Rhona

Rhona sat on the train looking out the window, amazed to be living in such a beautiful place. The snow-covered mountain peaks cut sharp lines across the cerulean blue sky without a single cloud in sight. The tall lodgepole pines glistened with heavy laden boughs, and the meadows were filled with winter’s gift. She loved everything about living here. Present company excluded. Mrs. Sanderson snorted as she slept against Rhona’s shoulder.

That wasn’t fair of her. Mrs. Sanderson wasn’t an ornery sort, just very demanding. Rhona resolved to be kinder and more forgiving.

The train snaked through the Narrows, and she knew she was almost home. When had she started thinking of Creede as home? She had to admit that although Edwin had brought them here, it was Mark who made her want to stay. Creede was her home now and in the future and possibly with him.

She’d been taken by surprise last week when he’d said he wasn’t interested in marriage. She’d been overlooked for so many years that it had driven a spike through a nerve, she supposed. Unconsciously until that moment, she’d already set her heart on the marriage. Getting out of town couldn’t have come at a better time, letting her clear her head and put the incident into perspective. If courting didn’t lead to marriage, she would be glad to have avoided the sorrow of a poor match.  If it did, she would be happy.

She liked so many things about Mark, and she’d never felt that way about a man before. He’d overcome a deficit in his childhood, rising to the stature of a respected citizen. He was intelligent and hard-working. Brave to come to a new town and try to make a go of it. And she simply liked the way he looked—his face, his shoulders, his legs. She often caught herself gazing at him as they worked.

Her chest ached a bit with the regret she had at letting her temper get away from her. He had a perfectly good excuse. How was he to know how women thought? She had suspected he was naïve about it long before their fight. He looked truly aghast when she’d explained it to him. Still, her pride was bleeding inside her, and she’d scolded him and left. When she was able to be rational about it, she admitted that her friends would never think poorly of her. And who cared what anyone else thought?

She could trust Mark as a gentleman and as her love. She knew his heart was good and true. She had been momentarily blinded, but he had only wanted what he thought was best.

Rhona wanted to apologize to Mark, but she was getting into town too late to go to church. If they hadn’t had to stop for the herd of cows across the tracks, she would have been in Creede in time to find him there. She didn’t know where he lived, but if she asked around perhaps someone would, maybe even Edwin. He could take her over to Mark’s house, and she would apologize. She felt she owed Mark that. If she could do it before Monday, they could go back to the way it was before.

The train pulled into the station and chugged to a stop. Rhona roused Mrs. Sanderson and helped her from the train. Then she walked to Hearth and Home. A bath, a meal, and then when she was presentable, she’d talk with Mark. That’s all she had to do today. Oh, and probably help with the Sunday meal service. When she entered the dining room, the bustle and happy noise of conversation welcomed her with another feeling of being home.

It seemed that all at once, the noise stopped, and every head turned to look at her. For seconds, no one moved. A few smiled, but most stared or whispered to their neighbor, looking her way.

Rhona wondered if she had dirt on her face or was in some way unpresentable. She tugged her coat tighter around her. Eileen delivered the food she had in her hand, then took Rhona by the arm and walked with her up the stairs.

“It will be all right,” Eileen said. “They’ll get used to seeing you around, and it will become normal.”

“Why shouldn’t it be normal?” Rhona asked. “We’ve lived here for months, and I serve them food every day. Is there something wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

“Not at all,” Eileen answered. “It’s just that you’re somewhat of a celebrity now. You should’ve expected as much. It’s all anyone has been talking about the past two days. Rhona this. And did you see that. And I wondered if Rhona . . . Yes, you’re quite famous.” Eileen put her arm around Rhona’s shoulders as they reached the top of the staircase. “I really couldn’t be more proud,” she said, giving her sister a little squeeze as they stopped in front of Rhona’s door. “I’ll get some hot water sent up. Do you need help with your dress before I leave?”

“No, I’ll be fine. But I don’t understand . . .” Rhona started, but her sister was already hurrying down the hallway. She let herself in and began stripping away the grime and smoke of traveling by railway car. She never would have thought writing about the town’s businesses and goings-on would make her stand out or be noticed. It hadn’t before.

