After supper that evening, Beatrice covered all of the muffins with a towel. She’d made sixty, deciding that she would base how many she made the next week on how many were left after this week. She could gradually increase how many she made, but even Arthur couldn’t eat sixty or seventy muffins on his own, no matter how determined he was that he could.

They sat in the parlor, and he finished reading Tom Sawyer to her, smiling at her reactions. She worked on finishing up her second dress. Now that she had two, she could start working on her aprons and nightgown. Her fingers were sore from all the sewing, but it was a good feeling, because it meant she’d accomplished her goals. Nothing felt better than meeting a goal.

It felt strange to her not to sleep in a nightgown, but she had no choice while she had none. She still felt that an apron was more important, though. She wanted to be able to keep her dresses fresh for as long as possible. Arthur only allowed her to do laundry on the days he was home because he worried about her being outside alone.

When they were done reading, she put her sewing down and moved toward him. This was her favorite part of the day—when he would put his arm around her and they would talk, and occasionally kiss.

“What are your plans while I’m at work tomorrow?” he asked. He loved that she was so industrious—always working to get as much done as she could.

“I will do the usual cooking and cleaning. I also hope to finish at least one apron. I think the house is shaping up nicely, don’t you?” She loved what she’d done with the kitchen, and now she needed to make the rest of the house look just as good.

“I do. I love the new tablecloth. And you’re doing curtains to match?” Truly, he didn’t care about the changes she made to the house, but he knew they were important to her, so he did his best to be supportive of them. Never would he tell her that they didn’t matter at all.

“I am. But just for the kitchen. I think I want to make pillows and curtains that match for the parlor as well, but I have to decide exactly what kind of fabric I want to use.” She looked around her, trying to decide what would go best with the fabric on the sofa.

“Do we need to go to the store tomorrow? You haven’t been in almost a week.”

“I do need to go. Could we go after breakfast? I thought I’d hand out muffins before breakfast.” She was so excited to do something for the people of Creede that she just couldn’t express it.

“You’re going to make me start out my work week exhausted, aren’t you?”

She frowned. “That’s not my intention. Do we need to do things differently?” Beatrice would never make life harder for him if she could help it.

“Not at all. We’ll pass out the muffins, have breakfast, and then we’ll go to the store so you can buy supplies. Will once a week be often enough?”

“Probably Mondays and Thursdays would be best. Are you sure I can’t go alone?” Beatrice didn’t mind that he went with her, but she loved the idea of taking all the time she wanted to peruse the wares of the store.

“Very sure. Not until we’re sure what’s going on. I heard Saturday that another woman has disappeared. It really makes me nervous to see so many ladies go missing.” He didn’t add that it seemed to be all the pretty young women who were vanishing. He was sure there was foul play involved, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

“That’s terrible! I thought there weren’t any young women?”

“There are a few. They’re usually new to town and came here to do one job or another. Then they’re gone. I think someone is taking them.”

“The sheriff really needs to get involved, then.”

“He’s as aware of the situation as everyone else in town is.” Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going through his mind, but he doesn’t seem at all concerned about the women.”

“Should you go talk to him?” Beatrice asked. She couldn’t imagine anyone not worrying about women disappearing. It didn’t make any sense to her at all.

“I don’t think it would do any good at all.” He shrugged. He wanted to do something to get the sheriff off his lazy backside, but he wasn’t sure what would work. So far nothing seemed to. “So what time do we need to be up to give away the muffins you made?”

“I’d say five? That way we can give out muffins for an hour before breakfast, and still have time to go to the store.”

He yawned. “Just thinking of getting up at five makes me tired. I like being a lazy bones and sleeping until seven most days.”

“Me too!” Beatrice grinned at him. “I love that every day we find we have more and more in common.”

“So do I.” He looked at her for a moment, thinking about how everything he’d wanted in a mail-order bride was sitting beside him. She was just perfect for what he needed in life. They had similar interests, she was a good housekeeper, and she cooked like a dream. How could he have wanted anything more?

“I’m going to head to bed, then. Of course, I can take a nap in the middle of the day if I get too tired…you can’t do that.”

“Get over here and kiss me goodnight,” he commanded, tugging at her until she was leaning against him.

“Oh, yes, sir.”

