Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
I peered closer, stunned.
I’d seen a lot of old pictures, everyone had, and normally, no one seemed what was now considered conventionally attractive.
In fact, before he became infamous, John Wilkes Booth was a famous actor and considered one of the most handsome men of the day.
I didn’t see it.
But this guy.
Chisolm Beckwith.
Clementine was in a button-to-the-neck dress, her hair nicely arranged, and she was pretty. The kids were cleaned up and wearing their Sunday best.
But he was in hide pants with the fringe down the sides, a jacket-type thing with more fringe that hung to his upper thighs (the jacket, not the fringe) and was belted closed, with a knife and a pouch attached to the belt. And he was wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Even so, you could see his hair was dark and long, because it went down past his shoulders. He also had a full, but kept beard.
Further, he was gorgeous.
“And this,” Jill said as she flipped to the next pic.
Clementine in a pretty and slightly elevated, but still day-to-day dress, Chisolm standing next to her in his trapper’s outfit, no hat this time, hair pulled back into a tail. They were turned to each other and holding hands, she was also holding a wildflower bouquet.
Their wedding picture.
And if my eyes didn’t deceive me, uncommon to pretty much any picture I’d seen like this—because it was expensive, serious business to have your photo taken, so for some reason, everyone wore solemn expressions—his beard around his mouth was tipped up in a very small smile.
Hers was too.
“Now this,” Jill said, and turned the photo around.
In faded ink in loopy scroll, it said,
Chisolm and me, May 11, 1874. Our Wedding.
She didn’t draw hearts and flowers around the words “our wedding,” but there was something about it.
You could see from the picture it was their wedding. She didn’t need to write that. Just the names and the date if she was going for posterity.
That was a happy day for her.
She was happy.
Widowed twice. Single mom trying to make it in the Old West. Lugging bathwater and washing clothes for a living. Having to shoot a man to stay safe.
She was happy.
Our wedding.
I knew a thing or two about wading through all the shit of life.
And last night at the Double D, that levee broke, so I couldn’t hold it back anymore.
Hope was blooming that I might have just found that kind of happy.
I looked to Jill. “Can I take snaps of these so I can show Hutch?”
“You can take the pictures full stop, if you’ll promise to return them to me. I had a couple of extra boxes of stuff I’d collected from around and hadn’t gotten to organizing. I found the one of Clementine in front of her house in my old files, but the other two were in those boxes.” She grinned. “It was an awesome find.”
“Thank you so much for taking the time to do that,” I replied.
“It was an excuse to go through those boxes, finally.”
“Still, I appreciate it.”
Her eyes smiled and she said, “You’re welcome. But seriously, it made me even more determined to get the town council to consider a Misted Pines Museum. I tried to pitch it when they were discussing what to do with the old paper mill. They considered having a museum in it with all the art stuff, but there were so many artisans and craftspeople around, they had more pull, and it was clear they’d fill up the space. But I think tourists would be interested in a museum. Don’t you?”
“There sure do seem to be enough of them that have been around for a while that provide evidence that kind of thing is popular. Museums, I mean.”
“My thoughts exactly,” she chirped.
I smiled.
“That kitchen is still in your boyfriend’s cabin,” she stated flatly.
Oh dear.
I pulled my shoulders forward noncommittally.
Another grin from Jill. “That’s okay. I’ve lived in MP all my life. I know people like their privacy. And anyway, I owe you two for not outing that I had to make up some stuff to make the ghost tour more engaging. There’s not a lot left from the actual Wild West days. It was all torn down to put up sturdier brick buildings. But for a ghost tour, you have to strike a mood.”
“If it helps, my shop manager is now happily married with two kids because she and her husband took your ghost tour while they were dating, and it definitely struck a mood.”
She started laughing.
When she quit, she told me, “On the history tour, nothing is made up.” She crossed her heart. “Promise”
It was my turn to grin. “I’m on it. That shop manager I mentioned, she has the flu. When she gets over it, I’m gonna ask her for a girl date on a weekend, and we’ll take your history tour.”