Cheryl St.John - Colorado Courtship

Violet had been terrified that he’d come to hurt her. He’d been drinking, and his threats had held a tone she’d never heard before. He’d grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the window. In the moonlight thick smoke had curled into the night sky above the bakery two blocks away. “You soaked your apron with kerosene and used the matches you keep in your bin. You hate me enough to burn down the bakery.”

“I didn’t! I’ve been right here.”

“There are witnesses who saw you near the building only moments ago. My father will believe you set the fire.”

Violet’s heart had pounded in terror and confusion. “Why?”

“Get dressed,” he hissed. “Do you have a bag? I’ll send the rest of your things to the station in Pittsburgh. Send for them using the name Tom Robbins.”

Trembling, she’d taken the dress she’d pressed from a hook. “Turn around. Why are you doing this?”

While she’d dressed he had taken her clothing from the bureau drawers and had shoved it into the valise, then had held up the bag and swept the surfaces with his arm, dumping her belongings into a jumble on top.

She’d perched on the chair and hurriedly pulled on her stockings and boots.

He’d grabbed her hand and roughly shoved something into it. “I’m not going to marry you. I’m not going to be stuck in that bakery for the rest of my life.”

“I never had any intention of marrying you.”

“But you were too cowardly to tell my father that. He’d have convinced you eventually.”

“No. No, I—”

“Buy a ticket to somewhere far away. They put people who start fires in jail.”

Violet had stood in the alley behind her boardinghouse, tears streaming down her face. Lights had come on in the windows, and at first she’d thought other boarders had heard the commotion in her room and on the stairs, but as her head had cleared the sounds of people in the street had alerted her. The fire had been discovered.

And Wade was going to make sure everyone believed she was responsible. For a confused moment she’d considered staying and pleading her innocence. She hadn’t done it—surely the truth would come to light.

A window had opened overhead, and a voice had called down. “Violet? Is that you? What are you doing in the alley?”

She’d been standing in the dark with her bags packed for flight. Like a guilty person.

Violet had turned and run.

Now she had no choice but to make this work. Either make a go of it here or leave and hope for something else. She glanced around the Hammonds’ kitchen, her gaze touching on a glass-front cabinet filled with blue-and-white plates and platters. She took in the long uncovered window that let in the light, her aprons stacked on the table.

After starting the stove, she pumped water into a kettle and set it to heat for dishwater, then found a drawer in the pantry and stored her aprons.

She could do this. She would do this. She had no other choice.

Chapter Two

In his bright sunlit office Ben Charles ran his finger down a column in the open ledger on his desk. The numbers weren’t adding up today, and the problem was due to the pretty little distraction he’d picked up at the train station.

He’d prayed about hiring someone to help out after Mrs. Gable had resigned to care for her sister. The woman had been with them since Tessa’s childhood. She’d been a part of his and Tessa’s little family. He’d been sorry to see her go, and not only because of her cooking and housekeeping abilities. Her cheerful countenance had been sorely missed these past few months. Tessa needed another female around.

He’d been impressed with Violet’s replies to his ad, but after meeting her he wasn’t confident she had the maturity he’d been counting on. He had a good ten years on her, if not more. Only time would tell if she had what it took to run the place—or the stamina to stay. If God had directed her to them as he’d prayed, then Ben Charles had to believe she would work out. He and Tessa had both grown up in a home where the undertaker lived and worked. For Ben Charles it had been his father, for Tessa that figure was himself. The way they lived was normal to them. A death meant carrying out the duties required for a service and a respectful burial. There was nothing uncomfortable or repelling about it.

In his experience people appreciated his calling and stuck closer than brothers during their time of need. But as for friends and marriage prospects, they kept their distance.

Only once had he thought he’d met someone who understood his work and who would make a good companion. He’d been very young, very naive. Madeline had been interested, but only in a perversely curious fashion. He’d been an oddity, someone her friends whispered about, someone with whom keeping company drew attention, and she’d liked that.

Afterward he’d even wondered if she’d shown interest on a dare, if, after their evenings together, there had been curious inquiries. While hope had sprung to life in his heart, he’d been no more than a passing peculiarity to her. She’d married a banker and moved to Denver. And he’d learned his lesson. He stuck to business, devoted himself to his sister and his work, and didn’t aspire to be like other people.

At five-forty he closed his ledger, capped the bottle of ink and headed next door. The smells emanating from the kitchen made his stomach growl. He’d missed a meal at noon and eaten only a handful of pecans at his desk.

Violet started when he entered the room through the connecting door. “Sorry,” he said.

“I didn’t know whether to set this table or the one in the dining room, so I set that one for you and your sister, and I set places for Henry and me in here.”

He glanced at the two plates on the long wooden table. “Unless you prefer to eat in here, I’d rather you join us in the dining room.”

Her expression showed her surprise.

“Is that a problem?” he asked.

“No, sir. It’s just—well, employees eating with the family is unusual.”

“We’re an unusual family.” He dipped water from the reservoir into a small pitcher. “I’ll be back down in just a few minutes.” He climbed the narrow back stairs.

Tessa wasn’t in her favorite place at the other end of the hall near the front stairs, so he called out.

She poked her head from her room. “I’m ready for dinner.”

A few minutes later, washed and wearing his jacket, Ben Charles pulled out Tessa’s seat and waited for Violet to return and take hers. She blushed as he held her chair. “Everything looks and smells delicious.”

“It’s only scalloped potatoes and ham. Not much effort involved in opening a jar of green beans. I did make biscuits when I saw the crock of honey.”

Henry had seated himself before Ben Charles had entered the room, and his expression showed appreciation for the feast on the table.

Ben Charles reached for Tessa’s hand and she took his immediately. Henry bowed his head. Violet looked from one to the other, then followed their lead.

“Thank You for Your generous provision, Lord,” Ben Charles prayed. “We’re thankful for Miss Bennett’s safe journey and her presence here at our table and in our home. I pray her transition into this household is smooth and that she feels welcome.”

He was praying about her? The only person Violet remembered hearing pray was the reverend who performed her father’s burial service, and his stilted language had sounded nothing at all like the conversational tone Ben Charles was using to speak to God. The heat creeping into her cheeks would no doubt give away her embarrassment at being singled out.

“Keep us healthy, Lord,” he continued. “And bless the abundance of this food to the nourishment of our bodies. We humble ourselves in Your presence and rejoice in Your grace and mercy. It’s in Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”