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  Diantha

  The Widows of Wildcat Ridge

  Western Historical Romance

  Zina Abbott

  Copyright © 2019 Robyn Echols writing as Zina Abbott

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

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  Dedication

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  This book is dedicated to Lance D. who is reinventing his life.

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  Acknowledgements

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  A special thank you goes to Charlene Raddon for organizing and coordinating this The Widows of Wildcat Ridge. It was a wild ride at first, but had evolved into an exciting series to which I am pleased to contribute. She also provided all our beautiful covers through her book cover business, Silver Sage Book Covers.

  I wish to thank the other authors in the series for their insight, suggestions and support as we worked together to develop the fictional town of Wildcat Ridge and its fictional inhabitants. They have been an inspiration.

  I also wish to thank Linda Carroll-Bradd of Lustre Editing for copy editing this book to help it be as error-free as possible. Any errors you find are those of the author. I appreciate receiving a private message regarding any grammatical, punctuation or spelling errors so that I may correct them. My contact information is at the end of the book.

  Cover © Charlene Raddon, silversagebookcovers.com

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  Disclaimer

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  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental and unintended.

  Introduction:

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  Prologue

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  Wildcat Ridge, Utah – April 17, 1884

  D iantha Ames brushed aside a lock of dark brunette hair to keep it from falling in her eyes. Petite in height, not for the first time, she wished her late husband and first cousin, Eugene, who was not more than four inches taller than her and shared her coloring as well as several other physical features, had built the Ridge Hotel registration desk a few inches shorter. Or, since the counter was the right height for most of the men who stayed at the hotel, she wished he had built a platform behind the counter to elevate the floor about four inches. Then again, neither of them had foreseen that both Eugene and his night manager would die during the second explosion in the rescue attempt during the Gold King Mine disaster, leaving her a widow and the only one remaining to keep the hotel going.

  Diantha looked up with an expression of greeting when the slender young woman with blonde hair under her bonnet who held a sleeping, dark-haired toddler walked into the front lobby of the hotel. She recognized her as the town seamstress, although she had never formally met her or used her services. She brought a large quantity of clothes from Georgia. Her hopes that, even though they were slightly out-of-date, she would have occasion to wear them soon faded. Life in a small mountain mining town differed greatly from the society of southern plantation life enjoyed by those who had survived the war, particularly Sherman’s march to the sea, and the Reconstruction period that followed. Instead, while Eugene ran the day-to-day operations of the hotel and served as the town’s postmaster, she had spent much of her time altering many of her clothes to a more current style suitable for everyday wear. Therefore, she found it surprising that Wildcat Ridge’s seamstress had come to the Ridge Hotel.

  Now she thought about it, the woman had not sent any outgoing mail or received letters or parcels since Diantha took over as postmistress—another position she inherited from her late husband. Like running the hotel, he had refused to teach her how to manage the mail or help him in the event he had business elsewhere on the days the mail ran. Even though she had been educated in one of the best finishing schools in the South—at least, until the war disrupted everything—he deemed such work not suitable for a lady of her station.

  Diantha smiled in the direction of the seamstress. She quickly realized the seamstress had not seen her expression of welcome, because she had already turned left towards the dining room without glancing Diantha’s way. After she disappeared from the main hotel lobby, Diantha placed the pages of the register she had been studying in a drawer under the counter and followed her.

  Diantha hoped the woman had not come expecting to order a meal. After the mining disaster that had taken place almost three weeks earlier, her cook, who had lost both a husband and a son, quit, collected her wages, and boarded the Uintah Railway to travel back to Kansas City to live with her daughter. Diantha had been unable to serve meals since Sunday night.

  Diantha knew if she inquired among the widows who had not fled the town, she probably would find a woman who could cook well enough to keep the hotel restaurant going. However, most of the people still alive could not afford to eat out. The few remaining hotel customers could buy meals from the Crystal Café next door run by her friend, Garnet. She hurried to join the seamstress to let her know she was not prepared to serve food that day.

  As Diantha entered the dining area, she found the woman studying the new gold draperies framing the front and side windows of the room. Diantha watched as she reached forward and fingered one of the folds with her free hand. Realizing Diantha had joined her, the woman turned to her with a shy smile.

  “The draperies look nice. They set this room off, especially with the tassel tiebacks you chose.”

  “Yes, they do. My late husband had them made and picked out the tiebacks. He hired a man who installed them the day before the mine disaster so we would have them for the weekend.” Diantha blinked as tears began to form. “Now, both men are gone.”

