Making a Memory Read online

  “That’s what you’ll have to work out,” Mr. Thurgood said. “When Mr. Waverly returns, he’ll guide you in the right direction, but there will be a certain amount that you’ll need to discover for yourself. It’s part of your learning, you see.”

  “I don’t know how I got involved in this,” Caleb muttered. “I was just in my room, looking over my trunks . . . I certainly didn’t ask to be visited by an angel.”

  “Well, they chose you, and that’s that,” Mr. Thurgood replied. “You’ve been entrusted not only with a task, but with priceless knowledge, which is a peek into the other side. You’ll no longer question if such things exist—you now know they do.”

  “Without my wishes being taken into account?” It seemed unfair.

  “You have every ability to reject it, Mr. Baker. No one will force you or drag you into anything. But I ask you a question—now that you know, can you really turn your back on it?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I confess that I’m completely overwhelmed, and I need time to think on it. I’ve never even considered that angels were real before, and now . . . I need time.”

  Mr. Thurgood nodded. “Take that time, then, and when Mr. Waverly returns, you can discuss it with him.”

  Caleb thanked Mr. Thurgood, shook his hand, accepted the key to his new home, and left the office, more confused and bewildered than he’d ever been in his life.

  He needed some dinner. Dinner would help immensely. The restaurant up ahead would be just the thing.

  ***

  “Welcome to the Iron Skillet,” Ivy greeted the man and woman who had just entered. She’d never seen them before, and she wondered if they were new to Creede or just new to the restaurant. She’d been so busy helping start up this business that she hadn’t done much exploring around town, and she’d only gotten to know the people who ate at her tables.

  “Thank you. Could we get something near the fire? It’s quite cold out there,” the woman responded, and Ivy led them as close to the fireplace as she could without moving someone out of their spot.

  Yes, it was cold, but the snow had stopped, and there was even a little bit of blue sky here and there. She didn’t think there was enough sunshine to melt the snow off the roads, but she’d seen enough increase in business to give her hope that they’d have a decent dinner service.

  She brought soup and bread out to Tobias and Louisa Redfern, took an order from the new couple she’d just seated, and then noticed a new young man enter the restaurant and look around.

  “He’s mine,” Catherine said out of the corner of her mouth as she passed Ivy.

  “We’ll see where he sits,” Ivy replied. Catherine enjoyed putting her claim on the handsome young men who came in, but much to her disappointment, those claims didn’t stick, and Catherine hadn’t yet found a suitor. Ivy had no idea why—her cousin was four times prettier than Ivy, and it didn’t seem possible that the men of Creede weren’t lining up for a chance with her.

  “Hello,” Ivy greeted the newcomer. “Welcome to the Iron Skillet. Do you have a preference where you sit this evening?” She was going to leave this up to him and the results entirely up to chance.

  He glanced up from unwrapping his scarf and did a double-take, his eyes growing wide. “Are you . . . are you an angel too?” he asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He blinked, then swallowed. “I’m sorry—that must have sounded very odd. Um, I’d like to sit over there, please. The light is quite good from that spot.”

  She turned and looked over her shoulder. “The light?”

  “Yes. You see, the sunset is too bright by the window, and the fireplace is casting unusual shadows on the walls.”

  Who was this man, and was he feeling all right? “Very well.” She led him to the table he chose—it was one of her tables and not Catherine’s. “My name is Ivy, and we’re glad you’re joining us today. We have steak, roast, baked chicken—”

  He cut her off by lifting his hand. “I tell you what, Ivy. I’m too hungry to choose for myself, and that all sounds delicious. Would you please choose for me?”

  “I can, but what if I choose something you don’t like?”

  “I promise you, I will like whatever you bring me.”

