Hank and Elsie (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

June 1896

H ank Canfield strode out the door of his log cabin, carrying the rocking chair he’d just finished crafting, placing it on the porch, and sitting down. Gently swaying back and forth, he gazed out at the view, entranced as always by the beauty of the high meadow before him. Hank had chores he should be finishing, but he was a big believer in stopping to take a few minutes to appreciate the beauty of nature and enjoy his blessings.

Grassland dotted with flowers gave way to a small lake that reflected the sky and the snow-covered peaks. Daily the snow receded, though it would be a while until the mountains completely lost their caps. He’d purposely situated his garden, the chicken coop, pigpen, smokehouse, and barn behind the house so as not to spoil the natural view.

Overhead in the vast blue sky soared a golden eagle, no doubt looking for small critters to take to its nest of chicks in the pine tree with the forked top. In the fenced pasture, his buckskin stallion, Chipper, and two mares with their foals frolicked in the grass.

He’d worked hard to acquire the land and build the house and barn. The sales from his horses and his hunting, trapping, and fishing efforts had paid enough to sustain him to the point that he could now support a wife—a goal he’d been working toward for the past couple years, ever since he turned twenty-eight.

He imagined sitting with her next to him, shelling peas, perhaps, or mending clothes or knitting. They might converse or sit in companionable silence.

On long winter nights, he’d have someone to warm the great bed he’d inherited from his parents, which was tucked into a corner of the cabin. He couldn’t wait to see children capering in the meadow with the horses or splashing about in the lake shallows on hot days. “Ha!” he exclaimed aloud, in a pointed dig at the deceased grandfather who’d raised him. “My children will be allowed to play .”

If his grandfather were still alive, the bitter old man would sputter and predict the children would turn out “no good” from such indulgence. Like their father, they’d be shiftless, slothful. Probably also idolatrous.

I’ve proven him wrong. Hank had stubbornly insisted on making his own way and not touching a penny of his inheritance from the rigid old man. He lived in a beautiful place, free from familial expectations, with no one to please but himself. And soon a wife.

A pair of swans glided over the surface of the lake, trailing a narrow, silvery wake. Just watching their elegance soothed the ire that always arose at the memory of his grandfather. He put the thought of the old man out of his mind and concentrated on the far more attractive idea of a pretty bride.

Now that his garden was in, Hank could turn his attention to finding said wife. Shouldn’t be too difficult a task. When he bathed, shaved, dressed in his best, with slicked back hair, his shaving mirror told him that he looked tolerable enough a decent woman shouldn’t run screaming at the sight of him. He couldn’t offer her a luxurious life; it would be a life of labor. But most women in the West were prepared to roll up their sleeves and work alongside their men.

At least, I can give her this view.

He glanced to the empty porch boards next to him. Guess I’d better build a rocking chair for my future bride.

Going to church in the nearby town of Sweetwater Springs was as good a place as any to find a wife, for most of the people in the area attended when they could. Maybe he’d ask the minister to point out suitable women. He didn’t often attend Sunday service, given that the higher elevation of his homestead meant snow lingered longer here than in the town, often covering the narrow road down the mountain.

But with spring turning to summer, not that an odd snowstorm couldn’t still keep him homebound, he could take advantage of the warm weather. I can be married before the autumn leaves turn burgundy and gold. Maybe by this time next year, we’ll have a baby.

A vague memory of his little sister as a babe came to mind—her chubby cheeks and gummy smile. The belly laugh that erupted when he blew on her tummy and made pig snorting noises. He almost smiled, but the pain of her death at age seven still gripped him after all these years.

Forcefully, Hank wrenched his attention from the past to the future—to his own babe, who God willing, would not only survive until adulthood but thrive.

I’ll need to make a cradle. He mentally added the task to his wife list.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement and glanced over to see his nearest neighbors—Torin Reese and his daughter Jewel, walking hand in hand.

Jewel was eleven, although with the mind of a three-year-old. She wasn’t “quite right,” the father had told him in a fierce tone when Torin had moved here with his baby daughter. Just as protectively, he’d declared that Jewel was special .

Witnessing the strong bond between father and baby had deeply moved Hank, given how he and his older sister had been mostly raised by an unloving, censorious grandfather. Then, too, he couldn’t help tumbling hat over bootheels for the adorable little one, and, as she grew, Jewel loved him right back.

The girl had her father’s mink brown hair and blue eyes, although hers were an almond shape. Her little pink tongue frequently protruded from her mouth. She was clad in a tube-like red dress made by her father, her hair in two uneven braids.

