Angel In The Saloon (Brides of Glory Gulch) (10 page)

Molly had read stories to her of mail order brides,
and short courtships, which had intrigued their young sensibilities. Now, here
she was in the west and finding out that those tales had been true all along.
She wasn’t prepared for any of this and hoped to have some time soon to just
sit down and talk to her aunt and ask her the questions burning on her heart.

“Relax, Strupel, I was just showing her around the
camp and telling her how we operate here.”

“Yes, and it was very interesting, even if he wouldn’t
let me touch one of the saws.”

“Well, I see he does posses a little common sense
after all,” Paul said.

“So, you’re taking Jeremiah’s side?” Aaron Cowan
asked.

“I never thought I’d say this, but yes. I guess I am.”
Paul sighed as if the confession annoyed him.

“Wow! It never occurred to me to bet on that ever
happening,” Aaron said and everyone laughed.

Amelia had never met such a rambunctious group of men
before. And she felt completely comfortable and secure with them. Wouldn’t her
mother have a lot to say about this if she were still here? She sighed. She
wouldn’t be here if her mother hadn’t taken to her sick bed. How fragile life
can be.

Yet as she listed to these men banter with one
another, she knew life could also be hearty, and she took heart that she at
least had an aunt she could love. Couldn’t she?

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“Cowan,” Paul said. This meeting was getting out of
hand, as usual, and he needed to get Amelia down the mountain before supper. “Your
brother read the contract and says it’s fine—nothing unusual. Are you going to
sign it or not?” He also was anxious to conclude his business dealings so he
could leave the camp so he could be alone with Amelia once again.

Jeremiah looked at Aaron who nodded his approval. “Oh,
all right, let’s get this over with.”

The Cowans compliantly signed the papers. Immediately
after dividing them into two sets, Paul stuffed his copy back into his pocket
and stood to his feet.

“Amelia, we’d better get started back to town.” He
took her arm and guided her out the door, the others following closely behind
them. Aaron invited them to stay for supper and Jeremiah said it was a grand
idea. But Paul was unwilling to share Amelia any longer and wouldn’t hear of
it.

Everyone said goodbye, and when it was Biscuit’s turn,
he added, “I enjoyed having you here today, Miss Jackson. Like the Boss said
earlier, we don’t get much female company up here, except for Family Day.”

Paul groaned inwardly. He wished Biscuit had never
brought up this subject, and he hurried Amelia on top of Colorado’s sturdy
back.

“Family Day?” she asked.

“Sure,” Biscuit said. “Every first Wednesday of the
month, the men’s wives and sweethearts bring picnic lunches up here and the
Boss-Man gives the fellas an extra long lunch. Most of these men are up here
for months at a time, except for Sundays, and they get pretty lonely for their
loved ones.” Biscuit smiled. “And it means time off for me.”

“I think that is a noble thing to do, Jeremiah,”
Amelia said.

“Amelia, why don’t you come back on Wednesday for
Family Day?” Jeremiah asked.

Paul mounted his trusty steed behind Amelia and threw
Jeremiah a rude look. All the men saw it. But Jeremiah ignored it, as usual.

“The ladies gather at Conner’s Mercantile, and a
couple of my men drive them up here and back in wagons. It sure would be a
pleasure to picnic up here in the fresh air with you.”

Paul pursed his lips. The urge to punch him in the
mouth to get him to shut up welled up inside him. The veins on his neck were
protruding as he tightened his jaw to keep him from saying something that might
get him in trouble with Amelia. He had to get his emotions under control.
Somehow, he didn’t think God would be happy with his old behavior showing up
again. He’d left that life behind a few months ago. He’d have to talk with the
Preacher about how to handle his anger.

“That sounds very nice, Jeremiah. But I’m not sure
that I can commit to such a proposition at this time. I’ll talk with Aunt
Corrin about it. I guess if I decide to come, you will know it when the wagons
arrive.”

