Adele, p.12
Adele, page 12
Why was life so unfair? He thought as he headed to his room to fetch his fancy coat for the services that morning.
ADELE TOOK BEAU’S ARM as they walked toward the church. The day was cold and gray clouds skidded across a lowering sky.
She smiled and greeted friends and neighbors as they moved toward the small church at the end of town and Adele noticed that though people were friendly, Beau seemed not to notice.
“Adele, the town looks lovely,” Olive Hampton grinned as the couple made their way toward the stairs. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Alder?”
“Hm?” Beau lifted his head. “Yes, yes, you all did a fine job. Not that it did much good.”
Olive’s dark eyes widened as she turned to Adele, who shook her head.
A moment later, they were seated and the preacher settled at the piano that had been carried from the saloon that morning. Soon lively music of familiar carols echoed in the building and together, the congregation stood to sing.
Adele found herself enjoying the message more than she had in a long time and the promise of a blessed Christmas lifted her heart even as she worried about how to reach the man she had married. He seemed detached, withdrawn from the people around him and completely separated from God. Didn’t he understand the reason for the season? God had sent his son so that all might be saved.
“What did you think of the message?” Adele asked later as they walked toward home. She had barely had time to greet her family and invite them for Christmas dinner before Beau had been ready to go.
“It was fine,” Beau said, with no real feeling. “About what you’d expect from the preacher, all love and goodness.”
“Don’t you believe in those things?”
Beau shrugged as he unlocked the door to their home. “People banter those words around a lot. They say they accept folk, love them, and the like, but they mostly don’t.”
Adele felt her heart squeeze at the man’s words. “I believe in love,” she whispered, her words barely audible as they stepped into the living area.
“If that was true, why did you marry me?”
Beau’s words hurt, like a slap to the face, but Adele didn’t cry out. “I was trying to run my own life without turning to a God who loves me and cares about what happens in my life.”
Beau looked up, blinking slowly as he studied her face. “You think God cares about us? If He did, why do so many bad things happen in this world?”
“Because mankind is flawed,” Adele replied, surprised at the words. “We make our own troubles, but we can also choose to love.” Her dark eyes glimmered in the soft light of the room. “I married you from a perceived need,” she continued. “But,” she swallowed hard. “Now, I choose to love you.”
Beau didn’t know what to say. The woman’s words were like bee stings in his brain. He had been rejected his whole life, looked down on because of his station in the world. Only money, power, and ambition could change the way people saw him.
“Let’s eat,” he said, turning away and heading for the kitchen. This was more preaching than he needed in one day.
ADELE DID HER BEST to be cheerful over the next few days as she prepared her new home for Christmas. None of her family had come to her place to visit yet, but she made time to go to the Hampton House often to see her sisters, who seemed more scattered than ever.
“Your sisters are getting along just fine,” Mr. Fortuna said as they sat together over tea. “I’m happy working with Darwin, Fanny is helping with the school, Olga is beside herself organizing a dress shop, and Heidi likes serving here in the dining room.” He looked up and smiled at his oldest. “You look well.”
Adele dropped her gaze to the dress she was wearing. Beau liked her to dress well and this simple brown confection, though practical, had a bit of flare.
“I am,” she said, her smile touched with sorrow.
“But you aren’t happy.”
Adele met her father’s eyes, prepared to deny it but then shook her head. “It isn’t that I’m unhappy,” she admitted. “I’m worried about my husband. His failure to become mayor has made him bitter, and he seems to have set his heart against the town.”
“Hard hearts can only be fixed in one way,” Phineas sighed. “Love.”
Adele nodded, lifting her cup, but said no more. Perhaps in time, she would love Beau instead of only being fond of him, or perhaps his heart would thaw, finding hope, love, and joy in a world that could be hurtful.
“I think you’re on the right track,” Phineas said, squeezing her hand. “I don’t know what’s in store for you, but I know God has a plan.”
Adele relaxed, feeling the truth of the words in the depths of her soul. “Thank you, Papa.”
Chapter 16
The night before Christmas broke cold and chill with clouds scudding across a pitch-black sky.
Adele pulled her new warm coat over her shoulders, buttoning it to her chin. “Are you sure you won’t go?” she asked. “The music should be lovely.”
“No, I have work to do.” Beau lifted his chin, his hazel eyes hard. “You go on to the Christmas Eve service. Some of the boys already took the piano along to the church. Find someone to walk you home if you’re late.”
Adele walked to Beau’s side, touching his sleeve. “I’ve left the coffee on,” she said. They had just finished dinner, and after washing the dishes, she had set out a few treats in case Beau wanted them.
“I think I’m all set.” Beau waved a hand toward the kitchen table, where a collection of pies, tarts, and cookies awaited guests' arrival the next day. “I won’t go hungry with you in this house.”
Adele saw no sparkle in the man’s eyes as he said the words where only a few weeks before he would have at least seemed grateful. “I’ll try not to be too long.”
Beau walked her to the door pulling it open as a flurry of snow began to fall. “Be careful.”
Adele leaned back, looking at the man she had married, where he stood in the door frame. “I will,” she said and quickly kissed him on the cheek as she hurried away.
