Love Comes Home (Cutter's Creek Book 24)

  Love Comes Home

  A Cutter’s Creek Novel

  Kit Morgan

  Angel Creek

  ANGEL CREEK PRESS

  Love Comes Home

  (A Cutter’s Creek Novel)

  By Kit Morgan

  © 2017 Kit Morgan

  To sign up for Kit’s newsletter and find out about upcoming books and other fun stuff, Text the words “Clear Creek” to 22828

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or livestock are purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Angel Creek Press and Agape Authors.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  1

  Cutter’s Creek, Montana Territory, 1877

  Jonathan Bridger wasn’t prone to anger. On the contrary, he had the patience of Job. He had to, or he’d go insane.

  His father, a man of many talents – all focused on how to make fast money – wasn’t as young as he used to be, nor as clever when it came to concocting get-rich-quick schemes. All things considered, this was a good thing, as it meant Jonathan didn’t have to be just as clever in figuring out ways to keep Pa out of jail.

  His mother’s talents lay in other areas – cutting someone down to size, belittling, self-centeredness, condescension. She had little compassion for her fellow man, or woman, or kittens and puppies for that matter. It was one of the reasons he’d never had a dog, or even asked for one – he couldn’t have borne how Ma would have treated the pup.

  Then there was his sister Olivia – no one could hold a candle to her. Though he was sure many would like to … as in burning her at the stake as a witch. To recount all the evil, wicked, selfish and downright stupid things his sister had done would take years. So he settled for telling those who asked after his sister’s health that the witch was still alive. For now.

  Which brought him to his current predicament. He wanted to kill her. No, that was too extreme – he just wanted her to be out of his life, forever, and preferably the next life too. As who wouldn’t. Granted, he wasn’t the only one to have to suffer Olivia’s bad temper and other unredeeming qualities. His parents did as well.

  There had been an opportunity to be rid of her about five years back, after a chance meeting and a kiss between Olivia and one Beauregard Russell – a shotgun wedding was in order. Unfortunately, when they found Mr. Russell, he was in the midst of trying to force Samijo Weaver, who was already married to Arlan Weaver, to marry him in order to get his hands on her money.

  Not being particular about doing things in the proper order, Beauregard (Burr to his intimates) figured he’d shoot her trussed-up husband after he married her. If he’d been smart, he’d have done things the other way around – really, if he’d been smart he wouldn’t have tried the fool stunt in the first place.

  As it happened, no sooner had the ceremony started than Jonathan’s father showed up with his shotgun and Olivia. While their father argued with Mr. Russell over his demands he marry Olivia, Arlan freed himself, subdued an outlaw also on the scene, and saw to it that Jonathan’s father got what he wanted: Olivia married. Whereupon the law showed up and carted Burr off to jail on charges of assault, attempted murder and a few other nasty things.

  The man still had ten years to go, which meant Jonathan’s parents had just as much time left with Olivia. But finally Jonathan decided he didn’t have to keep suffering like that, and left. You weren’t supposed to abandon family, he knew that, but given the quality of his family he figured people would understand.

  There were advantages to no longer being in the Bridger household. The biggest by far was the quiet – no more nagging, fussing, arguing, screeching, screaming, shouts of disdain, orders, or general grousing. And that was just his father. Mr. Bridger couldn’t hope to compete with his wife or Olivia once they got going. Now Jonathan’s life was a vast expanse of blissful silence. Heavenly.

  But even bliss can wear thin. He was so used to the chaos of his family, he swore he heard their raised voices on the wind when he lay down to sleep. One night he even woke up and saw Olivia standing at the end of his bedroll, ready to throw a frying pan at him. Probably for some wrong he didn’t commit; Olivia never did need much of an excuse to turn to violence.

  Did all people suffer such things after escaping years of trauma? Would he ever get the peace and quiet he so longed for, or would he be doomed to have his family haunt him forever? Maybe if he surrounded himself with new voices, he’d rid himself of the old. But Jonathan didn’t like meeting a lot of folks. He’d rather ease himself into his new-found freedom gradually, among friends.

  That was how he found himself walking down the road into Cutter’s Creek in the Montana Territory, a place he was familiar with. He knew a few people there – at least he hoped they were still there. He was closer to Billings (and his family) than he’d like, but they had no idea where he’d gone.

  And his father had once said, “never go back to a town where you’ve been evicted. They’ll charge you twice the rent.” They’d almost been evicted from their house in Cutter’s Creek back in ‘68. His father would avoid the town and hopefully expect Jonathan to do the same. But Jonathan hadn’t been the one with the brilliant idea of slipping away in the wee hours of the night to escape paying the back rent – that was his father through and through.

  He’d just been dragged along by Pa, away from his new job and the potential for a new life. He’d told his friend Agatha Shrewsbury on Christmas Eve that he and his family planned to move in the spring, which was true. But his father made other plans. He didn’t like that he never got to say goodbye.

  That was nine years ago. He wondered what sort of life Aggie had made for herself in the tiny town. Or wherever she’d gotten off to.

