The Bride of Willow Creek(19)

“Wait.” Angie frowned. “If the Govenors are wealthy, then why haven’t they offered to pay for Daisy’s operation?”

Molly blinked as if shutters had come down over her gaze, then she stared at the schoolhouse clock and jumped to her feet. “Glory be, the morning is half over and I haven’t even made the bed yet.” Walking toward the back door, she offered the obligatory comments about meeting Angie—so nice and et cetera—and Angie returned the same polite remarks. At the door, Molly patted the sleeve of Angie’s wrapper. “I don’t mean to dodge your question . . . well, I guess I do. The thing is, it’s better if you hear about the Govenors from Sam.”

Later, after Angie had tidied herself and the house and had set about mixing, rolling out, and cutting strips of noodles, she thought about what she’d learned from Molly.

Lucy and Daisy had grandparents nearby. Which meant that Angie would probably meet the Govenors eventually. Dread made her stomach cramp. If the Govenors hadn’t known that Sam was married, they were in for a terrible shock. If they had known, they had kept the secret. Judging by Molly’s comments they would be horrified and scandalized to learn of Angie’s appearance, which exposed their daughter’s shameful choices.

She was still thinking about Herbert and Winnie Govenor at half past three, when Lucy and Daisy ran in the front door and then stopped short when they saw the noodles Angie had hung to dry on every surface.

“We’re going down to the Old Homestead,” Lucy announced, picking up a noodle. She sniffed the strip of dough, then dropped it back on the curve of the chair top.

“Not yet,” Angie said pleasantly. “Before you run off to play, I want you both to clean up your room. I know this morning was a bit chaotic, but from now on I want you to make your bed before you leave for school.” She smiled at two sullen faces. “I’m sure that’s what you usually do anyway, isn’t it?”

“We don’t have to make our bed every day.”

As Angie had suspected, Lucy took the lead while Daisy hung back, standing on her twisted foot so that her hem dragged and covered the specially made shoe she wore. Her left hip jutted and her spine tilted awkwardly in a way that made Angie wonder if the stance was painful.

“No, you don’t have to, but proper young ladies do,” Angie said, holding her voice level. “And I seem to recall your father mentioning other chores, too.”

“We can’t dust. Not with noodles hanging on everything.” Lucy started toward the back door, pausing only to dump her books and tablet on the floor beside the coal shuttle. “Come on, Daisy. Let’s go.”

Frantically, Angie tried to think of the best way to handle outright disobedience. Give Lucy a smack as she was itching to do? Grab them before they dashed out the door and lock them inside?

“If you leave without cleaning your room, you will regret it.” Even to her own ears the threat sounded hollow. “You’ll be punished.” Better, but too vague. However, to threaten anything specific would send her skittering out on thin ice since she didn’t know Sam’s policies regarding punishment. Moreover, she could easily imagine herself striking a man, like Sam, but she couldn’t picture herself striking a child.

A burst of giggles suggested punishment was nothing to be feared in this house. They were out the back door before Angie darted forward and shouted, “Wait! I need to know where you’re going!”

Lucy looked back at her. “I told you. We’re going down to the Old Homestead.”

That sounded harmless enough. “All right,” Angie said angrily. “But be home in time for supper.” The first skirmish had gone to the general, Miss Lucy, who best knew the rule book. By tomorrow Angie would also know the rules, and next time they would engage on a level field. “Lucy? What exactly is the Old Homestead?”

“It’s the fanciest parlor house on Myers Street,” Lucy shouted before their golden heads dropped below the crest that sheared off sharply toward Bennet Street. “It’s where the prettiest whores work.”





Chapter 4

Three pairs of furious eyes shot daggers at him. Sam felt as if he had walked through his front door to face a firing squad.

“Where have you been?” Angie enunciated emphatically as if each angry word were followed by an exclamation point.

“I told you I’d be late.” Passing the table where Angie and the girls sat, he walked to the stove and lifted the lid off a tall pot. The fragrance of beef stew and homemade noodles made his knees go weak. He couldn’t recall the last time a decent meal had been cooked on this stove. “After work I rode up to Gold Hill and checked a couple of my claims. One might have promise. We’ll see.”