Lucinda's Luck: Tales from Biders Clump, #7

By Danni Roan

Young and inexperienced in the ways of love, Lucinda Farrow finds her life turned upside down after the loss of her father. Destitute, she and her mother must make a new life for themselves and only the kindness of their beloved housekeeper seems to offer any hope as she whisks them into jobs at the small restaurant in the tiny town of Biders Clump.
Struggling to find herself in a whole new world, Lucinda finds her life made more difficult by her mother's inability to adjust to her new environment and accept her meager existence, as they depend on the kindness of others to make a living.

After the loss of his sister, Willem Druthers has inherited a farm, a niece, and a nephew but little in his life has prepared him to deal with the after-effects of the children's grief.
Desperately trying to eek a living from a farm that seems incapable of growing anything but onions, he longs for a better way to provide for his small family. His once-a-week excursion to the town eatery is the bright point in his life, doubly so when a pretty dark-eyed woman comes to work at the Grit Mill Restaurant.

Will fate conspire to keep two dreamers apart, or will circumstances bring them together despite all odds?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danni Roan
• Release date: Mar 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201173432

Danni Roan

About the Author Danni Roan, a native of western Pennsylvania, spent her childhood roaming the lush green mountains on horseback. She has always loved westerns and specifically western romance and is thrilled to be part of this exciting genre. She has lived and worked overseas with her husband and tries to incorporate the unique quality of the people she has met throughout the years into her books. Although Danni is a relatively new author on the scene she has been a story teller for her entire life, even causing her mother to remark that as a child “If she told a story, she had to tell the whole story.” Danni is truly excited about this new adventure in writing and hopes that you will enjoy reading her stories as much as she enjoys writing them.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I t’s too much, just too much. I can’t bear it. Mrs. Farrow laid the back of her hand against her forehead dramatically. Lucinda, make them stop. Make them stop, the older woman wailed as she tipped backward onto a beautiful chaise-lounge being removed from her parlor.

Mother, Lucinda Farrow barked, grabbing her mother’s hand and hauling her back onto her feet to the relief of the movers, there is nothing we can do about the situation, so stop having vapors and get packed. Her words were soft but firm as her dark eyes fell on her mother’s nicely rounded form.

You unfeeling girl, Mrs. Farrow pronounced. Martha will help, won’t you Martha? She leaned toward her ever-present housekeeper.       

You come with me, Mrs., the stout woman spoke, kindly wrapping an arm around her employer’s shoulders. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea and then finish up the packing.

Martha, stop coddling her, Lucinda said, shaking her head. She has to learn to fend for herself.

You’re a cruel girl, Lucinda May, the older Farrow shot over her shoulder. Haven’t I had enough sorrow with your father gone? she sniffed, pulling a lace handkerchief from her sleeve.

Lucinda opened her mouth to retort but decided against it. The entire Farrow household had been upended when her father had passed unexpectedly. Nearly three weeks had gone by since her father’s passing, but from the day of the funeral everything had changed.

At first the solicitor had come and explained that there was a mortgage and debt to be settled. Then the bankers had come, explaining that there was no money and that the house, furnishings and valuables would be repossessed.

Rubbing her forehead between thumb and forefinger, the young woman shook her head, jerking her hand away as she realized she had once again mussed her brown hair.

Martha had insisted on fixing her hair that very morning, twisting her soft bangs into intricate curls. It would be terrible to destroy all that hard work.

Papa, I wish we could fix this somehow, she whispered, watching the settee and grandfather clock being carried from her home by brawny men.

Straightening her spine, Lucinda turned her back on the men stripping her home. At twenty years of age, she could do nothing to fix this problem, but she could attend to others. Marching up the sweeping staircase of her stately home, she made her way to her room to continue packing.

As Lucinda Farrow smoothed her multitude of pretty dresses, adding them to the large steamer trunk, part of her mind wondered what the future would bring. She had never lived anywhere but her plush home near Pittsburgh.

Her father had been in steel and had amassed a great fortune. It had been a shock to discover that due to poor investments, it was all gone.

Lucinda May Farrow had never been the usual big city debutante. She was more likely to be found in the kitchen than the parlor. She was awkward in company, never saying the right things, never interested in the fashion of the day and never flirting with the eligible bachelors her mother insisted on bringing into her world.

As a small girl, she’d been allowed to join Martha in the kitchen, rolling dough or baking cookies, but as she got older her mother insisted on her becoming a lady. Only when her father, seeing her utter misery, had put his foot down would her mother permit her to keep cooking.

Placing the last item in the big trunk, Lucinda closed the lid, uncertainty and excitement warning in her breast. Tomorrow she would follow Martha to her brother’s in Wyoming to some little town in the middle of nowhere to start again.

She only hoped she would have the strength and skill to keep body and soul together and the heart to keep her mother in one piece.

Chapter 2

The train rolling into the depot was almost thrilling. Excitement, trepidations and worry zinged through Lucinda like a lightning bolt.

Thankfully her mother had fallen into a fitful sleep and was blessedly quiet. Lucinda loved her mother, but the woman was singularly ill-equipped to deal with their present circumstances.

You’ve done real good by her, Martha said, dropping her knitting into her lap and patting Lucinda’s arm.

I don’t know what I would have done without you, Martha, The young woman patted her housekeeper’s hand in turn. You’re too kind to Mother.

Sweetie, in some ways your mama is more a child than you are. It’s not her fault, of course. She wasn’t raised to a simple life. It’s hard to adapt at her age. The graying woman shook her head, clicking her tongue in sympathy.

