Sunrise

In the early hours of Monday morning, the sun rose again over Mountain Junction. The inky black velvet of the night sky slowly began to lighten, the stars fading away one by one as the night gently surrendered itself to the day. The sunbeams slowly expanded, turning the sky a soft pink, then a deeper yellow, as the day strained to begin. The eastern peaks glowed under a rush of color as the sun finally emerged in an explosion of orange heat and radiating luster. For the people of Mountain Junction, the new week had begun.

For most of the community, dawn came much too early. After the revelry of the night before, all they really wanted to do was sleep. The sun did not waken Hawke and Morgan, whose lives were largely lived at night. They slept pleasantly, with limbs entwined. Morgan’s beautiful blue dress, so lovely a few hours ago was now a crumpled heap in the corner of her small room. The stays, once laced tightly, were now thrown carelessly over a chair. Hawke’s uncomfortable stiff collar was somewhere down along the street below having been torn off and thrown out the window in a fit of frustration. Yet, in the small sanctuary, this chaos was overpowered by the peaceful breathing of the happy lovers.

Across the street in the white clapboard building with the red and white striped pole, Money’s day was starting out marvelously. All the large leather barber chairs held customers, and the bench that lined the wall opposite the large wood-framed mirrors was also full. There were even two men huddled by the small round stove that stood near the entrance. Money felt wonderful this morning. He had gambled at the almost empty Viscosité Buvette, and had won more then he lost. He had stayed most of the night winning and drinking, free of Hawke and his dour stares and angry shouts. The only downfall had been the absence of Morgan. Money loved to watch the blonde, blue-eyed beauty saunter around the saloon. He had wanted her to notice his gazes for a long time, but so far she had never treated him any differently then any other customer.

The customers in the shop that morning filled his ears with news of the social the night before. Most of the time Sunday socials simply meant good business for Money, and a recap of the intense political discussions that had gone on while the ladies had chatted away. The men usually danced as little as possible, preferring discussions with each other. To his dismay, he was listening not to news of Indians, or the continuing search for the Yellow Monster, but of love and romance. This may have been tolerable, had it not been for the comments on the beauty of Morgan and her leaving the party on the arm of Hawke. As he shaved and cut the hair of the men in the chairs, he became more and more angry. This was not good for the customers, considering that he held a sharp razor at their throats. Doctor Henson, who was the one being shaved at the time, could feel his agitation.

“Careful there, Money,” warned Doctor Henson. “You wield that razor like I do my scalpel.”

“Sorry, Doc,” apologized Money. “Just trying to get close.”

Lucky for the Doctor, David Carmack entered the barbershop, followed closely by his eldest son Steven. Money and David liked each other. They were both fond of gambling, although David gambled at the Mansion, in an upstairs room for high rollers that many in the town never knew existed. Like Money, much of the cash lost by Carmack went directly into André’s pockets. Unlike Money, David’s dislike of Jermond was not well known. He kept it to himself, waiting for the day when he could bring the Frenchman down a peg or two. Money already knew what had happened between Jermond and the Belsom woman, and his black mood lightened as he waited for Carmack, already puffing up in politician’s delight, to start a discussion of his opinion of the night before.

David, like most “important” citizens, was not shy about stating his opinion, and soon the other men who attended the social were as animated as they had been the night before. Each of them seemed to have a story, either concerning the Mansion or a business deal with Jermond. Some of these men had gone to him for financial help, only to find that they were now partners with him. While “silent” to the townspeople, he was rarely silent with his partners. He was as diligent with their books as he was with the books of his exclusive ventures. This practice kept their businesses solvent, but also built resentments when he refused to let them handle their business themselves. All of them were in awe of Julie, with her soft voice that disguised a business mind that made her as wealthy as Jermond. The prospect of a union of the two bank accounts was remarked upon with grave significance, as they realized that Jermond would be the wealthiest man in town and with a wife like Julie, very likely the strongest political voice in Mountain Junction. With the two of them in control of most of the largest business ventures, they could easily keep everyone else from ever being as successful as they were.

