Spring Creek Bride (13 page)

E
arly on Friday afternoon, Ida came up with an idea to lift everyone’s spirits, including her own.

“I’d like to have a special dinner tonight with the whole Weimer clan,” she explained to Dinah. “I was thinking about doing it here so that Mick could join us.”

“A spectacular idea!” Dinah’s face lit up at the prospect. “I’m sure your father won’t mind having supper in town tonight. And I know how much Mick raves about your cooking. He’s probably fit to be tied with my lousy meals.”

Ida laughed. “You’re a wonderful cook, and your apple strudel is the best in town.”

“Then we will have apple strudel for dessert,” Dinah said.

“We will give everyone a fabulous meal—one they won’t soon forget.”

“What’s this I hear about a fabulous meal?”

Ida turned to see Johnsey Fischer.

“We are cooking up a feast tonight,” Ida said. “Dinah is making the dessert. Would you like to stay for supper?”

“Would I!”

“Wonderful! Dinah, would you mind if I went to Sophie’s place to issue the invitation?” Ida asked, pulling off her apron. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

“Of course. I’ll manage without you for a while.”

“I’ll be here to help her,” Johnsey said with a smile.

Ida grinned at Johnsey and practically sprinted out the door. She headed to the Weimer farm just a few blocks from town and found Sophie’s mother on the front porch, fanning herself and drinking lemonade.

“Why, Ida, as I live and breathe. You’re the last person I expected today.” Mrs. Weimer stood and embraced her, then began to fuss with her hair. “I must look a sight, what with this heat and all.” She tucked a few loose gray hairs behind her ear.

Sophie appeared on the porch. “Ida! Has something happened? Do you need my help in town?”

“No.” Ida laughed. “For once it’s good news. I’ve come to invite your family to dinner tonight. I’ll be cooking at Dinah’s place. Sausage sauerkraut balls. Dinner will be served promptly at six-thirty. You are all welcome to attend.”

“Will Mr. Bradley be sharing the meal with us, by any chance?” Sophie asked.

“He-he will,” Ida stammered. It was becoming increasingly clear to Ida that her dear friend had
designs on Mick Bradley, and Ida didn’t like the way that made her feel. At all.

Sophie gave her a wink. “I still find him the most handsome man in town. What should I wear tonight?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s just friends and family, after all.”

As Sophie declared that she would wear her favorite pink dress, Ida’s heart plummeted. As much as she hated to admit it, inviting Sophie to dinner might not have been the best course of action. Mick needed to focus on getting well…nothing else.

Unless, of course, that something else had a little something to do with
her
.

Ida quickly chided herself. Did she really want to draw the eye of a man like Mick Bradley, one who clearly didn’t yet know the Lord? Definitely not.

“You are so kind to invite us,” Sophie said.

Mrs. Weimer’s face broadened into a smile. “Yes, thank you for the invitation, Ida. We accept.” After a slight chuckle, she added, “With this heat, I wasn’t looking forward to cooking, anyway.”

“We will see you promptly at six-thirty,” Sophie said with a twinkle in her eye.

Oh, if only the invitation could be withdrawn. Then, perhaps, Ida could rid herself of the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Mick stared at his reflection in the mirror. Not bad for a man who’d spent the better part of the last month in bed. He ran a comb through his hair and
contemplated the fact that it needed to be trimmed. Perhaps tomorrow he could call for that younger fellow, Georg, from the barbershop. Right now, he had places to go, people to see—and the idea of getting out of this room lit a fire underneath him.

For once, Mick would share his supper with the others. Dinah had made the suggestion earlier in the day, and he had happily agreed. Though from the smell of things, he would be eating something quite unique, something he wasn’t sure he was going to like at all.

Mick reached over to grab hold of the makeshift wooden crutches the doctor had brought by a couple of days ago. Finally! He could get around a bit.

After another glance in the mirror, Mick inched his way toward the door. He’d almost made it when Ida came barreling in, nearly knocking him down.

“Oh, I was coming to fetch you.” She gave him a warm smile, though he couldn’t help but notice she looked a bit wary. He’d not seen her since their little discussion about his future yesterday.

