Twice a Bride (38 page)

“That’s why you were at the confectionary,” Willow said, smiling.

“Susanna told you?”

“She gave me her version.” Willow set her hands over his and met his gaze. “I like your version better.”

“I’m sure I do too.”

While he savored a few more bites of pie, Willow ate a piece of the pecan fudge, giving him knee-weakening smiles. When he could wait no longer, he set the dish on top of the box and looked into her warm eyes, drinking in the assurance that her interest in him exceeded their professional relationship.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he said.

She stilled.

“M-might you be ready for courtship?”

A slight grin deepened her dimples, and his heart did a flip. “I suppose it depends on who the caller is.”

“Me. I want to court you.”
Kiss you. Marry you
. But first things, first.

“Yes.”

“The ice-cream parlor this Tuesday at four o’clock?”

“Yes.”

Her smile was far more valuable than anything to be found in a gold mine.

Ida held two corners of the quilt, and Tucker folded the other two corners. “Your sister is going to be all right.”

He nodded, his brown eyes glistening with tears. “Trenton’s a good man. He came by the church yesterday for a talk and surrendered his life to Christ.”

“That’s wonderful.” Joy and relief caused Ida’s voice to quiver. She retrieved the picnic basket from the grass littered with golden leaves. “She loves Trenton.”

“Even I can tell.”

They were laughing when Father and Miss Hattie returned from the parsonage and diverted their attention. Hattie’s hand rested on his arm, and the smile on her face tickled Ida clear to her toes. Her father had obviously admitted to himself and to Hattie that he loved her.

Father stacked his other hand on Hattie’s and regarded the family gathered around them. “We have some news.”

So did they, but Kat’s baby news could wait a couple of minutes.

Father looked at Ida, Nell, and Vivian. “Your Miss Hattie has agreed to be my wife.”

Cherise squealed and rushed to Father. He and Miss Hattie wrapped the child in a tearful embrace.

Tears streamed down Ida’s face. God was handing out second chances to Father and Hattie, Cherise, and Willow. Ida joined in the celebratory hugging and looked at her husband. She so wanted to tell Tucker that God was giving them another chance at parenthood, but she needed to be sure.

W
illow stepped out of the mercantile behind Hattie and breathed in the crispness of autumn. Each of them clutched a package. Willow had purchased more paints and brushes while Miss Hattie collected eyelet ribbon in preparation for her wedding next month. How was it possible that it could be Saturday already, that a whole week had passed since the church picnic?

Now that Willow thought about it, it was Trenton’s fault. Last Sunday she’d agreed to courtship. Consequently, she was living the busiest week of her life. Monday, Trenton had photographed her in the studio, then the two of them had gone to the parsonage for supper with Tucker and Ida. Tuesday, they’d sat at one of the red tables in the ice-cream parlor and talked about anything and everything over root beer sodas. Wednesday, a midday stroll to Mount Pisgah. Thursday, lunch at the Third Street Café. Last night, Trenton had come to supper at the boardinghouse, and they’d bundled up to sit on the porch swing. They gazed at the night sky until she couldn’t stop yawning and the stars blurred.

And that was only a list of her time with Trenton. It seemed every mine owner in town wanted a photograph taken and a portrait done.

Hattie stopped in the middle of the block, her eyebrows arched. “Where are we going next?” She glanced at their packages. “Do we have time to take these home before the sitting?”

“We started early. It can’t be later than ten o’clock. We should have plenty of time. Unless you get to primping.” Willow grinned. Since the morning Hattie burned the potatoes with Mr. Sinclair in the kitchen, her landlady was spending a lot more time at her dressing table.

Hattie feigned shock and tapped Willow’s shoulder. “I would like to change into my blue calico dress. I didn’t want to wear it shopping and take the chance—”

“That it wouldn’t be perfect for the Sinclair family photograph?”

Hattie nodded, her blue-gray eyes glistening, “I never would’ve imagined that I’d marry again, and into the Sinclair family, no less.” She turned toward the Fourth Street corner. “God is so good.”

“Indeed He is.”

They crossed the street and walked up the hill to the boardinghouse on Golden Avenue.

Hattie stepped onto the front porch first and peered down at the stationery peeking out from under the door. “That wasn’t there when we left.”

“Maybe Trenton came by.”

“Or Harlan.” Hattie stepped to the side as she inserted the key into the door, allowing Willow access to the letter.

Willow shifted her package to one arm and bent to retrieve it. “It has my full name on it, but it isn’t Trenton’s penmanship.”

Hattie unlocked the door and pushed it open. “A client, perhaps?”

Willow set her package and reticule on the entry table next to the vase of sunflowers, then carried the envelope into the parlor. Standing in front of the warm stove, she slid the stationery out of the envelope and started to unfold it. “It’s from Miss Woods.”

