Free Twice a Bride by Mona Hodgson

of the porch. He shook out a striped rag rug, laid it over the porch rail, and reached for another one.
    He should send Mrs. Peterson a letter by courier this very day and tell her there had been a mistake. His mistake, thinking he was ready to expand the business after only two months in town. Why couldn’t he be content with the progress he’d made and with business as it was? One or two sittings a daywasn’t bad business, and it had been enough until he talked to the spitfire mine owner, Mollie Kathleen Gortner.
    It wasn’t his idea to draw attention to himself in political circles or in newspapers. If he’d still wanted that life, he would’ve gone to New York without Susanna. But it felt good to have his feet on the ground. A place to call home.
    He was shaking out the last rug when a man rode up on a sorrel and leaned forward in the saddle. “Mister, you need yourself a woman.”
    Some folks would agree, say finding a wife was his next step. Trenton had a stable business and a home. But finding a wife wasn’t a smart choice or a realistic conclusion for him. Not after his stretch in Kansas. Trying to be neighborly, he nodded anyway.
    The wiry fellow dismounted. He wrapped the reins around the hitching rail and walked bowlegged into Trenton’s yard. “You the new camera man, are you?”
    “Yes, I opened the Photography S-Studio in town. Trenton Van Der Veer.” He glanced at the rug hanging in front of him like a curtain.
    “Joseph Weatherly.” Joseph slapped his dusty cap on his leg, an apparent substitute for a handshake. “My place is up on the next road. Practically neighbors, you and me.” He spit a stream of brown into Trenton’s lawn. “Got me a sister in Manitou Springs. She done lost her husband in a lumber accident.”
    “I’m sorry.” Trenton meant it. Sorry for Joseph’s widowed sister, and sorry Joseph was trying to sell her to him like a swayback mare.
    “Real good cook, Millie is.” Joseph pressed his hat onto his head. “You can bet she would’ve had them rugs shook out and laid back down yesterday.”
    “About done. Thank you.” Trenton waved, then pulled the rugs from the porch and went inside. There was a good chance Joseph wouldn’t be the last neighbor to want to marry him off. Next time he’d shake out the rugs after sundown.
    He laid the striped rag rug in the kitchen in front of the sink and carriedthe others to their respective places of service. When he set the last rug on the pine flooring in front of the bookcase, his writing box caught his eye.
    He’d started over here in Cripple Creek but with little chance he’d forget what he’d left behind. Maybe it was time he wrote to her. He probably needed to reconcile his past if he had any hope of a future here. What if he’d simply imagined or misconstrued her words and acted on a misinformed impulse?
    He carried the writing box to the kitchen. After spreading a piece of stationery on the table, he dipped the fountain pen into the ink.
    Dear Susanna ,
    He set the pen down and leaned back in his chair. He should have considered what he’d say to her, if he had anything to say, before going to the trouble of starting a letter. He capped the ink and returned the box to the bookcase.
    A walk to town seemed a more reasonable exercise.

    Saturday morning Willow positioned a floppy hat on her head, pulled her reticule from the wardrobe, and strolled down the stairs. She didn’t know what she would say to Ida, but Miss Hattie was right. Ida would want to know about her artistic opportunity at the Photography Studio, and she’d be excited for her. But was Ida ready to return to work, to let Willow go? Only Ida could answer those questions, and it was time Willow asked them.
    Willow walked outside under a cloudy sky and pulled her shawl tight. Although it was only the middle of September, autumn seemed anxious to push summer out of the picture. Rain had pelted her bedroom window for the better part of the night. And from