A Love Most Worthy Read online

  “Will do.” The old man studied Hallie through squinted eyes. His dirty coveralls and the stained hat that appeared to have fallen in the salt water too many times reminded her of sitting at her father’s side as he told another story of his search for gold. Papa’s tales were peopled with men like Efrem who’d left civilization for the prospect of returning home with pockets full of gold dust. She hadn’t realized they would smell so rank.

  “Howdy, ma’am.”

  Rance winced as if he’d suddenly remembered his manners. “Efrem Tucker, this is my...my bride-to-be, Miss Hattie Russell.”

  Hattie?

  Had Harriet used her childhood nickname in her communication, or had he misread Hallie’s signature on her rushed letter? Her cousin often complained that Hallie’s penmanship resembled little more than squiggles and dots. More likely, though, it had been a simple matter of his mouth out-pacing his brain. After all, he’d once expected Harriet, so why should it be a surprise that he would mix up the two of them at first?

  One thing was certain. Her future husband ought to get the women straight before saying his vows to the wrong one.

  She stepped forward and held out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tucker. My name is Hallie.” With a firm stare at the man she planned to marry, she spelled it out, slowly and with perfect enunciation. “H-A-L-L-I-E.”

  Efrem Tucker’s mouth puckered with an unrestrained snicker. “Yes’m.”

  Rance grimaced as though he’d bitten into a chili pepper and was too polite to spit it out. He turned to the older man. “We should go.”

  The miner touched his stained hat. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Russell.”

  Rance led the way along several blocks, around corners, and down streets. They stopped in front of an unpainted house on a small lot. It stood among a number of unpainted and unimpressive structures. “We live here.”

  Single-story, long in depth but narrow in width, a portion of its roof jutted over a small porch with a simple handrail and one step. There was no chimney, only one of those black pipes similar to those she’d seen at the sides of the tents. Certainly, it was not on par with the house she’d grown up in. On the other hand, this home wasn’t made of canvas, and paint would work wonders to cheer it up.

  When he looked at her in anticipation, the first words that came to mind tumbled from her mouth with an exaggerated enthusiasm. “I’m sure it’s warm in winter.”

  Inside, there was one large room at the front. Walls of horizontal wood planks with no wallpaper surrounded her, and a hallway running along an outer wall ended at a door at the rear of the house.

  Hallie followed Rance down the hallway where he opened the door to the second of two rooms. “You can freshen up in here.”

  Inside, she found a bed covered by a quilt of faded green and blue calico scraps. Facing one another on the side walls were a small washstand and bureau. Next to the latter, a series of hooks had been attached to the wall. Though the spicy scent of a man’s cologne lingered, the room held no personal belongings.

  Davie scooted past her. “Do you like them? Me and Robbie picked them for you.”

  On a table under the window opposite the door, the boys had set a hand-painted vase filled with yellow and white wildflowers, crisp and freshly picked. The floral arrangement added color to an otherwise drab room.

  “Oh, yes. They’re perfect. Thank you.”

  The light in Robbie’s eyes heartened her. Perhaps she needn’t worry about winning the older boy over. “We found some red ones, but we liked these better.”

  “I’m glad, Robbie. I don’t care for the color red.” It made her queasy these days.

  The thoughtfulness of the children’s gesture touched Hallie, especially in light of the less than ardent reception by their uncle.

  Once Rance and the boys left the room, Hallie sighed over her choice. If she went through with the marriage, she could end up no better than before...for the rest of her life. Then again, not marrying meant returning to an uncertain future in Seattle with no employment and nowhere to live.

  Perhaps shyness had forced her groom to appear reserved in his welcome. Sometimes, she went overboard with her emotions, so it was possible her eagerness had alarmed him.

  She prayed for guidance, paced for several minutes, then turned to the washstand to prepare for her marriage, certain God had led her to Nome to help Rance Preston raise those two orphaned boys.

  Her greatest adventure here might be winning the regard of her husband.

  RANCE TRAILED HALLIE and the boys down the aisle of the small church. The smell of fresh-cut lumber surrounded them, but his thoughts returned to the conversation with Efrem. Rance was sure her letter had ended with “Hattie” in the signature.

  The scowl that tightened Rance’s lips relaxed. It didn’t matter to him what she called herself. Besides, he’d probably misread it. Frank had vouched for her moral character. For Rance, that was the important thing.

  Their footfalls echoed on the new plank flooring, and Reverend Dupre looked up from studying the papers on the crude pulpit. His face lit with the same expression of joy it displayed when acknowledging a new soul in the Kingdom. “Welcome, Miss Russell. I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

  Hallie’s smile nearly spread from one wall of the small building to the other. The woman never seemed to greet a stranger. “Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

  In the past two hours, she had shown an ability to adjust to her circumstances. She hadn’t even blanched at the sight of his tiny home and the simple, basic furnishings. However, she had knocked on the walls as though testing to be sure they were really wood.

  If she just weren’t so animated—a trait Frank never mentioned.

  He had spent a great many hours in prayer, considering the wisdom in exposing a decent woman to the harsh realities of a mining town. But his two nephews needed proper feminine guidance before they grew up to be reprobates with life-changing regrets...like their uncle.

