Chapter 23 Chisolm and Clementine #2
Behind the stove there was a hammered tin backsplash and the whole thing was framed with a substantial, intricately carved wood piece that looked like it belonged in a church. Or a castle.
Sure, if you wanted to whip up a batch of cookies, it might be a pain in the ass to have to start a fire to do it.
But, dang, it was pretty.
I enjoyed the show, watching while he came out of the bathroom and to the bed, claiming me at the same time pulling us both under the covers.
When he was on his back, and I was where he put me—propped up on his chest with my lower body off to the side—his arm resting along the small of my back, I asked, “Did you know your kitchen is probably worth as much as this whole cabin?”
He did a very slow blink and said, “Come again.”
“Just one of your upper cabinets would sell for over a thousand at an antique auction. The craftmanship is crazy.”
“You want me to auction my kitchen?”
The very thought made me instantly nauseous.
“Good Lord, no. That thing probably came west in a covered wagon, guarded by shotguns held by whoever paid a substantial amount of money to get it in the first place. The man who put that in this house loved his wife, that’s for certain.”
“He did,” Hutch grunted.
Ooooo.
Interesting!
“You know the history of this cabin?” I asked breathlessly.
He stared at me a long beat before he said. “Trapper named Chisolm Beckwith cleared this patch and built the house with its offerings.”
“Wow,” I breathed.
“This big bedroom and bath were added on later.”
“Okay.”
“Apparently, Chisolm cut a fine figure in Misted Pines.”
I smiled. “Ladies’ man?”
“They wished. Loner. Back then, MP wasn’t a twenty-minute drive. It was a couple-hour horse ride away.”
“I see.”
“The ladies all went for their smelling salts when he came to town with his tanned furs, though.”
This I had to see. “Are there pictures of him?”
“Maybe. Somewhere. But I don’t have any.”
“Bummer,” I mumbled. Then prompted, “So, that wife he loved?”
“Clementine Cosgrove.”
I laughed. “Oh please, tell me that’s her real name.”
He grinned at me. “It was.”
“Keep going,” I urged.
“Clementine hadn’t had it good. Child bride of a union soldier who had the bad luck to die in the final days of that war.
She hooked up with another guy who, probably, put her ass in a covered wagon and took her west. Got here, he got tuberculosis.
Lasted for a spell, but it eventually took him.
She was stuck all the way across the country from her family, with a house and two kids to look after, and no money.
But the west wasn’t won just by men. The women did their part, like they always do.
She took in boarders, did washing and had some fences built in her backyard around tubs.
Word was, she had water heating on her stove twenty-four hours a day.
She sold baths. I guess that was a thing. ”
I scrunched my nose.
“It fed her kids,” he reminded me.
I changed my mind. “Go Clementine.”
“She was also, according to the lore, a pretty little thing.”
And the story gets better.
“Caught ole Chisolm’s eye, did she?” I asked.
“Guess she did one day when he took his washing to her. Once he met her, he came into MP a lot more often. But he was up here, in his cabin, shootin’ the shit with another trapper who had gossip from town.
The lady at the boarding house had to shoot one of her boarders who broke into her room in order to take liberties. ”
I stuck out my tongue before I said, “Yuck. I’m suddenly not a fan of this story.”
“She didn’t kill him, May. But she did stop him, considering, whether by accident or design, she shot him in the groin. And the sheriff back then wasn’t having it. Said she washed his clothes. He wasn’t putting her behind bars for defending her virtue. He’d lose his laundress.”
I grinned. “Okay, now I’m back to loving this story.”
“Chisolm heard this story, hitched his wagon to his horse, drove into town, asked for her hand, married her in church the next day. Packed up her and her kids. Brought ’em up the mountain.
Gave her another baby. To this day, their grave markers are in the woods about fifty yards east of here.
He went first, but she never left this mountain.
They say she didn’t because he was still here, and she refused to leave him.
Two years later, she was back where she belonged. Lying at his side.”
Damn.
Now I wanted to cry.
I didn’t.
I remarked, “And somewhere along the way, he ordered a proper kitchen for her.”
“Story goes, her boarding house was the most popular in town because of her cooking. Story also goes, she always said it was good because she cooked with love, and that had taste to it.”
“My mom wasn’t much of a cook, so I wouldn’t know.”
“I do. I had your herb rolls tonight.”
Oh God.
This, I knew for sure, wasn’t FWB territory.
“Hutch,” I said shakily.
He rolled into me and gathered me in his arms. “Baby, you put love into everything you do. It’s just you. It’s not a statement, you making those rolls for me. I get that. I’m not making a statement either. Relax.”
“Okay.”
Though, I wasn’t sure I wasn’t making a statement with the rolls.
“They were fuckin’ good, though.”
That bought him another grin.
He looked down between us and back at me. “I like you in my shirt. Can you sleep in it?”
It was a lot of material, and the arms were super long.
But I was going to sleep in it.
“Yes.”
He kissed me.
Then he fucked me in his shirt.
After that, per protocol regardless of the location change, Tonks joined us, Moxie joined Tonks, and Hannibal snored in his bed on the floor at Hutch’s side.
And he and I fell asleep.
Hutch
The next afternoon, Hutch stood, leaning on the jamb in the doorway to the romper room, but he wasn’t worried about any puppies escaping.
Because Hannibal was nosing them where they needed to be. And Tonks was dropping down on her front paws then racing away, with a puppy chasing her.
And Mabel was on her back in the middle of the floor, knees bent, soles of her boots to the wood planks, giggling herself breathless with three puppies crawling all over her.
She was out of danger.
And he was still in this.
But he’d be in this until some man walked into her shop, or passed her on the street, or sat next to her at an auction and asked her for a coffee.
And then she’d realize she didn’t have it all, she wanted it all, and she deserved it all.
He’d be good with that man, even if doing it would gut him.
But he’d be good with that man. He’d be friendly. He’d twist himself into knots to make true the lie that what they had now was nothing, and it was then, it was over, and they’d moved on. He wasn’t a threat.
He’d do everything to prove he was just a man who stepped up at a time of trouble for Mabel, and then he stepped back when she didn’t need him anymore.
And that was all he was.
Yeah.
He’d do all that, so he wouldn’t lose her.
He’d do whatever it took, so he never lost Mabel.