Julianne Parker

Of the ten thousand people who called the east or west Willow Creek areas home, only twenty people and a handful of children filed into the church on Sunday morning. Millie introduced Julianne to the families and women who were sitting near their bench. She couldn’t remember a single name since she’d looked toward the door each time it opened, hoping to see Mr. Fontaine walk in. He had no excuse not to come—he certainly had known where the church was nearly a week ago when he’d dropped her here. She flattered herself that he might come just to see her. But the minutes passed, and it was apparent that he wouldn’t be attending.

It wasn’t that she was expecting to be romanced. Fact was, she didn’t know exactly what that included, should it ever happen. For a moment, she indulged in recalling her first sight of Mr. Fontaine, which sent a lightning bolt through her from head to toe. Her memory continued to assess his features as she had every evening since. Julianne opened her book of Psalms to take her mind off the situation. The letters and verses seemed to blur, and her eyes couldn’t focus on the words. Her mind was miles away and a few days back. His bright eyes more green than spring. A mischievous smile. Muscular shoulders and arms and legs.

Oh, drat. Another commandment, and in church no less.

Maybe she should consider his Christian traits. Hugh was brave. He hadn’t known exactly what he would find and had stopped to help her anyway. He was kind. Although he could have made a bad situation worse, he was gentlemanly. He had a keen sense of humor. His conversation was intelligent.

Julianne shook her mental thoughts. Yes, he was all those things, and he had not chosen to come back for a visit to renew his acquaintance with her. Although the sting of it traveled deep, she reminded herself that her parents had proven their lack of confidence in her either procuring her own suitor and even her marriageability. She must accept the fact—she was not desirable.

Julianne refused to slump at that realization. With her decision to leave her father’s home, Julianne had committed to live with purpose. She turned her attention back to the leather-bound book of scriptures her parents had given her and read until the worship started.

In the center of the aisle at the front of the church, stood a beautiful lectern, seemingly out of place in the rough building. Smooth lines of delicately carved molding that resembled thorny vines outlined the shape of a cross on the face of it. On the flat tabletop sat a large Holy Bible. When Reverend Bing stood behind the lectern, he opened the book and Julianne sighed, her heart full. This was the same. Amidst all the newness and fear of the unknown, this was known, and so was she.

She had to believe the Lord had a plan for her. She didn’t know what it was, but this was the test of her faith—to wait on the Lord, to sacrifice her impatience.

Julianne sat in the front pew with Millie and felt hope buoy her up as Reverend Bing spoke the words from Isaiah forty-one. The words slipped through the cracks in her doubt like they were keenly designed just for her—be not afraid, I am with thee, I will strengthen thee and help thee.

When the service finished, Millie introduced Julianne to the rest of the women in attendance. She concentrated on their names, the shape of their faces, and the people who were in their family. She rehearsed their names in her head and listened for the names of the women she’d met earlier as they were greeting one another.

She answered the same questions over and again. “Yes, I’m staying with Millie.”

“I’m originally from Chicago.”

“I plan to be a teacher.”

“I’m so happy to make your acquaintance.” And she knew it was true.

The men pushed the pews to the wall and set a quilting frame in their place. Millie drew a neatly folded pile of cloth from behind the lectern, which was then nailed to the quilting frames while the benches were pushed back to each side of the frame.

The few children gathered in the corner of the room or sat on the floor near their mothers’ benches, or under the stretched quilt. Julianne’s heart squeezed. She longed to be a mother and gather her little ones to her. To have tiny fingers wrapped securely around her own. Or to have bright, trusting eyes sleep without fear because their mother’s arms held them close to her heart. To brush their downy hair from their faces and revel in the pillowy softness of their pink cheeks. She wondered what it would be like to stand beside a husband and together share the joy of a family.

She studied the quilt, thinking about a proverb of her grandmother’s. “Each stitch you sew on Sunday, you’ll pluck out with your nose in heaven.”

Maybe it was worry that Millie saw in Julianne’s face. Or it could have been that Millie sensed her unspoken question about the quilt. Either way, she said, “Many of our small flock come to town only one day a week, for church, often leaving their homes at sun-up to be here. These all be poor folk. They can’t give offerings the way you might be used to, so we needn’t pass a plate. But they can give through their needle or their knife.”

Millie inclined her head toward the window where Julianne saw the men gathered, carving and whittling on narrow boards. Julianne also saw a boy near eleven or so and distinctively dressed in trousers with one pant leg missing just below his knee. Callum must have known he was there because he waved and called him over.

Millie’s voice drew her attention back to the quilt. “We sell the lecterns and quilts in Denver to support our congregation here. Come sit with us.” She gestured to two empty seats. “We call this Praise and Pray.”