Martha, she will have to adjust. We’re poor now. She will not have people to wait on her hand and foot.

Be patient, dear.

I’ll try Martha, but she can’t keep expecting you to do for her. You’re not her maid anymore. You don’t even work for us now. Lucinda turned deep brown eyes toward the window at the small building marked Depot and listened to the hiss of steam as the train came to a screeching stop.

Martha squeezed the young woman’s hand. You wake your Mother now while I see to the bags, she said. Every thing’ll be alright now. Tate will have work for us and a place to stay. The housekeeper straightened her dress over her solid middle and stepped into the aisle.

I hope I can get a decent meal, Mrs. Farrow grumbled fifteen minutes later as she bustled toward a quaint two-story structure emblazoned with the words Grist Mill across the false front. It doesn’t look like much, but I suppose it will have to do.

Mother, don’t say things like that. Lucinda looked around her, worried that the town folks of Biders Clump might hear. We’ll be working there soon and you’ll have to be happy with whatever is available.

Mrs. Farrow lifted her chin. We’ll see about that, she said, picking up her pace and causing her companions to glance at each other.

At least that nice Mr. George at the train station was able to take our bags, Mother, Lucinda offered, effectively changing the subject.

Yes, yes, Martha said. He even offered to bring them to us later if we needed help. It’s good to see people taking pride in their work.

The boarding house seemed especially busy, Lucinda mused. Business must be good.

Didn’t someone say they have a bunch of workmen here right now? Martha questioned.

Something about rocks, Mrs. Farrow stated, surprising both her daughter and housekeeper by retaining that tidbit of information.

The station had indeed been a bustle of activity when they had arrived, with men and crates moving everywhere, passengers coming and going, and a cacophony of wagons loading empty cars with broken pink rock. Lucinda couldn’t help but wonder what it was all about.

Together the trio ascended the stairs of the local eatery and entered the warm café, the smells of something lovely making Lucinda’s mouth water. She couldn’t wait to see the kitchen and meet Martha’s brother.

Surely this can’t be where we’re expected to live, her mother said, stepping into the cheerful interior of the Grist Mill.

Two young people, most likely the wait staff, were busy tidying the tables and sweeping up while a matron and thin man restocked shelves and baked goods, obviously preparing for the evening meal.

You just have a seat somewheres, Martha offered. We’ll git you a nice cup a’ tea.

You shouldn’t coddle her, Martha, Lucinda stated absently as she gazed around her, her dark eyes taking in everything as she accompanied her mother to a table.

Lucinda, don’t be rude, Mrs. Farrow snipped. Martha understands. She nodded. It’s all just too much, she added with a sniff, pulling a lace-trimmed handkerchief from her sleeve.

Can I help you? a blonde woman of approximately Lucinda’s age asked, rising from a table near the kitchen, where she’d been enjoying a cup of coffee and a piece of blackberry pie.

Who are you? Mrs. Farrow asked.

Now, Mrs. Farrow, never you mind, I’ll take care of this, Martha said. I’m Martha, Martha Peterson, Tate’s sister, she said, smiling. And who are you?

The blonde woman smiled. So, you’re Tate’s sister. She offered her hand. I’m Priscilla, Prissy Adams; I’m doing the cooking right now.

Where’s Tate? Martha Peterson looked concerned.

I’m afraid he’s over at the doctor’s place, Prissy said, indicating for the older woman to sit down. He had to have surgery for an inflamed appendix. She looked up and waved for Mary, the young server, to bring them coffee.

Martha’s hand rose to her throat. Is he alright? We were just there for the missus and no one told me. Can I see him? Her gray eyes were full of worry.

I’ll take you to see him, Prissy offered kindly, looking up at Mrs. Peterson’s companions.

Don’t worry about us, Martha, the dark-haired young woman said, her eyes kind. You go see your brother and I’ll get Mother something to eat. She reached into a small reticule she had at her waist, pulling out a meager collection of coins.

You don’t need to pay, Prissy offered, laying her hand on Lucinda’s, this is family.

Lucinda nodded simply, unsure what else to say.

I’ll take Mrs. Peterson and be right back.

No, I’ll do it, a very pregnant woman with dark hair and green eyes called from a dark corner across the room. I need to see Tate anyway, she added, struggling to rise from her chair

On light feet, the thin man moved around a bake stand to her side and half-pulled, half-lifted her from the low chair.

Thank you, Rupert, The woman said, her voice peevish. I hope this baby comes soon, she said in a kinder voice. I can’t seem to do anything.

I thought you were writing, the man called Rupert replied in clipped English tones, helping the young woman to the door.

Oh, I’ve already finished my manuscript. Cameron’s sending it in the post right now. She smiled. Now I’m simply writing up silly childhood tales.

That sounds promising, Rupert offered.

You’ll have to tell me a few of your own stories one day, the pregnant woman said, finally smiling. I’m sure you have some interesting stories of growing up in England.

Yes, well, perhaps when you’re back on your feet, so to speak. He smiled.

Lucinda watched the two figures heading toward the door, now curious as to who the woman was and what she was writing.

Quil. A tall dark-haired cowboy moved up the front stairs to his wife, his deep voice rolling over her making her smile. Are you ready to go back to the Doc’s now?

Yes, Cameron, and you should be out at the ranch, she chided. Also, this is Mrs. Peterson, and she’s coming to see Tate.

Putting two and two together, Lucinda realized the writer and the cowboy were a couple. She smiled when the man touched the tip of his hat