Mud Creek Read Online Free Page A

you stopped by the bank. Have you brought me my wages?”
    “No. The accounts were all closed.”
    “I see…”
    Jane fumed, then spun and went to the kitchen. Seconds later, she reappeared, with her hat in hand and having shed her apron.
    “What are you doing?” Helen asked her.
    “I quit.”
    “Must you?” Helen felt betrayed and abandoned.
    “I can’t keep on for free, and your situation isn’t likely to improve any time soon.”
    “I understand.”
    “You couldn’t possibly,” Jane rudely replied. “Some of us have to work for a living. Some of us need the money, but I expect you’re about to learn plenty on the topic.”
    She stomped out and shut the door behind her with a determined click.
    “Goodbye,” Helen muttered to the empty space. Sarcastically, she added, “Thank you for your devoted service.”
    She headed into the parlor and dropped down on the sofa. She sat like a statue—stunned, paralyzed with indecision—and she had no idea how long she dawdled. Certainly long enough for the afternoon to wane and the sun to shift toward the western horizon.
    She was hungry and briefly flirted with the notion of going to the kitchen and cooking something to eat. But she knew very little about domestic chores, her only trips to the room made to enlighten Jane as to what she’d like to have prepared.
    My lord, but she was a helpless, incompetent creature! Would she starve?
    She noticed the mail on the table in the hall, and she trudged over and grabbed a stack of what turned out to be bills. She couldn’t pay any of them and threw them on the floor. At the bottom of the pile, there was a letter from Albert, and for once, she wasn’t aggravated to see it.
    He’d written regularly, as he’d promised he would. Helen had been regaled with tales of the west, the beauty of the scenery, the rugged characters he’d met, the rich farmland he was tilling and fat cattle he was raising.
    She suspected some of it was exaggerated, but she was happy that he was prospering.
    He hadn’t mentioned his marriage proposal again, but he’d kept her posted on the house he’d constructed for his parents, on the cozy cottage he’d finished for himself. Clearly, he’d proceeded with her in mind, and the cottage could be hers if she wanted it, but her opinion hadn’t changed.
    She flicked at the envelope, and as she read what he’d hastily penned, her pulse began to pound, her palms to sweat. She laid down the letter, paced, then picked it up and read it again.
    My Dearest Helen,
    It is with heavy hearts that we received the devastating news about your father. For months now, my parents have been aware of his dire predicament, and we have been worried about you and Violet. At my mother’s urging, I tender another proposal of marriage. I realize that you were opposed when I was still in Maywood, but since then, you have suffered several drastic setbacks.
    The house I built for you is ready, and with your affirmative reply, it can be yours and your troubles solved.
    My brother, Arthur, is constructing his own house, and it will be completed in a few weeks. He, too, finds himself ready to wed and asks that you send his regards to Violet. If she so wished, she could come with you and become a bride, as well.
    I hurry to post this and apologize that I have no time to write more. With your positive answer, I can immediately wire train fare to purchase tickets for both of you. I eagerly await your response.
    Your most humble and faithful friend, Albert Jones.
    Helen huffed out a weighty breath, folded the paper, and stuffed it into the envelope. His offer was a talisman, tempting her to reach out and grab for it, but she was extremely conflicted.
    For three years, she’d pompously snickered whenever she recollected Albert and his fervid desire to wed her. Yet she wasn’t a girl any longer, wasn’t free to choose from frivolous options. She was an adult woman—with no parents to advise her and no money to soften the