BEAU CLOSED THE DOOR and headed back toward the saloon. At least some of the men from town would probably be around for a dram of something to warm their bellies.
Striding into the bar area, he walked to the small wood stove and added a log. No need to freeze on a night like this, he thought, gazing around the empty bar before walking to the window.
Snow fluttered softly outside, illuminated by those confounded lamps Adele had organized. They were pretty, even if the town’s people didn’t seem to give a fig about the expense. Shaking his head, Beau continued to watch the snow settle on the already frozen ground.
A few people hurried by as the first strands of a Carol echoed down the street. The sound of boots, steady on the boardwalk, made Beau grin and he prepared for his first customer then gaped as Cane walked by with a young woman on his arm. He could hear the girl’s chatter as they walked on, straight past the saloon and toward the music as the snow began to fall harder.
Shaking his head Beau turned back to the bar. He would take inventory, prepare his next order, and generally put things together. Tomorrow the place would be closed, but for now, he would be ready for the errant cowhand, miner, or farmer who needed to wet their whistle before heading home.
Wiping a glass, the barkeeper held it to the light for inspection, his eyes catching on the sheet of white outside. Snow was pelting to the earth blown sideways by a brisk breeze that nearly blotted out the town outside.
Putting the glass down, Beau walked to the stove, adding another stick of wood. It wouldn’t do to let the chill set in, especially if people decided to stop off for a nightcap or two.
He had just finished stoking the fire when a plaintive sound caught his ear, and something rattled the doors outside. Tipping his head, Beau listened but couldn’t hear anything over the wind.
Moving back toward the bar, he paused, looking through the window as the wind died and a curtain of white obliterated the town. Another gust of wind rattled the doors once more and again, Beau thought he heard a sound. A sorrowful mewling that pricked his ears.
Walking to the door, he opened it peering out into the icy night as a gust of wind tried to tear the door handle from his grip.
Nothing but swirling snow greeted him and Beau prepared to close the door as another gust of wind rolled something against his boot. Looking down, a tiny ball of white fluff gazed back at him with bright green eyes.
An icy blast of snow hit Beau in the face as he stared down at the kitten, looking up at him with innocent eyes, but his mind felt frozen, stuck in the darkness and lost hope of his soul. Another blast of wind rolled the already wet creature along the boardwalk and into the door frame, where it blinked, shaking a sodden head.
Bending, Beau scooped up the kitten with one hand, his fingers freezing as the creature wriggled in his grasp. “No reason you should be left out in the cold too,” he said, his eyes darting toward the church, where a hallo of gold graced the falling snow from lamps along the street.
Slamming the door shut, the barkeep walked behind the bar and pulled out an old towel, rubbing the cat roughly to get it dry, undeterred by the soft mewing from beneath his hand. Once the cat was free of the freezing snow that caked its golden fur, he placed it in a whiskey crate and carried it to a spot near the stove. The animal was still shivering, though, so he walked back to the office rummaging for more dry rags to wrap it in.
“How in blazes you ended up at my door,” Beau grumbled, making a nest for the kitten, “I’ll never know.”
The little beast squirmed, trying to huddle into the rags, but it shivered so that he thought the box might begin to quake. With no other soul about, the man pulled a chair as close to the wood-burning stove as he could, took a seat, and lifted the half-frozen cat from the box. Wrapping it gently in a towel, he placed it on his middle and leaned back, closing his eyes. Either the animal would get warm or die. It didn’t matter to him either way.
Sleep crept on Beau, stealing closer on silent feet and soon he drifted off in its warm embrace, lulled by the low purr of the shivering kitten on his lap.
He had seen many Christmas Eves come and go, with little change to the way the world rolled by. He sold liquor, men bought it, what happened after was none of his concern.
Swirls of darkness filled Beau’s mind as he was carried away to dreams of younger days, harder times, and the shame that came with being who he was.
THE BOY WALKED ALONG the street, picking up bottles and jars as he added them to the heavy cart he pulled behind him. At six, Beau Alder was strong and his stout frame added weight to the pull required to move the collection wagon.
“Get out of the way,” a burly man in a farm wagon spat. “You no good runt.” His words hit Beau like a physical blow, but the boy shrugged it off as he had so many times before.
“Filthy outcast,” a hunched woman spat as she tossed a jar at him.
Beau ducked, one hand darting out to grasp the glass missile in on hand. Dexterity had become second nature in his trek across town.
The smell of dank wash water, human waste, and horse dung stung his nose as the boy plodded on through the mining town collecting what he could for his mother and the tent saloon she ran on the outskirts of town.
“Filth,” another woman growled as she hung a graying shirt from a tattered line, her eyes cold as they landed on the boy, his heavy burden creaking along behind him. “You and that woman should leave this place,” the woman’s voice grew louder. “No need for the likes of you here.”
Beau continued forward, letting the words run off like cold rainwater, the sting soaking him, but rolling away as he ignored them.
