A Widow’s Second Chance at Love (Preview)

Chapter One

May 1886

Rosewood Falls, Montana

The door to the Rosewood Inn opened just enough to allow a draft to enter, forcing Marianne Wells to look up from her work. Behind the wooden door, and visible through the glass pane at the top of it, she saw a man. Thrusting a valise into the open space in the doorway, he managed to push the door, and it swung open. It became clear now that he was manhandling a large portmanteau, which he was trying to drag through the doorway. It looked very heavy the way he was pulling it while trying to keep hold of his valise at the same time.

Hurrying out from behind the reception counter, Marianne reached him just as he lost his battle with the valise. Its latch sprang open, dumping the contents onto the rug right in the doorway. 

And just in time for the lunch rush, Marianne thought. 

“Oh dear,” the man said in a pleasant voice. “I’m so sorry. All fingers and thumbs today, it would seem.” 

“It’s no bother,” Marianne said, dropping to her knees to retrieve the papers that had started to blow around the room. The door was still open, allowing an afternoon breeze to find its way inside. 

Although it was sweetly fragranced with the budding roses from her garden outside, Marianne wished the man would move his portmanteau out of the way and allow the door to close. At least it would keep the chill out. 

The snow had melted here in the valley, but the peaks surrounding it were still decked in white snow and that made most winds that blew down from them icy and unpleasant. 

It took a moment or two to gather up the pamphlets the man’s valise had been stacked with and get them all inside. Marianne took a look at one as she packed it back in. It was for a sewing machine. 

“Ah, I see you’ve spotted our latest little lady,” the man said breaking into a beaming smile. That happy look that salesmen got when they thought there might be a sale just waiting for them. 

“I’m not much of a seamstress, I’m afraid,” Marianne said kindly as she latched the valise closed again and handed it to the man. “But I’m sure there are several women in Rosewood Falls who would be delighted to hear about your new little lady.” She used his term in the same tone, and he smiled. 

Then she moved to the portmanteau and dragged it out of the way of the door, which could thankfully close now. 

Feeling instantly warmer without the cutting wind slicing through her, Marianne led the man to the reception counter, dragging his portmanteau behind her. He placed the valise on the floor and then rested his arms on the countertop. 

Marianne went behind the counter and, opening the ledger that she recorded all her guests in, picked up a pen. She dipped it in the ink bottle and handed it to him. 

“Your name and permanent address, please,” she said, pointing to the next open line in the book. It was amazing how often folks missed the next line or even two and made the book a mess by doing so. 

She watched as the salesman wrote his name and address in the book. Then she took the pen and the book back and read what he had written. 

“Mr. James Norris of Chicago, Illinois,” she said. “You’re a long way from home. But I suppose that is the life of a salesman, isn’t it?” 

“It certainly is, ma’am,” he said, running a hand down his full brown beard. 

“Well, I’m Mrs. Marianne Wells, and this is my inn,” she said, smiling. “Welcome.” 

“Thank you.” 

“And how long will you be staying with us?” 

“Two weeks for starters,” he said. “If I find that sales are good, I might extend it.” 

Marianne smiled happily. It was customary for the company to pay the account for their salesmen’s accommodation, and it was good, guaranteed money. She was always happy to see a company man walk through her door. 

She chose room fourteen for him and led him up the stairs to the room. He took his portmanteau this time and she took the valise. As they walked, she sized him up. He looked like a little reed of a man, thin and not much taller than she was, but he was surprisingly strong, hefting the bag up the stairs with no complaints. He wasn’t even breathing terribly heavily by the time he reached his room. 

“Breakfast and dinner are included in your room’s fee,” Marianne said as she opened the room’s door with her master key. 

She led him into the room. 

“If you’d like lunch, you’re welcome to eat at the restaurant. Just use your room number for the check if the company is paying,” she said. 

Mr. Norris nodded. 

She went through the few house rules, which mostly consisted of not damaging property or being rude or unruly. “And my staff are mostly female,” she added. This was always the tricky part. “They are employed as maids, cooks, and waitresses. They do not offer any other services.” 

He looked blankly at her as though he had no idea what she could possibly be referring to. 

“I mean, this isn’t a brothel,” she said with a stern look. “So, no touching the staff.” 

Her meaning seemed to slap him in the face, and he hastily nodded. “Of course. I’m a Christian, ma’am!” He drew himself up stiffly. 

“Good to hear it,” she said. “I’m sure we won’t have a problem, but we have had a few in the past. So, that’s why I always mention it. Just so that there aren’t any misunderstandings.” 

Mr. Norris nodded. “Quite understandable.” 

“Well, if there’s nothing else, we are about to start the lunch service in the restaurant,” Marianne said. “You’re welcome to get something to eat.” 

“Thank you,” he said. 

She left him and went back downstairs. Emily, a little mousy woman with a soft voice and large green eyes, looked up at Marianne from behind the counter. 

“The restaurant is filling up nicely today,” Emily said with a sweet little smile. 