  That seemed a rather outrageous promise to make, but she nodded and stepped into the kitchen. The corn bread had turned out especially nice that day, and she put a thick wedge of it on a plate, along with a pat of butter and a little dish of honey. “Roast, please,” she called out, and Titus lifted a generous portion from the cast-iron pot he was keeping hot on the stove. Next to that, she placed a baked potato, fluffy and steaming.

  Then she returned to the dining room and placed everything in front of her customer. “I decided on the roast because it’s already done. The steaks are cooked to order, so you would have had a longer wait if I’d chosen one of those.”

  “Thank you, Ivy. This looks delicious.”

  She stepped away and left him eating, wondering what in the world he’d meant when he asked if she was an angel too. She certainly was no angel—of that, she was positive—but too? As if he’d seen other angels?

  And what was all that nonsense about light?

  Four more couples entered just then, and she got busy taking their orders. This was more like it—people coming in and out, happy chatter in the dining room, Titus grilling and baking to his heart’s content. This was what her mother had always wanted—a productive way for her family to spend time together. Ivy wished her mother could see them at that moment, working companionably instead of bickering with each other like they used to do.

  She shook her head, thinking about those days. They hadn’t valued each other as they ought, and it had taken her mother’s death to make them realize the importance of what they had. So much time had been wasted, but at least they were starting to understand it now.

  Once her customers had been brought their food, she made another sweep through the dining room, this time carrying the coffee pot and offering refills. She approached the young man’s table, wondering what odd things he would say this time.

  “Dinner was delicious, Ivy,” he said. “And yes, I’d love more coffee.”

  “Of course.” She refilled his cup, then checked to make sure there was enough sugar in the bowl on the table. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thank you. I would like to apologize for earlier, however. I realize I was acting strangely.”

  She chuckled. “Yes, you were. I wondered if you were having some sort of . . . nervous fit.”

  “I’ve wondered that myself several times today, but this hot meal seems to have revived me. My name is Caleb Baker, and I’ve just arrived in Creede to set up a photography studio.”

  “Photography? Oh, that will be nice. We don’t have photography in Creede as of yet.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told, so it sounds like I’ve chosen the right place. And that’s why I was yammering earlier about you being an angel. The way the light was coming into the room, it lit up your hair like a halo. I tend to see things as photographs, and it was visually very stunning.”

  “I’m . . . not quite sure how to reply to that, Mr. Baker.” Her cheeks must have been flaming with red—they were hot enough to be uncomfortable. “It’s a lovely compliment, but I’m not used to lovely compliments.”

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he replied. “I meant it sincerely, and innocently. I assure you.”

  She nodded. She believed him, even if she did still think he was a bit odd. “I should actually be thanking you for saying something so kind. If you’ll excuse me now, I need to take the coffee around to the other tables. Have a good evening, Mr. Baker.”

  She turned and almost fled from his table, feeling like a little girl running away from her first crush.

  After she checked on each customer, she went back into the kitchen and leaned on the counter, trying to compose herself. She was being so foolish.

  “Are you all right?”
Catherine asked. “You look flustered.”

  “I’m fine. I should have let you take that table for me.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “Nothing at all. He paid me a compliment, and I had no idea how to accept it.”

  “What sort of compliment?” Titus turned from the stove, holding his knife up as though prepared to use it.

  “He wasn’t inappropriate at all. I’m just . . . I’m not used to things like that.”

  Catherine raised an eyebrow. “You’re not used to being complimented? That doesn’t make any sense. Just who have you been spending time with, anyway?”

  “Just . . . people,” Ivy trailed off, not sure how to answer Catherine’s question.

  “Well, if those people haven’t been complimenting you, there’s something intrinsically wrong with them.” Catherine took the steaks Titus had just finished preparing and headed out to the dining room.

  Ivy shook her head, then followed her cousin, needing to clear away some tables. Best to put all that aside and concentrate on work—they needed to make up for that budget deficit from the counterfeit money, after all.

