Calico Brides
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction
Prologue
A Birthday Wish
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Miss Bliss and the Bear
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Buttons for Birdie
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
A Blessing for Beau
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
About the Author
INTRODUCTION
A Birthday Wish
Gladys Polson feels led to help a crotchety widower who is wealthy in material things but poor in spirit. Haydn Keller comes to Calico at his grandfather’s request and wonders what Gladys’s purpose is in reaching out to his grandfather. Will the two young people fulfill the old man’s birthday wish?
Miss Bliss and the Bear
Annie Bliss decides to knit hats and mittens for soldiers at a nearby fort, knowing they must be as lonely for their families as her brother, also in the army, is. But fort chaplain Jeremiah Arnold isn’t sure he wants a woman hanging around the fort—even one as beautiful and well meaning as Miss Bliss.
Buttons for Birdie
Birdie Landry, former saloon girl and new Christian, can barely make ends meet on her income from her sewing. She needs additional funds to buy supplies to make everyday dresses for other girls wanting to leave the saloons behind. When storekeeper Ned Finnegan pays her more for her extra eggs than they are worth, she rejects his help. Will Ned’s project, “Buttons for Birdie,” prove the depth of his love?
A Blessing for Beau
Schoolteacher Ruth Fairfield knows the three orphaned Pratt children well. When their uncle Beau arrives to take care of them, he refuses any offers of help. They clash over what is best for the children, but will the blessing Ruth plans lead to disaster…or true love?
© 2013 by Darlene Franklin
Print ISBN 978-1-61626-746-9
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62416-096-7
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62416-095-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
Dedication
I dedicate Calico Brides to the staff and residents of Wadley Care Center in Purcell, Oklahoma. They have helped me heal and followed the progress of this book with great enthusiasm. The staff are the people who put “care” into the center’s name.
Prologue
Calico, Kansas, 1875
Gladys Polson opened the door to her two lifelong friends, Annie Bliss and Ruth Fairfield. “Come in out of the cold. Welcome to the first meeting of the year of the Calico Ladies Sewing Circle.”
“From what Ma says, we can expect equal parts sewing, missions, and gossip.” Annie removed her wool-knit cape and hung it on the coat tree.
“Someone is standing on the opposite corner but isn’t coming any closer.” Ruth, a little older than Annie and Gladys but a good friend, cleared a small spot on the window to the right of the door.
Gladys peered over her head. “It’s hard to tell, wrapped up in all those warm clothes, but I think it’s Birdie Landry.”
Annie drew in a shocked breath. “Birdie?”
Ruth slipped her arms back into her coat. “We must welcome her. I’ll invite her to sit with us; she’s about our age.”
Before Gladys or Annie could respond, Ruth opened the door and headed across the street. Casting an amused glance at Annie, Gladys put on her coat and opened the door. “You can welcome anyone who comes before we get back.”
Ruth’s impulsive action didn’t surprise Gladys. The pastor’s daughter did her Christian duty with a full heart, even in unpleasant circumstances. Gladys had learned to follow her friend’s lead and let her heart catch up with her later.
Welcoming Calico’s saloon-girl-turned-saint to the Sewing Circle qualified as one of those uncomfortable times. Using a trick she had learned from singing in choir—thinking of happy things so she could smile no matter how she felt—Gladys smiled and prayed silently. Thank You, Lord, for Birdie’s salvation. Thank You for bringing her here today. Help me be a good friend. When Gladys reached the near corner, Ruth waved and crossed the street with Birdie close behind. “Good news. Birdie will be joining us today.”
So Ruth had already coaxed the reluctant woman to accompany her. Gladys extended a hand. “I’m so glad you came, Birdie.”
A faint smile played around Birdie’s mouth. Though not painted like the scarlet woman Gladys’s parents warned her about, Birdie’s lips were so full, so naturally red, that she looked overdressed. Gladys attributed the pink in her cheeks to a brisk walk in the cold, or maybe her uncertainty about her welcome. “Mrs. Polson encouraged me to attend, but I hope the good ladies of Calico don’t object to my presence.”
“You are a new creature in Christ. The Bible says so. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” Ruth’s tone took on the scolding aspect that earned her respect in the classroom where she taught Calico’s children.
Annie opened the door and helped Birdie remove her coat. “We’d best hurry in. Mrs. Sparrow is ready to begin the meeting.”
Gladys held the door open and slipped in last, behind Birdie. There weren’t four empty chairs together, so she went to the dining room to get extra ones. The friends were too old to giggle and chatter through the meeting the way they had when they were younger, but they still preferred to sit away from their mothers’ sides.
