Twice a Bride (17 page)

“You did?” Had the compliment come from her boss? Tucker and Miss Hattie had seen her portrait of Sam and were no doubt patrons here. Yes, it was probably one of them.

He lifted the tongs again, tapping them on the edge of the forge. “Trenton and I are friends. I knew him before he was strong enough to hold one of them box cameras.”

“He said he was new to town.”

“Oh, he is. And our boyhood days are long past.” Jesse resumed the
punishment of the small piece of steel, speaking between beats. “When he wrote about his recent troubles, I talked him into making the move here.”

Her employer had troubles?
Recent troubles
. It made sense that she was curious. After all, she did work with the photographer. But the less they knew about each other’s personal lives, the better.

“Trenton’s right about Mrs. Gortner owning that mine, but he hasn’t lived here long enough to know much about folks yet.” Jesse chuckled. “She owns the mine all right, but she doesn’t spend much time out there.”

“Do you know where I might find her?”

“Sure.” He twisted the end of his work around the spindle, making one end of the hook. “Missus Gortner don’t live too far from here. It’s a lot closer than up the mountain to the mine. Just up the hill on Carr Avenue.”

That would save her time. And money.

“You can walk right up Fourth Street and turn left. Their house has a miniature headframe and a bitty ore car out front.”

“Thank you.”

Willow moved the envelope to her other arm and stepped back out into the bright midday sun. At Fourth Street, she turned and walked up the hill past Golden Avenue. Why bother to own a mine if you weren’t going to have a say in how it was run? Perhaps, Mrs. Gortner was the owner in name only, her husband’s way of appeasing her while he called all the shots.

Mrs. Gortner lived in the same block as Miss Hattie’s Boardinghouse, but one street up. Just as the livery owner had said, a sculpted-metal miniature of a mine headframe stood on one side of a graveled walk, an ore cart on the other side. The mine owner’s New England–style house was ocean blue with a snow-white trim. Scalloped slats adorned the eaves, and filigree outlined the second story windows.

Willow stepped onto the porch between two pots of geraniums and pressed the doorbell. The bell responded with a sort of growling ring, and a dog’s bark exploded on the other side of the door. Not the yip or shriek of a typical house dog.

The door swept open. A woman with her hair brushed back into a neatly coiffed chignon stood in front of her, smiling. A large mound of gray fur sat poised and quiet beside her, a black nose protruding in Willow’s direction.

Willow moistened her lips. “I apologize for coming by unexpectedly, but might Mrs. Gortner be in and willing to see me?”

The woman’s crooked smile deepened the creases at her eyes. “I’m Mrs. Gortner.” She extended her hand. A sprinkling of freckles dotted the bridge of her nose. “Mollie Kathleen.” Her handshake was as warm as her smile.

“I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Mrs. Peterson. Willow Peterson.”

“Lovely name—Willow.”

“Thank you.” Willow pulled the photograph from the envelope. “Mr. Van Der Veer hired me to paint your portrait.”

Mrs. Gortner’s moss-green eyes sparkled. “He hired a woman. Good for him.” Stepping backward, she motioned Willow inside. “Come in. Come in.”

Willow regarded the motionless dog. Only his tail moved, sweeping the polished pine floor behind him.

“Duffy is a purebred Irish wolfhound.” Mrs. Gortner patted the dog’s huge gray head. “As long as I use my happy voice, Ol’ Duff is harmless. But he can be fierce if he thinks I’m being threatened.”

Willow had grown up with a dog as part of her family, but that seemed a lifetime ago. Refusing to take her gaze from the dog, she stepped inside and around him into a well-appointed foyer. A gilt-framed painting of a hunting scene hung over a polished tiger-wood table.

Mrs. Gortner signaled the dog to follow her and brushed the corner of the table as if to remove a speck of dust. “I knew I liked the photographer the moment I met him.”

So did Willow. Even if she and Mr. Van Der Veer had trouble understanding each other. Hopefully that was in the past.

