The Calling Birds_The Fourth Day Read online

  Maybe his luck would change today. With time Miss Bell might come to respect or even enjoy his company. He needed this marriage to last.

  He should’ve looked for Gus first, but he couldn’t stop scanning the women in search of his bride. Even wild-swept from the storm and huddled together shivering from the cold—or perhaps the knowledge that they stood in a house of ill repute—the women were a fine-looking bunch. How had Mrs. Walters managed that?

  A raven-haired, pale-skinned woman standing slightly apart from the rest caught his attention. Her beauty would’ve been enough to hold any man spellbound but her tiny size made him rigid with concern.

  A woman so small wouldn’t last long in a town like Noelle.

  His worry turned to anger. Whoever had asked her to come here should be horsewhipped!

  A faint smile curved her mouth as if she was amused by the prospect of being housed in a brothel. He must be dreaming. She shouldn’t be here and she couldn’t be amused.

  She surveyed the room, studying everything and everyone, until she saw him. Then she stared at him the way he felt he must be staring at her, as if mesmerized.

  “I’ve come for a bride,” a voice proclaimed loudly, a familiar voice that made him cringe. “Which one of you is the future Mrs. Peregrine?”

  The woman spun to face the speaker—his Grandpa Gus.

  A wave of gasps and tittering laughter swept the crowd. Several of the women glanced at the tiny woman who’d captivated him. She was now contemplating Gus with wide eyes.

  Her gaze darted to him. When she found him still observing her, her expression went blank and devoid of emotion.

  She squared her shoulders, strode straight up to Gus, and said in a lyrical voice with a seductively foreign accent, “I am the bride you seek, Mr. Peregrine. My name is Birdie Bell.”

  A surge of euphoria followed quickly by alarm made him stagger and lean heavily against the nearest wall. This tiny Frenchwoman couldn’t be Miss Bell. He asked for a strong woman. This one wouldn’t be able to hold up under his workload, the rough town, or the surrounding wilderness. She’d abandon Noelle and him.

  Could he blame her if she did?

  If she didn’t, she might die here.

  “No!” His voice shot out louder than Gus’ a moment ago.

  Complete silence descended around him. The chance to make a good impression was long gone. Everyone in the front hall stared at him including his tiny bride.

  He limped toward her.

  Her gaze dropped to his leg and her lips parted on a gasp. When their eyes met again, she smiled. He’d told her in his letter that he’d lost a leg in the war. She’d guessed who he was.

  Did the prospect of marrying him please her or was she merely relieved she wouldn’t be marrying a man forty years older than her?

  He realized he’d wrote that Peregrines’ Post and Freight was a family run business but he’d been remiss in not describing the members of his family.

  “Sorry for being late. I’m Jack Peregrine and this is my grandfather, Gus Peregrine. Will you—” He’d been about to ask if she’d come home with him and stay in his brother’s, Max, empty room. It’d be better than residing in a whorehouse, but it probably wouldn’t be appropriate for them to live together before they were married.

  He could ask her to say her vows with him right now and then—

  What if she said no? What if she said yes?

  Her smile faded to a shadow of its former brilliance. She raised her chin and studied him with eyes dark as blue twilight and glittering with questions. She’d soon see that they weren’t the right match. But he needed a wife.

  He needed to reassess his plans.

  “I’ll call on you tomorrow, Miss Bell. I must take my grandfather home.” He grabbed Gus by the elbow and pulled him away.

  His bride’s gaze stayed on him until he crossed La Maison’s threshold and shut the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 3

  After sharing a meal in the whorehouse’s ground floor kitchen with Mrs. Walters and the other brides, Birdie paused at the bottom of the stairs. Despite being bone tired, her chaotic thoughts made her too jittery to go upstairs and sleep.

  She’d finally met her groom. The saloon had been packed with men. None of them had held her attention. Not even the fearsome sheriff.

  Then a tawny-haired lion of a man had entered La Maison’s front hall. Her gaze went to the door, longing to see him again.

