Mark

Saturday was the best day of the week, as far as Mark was concerned. He arrived early and was met at the back door by a group of boys. They would deliver the papers to the various businesses who sold them to the citizens. The pressure of sending out the paper was past, and he’d have a day off for the Sabbath.

He strolled to Hearth and Home for breakfast. Mama M stood in front of the door.

“You haven’t done as I asked yet, laddie.” Her arms were crossed, and her eyebrows pinched in a frown.

“I did. I asked to read her story. She refused.”

“Ask again. Get her published. Of the now.” Mama M looked inside the restaurant window, then turned back to Mark. “Show some interest in her, boy.” She batted her eyes and puckered her lips.

Mark recognized that his face must look shocked. He snapped his mouth shut and schooled his features. He wondered if he could go around to the back door and avoid the angel.

Through puckered lips, she said, “Be persuasive. Be creative. Make her want to give it to you.”

It was more than true that he’d love to kiss her but not just to see her writing. Rhona had a mind of her own. He liked that about her.

“Aye. She can be a stubborn one. The youngest usually is. They have to hold their own against the bigger ones, and the fight stays with them as adults.” The angel shook her head. “Try your best, laddie. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s best for her.”

Mark ate his breakfast and pondered on the situation. The angel seemed to think the book needed to be read. Rhona hadn’t wanted to share it at all. He went back and forth while eating eggs, flap-jacks, and sausage.

When he was nearly done, the chair next to him scraped across the floor. “May I join you?” Rhona asked, holding a cinnamon bun and coffee.

Mark stood. “Please.” He held the chair while she sat down, and then returned to his seat. Maybe it was time he could ask again. Some people were shy about their talents and didn’t want other people to know about them. Maybe she was afraid. Mark lifted his chin and looked past her shoulder.

Mama M stood in the middle of the room. He thought she’d left. She was pointing at him and pointing at Rhona. She pushed her hands to the side as if to scoot him closer to her. Then she made her hands talk like puppets. “Ask her,” she mouthed. Then she tapped her finger on her wrist. “Of the now. Hurry.”

Mark had no idea how to even bring up the topic. He’d asked before, and she’d refused. End of story.

Mama M popped over to their table. She sat in the air as if on a chair, then picked up her left hand and pretended to write on her palm with her right hand. She turned her palm toward him.

To his surprise, it was written on. “She will keep her light under a bushel unless you help her show it to the world.”

Mark looked into the angel’s face and saw such love there. He could do it. Rhona deserved a chance to shine. He cleared his throat. “How are you feeling about the articles you’ve written for the paper?”

“I guess I’ve been surprised. I hadn’t expected it to be a good experience. In fact, I was ready for people to make fun of me and tell me that I had no talent and that I’d ruin your newspaper.” She went silent and then gave him a sad smile. “I was ready for you to sack me.”

“I would never.” Instinctively, his hand covered the top of hers where it sat on the table. “You’re doing a fine job.” He looked into her eyes. “Better than fine. I’ve never employed anyone who worked harder, had great instincts, a wonderful sense of humor . . .”

Suddenly, he realized his hand was still on hers, and they were leaning closer together over the tabletop. Beyond her shoulder, he could again see Mama M, watching wide-eyed, her hands clutched to her chest. What was he doing? This was a very public place. He didn’t want to let her go, but he wanted more for her reputation to be spotless. He leaned away and slowly removed his hand. “Or a . . . better speller.” He smiled in amusement.

This time, Mama M wore a mask of shock. She raised her hands to heaven and mouthed, “Why?”

Rhona blinked as if she were waking from a dream. “Oh, well, spelling is important. And I appreciate your attention to margins.” She looked at him as if to challenge him to top her compliment.

“When you fill the composing stick, it’s nice and tight. I don’t have to worry about the letters coming out,” he replied.

“Your attention to detail when you ink the letters is commendable,” she added with a giggle. “I don’t think I’ve noticed even one letter too light to read. Well done.”

Mama M flashed her hand at Mark one more time and pointed to Rhona. “Please.”

“What you’ve added to the paper makes Creede feel more like a community,” he said, his voice sounding much more serious. “I’m glad you agreed to write for the Candle.”