“I’m sorry to trouble you,” Willow said, “but I only needed to see your hair color and skin tone before I began painting.” Which she’d done standing outside the door.

“No apologies necessary. Your visit is the mark of a professional. I say we go to my office, shall we?” Mrs. Gortner spun toward a closed door.

The mine owner’s office could have held a bucket of dust, but no one would know for all the clutter. The clawed feet on the tiger-wood desk and tables told Willow the furniture was exquisite, but papers, catalogs, files, and boxes topped every surface.

Mrs. Gortner removed an apple box full of papers from one of two spindle-back chairs in front of the desk. “Have a seat, Willow.”

Willow seated herself. The framed mine claim featured in Mrs. Gortner’s photograph hung behind the desk. A small balance scale sat on one corner, a fist-sized chunk of quartz on the other.

Duffy sprawled out on a rag rug near the door while Mrs. Gortner sat back in her tufted green-leather chair behind the desk. “A woman portrait painter here in Cripple Creek—I love it. I can hardly wait to commend Mr. Van Der Veer on his choice of artist. We women have to stick together, don’t we?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I don’t cotton to being called
ma’am
. Might you call me Mollie?”

“Yes. Mollie. Thank you.”

Leaning forward, Mollie met Willow’s gaze. “So, have you decided on the color of my hair and skin yet?”

Willow swallowed hard. She wasn’t accustomed to sharing the specifics of her process, but neither had she encountered anyone outside family as enthusiastic about her art. “I have.”

The older woman cocked her head and raised her left eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m thinking of an almond.” Willow raised her chin a notch. “Your hair the reddish brown of the outside, and your skin the creamy white of the inside.”

“An almond.” Mollie chuckled. “I like it.” She tapped her rounded chin. “And I like you.”

Willow sighed. That was good news. “I’m thankful.” She pulled the photograph from the envelope and laid it in front of her host. “I’m planning to complete your portrait no later than next Thursday. Do you want me to paint the image as it is in the print?”

“Yes, but without any blemishes.”

Willow hadn’t noticed any blemishes. She glanced at the photograph.

“No freckles.” Mollie covered her nose.

“I can do that.” Willow took the photograph and slid it into the envelope. “Mr. Van Der Veer plans to speak with you about displaying your portrait in the studio window for a couple of days.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea. A smart business decision.”

Now all Willow needed to do was come up with a business name.

“Did your boss tell you I’m the one who told him to hire a portrait painter?” Mollie asked.

Willow shook her head and closed the clasp on the envelope. “We haven’t actually spoken much.”

“Well, I did.” Mollie stacked her hands on the desktop. “I told him painted portraits were all the talk now and he needed to hire someone who could paint from his photographs. I told him that if he did, his quiet little business would boom.”

A very direct woman, indeed. So why didn’t she have an office at her mine? Willow glanced at the various mining artifacts decorating the office. “Would you think me discourteous if I asked a personal question?”

“If I own the Mollie Kathleen Mine, why don’t I have my office out there?”

“Yes. I couldn’t help but wonder.”

“It’s a long story. Do you have the time?”

Willow hadn’t expected to enjoy this woman’s company this much. “Yes, I’d like to hear your story.”

Mollie sat back in her chair and smiled. “My son Perry left our home in Colorado Springs to come to Cripple Creek as a surveyor to map the mining
claims in the spring of ’91. All I heard from him was talk of all the gold here. So one day I loaded our wagon with supplies and joined the other wagons headed here for a visit. I set up housekeeping in the log and canvas tent Perry had recently completed.” She tapped a bell on her desk. Three distinct dings. “Where was I?”

“The canvas tent.”

“Ah, yes. That September Perry was out surveying when he saw a huge herd of elk. He came home and told me about it. I decided to go out and see for myself.”

“Miss Mollie.” The voice drew their attention to the doorway, where a young Chinese woman wore a black serving dress and held a silver tray.

“Yes, do come in, Ling.” Mollie looked at Willow. “I hope you have time to enjoy a cup of tea.”

“Thank you.”