  Why was he different? Many of the men in Noelle were not only tall and handsome but muscular from the strenuous trades associated with a mining town. But Jack Peregrine had watched her like she was the only person in the room. She’d regarded him the same way. She wanted him and only him.

  When his grandfather had spoken, her hopes had been dashed, but quickly resurrected. She’d never been so happy to discover a man had a limp. But despite their interest in each other, Jack Peregrine walked away from her.

  He’d left her in a whorehouse rather than take her home with him.

  She probably shouldn’t fault him overly for that. He had a befuddled relative to care for. Jack had exhibited a great deal of concern and care for his feisty grandfather. He’d apologized for being late meeting her. He’d said he’d call on her tomorrow.

  He’d also shouted the word “no” immediately after she’d told his grandfather her name. That rejection still rang in her ears. Similar to Jack’s letters, the first word from his mouth sounded like he didn’t want her in Noelle.

  He wasn’t the only one.

  Madame Bonheur had strenuously protested the removal of her working girls, and herself, to a building across the street. When the woman’s argument with Mrs. Walters and the reverend erupted in the hall, Birdie had been upstairs with Felicity, Kezia, Agatha, and Maybelle—who from the moment she joined the brides hadn’t stopped complaining about everyone while bragging endlessly about herself.

  Pearl, the only soiled dove who’d stayed, had been helping them settle into their shared bedroom. The woman’s welcoming manner and soothing voice had immediately put Birdie at ease. But her slender figure, honey-blonde hair, and pale blue eyes had made Birdie’s imagination race with possibilities.

  Pearl was a dressmaker’s dream.

  Birdie’s hand fell from the staircase railing to tap the velvet sewing case attached to her chatelaine belt. If she had access to her fabrics, she’d already be creating a replacement for Pearl’s dress. While not vulgar, the woman’s clothing wasn’t respectable either, nor was it anywhere good enough for such a kind but also protective soul.

  Pearl had used her body to barricade their bedroom door rather than let the curious brides rush out for even a peek at the madam. At first, the gesture had puzzled Birdie. Then it had filled her with outrage.

  What had Madame Bonheur done to Pearl to make the woman jump so swiftly to shield the brides from her employer?

  Birdie’s hand jumped as well—to her scissors hanging next to her sewing case. If she ever heard Madame’s voice again, she’d be ready to defend herself.

  The brothel owner’s fake French accent would make her easily recognizable.

  Even now the tone and the reason behind using it—the demand to appear more exotic and elicit men’s carnal attention—made Birdie cringe. Thankfully her sewing skills had saved her from the life of a French whore.

  Frenchmen had so many more opportunities. They also had their own challenges. Like being too proud and hot-tempered to bend under an English tyranny to the north. The Colony of British Columbia may have joined the Dominion of Canada since her time there, but she doubted if the change would’ve made any difference to her brothers.

  Prejudices ran deep. She’d be foolish to hope it’d be any different in Noelle. She’d do well to find out more about this town and the people who ruled it.

  Had Sheriff Draven heard about her brothers? Was he familiar with northern outlaws and robberies? Did he work alone? Did he answer to the mayor or the reverend? How friendly was he with Jack Pereg
rine?

  She needed to question someone with intimate knowledge of the town.

  Voices in a side room drew her attention. The reverend had pointed it out as a parlor. Inside, Pearl was once again helping several brides get comfortable.

  When Minnie Gold saw Birdie standing in the doorway, the woman kindly beckoned for her to come in and join them. “Are you missing your sewing as much as I miss my embroidery?”

  She felt her eyes widen in surprise. Minnie had spoken to her in perfect French—an unusual skill for a lady’s maid. “Where did you learn to speak French so beautifully?” she asked.

  Minnie ducked her head and replied in English, “I had a close relationship with my mistress. She taught me many things.” Her voice grew hushed and hoarse. “We were like sisters.”

  Birdie found herself nodding and frowning at the same time. This might explain why the maid carried herself with the grace and manners of a highborn lady, but she couldn’t help thinking that Minnie wasn’t being completely honest with her or the others.