A clod of dirt hit his side, and Beau turned, hazel eyes gleaming as two older boys laughed and raced away. He would have liked to give them both a good beating, but he couldn’t risk leaving his wagon full of jars, bottles, and flasks behind. His mother needed them if she was to keep food on the table.
“One of these days,” a skinny man blustered, staggering slightly as he made his way home from some seedy establishment. “One of these days, people will run the evil of drink out of this town.”
Beau ground his teeth, knowing better than to speak up. The man reeked of corn whisky and would be back sitting at a battered table by his mother’s bar that night, despite his protests now. Making him angry now would only mean money from Ma’s pocket.
A cold wind blew across the town, scuttling bits of paper, weeds, and dust in its wake. The boy shivered, trudging onward as he completed his morning chore, knowing his mother would have a kettle boiling on an open fire by the time he got home.
A cowboy trotted by, kicking dust into Beau’s eyes, and he wiped the tears that stung, the smell of horse filling his nostrils. One day, one day, he would have enough money that he wouldn’t be scrounging cast-offs to keep food on the table.
A hot wave of anger and disgust washed over him and he leaned into the strap of the cart, pulling it back toward the tent he shared with his mother and the bawdy men who stopped each night for a drink.
“Just look at you,” Beau’s mother snapped as he pulled the cart to the tripod sitting over the fire. “You’re filthy.”
Beau cringed but didn’t argue. “You need to be faster if you want to avoid such things,” she nodded to the muddy splotch on his white shirt where the clod of dirt had struck him. “Get that off and into the pot. I’ll not have you wandering the streets looking like a beggar.”
“Yes, Ma.” The boy stripped his shirt off with a shiver as a cool breeze blew by. In a matter of minutes, his mother had the shirt washed and hanging up to dry, but he knew she wouldn’t allow him to put on another clean shirt until he started serving their patrons later that night. He would simply have to endure the chill of the morning air until then.
“You need to look like you’re important,” his mother’s words, familiar as her voice, washed over him as he started dipping the old bottles into the vat of hot water with a stick. “People look down on you if you aren’t clean. I didn’t work my way out of that pigpen of a saloon for my son to look like a sow.”
“Yes, Ma.” Beau’s reply was almost automatic. He did his best to present a respectable face to the world, but too many knew where he and his mother had come from. Even those who frequented her makeshift saloon looked down their noses at the one-time prostitute and her bastard son.
“You keep yourself clean, stay out of trouble, and save your pennies. You’ll be something one day, someone to be looked up to. Maybe even have a real saloon, someplace nice where the upright men of the community can come to have a drink and talk about their troubles.”
The boy had heard it all before and simply continued his job, his hands turning red as he scalded, washed and scalded the old empties once again. He knew his mother wanted a better life for him. She took no nonsense from her patrons in the dingy little tent at the back of the mining town. He had seen her more than once brandish an old bat at any man who took liberties or got too drunk to have any common sense left in him.
Beau looked up, taking in the dingy town, muddy streets, and black slag heaps from the mine. One day, he would have a place of his own and no one would look down on him.
Chapter 17
Beauregard Alder’s eyes snapped open in his empty bar as tiny claws pricked through his shirt. He blinked, trying to pull himself from the visions of his dreams and focus on the warmth pressed to his belly.
Memories of his mother flooded his mind. Her constant lectures on respectability, cleanliness, and ambition rolling through his brain. He had done all that she said, yet people still didn’t respect him. He had failed to become mayor of Needful and knew that he would never be accepted as anything more than the saloon owner that caused problems all over town.
Absently the man dropped his hand to the tiny cat rubbing behind its ears and smiling when it started to purr. “You have a big voice for such a tiny thing,” he said with a shake of his head. In the distance, he could still hear the sound of Christmas Carols drifting through the softly falling snow.
ADELE SAT ON THE HARD pew, keenly aware of the empty space beside her. So many people had asked after Beau, worried that he hadn’t attended. She had seen a shift in perception of the man since they had wed.
He had been far more personable in the weeks leading up to the election, but now had shut himself off from the community again.
Looking around, she smiled at friends and family members, scowling when she saw Fanny leaning close to a dark-haired cowboy who often frequented the saloon. What was the girl thinking, sitting so close to the man?
The children hurried about preparing for the pageant and the reenactment of the Savior’s birth, drawing Adele’s attention away from her sister and back to the front of the sanctuary. She sighed as she felt the absence of a man she was growing to see as more damaged than she had realized before. Adele didn’t know what to do for Beau, but she knew that she wanted to know him for who he was and to let her heart love him if it could.
“You’re growing fond of him, aren’t you?” her father leaned close as the preacher and Beth wrangled the kids into place.
“What?”
“That man you married. You kind of like him.”
Adele blushed. “Papa.”
“I’m glad,” the older man said. “I thought you made that bargain with him so your sisters and I would have a place to come to if we need it, but I can see he’s growing on you. Be patient. All things work together in God’s time.”
BEAU LOOKED DOWN AT the kitten in his hand, smoothing the golden fur with his other as he looked out into the snowy street. Several inches of fluff had settled over Needful, and as the snowfall slowed, the bright lanterns and pretty decorations that lined the streets glowed with warmth.