  He’d believed he’d chosen his bride well. Now, he questioned his judgment.

  The pastor clasped Hallie’s hand. “The boys have awaited your arrival.”

  She peered up through reddish lashes at Rance. So clear were her thoughts, she might well have spoken them aloud. What about Mr. Preston? Had he expressed an eager anticipation of my arrival?

  His emotions had nothing to do with happiness or anticipation for his own sake, which he’d made clear in his first letter to her.

  After the pastor’s wife and a female congregant entered the church to serve as witnesses to the nuptials, Reverend Dupre asked, “Shall we start?”

  Rance inhaled a fortifying breath and commenced to the foot of the pulpit. Hallie settled his nephews on a plain, wooden bench and stood beside him at the altar.

  The reverend cleared his throat. “Please join hands.”

  Trying not to be obvious, Rance brushed a damp palm across the material of his suit coat and reached for Hattie’s...Hallie’s hand. Her fingers curled and melded with his rough flesh. Their faint tremor vibrated through the bond. Discovering his bride was every bit as nervous as he helped to calm him. He applied a slight pressure to his hold and released it, hoping to reassure her.

  In no time, Rance had slipped a gold band on Hallie’s finger and choked out the vow to cherish her for better or for worse. She had spoken the same words to him.

  As they walked out of the church, he couldn’t help but wonder if his new wife had hated lying to God as much as he had.

  Chapter Three

  Hallie dried the last plate and set it on a shelf near the stove. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn, and cool metal met her lips. She twisted the wedding band encircling her finger, the evidence of her vows. Rather than feeling odd and constricting, the ring brought her comfort and a sense of belonging.

  In the adjacent sitting area, Rance read to his nephews from A Child’s Garden of Verses. Each boy occupied a knee, eager to hear his select
ion from the book. What a marvelous thing to watch him sow a keenness for literature in the hearts of the children.

  When Hallie’s father had felt in a storytelling mood, he would tell tales of mining gold among the Black Hills of South Dakota. Many of his exploits held Hallie spellbound with their mayhem, mystery, and daring deeds. She’d never forgotten those storytelling times, because those were the times he’d treated her as though she mattered to him.

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. Rance didn’t seem to consider his nephews a burden, yet, he had spoken less than a dozen sentences to her since the wedding that afternoon. The more she tried to engage him in conversation, the more silent he became. She had finally given up.

  After reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s valiant poems that spoke of toy soldiers and boats on the sea, Rance chose one that declared the disappointment of a child made to go to bed in the summer while the sun still shone and playtime beckoned. She stood near the table, enchanted by the masculine voice and lively recitation of a simple child’s rhyme. One day, her new husband would make a wonderful father to his own children...their children. At the thought, her knees wobbled like gelatin.

  “Speaking of bedtime...,” said Rance.

  Robbie stared at the book. “One more story?”

  “Not tonight.” Rance released the protesting children and pushed to his feet. “Y’all go on now.”

  After watching the boys trudge to the first bedroom, Rance placed the book on the kitchen table. Hallie followed her husband to the door of the boys’ room, ready to tuck them in and say their prayers.

  Rance turned, hesitated, then said to her, “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Without waiting for a response, he stepped inside the bedroom and shut the door.

  She stood frozen. Shut out. He preferred she not share this time with the children? Not even their prayers?

  Hallie paced in front of the door, torn between remaining outside and walking in to take part in their nightly routine. After all, she was their aunt now, practically their mother. She reached for the knob and paused, then withdrew her hand. Her own aunt had taught her that a proper wife honored her husband’s wishes.

  She returned to the sitting area, with its rocking chair, two stools, and the wood stove that substituted for a cozy fireplace. On the other side of the room was the crude kitchen with a narrow, L-shaped wooden counter and—Thank you, Lord—a small but modern cook stove on which she’d prepared their supper.

  She settled in the rocking chair, leaned her head back, and prayed for her new husband and the boys, as well as for her ability to be a good wife and mother. Her eyelids fluttered with the rocking of the chair. She tried to organize her thoughts, to go deeper into her conversation with God, but the next thing she knew, something touched her shoulder, and she jerked upright.

  “My apologies for scaring you.”

  She blinked several times to focus and looked up at Rance standing beside the rocker. “I was resting my eyes.”

  “You’ll be more comfortable resting your eyes in bed.”

  Hallie had known this moment would come and had accepted it as part of her new adventure. Nevertheless, her pulse thrummed in her ears, and her breathing quickened. This was her wedding night. She would spend it in the arms of a stranger.

  Night. She could scarce call it such when the sun showed little sign of retreating. Before embarking on her journey, she had researched the way the tilt and movement of the earth affected the light. Book knowledge and living it were two different things. “How long before total darkness falls?

  “Several hours yet. At this time of year, we only see about three hours of actual darkness.”

  She was used to an early dawn in Seattle, but the sun would have set by bedtime. “How do you sleep?”

  He shrugged and settled in the chair across from her. “I guess I’m used to it. In a few months, you’ll be glad for the light.”