At the sight of Hank, Jewel’s eyes lit up. She waved so hard, she lost her balance, and Torin had to hold his arm rigid to keep her upright. Once she was somewhat steady again, he released her.

In what served for a run, Jewel stumped over to Hank, her arms held up.

His heart squeezing with love, Hank stood, took long steps to the girl, and scooped her into a hug.

Jewel squealed. “Han!” She threw her arms around his neck.

He clasped her tight and smacked a kiss on her cheek. “Hey, baby girl.” He set her down and reached to shake Torin’s hand.

“Swans.” Jewel pointed toward the lake.

Hank laughed. “Guess I don’t have to ask what brings you here.”

Torin smiled. “Guess not. Swans. You, too, of course, although you play second fiddle to the birds.”

“At least I’m higher than Brian,” Hank smirked, referring to their other bachelor neighbor, who lived along the lake on the other side of Torin and Jewel. “He’s third fiddle.”

“Only because the swans mostly stay at your end of the lake,” Torin retorted with a matching smirk.

Hank couldn’t help grinning back, always glad to put one on over on Brian Bly, with whom he shared a friendly rivalry, even if the man wasn’t anywhere nearby to know about the current conversation. The two also had an unspoken pact to lighten up Torin, for the man was much too sad and serious. No matter how much he adored his daughter, the burden of Jewel’s care weighed on him.

Hank and Torin often found Brian’s grumpy remarks humorous. He never knew if Brian meant every pessimistic statement, or if their friend secretly amused himself—sometimes at their expense. Probably both.

Hank went inside the house for the mason jar containing small pieces of stale bread and some of the new peas that he’d put aside yesterday for Jewel to feed the swans when next she came by. He twisted off the lid, set it on the counter, and then walked outside to hand the jar to the girl. “Here you go, honey.”

She smiled, her tongue poking out of her mouth. “Thann, Han.”

He grinned in return. “You’re welcome, Jewel baby.”

Holding the jar to her chest, she raced to the water—or at least hurried as quickly as Jewel, with her stumping gait, could move.

Once she tottered and fell, some bread spilling from the jar. Neither Hank nor Torin moved to assist her. The sand was a soft landing, and Jewel had a stubborn streak about getting up on her own.

The girl pulled herself to a crouch, carefully returned the bread and peas to the jar, and stood, moving toward the lake.

She was a familiar figure to the swans, and the pair glided in her direction, graceful necks bowing. With a squeal, Jewel picked a scrap of bread from the jar and threw it to them. The piece didn’t go far, landing at the edge of the water. But the swans trusted Jewel enough to dart forward, one beating the other to gobble up the bread.

Torin took his gaze from his daughter and waved at Hank’s latest addition to his furnishings. “Mighty fine rocking chair you have.”

Hank agreed, but to say so aloud would sound arrogant. “Took a while to figure out the curve of the rockers.” He gestured toward the chair. “Try it out.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Torin settled himself in the rocker and let out a sigh. “Jewel was awake before even a hint of dawn lit the sky.”

Hank pulled up the bench next to Torin. The two sat in silence for a while, watching the girl feed the swans, her joy making both men smile.

“Sunday next, I’m going to church,” Hank announced. “I’ll also stop by the mercantile. I’ll have a saddlebag full of purchases. But the other saddlebag is free. Let me know what you need from town.”

Torin rocked back. “Troubles me sometimes how beholden I am to you,” he said, his tone heavy. He didn’t take his gaze off his daughter.

Turning his head, Hank stared at him in astonishment. “What in tarnation do you mean?”

“You are as good a friend as can be found. You keep our secret.” Torin tilted his head toward Jewel. “You and Brian both. You fetch my supplies. You are good to my daughter—like an uncle—as unlike her real uncles as can be. I owe you so much.”

“You don’t owe me jack ,” Hank said, purposely crude to get his point through his friend’s thick skull and into his brain. This wasn’t the first time Torin had expressed similar concerns or touched on the lingering, bitter pain from his family.

Hank pointed to Jewel. “I love that little girl.” He jabbed a finger in her direction. Love you, too , he sent the thought to Torin. The feeling was real, although he didn’t say so aloud. A man didn’t go around expressing such sentiments to another man—no matter how good a friend. But he hoped Torin caught his meaning. “We all help each other out. Like all the times you and Brian and I pulled together to harvest or cut ice. How you watch my horses when I go visit my sister and her family.”

“You don’t go very often,” Torin pointed out.

“I’ll visit more if it’ll make you happy,” Hank retorted.

“So, what’s with this sudden impulse to attend church services?”

Hank wasn’t sure if he should mention wife-hunting, given Torin’s horrible experience with his short marriage. But it’s not as if I can hide that I’m courting. I’ll be away more often. She’ll have to visit…. “I think Jewel would love having a baby around to play with.”