A few women exchanged looks at Birdie’s unexpected presence. Mrs. Fairfield smiled a welcome, and Ma, God bless her, carried the tea service to their corner. “So glad to see you, Annie, Ruth. And Miss Landry, I’m delighted you could join us.”
“Please call me Birdie.” The newcomer spoke in soft, melodic tones. She accepted a cup of tea, holding it at precisely the correct angle.
Mrs. Sparrow presided over the meeting, updating the group on the success of their collection over Christmas—an impressive one hundred dollars raised for missions in China—before introducing the project for the new year. “My husband has been in contact with the director of the Indian school. He said they are in need of e
verything, from school supplies to books to warm blankets and suitable clothes. I told him I was certain our sewing circle would be glad to help meet that need.”
“Miss Lucy Langston in China said they are still in need of bandages.” Ma wrote regularly to the missionaries the church supported. “I have already requested that the mercantile order additional wool for bunting.”
Annie frowned at the pictures of the children Ma passed around. “They look like the Smith children.”
Gladys’s mind wandered. Ma loved reading about God’s work in other lands. But Annie’s words made her wonder why they didn’t do more to promote the gospel and good works closer to home. There were plenty of people in Calico in need of a loving touch or a helping hand. She skimmed through the possibilities while the women began sewing. She loved quilting, and she had started her marriage quilt. But today she was working on a smaller piece.
Conversation flowed as the ladies worked. Ma offered everyone her sugar cookies, but most ladies declined. They didn’t want to get their fabric soiled. Beside Gladys, Annie’s knitting needles clicked. Birdie was hemming a square of bunting with tiny, meticulous stitches. She was a skilled seamstress, whatever other skills she possessed.
Gladys tied off the end of her thread and began a new square. “I have an idea for a mission project.”
“Another one?” Annie double-dipped her knitting needle into her stitch. “It sounds like we already have enough to keep us busy.”
“I would like for us to help people who live close by. There are people here in Calico who have never heard the good news of God’s love.” Gladys laid the quilt square in her lap and looked at the three women seated near her. “Ruth, you’re in the best position to observe which families are in need. Maybe they lack a mother’s touch.”
Ruth nodded. “I can think of a few. There’s always at least one family that’s dirt poor.”
Birdie opened her mouth but closed it without speaking.
“What are you thinking, Birdie?” Gladys bet the former saloon girl knew which men spent their family’s money on liquor or which men gambled it away at the Betwixt ’n’ Between.
“Some of the other girls at the saloon would like to get away from that life, but they can’t go around town in the dresses Nigel Owen gives them.” She lifted her shoulders a delicate fraction. “If I could make them modest dresses…”
“Oh, I love that idea!” Annie tucked her yarn back into her knitting bag. “Let’s do it.”
“One special project for each of us, to be finished this year.” Gladys made a note in her tiny diary. “Let’s pray and ask God what He wants each of us to do.”
“Here’s to the junior members of the Ladies Sewing Circle.” Annie grabbed Birdie’s right hand and Ruth’s left hand, and Gladys finished the circle.
“Amen!”
There is one alone…yea, he hath neither child nor brother;
yet is there no end of all his labour;
neither is his eye satisfied with riches… .
Two are better than one;
because they have a good reward for their labour.
ECCLESIASTES 4:8–9
Chapter 1
Gladys checked the baskets on the kitchen table. Red calico bows she’d festooned with small white flowers peeked out between juniper branches. Such cheerful decorations should improve even crotchety widower Norman Keller’s spirits in the middle of the miserable Kansas winter.
Ma carried a couple of baskets to the family wagon, together with garlands of fragrant juniper branches. “Maybe it would be good if I came with you.”
Gladys came close to agreeing when she remembered the last time she had knocked on Mr. Keller’s door. The growl with which he had greeted carolers could have passed for Ebenezer Scrooge’s. “I’ll see how it goes today. I’d like to do this on my own, if I can. I’ll be back in time to help with supper.”
Grateful for the January thaw that made an outdoor project possible, Gladys buttoned up her winter coat and drew on her mittens before heading out to the wagon. When she’d decided to reach out to Norman Keller, she hadn’t considered how to keep her activities a secret. To avoid attention, she would keep her wagon off Main Street.
A few minutes later she came to a stop in front of the imposing three-story structure that Norman Keller called home. As far as Gladys knew, he was the only one who lived there. His wife had died, and his children never visited. Rather than knocking on the front door and risking Mr. Keller’s rejection before she even started, Gladys approached the house from the back. She tied the horse to the railing and carried the baskets to the wraparound porch. A closer inspection of the once-magnificent structure revealed sagging boards and peeling paint. Such neglect by the richest man in town befuddled her. She hoped he would feel better after she’d hung enough baskets for him to see one no matter which window he looked through.
