CHAPTER 9

C HAPTE R 9

Ava jolted awake in the middle of the night. Frances Carpenter! She knew her. Could she be Orson's sister?

She had spoken of her rich stepfather and kidded about his name—Shilling, as in money—but her anger and sarcasm were evident in the chip she wore on her shoulder. The saloon boss loved the girl—she was his ticket to bringing in the customers. He'd kept her from going upstairs with the riffraff, saving her for the elite customers with big money who came to watch her dance. When she came up pregnant, his agenda changed, and he counted the days unti his "prime real estate" could return to duty. No one wanted to see a fat woman dancing or flaunting herself with the gentlemen, and for the final few months, when girdles could no longer squeeze her tummy flat, he took her out of commission. Tom, the slob—as the girls called their boss behind his back—swore that when Frances gave birth, and the brat was given away to some hard-luck family, the woman would return to her purity, and her sole job would be to sing, dance, and entice the men to drink and gamble. Never would she mount the steps to the upper rooms again.

That had never happened. A disgruntled customer had seen to her demise. Ava had been present when the lifeless baby was excreted from her womb, and she had witnessed the sorrow in the mother's eyes before she slipped to her own death a few minutes afterward.

Orson had said he'd lost touch with Frances. If she had been his sister, dare she tell him of her fate on that horrible night? Perhaps he was better off not knowing.

The memories invading the solace of her room in the middle of the night brought her down a trail she longed to put behind her for good. She'd been grateful the owner had set aside a few of his hired women after that as "untouchable property" that he treated with golden fingers, and Ava was numbered among those he picked. Her job description was reduced to dancing in the new chorus line, filling the patrons' glasses with whiskey, and using her sly hand at the gaming tables to keep the profits in the boss's pockets and not the gamblers'. Customers enjoyed her playful disposition, and her humor kept the regulars laughing and having a good time. Never had she joined clients of any station upstairs to satisfy their sinful lust, for even an unchurched girl knew there'd be no turning back from that. Second chances would never be granted in a decent man's heart, and she'd be rendered a saloon girl until the wrinkles on her face made her useless, and she was tossed out on the street to fend for herself.

Thankfully, the secret do-gooder who had provided her with her escape money, had pushed her departure date forward, and such a fate no longer threatened her world. Consequently, her past did less to hurt her chances for a new life. Yes, Ava could do this, she consoled herself, allowing her irregular breathing to become normal, pushing the painful memories back into the dark recesses of her heart.

She lay down and wiped away the flow of tears, mourning Frances's broken life and agonizing death for the hundredth time. And now her brother, who had strangely entered Ava's life, was unaware of his sister's fate.

Wait—that wasn't true. Had he not said that his sister was deceased? Perhaps he didn't know the full details, but she was certain he had described Frances as having departed from this world. On that day, he'd said he was too late to save his sister, which could have meant from her career choice or death.

Her thoughts buzzed in numerous directions, attempting to put an order to the fragmented conversations over time. If she confronted him, it would incriminate her. He'd know she had worked at the same saloon as his sister, and that would put a halt to his calling after her at the Yagger house. Still, he was leaving town at job's end anyway, and if Orson had any notions that she might fit the bill for his next casual romance, she'd do him a favor by nipping it in the bud right now.

Decision making seemed easier lying safely in one's bed in the middle of the night, but when the sun rose, fear replaced her peace, and Ava hated herself for her lack of gumption to do the right thing by Orson Shilling.

When Sunday rolled around, and Gracie was not willing to brave the jolting carriage ride to town, Ava and Blanche made the trek alone. Orson was there, just as he'd said, smiling and eager to sit with them for the service. Before they even went inside, Ava prayed to a God she did not know that loose ends would tie up in His grace, which Gracie claimed was new every morning. She only hoped that applied to wayward sinners like her and Orson.

The piano player was every bit as talented as any she'd heard thump the ivories in the saloon, but the melodies in the church, even songs of the lively sort, brought not chaos to the brain but a strange peace that warmed her heart. Blanche, seated on her right side, sang like an angel and she saw Orson stare at her during one of the hymns. She squeezed his hand, aware he might be remembering his sister's beautiful singing voice. The motivation for comfort, underlying the boldness in her action, backfired, and when his gaze drifted toward her, it did not let go. Uncomfortable at such gawking in the house of the Lord, she summoned her resistance to focus her attention on the preacher standing at the front, conducting the worship.

The singing seemed to prepare her heart for the message. Pastor Higgins was of a gentle spirit, and his words of admonition and love were peppered with encouragement that today was the day of salvation, and that His mercies were new every morning. Ava clung to that line, thinking that surely God had spoken directly to her. Gracie was not in attendance so she was not to blame for having prompted the minister to speak the words that had touched the fringes of her secret sins.

When an invitation to seek more of God came at the end of the service, she shook, and when Blanche reached for her hand and whispered that she would walk the aisle with her, Ava stumbled to her feet. She dared not to look at Orson's face as she passed him by, clinging to the child, who led her to kneel at the altar.

Ava was amazed that one short surrender could open the floodgates of mercy. She accepted her ignorance when it came to understanding the awesome and unearthly ways of the Lord, but inside, she acknowledged a guiding power she'd never known. It felt right to transfer some of her independence to His big shoulders.

When she and Blanche returned to their seats after prayer time, she noted that Orson Shilling had left the building. Apparently, he had not been touched by the Word or was not ready to commit to a spiritual awakening.

