Chapter Four
Leadville, Colorado, 1883
Stark raving mad. If Flora Montgomery had to describe herself in this latest scheme, that’s what she would say she was. Oh, she’d done some crazy things in the past. Horrible things. But nothing so insane as agreeing to spend the summer in a mining camp helping the less fortunate.
Like everything else in her life, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.
The baby’s wail pierced her ears again.
She stared at the little creature in her arms. “I’m sorry. They should have asked someone else to hold you. I’ve never held a baby before, and I know I’m doing a terrible job, but could you please have a little mercy?”
Unfortunately, her words only served to send more tears rolling down the baby’s cheeks, making Flora want to cry herself. Please, Lord, I know I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, but surely this poor child doesn’t deserve to suffer because of it.
Why had the other women thought that leaving Flora alone with a baby was a good idea? When they’d gone to unload a wagon, Mrs. Willoughby handed her this baby and told her to stay at the cabin with her.
Flora sighed. It wasn’t that they’d thought having her take care of a baby was a good idea, but that none of them wanted to be stuck with Flora. Which left Flora here with this tiny creature she knew nothing about.
Surely the other ladies would return soon.
Glancing down the well-worn path the women had taken only left Flora feeling more miserable. If they returned and saw what a terrible job she was doing in minding the baby, they’d have one more crime to throw at her feet.
That was the trouble with being the most hated woman in town. Once people found an excuse to hate you, it seemed everything else only served to validate that opinion. She should know. Not too long ago, Flora’s words were the ones the women hung on, her opinions dictating everyone else’s place in society. But she had been cruel in her judgments of others, shunning women who were now the ones everyone else looked up to. When Flora had hurt one too many people with her actions, they’d turned on her. And rightly so. But no matter how many times Flora said she was sorry, or tried to show that she’d changed, it didn’t seem to make a difference.
How, then, was Flora supposed to redeem herself?
Surely it wasn’t impossible. After all, Emma Jane Jackson, once tormented for being poor, uncomely and awkward, was now one of the most respected women in their group, married to one of the handsomest, wealthiest men in town. A man Flora had once hoped to marry. Virtue over beauty. Apparently that was what men valued in women these days. And since Flora had little of the former, and a great deal of the latter, she’d finally begun to accept that unless she changed her ways, she’d never find a husband of her own.
Since the baby had yet to cease its crying, Flora walked toward the nearby stream. Maybe the sound of water would soothe the poor thing. Not finding a husband was the least of Flora’s worries. After all, a husband meant children, and clearly, from the way this one carried on, Flora would make a terrible mother.
Prior to the great social revolution in Leadville, Flora would have been confident in the idea of motherhood; after all, she would hire the finest nanny from New York, or London or perhaps even Paris. But now, the women in her circle all chose to raise their children themselves, bringing even the smallest babies to help out at the mission, tied around them in some sort of apparatus to hold them against their bodies, leaving the women’s hands free to work.
One more reason Flora didn’t fit in. She’d had a nanny growing up, as did all the girls she’d known, but she’d also had no siblings, no babies to tend. Which was why she had no idea what to do with the squalling creature in her arms.
“Is everything all right, ma’am?” A miner, dressed in work clothes that were shabby but clean, approached.
“I...” Flora looked down at the baby. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
The man reached for the child. “Let me see what I can do. I’ve been told I have a way with little ones.”
Glancing toward the path the women had taken, Flora’s stomach dipped. What would the other women say if she handed the baby over to a strange man? It didn’t seem possible that they could hate her any more, but they always seemed to find a way.
“I shouldn’t,” Flora said, trying to ignore the way the baby’s face turned redder and redder. “Her mother might not like me letting a stranger take her.”
Smiling, the man took a step toward her. “A wise decision. I’m...” He paused. “George. George, uh...Baxter.”
The man, George, looked nervous. Flora had learned that many people