As she walked down the porch, a basket in each hand, she realized she had miscalculated the number needed to adorn the rafters. She’d start from the front and work her way back. She tiptoed to the corner and put the baskets down. She returned for her stepladder, and as she carried it to the front, it bumped along the floorboards. She froze, expecting Mr. Keller to shuffle out the door to check on the noise. When he didn’t appear, she continued until she had unloaded everything in the wagon.
From the corner, she studied the overhang. With a hammer in one hand and two nails in the other, she climbed the stepstool, reached high overhead, and tapped a nail into the wood. A thin crack appeared. Would a section of the overhang split and fall? Mr. Keller wouldn’t appreciate it if she destroyed his property in the process of decorating it.
Tucking her tongue behind her teeth, Gladys waited and the nail held. Next she centered the basket handle on the nail. She stepped down to study the effect. Good. Setting another arrangement on the railing, she climbed the stepstool to hammer the second nail in place.
As she adjusted a couple of ribbons around the berries, she wondered what else she could do for Mr. Keller. Fashioning a few bows hardly qualified as a mission project, and she wanted to do more. She tapped the nail in and reached for the basket.
Behind her, the front door banged. “What are you doing?”
The edge of the door caught the stepstool, throwing Gladys off balance. Her arms windmilled, her feet slipped, and she fell backward.
Into two strong arms.
“Oomph.”
The arms lifted her and held her steady while she regained her footing. The basket had fallen, crushing the bows and scattering the juniper branches across the floor.
Falling into Mr. Keller’s arms wasn’t the introduction Gladys had hoped for.
Slowly she turned around to meet the man she wanted to help. And looked up…and up…and up. Long legs, straight limbs, strong arms…brown hair.
Definitely not Norman Keller.
Haydn stared at the person who had been making all the noise. Her cheeks gleamed bright red beneath a green knit cap, and brown curls bounced on her shoulders. Her mouth opened just far enough to reveal straight white teeth. This little thing didn’t weigh much more than a hummingbird. “Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.” She brushed her hands on her coat and glanced at the porch, covered with greens and ribbons and straw baskets. What was this stranger doing on the porch on a ladder in the middle of winter? The Old Man hadn’t mentioned any guests.
“I apologize for making such a mess.” She gestured helplessly at the scattered items on the floor. “If you give me a broom, I’ll clean it up.”
The Old Man’s pride demanded Haydn refuse. As he stepped to the side, a board moved underneath his foot, a reminder of all the repairs needed on the house. Whoever this stranger was, at least she wanted to help. “Let me get one for you.” He paused at the door. “But who are you?” And what are you doing here?
“I’m Gladys Polson.” Shivering, she slipped on a pair of gloves. “Who are you? I haven’t seen you before.”
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“I’m Haydn…” He hesitated in mid-introduction. “Haydn Johnson.” He used the name he often gave in his newspaper work.
Miss Gladys Polson was as pretty as a Christmas angel, standing there against the backdrop of the winter-white world, and whatever her purpose in coming to the house, she surely meant no harm. He smiled. “Look, it’s a miserable day. Come in and get warmed up before you do any more work.”
Her mouth opened, and he thought she was going to refuse. Tilting her head, she touched her lips with a mittened hand. “I’d like that.”
Haydn held the door open.
“Who was it making all that blasted noise?” The Old Man’s petulant voice carried across the living room.
“It’s Gladys Polson.”
“Don’t know her.”
Gladys crossed the room to greet the man sitting in the straight-backed chair by the low-lying fire. “Good afternoon, Mr. Keller. You may not remember me, but I want to introduce myself. We’re members of the same church.”
Haydn hid a smile behind his hand. The Old Man didn’t know how to respond to this force of nature. “So you were the one making all that racket out there?”
Pink tinged Gladys’s cheeks. “I apologize for the noise. I had hoped you might not hear me inside. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
She shivered, and Haydn remembered how cold the living room had seemed when he first arrived. He added a couple of logs to the fire, and soon the flames leaped merrily. “I’ll fix us some hot tea while the room warms up some.”
Gladys nodded. “Thank you.”
As she unbuttoned the top button of her coat, he started forward. “I’m sorry. Let me help you.” He stood behind her, his arms easing behind her slim shoulders, ready to take the coat as it slid from her back. This close, she smelled like rosewater and cedar needles. Draping the coat over his arm, he pulled the chair closer to the fire. “Sit here by the fire until the room gets warmer.”
She glanced at the man in the chair, huddled beneath a thick blanket. Noting her silent interest, Haydn scooted the Old Man’s chair closer to the fire.