She stripped off her travel clothes and lay under her blankets to ward off the chill of the room while she waited for the hot water. Before she knew it, her eyes were fluttering open, and the sun through her window had the slant of evening to it. It had been taxing, caring for Mrs. Sanderson in Denver. Rhona hadn’t realized how sleepy she was, but she was grateful for the short nap. As late as it seemed, she’d missed out on helping with the dinner service. It was still chilly in her room, but if she took a quick bird bath and dressed, she could help clean up the kitchen.

When she reached the bottom of the staircase, her family was sitting together at some tables with a few newspapers folded on top of them. Mark was there and stood at the sight of her. His broad smile warmed her through. Perhaps he’d forgiven her outburst.

“Took you long enough,” Isla said. “I was going to come up and wake you myself. This is your celebration, and I’d like to eat dessert before it’s stale.”

Millie walked in carrying a glass bowl filled with trifle. Eileen followed her with bowls and spoons. “Now that the dishes are done, you show up. We’ll save these for you to wash,” Eileen said with a wink.

“What are we celebrating?” she asked, taking a seat by Mark.

“Your story in the newspaper,” Edwin said, holding a paper in front of him.

“Shouldn’t Mrs. D’Arcy be here, then? It’s really a story about her.”

Her family chuckled. “Not that one,” Isla said.

“This one.” Edwin handed her the paper.

Her eyes scanned to the side of the headliner. The Cowboy in Silver City. She gasped. No. How could it be in the paper? Her stomach dropped to the floor, and blood pounded in her temples. Her gaze traveled to Mark, whose smile broadened. She couldn’t believe that he would just sit there after what he’d done. How could he think this should be celebrated?

Mark placed an envelope on the table in front of her. “This is your payment for the story.”

He seemed so pleased with himself. She never would have guessed this about him—the sneaky, underhanded thief! Of course, he had her family around. He probably thought she wouldn’t throw a fuss with them there.

Her chair scraped across the floor as she stood. Mark and Edwin likewise stood. “How dare you take my private property and spread it across town without my knowledge or my permission? Did you steal it all?”

Mark’s mouth hung open, and he shook his head, but he didn’t say a word in his defense.

What could he say, really? She picked up the envelope and tossed it at his chest. “Keep your money.” Tears clouded her vision as she crossed the room. “And return my story.” She lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs.

This time, when she lay on her bed, sleep didn’t come—only tears that ran out the corners of her eyes and raced down her hairline. Anger built up inside. She flipped to her stomach and screamed into her pillow. The betrayal was deep. Did he think she would celebrate being deceived and robbed? Did he think she’d be quiet? He wasn’t who she’d thought he was, and she mourned the loss.

On Monday morning, Rhona didn’t help serve the restaurant tables. She stayed in the kitchen and cooked. She also didn’t walk with Mark to work. She wouldn’t be working for him anymore or even seeing him if she could help it.

Isla came into the kitchen. “Mark would like two eggs over easy, a rasher of bacon, and for Rhona to speak with him.” She laid the order on the table, grabbed a plate, and left to deliver it.

Millie laughed, and Edwin turned toward Rhona. “You might give him a listen. There could be an easy explanation for this. Sometimes things get a little crazy during courting, but there’s usually an explanation.”

Rhona didn’t see how. “Did you give him my story?” she asked.

Edwin shook his head.

He didn’t look worried or guilty or even offended by the question, and Rhona wondered why. “Or did you let him into my room?” she asked Millie.

“Of course not.”

She had questioned all of her family that morning to see how he’d gotten it, and they’d said they weren’t involved.

Millie opened her mouth as if to say more but then appeared to think on it and didn’t say another word.

Isla returned to the kitchen.

“Tell Mr. Carroll that I have nothing to say to him, and I’m not in the mood to hear anything from him, either.”

Mark finally left after breakfast to open his shop, and Rhona began working with her sisters and Millie, cleaning the restaurant. All that day, she stayed busy and away from anywhere Mark could catch her. He’d come by several times over the past two days, but she’d made sure she wasn’t available to him. He’d returned her story, but the damage had been done.

The next day at midmorning, Julianne reminded her of Tuesday Tea. “You can’t hide away in the restaurant. Come with us. We’re all friends there.”

Rhona could use some female company. She wanted to listen to them talk about their lives and forget how hers had seemed to derail.