  Jonathan stopped and stared down the road. The town’s landmark little red chapel was on his right, a small white carpenter-Gothic cottage next to it. The preacher’s name was Howard Latsch, he recalled, and his wife was Mary. Were they still pastoring there?

  He walked down the street and noted several new buildings among the old. The lumber mill was still a little ways up the road from the church. The blacksmith shop was still there, and the grange hall. He remembered his last time at the grange very well – that Christmas Eve when Eldon Judrow asked Aggie to marry him in front of everybody. Olivia, who’d set her cap for Eldon, had looked ready to scratch Aggie’s eyes out.

  Thankfully Pa, seeing the futility of her quest, had dragged her home and promised to find her a husband. The best-laid plans – well, Pa’s plans, not usually well laid – went awry, of course, as soon as they hit Burr Russell. Pa’s light at the end of the tunnel turned out to be an oncoming locomotive.

  Jonathan reached the sheriff’s office, but it was locked up. He made a note to come back later and see if Lucius Judrow had become sheriff yet. At last check, the Judrow brothers were building a large place outside of town. Eldon had a bit of money and wanted a house big enough for both of them and their families, but Lucius had just become a deputy, and he seemed ambitious.

  He passed the mercantile, then the d
ressmaker’s shop where Aggie worked for a time – it had a new sign, reading BROWN & BROWN, Clothiers. What was that about? There was a new land office, and a bakery across the street from a boarding house, and new homes scattered here and there, even a bank. Cutter’s Creek had grown since he’d been away.

  He smiled to himself. With a real bank in town, he wondered if Lucius got the chance to thwart any robberies. Not that he’d wish such a thing on the town, but Lucius and his brother Eldon had once been bounty hunters, or so he’d heard. Bet any bank robbers would get a nasty surprise.

  Jonathan reached the end of town and headed back, knowing there was one place in any town where he could find things out: the mercantile. He reached the building and stood in front of it for a minute. It looked bigger than he remembered, and perhaps it was – after nearly ten years they were bound to expand with the town. That, and he’d been smaller when he was here last.

  He went inside, enjoying the tiny bell that rang above the door. It was the first sound of civilization he’d heard in some time. Being on the trail alone after years of living in a household full of loud complaining had been an adjustment. Maybe after sleeping in a real bed in the boarding house, he wouldn’t wake up to see Olivia standing in his room about to go into a tirade …

  “Howdy there, stranger,” said a familiar man behind the counter. “What can I do for you?”

  Jonathan smiled and hoped he got the man’s name right. “Jasper?”

  The man cocked his head as he studied Jonathan. “Yes,” he said cautiously. “Do I know you?”

  Jonathan grinned. “You used to. I’m Jonathan Bridger – I lived here. Not for very long, but I used to come into your place with Agatha Shrewsbury.”

  “Well, I’ll be!” Jasper said with a grin to rival Jonathan’s. He held out his arms, motioning Jonathan closer. “Don’t go anywhere – let me fetch Abigail. She’ll wanna say hello.” He hurried down the hall. Jonathan heard voices somewhere in the back.

  Soon Jasper reappeared with his wife. She looked him up and down and whooped.

  Jonathan jumped, not expecting such a reaction. “Nice to see you too,” he said with a laugh.

  “Jonathan Bridger, as I live and breathe,” Abigail said. “Where have you been all these years?” Her smile suddenly faded. “Is, uh, your family with you?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m on my own now.”

  Abigail muttered something like “thank God,” under her breath, then smiled again. “What brings you to these parts?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “I’m looking for a place to settle, and I remembered how much I liked it here. Place has changed, though.”

  “For the better,” Jasper said as he walked over and slapped him on the back. “New folks have moved in, some of your old friends have children now and … well, don’t just stand there, come on back and have a cup of coffee! We’ll listen for the bell.”

  “Thank you, Jasper. That’s mighty kind of you both.” Jonathan followed them down the hall to their living quarters in the back of the store.

  Abigail poured everyone a cup of coffee and joined the men at the kitchen table. “Won’t Agatha be tickled when she finds out you’re back in town?”

  Jonathan’s eyes lit up. “Aggie and Eldon are still here?”

  “As are Lucius and Emma,” Jasper said. “The Judrows have five children between them.”

  “Five?” Jonathan said in surprise.

  “Believe it or not,” Abigail said. “Lucius and Emma have three, and Eldon and Agatha have a boy and girl.”

  Jonathan sat back in his chair and shook his head in amazement. “Aggie’s a mother,” he said, smiling. “I wonder if that makes me an uncle?”

  “The two of you always were like brother and sister,” Abigail said. “How long did Aggie live with your family?”

  “Purt near five years, I reckon.” He smiled in remembrance. “Aggie was always kind to me.”

  Abigail smiled and patted him on the arm. “And you were mighty kind to her in return. I remember. A lot kinder than that sister of yours.”

  “Abigail,” Jasper warned.

