The Dawn of Love: Four Historical Romance Novellas

By Doreen Milstead

That’ll Cost You A Year’s Worth Of Laundry – A widow takes in laundry then delivers it to make ends meet. She strikes a bargain with a man in exchange for an entire year’s worth of clean clothes PLUS A The Biracial Bride & Her Colorado Rancher - biracial woman from the south decides to go to a rancher in Colorado, but she hasn’t told him she’s half black PLUS The Joyful Wife, The Drunken Cowboy & His Bitter Sister - A woman travels west to join her fiancé, a cowboy with a cranky sister who appears to be permanently bitter. The woman and her cowboy are married immediately and they return to the ranch where she has to contend with his drunken ways and the sister who simply won’t go away PLUS The Second Chance Town - Two female con artists decide to scam a couple of rich men out west so they take two priests with them to get married, as the town’s population is only fifty people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387432820

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The Dawn of Love: Four Historical Romance Novellas

The Dawn of Love: Four Historical Romance Novellas

by

Doreen Milstead

Copyright 2017 Susan Hart

That’ll Cost You A Year’s Worth Of Laundry

Synopsis: That’ll Cost You A Year’s Worth Of Laundry – A widow takes in laundry then delivers it to make ends meet. She strikes a bargain with a man in exchange for an entire year’s worth of clean clothes. 

EACH DAY, Rebecca woke before dawn, busying herself so she wouldn't have time to consider Victor's cold, empty side of the bed. Her bustling inevitably woke the children, but that was good; they had chores of their own.

Come fall, they'd want to return to the schoolhouse, but Rebecca needed them home. Especially Calvin; he'd gotten better at mending the furniture since his pa's passing. If only he could have mended his mother's heart.

Or his own.

Cooking breakfast though, Rebecca realized she'd managed her routine without thinking of her late husband. Was that it, then? Eight months cold as a wagon wheel and Victor was no longer part of her life? What had started as a coping mechanism now threatened to obscure her grief.

But the possibility set her weeping, which comforted her and Rebecca resolved to take a moment for Victor before rising.

What's wrong, momma? Julie, her youngest, stood in the kitchen door--a picture of tiny puzzlement. Julie seemed not to realize her father was gone half the time. The other half, she was inconsolable.

I pricked my finger, Rebecca lied, stifling sobs. I'll be fine.

Let me see, momma! Julie scampered over. Rebecca hurriedly wrapped a towel around one finger.

Already bandaged, sweetie, she said, offering the digit for her daughter's inspection.

No blood? Julie asked, eyes wide.

No blood, Rebecca smiled. Julie, failing to spot the incongruity between the minor injury and Rebecca's crying, merely hugged her mother and ran off.

Breakfast was a bleak affair. Julie could forget, but it wasn't as easy for the others. Cal stirred his eggs in a circle, stealing sullen glances at the back door. He had more reason than the girls.

After losing his father, his chores had multiplied. The middle girls, Janet and Suzanne, alternated between teasing each other and catching their brother's mood.

Mommy, are you going into town today? Janet asked. Eleven years old, she wanted to be a proper lady and ever trip into town gave her a chance to study her idols.

Yes, I am.

Can I go with you?

No, chickabiddy, I'm sorry. I need you to watch the other girls.

Calvin can watch them!

I need Calvin with me. Calvin glanced up but said nothing.

Why does Calvin get to go but I can't?

You can go, I don't care a continental, Calvin muttered.

See momma? Janet cried.

Calvin, mind your manners. Janie, we're going to work, not to admire the pretty ladies, and you aren't strong enough to help me.

Am so!

Don't argue. Defeated, Janet returned to her plate.

I can watch myself momma, Suzanne offered. There's a mirror on your dresser. She giggled, Julie joining her and Rebecca smiled.

Mind your sister while I'm gone.

Momma, are you doing laundry today?

Of course.

But it's Tuesday, she cried, as if greatly offended.

So?

Wash day is Monday! Everyone says so!

Calvin chimed in. Wash day is every day now. That's how momma buys food. His declaration sobered the girls and ended discussion. He sounded more like Victor every day. If only he weren't so sullen...but that too, was like Victor.

