Angel In The Saloon (Brides of Glory Gulch) (2 page)

“Miss Dannon, it is my pleasure to introduce you to
Miss Amelia Jackson, your niece. And Miss Amelia this is your aunt, Miss Corrin
Dannon.”

“Amelia I’m---glad to meet you and I’m so sorry to
hear about your mother’s passing.” Corrin grasped for the proper words for such
an occasion. “Please allow me to be of any assistance to you during this
troubled time.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Aunt Corrin. Thank you for
your kind offer,” Amelia answered quietly in a Southern accent. She attempted a
smile. Instead her mouth tightened in a frustrated attempt to keep the tears
from tumbling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry---I’m afraid that I am not feeling
too well right now---the long trip, you know. If you could show me where I may
lie down for awhile, I’m sure I will be feeling better soon.”

“Oh, of course, dear. I always need to rest after
being on that darned stage for more than a couple hours. Sometimes I think the
danged thing might just shake a person’s brains loose. I’ll show you to a room
upstairs where I think you’ll be comfortable enough.”

Corrin turned to Mr. Johnston and inquired as to
whether Amelia had luggage. He nodded and told her that it was on the boardwalk
just outside the building.  She then turned to her two friends.

“Gentlemen, would you please bring Amelia’s trunk to
the second room on the right?” The men scrambled to the porch as Corrin reached
for Amelia’s arm to lead her upstairs.

Amelia stopped and turned toward where she last had
heard Mr. Johnston’s voice and reached out her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Johnston,
for everything you’ve done for me. I wish you the best in whatever path your
life takes. And may God bless you and your lovely family.” Amelia smiled
bravely, tears now streaming down her face.

“I think you’ll find this room to be quite comfortable
and pleasant.” Corrin, observing that her niece was grieved, spoke softly to
her. She was still dubious of her being there. She led her to a spare bedroom
upstairs.

“There’s a wardrobe to your left,” Corrin said upon
entering the room, “a chest of drawers over to your right and the bed is in the
middle of the wall straight ahead.”

Her two friends appeared in the doorway, carrying a
heavy, wooden trunk.

“You can put the trunk at the foot of the bed where
she can find it easily,” Corrin instructed. “Thank you, fellas.”

“I’m sure the room will be just fine, Aunt Corrin. Right
now I simply need to rest.”

“Yes of course, dear. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be
downstairs. We can get acquainted over supper. You just rest now. Come on boys,
the lady needs her privacy.” Corrin grabbed one gentleman with each arm and
sashayed out of the room. She stopped just outside the doorway. “Oh, dinner
will be at seven.” After this blunt statement, Corrin realized Amelia would
have no idea what time to come to dinner. She wouldn’t be able to read a watch.
She simply shrugged and walked on. After all, she was in no hurry to get
started on any kind of relationship with this blind niece of hers.

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Amelia hadn’t been introduced to the gentlemen her
Aunt kept referring to, and she didn’t much care. Using her cane to guide her,
she found the bed, threw herself face-down upon it, and sobbed.

When she’d heard Mr. Johnson walking away from her
just a few minutes ago, the last familiar footsteps fading from her life, she
knew this cruel situation in which she found herself was real.

Lord, you are all I have left of my previous years to
hold on to. Mother always said that you would never leave me nor forsake me.
Well, I need to know that now more than ever.

“Mother,” she spoke softly to the room. “Why did you
send me here? If this is really your sister, then why didn’t you ever speak of
her?” The mystery surrounding her Aunt Corrin remained elusive, and she
wondered if she’d ever be told the truth. When Mr. Johnston had taken charge of
her, Amelia was powerless to protest, but deep down, she had held on to the
thought that there really wasn’t an aunt who owned a saloon in Colorado. The
bitter truth---a real live aunt---had just met her face-to-face.

The sobs gradually subsided, and Amelia’s energy was
spent. She pulled off her shoes and tucked herself underneath a light blanket;
hoping sleep might erase the unpleasant situation in which she found herself.

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Once again downstairs, Corrin and her two friends sat
around a table talking quietly of the events of the day---namely Amelia
Jackson.