  Jonathan raised a hand. “I don’t mind her saying so – it’s true. Everyone in Cutter’s Creek knew by the time we left that Olivia wasn’t easy to be around.”

  “Where is she?” Abigail asked warily.

  “Don’t worry, they’re in Billings. They won’t come here.”

  “I should say not, considering how you … I mean …”

  “Left?” he finished for her. “That was Pa’s doing, Mrs. Smith, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t ashamed of it. But I want you to know that I’m not my father …”

  “Come now, Jonathan,” she said. “We know that. For Heaven’s sake, you were just a boy at the time.”

  “I was fourteen – nearly a man in most folks’ eyes.”

  “He’s right,” Jasper agreed. “Still, you were under your father’s rule. We don’t blame you. Old Man Tucker, who rented you that place, might have, but he’s been dead a few years now. And if you don’t mind my saying, you were more grown up than your pa even then. Plenty of folks ‘round here will vouch for that.”

  Jonathan ducked his head at the compliment. It was a good thing Mr. Tucker wasn’t around – the man had a long memory – but he’d already decided that if he ran into the old man, he’d pay back anything his father owed. Even if it had been nine years, it was the right thing to do. It seemed he wouldn’t have to worry about that … and that the people who were still around wouldn’t be too hostile toward him either.

  “So,” Abigail began again. “Tell us where you’ve been, what you’re plans are.”

  “Sure, but can you tell me one thing first?”

  “Of course,” Jasper said.

  Jonathan sighed in relief. “Can you tell me where I might find a job?”

  2

  Maisie Woodhouse put a blanket over her mother’s legs and tucked it around her hips. “There. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No,” her mother snapped.

  Maisie did her best not to sigh. Sarah Woodhouse had been beside herself with grief since Papa died. Unfortunately, her behavior was growing worse, and Maisie was worried.

  She supposed she couldn’t blame her mother. Samuel Woodhouse had grand ideas about starting a newspaper and print shop in a little town somewhere. He’d heard about Cutter’s Creek from a relative who knew the founders of the town and told him all about it. To Papa, Cutter’s Creek sounded perfect. So he packed Maisie and her mother up, left Virginia and headed west. But he barely survived the journey – he died from influenza not long after they reached town, just over a year ago.

  Maisie had been supporting her mother as best she could ever since. At first they took in laundry, much to her mother’s displeasure. Then Maisie got a job at the mercantile several days a week, and between that and washing sheets, they were getting by. Barely.

  Mother and daughter shared a room at Mrs. Whitehall’s boarding house, as it was all they could afford. Thankfully Mrs. Whitehall didn’t mind their laundry operation since the money supplied her with the extra rent needed to help her make ends meet. The woman let Maisie and her mother use the backyard to do the washing and hang the laundry in exchange for doing all the boarding house washing for free. Mrs. Whitehall wasn’t unkind, just practical.

  “You are making supper when you come home,” her mother said flatly.

  “Yes, Mama, I plan to. Don’t worry, you won’t have to cook.”

  “See that I don’t. I worry away myself just keeping food on the table. Isn’t that enough? Must I have to cook too?”

  Maisie closed her eyes and counted to ten. One, two, three …

  “And the dishes – you’ll do the dishes?”

  Maisie yawned, hoping her mother didn’t think it rude. That would be a whole other lecture.

  “Did you hang the last batch of laundry?”

  “Yes, Mama,” she said, trying to keep the impatience out of h
er voice. “I did.”

  “Good. I don’t want folks around here thinking we’re not doing our jobs.”

  “You mean that I’m doing mine,” Maisie said, unable to help herself. At this point she was the one doing most of work – her mother was sleeping most of the day. That behavior also worried Maisie, and she wasn’t sure what to do. Every time she brought up getting a doctor, her mother would get angry. Mainly over money, of which they had none.

  “You’re cooking tonight?” her mother asked again.

  Maisie felt tears sting the back of her eyes. Was her mother losing her wits? “Yes, Mama. I already told you I was.”

  “And a good thing too,” her mother said with a frown. “Work my fingers to the bone, I do. Isn’t it enough I feed you? The least you can do is cook.”

  Frowning, she handed her mother a book. “I’ll be home in a few hours. Do some reading, relax.”

  “Of course I’ll relax! I deserve to relax!”

  Maisie kissed her mother on the forehead. “Of course you do,” she mumbled. What else could she say? Her mother was beginning to make no sense. She turned to leave, wondering if she should tell her employers Abigail and Jasper how her mother had been acting. Better yet, she should go tell the doctor and be done with it. Her mother didn’t have to know she paid him a visit.

  “Maisie?” her mother said, her tone deeper, angrier.

  “Yes, Mama?” Maisie said, standing on the threshold, not turning around.

  “Don’t you be talking to men on your way to work, you hear me, girl?”

  Maisie rolled her eyes. “If there were any men to talk to, Mama, I’d remind myself. I’ll see you in a few hours.” She quickly left, not wanting to give her mother another chance to gripe. When her tone changed like that, she knew the woman’s bitterness was rising. A far cry from the loving mother she once had.