Hattie walked into the room. Her eyes widened, deepening the creases that framed them. “That could be interesting.”

Or distressing
. Neither Willow nor Trenton had heard a word from Susanna, nor seen hide nor hair of her, since her appearance at the church picnic
last Sunday. They had both avoided the confectionary, and, thankfully, Susanna had stayed away from them.

Until now.

Given the young woman’s spite on Sunday, Willow wasn’t sure she wanted to read the note. She finished unfolding the rough piece of parchment paper anyway and read aloud.

Greetings to you, Willow Peterson
,

What you said Sunday set me to thinking. I thought I knew what I wanted … until I met you. It doesn’t feel good to admit it, but you were right. I do consider myself to be a handsome woman, with much to offer the right man
.

Hattie tittered. “You said all of that to her?”

Willow shrugged. “I do remember saying she was a handsome woman and something about it being a shame that she would waste time pursuing a man who didn’t have affections for her.”

“You must have had the power of the Holy Ghost behind your words.”

Willow was thankful but wondered where Susanna was headed with the declaration. She returned her attention to the letter.

I do want someone who will love me for who I am. Trenton deserves the same. Please tell him he’s free of me. This morning, I will board the train for Denver. Miss Carmen misses you both at the confectionary
.

With warm regard
,

Susanna Woods

“She’s leaving.”

“That’s good news.”

It was, but mixed feelings plagued Willow. She tucked the letter into the envelope.

“You’re going to the depot, aren’t you,” Hattie said.

“I can’t say why, but yes.” Willow pulled her reticule off of the entry table and reached for the door handle.

“I’ll meet you at the studio,” Hattie said, rushing the words.

Willow nodded as the door closed behind her. She proceeded to the street and down the hill at an unladylike pace. She hadn’t heard the train whistle blow to signal departure yet, but she knew the time was short. It made no sense that Willow wanted to see the young woman again, but she did.

At Bennett, she crossed the street and turned left. She’d just passed Jesse’s livery when the train whistle blew. She hitched her skirt at the side seams and picked up her pace again. The depot was busier than a beehive and no doubt just as noisy. She maneuvered between horses, wagons, and carts and dashed to the platform.

Susanna wasn’t there. Willow glanced toward the stream of people pouring out of the depot, then up at the train. Walking past the second passenger car, she spotted Susanna. Her blue eyes wide and her jaw lax, the young woman looked as surprised to see her there as Willow was surprised to be there.

Smiling, Willow held up the envelope, then pressed it to her breast.

Susanna returned her smile and nodded. She’d been a bit foolhardy and shameful in her nefarious pursuit of Trenton, but Willow wanted to believe that Denver held more promise for the young woman.

The locomotive belched a noxious cloud of sulfur-scented steam as it strained to take up the slack in each coupling, the metallic clunks deafening.

Susanna waved.

As Willow watched the train chug up the mountain toward Ute Pass, waves of relief and concern washed over her, along with gratitude for the right words and God’s use of them to help Susanna move on.

You’re guiding Trenton, Lord. Guide her too
.

Trenton studied the studio, from column to Brady stand, from settee to tripod. After photographing the entire church congregation, the Sinclair family should be easy enough for him to frame, even with fifteen members. He draped a Greek column backdrop over the rod on the back wall, then positioned the settee in front of it, leaving a few feet between them for creating layers.

On his way to the darkroom for prepared plates, he caught himself humming again. Something he’d been doing all week—since Sunday evening when he’d returned home from the picnic. He was especially given to humming after returning from spending time with Willow. At every hint of a sound or shadow, he glanced toward the office and the main door. The Sinclair sitting was still half an hour off, but he expected Willow to arrive early, which probably explained the humming. Today, it was “Bedouin Love Song.” Yesterday, a tune from some silly romantic play. He seemed to alternate between the two, even though as recently as last month, he wouldn’t have recalled either.

“Hello?” The bell above his door accompanied the voice as if on cue. But it was Miss Hattie’s voice, not Willow’s.

“I’m b-back here, Miss Hattie.”

Willow’s landlady peeked into the darkroom. “There you are.”

“Yes. I’m j-just gathering supplies for the s-sitting.” He stopped. “You look especially n-nice today.”

“Why, thank you.” She relaxed the shawl about her, revealing the crocheted lace accents at her neckline.

He drew in a deep breath for dramatic effect. “I can see where we could have a p-problem.”

“Oh?”

“Mr. Sinclair m-may have trouble taking his eyes off you long enough to l-look at the camera.”

She tittered, waving a gloved hand. Her wide-brimmed hat may be a
distraction too, or at least a positioning challenge. No matter. He’d made a sport of guessing what kind of hat Miss Hattie would wear next. He had his answer for today, and he’d make it work.

“I’ll show you where you all will gather.” As he stepped between the darkroom and the studio doors, he glanced toward the street out of habit.