WHOEVER HAD NAMED Coldwater Creek was a damned liar; the town was hot and dusty. There really had been a creek once, so they said, but rain was scarce and it had dried up long since. The hopes of those who'd put roots down here were similarly parched.

Everyone had believed Coldwater would be a byway further west, but modern routes avoided it. Rebecca had overheard rougher folk call it Corpse water.

Behind her, Calvin led Ploddles, their only remaining horse. Julie had named it, trying to pronounce plods, but the name had stuck and seemed to fit. The shaggy mare was crow bait to most folks, but Victor had already curried out the kinks. Rebecca had sold the good horses weeks ago.

Poddles pulled a creaky cart full of clean laundry, wrapped in protective sheets. Even so, dust from the road inevitably seeped into the clothes, but no one complained. Having Rebecca do their wash made their lives easier and they were glad to pay. Glad for the delivery too...none wanted to make the additional trek to her house.

Rebecca might be doing well if not for her four children and all the money owed for Victor's dream of a ranch.

Ma, we need to look at that boiler.

It's fine, Calvin.

I'm telling you, ma, it ain't working right. The water's cold.

Calvin was probably right, but as there was nothing Rebecca could do this minute, there was no sense worrying.

I'll look at it, she promised. Leave me be.

Rebecca's first client was Dr. Muse, a wiry fellow with sunny disposition. He awaited her on the road, just before town.

How do you do, Missus Howell?

Calvin, fetch Mister Muse's bundle, Rebecca ordered. Calvin complied. I do fine, Doctor, and you?

Think it'll rain? he asked, eyes twinkling. The sky was as empty as fool's head.

Oh certainly, she laughed. Looks like a real gully washer.

By this time, others had approached and Rebecca was busy delivering parcels and accepting payment. Her clients were the flush folk of Goldwater: Wealthy ladies from back east, successful ranchers, a few card sharps and the sheriff.

Common folk couldn't afford her rates, humble as they were.

Rebecca made sure to smile, trying to catch Calvin's eye so he would do the same. Nobody would want their business if they were surly and glum. But Calvin merely scowled back, working with efficiency but no warmth. Well, his pa was dead after all...folks should understand.

Rebecca was thrilled to see one new customer hovering in back, and no wonder. Rugged and dusty in faded overalls and worn boots, he hardly fit in with her other customers. She'd seen him 'round but paid him no mind; Victor had warned her about the rougher side of Coldwater.

Apparently, the saloon could get raucous after dark.

Before long, others cleared out, leaving only the stranger with a strong chin.

You've a fine boy there, he said. Calvin only glared back.

Rebecca affected a laugh. He's hard working, but should learn some manners. Say Howdy, Calvin.

How do you do, Calvin said flatly.

Name's Andrew. Pleasure, ma'am, the stranger said, tipping a beaten hat with a wide brim.

Rebecca Howell, she offered.

Beg your pardon, Andrew said, but you don't look much like your customers. Did he think he'd win her over by insulting her?

I do just fine, thanks, she snapped.

I meant it as a compliment. Generally speaking, fancy titles and nightshirts are a waste of time.

Washing fancy nightshirts keeps food on my table, she said curtly. I'm guessing you don't have one.

Never saw the need, he said easily. But my britches could use a wash.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. The only clothes with Andrew were the ones he wore. You plan to get unshucked right here, in front of God and everybody?

Andrew laughed. No. Unless you'd prefer?

Rebecca felt her face turn hot. What nerve! A gentleman should not speak so. She was about to reprimand him when she caught the glint in his eye, as if they were sharing a joke. Not the leer she had first supposed.

It's not proper to speak so, she managed, lowering her eyes.

Andrew laughed again. You started it, Miss Howell. Rebecca's cheeks flamed hotter as she realized he was right. I thought it best to inquire prices before dumping you with the whole lot.

Twenty-five cents per article. She considered the state of his clothes, and added, Per wash.

Whew, he said. Is that fair?

That's the rate, she insisted. Fair or not.

Well, I think we'll work something out. Rebecca doubted it. She'd accepted her share of underpayment when she first started, not yet realizing what her time was worth...or how high her debts were. It never worked out, and had led to some hurt feelings when she had to inform a friend that she couldn't work for free just because they were friends.

To them, she was doing laundry anyway, so what's the difference?