Ling set the tray on a table and served each of them a cup of tea and a small plate with one scone on it. The slight domestic hadn’t yet cleared the doorway when Mollie resumed her story.

“I never made it up high enough to see the elk. I stopped to rest. When I looked downward, I noticed an interesting rock formation. It winked at me.”

“Gold?”

Mollie nodded, her smile reaching her eyes. “Pure gold laced in quartz.”

Willow lifted her cup to her mouth. “What did you do?”

“I’d seen several prospectors in the area. Forcing myself to remain calm, I hid the ore sample in my clothing.”

Willow sipped the fruity tea. She was excited to start painting, but this was fun too.

Mollie peered at her over the rim of her cup. “I became the first woman here to discover gold and strike a claim in her own name.”

“The first—that’s amazing!”

“Although I own the mine, Perry is the one with the office there. For a rather silly reason, really.”

“Silly?”

“Well, I think it is. As soon as I set foot on the mine site, the miners scrambled up out of the tunnels. Seems they’re a superstitious lot and refuse to be caught in a one-thousand-foot vertical shaft with a woman on the grounds.”

“That does seem silly.”

“A wise woman chooses her battles carefully.” Mollie lifted the scone from her plate. “So I have my office at home, where I can have tea and scones anytime I wish.” She giggled and bit into the pastry.

Willow cut a corner piece with her fork and eased it into her mouth, as if her mother were there to correct any ill manners. A sweet bite of peach purée teased Willow’s tongue.

“We all have one, you know. An inspiring story, not a gold mine.” Mollie dabbed her mouth with a gold-colored napkin. “When we meet again, you can tell me your story.”

Willow blinked. “Perhaps.” Here in town, only family, which included the Sinclair sisters and Miss Hattie, knew her story.

“How long have you been married?” Mollie asked.

Willow gulped. This woman had treated her like a longtime friend. It was only fair she share this much. “Sam died.”

Mollie’s mouth formed an
O
, but no sound came out.

“Four years ago.” And two months.

“Oh my, and you’re so young.” Mollie pressed her lips together. “Yes, I definitely want to hear your story. From widow to portrait painter. Sounds mighty inspiring to me.”

“Thank you.” What else could Willow say? She’d already said too much.

And now she wondered if it would be crass to ask her new friend not to mention her being a widow to Mr. Van Der Veer.

I
da pulled back the lace curtain and looked out the parlor window. Everyone had arrived at the parsonage but Willow. Where was her sister-in-law? She glanced at her husband, who sat at the game table engaged in a heated checkers game with Nell. “Tucker.”

He looked her way, his hand still in midair. “Did Nell pay you to distract me?”

“I’m concerned about your sister. Willow was definitely planning to come?”

“She said she would.” He moved a king piece.

“Well, it’s after six o’clock and the sun will set soon. Everyone else is here. You’re not worried about her?”

“I wasn’t. Should I—”

A knock at the door silenced him. Ida rushed to the front door. She shouldn’t worry about Willow, but she did.

Willow stood on the porch. “Sorry I’m late.” Her breathing sounded ragged. “I have had the best day.”

“That’s good news.” She gave Willow a quick hug.

“I saw Mrs. Johnstone in town, and she told me how much she and her husband are enjoying the icebox. She thanked me for the recommendation. In addition, I had an interesting conversation with my boss. Oh, yes, and I saw my brother. I met Jesse at the livery, and then I had a lovely time with the woman who owns the Mollie Kathleen Mine.”

“Whew, you’ve had a very full day.” Ida’s heart warmed. In the nearly two years she’d known Willow, she’d never seen her sister-in-law this happy. And after watching Willow lay her father to rest last month, she hadn’t expected she ever would.

“There’s more. I just spent two hours reorganizing my supplies and paints. I got so engrossed that I lost track of the time. I practically ran here.”

“An interesting conversation with your boss, huh?” Ida closed the door behind them. “The one who’s single?”

Willow huffed. “It wasn’t
that
interesting.” She glanced at the parlor door. “Is my brother in there? I’d like to pop him on the head.”