  She continually modified her own words and actions, so she could perfect the art of concealing rather than revealing. She sensed that the women in this room were doing the same.

  Cara Donnelly smiled easily and often, especially at the new fur hat, woolen coat and warm-looking boots she’d worn during their trip to Noelle. The flame-haired Irishwoman had come well prepared, but whenever she said her last name it came out with an undercurrent of tension or an edge of unfamiliarity.

  Molly Norris perched on the edge of her seat, holding her goose close but also away from Cara and Minnie. Her long hair kept falling forward to partially conceal the scar that ran from her eye down her nose to her lip. The wound looked new. Possibly only a few weeks old. It might fade, but Molly would never be free of the mark or her obvious love for a bird that she treated like the dearest of friends.

  Avis Smith sat in the corner, positioning herself—as had become her routine—slightly distant from everyone else. She adjusted her bonnet and gloves while she kept her dark-brown eyes fixed on the Bible that was her constant companion.

  Like Birdie, these women had secrets they wished to hide.

  She would’ve liked to get to know them better or at least offer them more comfort than the fabric she’d handed out during the journey up the mountain, but Pearl was the only local left in La Maison who could answer her questions.

  She drew in a deep breath, pushed aside her concern and curiosity, and claimed the chair closest to Pearl. The prostitute gave her a welcoming smile as the chatter between Minnie, Cara, and Molly resumed.

  She returned Pearl’s smile but said nothing. Probably best to eavesdrop on the conversation in progress and see what it revealed. Unfortunately, the discussion kept circling around the fact they were being housed in a whorehouse and that when—or now more accurately if they got married, they’d say their vows in a saloon.

  Even worse Pearl had gone silent.

  She drummed her fingers on her sewing case. Without any fabric, she could do nothing with the needles and thread inside. Her hand moved to the pencil and miniature notepad also hanging from her belt.

  She kept listening as she sketched a new dress design. A poor one. As usual, something was missing. She wouldn’t know what until she started sewing. What was Jack doing? Was he working? His letters had mentioned lots of work. She shook her head, added another line to her design, and tried to focus on the voices around her.

  A hesitant hand touched her pencil. She realized she’d once again stopped drawing. She glanced up to find Pearl staring longingly at her tiny sketchpad.

  “May I?” the woman asked.

  No one else was in the parlor. When had they left? She quickly handed the pencil and paper to Pearl—to keep her from leaving as well and because the woman looked so keen to hold them.

  “Have you lived in Noelle long?” she asked.

  The pencil in Pearl’s hand flew across the page with sure strokes. “Long enough.”

  “I heard that Noelle has a lawman named Sheriff Draven. Do you know him?”

  Pearl went very still. Unnaturally still. Finally she said, “He’s a frequent customer, yes.”

  Birdie silently berated herself for being insensitive. A lifetime of running away from people rather than staying with them had stunted her social skills. She hoped Pearl wouldn’t run away from her. “Forgive me for asking. I’m worried about losing my inventory.”

  “What inventory?”

  Birdie breathed a sigh of relief when Pearl began drawing again.

  “I had a dress shop in Denver before coming to Noelle. I brought a dozen bundles of fabric and partially made dresses with me. They now reside in Peregrines’ Post and Freight while I’m here unable to watch over them and keep them safe. Noelle is lucky to have a sheriff, but…does he work alone or have a deputy to help him?”

  “He’s all alone.” An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, but at least Pearl didn’t stop drawing this time. “I mean, the mayor pays him to protect the town, and I don’t think he needs anyone’s help.”

  The news increased Birdie’s relief and her worry. She only had one lawman to watch out for, but he was still the worst one possible. Or had he mellowed lately?

  “A sheriff’s job must take him many places. Did an interest in mining bring Draven to Noelle?”

  “Two years ago, he was wounded in a shoot-out with the Quigg gang and staggered into town.” Pearl’s voice had gone breathless as she recounted the event. “Doc Deane fixed him up and Mayor Hardt hired him.” She stopped abruptly, shrugged and handed back Birdie’s pencil and sketchpad. “That’s all I know.”

