Angel In The Saloon (Brides of Glory Gulch) (22 page)

She busied herself in playing the hostess, but she
kept an eye on her niece the rest of the night. Paul wouldn’t let Amelia out of
his grasp and she happily resigned herself to a single dance partner that
night. Corrin allowed herself to feel the maternal instincts and love that had
remained dormant inside her for over twenty years.

Weeks had passed since his birthday party, and Paul’s
love for Amelia continued to increase each day. October proved to be a cold,
rainy month and he was confident that snow was on its way to Glory Gulch, for
it had already alighted upon the highest peaks. He had just come from saying
good night to his Angel and hung his coat in the closet under the staircase and
fumbled his way up the stairs in the darkness to his generous bedroom.

A fire soon roared in the fireplace and the chill of
the night was quickly relenting to the warmth radiating from the hearth. Paul
sat in his favorite overstuffed chair to remove his boots. Staring into the
fire, his thoughts drifted toward Amelia, as they usually did.

He had never known a love so sure, kind, gentle, and
true. He had heard of the term ‘love at first sight’, but always thought that
had a rather lustful meaning, catering only to outward appearances. But now he
wasn’t so sure. From the moment he had first seen Amelia Jackson, he was
enamored of her. And though she had never verbally confirmed it, he was sure
she loved him too. She accepted his embraces and kisses and always spoke
affectionately to him. If he could only be sure.

They had only known each other for three and a half
months. Was that ample time to fall in love with someone? He had heard of
courtships back East lasting several years, followed by another year of
engagement. Was this for a particular purpose? Or could it be that it simply
takes some people longer than others to determine whether or not they really
love each other?

He tired of his questioning and walked over to his
night stand. Opening the drawer, he retrieved a small, black, velvet box and
returned to the chair with the tiny treasure safely clutched in his huge hand. Carefully,
he opened the lid and lovingly admired the shiny, gold ring inside. He
remembered his mother wearing the ring with pride, a gift from his father the
night he proposed to her. He often wondered whether his choice not to bury her
with it was sound. But tonight it made perfect sense.

His big, masculine fingers gently touched the precious
stones that dotted the filigreed surface as he tried to picture it on Amelia’s delicate
hand.  He was sure it would fit. His Angel’s fingers were long and slim like
his mother’s were. Often, while sitting in Corrin’s parlor with her, she would
allow him to hold her delicate hand. His thoughts of touching her thrilled him
and he smiled.

Paul sat for nearly an hour thinking of Amelia’s sweet
smile, her infectious laugh, the angelic tone of her voice, and how his heart
beat wildly whenever she was near him. No doubt about it, he loved her more
deeply than any man has ever loved a woman.

Finally realizing it was late, he hesitantly replaced
the ring box back into the drawer for safekeeping and readied himself for
sleep, remembering to thank the Lord for bringing Amelia back home and into his
arms.

He crawled underneath the covers and felt sleep wash
over him along with the warmth generated by the hearth and his heart.

A loud noise shattered Paul’s dreams of Amelia. He sat
up in bed. The darkness of night enshrouded him. He frowned. Only half awake, he
listened to discern if he could hear the noise again.

Bang, Bang!

Someone was pounding on his front door. A chill raced
up his spine as he remembered the last time someone pounded on his door late at
night just one month ago.

After lighting a candle and checking the mantle clock,
he realized it was two o’clock in the morning. Throwing on some trousers, he
carried a candle down the hall and stumbled downstairs into the entryway. He
half expected Mrs. Scranton to meet him there, but he knew nothing much could
wake his housekeeper once she’d slipped into sleep’s tight grasp.

Upon opening the door Paul immediately recognized the
man standing before him. But as quickly as he could blink, the sound of gunshot
pierced the stillness of the cold night air, immediately followed by another.