In the cozy little kitchen of the simple clapboard parsonage, Clyde busied himself brewing coffee and fixing a quick breakfast for Reverend Stanton, who had spent a pleasant night on the new couch in the parlor. Both had been nearly the last ones to leave the Inn the night before; Clyde because he was the guest of honor; Stanton because he had become so involved with Clyde that the widow Grimsbe left in a huff without him. Clyde quickly realized that Stanton was too frail to go far and had offered him his couch in the parsonage. They did not, however, leave the party with the other guests. Clyde had witnessed André’s reluctance to leave the Inn, realized that he wanted to escort Julie home, and had been determined not to leave before him. This posed a problem for Stanton, who finally sat down on one of the chintz couches and dozed until Clyde decided to leave. When André finally walked off the porch with a nod and a smile into his black Heiss buggy, Clyde found Julie and softly thanked her for the wonderful party, and the two of them eased the sleepy pastor into a waiting carriage. He and Clyde left the quiet street behind them, finally able to go home and sleep.

Stanton gingerly joined Clyde in the kitchen, and as he watched the big man use both hands to lower his aching frame to the chair, he was overcome with remorse for keeping the elder pastor waiting the night before. After placing a cup of tea and breakfast in front of his new friend, he apologized with a red face. Stanton smiled, and waved the apology off, telling him that “all was fair” and not to worry. Having already discussed Jermond with Clyde, Stanton now felt that the young man needed to hear about Julie. Stanton obviously liked Julie; he spoke of her helping him on numerous occasions, as well as his respect of her business acumen. He told him of her unconventional behavior when she first came to town, of her kindness to others that allowed everyone to overlook her eccentricities, and how she deflected any man who had attempted to woo her. Clyde was dumbfounded — he had only seen her in her kitchen and at the ball. He sat and sipped his tea, wondering if the Frenchman had ever been in the kitchen of the restaurant, watching her move efficiently around the room, fussing over coffee and suppressing giggles as she spoke. He was suddenly struck with that image, and hoped not. He had no idea that the woman in the ball gown had been as alien to André as the woman in Buckskins was to him.

In André’s stately ranch house, he sat at a window table in his bedroom, partially dressed in his smooth Eastern buckskin leggings, and unbuttoned shirt drinking coffee and attempting to read the newspaper. He was not having much success. After reading the same sentence on the continuing search for the Yellow Monster four of five times, he gave up. He was contemplating going downstairs and into his small French side cabinet for a drink, when his eyes rested on a small pink bud on the table. Smiling to himself, he picked up the delicate little mountain flower and turned it in his long fingers. She had lost the little flower from her waist bouquet late in the evening, when they had taken a short respite from dancing. When she excused herself to go see to some hostess duty he couldn’t remember, he had seen the tiny bud drop to the floor. Checking quickly to make sure no one was watching he had walked to where the flower lay, dropped something out of his pocket, and nonchalantly picked up the flower with the item. By the time Julie returned the small flower was safely hidden in his breast pocket. André had lingered at the Inn until almost the last guest had left, hoping to offer Julie a ride home. Unfortunately, the new preacher had refused to leave with the other guests, thwarting his chances at asking her to join him. He felt that she would have been receptive, had it not been for the two preachers staying as long as they did. When it became clear that the younger clergyman had no intention of leaving, he walked back into the dining room to find Julie, gave her a kiss on the hand and a promise to come calling soon, if she was agreeable. She had not said anything, just blushed and smiled. He had bowed low, said goodnight and left the Inn, smiling broadly and nodding to Clyde as he walked down the porch steps and into his waiting buggy. He now sat at the sunny window, trying not to admit to himself how much that answering blush and smile had pleased him.

Finally, exasperated at himself, he slammed his hand on the table with a “Zut!” Leaving the bed unmade and the paper on the table, he stomped downstairs to his kitchen. He grabbed the coffeepot off the stove and decided to attack one of the other two newspapers that were lying on the kitchen table. As he sat down, he realized that his other hand was in a fist. Opening it to pull the cup toward him, the small flower fell to the table with a plop. Ignoring it, he poured himself a cup of coffee. He took two or three large gulps, glancing around his kitchen at anything but the small bud on the table. His hand finally put down the cup, and picked up the little flower again. He brought it close to examine it. It was crumpled a bit, but its intricate petals and center were undamaged. He marveled not only at the little flower’s resilience, but also at the hold the wearer still had on him. He spent a long time at the table with the coffee and the flower, wondering how on earth someone he had just met, and knew next to nothing about, could have so completely captured his imagination. He knew he could no longer sit, or he would go crazy. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he was already crazy. He got up purposefully, buttoning his shirt as he grabbed his boots off the mud porch. Shoving his feet swiftly into them, he grabbed his Taos Jacket and banged his brown suede hat on his head. He trudged with long strides across the yard to the stables behind his house. His stallion Seizemain was already snorting and whinnying, as if he knew André was approaching.

