Hugh Fontaine

Hugh sat atop the buckboard for a moment, staring at the closed door, feeling though he was surrounded by clear mountain air, he didn’t have a whiff to breathe. Maybe if he could stand by her a moment longer, or even just see her through kitchen window, his heart would stop pounding like it was trying to escape his chest.

Involuntarily, he shifted forward, ready to stand. For a second, he considered rapping on the door and asking permission to court her, but he regained his senses and settled back onto the seat, reluctantly guiding his horses down the road.

He knew she was a life-changer. But not for him.

He looked over his shoulder and stared at the rough wooden chapel fading into the early evening behind him. He knew where she was. If he were to stop by church in a day or two, he’d see her, but that was the last place he wanted to go.

There was a time in his life—long, long ago—when he’d looked forward to the peace of worship each week, sitting in the dark wooden pews or kneeling on the padded cushions where he’d have conversations with his Lord and listen for His voice from the scriptures.

Between the boy who loved the Lord and the man Hugh had become were too many winding roads. No, Julianne was not for him. Her life, past and future, followed a straight path.

Hugh worked out her future in his mind as he drove back downhill to the opposite side of Bachelor. She’d be a teacher, but just for a short time because one day she’d marry and live in a clapboard house. She’d hang clothes on the line and chase children through the yard. She’d organize the charity bazaar and take meals to widows.

Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine himself the husband in that domestic scene. No, he wouldn’t come looking for this young woman again. Loss trickled through his mind and soaked his chest.

His buckboard rumbled over the path back to the south side of town where he stopped before the long log cabin that made up his saloon. It stood at the mouth of the canyon that opened into the park where Bachelor huddled. Though there were several saloons in Creede, Hugh’s was the only one in Bachelor, making his business very profitable. He had prided himself on his choice to open his business here. It stood between the mines and the makeshift homes of the miners. Of the men who passed by each day, many stopped to leave coins in exchange for liquid relief from sore muscles, tired bodies, or lonely lives. Tonight, he felt a speck of regret.

He shook that thought away and surveyed his land and business. The cowpoke, his arms folded and looking dangerous, stood in front of the supply door at the far end.

Hugh ran the back of his hand across his eyes and opened them to see the rough cowboy staring straight at him. The man’s hands fell and rested on his hips above the silver handles of his six-shooters as if to forbid Hugh’s entrance. Light flashed, and in the next blink, the wrangler was gone. In his place stood Buck, the man Hugh employed to guard his inventory.

Bizarre. That was the word for his whole afternoon. Hugh couldn’t understand an angel saving his life at the card game, yet he was sure that was just what had happened. Realizing he wasn’t worth heaven’s notice, he surmised that he was a means to an end—maybe he had to live to save that young woman.

Sister Esther often said, “Heaven’s messages might come on angels’ wings, but mortals supply the elbow grease.”

But why him? And why hadn’t anyone passed by her before he got there? It was the only road between Bachelor and Creede, and should have seen a steady stream of folks going both ways.

Perhaps he was an important part of the event and not just a convenient lackey. Was he supposed to meet her? Maybe she could be… No. Enough. Means to an end—that’s all.

Hugh jumped from the wagon and set the brake against the back wheel. He nodded to Buck, who cradled a Henry rifle across his arm as Hugh approached, then began unloading his goods. The ringing sound of the whiskey bottles rattling in the boxes had always sounded like music and money to Hugh, but today it sounded hollow.

Just an hour ago, he’d driven his wagon right past his saloon, and hadn’t pointed it out to Miss Parker. Why was that? He knew why—shame. He’d become what his mother had tried to keep him far away from. She had sacrificed so much for him to have a different life.

There were few choices for earning a living in this town—being a miner, supplying a miner, or burying a miner. He chose the middle. For now, he supplied them with spirits and the distraction of cards.

A month or three down the road, he’d have enough money squirreled away to build a larger building. The upstairs would have rooms to rent. He wouldn’t get involved with what went on above stairs—he’d just rent the rooms.

Hugh knew where his mother’s money had come from, the money that paid his tuition, room and board, bought him clothes, and kept him at schools far away from her life. He was ashamed of her work, but never of her. Her choices had been made out of desperation and love. She’d sent letters every month, as had he. She wrote of her hopes for him. He also knew he was creating his future with a saloon, and she’d be disappointed.

Julianne’s face filled his mind. He could use her example of courage to move him in a different direction. His mind raced with possibilities. Instead of a saloon, he could open a mercantile. A year later, he could buy some property and build a house. Another year to furnish it. Then ask her—

His heart slammed down on that pipe dream with a twist and an ache. She deserves better than the son of a riverboat queen, a man who supplies liquor to miners, and gambles to rob others of their hard-earned cash. Hugh hauled in another box of whiskey and concentrated on the brittle sounds.