Julianne Parker

The steep road flattened into a large, grassy park surrounded on all sides by rugged, snow-capped peaks. Whereas the cliffs had crowded the road, the mountains here were back a ways and golden sunlight shone across the valley from a clear azure sky. She had felt moments of terror when she wondered if the cliffs would rain boulders down upon them at any moment. Several times, she swallowed back that fear. She breathed easier in this open space.

Julianne gasped at the first sight of Bachelor—another tent city. This one crawled up the canyon walls and spilled down into the bottom right up against the stream. Mine entrances clung to cliffs above rickety rail tracks traveled by ore carts.

As they drove through the town, a few wooden homes or businesses—shacks, really—dotted the roadside. With all the towering pines, Julianne wondered why no one built log homes. She could imagine that someday they would. It could be a prosperous little town. It just needed time to grow more respectable.

With a second look, the shacks didn’t seem new. She realized suddenly that the town was uncared for because the residents didn’t plan to stay. They would work as long as the mines stayed open. When they closed, they would take their money to the next place.

In contrast, the towering mountains spoke to her heart of strength and firmness. She had started this journey with a resolve to build a life here, and she would not quit at the sight of temporary homes, although it was intensely bleak. She decided it would take more than canvas to scare her off. She shook herself with a scolding: I won’t fill my mind with everything that’s wrong, but what is right and possible.

Julianne committed to seeing her new home with new eyes. Bachelor was a town where the only way to go was up. Everything would improve the place. She nudged Hugh with her shoulder, pointing upward. “I doubt I’ve ever seen the sky that color of blue, like a clear lake hanging above us.”

Hugh followed her gaze and nodded thoughtfully.

“And the trees tower like the skyscrapers being built in Chicago, though I like these much better.” Julianne was filled with gratitude for the beauty surrounding her. Out of excitement, she wrapped both hands around Hugh’s arm and snuggled closely.

She felt him tense and let go, but not before noticing the strength of his arms. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was carried away. This must all seem usual to you, but to me, it’s a magical place.”

Hugh cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose I’ve looked up enough, but I agree with you, Miss Parker. I grew up in New Orleans, where there is a different kind of beauty, but this mountainous west is special. I believe I’ve found the place where I belong.”

Julianne kept her eyes trained to spot any beauty she could find—the clouds flying above them, Mr. Fontaine’s profile, the call of birds, Mr. Fontaine’s wavy golden hair, the shiny coats of the horses, Mr. Fontaine’s shoulders… Oh, bother. Perhaps if we talk, I won’t concentrate on Mr. Fontaine’s fine attributes.

“How long have you lived in Bachelor?” she asked.

“Coming on a year next month.” Hugh briefly glanced her way. “We’ll find the pastor there.” He pointed to a whitewashed building set back from the road.

It had been built with sturdier walls. The cross the front door, made a bold statement to Julianne—here was safety and peace.

This symbol of her faith spoke to her. As a small child, she accepted it because of the love of her parents. In her teen years, she accepted Jesus as a personal Savior, and the empty cross reminded her that he was lifted up.

“The pastor lives behind the church, I believe.”

Julianne’s eyes glanced along the walls of the L-shaped building. A chicken coop flanked the back corner. Mr. Fontaine guided the horses to a stop near the back, then jumped to the dirt and walked behind the wagon.

Julianne felt a loss to be leaving Hugh’s company so soon, and indulged in a silly fantasy that they were coming home together. What would it be like to cook and clean for a man, or make a home for their family?

Hugh stood at the side of the box and reached toward her. She hesitated, looking into his eyes, green as a mallard’s crown. She pictured a little girl with eyes like his and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. That brought a smile to her lips.

When she didn’t move, Hugh asked, “Miss? May I help you down?” She thought she heard tenderness in his entreaty.

Julianne reprimanded herself for getting carried away with romantic ideas. “Of course. Thank you.” When his hands nearly wrapped around her waist, her heart lurched. She leaned toward him, but the tip of her boot caught the top of the box, pitching her into Hugh’s arms. Though he had a firm grasp on her, they both tumbled to the ground in a tangle of petticoats and dust.

She stared into his face as his groan turned into laughter, his hard chest and stomach shaking. Julianne laughed too, her head dropping to his shoulder. She realized the pleasure she took in his voice and in their position—heaven help her.

The sound of someone clearing his throat brought her attention to the black boots and pants standing beside her, and also the hem of a gray dress.

She rolled to the side and landed with her knees beneath her. She struggled to pull her dress from beneath her and get her feet on the ground. Oh, very elegant. Hugh, likewise, maneuvered to stand.

The man wore a simple white clerical cravat, tied without flair under a serviceable black coat.

With chagrin, she realized she was about to meet Reverent Bing. She noted the pastor’s brown and gray hair curling about the rim of a black felt hat, mirth glistening in his eyes. His shoulders shook, but his lips were pressed in a straight line.

