Where the Wild Rose Blooms

Where the Wild Rose Blooms

(Rocky Mountain Memories #1)

Lori Wick

So much of my writing is done alone. My office is in the center of our home, but even though someone else is in the house, I am alone at the computer. I am the only one who knows where I want to go with the story and what I hope to project. However, there are many people who fill the rest of my world. On this page I would like to acknowledge just a few of them.

To my son, Tim. Thank you for the poem. It was my favorite during your fifth-grade year. Thank you for having a tender heart, warm smile, and marvelous sense of humor. I love the sound of your laugh.

To my friend and secretary, Mary Vesperman. I can't imagine a more wonderful team. Thank you, Mary, for every jot and tittle, but most especially for being you.

To Harold and Norma Kolstad. Thank you for telling me your story. It was my strongest inspiration.

And finally to my husband, Bob. As imaginative as I am, I could not have dreamed of the joy I would know in our relationship. Even if my feelings were somehow cut in half, I would still be head-over-heels in love with you.

27 December 1872

Dear Morgan,

If this letter finds you, God has certainly heard my prayers. This year marks the third Christmas without my Clara, and even though this season is the most lonely, the rest of the year is not much better. The store here is profitable, enough for three families, but success is lonely when not shared.

I would very much enjoy seeing you and Adaline; in fact, I would life to present you with a business proposition. I have moved into the rooms above the store. I still have my home, but it's too large and full of Clara. I do not know how business stands for you in Boston, so much changed with the war, but if you've a longing for change, a position and home await you here. I feel the years that separate us now more than ever, and I can't continue on here
—
not on my own, feeling every one of my 63 years.

Many of the mine owners live here, so there is a school and a church, and as I stated before, business is good. Winter lasts for months, but spring is worth the wait. I do not want to paint a false picture. I work hard and the hours are long, but if you've fathered a bunch of strapping sons, the load will be light.

'Enough of the sales talk. You now know where I stand. I send this with hopes that I will hear from you soon, even if you
incline to join me. I do ask myself however, how Brothers could have become so separated. I hope you come, But even a
letter from the only family I have left would Be more than welcome.

Sincerely,

Mitchell Fontaine

Georgetown, Colorado Territory

Dear Mitchell,

We received your letter with great pleasure and are at this time making plans to join you. Look for Abby, the boys, and me sometime in July. We took forward to the change and business opportunity.

Until then.

M
organ Fontaine

Boston,

17 March 1873

Cut right out of the side of a mountain, Georgetown was filled with narrow streets and friendly businesses. The town of more than 3000 residents sat in a deep valley. Rocky-faced mountains, with just a sprinkling of pines, rose on three sides. The high elevation caused snow to remain on the tallest peaks even in midsummer. Amid the beauty, silver miners built shacks and moved equipment

in to plumb the earth. Mine tailings made their own hills and valleys, looming dark and mysterious in the landscape.

Streets lined with houses ran north and south, east and west. Their colors ranged from white to more somber grays, with the occasional pink or bright-blue facade. Clear Creek, flowing fast and clear as its name, ran through the middle of town. Children of all ages loved to cross or stand on the wooden bridge that spanned it, its sides supported with heavy wood beams.

Clayton Taggart, a town local, waved to a few of the creek-gazers as he stopped his wagon in front of the general store and climbed down. He rubbed the small of his back and then looped the horses' reins over the hitching post. He'd been in the saddle for days, and the seat of the buckboard had not felt comfortable. However, his mother had a long list of supplies she needed from town. Milly, Claytons younger sister, was ill, or his mother would have come herself.

Clayton walked across the street to the barber shop, thinking, as he often did, that there must be an easier way to make a living. Land and mine surveyors were in demand, but they couldn't live, like the mine owners, in town. A dream, one he'd had for years, flashed into his mind, but he forced the thought away. It was going to take more time, and he was going to have to be patient.

"Well now, Clay," the barber greeted the 18-year-old warmly once he was inside the shop.

"Hello, Hap. Have you time for a cut?"

"The chair's all yours."

The regular crowd had gathered in the mismatched wooden chairs along one wall, some smoking and some reading the weekly news. They mumbled greetings as Clayton dropped his hat onto the hook by the door and took a seat in the huge barber chair. The striped drape billowed in the air as it swung around his frame and settled below his throat.