  Pearl had not only completed Birdie’s dress design but transformed it into a masterpiece. “C’est incroyable, Pearl! What a talent you have. Dieu te bénisse! Thank you for helping me and all of the brides.”

  Pearl smiled shyly. “Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow you’ll be back with your sewing and your groom.”

  Birdie’s shoulders slumped. “I hardly know the man.”

  “Who have you been paired with?”

  “Jack Peregrine.” Birdie bristled with an unfamiliar jealousy. Had Jack been Pearl’s customer? She watched for a change in Pearl’s demeanor as she asked, “Do you know him?”

  “Don’t worry.” Pearl’s posture assumed none of her earlier tension when they’d discussed Draven. “You and your inventory will be safe with Jack. He’s as dedicated to his business as he is to his family.”

  The word dedicated drained the rigidity from her body. “I’m relieved to hear you say this. Merci.”

  Pearl rose to leave. “But if you need the sheriff, look for him in his jail. He lives in the first building on the left as you head toward Peregrines’ Post on the other side of town.”

  Bon Dieu! She’d have to walk by Draven’s residence every day? No, twice a day. Every morning and night if she remained unmarried and unable to move in with her husband. That would be courting disaster.

  She had to make a decision. Then she had to ensure that it happened. Tomorrow she was either getting married or she was loading her bundles of inventory into another wagon and leaving Noelle and Jack Peregrine.

  CHAPTER 4

  The 1st day of Christmas

  December 25, 1876

  “What the blazes happened here?” The door connecting Jack’s carpentry shop to the back of the freight office slammed behind him with a bang that echoed his bellow of disbelief.

  Bright rolls of fabric, heaps of ribbon, lace, and partially made dresses lay strewn over every stack in the storage area. The confusion of colors made his head hurt. Heavenly Father, please tell me I’m dreaming.

  The early hour shed no light on the situation. The office harbored as many shadows as the pair of windows on the opposite wall. He lifted his lantern higher, rubbed his eyes, and took a second look.

  Nope. His luck still hadn’t changed for the better.

  Another task had been heaped on his already mountain-high work
load—and Grumpy Gus had to be the culprit. Why had his grandfather removed Miss Bell’s belongings from their transport sacks? The cantankerous side of the old man had been appearing more often than his cooperative counterpart.

  “Hellfire!” A fist of panic punched his heart. Had Gus wandered off again? If he reached the snowpack beyond the tree line, he might trigger an avalanche and plummet to—

  “Is cursing how you say hello?”

  The question came from the other side of the hills of rainbow shrouded freight where he now glimpsed the faint glow of another lantern.

  “I know yer mother—God rest her sweet-as-sarsaparilla soul—taught you better ’n that.”

  His worry turned to relief, then frustration and finally acceptance. “Good morning.” He aimed for a cheerful tone but he doubted if he’d have fooled a stranger, let alone someone who knew him as well as Gus.

  “That’s better but not great. I’m adding brushing up on yer manners to my list.”

  That Gus had a task list was nothing new. Jack had one as well. Lately Gus might’ve slowed down, but the drive to work hard ran deep in the Peregrine family.

  The smell of brewing coffee wafted from the other side of the stacks where Gus remained hidden from view. As long as the old man was somewhere in the building, it was a better day than most. And today was no different than any other. Put family and their shipping business first. Ignore his compulsion to barricade his life against heartache.

  Instead, he must lay his soul bare and do whatever was necessary—including getting married again.

  A vision rose in his mind. His tiny bride standing below him with her chin held high, questioning him with eyes that hid as much as they revealed.

  Wary but curious. Watchful. Like a colly bird.

  No, smaller than a blackbird and full of contrasts. Black hair. Pale skin.

  A tiny chickadee perched on the tip of his open palm. One false move and she’d take flight and never be seen again. He’d be left with only memories. Her unwavering regard had entranced him, but her smile had rocked his dreams.