Frances looked back at Hal. The moment was broken.

  Frances tuned out the conversation as she headed for the door. The rest of the party followed with Cassie happily chatting the entire way home about her plans.

  When they arrived back at Max’s house newlyweds disappeared for the evening, leaving Hal and Frances alone in the sitting room.

  “Frances…” Hal began.

  Frances stool. “I’m tired, Hal. I’m going to go to bed. It was an exciting and emotional day. I’ll be moving back to my house tomorrow.”

  Before Hal could respond, Max came back in the room. “A telegram arrived for you while we were gone.” He handed the folded piece of paper to Hal. Cassie appeared behind him; her face lined with apprehension.

  “What does it say?” she asked.

  Hal opened the paper and scanned the words appearing on the page. His face broke out in a huge smile and he whooped, grabbing Frances up in a hug and swinging her around.

  “Well,” Cassie prodded.

  Frances stumbled a bit when he dropped her back to the round. He planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “My boy is coming to Creede! Charlie is coming home.”

  Chapter 5

  Frances barely saw Hal over the next few weeks. Or Cassie. Or even Max, for that matter. They were so busy with Charlie’s homecoming and the opening of the tailor shop that no one was around when she stopped by.

  No one, but Charlie.

  He was a nice enough young man, but there was something definitely going on with him. What it was, Frances didn’t know. Cassie said that something terrible must have happened to him in New York, as he was very withdrawn and didn’t want to be around anybody.

  Frances would occasionally say hello when she stopped by to bring dinner. Max upped her stipend since she was now preparing meals for four people. Their arrangement was that she would prepare four meals a week, and Cassie would take care of the other three. It was too much to cook enough for the next day.

  She was also cooking for her dear friend, Maybelle, since the baker had tripped over Mr. Gladstone and fractured her leg. Max was paying for those meals as well.

  Maybelle saw her injury as an opportunity to send for her niece in Baltimore. She needed the help at the bakery and thought that Georgina would be perfect to come and help.

  It didn’t matter that Georgina was a nurse, according to Maybelle. Maybelle would teach the young girl all she needed to know. Perhaps even there might be a love match in town, she told Frances. Frances couldn’t imagine who that match would be, as people were coming and going from Creede every day.

  Frances was on her way from the store when she spied Cassie and Max in the window of the haberdashery. It appeared they were discussing the current window display. Frances gave a little laugh as she knew that Max was fastidious about the store and Cassie had an eye for more theatrical displays. Those two were like oil and water, but they loved each other dearly.

  She gave a little wave as she walked by and they returned it before going back to setting up the display. She could see Hal through the window fitting a customer. He was kneeing in front of a stood pining the hem of the pants the man was wearing. Hal had his tape measure around his neck and piece of chalk in his hand.

  He was talking to the person on the stool. Frances recognized him as one of the ranchers on the Abraham’s farm. She couldn’t remember his name for the life of her. The rancher gave her a wave as she peered through the glass.

  Hal removed the chalk from his mouth and turned to look at Frances. His face broke into a grin and he waved at her. He said something to the man on the stool and then stood. Frances saw him walking towards the door.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she saw him come outside to greet her.

  “Franny,” he said, grabbing her hand.

  Frances allowed him to linger a moment, before pulling her hand back and tucking it underneath her arm. It would be most improper if someone saw them. She quickly glanced left and right to see if anyone saw them.

  Hal looked around too. He then pulled her into wall next to the doorway and leaned over her, his palm on the brick wall.

  Frances looked at him and blinked her eyes twice. He was close enough to kiss. Frances suppressed that thought. If she didn’t want to be seen holding hands with him, she certainly didn’t want to be seen stealing a kiss in a doorway.

  “How have you been, Franny?” he asked, a grin breaking out on his face. He looked her up and down. “You look beautiful.”

  Frances gave a nervous giggle. “Thank you, Harold.” She lifted her basket. “I’m just running home to fix Maybelle’s dinner.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  Frances turned her attention back to the window. Cassie and Max had disappeared. “She’s having a hard time moving around.” Frances looked back at Hal. “She is usually very active.” She gave a little laugh. “Maybelle thinks she is much younger than she is.”

  “How old is she?” Hal asked.

  “Harold Stockton,” Frances pretended to be mortified. She raised her hand and put her fingers against Hal’s chest, as if pushing him away. “You should know better than to ask a lady her age!”

  Hal grabbed her hand and laid it against his chest. “Is she older or younger than us?”

  Frances tried to pull her hand away, but Hal held onto it. “It is fine where it is, Franny. So, is she older or younger than us?”

  Frances looked at her fingers against the linen of his shirt. When she first met him, his clothes were threadbare, but now he dressed like a distinguished gentleman. The fabric felt stiff under her fingers. Abby, the young woman who did the laundry, must have used too much starch when ironing.

  She looked at Hal his blue eyes piercing her. She thought they were looking into her soul. He raised his eyebrow expecting an answer. “I don’t know,” Frances whispered.

  Hal gave a little laugh, breaking the tension. “It is good that she is very active. It keeps the mind young. I would probably go out of my mind if I was stuck in one spot for very long.”

