Angel In The Saloon (Brides of Glory Gulch) (7 page)

Paul initiated a mindless conversation with Corrin,
looking over his shoulder to hurl another look of disgust at the fellow who, to
his surprise, was no longer sitting at the table. Casually glancing around the
huge room proved that Cowan was nowhere in sight.

“Why couldn’t he have disappeared five minutes ago?”

“What did you say?” Corrin asked.

“Nothing. Just mumbling to myself.”

Corrin smiled broadly and headed in the direction of
the stairway.

As Paul watched her go, his eyes were drawn toward the
stairs where, to his complete astonishment, Amelia Jackson was gracefully
descending arm-in-arm with Jeremiah Cowan. He watched intently as Corrin
affectionately kissed her niece on the cheek and bid the two a fond good
evening. He gritted his teeth and set down his Sarsaparilla on the bar so hard
it sloshed over the lip of the glass. Harry, the bartender, tossed him a towel
and he wiped off his hand and shirt sleeve. 

When he looked up toward the door, Jeremiah arrogantly
winked at Paul, gestured as if he were tipping a hat to royalty, and then
proceeded to steal out into the night with the prize catch of Glory Gulch.

Paul glared at him in disgust until the two were out
of sight and then slunk down into the chair nearest him. The nerve of that
Cowan! This just proved how cold-hearted the rogue could be sometimes. And poor
Amelia Jackson was about to spend her evening with this trouble maker. He
scowled as he became absorbed with envy.

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Amelia listened intently as Jeremiah articulated the
details of his concern for his friend. She was slow to offer advice, unlike so
many people who foolishly and selfishly attempt to council others. She asked
him sensible and intelligent questions that allowed him to think clearly,
thereby discerning for himself the best solutions for dealing with the issues
facing him.

Often, whenever the conversation allowed, Amelia
reverently quoted appropriate Scriptures to him, saying that the comfort and
hope they had afforded her a myriad of times would also permeate him as a
soothing balm penetrates and comforts one’s aching muscles. She extended an
offer to pray for him, but did so without coercion.

She was gracious, attentive company to Jeremiah, and
her unexpected, genuine concern for his friend as well as himself overwhelmed
and pleased him. The delectable dinner and effectual conversation conjoined
with Amelia’s stunning attributes and exceeding beauty all contributed to a
warm and most pleasurable experience for him. If he wasn’t completely taken
with her before, he certainly was more attracted to her now.

After the last morsel had been consumed and the
conversation turned toward lesser topics, the two finally stepped out into the
welcome coolness of a nocturnal breeze which scooted and frolicked about them
as if executing a lively dance.

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Amelia found herself being drawn toward Mr. Cowan, the
strength of his character, his powerfully masculine way of talking, and the
apparent ease in which he opened himself up to her. He was quick to laugh,
easygoing and polite. Yet he possessed a certain wildness that she had never
discerned before in a man. This intrigued her. He was certainly very hearty as
evidenced by his occupation as a logger. Whenever he offered his arm in assistance,
she could feel the sinewy brawn of his muscles through his buckskin jacket. She
judged him to be well over six feet tall and his vigorous stride had to be
restrained in order to accommodate her dainty steps. He stood straight and tall
and proud, and she felt completely protected when she was with him.

Soon they stood on the boardwalk in front of the saloon
with its raucous clamor of voices, clanking glasses, roguish games, and piano
blaring out rough show tunes.

“Mr. Cowan, I don’t feel comfortable traipsing through
a busy saloon at this time of the night...”

“Miss Jackson, you just trust yourself to my charge,
and I’ll be more than happy to guide you safely to your door.”

“Thank you very much for understanding.”

Jeremiah guided her toward the stairs and, recognizing
several of his acquaintances, smiled and nodded in their direction.

Corrin stopped them and kissed Amelia. “Good night, sweetie.
I’ll talk with you in the morning.”

“Good night, Aunt Corrin.”

And in an instant the two found themselves sauntering
down the second floor hallway.

“Here you are, safe at your own door.” Jeremiah was a
little disappointed that this splendid evening had to terminate so abruptly. “Thank
you for such a pleasant evening, Miss Jackson. Your insight has given me much
to think about.”

“I’m glad I was able to help, Mr. Cowan, even if I
mostly just listened.”

“Please, call me Jeremiah. I can’t recall the last
time I’ve been called Mr. Cowan. Such formalities don’t suit me you know. I’m
just an ordinary working man.”

“All right, I’ll call you by your Christian name from
now on. And you may call me Amelia.” She smiled in a way he hadn’t seen in a
long time. It shone with the light of innocence. He could find nothing fake
about this young lady, unlike so many females her age, who prowl around handing
out coy smiles meant to entrap a husband.

He smiled at her, longing to touch her porcelain-like
face and to kiss her delicate mouth. But not wanting to alarm her by advancing
too quickly he took her hand and gently kissed it. “May I call on you again
sometime, Amelia?”

 “I think I would like that,” she replied in her
Southern accent.

He then stood very close to her and took her hand in
both of his, drawing it toward his chest. Looking intently into her angelic
face, he said in a soft, low voice, “Good night, Amelia. May your dreams be
sweet.”

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Amelia’s heart pounded as she sensed his nearness. The
hushed earnestness of his strong, masculine voice unnerved her. His huge hands
had engulfed hers, but were doing so with such tenderness. Her voice was hiding
somewhere deep within, and all she was able to muster up was a weak, “Thank you.
And good night to you, Mr. Cowan---uh, Jeremiah.”

Reclaiming her trembling hand, Amelia fumbled for the
door handle, unable to locate it for an awkward moment. Jeremiah’s chest
brushed against her shoulder as he reached around her and opened it. Maneuvering
into the recesses of her pitch-dark room, she shut the door behind her, closing
herself off from the rest of the peculiar, new world engulfing her. She leaned
her back against it preparing to calculate her steps to the dressing table, but
immobilized a moment to reclaim her breath and placed her hand over her heart
in an attempt to calm its wild beating.