Paul was thrust backward from the blows, slamming
against the stair rail. He slumped down onto the floor, clutching his shoulder
in agonizing pain which worsened with each breath he drew. The candle had
dropped to the floor, it’s light snuffed out and Paul was alone once again in
the darkest hours of the night. The wide open door allowed the cold, October,
night air to pour in around him as he lay powerless on the floor, trying to
fathom what had just occurred. He attempted to pull himself up, but the pain
was so great that it seemed as though his whole body had exploded. So he
resigned himself to just lie still, praying for someone to find him---soon.

His thoughts turned toward his precious Amelia. He
remembered the first time he touched her hair the night she arrived in Glory
Gulch. His thoughts progressed to the first time he kissed her in the field of
wildflowers and the first time she kissed him back standing barefoot on the
river bank.
Please God, I pray that you would see fit for me to see her
again, to touch her soft face, to hear her sweet Angel voice. Don’t let me die
like this.

How would this affect her? She’s been through so much
this past year and she doesn’t need any more pain in her life. Please, God… 
Paul heard footsteps on the porch.

Within minutes after the shots had split open the deep
silence of the night, bewildered neighbors carrying lanterns, shotguns and
carbines were scrutinizing the neighborhood to determine the source of the
startling sound. When their lanterns revealed Paul Strupel’s front door wide
open with no light illuminating from within they sneaked steadily up the
walkway, guns ready.

The first man to step onto the porch paused to raise
his lantern and peered inside, discovering his neighbor lying helplessly on the
floor.

“It’s Paul Strupel! He’s right here! He’s been shot! Tyler,
go get the doctor! Hurry!” The man leaned his carbine against the doorjamb and
went inside to see if he could help, placing the lantern on the floor beside
Paul to assess the extent of the wound. One bullet had entered just below Paul’s
left shoulder, the other just an inch below the first. He was alert and aware
of what was going on around him, but was bleeding a great deal and was in
excruciating pain. A couple of men carried him upstairs and carefully eased him
onto his bed. They pressed him for any information he could give them.

Painfully and breathing shallow, uneven breaths, he
answered them. “Heard pounding on the door. . .Went downstairs. . . Opened the
door and saw Jake Turnbull pointing a gun at me and heard a shot. . .” Paul
slipped into unconsciousness.

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›

Men scrambled everywhere in the neighborhood, some to
the Strupel home, some back to their own houses, fearful that the perpetrator
may still be near. One man went to fetch the Doctor while several others headed
out to spread the horrible news throughout Glory Gulch.

One man assembled as many men as possible to begin a
search for Jake Turnbull with an efficiency that would have made any military
captain proud.

Somewhere in all this, Mrs. Scranton appeared, shocked
and confused, unable to think straight enough to offer her services. One man
asked her to make some coffee for the men who’d be returning from spreading the
news.

Doc Glover arrived shortly and examined Paul as more
men poured into the house and the bedroom. When finished, the doctor motioned
to a couple men to come near. “Eric, would you please get Mrs. Ruchers for me. I’m
going to need a capable assistant here. I have to operate on one of the wounds.
Jason, I need you and Mathew to keep people out of here for awhile. Jeremy, ask
Mrs. Scranton to boil some water and bring it up here to me, and find some
extra sheets.”

Several men scrambled to do the Doctor’s bidding.

“And the rest of you, let the people outside know what’s
going on. Try to calm them down and get them to go back to their own houses. I
know this sort of thing rarely happens in this gulch and such an assembling of
people could only lead to folks getting worked up and maybe even more trouble.”

Meanwhile, the whole town was buzzing. The news travelled
at an amazing speed from house to house. This was a peaceful town that didn’t
even have need for a sheriff; Paul Strupel usually acted as Constable to settle
any minor disputes that arose, so people were appalled and frightened by the
crime.

Within minutes, the news arrived at the Saloon. The
bearer burst in and shouted, “Paul Strupel’s just been shot at his home!” And
as quickly as he entered, he ran back out into the night.