  The woman bit her lip as she dropped her gaze and turned away in an effort to hide what Diantha assumed to be an expression of sorrow. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Ames. Although I’m sure you’re proud of him being brave and willingly joining in the rescue attempt, I know that is small consolation now he is gone.” She looked up until her gaze met Diantha’s. “Mrs. Ames, I am so sorry to bother you about this now, and I wouldn’t if I was not in such dire straits myself. I’m Sarah Bellingham—Mrs. Sarah Bellingham. I’m the one who made these draperies for the dining room. Even though I told Mr. Ames I mostly sew women’s and children’s fashions, he asked if I could save him a trip to Salt Lake City or Cheyenne by taking this project on. I…um…I went to a few establishments to see how their draperies were made then told him I would accept the job.”

  “I see.” Surprised, Diantha glanced at the draperies with a new question in her mind. If her husband had asked this woman to make the window coverings to save him from leaving town, why had he insisted on making a business trip to Cheyenne for a week last October before the snow grew too deep for the train to run?

  Sarah paused and licked her lips. “The problem for me is, when Mr. Ames picked up the draperies, he only had two dollars with him. He said he needed to make a withdrawal from the bank and promised to bring the balance to me the next Friday. Only, Friday, March twenty-eight, was the day…” Sarah’s voice caught, and she swallowed. “I didn’t lose my husband then. I lost him to an injury he received in a mine accident a few years ago.” Sarah rubbed her child’s back. “It was before my son was born. Still, the day of the disaster…it was a hard day for us all.”

  Diantha soften
ed her voice as she fought past a pang of envy. “Although I know you must miss your husband, I’m sure having a part of him in your child brings you comfort.”

  Sarah quickly dropped her gaze. “Yes. It is comforting to know a bit of his father lives on in him.”

  “I understand.” Again, Diantha blinked to hold back tears threatening to fall. Not only had she lost her husband, after eleven years of marriage, she and Eugene had not been able to have children. She alone remained.

  Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out a paper folded in quarters which she handed to Diantha. “Here is the bill for the draperies. I would not ask for payment so soon after…after your loss, except I am desperate to collect enough money to make the trip to Laramie to join my mother. I only have a few outstanding accounts, but I’m trying to collect them in time to leave on the next train, if it is still running. I’ve heard rumors that, since Mr. Crane plans to not reopen the mine, the train decided to stop service here. I need to buy tickets for my son and me, plus I must pay for shipping my sewing machine.” She paused and shook her head. “As heavy as it is, I have no idea how much I must pay to crate it securely and then ship it.” Sarah sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I shouldn’t burden you with my problems.”

  Even though this woman had created a new concern for her by presenting her with a rather large bill at a time business prospects for the hotel were not favorable, Diantha’s lessons on how to behave like a gracious Southern lady kicked in. “That’s quite all right. Have you seen our mayor regarding getting a share of the widows’ fund to help those needing to relocate?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I don’t qualify. Since my husband did not die in this accident, but in one that took place years ago, she said it would not be right for me to use the money sent specifically to provide relief for this disaster. I can see her point, although receiving a little of that money would have helped.”

  The child in her arms whimpered and squirmed. Sarah patted his back and rocked side to side. She cooed into his ear. “Go back to sleep, Baby. We’ll go home soon.” As soon as the boy settled on her shoulder once more, she turned her attention back to Diantha. “My rent is past due, and Mr. Crane has stopped by twice to pressure me about it. I had planned to use the money from the draperies to pay it, although I didn’t tell him that because I didn’t want him to come over and bother you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bellingham. I appreciate that.”

  “Of course, he suggested a way I could work off this and next month’s rent, but I…I just cannot do that, especially with my child to take care of.” Sarah looked away and shook her head.

  Diantha grimaced. She had heard enough rumors around town to know the exact nature of the proposition Mortimer Crane offered the seamstress to earn her rent money. If Diantha did not own the land and building on which the Ridge Hotel was located, and she found herself beholden to Mortimer Crane, she would make the same choice as the woman before her.

  Diantha once again studied the bill for the draperies. She scrunched her forehead in confusion. “This invoice appears to be written in my husband’s handwriting.” She looked up in time to catch Sarah’s shoulder twitch as she turned away with a face that had flushed a pale pink.

  “Yes. I wasn’t sure how to figure up a bill of this nature, so he helped me with it. You can see where I deducted from the total due the two dollars he already paid.”

  Diantha stared at the final total owed and mentally calculated the amount of money readily available. She did not have enough cash on hand to cover the bill. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bellingham. I don’t have sufficient funds right now. I’ll need to go to the bank to withdraw what is owed you from the hotel account. I generally close the hotel between two and three to take care of business. If you could come back at three o’clock, I’ll do my best to have your money for you.”

  In a gesture Diantha assumed was born of nerves, Sarah Bellingham brought her fist to her mouth and sucked in her breath. Then she nodded.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ames. It will still give me time to buy my tickets and find out what I need to do to ship my sewing machine. I’ll return shortly after three.”