“I don’t need fetching, as you can see for yourself.” He took another hobbling step in her direction, trying to stay balanced on the crutches. Turned out it was trickier than it looked. For a second, he very nearly toppled over. She reached out to grab his arm and he steadied immediately.

He felt her hand linger on his arm. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and a comforting feeling washed over him. A feeling he could get used to. He refrained
from making a comment for fear of embarrassing her and sending her fleeing from the room again.

She pulled her hand away. “The others are waiting in the kitchen.”

He made his way along slowly with Ida following behind him. “I’ve been smelling the food all afternoon,” he said, “but I can’t place it. What are we eating?”

She laughed. “Likely, it’s the sauerkraut you’re noticing. It has a smell all its own, to be sure. I’ve made German sausage sauerkraut balls. They’re Papa’s favorite. Sophie’s, too.”

They entered the very full kitchen, and Mick smiled as the others greeted him. Johnsey Fischer had proven to be a likable soul, and Dinah—well, what could be said about a woman who gave her life to help others? Carter bounced up and down in his seat, ready to eat.

Quick introductions were made, though he recognized Sophie’s family from that night so long ago at The Harvey House. Funny, he’d spent that evening wondering what it might be like to sit around a dinner table with such a family. Now he would find out firsthand.

No sooner had they taken their places than Ida’s father appeared at the door.

“Sorry I’m late.” He leaned over and kissed Ida on the head. “Ran into a bit of a problem with a couple of my men.”

“It’s fine, Papa. We’re just glad you’re here.” Ida gave him a loving smile.

The food was passed, and Mick had just reached for his fork when Mr. Mueller cleared his throat.

“We’re going to pray,” Ida whispered, reaching for Mick.

Mick allowed her small hand to slip into his own. He remembered her holding his hand once before, when he’d been in so much pain. He’d welcomed the feeling then, and he certainly did now.

They began to pray, and Mick closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it must be like to live like this all the time. How would it feel, to sit around a table every evening with a family of his own?

After the prayer, the noise in the room intensified. Mick bit into one of the sauerkraut balls, more than a little cautious. With relief, he found it to be quite tasty. And so were the accompanying noodles. How could he have doubted Ida? Why, her cooking was by far the best he’d tasted—North or South.

“Do you like it?” she whispered.

He nodded vigorously and took another bite.

A lively conversation ensued, and Mick listened closely, wishing he could join in. Unfortunately, he knew very little about the sugarcane industry, which happened to be the topic at hand. He continued on, eating like a man who might never see food again.

From across the table, Mick caught Carter’s eye. The youngster gave him an impish smile, and Mick knew he’d found a friend.

He had to admit—he’d found more than one. Nearly everyone here had proven their friendship to him over the past few weeks.

Especially Ida.

Johnsey piqued Mick’s interest when he mentioned the oil strike in Beaumont. “Lots of money to be made in oil,” Mick said. “I’d given some thought to moving to Beaumont before I settled on Spring Creek.”

“Well, we’re glad you chose us instead.” Dinah smiled.

“I’m not sure I chose Spring Creek,” he replied with a tinge of embarrassment. “It’s looking more like Spring Creek chose me.”

A resounding laugh went up from everyone at the table.

“It’s been that way for many of us,” Ida’s father admitted. “I dare say most of the residents here had their hearts settled on other places at one time or another. But God seems to draw folks here, like flies to honey.”

Mick pondered the man’s words. Had God drawn him here? Surely not. The Almighty probably didn’t care for gambling halls any more than Ida did.

“Have you given thought to the fact that the Lord has kept you here for a reason?” Dinah asked.

Mick looked across the table, stunned. How could he begin to answer such a ridiculous question?

“I’m not sure I…”

Dinah continued on. “The Lord has spared you and I am convinced it is because He has great plans for you. Texas-size plans.”

“For me? I highly doubt that, Dinah.”

Johnsey gave him a smile of understanding. “I understand your hesitancy. Been there myself. There was a time when I had made my own plans—laid
my own track, if you will. I thought I knew what was best for me.”