The few men who were there jumped up and ran outside. Two
fellows from the logging camp, who knew they would be in trouble from the Boss
in the morning for having sneaked into town to do some drinking, scrambled to
get word back to the men in the camp.

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›

Corrin gasped and waxed pale, her knees buckled as she
spilled into a nearby chair, breathless with disbelief. Harry quickened to her
side. Swallowing hard and fighting back the tears, she said, “I have to tell
Amelia.”

Amelia was sleeping soundly and didn’t awaken at Corrine’s
initial intrusion into her room. As she neared the sleeping form, her heart
pounded so heavily she thought it would waken her niece who looked so angelic
as she lie there, unsuspecting of the terrible news that awaited her. She sat
on the bed beside her and gently shook her.

“Amelia. Amelia. Honey, you’ve got to wake up.”

Her niece stirred and Corrin continued, this time with
more urgency. “Sweetie, you’ve got to wake up!”

“Aunt Corrin? Is that you?” Amelia sat up in bed and
rubbed her eyes.

“Yes, Honey. Something has happened. I need to tell
you...” Corrin’s voice trembled and she started to cry.

“What is it, Aunt Corrin? What happened?”

“It’s Paul, Sweetie. He’s been shot.”

“Shot? No!” Amelia gasped and put her hands over her
heart as if she herself had just been wounded there. “Aunt Corrin! Please, tell
me that he’s not . . .”

“I don’t know any more than that, Honey.”

With sudden composure and deliberate resolve, Amelia
threw back the quilt, jumped to her feet and located her clothes to dress
herself. “We’ve got to go to him, Aunt Corrin. Help me find my shoes.” She looked
as though she might faint, but fought it with all her might.

Corrin helped her tie her hair back with a ribbon,
locate a cape, and head downstairs within a matter of minutes.

By the time the ladies arrived, a large crowd had
gathered at the Strupel house. A couple men guarded the door to keep everyone
out.

Arm in arm with her niece, Corrin pushed and
shouldered her way through the group to the front porch and as she directed
Amelia up the front stairs, the guards halted her. Someone from the crowd
shouted, “It’s Miss Jackson, for goodness sake! She’s Paul’s sweetheart! Let
her go in!” The rest of the crowd yelled similar statements.

“You’ll have to wait downstairs until the Doctor’s
through, Ma’am. Doc Glover’s orders.”

“We will,” Corrin promised and after the two slipped
inside, the door shut behind them. Several men who had been talking quietly in
the dining room paused to see who had entered the house. Squinting into the
dark entryway, they quickly recognized the ladies and bid Corrin to talk with
them for a moment.

“One minute, fellas. Let me see to my niece first.” She
guided Amelia into the parlor, lit a lamp, and showed Amelia to a settee. Hastily,
she started a small fire in the fireplace. “Will you be all right for a moment,
Sweetie? I’ll see what they want and then I’ll be right back.”

“Yes. But please, don’t be gone too long, Aunt Corrin?”

“I won’t be long, Honey. I promise,” Corrin turned to
go back out through the entryway. But upon doing so, the light from the parlor
allowed her to see the splatters of blood on the entry floor, walls and stairs,
and she thought her knees would give out again, but then a voice called to her
from the dining room. She stepped around the blood as best as she could and
greeted the men in the dining room.

“Corrin, we want to know if Jake Turnbull was in your
place tonight.”

“Yeah, he was there for quite some time. Left well
over an hour ago, though.”

“Was he drinking a lot?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Paul mentioned his name while we were waiting for the
Doctor to get here. Right now, he’s the only suspect we’ve got.”

“Paul’s alive then? Did you see him? How is he?”

“Was shot in the arm twice, just under the shoulder. Lost
a lot of blood and was in tremendous pain. Passed out right after he mentioned
Jake Turnbull. The Doctor didn’t say much about his condition, just that he had
to operate on one of the wounds.”