He laughed. “The day you’re really that obedient to me when you don’t want to be will be the day I know I’ve gone to heaven.” Truly he didn’t care how obedient she was about most things. As long as she stayed safe, he would be content.

She laughed, pressing her lips against his. “Goodnight, husband dear.”

“Goodnight, wife.”

She rushed off to her bedroom, brushing out her hair and braiding it quickly before she stripped down into her petticoats to sleep. When she’d married Arthur, she’d had no idea that she would develop feelings for him. He was a good man, and she was starting to feel like she really did belong with him.

Though she missed her mother something fierce, Beatrice knew she would never begrudge her the happiness she was finding with Arthur. She’d only wanted her daughter’s happiness from the day she was born.

After she said her prayers, she whispered, “Goodnight, Mama. I’m happy, but I hope you know just how much I miss you.” She closed her eyes to sleep, her thoughts on her parents and how they would feel if they could see her now. Hopefully, they’d be pleased that she’d made the best of a terrible situation.

* * *

At six the following morning, Beatrice and Arthur were out in front of the house with a basket of muffins, handing the baked goods to all the men who passed by. Everyone was surprised by the gift, and most of the men were downright thankful to have something in their bellies before they headed into the mines to work.

The men stopped one by one, each grabbing a muffin. Only one man refused one, saying that he was allergic to strawberries.

“Maybe next time you can make muffins without strawberries. I like corn muffins a lot.”

She laughed. “I’ll do my best!”

The whole time she passed out muffins, Arthur stood behind her, glowering at men who stepped too close to her when they accepted the treat. She was too pretty to be in the middle of all those men.

“Who are you?” one young man asked as he took the muffin, his eyes lingering a bit too long on her.

“I’m Mrs. Jameson,” she answered, her eyes going to Arthur, who was frowning.

The man frowned. “You’re married?”

Beatrice nodded, trying not to laugh at the disappointment in his voice. “I married Arthur on Tuesday of last week.” Surely when he heard she was a newlywed, he would move on.

“That’s unfortunate.” He walked away, but not before glaring at Arthur.

Beatrice laughed. “Who was that?”

“I have no idea, honestly. He must be new to town.” He shook his head. “There are so many new people in this town, I can’t even begin to keep up with them all.”

At that moment, Beatrice caught the eye of the strange woman across the street. She was wearing the same clothes she’d worn every time Beatrice had seen her—a gray skirt and a pale pink blouse with ruffles on it. She seemed to be trying to tell her something.

Beatrice strained her ears, trying to hear, but she couldn’t tell what the other woman was saying. Suddenly the strange woman ran across the street, running right through a wagon to stand next to Beatrice. “Get inside. Now. There’s danger coming.”

If Beatrice hadn’t already met her, or seen her run through the wagon, she might have hesitated. Instead, she grabbed Arthur’s arm and pulled him toward the door. “We have to get inside. Right now!” She hoped that he would understand her urgency and move with her.

Arthur didn’t question her, though his face was puzzled. Beatrice caught a glimpse of Death as she hurried into the house and shut the door, leaning back against it.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked after a moment. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He stared down at his wife, wondering why her face was so pale.

“You know, I may have. I’m not sure who I just saw, but she told me to get inside.” Beatrice couldn’t hesitate any longer. She needed him to know about how her life had been saved.

“She? There hasn’t been a woman by all morning long.” He studied her face, worried about her.

“I know.” She shook her head. “This is going to sound crazy, but I need to tell you a story.” Just as she was going to tell him to sit down, she heard gunshots outside on the street.

He stared at her with wide eyes, then went over to look out the window, carefully so he wouldn’t be hit by a stray bullet. “Someone is lying on the ground right where you were standing. Shot through the chest.”

She sighed. “That’s what I need to tell you about. Sit down, and I’ll talk while I fix breakfast.”

He frowned, but sat down at the table, giving her his full attention. “Tell me what just happened.”

“I have to start the day my parents died…” She explained about the woman appearing in the wagon with her, and how she told her to get out. Then how she’d seen her parents wagon go over into the ravine, the angel of death standing over them. “I also saw her the day of our picnic. She told me that I shouldn’t feel guilty about being happy with you just because it’s so soon after my parents’ death.” She shook her head. “I’ve asked her and asked her why she couldn’t have saved my parents as well, but she said it was because she was sent here for me, not them.” A tear trickled down her cheek as she told the story. She couldn’t help but relive the events of the day of her parents’ death.

