Hugh Fontaine

It had been a week and several days since Julianne stepped off Hugh’s wagon after the cookie brawl, as folks in town now called it. He sat in his small cabin appraising his life. He had one serviceable seat—a three-legged stool. An open wooden box, turned on end, made a table of sorts. He slept on a bedroll near a pot-bellied stove.

With clarity, Hugh realized, what his home said about him—he was waiting to live. He knew the question should really be waiting for whom? And he knew the answer. His life was as barren as his home.

He shook his head. What would he say to her? Julianne, you sit on the stool today. No, we don’t have a bed. I’m going to take the money we have and gamble with it. I might come home with less than I took. That wasn’t a life he’d offer her.

He had one piece of real furniture—a wardrobe filled with the tools of his trade. Wool suits, silk vests, pants shot through with bright-colored threads, frock coats and ties in brilliant colors, top hats, derbies, polished black boots. These trappings served to get him into poker games with high stakes.

Hugh’s thoughts were a tangled mess. It seemed his dream was always a few large wins away. Just as he thought he had reached his goal, it shifted, and he set his sights higher.

Then what? The smoke in that dream dried up right there. He hadn’t imagined beyond that. He wondered if this was all he was.

Hugh looked at the surrounding rough log walls and wooden floors which blurred before his eyes. What he couldn’t see, but he knew were there, were the tubes of stockings filled with twenty-dollar gold pieces buried under the floorboards beneath the pile of wood near the stove. The coins were everything he’d worked for to build his dream.

Last year, last month, his dream was simple. Three weeks ago, his dream had been replaced with one who had apricot-colored hair and enough optimism to brighten the darkest night. Just when one dream was within sight, another dream eclipsed it.

Hugh checked the time—just about eleven. If he were to dress fit for church, he could be there after the sermon was over but in time for the service meeting and the lunch.

He pulled out a black wool suit and white shirt, and began dressing. Lastly, he tucked the ace of spades the angel had given him into his pocket. He’d taken to carrying it around. He often found his hand reaching into his coat pocket to feel the card, and each time, he thought of Julianne. Each time he thought of choices.

What am I doing?

Hugh sat on his stool, contemplating his life. He’d earned his wages fairly. He didn’t cheat at cards. He didn’t water down the whiskey he sold. Far as the letter of the law went, he was fine.

But he wouldn’t want his son growing up to be a saloon owner or as the saloon owner’s son. There was too much risk in that, and many ways to go down a wrong road. His mother had known that. Hugh’s heart swelled at the love she must have had for him to send him away. He finally understood the sacrifice she made.

Julianne’s parents were likely still there. Would they approve the son of a riverboat madam visiting their daughter?

The excitement of possibly seeing her again shattered against the shame he felt.

He tugged the tie from his neck and removed his hat and coat before he returned to sitting on the stool.

What would he do instead? The way things were right now, he couldn’t move forward with Julianne, and he couldn’t go back to the man he was before. He was nothing—a man completely adrift.

The morning melted into afternoon, and Hugh sat in his cabin, taking apart his dreams.

Hugh pulled the ace from his coat pocket. Wretched sorrow filled him. He’d spent a decade trying to become the best card player in Colorado. In the end, he wished he’d become an honorable man instead.

He could no longer look at every glass a miner tipped back as a paycheck, or at a growing pot in the middle of a table as just money. Both were misery and death. How many accidents and brawls were fueled by the liquor he sold? How many men lost their savings and self-respect on the turn of a few cards? His soul shriveled with that knowledge.

He had another thirty years ahead of him. What’s it going to be? That was the question the cowpoke had asked him at the poker game in Creede. That question was still at work in his thoughts. He’d chosen to walk away that day, but he’d figuratively walked back and forth to that poker table ever since.

Light began spreading through the cabin from one spot near the table. It swirled and sparkled the way light glints on water, intensifying until the cowpoke stood before him. The hair of his head was white as snow, his clothes glowed white as well, and his six-shooters gleamed like moonlight. The air felt thick and fresh.