  His soft voice drove Hallie to encourage more discussion. She wanted to get to know this new husband of hers. She wanted to discover what had happened to the children’s parents. According to Harriet, he’d told her little about his past. “Nome is a long way from Georgia, Rance. If you didn’t come here for the gold, why choose this place?”

  Several moments passed as he stared at her. Then his eyes shuttered, his thoughts closed up tighter than a vacant house. “It’s getting late, and I need to be up early.”

  Resigned to learning no more, Hallie rose from the rocking chair and walked to the second bedroom. She waited for him at the door.

  “Good night, Hallie.”

  She turned at Rance’s words. He’d opened the door of the boys’ room. “Are you coming soon?”

  “This is my room now.”

  “But we’re married.” Her skin burned with the outburst. She hadn’t meant to sound provocative. However, this was a new and unexpected wrinkle in her journey.

  He graced her with the same frown he’d worn when asking if she had come to Alaska to be his wife. “I told you ours would be a strictly companionable marriage.”

  Oh, why hadn’t she insisted on reading his letters rather than depending on her cousin’s version of their correspondence? A companionable marriage?

  Hallie should be happy for the smidgen of relief that wiggled into the pit of her quivering stomach, but it was overcome by the recognition of one more rejection.

  HALLIE HANDED THE MIRROR to Robbie, then brushed clipped hair from the towel tied around her nephew’s neck. “What do you think?”

  The little boy sat atop a stack of books on a kitchen chair and gazed at his image in the glass. He turned his head from side to side. “I like your haircuts. Uncle Rance just puts a bowl on our heads.”

  The breath she’d held whooshed out in a laugh. She had cared for the boys and played with them, made their meals and washed their clothes, but she hadn’t taken upon herself the task of giving them haircuts without discussing it with Rance first. After all, she had made one assumption about their marriage that turned out to be both wrong and awkward.

  Unfortunately, as time passed, her husband became harder to find than Nome’s gold. They had married a week ago and, if she’d spent six hours in his company since then, it might as well have been a lifetime.

  For three days in a row, he had left the house before she rose and didn’t return until she prepared to retire for the night. He claimed, with the short season of good weather, business was too brisk to keep regular hours. In fact, the store was open all night, manned by employees when he wasn’t there.

  So far, she had found nothing “companionable” about their union. Was she to be ignored by her husband for the next fifty years in much the same way her father ignored her during her first twenty-three?

  Davie stood at her side and tugged on her skirt. “I want a pop-pop.”

  She reached down and roughed his freshly-trimmed hair. “Let me clean up this mess, then we’ll take the pop-overs to your uncle at the store. We’ll show him your new haircuts.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind and would pause during his busy day to converse with them.

  Hallie filled a basket with the rolls and they set off for Preston and Sons Trading Company. Although Rance clearly loved the boys as if they were his own, it was odd that he had added “Sons” to his business name when he meant to have none, at least not with her.

  She held tight to both boys as they pushed through the crowds on Front Street, ignoring the occasional, improper whistles and leering stares. She reached for the store’s door at the same moment a young woman exited. She and Hallie eyed one another, then both laughed.

  Plainly dressed in calico and a large sunbonnet, the woman bent closer to be heard over the noise in the street. “I’m so used to men trucking in and out, you took me by surprise.”

  “Me too. I’m Hallie Preston.”

  “Sybil Zeller. Me and my husband, Bill, recently arrived from Kansas.” She pointed to the sign on the building. “Preston? This your place?”

  “My
husband’s.” While the term had often rolled through her thoughts, it was strange to hear it roll off her tongue.

  “People say it’s one of the best places in town for supplies. They say if you want fair prices and honesty, give Preston’s your gold dust.”

  “What a nice thing to hear.”

  “My Bill says trust is important between a storekeeper and his customer. He ought to know. He grew up running his pa’s mercantile.”

  A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver or gold. The scripture reminded Hallie of how little she knew about her new husband.

  With a slight shift of her head, she caught a glimpse of Rance inside the building. Before she could acknowledge him with a smile, he rotated on his heel and vanished within a swarm of customers. Certain he had seen her, his disappearance wrung the air from a chest that had swelled with pride only a moment before. Yes, she had much to learn about him.

  “Are you here to find gold, Mrs. Zeller?”

  The woman nodded. “When we heard it could be picked up right off the sand, Bill set us up a tent on the beach about a mile west of the Snake River. Can you imagine picking gold off sand?”

  “How extraordinary. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how has your search gone?”

  “Truly, we haven’t found it as easy as they said, but we’ve only been here a couple weeks. My Bill’s got his hopes yet.”

  When Sybil Zeller lowered her chin, Hallie released Davie’s hand and clasped the woman’s arm in a show of encouragement. “I’m sure it will turn out worthwhile for you.” She felt a tug on each side of her skirt. “Yes, boys, we’ll go in soon.”

  “Well, I best get back.” Mrs. Zeller took a step to leave, then said, “I know we just met, Mrs. Preston, but do you think we might speak again? It isn’t the same talking to men.”

  “Oh, yes. I would like that. Perhaps I could visit your camp one day?” Not only would it give her a chance to be in another woman’s company, it would provide an opportunity to observe the process of searching for gold.