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  Soon after her return from the bank a few minutes after three o’clock, Diantha placed a small bowl of sugar cookies on the register counter for hotel guests. Raised as the daughter of a planter, as a child, she had not learned to cook or bake. However, as the family’s circumstances became reduced due to Reconstruction, her old cook had taught her to make a few simple recipes which she recorded in a journal. To ease the inconvenience of no longer having a functioning dining room, Diantha now offered the cookies in the late afternoon as a consolation gesture. At the moment, she was the only person in the hotel.

  Diantha looked up as Sarah Bellingham entered her hotel lobby at ten minutes after the hour. After learning the state of the hotel account at Crane Bank, she felt no joy at being obligated to part with the money she was about to hand over to the woman. With great effort, she offered a smile of welcome. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Bellingham. I have the money to pay your bill in full.” She pulled out the pre-counted money and laid it on the counter. She smoothed out the invoice for the draperies. Next to it she placed a fountain pen and bottle of ink. “Please count the cash to make sure it is correct and sign the bill as being paid in full.”

  The toddler, now awake, squirmed and fussed to be put down.

  “Eddie, hold still.”

  “Hungry, Mama. Eat.”

  “We’ll go home and eat real soon, sweetheart, but I have business to take care of first.”

  Diantha noticed his mother ignored his pleas and continued to clutch him tightly to her. Diantha reached for one of the cookies and stepped around the counter. “Mrs. Bellingham, do you mind if I offer him a sugar cookie to tide him over?”

  Upon hearing the word “cookie,” little Eddie broke free of his mother’s grasp and wriggled until he forced her to stand him on the floor to keep from dropping him. He reached a hand out for the treat.

  “Cookie.”

  Upon seeing the child’s features for the first time, Diantha’s throat tightened and threatened to close off her breath. Her chest seized. She forced herself to inhale and willed a smile on her face as she stooped down and handed the boy the treat. “There you go, Eddie.” She studied him up close for a few seconds before she stood once more and looked over at Sarah, who wore a stricken expression. “Eddie. Did I hear his name right?”

  “Yes. He was named after his grandfather.”

  Diantha turned to once again study the boy, oblivious to the crumbs now scattered on his cheeks and dropping on her floor, as he happily munched on his cookie. “Edward is a fine name. We have Edwards in my family, also.”

  Her uncle, Eugene’s father, had been named Edward Eugene. The older brother lost in the War Between the States had been named Edward.

  Sarah Bellingham’s words interrupted Diantha’s musing.

  “The money’s correct, and I’ve signed the bill paid in full for you, Mrs. Ames. It means a great deal to me that you were willing to take care of this promptly.”

  Diantha watched as Sarah picked up her now-content son. She glanced at Diantha, and then quickly turned away as she used her fingers to brush a lock of his dark hair off his forehead. “Once again, I’m sorry to bring this bill to you so close to the loss of your husband. I’m sorry…I’m sorry for everything.”

  Sarah hurriedly walked out the door. Diantha focused her gaze on the eyes of the small boy who watched her over his mother’s shoulder.

  As soon as the pair could no longer be seen through the front window, Diantha quickly cleaned the nib of the pen and put it and the ink away. She snatched up the bill now marked “paid in full” and walked across the hotel lobby. As she entered the dining room, she studied the gold draperies her husband had purchased from the woman who just left.

  She dared not take them down and leave the windows once again covered with only the lace sheers. Too many people w
ould question such a move. She had received several comments on how the draperies were the last thing before his death her husband had bought and left for her to make the hotel she now owned a more elegant establishment. She looked down and studied the neat signature of Sarah Bellingham on the bottom of the bill.

  It was then Diantha made the decision she would close the hotel dining room for good. She walked into the hotel lobby, closed the double doors to the dining room behind her, and locked them. She then hurried into her private room on the opposite side of the wall behind the registration desk. Only then did she allow her tears to fall.

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  Chapter 1

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  Salt Lake City, Utah – late April, 1884

  H ank Cauley started to enter the rear door of his brother’s mansion and then, thinking better of it, stepped back, took his hat off, and slapped it against his leg to knock the dust loose. He returned it to his head. Next, he brushed off his shirt and pants once more, even though he had done the same thing as he left the family brickyard after his shift. He would love to shake off his job at the business now managed by his brother, Louis, Jr., ever since their father had suffered an attack of apoplexy. He reminded himself he must be patient. Someday, he would escape. Until then, he needed to keep his focus on saving his money.

  Hank stepped into the mudroom and turned towards the pump and tub used for wash water. He pumped out just enough to allow him to wash his hands and face. As he scrubbed his forearms, now rippling with muscles, he felt forced to admit to himself that one of the benefits of the physical job was his strength gain. His shoulders strained the shirts that once hung loose on him. Both his legs and arms bulged in ways they had not before. He even felt an increase of gripping ability in his hands. He reached for the towel hanging on a nearby hook to dry off.