“What happened?” Mick asked.

“God got hold of me. I was going one way, and the Lord turned me around, sending me off on the track He wanted me on.”

“I’m going to be perfectly honest, Johnsey, you don’t look like the sort of man who’s ever ventured off the straight and narrow.”

“Looks can be deceiving, my friend,” Johnsey said.

“God has big plans for me, bigger than I’ve had for myself, is that what you’re all saying?”

“Much bigger,” Ida said with a nod. “But it means putting your trust in Him.”

“Don’t know as I’ve ever figured out how to do that—put my trust in a God I can’t see. Whole thing sounds like some kind of a fairy story my mama used to tell me as a child, one I never quite took to.”

Thankfully, the conversation shifted as Dinah rose from the table and returned moments later with a plate of beautiful apple strudel in her hand, saying, “I hope everyone saved room for this.” She placed it in the center of the table.

Mick sighed as he looked at the tempting dessert. What was it with these people? One minute they were trying to feed his soul; the next, they were heading straight for his belly.

I
da lay back against the pillows with a pounding heart. She tried to make sense of the feelings that had gripped her since holding Mick Bradley’s hand at the dinner table, but could not. Surely the Lord would sweep these feelings away. Perhaps then she could think clearly.

Unable to rest, Ida finally rose from her bed and paced the room. When her heart would not be silenced, she slipped on her wrap and tiptoed out into the hallway. With great care, she eased her way along the wall in the dark, then down the stairs, careful not to wake her father. Opening the front door was trickier, since it tended to squeak. But she made her way out to the front porch without making a sound.

Settling into the porch swing, she breathed in the cool night air. Off in the distance she heard the sound of the train cars locking up. Funny. She’d grown so used to the noise that she scarcely noticed it anymore. It was a comforting sound in a way—familiar.

Ida eased the swing back and forth. The steady movement calmed her, and she closed her eyes.

She had reached for Mick’s hand instinctively at the table earlier this evening, never imagining he would take hold of it with such a comforting squeeze. Their hands had fit together perfectly—his soundly grasping hers as if to say, “I am here for you.”

Ida opened her eyes, determined to shift her thoughts to something else. She tried to recapture some of the funny stories Sophie had told at the dinner table. But all Ida could remember was the look on her friend’s face after Papa’s prayer. Jealousy, perhaps? If so, Sophie had no reason to be jealous. None at all.

Or did she?

Mick tossed and turned during his first hour in bed. The elevated temperatures presented a problem, as always, but the type of heat he struggled with tonight had little to do with the weather.

All that talk about God having big plans for him—why did it aggravate him so much? Seemed to Mick his own plans were big enough—building the gambling hall, acquiring the necessary patrons, filling his pockets with cash. Sounded pretty grandiose. Plenty large, even for a state like Texas. Then again, his plans hadn’t exactly panned out, had they? And if he didn’t come up with the money for the investors by summer’s end, he might as well cash it in anyway.

Surely, if the Almighty had big plans for him, as
Ida had suggested, if He
really
wanted him here in Spring Creek, then starting over with the building of The Lucky Penny made perfect sense. Why else would Mick have ended up right back where he started, if not to finish what he’d set out to do in the first place? Strange, he’d never thought about it from that angle before. Someone—or something—wanted him to stay put in Spring Creek.

On the other hand, every time he thought about rebuilding the gambling hall, Mick could picture the look of hurt and disappointment in Ida’s eyes. She would not approve—this, he already knew.

He tried to imagine how the conversation would go, what he would say to her, if the opportunity should arise. With a few well-chosen words on his part, she might come around, might see the logic in his plans. She was a reasonable woman, after all.

Mick rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. He remembered the feel of her hand in his as they had prayed, her soft fingers intertwined with his, and the look of pride in her eyes when he complimented her amazing food.

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the woman was working her way into his heart.