“Time for that decision,” the cowpoke said. “You’ve been deliberating most the day, and the sun’s near gone. Choose ye this day.”

Hugh felt the weight of this decision. He knew the next words out of his mouth were his future. He would live this decision, and in the end, he would be judged by it.

Julianne’s face crept into his mind. Each time, he pushed it away. Hugh’s face streamed with tears of bitter disappointment. He didn’t know how she’d gotten into his heart, but she’d slipped in and grown there, and it seemed he would have to shred his heart to pieces to get her out.

As if the old wrangler knew his thoughts, he asked, “What would you be willing to do to have that little gal in your life?” His wrinkled hand lifted, a bony finger pointing at Hugh. “Who would you be willing to be?”

Hugh felt his heart crack with the fury of a charge detonated in the mountainside. Pain shot through his limbs, bringing him to his knees. His heart swelled, nearly taking his breath away. Hugh stayed on his knees, reviewing his life, recognizing his choices and how they led to who he was. He could give up part of himself. The parts left would make him a man who could offer himself to Julianne.

This was his dream, to be the kind of man the Lord would approve of. It had nothing to do with what he could buy or what he could build. What would I be willing to sacrifice?

Hugh stood with a bowed head and answered that question. “Everything I am,” he whispered. With a final blast, his heart jumped, and a subconscious desire surfaced—become the man she deserves. But immediately, Hugh shook his head. Could this one moment make up for my lifetime of ruin and waste?

The cowpoke placed his hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “You think you can’t be forgiven. You think you can never be worthy. You’re right about that, but only because you need a partner. You need Jesus just like every other poor soul on God’s earth.”

Hugh’s head hung low. Maybe if he had recognized the mistakes he was making years ago, he could seek forgiveness. Now it was too late. “I think it would take a bit more than the life of one good man who lived more than a thousand years ago to be forgiven for all I’ve done.”

“Yeah. A man is no help to you at all. You need Jesus for that. And afore you start woe-is-me-ing about being a gambler, remember this—Christ was stripped and beaten, then hung on a cross. At His feet, the soldiers gambled over who would get His coat. He didn’t speak too many words from up there on that tree, but the ones He did say were mighty. ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ They were gamblers—you’re a gambler. And they were offered forgiveness. Since those words have already been spoken, are you going to accept them?”

Hugh wondered if all he really needed to do was accept the Lord’s grace. It seemed too simple. He expected it to be hard—needed it to be to swallow all his regrets. Could there be enough forgiveness for him?

The cowboy laughed, nearly doubled over. “Well, don’t you think a lot of yourself!” When his laughter slowed, he straightened his hat.

His voice was bold, powerful when he said, “Truth is, He’s the Son of God, and it does just take Him. He’ll even have grace to spare, enough for legions more folks who need it.” Then he pinned Hugh with a glare. “Choose.”

Hugh searched his heart and found it had already changed. The shattered pieces had rearranged and welded together. “I accept the love Jesus offers me.” The words were calming and sweet.

The light in the room began to grow, radiating, filling the room so there was no darkness at all. Hugh squinted and raised his hand to shield his eyes, but the light seemed to come from everywhere—above, below, and around everything else. With a cracking explosion, the light flared to a degree that made it impossible to distinguish anything at all. With another blast, the light and the cowpoke disappeared.

It wasn’t dark. In fact, it looked like an ordinary evening, but Hugh found he sorely missed that light.

He knew another sure place to find it and got on his horse to head up the canyon.

Hugh stood with his hat in his hands when Callum swung the door wide. Julianne and her parents sat at the kitchen table with Millie. Hugh acknowledged each one with a nod and their names.

He had to wonder if it had been such a good idea to jump on a horse and come straight over here after his conversation with the angel. He wanted to share the experience with the only person he trusted. A person who had a pure heart. Someone who believed in him.

Instead of stepping farther into the room, he asked, “Miss Parker, would you join me for a word? With Reverend Parker’s permission?” A little panic swelled. He had come over to tell her—what? He thought that she would understand his conversion, understand him when no one else would. His heart burned to tell his experience.