“She’s the loveliest lady I’ve seen in a long time,”
Paul Strupel said. “Her clothes, her Southern accent, her poise . . . well they
all tell me that she’s a lady in every sense of the word. Yessiree. She’s a
true, genteel woman.”

“I definitely agree with you there,” Jeremiah Cowan said.
“She’s a very handsome lady. She has several of your features, Corrin. Hey
Strupel, did you notice that? There’s a remarkable family resemblance between
the two of them.”

“No, I hadn’t noticed. But now that you mention it,
their eyes and mouth look alike and she has your delicate jaw line too, Corrin.
And you hair’s the same color.”

“Fellas.” Corrin held up a hand to stop this maddening
line of thought. “What she looks like makes no difference to me. What I’m
interested in is what I’m going to do with a fully grown, blind daughter? Do
you realize what this means? It means having to cook three meals a day. I’m
going to have to draw and empty her bath for her and help her get dressed and
see to it that her colors match.” Corrin rubbed her forehead. A headache had
her in its painful grip.

“Poor thing. She’s been through so much losing her
mother and her home.” Jeremiah gulped down several swallows of his beer. “Just
imagine what it would be like for her to be thrown in with a bunch of outsiders
in a strange place and not being able to see anything.”

“Yeah. It nearly tore my heart out to see her cry like
that.” Paul frowned.

“What about me?” Corrin slapped a hand on the table as
if it could make her niece go away. “My life has changed drastically. It’ll
never be the same again.”

“C’mon, Corrin,” Paul said and then sipped his
sarsaparilla. “Give her a chance. You’ll see. It won’t be that bad. How could
someone that sweet and innocent be any trouble at all?”

“Yeah, she seems to have a certain amount of
self-reliance already. I’m sure she’ll be helping out around here more than you
think, Corrin,” Jeremiah said and the two gentlemen nodded to each other in
agreement. “You’ll probably hardly even notice she’s around.”

Corrin narrowed her eyes at her friends. “What kind of
spell did she cast on you two? In a matter of just a few minutes, you’ve
decided that she’s this wonderful, self-reliant, helpful, sweet, innocent,
precious little darling that will hardly be any trouble at all. Well, we don’t
have any idea what she’s like and you both know it.” Corrin guzzled the rest of
her beer.

Paul suddenly pulled a gold watch out of his waistcoat
pocket and opened it. “Oh, I gotta get going. I promised Jake I’d be back in
the office by 3:30 and it’s after 4:00 now.” He stood to leave, replaced his
watch in his pocket and finished off his Sarsaparilla. Walking around the
table, he stopped behind Corrin and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll be
glad to come by around dinner time to help you get over the awkward
introduction stage, if it will make you feel any better.”

“I’m not surprised. But, if it’ll make
you
feel
better, dinner will be at seven.”

“Yeah, I heard you tell her. Remember?” Paul displayed
an impish grin, patted Corrin’s shoulder, and then nodded toward Jeremiah.
“Cowan, as usual, it’s been…” He paused for a second, drawing out the ‘n’. “Usual.”
He laughed and headed back to work.

“Corrin, why’d you let him invite himself to dinner
tonight? That’s all you two need this first night is for
him
to be under
foot.” Jeremiah leaned back in his chair, lifting the front legs off the floor.

Corrin wasn’t sure if her friend was actually showing
concern for her or if it was just the usual bantering between Paul Strupel and
himself. Or maybe he was upset because Paul beat him to the invitation. Whatever
he meant, she just didn’t care at this point.

Thinking ahead to dinner time and the transition her
life was passing through, Corrin fought with every ounce of her being the
unpleasant memories this young lady’s presence now forced her to recount. She swallowed
hard, gulping back the bitterness and anguish that had been set free from the
dark dungeon of her heart where they had been locked securely for over twenty
years.

Amelia awoke
in a strange bed. Sitting up, she brushed her tousled hair back behind her
shoulders and quickly recalled having been thrust mercilessly into this new
world and being introduced to her aunt who seemed to have a pleasant enough
voice---what little she heard of it. She had behaved rudely toward her and now
felt guilty for it. But at that time all she could think of was to escape.