Mick reached for his crutches and attempted to stand. He wanted to get up and pace the floor but soon realized how impractical that desire was. After a few uncomfortable hobbling steps, he sat back down. As he reached over to light the lantern on the bedside table, his hand brushed up against the Bible—
the same one that had been sitting there for weeks, untouched.

Sure, he’d seen a Bible or two in his life. Who hadn’t? But as for really picking one up and reading it, he’d never bothered. Looked like he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, anyway; what would it hurt to read a few words? He opened the book up and turned to the first page.
Genesis.

Suddenly, several shots rang out. Mick jolted, and the Bible flew from his hand onto the floor below. A woman’s screams filled the night. He struggled to sit up in the bed, the pain in his leg so intense he cried out.

Mick heard footsteps, then a knock on his door, followed by Dinah’s familiar voice. “Mr. Bradley?”

She entered the room with a lamp in her hand. Mick struggled to rise with the aid of his crutches.

“No, please stay where you are.” Dinah moved toward the window. “I hate to bother you, but I heard shots from across the street. Your window has the best view of the saloon. Did it sound like Nellie’s voice to you?” Dinah turned to face him.

Before he could nod, someone pounded on the downstairs door. Dinah disappeared from view and Mick did his best to stand. He wanted to know what had happened. And how he could be of service.

Somehow he managed to make it from the bed to the hallway. He could hear the goings-on downstairs, homing in on the voice of one of the railroad men, asking for Dinah’s help. He heard her frantic footsteps as she raced back up the stairs.

She met him, breathless, with the news. “It was Nellie. They’re bringing her here because Doc Klein doesn’t have room at his place. We’ll put her in my room so I’ll be close by.”

“Of course. What can I do?”

“I’m not sure what we will need. The doctor will tell us. In the meantime, the only thing I can think to ask you to do is pray.”

Pray? He hardly knew where to start, but with a nod of his head agreed to somehow try.

Minutes later, a couple of the men eased their way up the stairs with Nellie, pale and limp, in their arms. Blood oozed from her left shoulder, and he tried to assess where she’d been struck. Hopefully not close enough to the neck to be life-threatening. Still, one could never tell with gunshot wounds.

Mick stood in the doorway of Dinah’s room as they laid Nellie in the four-poster bed. Every few seconds she would cry out and reach for her shoulder, then she would drift out of consciousness again. Dinah worked feverishly to clean the wound.

Thankfully, Doc Klein arrived in short order, and put Dinah to work boiling water and preparing bandages. Mick sat at the kitchen table, wishing for something, anything to do. He tried to mutter a prayer, but had little to go by. He managed a choppy sentence or two then turned his attentions back to the fellows who’d brought Nellie in. Had these men been the ones who’d caused his injuries? His blood boiled at the very idea. Still, he had to
keep his head on straight if he wanted to be any good to Nellie.

The sheriff arrived, full of questions. “Do you know how this happened?” he asked. “Did either of you see anything firsthand?”

“Carl Walken had one too many,” one of the fellows said. “Got all riled up about something or another, and pulled his gun on Eugene Weimer.”

Weimer? Sophie’s older brother?

“I don’t think Carl meant to hurt anyone at first,” the other man explained. “He got to bragging about something. Started out as a joke, I think. But the next thing I knew, his gun was pointed straight at Eugene, and shots were fired.”

The sheriff pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through thinning hair. “Don’t look like he’s a very good shot.”

The man shook his head. “The bullet flew right past him and hit Nellie. She was up on the stage, dancing her heart out.”

Mick felt sick as he listened to the story. Sick for Nellie, and sick for Carl and Eugene, who would sober up soon enough and realize the harm their drunken recklessness had caused.

And in the pit of his stomach, Mick also felt sick about the fact that this whole thing could have just as easily happened at The Lucky Penny if he’d carried through with his plans to rebuild.

As the men went their separate ways and the doctor tended to Nellie, Mick finally found the words
to offer up that prayer he’d promised Dinah. He said the only thing that seemed to make sense: “God, please help that poor girl.” It was his best attempt at reasoning with the Almighty. Surely, with both his leg and his heart in such a torn-up state, the Lord would understand.