushed away from the table. “Come on, De. Let’s go feed Suzie.”

  Jake sighed unhappily.

  Dede got up from her chair, but instead of following her twin out the back door, she stopped in front of her uncle and confessed, “Bebe’s not telling the truth. We didn’t decide. We just don’t want anybody for a mama but Loreli. That’s all.”

  He looked into the small brown face that was a true miniature of his sister Bonnie’s, and was moved by her honesty. “Thanks, De.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  A moment later she was gone, and he was left with her words: “We just don’t want anybody for a mama but Loreli. That’s all.”

  Jake ran his hand over his head. Now what? he wondered. He was honest enough to admit the girls were right about Rebecca. She wouldn’t make them a good mother. Her joyless outlook on life would stifle their buoyant spirits. He didn’t want to come home after a long night away worrying whether Rebecca had strapped the girls, or had them standing in the corner for being themselves. In addition to the hogs that he raised and the crops that he grew, people in the area came to him all the time seeking help for their sick or injured animals. In trying to help his neighbors it was not uncommon for him to be away for hours on end in that capacity, and in his capacity as a delegate for the Republican party. No, Rebecca wouldn’t do, and out of all fairness he needed to tell h
er that so she could get on with her life. In a way, he was glad he hadn’t already asked her to be his wife because had they already been married when the girls first arrived this dilemma would be moot.

  Jake stepped outside and found the girls tossing corn to the chickens. Suzie, a big brown hen, ruled the pens with such authority that at mealtime the three younger hens—Babe, Myrtle, and Peg—always let her feed first. The pigs, cows, ducks and other animals gave the old biddy a wide berth as well. They seemed to know that Suzie was as mean as a winter on the plains and would challenge a bull if she got mad enough. Surprisingly, though, she seemed to love the girls. Dede especially. From the moment the girls came to live with Jake, Suzie seemed to sense their troubles and not once had she pecked them, chased them, or treated them as she did everyone else.

  As Jake walked over to the pens, he called out to his nieces, “Hey, you two. Do you want to go into town? Maybe get some jawbreakers and some new hair ribbons?”

  Their twin faces lit up with joy. “Yes!” they both squealed.

  He grinned. “Then go wash your hands, and we’ll get going.”

  As they ran past him to head for the pump, he picked up the pail of corn and tossed a few more handfuls to the hens. Suzie, evidently having had her fill, stood back and let her companions have the feed. Jake, noting her magnanimous gesture, bowed her way. “Thank you, your majesty.”

  Suzie responded by fixing him with a disdainful black-eyed stare.

  Smiling, Jake tossed out a few more hands of corn, then went to hitch up the wagon.

  One of the first things Jake learned about the girls when they came to live with him was that they loved to sing, especially on a trip in the wagon. Initially their repertoire had consisted of lullabies and silly children’s ditties like “Pop Goes the Weasel,” and “Jimmy Crack Corn.” Thanks to blacksmith Arthur Gibson, who was also the organist at the church, the twins now sang “Amazing Grace,” “Home on the Range,” and “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

  They were singing that now, on their way into town, their heads thrown back, boisterously belting out the ringing refrain: “His truth is marching on.” Jake couldn’t contain his grin.

  When they were done, his heart was full as he looked into their shining, happy eyes. They’d come to mean a lot to him in the short time they’d been his, and if they wanted a mama—he’d get them one, come hell or high water.

  Chapter 3

  After breakfast in Mrs. Boyd’s small dining room, Loreli, wearing a violet walking dress and a saucy matching that, strolled down the town’s main walk—destination, the general store. She was almost out of hand cream. Although she doubted a town of this size would carry the brand she favored, she hoped to find a reasonable substitute.

  Loreli received more than a few smiles and tips of the hat from the men she passed, and she smiled right back. She knew she was a good-looking woman, and admittedly enjoyed seeing that reflected in a man’s eyes. This being such a small town, she was certain most of the residents knew about her connection to the mail-order brides by now. The men’s smiles not withstanding, Loreli doubted their wives would be as welcoming. Local women took an immediate disliking to her. Most seemed threatened not only by her profession, coloring, and clothing but by her bold, independent approach to life. She remembered being run out of a small town outside of Reno by a bunch of Bible-pounding harridans who accused her of planting the seeds of the devil in the minds of the local women. It seemed only the devil would advocate women wanting to vote, a subject that had come up in passing during a card game she’d had with some of the town fathers. Apparently, one of the men had gone home and mentioned the conversation to his wife. By morning, the local correctness society had pounded on the door of her rented room, demanding she leave town. Because Loreli knew she couldn’t look to the law for help—sheriffs seldom intervened in such incidents—she packed up and took the next stage.

  Now, as she neared the store, she forgot all about those women. Her face brightened on seeing Zora Post, one of her bride friends from the wagon train, coming toward her on the walk.

  A gleeful Zora squealed, “Loreli!”

  As the two women embraced, the short, brown-skinned Zora said, “I thought you’d already left for California.”

  “Missed the train. I’ll try it again on Friday. How’s married life?”