  “Mrs. Brown,” a voice interrupted them. “What are you doing in the doorway?” Frances blinked again, her gaze not leaving Hal’s. “Mr. Stockton, is that you?”

  Frances broke her gaze away and saw Reverend Bing approaching the door. She gave a little groan and tried to pull her hand back. Hal held tight to it, flattening her palm against his chest.

  “We will talk later, Franny,” he said, releasing her hand. Hal turned to the reverend. “What brings you out this way? We just received some new pants from New York. Would you like to see them?”

  “Uh, Uh…” the reverend stuttered.

  “Right this way,” Hal said, opening the door and pushing Reverend Bing inside. He turned and gave Frances a quick wink. “Stop by the house tomorrow,” he said, following the reverend into the store and closing the door behind him.

  Frances lifted her fingers to her lips. She gave a little sigh. If she were a gambling person, she would have placed odds that Hal intended to kiss her.

  She gave a little skip off the step leading into the store and quickly walked the rest of the way home.

  She was still thinking about Hal when she rounded the corner to her house and gave a little cry. There in the garden were her rose bushes. Each one had been pulled from the flower bed and now laid drying in the Colorado sun.

  She knew Mr. Tom-Tom wouldn’t have dug up her bushes. Now she wondered if he scattered the dirt in the house she found previously.

  Someone was definitely damaging her home on purpose. Trembling, she ran to Maybelle’s house to drop off her basket and then headed directly to the Marshall’s office.

  Hal was concerned. Frances didn’t stop by the next day, or the day after that. She had sent a note via a young lad that she wouldn’t be able to cook for Max and his guests for a little bit.

  Hal wonder if something had happened.

  Perhaps she was upset about how forward he was in the doorway. He knew he shouldn’t have been, but if the Reverend hadn’t shown up when he did, then Hal would have taken the opportunity to kiss her. Since he didn’t want her to be subjected to any speculation or questions from the Reverend, Hal seized the moment to take the man inside the store to allow Frances an opportunity to escape home.

  The Reverend was a likeable fellow and when he tried to ask Hal about his relationship with Frances, Hal simply turned the subject to the pugilist rings in New York. Reverend Bing was quite happy to talk about that and Hal hoped he eventually forgot his questions as he didn’t bring it up again.

  Cassie had been cooking, and although she was a good cook, she wasn’t as good as Frances. Frances would make the most mouthwatering friend chicken and biscuits. Hal had never had anything like it in his life. He nearly ate a whole chicken himself. Her biscuits were light and fluffy and he devoured half a dozen with butter and some homemade jam from Frances root cellar.

  He would give anything for another fried chicken meal. Cassie had limited her cooking to beans and cornbread. It would be quite alright with Hal if he never saw another bean in his life. He had enough of them in New York. But it wasn’t Cassie’s fault that it was all they could afford.

  His thoughts drifted back to Frances again. He would pay her a visit if he only knew where she lived. He asked directions from Max and was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t as far as he imagined. He decided to walk over and pay her a visit.

  He put on his best shirt, and wet down his hair, combing it until rested in waves. He wore a brand-new pair of light brown pants and brown shoes. He picked two roses from Max’s rose bushes and headed down the alley way towards Frances’s house.

  Go to the last house and you should see her’s as soon as you pass the garden fence. Hal recalled Max’s directions.

  He walked down the alleyway and saw Mr. Gladstone sitting in the middle of the path licking his toes. A burly tom cat was headed in his direction. Mr. Gladstone must have heard Hal approach and he looked up and skirted over the wooden fence into the garden that lay behind it. The brown tom cat followed and Hal could hear the growling from behind the fence.

  He picked up his pace, lest the fighting cats made their way back into the alley. He could see the opening at the end of the alley leading into a field where the grass wasn’t more than ankle high.

  As he rounded the corner into the field his breath came up short. There in the middle of the field sat the biggest house Hal had ever seen. It was a Queen Anne designed with three levels, and a round tower spanning two of the levels. There was a large chimney and at least two dozen glass windows facing in each direction.

  The garden along the side of the house was torn apart and rose bushes were stacked in a pile next to the chimney. He had heard of rich people pulling out flowers from their gardens just because. He recalled one of the managers replaced an entire flower garden because his wife was tired of the pink flowers and wanted blue ones instead.

  It must be nice to have that much money. Hal couldn’t imagine being that rich. And Frances was… that rich.

  Hal swallowed, saliva sticking in his throat. He was such a fool. He remembered her asking all the questions about his life in New York. Questions about why he wore tattered clothing, only ate beans and other things a person of means wouldn’t understand.

  The front door open and he saw Frances come out of the house into the garden. The sunlight reflected off the silver in her hair. She wore a light blouse and a long dark skirt that was split in the middle. It looked like a pair of pants.

  She looked in his direction and Hal quickly jumped behind the fence so she wouldn’t see him. He counted to four and then poked his head around the fence to peek in her direction. She had moved to the side of the house and appeared to be planting the rose bushes.

