Kerri Mountain - Wyoming Promises

Lola glanced around her own house. What would it be like to build a life with someone you loved the way Pete had loved Grace? Suddenly her own house felt a little empty, even with her dearest friend sitting beside her.

“Talk to me about something else. I want to think about something other than being sad.”

Lola stood to refill her cup and warmed Grace’s by filling hers to the brim. Topics from town whirled through her mind, but all connected in some way to Pete, his job, how he died and her part in it. Silence grew awkward, but no words came. She faced her friend but avoided her gaze.

“I know.” Grace’s whisper rasped with sorrow. “But I want to know what’s happening, what people are doing in town. It hurts, but in some ways, I like hearing that Pete was so respected, so vital to this town, that he’s still connected with it, even after his death. Right now it hurts so bad that not much helps, except to know that. Am I making any sense?”

Lola nodded. Tears slipped from her eyes and she grasped Grace’s hand with a fierce squeeze. “I’m just so sorry I couldn’t do something for him.”

“Oh, Lola!” Grace slid to her feet and came around the table to embrace Lola in her tired arms. “Even if you had been the greatest doctor in the world, he was gone by the time you saw him. Trust me, I thank God you could do what you did. You spared me from seeing the tragedy of his death. Instead he looked restful, at peace, the way his spirit looks before the Lord.”

Grace’s warm tears mixed with hers against Lola’s cheek. She squeezed her friend’s arm. “This isn’t how it’s to be, you comforting me. What kind of friend am I?”

Grace slid back into her chair and took a sip of tea. “The kind who wants to spare me and everyone else around any hurt. You do that very well. But I want to know what you’ve been doing. I’m not ready to join into the lively rush of town yet, but I can’t shut myself off from living. I want to, but Pete wouldn’t want that for me.” She smoothed her dress over their growing baby. “He wouldn’t want that for us.”

Lola patted the ruffled edge of a doily lying in the center of the table. “A U.S. marshal should arrive early next week to talk with the man who brought Pete to me.” She sipped her cooling tea without looking at her friend.

“U.S. marshal?” Grace’s eyes were wide, and her face grew a shade paler if that were possible. “What’s going on, Lola?”

Lola abandoned her teacup with a wave of her hand and grasped Grace’s wrist with the other. “Nothing, Grace. I panicked. Papa’s gone, it was late, a frightful-looking stranger brings the sheriff to my door... I sent a telegraph first thing the next morning.”

Grace slumped in her seat, taking a deep, calming breath. “I can understand that. But you don’t really think...?”

What did she think? Did she believe Bridger Jamison to be a murderer? Not really. But she wasn’t always the best judge of a man, either. And some of Pete’s bruises seemed...odd, not quite consistent for a man thrown from a horse. Not unusual enough to point any fingers, but something definitely felt out of place. Without facts, though, she didn’t dare share those concerns with Grace.

“I acted without thinking things completely through. It won’t hurt to have a U.S. marshal investigate what happened, though.” She took another drink of her tea and looked Grace squarely in the eye. “But, no, in talking more with Mr. Jamison, I can’t find anything overly suspicious about him regarding Pete’s death. And the fact that he’s sticking around town, I suppose, holds greater weight for his innocence than anything else.”

Grace held a hand to her mouth and breathed deep, eyes closed. “Good—that’s good. It was hard enough losing your father that way. I wouldn’t want...”

Lola let the words fade. “I hired Mr. Jamison. Papa never taught me the woodworking aspect of... I never learned how...” Everything about her business sounded cold and crass in her thoughts. Why hadn’t she chosen weather as the topic of conversation?

“Your father never taught you how to build the coffins,” Grace supplied. She smiled again, briefly, a narrow moon of teeth peeking through this time. “He always said you’d nail your own thumb to the casket.”

Lola smiled, too. “He was probably right. He just always figured he’d be around to do the job, I guess.”

“He knew you’d be able to find someone to do that. The part you do takes something that not everyone has.” Grace stretched across the table to squeeze her hand, looking her in the eye. “I’m glad it was you, Lola. I know it wasn’t easy for you, but I’m glad that man found a way to bring Pete to you.”

An odd scrape from outside jolted them. Lola started to her feet and made short, clipped steps to the rear door. She glanced at her friend, standing by the table with hands twisted in front of her, and motioned for Grace to stay quiet. Slowly she lifted the latch, then jerked the door wide. “Who’s there?”

Magpies chatting on the fence were the only sound to greet her. She poked her head out and searched the shadows around the lone shed where her father had his woodshop. After a few moments she returned to the cozy room and shut the door.

“Whew!” Grace let loose a nervous giggle, fingers laid against her long throat, her other hand resting on her stomach. “Do you feel as silly as I do?”

Lola brushed long, loose hair behind her ears. “I’m not so sure it’s only silliness.”

Grace gripped the table and sat down. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing,” Lola said, shaking her head. “Just my overactive imagination, I suppose. I’ve been more nervous than I ought to be lately—”

“Thinking you’re here on the end of a town that no longer has a sheriff to keep his eye on you. Is that it?”

Grace always could make the right conclusions about her, before she said a word about the problem. She laughed. “Probably the neighbor’s cat I never paid any mind to before, that’s all.” Lola peered at the lengthening shadows as afternoon slipped away. “God will be my protection now, same as always. I’m in His hands.”

Grace took in the lowering sun outside the window, too, and stood again to gather her things. “That’s all that can be said for any of us.” Grace’s cool kiss pressed against her cheek. “This visit has done more for me than you know, my friend. But if I want to be home before dark, I need to head out now.”

“The Lord has comfort and wisdom for you, Grace. Hold on to that.”

“I will. Please say you’ll come out for a visit next week,” Grace said, pulling a shawl over her shoulders.

“Your folks will be there. I don’t want to intrude,” Lola said.

“You’re the sister I never had, Lola. You’re my family, too, and I’m inviting you for lunch next Thursday. How’s that?”

Grace’s determination to stay cheerful and strong couldn’t be denied, and Lola wouldn’t do anything to take that from her. She couldn’t promise what next week would hold, but she couldn’t bear to bring up her work again. “I’ll try.”

Grace focused on the door leading to the mortuary for an instant, then forced her gaze away. “I know you will. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Lola walked her to the side door and watched her rumble into the cart, hefting the reins in her gentle hands. “See you next week, then.”

“I’ll expect you unless you send word, all right?” Grace called.

Lola nodded.

Grace moved to slap the reins, then pulled them taut. “I’m glad you’ll have a man working around here. If he’s a trustworthy man, he may scare off any who aren’t, make you feel safer.”

Lola smiled, thinking of Bridger’s strength in helping her that night and the gentleness he had shown both to Pete and to her. Yet her wariness also raised caution. “And what if he’s not the trustworthy sort?”