Perhaps, she said. If you don't mind...? she nodded at the empty cart. Time to be on her way.

Ma'am, Andrew said, with another tip of the hat. He nodded to Calvin, whose return glare could have melted snow.

AS IT TURNED OUT, Calvin was right: The water in the boiler was barely warm--it should have been nearly scalding. The boiler itself was a luxury outside of hotels, though Rebecca's was smaller than those in town.

The profit from Victor's meager assets had purchased it. The team that installed it had long since moved on to bigger cities. Rebecca had hoped it wouldn't need repairs for years.

What now, ma? Calvin asked.

Now you put the chickens in the coup, mend that chair like I asked and see that the girls have set the table for supper.

What about the boiler?

I'll worry about the boiler. You worry about the chickens.

I don't decide what to worry about, ma--I just worry.

Well, don't!

Calvin flounced away dramatically and remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout his chores, but he minded them well and rapidly. Rebecca considered the matter closed and avowed not to stress what she couldn't change, leastwise not at present. Calvin was right, though: Worry chooses man, rather than the reverse.

Rebecca was old enough to know what Calvin didn't: How planning could stave worry. She resolved to ask her customers first thing who could do plumbing and ironwork. She might have to borrow again.

She was in good enough standing with the bank, but her profits were thin enough...raising her payments would stretch the cream too thin, as they said.

She was surprised when Calvin raised his concerns again at breakfast, but Rebecca shared her insight about planning as the remedy for worry and her own plan for fixing the boiler. His slow smile was welcome as rain.

You'll let me come with, ma? he asked.

Of course. You can help me tell who I can trust.

Calvin beamed with self-importance, and the whole house seemed brighter.

REBECCA DECIDED it would be best to get an idea just how rough a fix she was in for good or ill. She and Calvin headed for the bank.

The town was in a high wind and going was slow. Dust whipped about, pelting skin and eyes. Even passersby in in broad cloaks flinched at heavy gusts, hastening to their destinations in the reprieves between. Rebecca and Calvin walked almost leisurely by comparison. She reasoned they both had less to lose and were more accustomed to pain. It was a sad thought, but there was also serenity in it.

Regardless, she was relieved to duck into the protection offered by the bank. Almost immediately, she was greeted by Grady Shaul, the round little banker who'd managed Victor's accounts.

Missus Howell, he said pleasantly, beckoning her to his desk. She sat delicately, folding her hands in her lap. The gravity of her plight somehow demanded propriety.  A pleasure to see you, always. You're paid up, don't worry. The last items at auction helped, I think.

Let's not talk about that just now, she said, clearing her throat. She was pleased to see him look abashed. Grady was a proper gentleman, but typically had a tendency to think of books before people. Well, that was his job, she supposed, but really! Greeting her with discussion of Victor's assets? 'Tactless' didn't cover it.

Fortunately, the slight was lost on Calvin, who was intently studying the banker's desk. Admiring the carpentry? She would have to ask him later.

I'm afraid my business is not deposits, she confessed.

Withdrawals? he frowned. She had no savings to speak of.

Borrowing. Did her voice crack? Of course not. The air was dusty, was all. Some clodhopper coming in the door was taking his time; several patrons coughed in the ensuing gust.

Grady's eyebrows, like everything about him, were round: tiny arches of burnt silver. Now they climbed into his considerable forehead, giving him a comically alarmed appearance. Borrowing?

Not trusting herself to speak, Rebecca nodded.

It might not be my place, but--

Exactly, she interrupted.

Grady was puzzled. Beg pardon?

It's not your place.

Grady swallowed. Ah. Right. Seems I'm all thumbs today.

Rebecca granted him a reassuring smile. It might not be as bad as you think.

Grady seemed relieved, though she couldn't be sure whether due to her lack of offense, or that her finances might be better than he'd supposed. I suppose, he mused.

In fact, that's my first question.

How do you mean?

My boiler need repairs. How much would something like that cost?

Calvin looked up then, and Grady blinked, leaning back. Well, that depends. What's wrong with it?

I'm afraid I don't know. Calvin glanced at his mother and his compassion was unmistakable. It was too much.

Well. Grady dipped a quill in ink, scribbling briefly. Rebecca couldn't read the figures-- not upside down--but she could tell