  “It’s only been two days, but surprisingly well. His name’s Cyrus Buxton. He’s very nice.” She gave a wry, knowing smile. “Very nice.”

  Both women laughed.

  Still grinning, Loreli tossed back, “Did anyone get a chance to talk with Belle before she left?” Loreli’s young wagon mate had been taken advantage of and impregnated by one of her father’s clerical colleagues before the trip to Kansas. Belle had been very afraid that the groom she’d contracted to marry in Hanks would send her back to Chicago once he discovered she was carrying another man’s child, but he hadn’t.

  “She’s doing fine, far as I know. She and the husband will be living on a place about fifty miles north of here. I’m going up to help out when the baby comes.”

  It saddened Loreli to think she might never see her young friend again, but it pleased Loreli to know that Belle had married a man who truly cared.

  Loreli could see some of the local people looking on curiously as she and Zora continued to talk. A few women hastily averted their eyes, as if the faces of Loreli and Zora might blind them.

  Zora must have noticed the women’s action’s too. “I’ve heard there’s a bunch of biddies not happy with our arrival here. Calling us hussies for agreeing to marry men we’d never seen.”

  “Ignore them. I always do.”

  “Oh, I plan to. A good number of the brides are living within spitting distance of each other—we’ll make our own way.”

  Loreli grinned. “I raised you all well, it seems.”

  Zora nodded. “That you did, constable. That you did.”

  During the brides’s journey from Chicago, Loreli had been voted the constable. It became her job to settle disputes, preside over meetings, and keep everyone pulling together. She’d even foiled, single-handedly, a group of nasty outlaws intent upon doing the women harm.

  Zora then said, “Too bad you won’t be around to eat at the restaurant I’m going to open, though.”

  “A restaurant?”

  Zora beamed proudly. “Yep. You know I always wanted to own one, and now, with my new husband’s help, I can.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Loreli exclaimed. Zora’s pepper pot had kept the brides fed during the month-long trip to Kansas. “Where’s the restaurant going to be?”

  “Cyrus owns a small plot on the edge of town. We’ve decided to build it there.”

  Loreli was impressed by Zora’s big plans. “I hope it’ll be so successful there’ll be people lined up from here to Kansas City wanting to get in. Just be sure to serve those old biddies burnt crow, though.”

  Zora laughed. For the next few moments they talked about the fates of the other brides, and then it was time to part.

  “Listen, I have to get going,” Zora said. “Cyrus is waiting for me over at the bank. He’s a clerk there.”

  As the two women shared a farewell embrace, Loreli whispered emotionally, “Take care of yourself, Zora. Tell the others I send my love.”

  “I sure will, Loreli. You take care as well. And leave those men some of their money once you get to California.”

  Loreli laughed. “I’ll think about it.”

  As a waving Zora strode off toward the bank, Loreli felt as if a very important part of her life would be left behind when she boarded the train on Friday, and it made her uncharacteristically sad. Shaking off the sudden pang of melancholy, she went into the general store.

  She spotted the short, balding Bert Green first off. He was wearing an oil-cloth apron over his shirt and trousers, and was leaning over the counter talking with an older, brown-skinned woman wearing an ugly blue bonnet. When Green looked up and saw Loreli, his face
took on what was for her a familiar expression of panic. Loreli simply shook her head. She’d be willing to bet he hadn’t expected to see her in the light of day. In small towns like this, a gambling woman was only one step up from a saloon whore, and it was obvious from his reaction that he didn’t want to acknowledge their previous association. Loreli sighed at the unfairness of it all, but since there was nothing to be done about it, she gave him a short, impersonal nod, then took a slow walk around the place to see what he stocked on his shelves.

  Stepping around a big wooden pickle barrel, and another barrel holding crackers, she made her way past canned goods, potted meat, dress goods, guns, and feed. In the ladies toiletries section, she found quite a variety of hand creams, but not her brand. He did stock bottles of Lundborg’s perfumes, and the sight of her favorite scent, Alpine Violet, made her smile. She carried the perfume and a jar of the hand cream to the counter, where two women were now being waited on by Green. The older woman wearing the ugly bonnet had been joined by another lady, who must have purchased the red-checkered headdress she wore in the same place.

  Intending to patiently wait her turn, Loreli stepped in behind them. As she did, the two slowly turned and made a big show of critically eyeing her up and down, from her violet hat to her black high-heeled boots. Their silent disapproval echoed as loud and as clear as the dismissive snort they emitted before turning back to Green.

  A bit peeved, Loreli wondered if the two were part of the biddy-contingent denouncing the new brides. From the sour looks on their pursed, prune faces, she’d be willing to bet they were. “And good morning to you too, ladies,” Loreli drawled sarcastically. She saw their shoulders stiffen. Evidently they hadn’t planned on their rudeness being challenged. Loreli added, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  She heard them fumbling to mumble something appropriate.

  Loreli turned her cold golden eyes on Green. He met her gaze nervously, as if worried about being exposed, but Loreli had no such plans. “Is this the correct price?” she asked him, holding up the bottle of perfume for him to see.