Alaskan Brides: Gold Rush Baby Part 16

She still couldn't believe it. Thomas's sermon had brought about a wondrous change in the church members. Not all of them, of course. But a good many had mended old rifts. And Evelyn Harris, Beverly Fogel and Elizabeth Dunn had come that very Sunday to apologize and ask forgiveness for gossiping about her. And when they had seen Goldie's packed cradle and the carpetbag, they had asked her to stay in Treasure Creek. They knew about her past, and they wanted her to stay.

It was so hard for her to believe. She did not have to hold herself aloof for fear of questions about her past. She no longer had to live in fear of one of her old customers spotting her and revealing her past. She had been accepted as she was. She was free! Free, just as Thomas had said.

Thomas... The elation drained away. The one stumbling block to her staying in Treasure Creek was the one who had made it possible for her to stay. There had been something in Thomas's eyes when he had asked her to stay. Something warm and personal and wonderful. She was accustomed to seeing admiration in men's eyes. But this had been different. He had made her feel- No. She would not think about her feelings in these moments. Would not see more in them than was there. He had been speaking to her as her pastor. He had asked her to stay and give him a second chance as her pastor. And as a good pastor, he cared about her as one of his flock. To make it more than that was foolishness.

She walked to the living room, added a log to the coals to keep a chill from settling in overnight. Hattie suffered greater discomfort in her joints when it was damp or cold. She glanced up at the sampler, shook her head and walked back to her bedroom to finish preparing for bed.

She knew her dream would not come true. Nor should it. Love, marriage and a family were hopes inappropriate for an ex-prost.i.tute. Especially marriage to a pastor. She gathered her thick, silky curls into a ma.s.s at the nape of her neck and reached for a ribbon. Some things were impossible, even for G.o.d. And that a fine, upstanding pastor like Thomas could ever love a woman like her, was one of them. And truly, she did not wish it.

She slid the ribbon beneath her other hand and looped it over the ma.s.s of hair she clutched. In spite of the kindness being exhibited toward her by the present church members, marriage to her would hurt Thomas's ministry. And she could not bear that. She would be content with Goldie and Hattie as her family. She formed a bow, tugged it tight. All the same, there had been a moment-before Hattie and the other women had interrupted-a moment when Thomas was looking down into her eyes....

She stepped out of her slippers, climbed into bed and pulled up the covers, looking out the door to watch the flames licking at the log. His look had meant nothing. It was only Thomas's caring as a man of G.o.d. She knew it was only her traitorous heart wanting the foolish, selfish dream that had been born within her, the night she designed Frankie's wedding dress, to come true. But it gave her something to dream about. And everyone needed a dream.

She turned onto her side, cuddled into her pillow and sighed. "G.o.d, thank You for showing me what I should do. And for allowing me to stay in Treasure Creek."

Thomas splashed off the soap, ran a hand over his face and neck to check for any missed whiskers, then grabbed a towel and dried off. The sun streaming in the open window beside him glinted on the mirror. He leaned over the washstand to better see his reflection, looked into the green eyes peering back at him. Yep. There was a definite scheming look about them. He grinned, swished his razor clean, dried it and laid it on the stand.

Would she like the washbowl and pitcher? Maybe plain white had been a bad choice. He probably should have bought one with flowers, or a vine or something. He frowned, picked up the washbowl and tossed the soapy water out the window. Every furnishing he'd bought so far had been with an eye to the day when he brought Viola G.o.ddard to the parsonage as his bride.

But she sure wasn't cooperating with his plan. She was a little cool the few times they had run into each other around town. And now that the Lord had set him free from his guilt over Louise's and Susie's deaths and provided this home for him, he was having a hard time maintaining his patience. He was as eager as a kid with a first crush to tell her he loved her.

He shook his head, walked into the bedroom and s.n.a.t.c.hed his shirt off the bed. He couldn't believe how much he loved her. His wanting her for his wife went clear to his toes and then some. He shrugged into the shirt, b.u.t.toned it and tucked it into his pants, eyeing the other folded shirt on the bed. His lips twitched. It had sure been hard to make the sleeve catch on that nail-the one he'd deliberately left sticking out of the fence he was putting around the garden area he'd spaded up in the backyard. If any of his neighbors had been watching, they must have thought he was crazy, leaning against the fence and jerking away a half-dozen times or more while he dug in the same spot.

He chuckled, put on his jacket and picked up the shirt. It would have been easier to just rip the sleeve, but this way he had a true story to tell if Viola asked how the tear happened. He would confess that he had made it happen after they were married.