As the quilting began, Millie recited the Lord’s Prayer. The women could comment or sit silently pondering, but each took a turn to add to the worship.

Edna, a small dark-haired woman next to Julianne, said, “In the tenth chapter of Luke, it says, ‘And into whatsoever house you enter, first say, Peace be to this house.’” Edna worked her needle up and down, up and down through several stitches before pulling it through. The other women sat silently, anticipating that Edna’s comment wasn’t complete.

Then she added, “I like to think that these quilts are filled our faith, and the people who buy them take a blessing into their home. I push my needle and say to them from me ‘Peace be unto their house.’” Several soft “amens” followed.

Julianne was surprised when the women traded seats, taking turns sitting next to her and conversing quietly. It was a grand welcome to share private moments with each of them, getting to know them personally.

After an hour, the men returned to set the room to rights, and the women put away the quilt. The whole congregation moved outside. A gentle breeze stirred the air and rustled through the aspen leaves, harmonizing with the slosh and gurgle of the river bumbling over rocks. Peace filled Julianne.

A simple potluck dinner was shared. Some had brought loaves. Other’s shared cheese or jam or smoked fish. Never had fellowship felt so personal. Her soul was alive with love and gratitude.

Her eyes often strayed from the adults’ conversation to watch the children gather and play as they too enjoyed the added companions that Sunday brought. One of the older girls held a long willow branch that had almost been completely stripped of twigs, turning it around and around as children jumped over it. When a child missed, they became the holder and the game began again.

“May I have a turn?” Julianne asked.

“Yes, but you have to turn first,” the girl replied, and Julianne stepped forward to take the branch. She bent forward and skimmed just the leafy end along the dirt. She was grateful and a little dizzy when a child finally missed.

Julianne handed off the branch and looked toward the adults. No one paid particular attention to the game, and Julianne stepped in to jump with the children. She began counting the number of jumps that were made over the stick as she and her childhood friends had done.

She chanted, “…Twenty, twenty-one…” Then a child missed and the game started over. Again, she chanted the numbers. This time, she called out seventeen before there was a miss.

“Was that more or less than last time?” a freckled little girl beside her asked.

Julianne was surprised by the question. The child seemed to be ten or eleven, but she couldn’t count?

“It was fewer,” she answered. “Let’s count again.”

The child counted to ten with her, then her voice fell away as Julianne counted to twenty-seven. “That was the most we’ve done,” Julianne remarked. She felt as if her legs were jelly. She was a little short of breath and stepped away as the children continued their play.

A few feet from her, one child sat with stick in hand, drawing circle after circle in the dirt in front of her crossed legs. When she’d filled up the space, she wiped her hand across the surface, sending dust into the air, and started again. The circles gave way to wavy lines and even bold slashes in every direction—always followed by a quick erasing swipe.

Julianne approached the girl and knelt beside her. “What are you making?”

The girl stood, holding the stick behind her skirts. She looked down and swished her foot to erase the remaining circle, and then the stick fell to the ground.

Julianne tried again. “It seemed to be very important business. Perhaps I could help?”

“I was trying to write.”

“That’s wonderful.” Julianne clasped her hands to her chest. “Can we do it together?”

The child dropped the stick to the ground. “I don’t know how.” Her head hung in sorrow and her bottom lip pouted.

“I can do that part, and you can follow up after me. Now, to find a perfect writing stick for myself.” Julianne turned in a slow circle. “A stick. A stick. Hmm. Where did you get your fine stick?” She picked it up and examined it with keen interest.

The girl looked up past the brim of her bonnet, her eyes searching Julianne’s face. Finally, she answered, “I’ll show you.” She took Julianne’s hand and led her near the stream.

When Julianne chose a stick from the riverbank, she sat on a boulder, removing the knife from her boot. “A proper writing quill should have a fine point,” she said as she whittled four strokes off the end. “Shall I sharpen yours too?”

The girl smiled and passed Julianne her stick. When it was ready, Julianne asked, “Will you tell me your name? Then I can write the first sentence about you.”

The child’s eyes widened, and a smile brightened her elfish face. “Ruby, because I’m my daddy’s jewel.” Ruby took Julianne by the fingers and lead her back toward the meeting house.

Her tiny hand felt as tender to Julianne as was the trusting heart of the child. Oh, how Julianne thrilled to bring words to this little one.

Julianne turned to the child. “Shall we make that the first thing we write? Ruby is Daddy’s jewel.”

Julianne wrote the words, saying them aloud. Ruby watched with rapt attention. On the second time, Ruby’s voice joined her own as the letters were formed. This time when she finished, she helped Ruby guide her stick over the letters.

Ruby finished the wobbly Y and dropped the stick—this time from joy. “My name.” She pointed at the dirt with obvious pride. Her eyes sparkled with achievement.