She picked up her cup and took a sip. “Me too.”

“I was wondering . . .” He cleared his throat. “. . .if you would let me read your book. I know you said no before, but since you’ve had a little success, I thought you might change your mind.”

Rhona paused with a bit of cinnamon bun hanging on the end of her fork midway to her mouth. She must have realized and quickly put the piece in her mouth, chewing slowly.

He hoped that she was thinking it over.

"Well, she hasn’t said no yet,” Mama M said from behind Mark’s left ear. He jumped a little at her voice, but this time, he wasn’t quite as surprised. He wondered if she would stop popping in like this if he was able to read the story.

Rhona returned her fork to the table and tapped her lips with a napkin. “I think I would like you to read it. You can tell me if it’s worth being published. It’s always been a dream of mine to share my stories with others. I guess publishing is the only way to do that. I suppose I need to pack my fear behind me. I’ll go get it.”

She scooted back with her chair. Mark jumped up behind her to help and watched her as she walked upstairs.

When she rounded the corner at the top, and Mark could no longer see her, he noticed that Mama M was in the middle of the dining room dancing a jig.

A couple of minutes later, Rhona returned without anything in her hands but with her coat on.

She looked at Mark and tipped her head to the side, shaking it slightly. “I couldn’t. I hope you understand.”

He really did. One day he would earn the right to see it, and it would be because she wanted to share it with him. Today wasn’t that day, but it was close. He could hardly wait until that day came. Mark extended his arm to her. “Don’t worry about it at all. If the time is right, I hope I’ll have the honor.” Mama M slowly faded away as he turned Rhona toward the door. “I guess we should get the printing shop open today.”

The first half of the following week moved along in a continuation of happiness. They walked to and from work together. They chatted while they got the business done. Saturday came again, and another edition of the Creede Candle hit the streets. Unfortunately, Rhona left on Wednesday, taking Mrs. Sanderson to Denver. The rest of the week dragged from sun up to sundown. He would look around the shop and realize she wasn’t there. More than once he found himself beginning a sentence to no one. A few times each day, he closed his eyes and thought of her smile or her voice or even her laugh.

The next day, at the end of the Sunday service, Mark listened to the hymn. Although Rhona was sitting with her family two pews behind him and on the other side of the church, he could pick out her voice from all the others. It had the same sweet intonation as when she spoke. There was joy and life in it. He wanted that with him always.

The best part about hiring her was that he had someone he greatly enjoyed talking with. She was intelligent and witty. But it wasn’t uncomfortable to be silent with her in the room either. She didn’t fill the air with chatter. If she said something, it was important.

He felt a kinship with Rhona and looked forward to each day they worked together. Sunday, as the day of rest, was a lonely one for Mark. He sat in church mostly alone, then went home for the rest of the day to spend it with himself. It really hadn’t bothered him until very recently. Now, he waited for Monday, when realness returned to his life. He had never imagined that he would miss someone’s presence as much as he did Rhona’s.

The closing notes of the hymn vibrated into silence, and Reverend Eugene Theodore closed the meeting with a benediction. It was only a day, but it seemed too long until Mark would see Rhona again. While he would never admit it out loud, he knew he was falling in love with her.

What if he could see her on Sundays, too? Maybe Edwin would think the Sabbath was appropriate for proper courtship. Mark’s mind whirled with possibilities. He waited for the congregation, who clogged the aisle, all waiting join the flow exiting the church. Rhona had been seated behind him. That meant she would get out of the church long before he did. She was nearly at the doorway. Would she be gone before he could reach her?

He watched the slow procession, but the people on his row didn’t move. Two gentlemen stood in his aisle talking about a mineshaft that had flooded or some such other thing. If he didn’t get out of the church, he might miss his opportunity to see Rhona that day. When she reached the door, she looked back over her shoulder and smiled at Mark, raising her gloved hand to say goodbye. Then she was gone. The men still stood in his aisle. Mark had to get out.

