Twice a Bride (21 page)

Hattie tittered and covered her mouth with knotted fingers. “I’d like to have been there to see the look on his face.”

Now that Willow thought about it, she would have liked to see his face too.

“You should’ve seen Mr. Sinclair’s jaw drop this morning when I told him I didn’t like him,” Hattie said.

“You didn’t.”

Hattie’s eyes sparkled. “I did.” She sighed. “But it’s all right. I found out he didn’t like me either.”

“So, that’s why the potatoes burned. You two were busy telling each other of your dislike.”

“Yes. We were finally talking about our misconceptions, and, well, I got distracted.” Hattie’s face suddenly pinked, and she moistened her lips. “So much for Portraits by Willow? Did you quit?”

“No. But I’m of a mind to. I’ll add the coloring to the Flinn photograph, but how can I work for a man who won’t trust my judgment?” Willow worried the strap on her sack. “He said a flea has more common sense.”

Hattie laughed. “He didn’t.”

“He did, and all without even paying me for painting Mrs. Gortner’s portrait.”

“It sounds like a terrible misunderstanding. I’ve had my share of those.” A grin bunched the wrinkles at Hattie’s mouth. “Just this morning as a matter of fact.”

“It was a misunderstanding, all right. Mr. Van Der Veer thought he could boss me around, and he was wrong.” Willow hadn’t expected to paint portraits for the photographer forever, but only one?

Hattie laid her hand on Willow’s. “Any chance Mr. Van Der Veer’s impassioned reaction could’ve been rooted in concern for your safety?”

But she wasn’t his charge. He’d hired her to do a job, and she’d done it. “Meddling. Plain and simple.”

“It’s not customary for women to even walk on the same side of the street when a town drunk is present.”

Looking up, Willow met her friend’s tender gaze. “I suppose I may have been a tad foolhardy. But after what I’ve been through, I see people differently. I know looks can be deceiving.”

Hattie nodded. “Yes, and misunderstandings can be misleading.”

Archie strolled up the street and turned onto Hattie’s walkway. The courier carried a package, one much thicker than the canvas she’d delivered to Mr. Van Der Veer. Willow stood. If it were an envelope, she could hope her barking
boss had finally looked at her work and sent her payment. An apology was probably too much to expect.

“Hello, ladies.” Archie doffed his cap. “I have another delivery for you, Missus Peterson.”

Willow dug into her bag, pulled out a few coins, and exchanged them for the package. “Thank you, Archie.”

“You’re a popular lady. Leastwise you are with the photographer.”

“I work for him.” She didn’t bother to correct the present tense in her statement. Right now she only wanted to see what Mr. Van Der Veer had to say for himself.

Archie strolled down the porch steps toward the road, and Willow slid the string from around the package. Inside the butcher paper sat an envelope on top of four blank canvases. She opened the envelope, flipped through a stack of dollar bills, and looked at Hattie. “Payment for Mrs. Gortner’s portrait.”

“It looks like a generous amount.”

Sighing, Willow nodded and glanced at the empty envelope on her lap. “Yes, but no note of apology.”

Hattie looked at the stack of canvases. “Those are new. Were you expecting them?”

Willow shook her head.

“My George liked to give me nonverbal apologies.” Hattie giggled. “One time he gave me a brooch. My favorite was when he bought me a fine dress after his blasted dog tore mine from the clothesline.” She paused. “Perhaps Mr. Van Der Veer prefers to act out an apology as well.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Willow wrung her hands. “Carmen had a Help Wanted sign in the window at the candy shop, and I’m tempted to apply.”

Miss Hattie straightened.

“Ida is back to work at the store full time, so selling iceboxes is no longer an option. Working with candy would be better than working for a sourpuss.”

Vivian set three cups on the serving tray, then added a bowl of sugar and a pitcher of cream. The week since her father’s arrival had been a swirl of family activity. Tonight was the first time she’d be able to visit with him without her sisters present. She drew in a deep breath before carrying the tray to the parlor. She couldn’t wait any longer to tell Father about her recent past, but how was she to talk about such things with Cherise at his side? She felt bad for the child, but the girl’s ever-present neediness was making it difficult for Vivian and her sisters to catch Father up on their new lives.

Her midsection suddenly tightened, and she gripped the edge of the counter. Since the first episode at Ida’s nearly two weeks ago, she’d experienced the tightening on five occasions. This was the sixth. Another false start? Vivian made herself take a long, slow breath, counting off the seconds. How many more of these episodes would she experience before her baby was ready to make its appearance?

Was she ready to be a mother? The reality grew by bounds with each contraction.

Father walked into the kitchen without his dinner jacket. He stopped suddenly and stared at her as if she’d grown a second nose. “You’re as white as your mother’s cream sauce.”

Vivian rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. She couldn’t remember ever missing her mother as much as she did in this moment. If Mother were here … Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice quivering.

“Oh dear.” Father wrung his hands. “You’re in pain.”

She was in pain, but the tightening of her abdomen wasn’t to blame. Again, it had eased off rather quickly. She let go of the counter and took slow steps to the table.

“I should get your sisters.” Father glanced toward the door. “Morgan. He’s a doctor. I should telephone him.”

“It’s not the baby.”

“But you had hold of the cupboard as if you’d crumple if you didn’t.” He pulled a chair out from the table and held it for her.

Accepting his helping hand, Vivian eased into the chair. “I’ve had a few practice contractions the past couple of weeks, and I just had another one.”

His eyes widened. “Practice?”