Married. To Viola. That sounded good!

He stepped out into the short hallway formed by the stairs that climbed to the loft on his left, and the small office on his right. An office. He shook his head, glanced in the door at the desk and chair that crowded the area. The only other piece of furniture was the chest that held his books he had Jimmy Crow bring down from his hut. He grinned. Mack had apologized because the room was so small, but it was larger than the whole of his hut. And a site warmer and drier.

Three strides brought him to the living room. He stopped, looked around. The size of the house was still a shock. Other than those few days he'd spent at Viola's, recuperating, and then in his room at the boardinghouse, it had been so long, he'd forgotten what it was like to live in a house you could actually walk around in. One with st.u.r.dy walls and a solid roof that didn't drip water on you every time it rained. "Thank You, Lord, for Your provision. May this home always be filled with those who love You and are called according to Your purpose."

He stepped outside onto the porch, looked down the road and smiled. Her cabin was there, at the end of the road. Close, but not close enough. Nothing would be close enough until he had her in his arms. But he had to earn her trust and her love before that could happen. And a few accidental meetings around town weren't enough to accomplish that. He had to see her, spend time with her, woo her. And he intended to do that no matter how many shirts he had to tear. He tucked the blue cotton excuse for his visit under his arm and started down the road with determination in his every stride.

"Yes, of course I will make you a dress, Evelyn." Viola looked down at Goldie, who was whimpering, and jiggled her knees to soothe her.

"Do you need to put her down for a morning nap, Viola? I can wait."

"No. She's not tired. I think she's getting another tooth." She lifted Goldie, cuddled her against her shoulder and smiled at her neighbor. "Did you have anything specific in mind?"

"Well..." A flush crept up Evelyn Harris's neck to her face. "I've always admired your green tweed outfit. If you could make me one like it in red... Only not quite so plain." The flush deepened. "Nothing fancy, of course."

"Hmm..." She swayed side to side, rubbed Goldie's back. "I could edge the jacket with a darker red braid...perhaps with a touch of black. And loop more of the braid around the hem of the skirt. Would that suit you? Or-"

"That would be lovely, Viola. You have excellent taste."

Was that another olive branch? "You're very kind. Thank you, Evelyn."

"Not at all. It's the truth." The older woman smiled. "Could you have the dress finished in time for Frankie's wedding?"

Thought of all she had to do for her friend's wedding day popped into her head. But Evelyn Harris was making a gesture of friendship, and a few late nights of sewing was a small price to pay for a friend. She smiled and nodded. "I can have it finished by then if you come for a fitting soon. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon? Hattie will be here to help with Goldie then."

"I'll be here. Now, I'll just go home and let you tend to the baby." Evelyn stood, smoothed her long skirt and started for the door. "I remember how fussy my babies were when they were teething. Matthew screamed something awful."

She rose to see her guest out. "Teena made me an herbal medicine to rub on her gums the last time Goldie was teething. It worked really well. I'm going to the clinic to get some more when Hattie returns and I put Goldie down for her nap this afternoon."

The older woman nodded. "Teena's skill with herbs is a blessing to this town. I'm so glad she and Dr. Calloway married. They seem very happy." The streak of sunlight streaming in the partially open door highlighted her smile. "Thank you, Viola. I shall look forward to my new dress." Her neighbor turned, pulled the door wide. "Oh! Good morning, Pastor Stone."

Thomas. Her stomach fluttered.

"Good morning, Mrs. Harris."

His deep voice made the fluttering soar and dip. She swallowed, put her foot back to turn, then stopped. It was too late to hide. Too late to call back Evelyn Harris, who was hurrying across the road to her cabin. She dragged up her old, aloof mask and lifted her chin.

"Good morning, Viola."

"Good morning, Pastor Stone." Something flickered in the depths of his eyes. Disappointment? Her heart squeezed. She didn't want to disappoint him. Not ever. "Thomas will do. I'm not here as your pastor, I'm here as a customer." He smiled, pulled a shirt from under his arm. "May I come in?"

No. A thousand times no. "Yes. Of course. I'll get my account book." Goldie started to whimper again. Of all the times for Hattie to be gone... She jiggled Goldie, opened the door of her sewing cupboard and reached for the gray-backed volume, realized too late the folly of her excuse to turn away from his steady gaze. She could not write- "Would it help if I hold Goldie?"

Hold Goldie? She turned, the question in her eyes.