“Fair enough,” Jeremiah said.

Paul let out the long breath that he had been holding
and maneuvered Colorado out of camp.

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Jeremiah watched Paul and Amelia disappear into the
trees until they were out of sight. His usually lighthearted disposition faded
with the envy he felt at seeing Amelia sitting so close to Paul Strupel, his
arm wrapped securely around her middle as he lead the horse through the forest.

He had always loved his occupation. Being out in the
woods so far from the confines of the busy town gave him a liberated feeling. But
today he was wishing he lived nearer to Glory Gulch, nearer to Amelia. Paul
would be able to call on her every day, and there wasn’t a thing he could do
about it. The forest he loved so dearly suddenly felt imprisoning to him. He
scowled and headed back to work.

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 Amelia savored her roast beef dinner. The day’s
activities had used up her energy and she had been famished.

“Sarah Jane is a wonderful cook. Don’t you agree,
Amelia?” Paul forked a helping of green beans into his mouth and smiled while
he chewed.

“She certainly is. These biscuits are heavenly. Say,
that reminds me. Do you know why everyone calls Mr. Todd,
Biscuit
?”

“Sure. A couple of years ago when the Cowans were
looking for a new cook, they interviewed just about everyone who could boil
water. Being a camp of all men, they had to rule out any females who may have
applied. So that cut their chances of finding someone who could actually cook
to almost none.”

“When they came across young Adam Todd, they ruled him
out with so much as a ‘thank you for coming’. He was in his early twenties and
he just couldn’t convince them that he knew his way around a kitchen. He had no
experience other than the fact that his mother had died when he was little, and
he had to cook for his eight brothers and father. The Cowans were skeptical
about this, and they certainly didn’t believe him when he told them he had once
cooked a meal for the President of the United States back before he got to be
President, so they sent him on his way.

“‘Awe, biscuits!’ Todd mumbled as he walked away from
them. Aaron asked him to repeat what he said, thinking he was sputtering some
rude remark. Well, you know how Todd is, quick thinking---in an impish sort of
way. He simply answered, ‘Biscuits.’  They asked him to explain what he meant,
and he told them that anyone could cook a stew, but the proof is in their
biscuits. If a person could make great biscuits, then that would mean they
probably knew what they were doing in other areas of the kitchen as well.”

Amelia enjoyed the story and liked the sound of Paul’s
voice---very pleasant, very masculine.

Paul set down his fork and knife and leaned back in
his chair. “So the Cowans challenged him then and there to bake them some of
those great biscuits he was talking about.

“He smiled and said, ‘Coming right up, Boss.’  And to
their amazement, young Todd was grabbing bowls and pans and flower and butter
and such as if he’d been in the lumber camp for years. His hands were working
so fast, they could hardly keep up with him. Within a half hour, they were all
feasting on the biggest, fluffiest, most delicious biscuits they had ever
tasted.

“After the Cowans exchanged nods, Jeremiah looked at
Todd and said, ‘You’re hired, biscuit man.’  And they called him Biscuit Man
for some time before they finally just shortened it to Biscuit.”

Paul took up his utensils, sliced off a juicy piece of
beef, and forked it into his mouth.

“My, you certainly have a knack for telling stories. Thank
you, Paul. Say, Aunt Corrin tells me you have a piano.”

“Yes. It belonged to my mother. She played beautifully.
Sometimes lying in bed at night I think I can still hear her playing.” He
sounded wistful and Amelia liked hearing this side of the man.

“That’s how it was with my mother too.” Amelia hoped
the tears that were threatening to slide down her cheeks would not come quickly.
“She taught me to play, but I don’t think I could ever be as proficient as she
was. Paul, I think I’m ready to begin playing again. Aunt Corrin doesn’t think
it’s a good idea for me to use the saloon’s piano for practicing, and I was
wondering if you would allow me to use yours once in awhile?”