"Yer pa still out?" Hap wanted to know.

"Yeah. He'll be back in a few days."

"Musta been nice and cool in those hills," Charlie Parks offered. He held a section of the paper in front of his nose, and Clayton only smiled. Georgetown itself was over 8500 feet in elevation, making the temperatures quite cool year round. However, it was true that the mine where Clayton had been working had been even cooler.

"It's still a lot of hard work," Clayton commented softly, but no one seemed to hear.

Hap snipped along for a time, working in silence, before Clayton asked, "So what's new in town?" If someone didn't talk to him, he was going to fall asleep.

"Well, now." Hap seemed pleased. "Young Doc Edwardson broke his leg."

"How'd he manage that?"

Hal gave a wheezy laugh before answering. "Him and the missus had a fight, and he went slamming out the back door after dark. Fell down all four steps and busted his leg good. Had to call his own pa to set the thing."

Clayton was amused but sympathetic.

"Billy Roper and June Hawley have decided to get married, kinda sudden like. Some say she's in the family way."

Clayton's eyes in the mirror became very stern, and Hap cleared

his throat and changed the subject.

"Mitch Fontaines brother and his family have moved into town. "

Something in Haps voice caused Clayton to study him closely, but the older man's look gave nothing away.

"Yes, indeed," he continued. "Name's Morgan. Got a right pretty wife too."

"Where're they living?" Clayton's curiosity got the best of him.

"In Mitch's old place. Hey, you have been gone awhile, haven't you, Clay?" Hap suddenly interjected.

"Six weeks." Clayton's deep voice was mild.

"I wonder that your mother didn't tell you."

"I just got in last night, Hap, and Milly's sick."

"Is she now? That's a shame. Gonna miss the first day of school next week?"

"She's hoping not."

"Mitch's havin' a sale." Charlie Parks' voice once again drifted out from behind the paper.

"A sale?" Clayton asked skeptically.

"Yep," Hap took up the ball. "First ever. Morgan told Charlie here they're going to be moving some new stock in, so they've put old items on sale."

Clayton almost shook his head but remembered Hap's scissors

just in time.

"All kinds of changes goin' on over there. You planning to stop, Clay?"

"Yeah. Ma sent a list."

There was a certain amount of rustling from the chairs against the wall, but Clayton took little notice. Hap was finished with his haircut and fussing about his neck and ears with a small brush. Clayton nipped a coin to the older man and went for his hat.

"Be sure and have the boys help you out when you get there," Charlie interjected one last time, the paper still in place. To Claytons confusion, Hap and the other men howled with laughter.

"Yes, sir, Clay," Hap nearly shouted. "Meet the whole family and be
sure
those boys help you with your load." Rumbles of laughter still sounded from
the
 chairs, but all Clayton did was shake his head.

"Thanks, Hap."

The old man never heard him. Clayton exited to calls of advice and more laughter. He stepped off the boardwalk and into the dirt street and headed to the general store, wondering over Mitch Fontaine's brother. Clayton didn't think Georgetown had room for any more characters.

"Tag!" A voice rang out just as he reached the other side, and Clayton turned to wave at a friend. The other man was headed into the bank, so Clayton continued on his way. He stepped into Fontaines and, while the bell was still ringing in his ear, noticed the change. Not only were things rearranged, they looked cleaner and tidier, like in the days before Clara had fallen ill.

The store sported two front doors, one for hardware and the other for dry goods and groceries. Claytons list was for dry goods, but the smell of leather that beckoned from the adjoining door tempted him to check out the saddles and riding gear. Clayton's thoughts were interrupted when Mitch greeted him.

"Well, Clay," he said easily.

Clayton looked up to see the older man approaching. With him was a man who could only be his brother. He was younger, but the family resemblance was there.

"Hello, Mitch." Clayton greeted him with a longtime familiarity.

"Good to see you, Clay. Meet my brother, Morgan," Mitch added with great enthusiasm.

"Hello, sir," the younger man said respectfully.

"Clay, was it?" Morgan asked.

"Yes. Clay Taggart."

"Good to meet you, Clay. I'm Morgan Fontaine, and this," he waited until a woman approached from down one of the aisles, "is my wife, Adaline."

Clayton removed his hat. Hap may have exaggerated about the other things, but his estimation of a "right pretty wife" was more than true: Adaline Fontaine was a beauty.