In the quaint blue and white farmhouse on the western slopes of the mountains, Julie awoke in her bed from a wonderful dream, and snuggled deeper under her eiderdown quilt. As she stretched and smiled, she found herself looking at the ball gown from the night before, neatly hanging on the press beside her wardrobe. She sat up, pulling her arms around her knees and thought about the night before. It had been such a surprising night. She had expected to spend most of the evening fussing around the guests, or worrying about Morgan’s nerves and catching an occasional dance with Clyde, as any good hostess would do. Instead, she had spent most of the time dancing with André, the hotel staff and her nervous friend forgotten. She had managed to do her hostess duties a few times, leaving him reluctantly to see to the wine, or the clean up efforts of the staff. She had spent little time with the details, however, hurrying back with the hope that he was waiting for her. Finally, as the last of the guests trickled out the doorway, all she really wanted to do was go home and sleep, spent from the emotions of the evening. She was faced, however, with a dilemma. Three of her guests seemed determined to stay. She knew that André was waiting to see if she would allow him to drive her home, and Clyde was waiting around seemingly to find out if she would accept. As for the poor reverend Stanton, he seemed to be sleeping soundly on the couch. Finally, in desperation, she had fled to the kitchen, hoping that all three men would simply give up and leave. When she had turned around to find André behind her, she had been shocked. When he had asked her if he could call, she was so happy that all she could do was blush in response.

As she sat on her bed, her eyes fell on the buckskins lying neatly over a chair. Seeing them and thinking about the blush, her nose wrinkled in disgust. She had stopped blushing years ago, intent on showing the world that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She shook thoughts of that annoying blush away, focusing instead on the fact that Clyde had needed her help getting the large, painfully stiff Stanton to the carriage. She liked the thought that he needed her help. “Weaker sex indeed,” she thought to herself. Still, she had to admit that the attentions of André had been exhilarating, something she had never experienced in her marriage. She looked again at the ball gown, and sighed.

The sigh brought her out of her revelry with a start. Throwing back the eiderdown, she strode to the small table by the wardrobe, poured water into the delicate white porcelain bowl and washed her face. The cold water helped, but it did not fully clear her head. She stared at the dress and buckskins, so different and yet so much a part of her. On the press behind the gown, was a simple brown skirt and white blouse that she had planned to wear to work this morning. Suddenly, she did not want to go to the Inn. She dreaded facing the people who would be commenting on her dancing at the social, but she also knew she could not stay at home. Staying home would mean the incessant clucking of the “ladies who called.” Thoughts of the gossips, lying in wait for a misspoken word or an accidental revelation were even less appealing then innocent comments at the Inn. As she looked at the corner of the room it became clear what she wanted to do. She pulled on the buckskins, a plain blue blouse and fringed jacket. Running a brush through her hair, she didn’t even bother with the braid, she simply pulled up the sides with two combs, leaving the rest to stream down her back to her waist. Bouncing quickly down the stairs and into the kitchen, she grabbed her hat, stuck her feet in an old pair of shoes and sprang out of the back door. The sudden warmth of the sun hit her face. Smiling, she ran to the barn where Delilah and freedom waited.

Chapter 1 ... André
Chapter 2 ... Julie
Chapter 3 ... Clyde
Chapter 4 ... The Welcoming Party
*Chapter 5 ... Sunrise
Chapter 6 ... Tabletop
Chapter 7 ... The Race
Chapter 8 ... Missed Lunch
Chapter 9 ... Something To Chew On
Chapter 10 .. Back to Business
Chapter 11 .. House Work
Chapter 12 .. Idyllicus Interruptus
Chapter 13 .. House Repair
Chapter 14 .. Day’s End
Chapter 15 .. TBA
Chapter 16 .. TBA
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