Julianne’s distress hitched when she took notice of a woman, maybe fifteen years his junior, and close to Julianne’s age, with the same ice-blue eyes and square jaw, standing beside him with her hands covering her lips and her eyes wide as teacups.

“Reverend Bing? I’m answering your advertisement for people to come west to build a community.” She wondered if he would send her packing back to Chicago based solely on this first impression.

The pastor nodded and looked toward Hugh, who quickly added, “We’re not together.” He drew his own hat from the ground and dusted it against his pant leg. “I’m already settled here.” His voice seemed to mumble the last part.

Julianne stood motionless, as did Hugh. Even nature held its breath in the oddly silent canyon as the preacher seemed to be waiting for divine intervention or to swallow down a laugh. The quiet was unsettling, and several times Julianne parted her lips, wishing to say something that would make the situation less awkward, but she couldn’t think of a thing to help. So her mouth just gaped open and closed like a trout.

After a long moment, the young woman scooted around the reverend’s shoulder, her tongue making a tsking sound. “Never you worry. We saw you take that spill. Come inside while the men take care o’ the horses.” She put one arm around Julianne’s shoulder and fisted material from Julianne’s skirt to close the tear. “Stay out till I call you,” she said over her shoulder with a decided Scottish cadence. “Let’s get your skirt sewed up right and tight.”

Inside the small, tidy home, the woman scuttled to a closet and pulled back the fabric curtain covering the closet. Julianne could see two open doors leading off the main room and the bedrooms that lay within. The main room boasted a kitchen, dining table, and a sitting room all in one. A ladder leaned against the wall to give access to a loft above the bedrooms.

The woman returned with a box and pulled a needle and thread out. “Stand on this chair.” She began folding and stitching the ripped fabric. “Did you come to Colorado on your own, now?” Before Julianne could answer, the woman continued. Her words flowed quickly like a waterfall, and Julianne had to pay close attention. “We hoped folks would see the advertisement and come, but it’s going on months. You’re the first. My brother and I like to come here near ten years ago when Creede had only a few wee shacks. Now the place is bursting like a sack of beans in a rainstorm, but not with families. And, being a man of God, Callum’s worrying that we’ve got more than our share of evil here moving in.”

Julianne looked out the small window and saw Hugh go to the back of the buckboard, move the carcass to the side, and pull her trunk to the tailgate. He paused, and then became very animated—his hand high in the air, a broad smile, and laughing with the pastor, followed by looks of amazement as the pastor examined the parasol. She well imagined the retelling of her story and sighed.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce myself proper,” the woman said. “I’m Millicent Bing. Callum is my brother.”

Julianne realized she hadn’t kept the surprise from her face when Miss Bing said, “I’m the caboose baby to his being the youngest of the older set. He took over my raising when our mother died fifteen years ago. Call me Millie.” She paused a moment, tugging on the thread to test the strength of the seam. “My brother thinks that if we can make a community here, good men and women will dilute the influence of the gamblers and saloon owners.” She held the skirt out to the side, finding another rip to mend. “Turn.”

Julianne complied.

Millie continued to chatter. “We’ve already watched this town go bust once when they found silver a few years back. People come from all around like a spring flood, but left near as quickly when the silver didn’t pay up. Now Callum’s hoping this town survives when the silver goes bust again.”

Julianne listened to the beautiful lilt of the woman’s voice. “If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from? You sound so different from your brother.”

Millie burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. Sometimes I say”—or do—“things before I fully consider them.”

Millie’s roaring laugh petered out to a wide grin. “We’re both from Scotland. My brother was educated in New Jersey, and it completely spoiled his brogue.” She tied a knot in the thread and snipped it loose from Julianne’s dress. “Reckon the men can bring your things in now. There’s nowhere else for a young woman to stay in this town. You’ll stay with us. There are two small rooms in the loft. Call my brother Callum. Since you’re going to live here, that’s close enough to be family.”

Hugh and Reverend Bing carried the large trunk into the kitchen and set it beside the door. Hugh stood hat in hand, listening to the introductions and then to Julianne explaining her dream of building a school.

Julianne felt Hugh’s eyes watching her intently, but he didn’t join the conversation. She stared into his face and flattered herself that she saw longing there. Perhaps it was only a reflection of what she felt deep inside.

Hugh replaced the hat on his head but gazed into her eyes without turning away. When there was a lull, he cleared his throat and whispered, “Good luck, Miss Parker.”

Willing the tender feelings growing in her heart to infuse her smile, she replied, “Thank you, Mr. Fontaine—”

“Hugh.” His eyes teased her, but there was something pleading about them too. “Surely after today, we’re friends.”

Her smile broadened at the hope that they would continue their new friendship. Millie nodded her assent that it would be proper to use his name.

“Thank you, Hugh,” said Julianne. “Your assistance today was truly a blessing. I don’t believe in luck.”

Hugh’s smile faded. “It’s all I do believe in.” With those words, he left, and Julianne felt suddenly alone.