Paul was thinking almost the same thing as Corrin had
regarding the talents of a blind person. But he allowed his heart to answer for
him.

“I can understand why Corrin didn’t want you to use
the one at the saloon. It’s a business, and she has to keep up the right
atmosphere,” Paul said. “I’ve been keeping it up in Mother’s memory. But I
think nothing would please her more than for it to be used, making beautiful
music once again. Just let me know when you would like to come over to
practice.”

Without thinking Amelia reached out to him and found
his arm. “Thank you,” she whispered. Realizing what she had done---and in
public---she drew back, quickly found her tea cup, and sipped the tasty, warm
drink. What must he think of her now?

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Paul’s heart jumped into his throat, beating wildly
with pleasure from her deliberate touch. He couldn’t think of a thing to say. Instead,
he reached for her hand and held it tenderly, resting it upon the table for several
minutes. He’d courted a lot of women in his forty years, and he’d expected to
live alone for what’s left of his life. Perhaps his age did have something to
do with it. Maybe after so many failed relationships, he could recognize love
more immediately. Yes, he definitely believed in love at first sight, and he
knew that’s what he felt for her.

Dinner was finished, but he wasn’t ready to say good
night. They walked arm-in-arm down the boardwalk and into the saloon.

Corrin met them near the door, and Amelia asked her if
she’d approve Paul and her sitting on the bench outside to continue their talk,
and she agreed to it.

They sat together on the bench, half facing each
other, not too close, and talked through the rest of the evening, the din of
the partying never letting up as it increased and decreased as if a living
creature.

At one point later in the evening Paul dared to inch
closer to her and lay his hand across the back of the bench. Then quietly,
gently, he touched Amelia’s velvety hair. He knew he shouldn’t have stolen this
pleasure, but he couldn’t resist.

Soon, Amelia yawned.

“Come on. I’ll escort you to your room.”

She nodded, stood, and took hold of his arm.

Paul accompanied her safely to her door, and
remembering her reaction earlier in the day in the meadow, asked for her
permission to kiss her.

She didn’t answer him, but just stood with her face
pointed forward and she blushed.

He touched her cheek tenderly. Then slowly,
purposefully, he drew nearer and bent his head downward and kissed her on the
cheek. When she didn’t flinch or pull back, he again cupped her face with his
hands and kissed her long and tenderly.

He was still holding her face as she whispered good
night to him, and then reached backward, opened the door, and backed away from
him into her dark room. “Should I light a lamp for you?”

She laughed. “That won’t be necessary.

Stupid! He’d nearly forgotten she was blind.

“Paul?”

“Yes?” He took a step toward her and gazed admiringly
into her porcelain face.

“Thank you for the flowers.” She smiled at him.

He leaned against the door jam with one hand and
touched her chin with the other.

“You’re very welcome.”

She stepped back and closed the door behind her.

 “You’re very welcome,” he whispered,” sweet angel.”

The next morning, Sunday, Paul tapped on the back door
as previously arranged, and Amelia opened it with enthusiasm, flashing him her
prettiest smile---the one that reminded him of her innocence.

She wore a pretty, pink satin dress that bore soft,
ivory lace ruffling around the edge of the scooped neckline. Two pink ribbons
of a darker shade were attached from the shoulders to the waistline forming a V.
A sash of the same color adorned her small waistline and ended in the back in a
half-train flowing over a modest bustle. She had pulled back her hair on each
side with a shiny silver comb.

“You look as beautiful as an angel today.”

“Thank you, Paul. Please come in. I’ll be ready in
just a minute.” Amelia turned and tapped her way to the water pump with her
cane.

Paul watched with admiration the careful way in which
she walked, the genteel manner in which she carried herself, and the way she
looked in that dress. He knew his love for her was not a fleeting fancy and
that her outward beauty was only the messenger that carried the real Amelia to
him. Everything about her gave him the purest pleasure.