Julianne Parker

For the tenth time in so many minutes, Julianne stood, smoothed her dress, and then sat back down in the chair by the kitchen window. The sun leaned lazily atop the ridge of mountains to the west. Soon it would tumble behind them, and Hugh would be there. She lifted her hand and flicked her finger against her thumb as if to push the sun over the edge. Her stomach flipped like a schoolgirl’s at the thought of him arriving.

She had to admit it—she found much to appreciate in Mr. Fontaine. Foremost, he had a good heart. She liked his sandy brown hair and adored the spring-green color of his eyes. He was tall—she felt protected walking beside him.

Julianne had made a pie for dinner. In fact, she made several, either from anxious energy or a desire to have a perfect pie to please Hugh. What if he doesn’t like pie? Oh, bother. She pushed herself back into her chair and watched Millie.

Millie busied herself stirring the rabbit stew, setting the table, and cutting thick slices of warm bread. Callum lit two lanterns in the room and pulled an extra chair from where it hung on the wall. Julianne wished for the dozenth time that she could stay busy to make the waiting pass more quickly.

When horse hooves crunched over the gravel, Julianne shot out of her chair and peered through the window. Her stomach sparkled with excitement to see his wagon, remembering their first meeting. Well, it had been a dreadful day, but it improved greatly upon their meeting.

Julianne stood on her side of the door, waiting for Hugh to knock. When he did, she had to force herself not to throw it open, but took two deep breaths instead before pulling at the handle. The setting sun blazed behind Hugh’s back. With his hat in his hand, his hair gleamed like gold.

Reverend Bing cleared his throat. “Come in,” he called.

Both of them moved straight to the table. Hugh held her seat for her as she took her place. Her hands clasped tightly in her lap. If she let go, she was sure they’d shake, and sitting had been a good choice, considering the weakness in her knees.

Millie added, “Supper’s ready.”

Millie was serving stew as soon as Hugh dropped into his chair. “Best eat this while it’s hot.” She set out the bowls, a block of cheese, and a knife in the middle of the table then slipped into her seat. Julianne noticed that Hugh kept his eye on the reverend, seeming to anticipate saying grace.

Callum offered a prayer. As she opened her eyes, Julianne recognized the sign of the cross as Hugh gestured from his head to his chest and across each shoulder before lifting his head after “Amen.”

She hadn’t expected to see such devotion. What upbringing might Hugh have had that made him conclude a prayer with such a personal sign of worship? Was there still faithfulness in his heart? For some reason, which she wasn’t willing to explore, his simple devotion caused a happy jump in her chest.

Dinner proceeded with little conversation. Hugh and Callum both commented on the stew. Julianne found that her thoughts were in a muddle, and she wasn’t able to settle on anything to offer.

After the meal, and the table was cleared, the ladies rejoined the men, and conversation followed polite topics—the town, the mines, the weather again.

Reverend Bing stood. “It’s feeling a bit nippy. Let’s move toward the heat.” The men moved the chairs across the room.

Although it was the beginning of the summer, nighttime in these mountains could still mimic winter’s grasp. A skiff of snow was on the ground that morning when Julianne went out to gather eggs. She settled into her chair and noticed that it was now beside Hugh’s.

Millie handed Julianne an embroidery hoop with a tea towel to decorate. Apparently, Millie believed as her mother did that idle hands were the workshop of the devil. Still, it was a relief to have something take her mind off Hugh’s proximity, as that caused her to heat up like the cookstove.

Julianne had lost a little of the conversation and pulled her attention back to it. It seemed they had referenced the coincidence of Hugh’s rescue of Julianne. She supposed the story had great value as anomalies went.

Without meeting Julianne’s eyes, Millie said, “Your father placed that ad in the Chicago paper at Callum’s request—the one that brought you here.”

“My father?” Julianne felt a growing unease. Callum knew her father? That might have been why the newspaper had been in her father’s study, folded to reveal the ad. Julianne commented hopefully, “I suppose it’s a small world when you’re a Presbyterian minister.”

Callum’s toe pushed against the floor, and the front legs of his chair lifted from the boards. “Oh, that wasn’t how we became acquainted. We met in a boxing match.” His smile erased years from his age, hinting at the feisty younger man he must have been.

Julianne’s face warmed with the surprise she felt. He father was also a huge man, but she couldn’t imagine the gentle person she knew pummeling another soul for sport.

The smile on Hugh’s face grew, and he asked, “There’s a story here. Care to share the tale?”

A faraway look came over Callum, and the front legs of his chair hit the floor. “After the potato crop failed in the Highlands in 1850, the same year I was born, the landlords began offering to help starving families resettle. I left Scotland and my family—or what was left of it—in 1861. My father had died the year before, my two brothers found work with shipping companies, two of my sisters were married, and another one was working as a seamstress. Millie, our baby sister, went with my mother to live with a cousin in Inverness. I was relocated to Canada before I made my way to America.”