At home, Gracie and Slate were beyond excited that Ava had invited their Savior into her life, and the cake she'd baked for dessert at lunch was served as a celebratory symbol for things yet to come.

The Bible became her best friend in the coming week; Gracie began to share in the chores, and the family settled into a new routine. Baby Jacob was a joy, cooing his way into everyone's heart and kicking his covers off to draw attention from anyone nearby. Ava held him every sunrise and spoke the words she read from the good book into his attentive face. At sunset, she held him up to the Lord in prayer from the rocking chair on the porch, thankful that new life had showered hope on both of them—Jacob's beginning for the first time, hers a second opportunity to start again.

Orson did not come calling, and the gifts from her secret admirer ended abruptly after she had received the gold cross on the Monday morning following her trip to the altar. Ava coveted the gift. The note read, ‘From the cross comes your freedom to life forevermore.' In her heart, she determined that Orson had been the admirer all along, setting up the guessing game strictly for her benefit, perhaps to make her feel as if people had accepted her in her new surroundings. He had not bowed his knee that day, yet he still had some knowledge of the cross and its benefits.

A thought popped into her head on Saturday afternoon while she sipped tea and Gracie rested. Ava wondered if it would be presumptuous for her to visit the construction site uninvited. From his absence the past week, she took it that Orson was through with her. In one sense, relief flooded her, grateful that the dreaded conversation about his sister had never continued. Yet, the man had left a tangible void in her life, one not easily replaced.

Curiosity eventually got the better of Ava. She was interested to see if he actually used any of her suggestions in the building's design. It would be taking a chance if she went to snoop at the site, as he might be there to reopen the can of worms she had sealed shut. Still, she longed for him to experience Calvary's freedom in his life, for He could mend the broken pieces she sensed still drove the man.

Tired of the inner debate, she tossed her embroidery aside, went outside to the barn, and saddled a horse. The ride out there was quiet and restful. A cool breeze blew her hair behind her like a flag in the wind. She hadn't bothered to fuss with it that morning or don a fancy dress, her intention to spend the day in the kitchen foremost in her mind. She had gone out in public, plain and simple, praying no traveler would pass by her while she galloped along the roadway.

She turned in at the property line and noticed the laneway had been scraped level, eliminating the ruts she recalled. The birds and varmints scattered as she followed the path. When Ava reached the open space, she saw piles of lumber on the ground along the large, roped-in rectangle.

Ava tied the horse to an overhanging branch and walked toward the abandoned site. There didn't appear to be a soul around, just as she hoped. She strolled leisurely, following the rope's perimeter, noting the areas where logs lay outlining what looked like windows and doors. She stepped over the taunt rope across the threshold and walked into the center of the space. There, she saw additional ropes sectioning off permanent walls and structures that would be built on the inside. Ava smiled when she saw the extra work counter she'd suggested. She stood on the inside, facing the west. Yes, it was perfect. Orson's client would love it.

"Do you approve?" a voice sounded from behind her.

Ava twirled toward the laneway to see a stranger standing there, ogling her. She felt instantly uncomfortable in his presence and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "Afternoon…, Miss Gardner, isn't it?"

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. He knew her, hopefully as Orson's friend. That made her feel safer while trespassing on the man's property.

"Why, yes. Is Mr. Shilling here? I thought I'd pop out and surprise him."

"Well, now, the surprise is on you. He left for home to see his family. Said he'd be gone for a spell, but if you were still his friend, you would have known that."

Maybe letting her guard down had been premature.

"Heard tell you were looking for a secret admirer. That could be me."

The sly tone of his appeal hit a recall in her mind, and recognition struck. "You're the man from the stagecoach who drank far too much."

"That I am," he said. "Gordie Flynn at your service, miss."

"You've cleaned up some. The beard made you look older." She did not add ‘ and dirtier' aloud, although she doubted she would offend him.

He roared laughing. "You trying to butter me up? Too late. I know'd you didn't like me then, and I reckon that hasn't changed."

"What are you doing here?"

"Mr. Shilling took pity on me. When I told him I could use a hammer, he offered me a job."

She figured she would try to ‘butter him up' and get out of there as fast as her legs could carry her. It appeared they were alone, and that did not make Ava comfortable in the least. "The layout appears to be serviceable. The new owner will love it. You're off to a fine start."

Gordie Flynn laughed again. He hit his knee robustly, but Ava had no idea what he considered so humorous. She wondered if he had been drinking in the boss's absence. That could certainly mess with a man's mind.

"Well, I'll be on my way, Mr. Flynn. The family is expecting me home." She formed a big circle around the man to avoid walking too close to him, but he moved in quickly to close the gap.

When Gordie grabbed her arm, she jerked it back and yelled with all the indignation she could muster. "Mr. Flynn, mind your manners."

"Do I strike you as a man with manners?" His glassed-over eyes rounded, and his features turned to a hideous scowl.

Ava's rapid heartbeat and face-ridden terror seemed to egg the fellow on. His kind was not foreign to her. She had landed in troubling situations with a man before and had easily overcome her fear to curb his unruly mindset. Maybe it was the new clothes or the new person she hoped to become, but the circumstances playing out before her seemed too much to handle.

The lone woman was in trouble, and she wasn't sure how to avoid the misfortune she saw blazing in his eyes.