Her Colorado Man. Cheryl St.John

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      John James had studied the book filled with detailed drawings so intently that more than once she’d had to remind him steam engines weren’t his schoolwork.

      The next letter told of a winter storm and carried an update on the puppies. The following spoke of salmon fishing in icy rivers and camping with a native band of Cree fur traders.

      What child wouldn’t be delighted by these newsy letters and exciting accounts of sled races and gold strikes? Who wouldn’t want someone always thinking of him? Who wouldn’t feel important because someone with such an exciting life was sending all these newsy captivating letters? She herself admitted a deep-down fascination. Though skeptical of this man’s motivation, she couldn’t fault his attention to detail or the caring manner in which he addressed her child. The thing that disturbed her most was that closing at the end of each missive: Your loving father.

      As much as she’d considered and reconsidered holding back the letter that told John James about this man’s arrival, she’d told Grandfather to give it to him, and she’d only had to help him read a few of the words. Maybe Burrows wouldn’t show up and she’d be spared, but John James would be heartbroken. She was pretty sure he’d turn up, though.

      She believed he meant what he said, but there was no way of preparing. What did Wesley Burrows have to gain by perpetuating this charade?

      She would know soon enough. She would know sooner than she’d like. However long it took him to get from Juneau City to Colorado wasn’t long enough for her.

      Early June, 1882

      John James had been in a constant state of frenzied anticipation for the past week. He’d told everyone who would listen that his father was coming home. Every time Mariah heard him speak the words, another layer of rigid steel reinforced the protective shell around her heart.

      “My father’s coming home,” he had proudly told the postman at the window in the Ruby Creek mercantile that afternoon.

      Mariah had steadied her nerves and turned a page in the Montgomery Ward catalog. “Come look at these coats, John James,” she said. “You need a new one.”

      “Your husband is returning?” Delia Renlow moved from where she’d been stroking a bolt of deep blue velvet to approach Mariah. “This is interesting news I haven’t heard.”

      Dressed in a flowing green skirt and lacy shirtwaist, the curvy redhead dropped her gaze to Mariah’s brown tweed trousers and scuffed boots.

      Mariah managed a stiff smile. She’d attended school with Delia, but they’d never been friends. In fact Lucas Renlow, the man that Delia married, had once been sweet on Mariah. “Yes, Mr. Burrows will be here any day now.”

      “My goodness! Why how long has it been? You and your man will have to get acquainted all over again.”

      “He writes often,” Mariah blurted, and then caught herself sounding defensive.

      “A letter is no substitute for a flesh and blood partner, now is it? How long has it been?” she asked again. She looked at John James. “Six years? Seven? I’d be surprised if you even remember what your husband looks like.”

      “Yes, well, we’d better be going. We’re celebrating Grandfather’s birthday this evening.” Mariah hurried John James toward the door.

      “Give my best to your granddaddy.”

      The brass bell attached to the door rang as Mariah escaped onto the boardwalk. The late-afternoon sun cast long shadows from the two-story wood frame buildings onto the hard-packed dirt street. In the distance a locomotive whistled, a sound she rarely noticed, but had been keenly attuned to the past several days. Would he arrive by train? Horseback? Wagon? She had no idea. She had studied the world map in John James’s geography book to surmise that this Burrows fellow would take a steamship to the western coast of the United States. Train would be the quickest mode from there.

      “Mama, you didn’t order my coat.”

      “We have plenty of time,” she assured him and took his hand and urged him toward the buggy she’d left several feet away.

      That evening, the festivities commenced before dinner as family members arrived with platters of food. Wilhelm and Arlen had settled a keg of beer into the scrolled wrought-iron stand that had been in Grandfather’s family for a hundred years. It now stood in the great room near the doorway where a hall led back to the kitchen and dining hall. A bucket sat below the spigot to catch drips, and Louis’s two mountain hounds lapped at the overflow.

      Mariah’s grandmother had been gone nearly a decade, so as the oldest of their daughters, Mariah’s mother supervised meals and holidays. Her blindness had no effect, since the family had carried out the same plans in the same manner for so many years that everyone knew their role. But Henrietta took her position seriously and reigned from her stool just inside the kitchen door.

      “Where is the rotkohl?” her mother asked. “The dish hasn’t gone to the table yet.”

      Mariah used flour sacks to pick up the steaming hot bowl of braised red cabbage. “Right here, Mama.”

      She and Faye exchanged an amused glance. Nothing passed without being detected by Henrietta’s exquisite sense of smell.

      Faye carried out egg noodles with mushroom sauce and Hildy followed with potato dumplings. The women had been cooking since the day before, and the house had remained filled with the mouthwatering aromas.

      Mariah hadn’t had much of an appetite recently, but tonight she was famished. She couldn’t wait for her mother to give the word to begin.

      Families grouped together, and the crowd became unusually quiet.

      “Good health to the Spanglers!” her mother shouted.

      A rousing cheer went up. Mothers helped their children prepare plates first. The youngsters sat at the long table in the kitchen, and the adults were welcome to prepare plates and eat in either the dining hall or the great room.

      Mariah settled John James between Paul and Wilhem’s boy August before going back for a plate for herself.

      The line had already grown long, so she waited her turn beside Wilhelm and his wife, Mary Violet.

      “How old is your grandfather?” Mary Violet asked.

      Mariah and Wilhelm exchanged a glance. “Seventy this year?” Wilhelm asked and Mariah nodded.

      At last Mariah filled her plate and took a seat in the great room. The room buzzed with conversation and laughter. СКАЧАТЬ