“And you just saw this woman again? There wasn’t anyone but us there at the picnic. Or outside. Well, no women at least.” Arthur worried that she was losing her mind for just a moment, but she was the most level-headed woman he’d ever been around.

“She was there. I watched her walk through a wagon to get to me. She told me to go inside, said I had to go immediately. As I grabbed you and pulled you with me, I saw the Angel of Death again. I knew he was there for someone. I’m just glad it wasn’t us.” She sighed. “I really do know how crazy this sounds, but it’s true. I haven’t said anything because I didn’t want you to think I’d lost my mind.”

“It’s hard not to think that.” Arthur studied her for a moment as she moved efficiently at the stove. She didn’t seem to be given to fanciful thoughts, so it was odd that she would believe something like this so strongly. “I believe that you believe it, and I believe that whatever it was saved our lives. That’s all I can agree with for now.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not trying to find an asylum to take me to.” She slid French toast and bacon onto two plates and carried them to the table. “I believe she’s my guardian angel.” She hadn’t been sure what to call the woman before, but as soon as the words passed her lips, she knew they were right.

“That sounds crazy, too!”

“I know it does, but I don’t know what else to think. No one else sees her. She’s saved my life twice now. After my parents died, she told me to walk to Creede, and she even told me which bench to sit on. She said that you were the man I’m meant to be with.” Beatrice shrugged, not knowing how else to explain all that had happened.

“Well, I agree with her about something.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Let me know if you see her again. Otherwise, we’re going to pretend we never had this conversation.”

She sighed. “I wish I could pretend I’ve never seen any of these things.” She rubbed her hands over her face, wanting to be able to scrub away memories.

He reached over and rubbed her arm. “I wish you could too. Just stay safe.”

“I don’t think my angel will let me get into trouble. I think I could go places without you.”

He shook his head adamantly. “You’re going to give your guardian angel gray hair with that kind of attitude!” He believed that God could save people, but they needed to help Him. If a person prayed for a job but never went to apply for one, how could God help them?

“Her hair is already kind of gray.”

“What exactly does she look like?”

“Hmm…well, she’s about sixty, with gray hair and these piercing blue eyes. She really is looking out for me as only my mother has before her.” She frowned, trying to remember more details. “And she’s always wearing the same gray skirt and pink, ruffled blouse.”

“Nope, never seen anyone in town who matches that description.” He shook his head. “It’s my job to look out for you now. And I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger—guardian angel or no guardian angel.” He finished his breakfast and stood up. “Do you mind waiting on the dishes until after we’ve gone to the store? I’m going out the back way, so there’s no chance we’ll run into the trouble that was there.”

She was a bit concerned about how blasé he was acting over the whole shooting and murder in front of their home. “Do you hear gunfire a lot?”

He shrugged. “Once a week or so. That’s the first time someone has been killed on my doorstep, though.”

“You’re acting like it happens every day.” She took her shopping basket and followed him out the door. “I want to get fabric for the pillows and curtains today, as well as food to last us a few days. You seem to think you need to eat three meals a day every day. It gets tiring after a while…”

“Really? Do you want me to take a turn cooking?” His eyes were filled with humor as he asked.

She laughed. “Not at all! I prefer to have a variety in my meals.” She reached for his hand as they walked. “I honestly enjoy cooking for you. I like to see your face when I make something new.” Her mother had always said it was a joy to serve the ones you loved, but before that day, she’d never seen it.

“Like every meal, then? You know how to cook a lot of things!”

“I do. And I think I’m going to see if there’s a recipe book at the store. If there is, I’ll be able to cook even more things for you.”

“You’re spoiling me. Pretty soon, I’m going to expect to come home from work to food on the table and a beautiful woman at the stove.” He paused for a moment. “Oh, wait. I think I’m already used to it! You’ll have to keep spoiling me now.”

She grinned, walking into the mercantile after he opened the door. She watched as Arthur went to the counter, so she walked to the back of the store, straining her ears to see what she would hear them say.