The rest had
refreshed her and she noticed the slight grumbling in her stomach. Evidently it
wasn’t seven o’clock yet, assuming her aunt would come for her, knowing Amelia
was unfamiliar with this place.

“This
place,
”
she said aloud. “This place is a saloon! Dear God, how can I possibly live in a
place like this when it stands for everything the Bible says is wrong? I don’t
understand why you would allow this to happen to me. What good could possibly
come out of this? Your Book says that you direct the paths of your people. Well,
what possible reason could you have had for directing me here? What was my
mother thinking when she wanted me to come here? Didn’t she know what kind of a
woman Aunt Corrin is?”

Amelia paused
for a moment to reflect on the question she had just asked of herself. She
actually didn’t know anything about her aunt who may actually be a nice lady. She
was probably just another lamb who has lost her way and needed someone to
direct her toward the Lord, Jesus. Maybe that’s why God wanted her to come to
this place. She folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head.

“Lord, I still
don’t know why you brought me here, but I trust you. I know that everything you
do is for a purpose. Please, help me to see that purpose. Help me to correct my
attitude toward my aunt and toward living in a saloon. Thank you for humbling
me, for letting me see that I was regarding her as someone inferior to me
because of her chosen vocation. I know you love her as much as you love me. I
see that now. Help me to show true, Christian love toward her. And forgive me
for grumbling. I’m grateful to have a bedroom of my own instead of being sent
to one of those dreadful institutions. Thank you for giving me family to live
with instead of outsiders. Thank you for listening to me and for showing me the
truth. Amen.”

The familiar
peace flooded Amelia’s spirit. She arose in anticipation of her new life---and
supper. She was very hungry. Finding her pointed-toe walking boots and pulling
them on, she then felt her way around the edge of the bed to her trunk, opened
it and felt inside for the brush her mother had given her for her seventeenth
birthday, remembering she had placed it in the lower right corner. Yes, there
it was. She untied the ribbon that held her hair out of her face and brushed
her silky curls.

She now wanted
to make a good impression on her aunt. It was important to her because her aunt
was important to God. Her spirit soared as she began to very quietly sing the
words to the hymn,
Holy! Holy! Holy!

When she had
finished replacing the bow to her satisfaction, Amelia felt her way around the
room to the dressing table. Having placed the brush safely into the top, right
drawer, she begin searching for a wash stand and discovered a pitcher of fresh,
cool water waiting for her. Did her aunt always keep fresh water in the rooms
or could she have possibly slipped in while she slept and quietly placed it
there? It didn’t matter. She was thirsty and poured herself a glass of the
cool, refreshing liquid. It tasted wonderful and seemed to wash away more than
mere trail dust. She poured herself another glass.

Then she
meticulously drew some of the water into the basin, and, while bending over,
carefully splashed her face to wash away the dried, tear stains. This refreshed
her even further. She found a linen towel, being careful to replace it on the
stand when she was finished.

Amelia felt
like her proper self again and was now ready to face anything that this life
might thrust upon her. She finished unpacking her trunk, finding a place for
all her precious belongings, particularly being mindful of the order in which
she unpacked her clothes. Her white blouses were on top, three of them. Those
would hang on the far right side of the wardrobe. Then her assorted colored
shirts, dresses, waistcoats, jerseys and riding frock in a matching sequence. Her
system had not failed her for years and had become as much of an obsession as
it was a habit. But the less Amelia had to rely on others, the better she felt
about herself. After all, her mother had raised her to do as much for herself
as she possibly could.

The thought of
her mother brought a smile to her attractive face. Grace Jackson had made each
and every piece of clothing she owned---right down to her chemise and drawers. She
always received lovely compliments on whatever she wore because her mother had
been careful to choose only the prettiest fabrics that would set off Amelia’s eyes
or match her complexion. And her mother was an excellent seamstress. Grace
Jackson could embellish the simplest garments and make them seem to be more
costly than they actually were. Her mother’s voice almost rang audible in her
mind. 
My sweet girl, always remember that ready-made is inferior quality. And
a lady never settles for less than perfection
. Would her aunt take the same
care with her appearance as her mother had all these years?