She couldn’t recall having ever been affected like
this before and quietly whispered into the darkness, “Jeremiah Cowan, you
unnerve me so!” Then she reminded herself she was blind. Who would truly want
someone like her? It was only a dream told to her by her friends. It couldn’t.
. . wouldn’t happen to her.

After locating the dressing table, Amelia removed her
hair ribbon and brushed her long, silky hair that spilled down the distance of
her back, all the while reflecting on the events of the day. She undressed,
laying her clothes across the trunk and flung herself down on the bed. How
could so much have happened since yesterday afternoon since the first time she
lay sprawled across this bed in protest? She was already beginning to gain a
sense of belonging. It had been months since she felt this secure. And it felt
good.

Then kneeling at the side of the bed, Amelia began her
nightly prayers. She had a lot to discuss with God and took all the time she
needed. When finished, she climbed back onto the bed and tried to sleep. In
addition to the muffled sounds of merriment wafting upward to her room, her
mind kept wandering and she couldn’t sleep. Sometime around eleven o’clock she
finally drifted off.

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Jeremiah tarried a moment in the upstairs hallway of
the Silver Slipper Saloon, staring at the door that just seconds before had
swallowed Amelia Jackson. He reluctantly turned and then proceeded to exit at
his normal pace.

Once back outside in the crisp nighttime air of the
Rocky Mountains, he turned to glance over his shoulder at the upstairs window
of the room that contained the young lady who had affected him so. He smiled at
the thought of her, and then set out for his logging camp with a feeling of
elation inhabiting every ounce of his being. And he thought that the moon was
particularly bright that night and couldn’t recall having seen so many stars.

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Kneeling at the side of his bed, Paul Strupel prayed,
“Lord, I’m sorry if I let you down tonight. I know I shouldn’t have let
Jeremiah get me so angry. And I know I shouldn’t have been jealous of him. Please
forgive me. But he shouldn’t have treated me that way either. So forgive him
also. You know that I’m pretty new at this, and I need your help turning my
attitude toward him around. You also know how I feel about Miss Jackson. If I
had my way . . . Well, I guess I’m supposed to ask you to have your way in my
life, as well as in hers. So bless her, Lord, and keep her in your arms tonight
and always. Amen.”

He stood, not quite feeling the peace he had expected.
In an instant he knew what he had to do even though it was probably the hardest
thing he’d done in a long time. Looking toward the ceiling, throwing his hands
up in the air in surrender, he said aloud, “All right, bless Jeremiah Cowan too.
Amen.”

When he climbed into his bed that night, he had the
overwhelming feeling that he didn’t have to worry about anything because God
was in control of all of their lives.

The next few days were uneventful for Amelia because
Jeremiah was staying up at the logging camp due to a newly acquired lumber
contract.

Every morning she could count on Paul, as he preferred
to be called, to stop by the bench to visit with her. She noted that he was
allowing more time for these visitations, but she didn’t mind. She liked his
friendship. Once they began to feel more comfortable and at ease with one
another, he became less stuffy and formal. She was particularly glad for that.

Amelia had ventured into the streets of the town a
couple of times to explore and to just keep herself busy. The town was small
and the news of a stranger traveled fast. So everywhere she went people knew
her by name and offered their assistance with crossing the street or walking up
a few stairs or locating a particular store. She liked Glory Gulch, Colorado.

In the afternoons she would remain indoors to help her
aunt ready the Saloon for business. But mostly she just talked and kept her aunt
company. As they got to know each other she realized she like Corrin Dannon, a
woman who was quick to laugh and ‘full of gunpowder’, as she described herself.

One particular afternoon, Amelia, feeling more at home
in Glory Gulch, determined to play the piano again. However, upon inquiring of
her aunt about using the saloon’s piano for practice, she was disheartened when
Aunt Corrin told her no. Corrin told her she couldn’t picture in her mind what
a blind person might sound like trying to play a piano and simply wouldn’t have
that kind of racket coming from her establishment.

“Sweetie, if you want to practice the piano, maybe you
could ask Paul Strupel if you could use his during the daytime while he’s at
work.”

“Paul Strupel has a piano? Does he play?”

“No, I don’t think he ever learned how to play. It
belonged to his mother. I think he keeps it for the sentimental value. He has a
fellow tune it up every once in awhile, and his housekeeper polishes and dusts
it regularly. You’d never know it doesn’t get any use.”

Amelia decided she would ask him about it when he came
by the next morning. She would definitely feel more comfortable practicing
alone in a private residence than in a huge, public hall anyway.

The next morning was Saturday and the town nearly
burst at the seams with activity. People wanted to get all their errands
completed before Sunday, the one day when the whole town closes down. Amelia
was a little disappointed when Paul didn’t stop by to visit. So she decided to
go to the Conner’s Mercantile and do a little finger shopping.

When she entered the shop, the pungent smells of new
leather, candy, spices and fruit met her at the door. Emporiums such as this
were also known for their spicy gossip, which Amelia was prone to listen to
from time to time.

“Good morning, Miss Jackson. How are you feeling
today?” Shelly Conner greeted her. According to Paul she was a skinny woman in
her mid forties with her hair pulled back severely into a tight bun at the nape
of her neck.

“Good morning, Mrs. Conner. I’m feeling just fine. And
you?”

“I’m not doing too badly today. Of course, it’s been
so hot these days. The heat gives me such a terrible rash, but what’s a person
to do? One just has to take what comes their way. I sure do hope and pray for
rain soon, though. There’s the danger of fire whenever it gets this dry in
these parts, you know.”