“Do you know of any new women in town?” Arthur asked. “Older women, gray hair, blue eyes?”

“Nope.” The man who ran the mercantile had a deep voice and looked to be around fifty. “Sounds like my kind of lady, though…so if you happen to see someone who looks like that, send her my way.”

Arthur laughed. “Sorry, Mortimer. I haven’t seen anyone like that. I heard tell someone who matches that description was in town before the shots this morning, but I didn’t see her myself.”

“Well, if you do see her, tell her I’m a-waitin’ for her!” Everyone in town knew that Mortimer was a widower. He and his son had run the mercantile together for ten years. Mortimer was ready to marry again, and he wasn’t shy about it.

“You know I will. My wife is picking fabric for pillows and curtains. She’s turning my house into a whole new place. And she can cook like a dream. You should come to supper one night. I promise I won’t cook.”

“Good, because I’ve had all the beans and cornbread I can stomach. Marriage seems to agree with you.”

Arthur grinned, patting his stomach, which was full of a delicious breakfast. “It does. I had no idea how much I needed a woman to make my life better. I had been thinking about sending for a mail-order bride, but it felt strange writing a letter to some woman I’ve never met in Massachusetts.”

“I’ve heard there’s a woman in a town named Beckham who matches up people who are happy for the rest of their lives. There’s supposed to be a newspaper starting up in a month or two, and I might just stick an advertisement in it. I would love to have a wife to make me delicious meals.”

Beatrice bit her lip as she hurried to the front of the store, putting the two bolts of fabric she wanted on the counter. “I need two yards of this and eight yards of this,” she said, pointing to each bolt in turn.

“Beatrice, this is my friend, Mortimer Jackson. Mortimer, this is my wife, Beatrice.”

Beatrice smiled and nodded her head. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” Mortimer grinned at her. “I can see you’ve been very good for Arthur here.”

“I try,” she said softly.

“I invited Mortimer to supper. Tonight?” Arthur asked.

Beatrice nodded. “That works out well for me. I’ll fix something especially delicious.” She looked at Mortimer. “Oh, that reminds me. Do you have any recipe books here? I know how to cook a lot of things, but Arthur sure does like having something new every night.”

“I think I do.” Mortimer dug under the counter and found a book. “Will this work for you?”

Beatrice took it, flipping through it quickly. In her cursory look, she found several recipes she’d never before made. “Yes, this is wonderful. I’ll take it.” She wandered off again, searching through the food.

It didn’t take her long to have the counter piled high. “This will work just fine,” she said when she’d finished.

Mortimer quickly rang everything up on his cash register, and Arthur paid him. They walked home the same way they had the previous week, with each of them carrying an overflowing wooden box.

“I’m not sure we can keep buying this much every week. Our house is going to have things falling out the windows soon.”

She gave him a cheeky grin. “You should give me a budget, then. I’m perfectly capable of sticking to a budget.” She wouldn’t always be buying the way she had been, either. She was only buying so much to get the house set up how she wanted it.

“I can’t do that! It’s too fun to see what you’ll buy and what you’ll make from the purchases.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t complain, then, should you?”

“I guess not.” After he’d put his box on the kitchen table, he kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you at lunch time.”

“I’ll make something.” She didn’t know what, but she always came up with something. She knew that he wasn’t a picky eater, so it was easy to please him where food was concerned.

She spent the morning baking bread and putting on a soup for lunch. It was so easy to just stick a pot full of ingredients on the stove and let it cook until he was ready for his lunch. He never complained about having soup for lunch every day.

After lunch that day, there was a knock at the door, and she hurried over to see who it was. Archie. She shrank away from the door, refusing to open it. There was something about the man that made her skin crawl. No way would she face him without Arthur at her side.

There was another knock, this time louder. “I know you’re in there!”

She stayed perfectly still, hoping he wouldn’t hear her moving around at all. She wasn’t about to answer the door. He was the man she got the worst feelings from.

After he’d left, she opened the door connecting the house to Arthur’s office. “Mr. Grady just came by and pounded on the door,” she told Arthur once she had his attention. “He knocked for a long time, even calling out that he knew I was there.”

“Were you frightened?”

She nodded emphatically. “I was very frightened. And I didn’t open the door.” She shivered, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill Archie had made her feel.