  Chapter Three

  Caleb decided to spend the night at Mrs. Olson’s house. It was too late to visit the general store and see about a bed, and it was too late to hire a wagon to move his trunks to the new building, and besides, he might be running low on funds, but he didn’t want to short her of anything that was her due. She wouldn’t be taking in boarders if she didn’t need the money, after all.

  He found his hostess sitting in the parlor knitting by lamplight, and he paused on his way to his room to speak with her. “I found a building to rent, and I’ll be moving there tomorrow,” he said. “Tonight’s my last night, and I appreciate your hospitality.”

  She gave him a nod. “I’m glad you were comfortable here, Mr. Baker.”

  “I have been. And . . .” He pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to leave her feeling unsafe in any way . . . “I owe you an apology.”

  “You do? Whatever for?”

  “I . . . realized that I must have dreamed the intruder in my room. I was so very tired when I got here, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry to have put you through all the fright.”

  She looked at him with wide eyes, and then she started to laugh. “Oh, dear,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You dreamed it all?”

  “I must have drifted off while I was unpacking,” he said lamely. Could he get in trouble with angels for lying about them, even if it was for a good cause? “I’ll let the deputy know as well. I feel so foolish for wasting everyone’s time.”

  “Oh, goodness, Mr. Baker. That’s the best laugh I’ve had in quite some time, and I thank you for it. I haven’t had a lot to laugh about these days.” She wiped her eyes again, smiling. “And Patty will be so relieved. I believe she took one of the kitchen knives to bed with her tonight—I’d best go tell her so she can get a good night’s sleep.” She rose from her chair, sitting her yarn and needles off to the side. “We’ll make sure you have a hot breakfast before you leave tomorrow.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Caleb climbed the stairs to his room, feeling sheepish. What a mess he was in—and now he was lying in order to cover the fact that he’d been talking to angels. Perhaps he should just pack up and go back to Cheyenne. What he really wanted was to go back home to Chicago, but the family home had been sold when his parents passed away, and there was nowhere for him to go.

  He was surprised, and yet not surprised, to find Adolphus Waverly sitting on the chair in his room when he opened the door.

  “So, you’ve spoken to Mr. Thurgood, and he vouched for my veracity,” the angel said, crossing one gray-suited leg over the other.

  Caleb closed his door, sure that neither of the ladies would be able to hear Mr. Waverly, but that they would be able to hear Caleb. That would be very difficult to explain. “Yes, I did speak to him.” He crossed the floor and sat on the bed, quite unsure what to say to this . . . angel. “So . . . what now?”

  “What now? What do you mean, what now?”

  “Mr. Thurgood said you’d have more information for me about what I’m supposed to be doing.” Caleb paused. “Like, my quest here or something.”

  Mr. Waverly tilted his head to the side. “You’ve decided to accept your assignment, have you?”

  “Well, I figured, if you were going to take the time to come here and talk to me, I’d be foolish not to listen, and I’ve already been foolish many times over today.”

  “And so you are taking your foolishness and turning it into wisdom. That’s simply splendid. I wish everyone would do that.” Mr. Waverly contemplated him. “May I use you as an example in future?”

  Caleb blinked. “I . . . suppose so?”

  “Splendid,” Mr. Waverly said again. “And now that we’re both working toward the same objectives, let’s discuss just what those objectives should be.”

  “I’m ready to listen.”

  “Good. As I indicated earlier, your task is to use your gifts to bless the lives of others.” He sat back and studied Caleb as though he’d just told him everything he needed to know.

  “I’m not sure what that means,” Caleb said after waiting for a moment to see if the man would say more.

  “It means that as you develop your craft, you’ll find ways to uplift and encourage. You must use every opportunity to share a kind word or a kind deed.”

  Caleb thought about that. He’d always considered himself a generally thoughtful person, but he’d never gone about purposely looking for people to help. “How will I know if someone needs a kind word or a deed? I suppose sometimes that’s obvious, but other times, people can be hurting and we don’t know it.”