“Oh good,” Marianne said. The restaurant had been a recent addition, creating another income stream for them. “I’m glad. Have you finished those repairs to Mr. Black’s shirts yet?” 

Another of their guests had somehow managed to rip one of his sleeves and lose a whole host of buttons on another of his shirts. Emily offered a service to the guests where she would mend their clothes for them, for a little added fee, of course. Everything cost, and despite Marianne’s many wishes, money still didn’t grow on trees. 

“I’m still working on them,” Emily said. Casting a look down the hallway, she wrung her hands in a nervous manner. 

Marianne knew that look. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Where is Clara? Has she come back from the general store yet?” 

“I…I don’t know,” Emily said, not meeting Marianne’s gaze. 

“Emily,” Marianne said but the young woman shot to her feet and muttered something about having far too much to do, she hurried down the hallway and out of sight. 

Marianne sighed. Emily was a strange one. She had come from St. Louis with nothing but a bag and the clothes on her back. She had a lot of secrets that she hadn’t yet divulged, but the Rosewood Inn had become her home and sanctuary, just as it had for every woman that Marianne employed. They all had stories and some of them shared them while others remained tight-lipped. Still, they had formed a kind of sisterhood at the inn, and it was about as safe a place for a collection of women to live as there could be.

As she crossed the rug to go behind the counter, she noticed that there were some dark spots on the rug. What on earth were they? Where had they come from? 

The door opened, and a familiar frame entered the room. 

Marianne looked up and sighed inwardly. It was her late husband’s best friend, Silas Carrington. 

“Afternoon,” Marianne said tearing her attention from the rug. She went over to the door to greet Silas properly. He unwound a scarf from his neck and took his coat off. He looked frozen. 

“It is freezing out there,” he said, rubbing his hands. “If that blasted wind would just stop blowing for a moment, we might be able to feel some spring cheer and warmth.” 

“I’m sure it will stop soon,” Marianne said. “Are you here for lunch?” 

He nodded. “Will you join me?” 

Over the last five years since her husband passed away, Silas had made it his mission in life to spend as much time as he could with Marianne. Although she found him decent company, she was too busy to take every lunchtime with him. Not that he would take no for an answer, and often pestered her until she sat with him. Mostly, she had learned to go with it. 

“I’ll have a coffee while you eat,” she said. 

He grinned. “Perfect.” 

They went through to the dining room and found a table for two near the back. The room was filling up quickly with a lot of the locals, some guests and a few folks Marianne didn’t know occupying the tables. 

Agnes, a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes came over. She was a schoolteacher by trade but the school in Rosewood Falls had a teacher and so she was working at the inn as a waitress instead. 

“Hello, Agnes,” Marianne said. “Silas will have his usual, with a coffee with cream and sugar, and I’ll have a black coffee.” 

Agnes nodded. “Coming right up.” She bustled off. She had a sharp mind and a determination that Marianne admired. She always wondered what people like Agnes would have become if life hadn’t dealt them such a horrible hand. 

“So, did you hear the news?” Silas asked, leaning forward across the table. 

“No,” Marianne said. “I’ve been working, Silas. I haven’t had time to read the newspaper, but I take it you have?” 

He chuckled. “Office work always allows for a coffee and a quiet perusal of the paper. I have an advantage there.” 

“And you’re your own boss,” Marianne said with a chuckle. 

“So are you,” he said. 

“You would think so but sometimes I think the inn runs me,” Marianne said with a sigh. “So, what did you read in the newspaper?” 

Silas drew in a long breath. “You remember those bank robbers that were featured in an article a couple of weeks ago?” 

Marianne had no idea what he was talking about. Silas tended to talk a lot, and she was so busy. She couldn’t always focus on what he was actually saying. Sometimes, she didn’t listen and just let his words wash over her. 

He had been her late husband’s best friend. Heading into his late forties, he had thinning brown hair, kind brown eyes, and a clean-shaven chin. If it wasn’t for his impeccable taste in clothing and his ability to pay for good tailoring, he wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. His features were terribly average with nothing memorable about them. So, he chose to always wear a suit with a waistcoat and a cravat. In a town of mostly miners and farmers, this set him apart rather well. 

“You might have to refresh my memory,” Marianne confessed. 

“Very well. They robbed the bank and made off with a sizable amount of money—” Silas began. 

Marianne tried to focus on the story, but it had no bearing on life in Rosewood Falls. For some reason, they never had bank robberies in their town. The bandits just always seemed to bypass the place. No one could explain it, the town was just lucky that way.

Her thoughts returned to matters involving the inn. 

She wondered where Clara was again. She should be at the counter now, checking in the afternoon arrivals. Where was she? 

Agnes arrived with steaming mugs of coffee for them. She put the one with sugar and cream in front of Marianne and handed Silas his black. 

Silas frowned at the mug in front of him. Marianne sighed and reached for the black coffee while passing the one with cream and sugar to Silas. 

“Sorry. I’ll have a word with Agnes later,” Marianne said.