Callum stretched out in his chair and settled back to tell more of his story. “Shortly thereafter, I met your father. We were both prospective candidates at the Princeton College in New Jersey when bare-fisted brawls were full of zeal but cloaked in secrecy. Those two traits seemed to bring out the devil in a man. Fights were illegal unless you met as an exhibition. I guess we were both eager to show our manly strength, so we stepped onto a theater stage and eyed each other over. It was a barbaric affair, and we imagined ourselves just the hooligans to become champions.”

Callum stared sightlessly toward the wall, but Julianne knew he was looking into his past. “It was brutal to step forward, toe up to the scratch line, and strike another man without cause, without conscience. When I started the evening, I thought only of fame, and if I won, a fatter purse.

“Your father and I, we both had the strength for it, but not the heart. I kept wondering what my sainted mother would think of me if she could see me like that—bare-chested and cut-lipped with another man’s blood on my fists. I knew she’d be ashamed.” Reverend Bing leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

He took a deep breath. “The fourth round, neither of us rose from our seats to come up to scratch. I sat on that milking stool with my back rounded and my shoulder sagging, considering my own shame. When I lifted my eyes up enough to see your father, he was shaking his head. I thought maybe he was thinking the same thing.

“It ended with a draw. We left the stage no richer, but bruised, bloody, and with more than a couple of broken fingers.”

Callum’s fingers flexed and relaxed as he continued, “The next day when I reported to the pastor for my apprenticeship, there sat your dad,” he said to Julianne. “Our pastoral training required us to work alongside each other in active duties of the ministry. Well, repentance was in order, confessions were made, and friendship was secured. We worked for months after that to love, serve, and shepherd the little flock we were given. You might say that boxing made me a preacher.”

Julianne could hardly imagine her father as a young man, rowdy and full of pride. The yellowed picture of her parents she’d brought with her, had been taken a year before she was born, already depicted the serious man she grew up knowing.

“Callum chose a ministry on the frontier,” Millie added to the story when her brother stopped. “And your pa took a position in Illinois. I never met your folks.” She laid her embroidery aside. “I suppose it’s time we let you get home, Mr. Fontaine.” And at that signal, the chairs were replaced, and Hugh walked to the door.

He pulled the handle and swung it open wide. “Thank you for the stew, ma’am.” Then he nodded to Reverend Bing. “And the company.” Finally, he gazed at Julianne. He paused there, the door open. He seemed reluctant to leave the little room, and Julianne wished he could stay.

Hugh stepped outside the door, but Julianne stopped within the frame. “Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked.

Excitement flashed across Hugh’s countenance, and his eyes sparkled. But just as quickly, his face darkened. “It’s Sunday.” He paused and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “I thought you’d be busy with your worship services.”

“I won’t be otherwise engaged if you attend with me.” There—if it hadn’t been stated outright, it was at least implied that she was interested in developing Hugh’s association. Honestly, her heart whispered, “And maybe a lifetime of companionship.”

Julianne realized that she was falling headlong into infatuation and admitted the thrill was delicious. What would it be like to kiss this man? With a will of its own, her body leaned toward him as she held the doorjamb.

When Hugh’s chin dipped, bringing his lips very near to hers, her whole body seemed to pulse with anticipation. Moonlight lit one side of his face, accentuating his strong jaw but leaving the other side in mysterious darkness.

Julianne’s free hand lifted to his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath. His head pressed toward her palm in response. Increasing waves of desire fluttered through her. His chest rose with each breath. His eyes closed as if to memorize the moment. His hand lightly rested on her waist. The press of each finger burned into her awareness.

Hugh smiled, but it was small and tight as he leaned away. Cold air rushed to flood the spot his hand left behind. Had she misjudged his kindness as fondness? Worried that she’d made a fool of herself, she pulled herself upright and took a deep breath.

Without looking at him, she said, “Thank you for your friendship, Mr. Fontaine. We’ll look forward to seeing you again.” Her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

He nodded and strode away without looking back.

She watched his back, though she couldn’t see him very clearly through her watery vision, and felt loneliness creep through her body and settle in. The clomp-clomp of his horse’s steps faded into the distance.

He was gone. She wiped her fingers across her eyelashes and dried them on her skirt. I needn’t be silly. He has only set my life back to rights. She straightened her back and shut the door. And I have a school to start.

Reverend Bing crossed the room and handed her a paper. “The day after you reached Bachelor, I went to see Arthur Jameson.”

“He’s the telegraph operator,” Millie added.

Callum continued, “I sent a telegram to your father to let him know you arrived safely. Arthur brought this reply today.”

Julianne held the folded paper and ran the crease between her fingers. Half of her wanted to see any words her parents would send. The other half dreaded knowing the way they might feel about how she had left. She felt unsure about their reaction, but never about their love. That gave her enough courage to open the page and read the single line. “Sick with worry. Lord guarded her path.”