Without her eyes ever leaving Hugh’s, she said, “Mama, Daddy, I’d like to talk with Mr. Fontaine. We’ll sit on the porch and leave the door open.” She was out the door by the time she finished the sentence.

She settled close to Hugh. The bench wasn’t large, but he’d seen two grown men sit on it to whittle without so much at their pants touching. Julianne’s shoulder and arm grazed his. The skirt of her dress draped over the side of his leg.

Hugh couldn’t concentrate on what he had to say. His brain seemed like a wheel stuck in a rut, demanding that he confess his love for her.

With some effort, he reminded himself that she was not his. It might be some time before he trusted himself to be a new man. Could he ask her to wait? The words sat on his tongue.

He thought Julianne was studying his face. He didn’t dare look to make sure. After a moment she said, “There’s something different about you…something momentous.”

Hugh’s confidence grew. He believed there was indeed a significant shift in his life.

Julianne leaned forward to capture his gaze. “Did you come to tell me something? Or ask me something?” Her lips tipped up in a sweet smile.

Hugh looked at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. If he looked at her hands instead of her face, he might be able to talk to her. “Miss Parker, one day I hope to be worthy of your respect.”

Hugh took a deep breath and plunged into his history. He told her of the little boy who felt abandoned and unwanted, but in the same breath confessed his mother’s desire to shelter him. He told of his school days and of Sister Esther who held him when he cried and taught him to turn the other cheek whenever he could. He told Julianne of himself as a young man, making his way by taking profits for any weakness of a fellowman’s—until he met a woman who made him want to be better.

A few minutes earlier, he felt as if a dam had burst, and now like the lake was dried up. He waited for Julianne to say something, anything to give him a clue of her thoughts. Finally, he raised his eyes from looking at his boots.

One delicate hand left Julianne’s lap to tuck a wavy tendril behind her ear, and Hugh was lost to gazing at her. “You called me Miss Parker?” she asked, “I won’t be Miss Parker to you.” Her hand touched his shoulder lightly and dropped back into her lap. “Hugh, I already respect you.”

He shook his head as if the compliment could be shuddered away. “I’m not part of acceptable society. Even though my mother’s only desire was to keep me from that life she led, what did I do? I gambled to buy food and clothes, and to build a saloon.” Hugh sighed. “I let her down.”

“I see.” Julianne turned on the bench, her knee sliding against his thigh. “Let me tell you the man I see. The first time I met you, you were my personal Good Samaritan. You helped me from my…um…predicament. You had every right to mock me, but you didn’t—much. Even that told me you have an admirable sense of humor. You have your own business, so I imagine you’re hardworking.”

Although it was difficult to hear Julianne compliment him, he kept still and listened. This would be a good time to ask for her to wait. He could walk away now and end this conversation on a positive feeling. But his confession wasn’t over yet.

“There’s more.” Hugh bit the inside of his cheeks. He worried that this next story might be the one when she would turn away from him. His gut twisted. There was no easy way to tell her about the cowpoke. When he started, though, he couldn’t stop, and the whole truth from the poker game through this afternoon tumbled out.

Hugh finished, feeling exposed and studying his boots again, as they sat in silence. He wondered if she was trying to figure how to creep away slowly or to decide how to tell him that he was a lunatic and guardian angels don’t exist.

Julianne surprised Hugh—her hand squeezed his softly. When he looked at her, her other hand was wiping her eyes. His palm cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing a tear away.

“And there’s one more thing I know about you. You’re humble.” Julianne gave Hugh a soft smile below her glistening eyes.

If Hugh had thought her beautiful before, he was overwhelmed now. Her soul was as lovely as her face. “I need to work out how to live this new life. I don’t know if I’ve changed for good, so I can’t…”

Julianne stood, and Hugh rose too. She leaned toward him and spoke softly. “It only takes one moment to change, and then for the rest of your life, you just hang on to that moment. Think on that.” Then she stretched to her toes and kissed his cheek. “Think on that, too.” Before stepping into the house, she stopped and said, “I’ll see you again very soon. Goodnight, Hugh.”