"You're not the only one G.o.d has set free of their past, Viola." His gaze caught hers, held it. Her pulse sped. "The Lord used my time here with you and Hattie to heal more than my shoulder. He showed me the burden of guilt I was carrying over my wife's and baby's deaths was of my own making. He turned the evil intent of that kidnapper's shot into a true blessing. Just as Hattie predicted."

He reached out and took Goldie from her, started to lift the baby to his shoulder, stopped and cradled her in the crook of his right arm instead. "Hey, little one. What's the problem?"

Goldie stopped fussing, stared up at him out of her round blue eyes. He took her chubby hand in his, smiled when she curled her fingers around his thumb. "Tiny little thing, aren't you?"

The very image of her dream come true was before her. Goldie's precious face turned into a watery blur. Viola blinked, whirled back to the cupboard, picked up her pen and wrote his name. "What is the nature of the problem?"

"A tear in the sleeve. A jagged one, if that matters."

She nodded, made a notation.

"Well look who's here."

Hattie, back early. Thank goodness. She turned, threw Hattie a grateful look and took Goldie from his arms. "That's all the information I need. I will have your shirt ready for you by Wednesday. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to Goldie." She gave a polite nod in his general direction and hurried off toward her bedroom.

Thomas finished his lunch, wiped out the pan he'd fried the fish in, grabbed his jacket and left the house by the back door. If he remembered correctly, Viola put Goldie down for her nap just about now.

He whistled his favorite hymn, cut across lots and entered the back door of the Treasure Creek clinic, grateful for the partially open door that had allowed him to overhear Viola's plans.

"What do I owe ya, Doc?"

The stampeder sporting a large bandage on his right forearm glanced his way. Thomas gave him a polite smile.

"Fifty cents will do. Toss it in the bowl on your way out." Jacob Calloway looked up from scrubbing his hands, spotted him and frowned. "Are you having problems with your wound?"

"No. I just want to borrow a corner of your operating room for a few minutes."

Jacob's frown turned to a scowl. "What kind of nonsense is that? I'm too busy to play games, Thomas."

"It's no game, Jacob. I overheard Viola say Goldie was getting another tooth and that she was coming to get some herbs from Teena." He knew he looked sheepish, shrugged and grinned. "I thought maybe I could accidentally run into her and walk her home."

"Ahh." Jacob grinned, burst into laughter. "I guess I can help you out. But get over in that corner and stay out of my way."

"Yes, Doctor." He snapped off a salute, lounged back against the wall and turned his ear toward the door.

"Next." Jacob shot an amused glance his way, left the door open a crack, then ignored him. So did the patient.

He waited through the lancing of a carbuncle and the st.i.tching of a gaping wound above a miner's eye before he heard her voice. He stayed in place through four thudding heartbeats, then opened the door. "Thanks, Jacob."

Teena looked up, her dark eyes wide with surprise. Viola jerked around, almost dropped the large package she was holding. He hurried to her side, sent Teena a silent "don't say anything" message with his eyes before she gave him away. "h.e.l.lo, Viola. Out doing some ch.o.r.es?"

"I was, yes." Her voice was cool, tight. "I'm going home now." She fumbled to reach her purse around the package.

"Permit me." He withdrew the package from under her arm.

She frowned, reached in her purse for some coins.

He glanced at Teena, noted the speculative expression in her eyes, the tiny upward curve at the corners of her mouth and smiled. She gave a tiny nod, then held out the small, sealed crock to Viola and accepted her payment.

"Ready?"

Viola glanced up at him, reached for the package. "Yes. Thank you for helping."

He drew his hand back, shook his head. "I'm going your way. I'll carry this for you. Shall we?" He stepped forward, opened the door with his free hand and made a polite little bow.

She glanced at the clients who were looking at them, lifted her chin and stepped outside.

He heard a soft giggle, turned and glanced at Teena, gave her a wink and closed the door.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

"I don't know how you figure out them pieces, then put them all together to make a dress, Viola." Frankie Tucker shook her head and grinned. "I'd probably have an arm coming out the neck hole."

Viola laughed, finished cutting out the second sleeve and added it to the pile of pieces beside her on the rug. Only one piece left to cut out. "And I don't know how you figure out all the pieces and put a building together, Frankie. I'd probably have the door in the roof." She leaned forward over her knees and started cutting out the collar.

"Mayhap the two of you should change places and give it a try some day." Hattie chuckled, then knit another st.i.tch in the coverlet she was making for Frankie and Ed's wedding gift. "It'd liven up conversation for a while. Things are kinda dull, now that all the gossipin's stopped."

"Hattie." It came out as a chorus.