Julianne clapped. “Well done. Do you want me to help you find your parents?”

“I’m writing my name right now” was all Ruby said as she returned to serious work.

Before Julianne moved away, she marveled at the determination on the girl’s face, her tongue curled around the corner of her upper lip as she traced in the dirt.

After they cleaned up the dinner, Julianne watched the young boy in the tattered pants. He hadn’t been in the chapel for the service, and even now he hung around the edges, not joining in with the other children or the adults.

“Who is that?” she asked.

“His name is Willie. You’ll get to know him. He’s a hard worker,” Millie replied.

Several small groups formed. Julianne heard whispers about someone being abducted or missing. She recalled Hugh warning her that he wouldn’t leave her to walk alone. Not knowing anyone well enough to join the conversations, only bits of information reached her. Who was missing? When? What was being done?

She tucked her thoughts away to ask Millie about it later.

As people prepared to leave, Millie called the remaining women together. She wrapped her arms round her middle protectively. “Will you bring a sign to stand in front of the Nugget Saloon payday next?” She seemed to reach for courage within her chest for the next words. “We’ll meet in the morning. Stand together.” Millie surely noticed what Julianne had—there was no visible enthusiasm for Millie’s proposal. The confidence in her voice wilted. “Who will come?”

Silence stretched the moment.

Some shook their heads, and a few averted their eyes as if they hadn’t heard the question, but no voices raised in support. Millie dipped her head with understanding, then began picking cut quilting threads from her skirt.

Julianne touched Millie’s forearm. “I can be there.” She didn’t know why she would need to bring a sign, but standing was something she could do. And if it would help repay any of the kindnesses Millie had heaped on her, she’d do it.

Millie whispered, “Thank you.”

As the last wagon rumbled off, a lone rider on a black horse arrived. He wore a fine vest and coat, his boots as polished as a looking glass. Julianne had seen many spiffed-up men in Chicago, but this man was a stark anomaly here. His mustache, slim and twisted, extended past his lips with a curl, twitching into a semblance of a smile when his eyes found Julianne.

“You’ve just missed the worship, Mr. Grady,” Callum said as he stepped past Julianne. She thought she heard him whisper “of course” in passing. Then she noted that he stepped forward when the man dismounted, and whether or not he meant to, he stood between her and the stranger.

“Sorry to hear that.” With one hand, he opened his coat to reveal a gold pocket watch chain and buttons set with topaz. He slowly drew the clock up and read the time. “I am a mite later than I’d hoped.” A masculine diamond ring weighted one slim finger on his hand that moved to a small pocket in his silk vest.

“My uncle, the owner of the Bonanza Claim Mine”—his smile tweaked upward into what he might have thought pleasing, but Julianne thought was a grimace “—sends an offering for the church.” Though his comment was seemingly directed to Reverend Bing, Grady’s beady eyes stared over the reverend’s shoulder at Julianne. The man pulled two silver dollars from his pocket and extended them to Reverend Bing.

She believed Callum certainly knew who that man’s uncle was, and it was a boast directed toward her to let her know he was important. A shudder crawled through her, and she fixed a look on her face that she hoped masked her feelings.

“Word is that you have a guest, and I see it’s true. May I have an introduction?”

He removed his hat, and then stared at Callum, almost daring him to refuse. Grady was a slip of a man, with a delicate fist sitting on his hip.

For a long moment, Reverend Bing stood without relaxing his stance. “Of course.” His voice was gruff. “Miss Parker, this is Archibald Grady. Mr. Grady, Miss Parker.” Then it seemed that with a smidge of warning, he added, “The daughter of a dear, personal friend.”

Julianne hid her surprise at the declaration. Perhaps he meant that she was one of God’s daughters—that would explain the friend reference. She noticed that Mr. Archibald looked cross when Callum hadn’t given him her Christian name—for which Julianne was relieved. His jaw clenched, then relaxed with effort when he bowed his head toward her. “Good day, Miss Parker.”

Julianne nodded conservatively. “Good day.” She was grateful that Reverend Bing still stood between her and the man. Though he had the dress and deportment of a gentleman, his gaze traveled from her head to her toes, convincing her that he was not.

“Well, we have a supper to get on. ’Cuse us, gents.” Millie took Julianne by the hand and led her away. “His uncle sent nothing of the sort,” she mumbled. “He’s likely buying an eyeful o’ you.” Her pace quickened. A low whistle escaped as she pulled Julianne along. “Still, that be quite a sum.” Her hand rested momentarily on her heart as she said, “Praise the Lord.” When the door clicked firmly shut behind them, Millie added with a knowing look, “Best stay far from where Grady slithers.”