“That girl is becoming as unfocused as the rest of you,” Silas said, sounding annoyed. “Really, I don’t know what’s going on with you all.” 

“Neither do I,” Marianne admitted. “I guess we’re all just working hard.” 

Silas snorted. “You can work hard and not get the order mixed up.” 

“I will talk to her.” 

“Good.” 

Marianne watched him sip his coffee. Of course, he was right, but the order wasn’t wrong. His coffee was exactly as he liked it. Agnes had simply put it in the wrong place. She would mention it to her server but wouldn’t make a big deal of it. 

Silas couldn’t understand what it took to run the inn. His business was all papers and numbers and seemed to run itself. He had a lot of free time. How could he understand the hours that running and working in this place took? The exhaustion that finally set in. He had no idea.

“So, as I was saying,” he continued. “the interesting thing about those bank robbers who broke into the Silver Hills bank last week is that they were seen heading in our general direction. Can you imagine if they come here?” 

Marianne frowned. “To Rosewood Falls? I can’t see them doing that. What would they do that for? Our bank isn’t one of the big ones. We don’t have a great deal of cash in it, do we?” 

Silas shook his head. “Not at this time of the month. The mine wages have just been paid. But if they wait a few weeks, they could hit the stagecoach that brings all of that money into town for the next month’s wages.” 

“Right,” she said. “Maybe they would just rob the stagecoach and not bother with coming to town.” 

Silas nodded. “I suppose that is an option. It seems you would prefer them doing that.” 

“Well, then the rest of us don’t have to worry about being shot,” she said. “Anyway, this is silly. They never come here, you know that.” The women who had found sanctuary in the inn didn’t need that kind of trouble right on their doorstep. If Marianne had her way, they would never be near violence again. 

She looked around. Clara should be back by now. The store was down the street. It was hardly a journey at all, and she had been gone a long time. Had she needed to do something else as well? All Marianne could recall was that Clara had said she had to do some shopping. 

Just then, Sarah went past the door to the dining room, carrying sheets in her arms. But she wasn’t headed upstairs to change a guest’s bed. She was heading to the downstairs rooms where the staff slept. 

Had something happened? 

Agnes arrived with a plate of stew and rice for Silas. He smiled as she placed it in front of him and then his face fell. “Oh, no bread? I do so love it, you know, to sop up the gravy. It’s so delicious.” 

Agnes looked confused. “Isn’t it there?” 

“No,” Silas said, picking up his bowl and showing her. 

Agnes frowned. “I could have sworn…” she turned and walked away from the table. 

That was rude, and Marianne couldn’t have that. 

“I’ll see about getting you some,” Marianne said, rising and hurrying after Agnes. 

“What is going on?” she demanded when she caught up to her. “You look so distracted.” 

Agnes sighed. “It’s Clara’s mess. She’ll have to talk to you.” And with that, she went through the swing doors to the kitchen. 

When she came out again, she still didn’t have Silas’ bread but some other order in her hands. Marianne, who was quite confused now, went into the kitchen to get the bread herself and, hopefully, find out what was going on because there was clearly something that no one was telling her. 

In the kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans that steamed and sizzled, she found the two cooks, Alice and Teresa. Teresa was preparing a tray of food by ladling broth into a bowl. She stopped in fright when Marianne entered. 

“What is going on?” Marianne asked. “Who ordered broth? Is one of the guests sick?” 

“No, no one is sick,” Teresa said, dumping a last spoonful into the bowl. 

She gestured to Sarah, who had been waiting, hidden from Marianne’s view by Alice. She came hurrying over and quickly picked up the tray, and disappeared out of the other door to the kitchen, the one that led into the inn. 

“Who is that for? What’s going on?” Marianne asked. 

“Well,” Alice said, stirring a pot. “You know how Clara is.” 

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” Marianne said testily. “Someone tell me what you’re all hiding, or I might just explode!” 

She was seeing red. This was terrible service to their customers, and they were the only reason that all these women had a roof over their heads. If they didn’t continue to supply delicious food with excellent service, they could lose it all. 

Alice opened her mouth to say something, but Marianne saw the blank and panicked looked in her eye and decided not to stay. She didn’t want to wade through whatever half-truth Alice and Teresa would feed her. She wanted to know what was going on right now. 

Hurrying to the door that Sarah had disappeared through, she rushed through it. Looking down the corridor, she just caught a glimpse of Sarah turning into one of the rooms. Marianne followed, and when she reached the door, she pushed it open. 

What she found inside was so surprising that she stood and stared dumbly with her mouth open. 

“Oh, hi, Marianne,” Clara said turning her bright and friendly smile at Marianne. “I was going to come and talk to you about this.” 

Marianne stood dumbstruck. In front of her, lying on the bed with no shirt on and a lot of blood seeping from a horrible-looking wound in his side, was a man. A strange man. Of all the things that Clara could have had in this room, this was not top of the list. 

Marianne was so shocked she could hardly think coherently. All she could manage to grasp was that despite everything, she still hadn’t taken Silas his bread.