"Don't be lookin' so shocked, the two of you." Hattie knit the last st.i.tch in the row, turned the piece and purled the first st.i.tch. "I ain't talkin' about the mean-spirited, hurtful kind. I'm talkin' about the fun kind." Her gray head lifted from her work. "Don't tell me neither one of you didn't notice that the color of Rose's new dress made it look like there was a big frog sittin' in her pew Sunday mornin'."

Viola gasped. Laughter boiled up and shot out of her mouth in an unstoppable burst. Frankie slapped her knee and erupted in unrestrained hilarity.

Hattie nodded, went back to her knitting. "That's the kind I'm talkin' about, the fun kind. Ain't n.o.body hurt by that except maybe Viola's gettin' a st.i.tch in her side. I already told Rose the dress put me in mind of a frog."

Frankie gulped back her laughter. "What'd she say?"

Hattie fixed her faded-blue eyes on her and grinned.

"Ribbbetttt."

Frankie let out a whoop.

"Oh!" Viola pressed her right hand against her side and rocked back and forth, helpless to stop her laughter in spite of the little stabbing pain. "Gracious, Hattie. You say the most unexpected things. You've lived here for over two months now, and I still don't know what to expect when you start to speak." She made her last cut, added the collar piece to the pile and stood.

"The truth. Like...'it ain't over yet'." Hattie shot her a look and went back to her knitting.

What was that supposed to mean? Viola studied her for a moment, shrugged and turned to Frankie. "Help me carry these pieces to that table beside my sewing machine please, Frankie. I'm going to finish sewing the fringe on the swags now, then go to the church and hang them tonight, after Goldie has gone to sleep. That will free me to start sewing your gown tomorrow."

She picked up the long skirt pieces. The silk fabric flowed down over her arms and whispered softly as she carried it to the table. She put them down, glanced up at Frankie, caught her nodding in Hattie's direction. She shifted her gaze to Hattie, who was sitting, head down, knitting, and frowned. She must have imagined the nod. She looked back at Frankie. "I forgot to ask. Have you hung the hooks for the swags?"

"Not yet, I'll go hang them as soon as you take these pieces from me, they're slipping all over the place."

"Yes, silk does that." She lifted the pieces, laid them out so they would not wrinkle, and stared after Frankie, who was hurrying toward the door. That guilty look she'd had on her face must be because she forgot to hang the hooks.

Thomas laid down his pen, shoved back from the desk and hurried to open the door. "Well, h.e.l.lo, Frankie." He smiled at the woman standing on his porch. "Is there a problem?"

"Nope. Not if you're not planning on being in the church, praying or anything, for the next little while." She lifted the bag in her hand, patted the hammer hanging from her leather belt. "I'm fixing to hang these hooks on the windows in the entrance, and I'll be making noise." She stared straight up into his eyes. "I've got to get them done now, because Viola's coming to the church tonight, after she gets Goldie to sleep, to hang the new curtains she's made for the entrance."

"I see." He grinned, rubbed his hand over his chin. "Thank you for informing me, Frankie. I will be happy to delay any praying I was planning on doing at the church until later this evening."

She nodded. "Hattie thought you might see it that way." She lifted a hand in farewell and headed for the church.

"Tell Hattie I said thank you!"

Frankie turned, waved then kept on walking. He smiled and went back in the house. He had some praying to do right now...about later.

"Put the pad on the bench please, Matthew." Viola placed her package on the collections table, took a two cent piece from her pocket and held it out to her neighbor's son. "Thank you for helping me." The towhead nodded, grinned and scooted out the door.

"That money will be in the till at Tanner's tomorrow morning, just as soon as Matthew decides which candy he wants."

Thomas. That fluttering happened in her stomach again. She turned toward the sanctuary door, met his gaze. The fluttering spread to her heart. She looked away. "I'm sorry, Thomas. I didn't know you were here. I don't wish to disturb you. I can come back another time." She reached for the package.

"You're not disturbing me. I've finished praying." He stepped close to the table. "Please, continue with what you're doing."

No man should have a voice so deep and rich you felt...caressed by it. She nodded, tugged at the end of the string to release the bow and folded back the paper, concentrated on what she was doing. If she kept busy, perhaps he would go away.

She lifted out the top swag, spread it along the table and did the same with the second. The fabric was so rich and l.u.s.trous, it picked up the light from the small windows in a sheen that was opulent yet subdued. And the fringe... She ran her hand beneath the long, silky, twisted strands, watched them ripple like moon-silvered water over her fingers. It had been well worth the wait of placing an order for the special fabric and fringe. The swags had turned out exactly as she had hoped.