He knew it was somewhat improper, but he stepped onto the pew and over the back into the empty aisle behind him. He bypassed shaking the reverend’s hand by scooting behind another man talking with Eugene. People milled around on the stairs, so he jumped from the porch to the lot around the church. Mark scanned the area. It was easy to find her red cape and her yellow bonnet with red berries tucked along the brim. It reminded him of springtime, thawing the frozen ground that surrounded the church.

Edwin and Millie, Eileen, and Isla began walking away, but Rhona was looking over her shoulder as Mark approached. Her smile broadened with each step that took him closer.

“Edwin,” he called. “Wait up.” His blood hammered through his veins, considering that this was the first—possibly the only—time he’d ever ask to court a woman. He didn’t know if he felt very alive or as if he might expire any moment.

Edwin circled back, and Mark shook his hand. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“We’ll wait for you over there,” Millie said, her eyes bright with excitement. Eileen and Isla each took Rhona by an arm and walked her quickly toward the buggy.

“I know it’s the Sabbath, and I wondered if you would think it proper…? What I mean is, of course it’s proper, but would it be acceptable to you if I visited the restaurant this evening?”

“We only serve one meal on Sundays,” Edwin said. “So, if you’re planning on eating today, I suggest it would be a good time to come.”

Mark swallowed deeply. That wasn’t what he meant. He guessed it might have sounded that way, though. “What I mean is, may I visit this evening after dinner?”

Edwin’s left eye squinted a little smaller than his right. “And just what do you mean by visit?”

Mark’s mouth was dry, and he could hardly form the words. But glancing over Edwin’s shoulder, he saw that the women sat in the buggy, waiting to go home. However, the only face turned toward them with any interest was Rhona’s. It gave him some courage.

“I’d like to properly court your sister.” The words felt powerful and right.

“And which sister might that be?” Edwin asked. His expression held a somber look until it broke into a smile that revealed his jest. Still, Edwin waited. He was going to make Mark say it.

“I’d like to visit Rhona.”

“Visit, you say? Or court?” Edwin crossed his arms over his chest. Clearly, he seemed to be enjoying this too much.

“I’d like to come to Hearth and Home this evening to visit with Rhona to see if she has interest in my company.” That was everything Mark thought Edwin might mess with. He’d laid it all out in one clear sentence. “Is that all right with you?”

There was a long pause as Edwin stared at Mark. “I suppose you’re better than most,” Edwin said. Then he slapped Mark on the shoulder. “I’m only teasing you. Come near the end of the dinner service so you can stay and talk.”

That evening when Mark entered Hearth and Home, his pulse was pounding, and he knew his palms were sweaty. Everything would change that night. Either Rhona would say yes that he was welcome to court her, and his life would seem in order. Or she would say no he wasn’t, making work at the print shop very awkward—possibly enough to lose even her company there.

It was the end of the dinner rush. Most of the tables were already empty, which was good because it would give him more privacy with Rhona. He didn’t need the whole town speculating about what was going on in the print shop. He sat down at a table where he could see the kitchen door. He hoped Rhona would come out soon. Surely Edwin had told her about their conversation. The door opened, and Rhona walked out. She was beautiful. She wasn’t wearing an apron, and Mark was sure that she’d stayed in her Sunday best. He hoped that was a good sign. He stood as she approached the table.

“Good evening, Rhona.” His mind was a complete blank.

“May I sit with you?” Her eyes danced above her captivating smile.

Mark stepped behind the chair next to him and pulled it out. It was his turn to say something. What?

Isla came to the table, giving him a moment to think. “We only have fried chicken left. Will that be all right?”

“Yes. Am I too late for dessert?”

Isla gave a little giggle. “Oh, no. Rhona saved two pieces of carrot cake for your visit over an hour ago when we were running out.”

“You could have skipped that story and brought him the cake,” Rhona said, blushing.

“I could have, but I enjoyed it so much more sharing that little detail.” Isla returned to the kitchen and came back with their plates. “Enjoy. But not too much,” she said with a wink. “The whole family will be watching you. No pressure.” She walked away.

“Dinner looks wonderful.” That wasn’t what he wanted to say. He’d missed her terribly for four days, and he didn’t want to waste time now. “I wonder if Edwin told you about our conversation today after church?”