“Yes. Kat said my body is practicing for the process of giving birth.”

Her father paled, his cheeks puckered as if he were sucking on a lemon.

“The tightening didn’t last long. I’m fine now.” Tears rolled down Vivian’s cheeks, betraying her.

“Then why are you crying?” He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket. “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

She breathed in the sweet scent of lavender soap as he blotted her tears. This was her chance to tell him. But how? She folded her hands and rested them on the table’s edge, watching him sit in the chair beside hers. “You’ve been in Cripple Creek for a whole week.”

His blue eyes narrowed, further creasing his wrinkled brow. “My arrival … my being here is cause for tears? I thought you’d be happy to have me here.”

She reached for his hand. “I am. I missed you terribly. But—”

“I had no choice, Vivian.”

She knew he’d lost his job in Portland. She knew he
needed
to take the job in Paris.

“I had to bring Cherise with me. I thought you girls would—”

“Would what? Understand?” She let go of him.

“I thought that when you heard her mother and father were gone, you’d see that Cherise needs me.”

Her bottom lip quivering, Vivian met his sad gaze. He was disappointed in his daughters … in her. “I watched my mother be buried. I wasn’t as young as Cherise is, and maybe I’m the most selfish girl in the world, but I needed my father too.”

His eyes watering, he blew out a sigh. “This is different. You have Carter, and he seems like a real good man.”

She pressed her fingers to the ring on her left hand. “He is a fine man. But Carter wasn’t in Maine. Gregory was.” Father’s breath caught. She glanced at the empty doorway, then faced her father, her heart pounding. “I’m not the innocent girl you left with Aunt Alma.”

His jaw hardened. “I never should have left you.” The sadness in his eyes dried her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“For a time I did blame you and anyone else in my life, including God, but it’s not your fault.” She worried the handkerchief he’d given her. “There’s more. I need you to know who I am, what I’ve done, and what Jesus has done for me.”

Nodding, Father straightened in the chair and gave her his full attention.

A flutter in her womb drew her hands to her swollen abdomen. The new life inside her gave reassurance of the new life God had given her. After breathing a prayer of thanksgiving and asking God to comfort her father, Vivian related her story. Her fall with Gregory. Failing at every job she tried. Working for the madam, Pearl DeVere. Pearl’s sudden death. Being held captive by an outlaw, and her confession and repentance. Then the bonus—God gracing her with Carter’s love.

When she’d finished, Father wiped tears from his face. He captured her hands, his touch tender. “I wish you hadn’t experienced all that pain. But I can see how God used your hardships to draw you deeper.” He helped her out of the chair and enfolded her in a warm embrace.

God was so good. She looked into her father’s loving eyes. “Thank you. I’ve kept you in here long enough.” She pulled him toward the kitchen door. “I’m surprised Cherise hasn’t come looking for you.”

Father chuckled. “I am too. I haven’t had much time to myself since Pierre died, especially after boarding the train to come west.”

“I’m proud of you, Father.”

He stopped. “Proud of me?”

“Yes. We were all taken aback by the surprise of Cherise’s presence in your life, but you are doing right by her.”

He shook his head. “I have no idea what the next step is.”

“You will. God will show you.” She wrapped her arm across his back and rested her head on his shoulder.

“You’re right.” He pressed her hand to his side. “I am a blessed man.”

Cherise’s laughter welcomed them into the parlor and drew their attention to the game table. Her husband sat across from the girl, his thumbs stuck in his ears with fingers splayed.

Carter met her gaze, his brown eyes brimming with love and mischief. “I’m teaching Cherise to play checkers.”

“Trying the fine art of distraction on her, I see,” Vivian said.

“So far, it’s working.” Carter glanced at Father, then back at Vivian.

“We talked.” She smiled. “Thank you for distracting Cherise.”

“My pleasure. This little one is quite the charmer.”

“And so are you, Carter Alwyn.” She patted his cheek.

S
usanna raised her spoon from her plate and slid a bite of creamy mashed potatoes and gravy into her mouth. Helen’s sister-in-law was a better cook than Mother. Less judgmental too. Susanna cut the slice of ham on her plate into bite-sized pieces and skewered one with her fork.

Helen’s brother sat at one end of the table, regaling them with a story about the time he found a raccoon in their cellar. Whether truth or fabrication, his stories were always entertaining. And they never failed to spur Helen’s father to at least try to top them. Later, they’d all sit out on the porch with coffee cups and neighbors, who would add their own stories to the banter.

Susanna set her fork on her plate and reached for her glass of cold apple cider. She liked Denver, and her friend’s family was pleasant to live with. But this wasn’t Cripple Creek. And she was no closer to her intended destination than she was when she first arrived in Colorado last week. She didn’t have enough funds with her for dillydallying. If she didn’t make her way to Cripple Creek soon, she’d have to look for a job here. She needed to find Trenton before winter and move quickly.

“Miss Woods.”

She set her glass down and looked up at the beak-nosed fellow across the table from her. “Yes, Mr. Johnstone?”

Dressed like a suit model, Mr. Johnstone was an attorney in Denver. He was nice enough, and she should be impressed, but he didn’t seem to have
much of a sphere of influence if he represented the likes of Helen’s family and had time to dine with them.

“Have you lived in Denver long?” he asked.

“No, I moved here with Miss Granstadt.”

Helen’s brother cleared his throat and slathered butter onto a thick slice of raisin bread. “Miss Woods lived in Kansas, the same town my family is from.”