  He knew he would never have that kind of money. He lived in an apartment that killed his wife because he couldn’t afford anywhere else to live.

  The Stockton family lived in the tenements of New York. Their apartment was cold and damp. Mold had settled in almost every corner, but it was all he could afford on his salary at the factory. And when Lydia became sick, he couldn’t afford the medicine to keep her well. Somedays he wished he had died with her.

  He remembered being the head clothier at the Weston Fine Clothing factory in New York. Used to be.

  He made more than most of the workers, but it still wasn’t enough for a family of four. Mr. Weston, the factory owner, raised the rents every three months and Hal had to pay it to ensure his family had a place to live. It wasn’t much, but it was nicer than some of the slums where many of the workers lived.

  At least his salary had been consistent. It pained him to see the other workers being docked from their pay for slight infractions. Even his own children were penalized when things were not perfect.

  Where he had four salaries contributing to the household, if there was a penalty they could adjust and continue. Many of the families couldn’t even afford to eat if the supervisors determined that their work wasn’t up to standard.

  Hal became angry to see those men working and then to be penalized for simple things such as a bit of dust that transferred to the fabric, or a seam where the stitches weren’t perfectly placed. Or even something slight as only using five stitches instead of six to attach a button to a jacket.

  Some of the supervisors went out of their way to penalize folks. Hal wasn’t like that. He was liked and well respected by the men and women that worked with him.

  Things became extremely tight when Lydia passed, and the family no longer had her salary coming in. Mr. Weston gave him half a day off to bury his wife, without pay.

  Even both his children were docked for missing work. Mr. Weston didn’t have a heart at all. It wasn’t always that way. Hal had heard Mr. Weston spent some time in an institution and when he returned to the factory in New York he was meaner and more unforgiving that a bear with a sore paw.

  He knew exactly how the rich treated someone like him. He was in a completely different society structure than Frances.

  Hal tried to quell the disappointment inside. She was definitely one of those rich people. No one planted that many rose bushes by themselves just for the sake of it. Hal closed his eyes and leaned against the fence. What a laugh she must have had at his expense.

  Embarrassment burned behind his eyes. He dropped the flowers in his hand and returned to Max’s house, determined never to think of her again.

  Chapter 6

  November 1893

  Hal took a sip of the lemonade in his hand and grimaced. It was too sour for his taste. He would have much preferred something stronger… much stronger. Instead he took a sip of the tart beverage and tried to imagine what it would taste like with more sugar.

  The air was stifling. Even though it was November the room was extremely hot. It must be the fire Miss Maybelle had in the fireplace coupled with all the people attending the reception. There were so many that Hal didn’t think he’d be missed if he slipped out and went home.

  Well, his family might miss him, but not one other person. The only person he did wish might miss him was too busy talking to the ladies from church. Hal looked at Frances and released a small breath.

  He made a point of avoiding her since he saw her in the garden that day. It was hard, but he managed to be gone each time he knew she was coming over. Either he would be in his room pretending to sleep, or he would be at the tailor shop puttering around.

  No matter what he told himself, or how he was reminded of how rich she actually was, he missed her. He missed her gentle presence. He missed her laugh. He missed having tea with her in the afternoon. He missed gazing in her eyes and nearly kissing her.

  But he would never tell her any of that.

  But it didn’t matter how lovely Frances Brown was, he would never attempt to give his heart to another person. Lydia would have to be enough for him; and she wasn’t even alive. Even if there was an opportunity to fall in love again, Hal didn’t think he could. He simply wouldn’t allow it.

  Not that it mattered. The opportunities were few and far between at his age. He did run into her once. He was coming out of the tailor shop and he ran smack into her. Her basket dropped and her canned goods rolled in all directions.

  Mumbling his apologies, he helped her pick up the cans. He could tell there was something bothering her. She tried to make small talk, but he waved her away, claiming he had some important business to attend to.

  It was a lie. He didn’t have any important business other than an appointment with his bed where he rarely moved from as soon as he got home.

  He was surprised to hear that she was helping to cook the reception dinner for Charlie and Georgina’s wedding. He forgot Frances was dear friends with Georgina’s aunt Maybelle.

  The children knew something had happened as they even tried to put them together for the wedding. Frances complied and was perfectly polite, but as soon as the ceremony was over, she rushed out of the church to Maybelle’s house.

  Hal looked around the sitting room. People were starting to move from one room to the next. Panic started to rise from his belly as he felt the crowd closing in. His arm was feeling numb and it was traveling to his leg. He took a tentative step, lest he fall. The tingles in his foot continued, sharpening with each step.

  He needed to get out of the house. Quickly.

  He dropped off his glass on a nearby table. Giving the room one last look around and headed to the door.

  His head was starting to hurt, and he felt as if he might retch. He rolled his neck trying to alleviate some of the tension as he walked.

  “Are you leaving so soon?” a voice asked.

  “You!” he responded. It was the same man who he saw in his office just a few months before. The man was in the same dusty suit that looked to be thirty years out of date. He was a thin and tall man, swimming in the jacket he wore. Hal could tell it was a size too big.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8