“Yes, he did. And I’m very happy to have you come courting.”

Mark was grateful that Rhona hadn’t made him grovel as Edwin had. Many of the family members seemed to enjoy making Mark squirm.

Mama M appeared at the end of the table. Mark didn’t startle this time. He supposed he was getting used to her hovering around. She began making gestures about books and writing and pointing to Rhona, but Mark ignored her. He’d gone that route. Rhona decided she didn’t want to, and Mark was going to let it be until she decided to do it herself.

Mama M marched around the table one way and then the other, trying to draw Mark’s attention. He didn’t budge. He gave all his attention to Rhona.

“What did you do as a child? You must have had a pastime that interested you,” she said.

“Words. I loved books even then. Boys without parents to rein them in are notoriously wild. Trouble seems to find them. But books kept me inside instead of joining the riffraff.”

“I would rather spend time in a chair with a book than almost anything else as a girl, too. Did you have a favorite?” she asked as Edwin strolled very close to them before returning to the kitchen.

“The Ragged Dick series occupied most of my time. I read and then reread them many times.”

“You’re a Horatio Alger enthusiast. Little Women was my book of choice. Some missionaries from America gave it to the vicar, and I read it over and over. I fancied myself to be much like—”

“Jo,” he said at the same time she did. He couldn’t control a burst of laughter.

She couldn’t help herself, either, and joined in. “Have you read it?”

He took a drink, then replied, “I might have taken a peek at the book as well.”

“I was much older when I read it. The vicar’s wife loaned it to me one day.” Rhona buttered her roll. “My favorite when I was young was North and South.”

“I don’t think I know that one.” Mark leaned toward Rhona. “Who wrote it?”

She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Elizabeth Gaskell.”

“Should I read it?”

“I don’t know. How do you feel about romance?”

He noted that for the first time in his life he was clearly considering romance. It sounded intriguing coming from her lips. He found himself looking at them, and they parted for a moment. “I might like to give it a try.” She bit her lip but couldn’t stifle the grin that spread across her face. “I think we’ll have to get our cake or it might disappear.” She went to the kitchen.

Mark’s heart was completely full. He knew that Rhona really saw him. Maybe for the first time in his life, someone truly did. He was an orphan, and anytime the children would go on an outing, people’s eyes would flip away from them. On the street in front of the house where they lived, people had often crossed the street rather than look at the poor orphans with ratty clothes and dirty faces and bones showing through their shirts. Then at age twelve, he had been hidden away in a print shop. But now Rhona saw him, and he didn’t want to hide.

They shared their desserts and chatted.

Edwin came to their table and snapped open a pocket watch. “Do you know what time it is, Mark? I wonder if my clock is correct or not.”

“Edwin,” Rhona scolded.

“I’ve enjoyed tonight very much. Thank you for your company, Rhona.” Mark stood and pulled her chair out.

She walked him to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We have a lot of work to do.”

“Goodnight.” Mark rode home as snow fluttered down, not feeling the cold at all.

The next morning after breakfast, Mark was walking with Rhona to the print shop when a white ball of fury flew past him, smacking Rhona on the shoulder. When he turned to see what was happening, there were three boys in the street making snowballs and throwing them at the passersby.

While he wondered how to reprimand the boys, white balls flew past him again, this time headed toward the boys and smacking the tallest one in the back of the head. Mark was surprised to see Rhona making several snowballs, loading them into her arms, and then firing them as fast as she could at the boys.

She wasn’t prissy, and she had one heck of a throw. Mark bent over and joined her, making snowballs and chucking them. Other people on the street joined the fight, and the boys retreated down an alley to get out of the improvised hailstorm.

“You’ve got quite an arm,” he said as they continued their walk to the shop. “I’m surprised you would throw a snowball back at them.

“Oh, don’t be. I was never likely to shy away from a good fight.”

There was bright color to her cheeks, and some of her hair had become unpinned from where she’d pulled it up. Rhona had never looked more lovely to him.

That afternoon, Jaron Creel walked through the door of the print shop. Mark couldn’t miss the huge grin on the man’s face when he met him at the counter.

“Good news?” Mark asked.

