to offer employment options for disheartened men who no one else would hire, or when women arrived from the Gem Theater and other desperate situations with nowhere else to turn. Those situations didn’t happen often, but when they did, he refused to turn the downtrodden away.
Point being, Ewan needed to prove to Mr. Johns that the Golden Star wasn’t too much of a risk. That he wasn’t too much of a risk.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Ewan turned away. Just then, the door to the rest of the office building opened and Cassandra slipped through, holding the empty bags she always carried when she visited the venders downtown who sold vegetables from their carts.
“Good morning,” she said with all the warmth of the grandmother she’d become to him. “I’m off to fetch ingredients for the noon meal. I’ll be sure to buy extra for your investor guest.”
Ewan exhaled. “No need. He left.”
She paused in her trek across the shop. “Left? So soon?”
“He doesn’t want anything to do with us until we’re more profitable. He’ll be back in three months’ time to see if we’ve changed enough to justify his interest.”
Cassandra tilted her head, a knowing look crossing her gaze. “That’s not much time.”
“I know.” Ewan allowed his focus to trail to the clerk counter, where Lucinda Pratt had stood since nearly their opening—until she surprised him yesterday with her resignation, due to a marriage proposal from some gentleman she barely knew. They were riding off to Montana Territory at that very moment to start their new life together. The store was only a small part of his business, but it brought in some money. Money he would have to do without until he found a replacement for her.
“Never underestimate what God can accomplish.” Eyes glittering, Cassandra continued toward the door as if the matter were settled. Then she spun back again. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s yesterday’s paper, which you never had the chance to read.” She deposited the copy of The Black Hills Daily Times on the counter. “By the way, I saw your mail-order bride advertisement inside.”
A teasing lilt to her voice coated the comment. Ewan felt his spine straighten. “What’s wrong with it?”
“For one thing, it doesn’t include your name.”
“Advertisements can be expensive. Every word costs. The rest of the content was essential—including my name was not. If someone responds, I’ll gladly send her my name.” The letter would get to him regardless. The postmaster, Sol Star, knew of his pseudonym, much to Ewan’s chagrin. Sadly, he couldn’t even hide his marital struggle from the postmaster.
Mr. Businessman. How prosaic, even for him. Finding a mail-order bride hadn’t been his first choice, but after feeling the shame of being left at the altar, Ewan had moved out of Denver to start over in the wilds of Wyoming Territory and then Dakota. Problem was, once his string of moves had led him to Deadwood to finally set down roots and claim his mine, wifely prospects practically shrank to nil.
Sometimes a man had to swallow his pride if he wanted to achieve a greater goal—to succeed in his personal life as well as his professional to make his father proud.
“Is the high cost also the reason behind your brief, oh-so-endearing description of your ideal bride?” Rustling the newspaper, Cassandra cut through Ewan’s thoughts, bringing the advertisement closer to read. “‘Needn’t be beautiful; must be practical.’” She dropped the paper and eyed him.
Ewan fidgeted. When read like that, it did sound a bit harsh. “It’s the truth. I know what my match should be like—staid and sensible. The vivacious, effervescent type is not for me.”
He’d tried that kind of romance once before. Never again.
“Well, love finds people in the strangest places sometimes. If the Lord has a bride for you, you’ll find each other somehow—even if it’s by newspaper.” Her eyes glittered brighter, like his situation amused her. “I’m off. I hope you find your no-nonsense wife.” The door shut behind her, and again, Ewan stood on the shop rug, staring through the dusty windowpanes, at a complete loss for words.
What a day. First, he hadn’t gained the investor he needed. Second, his store had no clerk. Third, Lucinda, a woman he’d vowed to keep from prostitution, had moved on with life too prematurely. She was throwing herself into marriage with the same impetuosity she’d shown when she’d come to town to answer an ad for singers for a local theater, never guessing that the ad was a scam and the “theater” was nothing more than a brothel. Would this latest plan of hers, this whirlwind wedding, end in disaster as well? And what of his own marriage prospects? His fourth problem today was that he had to seek a wife through the local paper, where his only options were uncouth like Calamity Jane, or at the very least, were pining insatiably for adventure. They’d never be in a male-heavy, primitive mining town otherwise.
A world of good either of those types would do him. But what other choice did he have? He’d come to Deadwood with one intention—to prove himself as capable as Samuel. If everything his twin brother touched could turn to gold, then Ewan should have the same power. Yet, so far in his twenty-nine years, he had no success to show for himself. No wife and no thriving business, and he was an ongoing disappointment to his father.
Getting an investment from Mr. Johns, and placing this newspaper ad for a wife, was his chance at redemption.
* * *
“I wanted to thank you again for this opportunity, Mr. Burke.”
Ewan forced a smile at Miss Sattler as he shut his office door, leaving them both in the hallway. “And again, you are welcome. Now, follow me. I’ll show you around the store.”
He moved down the flight of stairs with Miss Sattler close behind him. “It’s amazing how things work out when you look for the silver lining,” she began. “And when you take the Lord’s providence into account. Even though I’m in a foreign town, I’ve wanted for nothing. I’ve had a roof over my head and food to sustain me, and everyone has been so friendly.”
She laughed, and Ewan shot her a polite smile. But inwardly, he fought reservations. Had he been too hasty in hiring her? All she needed was temporary work—and judging by her frilly attire and what he knew of her uncle, she’d be perfectly looked after once she returned home. She was bound to be headed back there soon—which was all to the good. Ewan wanted to keep the position open for someone truly in need. That was one reason he had a store in the first place—to employ souls in desperation. He’d created a couple other jobs for the same purpose: clerical work, helping Cassandra. Though none paid as well as the store.
Lucinda had appeared at his mine with no family and nowhere to turn, besides living on the street or returning to the brothel that had entrapped her in the first place. There were plenty more like her, just gathering the courage to ask for help. Miss Sattler didn’t have those problems. Well dressed, educated. Had a wealthy family. Her uncle would no doubt snatch Miss Sattler from trouble if she ever found herself there.
But as much as he’d rather place Miss Sattler in a less prominent job, he couldn’t very well shut down the store until another woman came to him for help. Could be weeks. Months. And he needed the supplemental income.
“Miss Sattler.” He interrupted her explanation. “You can stay with Cassandra as long as there is room. I have to warn you, though, I have visitors from time to time. They receive precedence. If one comes