Torin cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a bit? Or did you send for a mail-order bride and are picking her up tomorrow?”

Hank laughed. “I’m not that courageous. No, I figured I’d start courting the ordinary way—by finding a pretty lady at church.” He glanced at Jewel, and then at Torin. “I’ll warn you before I bring someone by, so you won’t venture over. But at some point, I’d want my potential bride to meet our baby girl.” He lifted his chin in Jewel’s direction. “Any woman who wouldn’t accept that precious child isn’t the wife for me.”

“Good to know.”

Like a knight guarding a princess, Torin kept Jewel’s existence a secret. His wife had rejected the baby at birth, and, when he refused to institutionalize his daughter like both their families wanted, his parents disowned him, and the baby’s mother sought a divorce. Torin fled to seclusion, where no one would see Jewel and make fun of the child or snub her.

Torin raised an eyebrow. “You mean a lady accompanied by her family or chaperone?”

With a sheepish grin, Hank shrugged. “Living so isolated as we do, guess I’ve forgotten some of the niceties.”

Torin chuckled. “Best remember them if you’re going courting.” His expression sobered. “I’ll keep Jewel close to home on Sunday.”

“You must think I’m a fast worker.”

“I know you’re a fast worker.” Torin kept his tone mild. “You set your mind on something and plow dead ahead. Stubborn that way.”

Hank chuckled. He sat for a moment, pondering Torin’s observations, and, somewhat to his chagrin, decided his neighbor was right. He’d always taken pride in singlehandedly achieving his goals.

Frowning, he realized Torin’s words made him sound too much like his grandfather for comfort. From what he remembered of his grandmother, who died of diphtheria when he was ten, she’d always seemed unhappy in her marriage. I will be a far better husband , he vowed to his future bride.

“Well…tomorrow is too early to go into town, so you two can frolic around the lake to your heart’s content.”

Torin let out one of his rare laughs, his blue eyes alight. “Frolic, eh?”

Hank couldn’t help but grin at his friends. “Yep.”

The bread jar empty, the swans lingered for a moment, and then drifted off the way they’d come.

Jewel waved and called out, “Ba-ba, before waddling back to Hank.

“All gone.” She handed him the jar. “Thann you.”

“Yep.” Hank ran the back of his index finger across her soft cheek.

“More?” she asked.

“Not for a while, hon.” His baking left much to be desired. The loaves turned out too heavy and sometimes scorched, which left plenty of scraps for the swans. But since he was heading to town, he would stop by the Muellers’ bakery for a couple of loaves and a dozen cookies. He’d eat almost every bite, leaving only a crust or two for the swans.

Jewel climbed onto her father’s lap.

With a grunt at his daughter’s weight, Torin wrapped his arms around her. “Soon she’ll be too big for my lap.”

Hank hid a stab of sadness with a smile. When Jewel was born, the doctors predicted a short life for the Mongoloid baby, lasting only a few years. Each birthday was a miracle. However heavy the child grew—God willing to adulthood—he knew without a doubt, Jewel’s father would let his daughter cuddle on his lap.

“Rock.” Jewel pointed.

Torin bent to see his daughter’s face. “You want to go climb your rocks?” he asked, referring to a cluster of low, round boulders near their house that Jewel had appropriated as her playground.

She put a forefinger to her lips and stared off. “Tea pa.”

“We can have a tea party.”

Hank hid a smile lest Jewel see and rope him into joining them. Wouldn’t be the first time, won’t be the last. Wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the child. But he had chores a-waitin’, a cabin to get spic and span, and a rocking chair to build, just in case, as his neighbor predicted, he’d soon have special visitors.

Torin kissed Jewel’s cheek and set her on her feet.

“Ba, Han.” She waved. “Tea pa.”

“Enjoy your tea party with your papa.” Hank blew her a good-bye kiss.

Rising, Torin took Jewel’s hand. He sent a smile Hank’s way and guided his daughter down the steps and in the direction of their home.

With a fond smile, Hank watched their retreating backs. I hope my future bride will like our neighbors.

Concern made the smile fall away from his face. How will a potential wife react to Jewel?

He clenched his jaw. Any bride he chose would have to prove she possessed a loving, understanding heart and the necessary discretion to protect the child before he’d ever introduce her and her family to Torin and Jewel. Oh, yes, he’d pay close attention to how the woman treated others. A kind heart was a must.

Torin and Jewel, still walking hand in hand, disappeared around a bend.

Surely, his future bride couldn’t help falling in love with one little girl who wasn’t “quite right” but to him was just perfect.