“The best.” He looped his fingers in his suspenders. “I met with that matchmaking matron last week and signed up for one of those brides.”

Mark was astonished. He supposed Jaron would be a good a choice as any. He had a job with the railroad and had recently advanced.

“I even bought myself a house to put her in.”

“Congratulations. Where? Here in Creede or over in Salida?” Mark asked. Since Jaron rode the train between the two cities twice a day, either one would work.

“I bought Bad Egg Baldwin’s place. I sent a note to the woman to see if she thought it was a good situation and received this letter back today.” Jaron waved it in the air. “She said she’s excited to come to Colorado and marry me.”

“Sounds real good. When will she arrive?” Mark asked.

“The morning of the wedding in a couple of weeks or so.”

“I understand that all the contracted marriages will take place at the same time,” Rhona said, walking to the front of the store where the men were talking.

“That’s right, miss. It’ll be the biggest shindig we’ve ever seen.”

Mark wondered how much the couples could really get to know each other before the “I dos” were said, but it didn’t look like it was a worry to Jaron. Mark guessed the letters helped. “Did she tell you anything about herself?”

“Her name is Cerena. Says she’s been married before. Her husband was in the army and then went on a campaign and got hisself killed. She has no children, but she wants some. I suppose I do too.” Jaron leaned over the desk, holding a picture up and dropping his voice. “She has dark hair. I don’t know how dark, but it doesn’t really matter.” Then he turned the picture back toward himself. “She’s wearing a showy, ruffled dress. And she’s a beauty too. That’s all right by me. We’ll have to look at each other for a long time.”

He folded the letter and slipped the picture inside, tucking it into his coat pocket. “I’ve got another appointment with Mrs. D’Arcy about the wedding arrangements. Why don’t you come down with me to talk with her? I heard tell that she’s got a new book of pictures and more brides to choose from. Maybe you can get one of these fancy brides.”

Mark chuckled. “No, thanks. I’m not interested in matrimony. Go keep your appointment.”

“Reckon I’d better get on over there before she gives my bride away. Bye. Good day, Miss Rhona.” He tipped his hat and left.

Mark turned away from the counter where he’d been talking with Jaron, but he couldn’t take even one step. Rhona was standing right behind him. Her arms were folded across her ribs, and there was nothing kind in her expression. She didn’t say a word but looked him in the eye. She seemed to be biting her cheek. Her lips were locked up tight.

Mark had a queasy feeling that he’d done something to make her mad, and for the life of him, he didn’t know what. “Have I done something to make you cross?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes sliding back and forth as if she were considering what she would say. “I suppose I’m not mad,” she said. “But I’d like to know what you’re up to.”

Mark looked over the printing job laying on the counter and another that they were preparing. Since she knew about both of those, he figured her question wasn’t about either. “I’m sorry, Rhona. I might need a little help from you. What is it that’s made you sore?”

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You’re my boss. I took a big chance agreeing to court you. And I’m falling for you.” Rhona’s brows pulled together in an agonized expression, and her arms locked tighter around her. “But you’re not the marrying kind. Then what is all this for, Mark? Why did you talk to my brother? Why did you ask about courting? Why do we need to have the whole town talking about us if it could never come to anything?” Her voice died away.

A wave of shock slapped Mark, rendering him momentarily speechless. His heart leapt at hearing her say that she was falling for him, but that made his careless words even worse. A sinking feeling dragged through his chest.

At the time, he’d thought about the whole town knowing, and he didn’t like it. “I had thought the courting could lead to marriage. I still do—more each day than the one before,” he said. “I just don’t need that man going around telling my business. So, when I said I wasn’t the marrying kind, it was to put him off. I’d be a fool to say I hadn’t thought about it with you.” He took a small step her direction.

Although Rhona’s stance softened, he could see tears gathering in her eyes. “I guess I said the wrong thing.” He reached for her hand.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You don’t know how women talk,” she said. “When they hear someone is courting, it means marriage. If someone hears about courting but not for marriage, the woman’s reputation is in question.”