  Mr. Waverly beamed. “My boy, you’ve grown more in the last day than I ever would have hoped or dreamed! My goodness—I do believe you’re going to be my star pupil.”

  “I am?”

  “You are! Look at how deftly you honed in on the problem—yes, indeed, many people are hurting without our knowledge. Perhaps a loved one is ill. Perhaps they are concerned about their finances. Perhaps they are lonely. Our task, then, is to look into their eyes and determine what they are really feeling—and you, my boy, are uniquely talented in that way.”

  “At looking into people’s eyes?”

  “And finding the emotion within.” Mr. Waverly reached out and tapped the lid of Caleb’s trunk. “Photography, boy! When you take a portrait, what are you doing?”

  “Looking into their eyes,” Caleb said, beginning to understand.

  “Precisely. You’ve been exercising this gift for years—now it’s a matter of practicing it in a different medium. You can hardly go around taking everyone’s pictures, but you can use a different lens—the lens of your own eyes—to study them.”

  Caleb sat back and pondered that. “I’ve never considered that,” he said at length.

  “Which is why I was sent,” Mr. Waverly pointed out. “But as you do this, as you seek to know what a person is feeling and then you find ways to uplift them, not only will you be blessing their lives, but your own as well. You already got off to a nice start with the waitress this evening.” He leaned forward and looked at Caleb earnestly. “Right now, what the world needs more than anything are those who are willing to love one another regardless of personal inconvenience.”

  “I . . . I’ll try,” Caleb said. He felt the truth of the angel’s words settle into his heart as he spoke. “I’ll do it,” he amended, this time with more conviction.

  “I’m very pleased.” Mr. Waverly stood up. “I’ll be on my way, then. Oh, and no, you’re not in trouble for telling Mrs. Olson that you dreamed me up. I think that’s a clever way to apologize for the fact that you called the marshal’s office on me.” His mouth twitched as though trying to hide a smile.

  “About that . . . I really am sorry,” Caleb said. “Under the circumstances . . .”

  “
Yes, those pesky circumstances. Thank you for trying to set it right, and we’ll leave it at that.” Mr. Waverly gave a nod, and then disappeared. He didn’t fade out or walk away—he was just gone, like blinking an eye.

  Caleb sat there for a long minute, trying to absorb everything he’d just been told. Then he slowly nodded. He could do that. He could be one of those who simply loved.

  ***

  The next morning, when Caleb headed down the stairs, he found a bountiful breakfast waiting on the table, and Patty bustling around the kitchen humming a tune. “Mr. Baker, I must say how relieved I was to hear about your confession last night,” she said as she poured him some coffee. “It took a lot of courage to admit that you were wrong, but it was the right thing to do. I didn’t think I’d ever sleep again believing there was a strange man lurking around our house.”

  Caleb smiled. Her words brought back those feelings of foolishness he’d experienced the day before, but he was prepared to live them down. “Thank you for your patience and understanding, Patty.” He paused for a moment, contemplating her. “And thank you for preparing me this lovely breakfast. I can tell that you went out of your way.”

  She blushed. “Why, thank you, Mr. Baker. I wanted you to have a little something nice, being our first boarder and all.”

  “It’s very nice indeed.” He ate until he was full, and then ate just a little more because it was so delicious. Then he thanked her again, grabbed his coat and hat, and headed outside, ready to start the next phase of his adventure.

  He located a wagon to rent at the livery stable in town, where a man named Otto gave him a fair deal. Then he headed over to the general store. A kindly woman greeted him as he entered, introducing herself as Toria Jackson.

  “Mrs. Jackson, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Caleb Baker, and I’m in great need of a bed.”

  She helped him select a tick, told him where to arrange for straw, and promised that when he was ready, she’d help him order in a bed frame—or introduce him to someone who could build one out of wood. She answered all his questions graciously, but still, she seemed a bit anxious. Caleb thanked her, then paused.