As she got closer to the tea shop, her nerves jumped and sputtered in her stomach. What would she say to the women if they had read her story? Of course they’d read it. What if they hated it and thought her silly for writing it? Maybe she shouldn’t go. But Millie and Julianne each had her by the elbow as they walked together.

They entered the tea shop, and a tight knot of women removing and hanging their coats clogged the doorway. She stepped through in turn and was relieved that the conversations continued. No one looked at her or stared at her. These were her friends. She exhaled the breath she was holding.

They must know that she’d be embarrassed. They would understand that she would’ve never put herself out in such a way. She ordered a cup of chamomile tea with the raisin and oatmeal cookies and sat at the table with Ariadne.

Although her mother wasn’t there to soothe her or talk to her, the cookies brought back memories of her childhood home and helped Rhona feel better. What would her mother say about this mess? Ladies continued entering the store, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw her mother huddled in the mass. When Rhona blinked, she was gone. She had wanted her so badly that she had imagined it.

When everyone was seated, and the desserts had been served, the conversation turned to the ladies who were expecting children. Around the room she heard, “How are you feeling, Nora?”

“Patience, when does the doctor think your baby will be here?”

“Have you picked any names, Millie?”

Of course the women all gave an opinion on whether the babies would be girls or boys. From the table beside her, Rhona heard, “Have you been throwing up, Benita? That’s the worst part.”

“Yes, it’s positively primitive,” Benita said as she fanned herself.

“Keep some ginger tea on hand. It helps,” Hannah mentioned, laying her hand on her own rounding belly.

“Eliza dear, you are definitely too large to ride down the mountain, but I’m so glad to see you here. How are you feeling?” Seffi asked.

“I know I told everyone that I probably wouldn’t come any more, but I can’t seem to stay away. And I’m feeling very well. The sled is a smoother ride than on horseback or in a wagon, so it’s no bother at all. I don’t want to miss the Thanksgiving party coming up. This little one won’t keep me down.”

The women had already discussed and decided that she was having a boy because she carried so high.

“Soon we’ll have a dozen more women in town,” Vivian said. “Where will we put everyone for Tea?”

“Last time, I suggested that we also have it on Thursday. Of course, I’ll need to come to both to offer friendship,” Celeste said.

Ariadne sat beside Rhona and said, “Wendell and I greatly enjoyed your story in the newspaper on Saturday. It’s no small thing to share your writing, and I wanted you to know how much I appreciate it. Men have long claimed to be the owners of authorship—as if mere women lack the intelligence for the craft. It’s nice to see a woman taking her place as an authoress.”

Ariadne’s smile warmed Rhona. She reveled in the new-found confidence that climbed up her spine, and she straightened her shoulders. She felt an immense pleasure to think that they had truly enjoyed it.

Although Millie had been there for the conversation Sunday night and heard how the story had been stolen, she added, “A few months ago, we walked for women’s suffrage to have a voice in our community. Your voice in narrative is as important as our voice on the ballot. Men and women need to hear women’s ideas.”

“And how they interpret the world,” Celeste added.

Rhona sat mutely as the women discussed her story. They were animated and excited. It seemed as though they really liked it.

Mariah’s voice rose. “I think I held my breath through all the paragraphs that it took for Miss Luella to save that little lamb from being washed down the river. Then I only got one gulp of air before Clinton West had to go into the raging Rio Grande and save her.”

“Did they both live? And does the lamb live?” Marta asked. “I really can’t wait until Saturday to find out.”

“No,” Beth said, raising her hand and her voice. “Don’t spoil the next installment for me. I’m so looking forward to reading it.”

“And it was obvious to me that he was interested in the twin sister with the red hair before we knew it was Luella,” Vivian said. “Will we get to know more about her?”

“I don’t think he liked her,” Julianne said. “He helped her, but he didn’t even get her name at first. He’s interested in the one with black hair. What was her name?”

“Angela,” Beatrice said.

Rhona was completely flabbergasted. They’d honestly enjoyed reading it. She never would have imagined it. A chill washed down her spine—she realized that they would never get the answers to their questions. They would be disappointed on Saturday when the next part of the story wasn’t printed. Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t want to reward Mark’s deception, but she was torn. She also didn’t want to disappoint the readers.

Oh, my gosh! I have readers.