It chilled his blood. He’d never try to hurt her, but he had. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Please believe me. I’d never mean to hurt you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away. Then she turned her back to him, but he knew she was wiping more tears—it tore him apart. Without facing him again, she softly said, “May I leave a couple of hours early today? I need to think about things.”

Mark’s stomach clenched. He didn’t know how he’d messed up so badly, but he was sure he had. “Of course. Take all the time you need.” He wanted to hold her in his arms and pull her close. “When I asked to court you, I meant it sincerely. I hope we both decide whether we would suit.”

She nodded, then walked to the door to get her coat and began putting it on.

Before she left, he said, “I would give my soul to earn your trust back.” He’d courted her one day. Less than a day. And he’d made her cry.

“Thank you, Mark.” She stopped as she stepped into the open doorway. “You need to decide. I’ll only give you a few days. I’d like to know when I get back from taking Mrs. Sanderson to Denver. I’ll be back to work on Monday.”

It became obvious to Mark how dependent he’d become on having Rhona by his side. He now knew why men sometimes referred to their wife as their other half or their better half—he completely believed Rhona could be both. He worked the last two hours of Tuesday alone. He didn’t look forward to the next day or the next four days after that until she returned, if she returned. Several times, he found himself looking around for her, but she wasn’t there to talk to. He even missed her quiet presence as they worked. He didn’t need days to think it over. He’d already fallen in love with her.

On Thursday morning, he skipped breakfast at Hearth and Home. His reason for going there was already on her way to Denver. He unlocked the back door and let himself into the darkened shop. For weeks, he’d been walking inside with her. Now the place felt cold and cavernous without her to fill it. After hanging his coat, he surveyed the room. He was surprised to see a white stack on the front counter. That’s not where paper was kept, and it hadn’t been there the night before when he’d locked up. But there it sat—several inches high.

It couldn’t have been left by accident while his store was locked. How did it get here?

As he walked toward it, he could see the careful handwriting filling the top page. A title was centered at the beginning. The Cowboy in Silver City. He was astonished—it was Rhona’s novel. She had left her story for him to read. He glanced around the room, glad that he didn’t have many orders today. He had some time to read. When he picked up the stack, a smaller paper fell to the floor. He placed the manuscript on the table and went back for the note.

I want this published. That’s all. It was not addressed to him or signed by her. Perhaps she didn’t have time to leave a longer message before catching the train. Or she was nervous and that’s all she could write.

Did that mean that Rhona had forgiven him? He hoped so.

Mark sat the small table and read page after page. She had described life in a wild western town as it shooting a bull’s eye. How had she sat in the lush green of Scotland listening to the ocean waves and imagined towering rocky mountains? He could hardly wait to publish it. He was positive the Candle’s readers would be thrilled with the addition. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise him if a Denver paper wanted to post it too. He read all day. He was thankful for Rhona’s trust in him. He would have the first chapter in the newspaper on Saturday and save her a copy for Sunday night when she returned. He could hardly wait for her to get back.

He began typesetting her words and worked at it late into the night. His eyes burned, and his mind fogged over. It was time to get to bed before he fell asleep in the saddle. He would finish it the next day. If he worked hard and stayed late, he hoped to get two or three chapters ready for the press.

As he rode his horse past the Frog Knees Saloon, the same black wagon was pulling away from the back door. He reined his horse to the right and circled around the back of the Tivoli Ballroom, then watched as the empty wagon drove past him and down Main Street again. He had rationalized that maybe the previous delivery had been a result of bad weather or some unfortunate circumstance that pushed it back to midnight. Now, it seemed the clandestine deliveries were the rule and not the exception.

The next morning, Mark woke late. He decided to return to the Hearth and Home for breakfast. First, because no one made better juevos rancheros than they did, and second, because Rhona trusted him again. As he got closer, he realized that he would never be satisfied with only working with Rhona. He wanted to live with her and love her. He wanted to share her dreams. Marriage was his goal.

On Saturday, the Creede Candle ran a headline announcing two more mysterious deaths during the midnight hours. He would have rather had a banner headline for Rhona’s story, but at least he was able to keep part of it on the front page. Even with the sorrow reported on one side of that page, the citizens of Creede were in for a real treat on the other side.