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”

“Well, look who’s here,” Archie Grady said from the doorway. “Does your pretty little wife spend a lot of time in your office while you’re working, Arthur?” Archie’s eyes went to Beatrice, and he looked at her in a way only a husband should look at a wife.

“Only when she sees something slimy. Then she comes over and asks me to protect her from it.” Arthur met the other man’s eyes dead on. He knew Archie would know he was being insulted, but Arthur just didn’t care. Archie’s uncle may own the town, but Arthur was not going to kowtow to him.

Beatrice stood behind Arthur while he talked, keeping her head down. She knew Archie would take it as a subservient gesture, but really it was to keep him from seeing her anger. She wanted to throw something at the man, but she didn’t need to get a reputation for having a temper.

Arthur took the hand that rested on his shoulder, giving her strength. “Did you need to send a telegram, Mr. Grady?” If the man wasn’t there to conduct business, he could get out of his office.

Archie frowned and shook his head. “Not at the moment, I don’t.”

“Then is there a reason you stopped by my office? Something else I can help you with?”

“No. I’ll be going.” Archie’s eyes lingered on Beatrice as he left the office.

“I don’t like him,” Beatrice said unnecessarily.

“No one does, my dear. No one does.”

* * *

Supper that evening was a fun time for Beatrice. Mortimer, as he insisted she call him, was full of interesting stories. He’d fought for the South in the War Between the States, and he talked about how awful the war was. He went into great detail about his journey west—made on foot—because trains weren’t as readily available at that time.

He talked about his wife and son, and she listened eagerly to every word because his voice was full of love when he talked about his marriage. In Mortimer’s eyes, his wife had been nearly perfect, and he loved to tell everyone about her.

After he’d left, she did the dishes, then went in search of Arthur, finding him exactly where she expected him to be—in the parlor, reading silently. She took her spot beside him on the sofa, her sewing basket at her feet.

“If Mortimer came to the door while you were at work, should I open the door?” She felt very comfortable with the man and would happily allow him in.

Arthur eyed her for a moment before silently shaking his head. “I like Mortimer, and we’ve been friends for a long time. But I can’t fully trust him, or any other man in this town, until I know who’s behind the disappearances.”

“You don’t even trust Mortimer?” She was surprised. They’d seemed like such close friends to her.

“He’s probably my best friend in this whole town…but no, I don’t trust him. Not where you’re concerned. I’ve found myself a precious jewel, and I can’t trust any man who might be a thief.” He couldn’t imagine allowing her to be alone with any man. They would all love her just as much as he did. How could they not?

She shook her head at him. “I think you may value me too highly.”

“I don’t think I could put a value on you. You are my wife. No, there’s no value that’s too high.” He showed her the book he was reading. “Have you read Little Women?”

She nodded. “It’s been a favorite of mine for many years.”

“This is the sequel. Little Men.”

“I haven’t read that one!” She was excited at the very idea of a new book by Louisa May Alcott.

“Then pick up your sewing and I’ll get to reading it.” He opened the book to the first chapter, cleared his throat, and started reading.

Beatrice found herself lost in the words of a writer she greatly admired. She’d always thought she could be a writer herself, but it had never quite worked out for her, though the passion was there.

Over an hour and three chapters later, he closed the book. “I’m afraid I need to stop there. I’m more tired than usual tonight. My wife forced me to risk my life, handing out muffins to strangers this morning.”

“Did you find out who died?” she asked softly. She’d tried not to think of the shooting all day, but his words brought it back to her.

“I didn’t know the man. He was here for the summer, working.” There were a lot of men who drifted through town for a while, then left again.

“Someone needs to notify his family.”

“That was my job earlier today. I sent them a telegram.”

“Will there be a funeral?” She knew she was showing an inordinate amount of interest in the death of a stranger, but after her parents’ deaths, she felt the need to do something for this man.

“I don’t know…”

“I would like to have one, if you don’t mind. I will make food for a reception after, but everyone should have the right to pay their last respects.”

Arthur nodded. He could see it was important to her, and he felt strongly enough for her that he couldn’t imagine telling her no. “All right. I’ll wire Reverend Bing.”

“Thank you.” She was pleased he didn’t question her need to do it and simply went along with it. He was better to her than she deserved.