Nathalie (Sweet Land of Liberty Brides 2)

by Lorena Dove

  “I hope to see you soon. I’ll be sure to visit before too long.”

  “I’ll have everything you need for the baby,” Nathalie promised. “That is—I wouldn’t want to take business from the Paventes.” Nathalie couldn’t believe she was saying it; her grandfather’s businessman’s heart would be breaking. But she meant it.

  Mrs. Pavente came over. “I think it will be good to have baby things at your store,” she said.

  Nathalie hadn’t realized she knew about Maduro’s store. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Pavente, I’m not trying to take your business.”

  “There’s plenty for all,” Mrs. Pavente said. “We had help starting our store, and more people come every day on the trains. If this town doesn’t stop growing, I don’t know how we’ll keep up!”

  Jo and Nathalie parted and Mrs. Pavente showed Nathalie around the store, telling her the items her customers loved and offering her tips on the best suppliers. When it was time to go, Nathalie was overwhelmed at her kindness.

  “Mrs. Pavente, how can I ever repay you? You’ve been so generous with your time and all of your connections.”

  “Repay me? My child, I’m not looking for payment in this life!” Mrs. Pavente laughed. “Live well, prosper in your work, marry a good man, have happy babies—that’s my wish for you. Sorrow and accidents will come, but for all I wish only love.”

  Nathalie opened the door, reluctant to leave the jovial atmosphere at Pavente’s and return to the bleak emptiness of Maduro’s. She saw Joe on his cart and went to climb up.

  Joe reached out a hand and she landed on the seat next to him. “I’ve got some news for you, Nathalie. It’s a letter—from Isadore.”

  Chapter Six | Locked Up Hearts

  Nathalie knew she couldn’t read the letter and hold on while bouncing on the wooden seat of Joe’s cart. She looked at his handwriting and smiled at the letters that formed her name. For now, just holding the envelope he had written on was enough.

  She had to laugh at this feeling. Isadore Maduro had brought her to South Dakota, left her with his blind mother, a failing store, and a runaway orphan for a helper. His friend, Joe, was competent but not inclined to go very far out of his way for Nathalie. And yet… she clasped the envelope to her chest and took a deep breath. She was glad he had written.

  “I see you met the Paventes; they’re good people,” Joe said. “Would do a town good to have a store like theirs.”

  “I was thinking the same myself,” Nathalie said.

  They passed the rest of the trip in silence, both comfortable in the company of their own thoughts. Arriving back in town, Joe pulled up in front of the store.

  “I’ll pull around back so Pete can help me with your things,” Joe said.

  Nathalie looked up at him from under her hand that shaded her eyes from the afternoon sun. “Thank you, Joe. It was a good trip today. I appreciate it.”

  “Wow, that’s saying a lot, coming from you,” Joe said. “I mean, you’re not the kind to give a compliment.”

  “Well, I can change, can’t I?” Nathalie said. For the first time since she arrived, she walked with a happy heart and nearly skipped up the rough wooden stairs to the store.

  “Hello, Peter, I’m back—” Nathalie stopped dead in her tracks, her hand still on the doorknob behind her. The store was a mess. Barrels were tipped on their sides, cans had been knocked off the shelves, and the new bolts of cloth she had ordered were lying in dirt on the floor.

  “Peter! Pete?” Nathalie continued in to the building, looked behind the counter and went to the back room. When she came back, a tall figure stood in the doorway.

  “Miss Luxe? I’m Sheriff Taslo. I wanted to be here when you arrived, but I just saw Joe going past the jail and I had to secure the prisoner before I could come. I’ve got Pete in jail, ma’am. A man came to me with a sworn warrant, and it was either put him in jail, or turn him over. There was nothing I could do.”

  “Why? What for? Oh no, take me to him!”

  Nathalie secured the door on the shop and followed Sheriff Taslo down the deserted street. She could see people looking out their windows and flicking the curtains closed as they walked by.

  They entered the sheriff’s office and Nathalie ran to the jail cell. Pete was sitting alone in the corner on a wooden bench.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Nathalie!” he said sadly. “I didn’t mean to bring any trouble down on you and Mr. Maduro.”

  “Didn’t mean to bring trouble? That’s all you’ve been, you little ingrate,” a voice snarled. Nathalie turned to see the gnarled older man sitting in a chair by the sheriff’s desk.

  “Nathalie, this is Mr. McGraw. He claims Pete here is a runaway from his farm. Says he’s got the right under the law to take him back.”

  Nathalie turned to face Mr. McGraw. “Right? What right do you have to mistreat children you are supposed to be adopting, and instead force them into near slave labor on your farm?” Nathalie demanded.

  “I’ve got the law on my side,” Mr. McGraw said, tapping the sheaf of papers on the sheriff’s desk slowly with two rough-hewn fingers. “It’s all here in black and white.”

  “I’m afraid he’s partly right,” Sheriff Taslo said. “The papers he signed with the orphanage say Mr. McGraw’s responsible for Pete until he turns 18.”

  “Responsible for him? Does that include barely feeding him and making him sleep in the barn? What kind of parent would do that?” Nathalie asked with fire in her eyes. The sheriff might mean well, but Nathalie wasn’t about to back down.

  “Nathalie, it won’t do to get angry, now.”

  “That’s right. I’ll just be on my way with my prop—with my boy,” Mr. McGraw said.

  Nathalie’s mind raced trying to think of a way to save Pete from having to go with Mr. McGraw. “Wait! – I think—I’ve got a right to file a counter-claim,” Nathalie said. “I’ve been feeding and housing Pete as well, so by rights he’s been adopted by me. I’ll take over your claim to him, and pay you what you’ve spent on his care.”

  Mr. McGraw laughed. “You can’t be serious? A young miss like you, adopting a 15-year-old boy? Never heard of such a thing. The state would never allow it. I couldn’t transfer the papers to you a’tall, even if I had a mind to—which I don’t.”

  “Just the same, I demand to file a counter-claim to him,” Nathalie said. She pleaded with the sheriff. “Please, I’m serious. I want to file adoption papers right now.”

  “Well, I suppose if you file a counter-claim, we’ll have to wait for a judge,” the sheriff said. He stood up, happy to have a chance to be rid of Mr. McGraw.

  “I don’t make the laws, McGraw, I just follow ’em. When there’s a dispute, I hold the prisoner until the judge comes to decide. Mr. McGraw, you’ll have to wait for a decision on this.”

  “Never heard of such a thing in all my life!” Mr. McGraw jumped up. “This will come to nothing! You’ll have wasted everyone’s time, and still Pete will go back to the farm with me!” He slammed his fist down, squinting at Pete in the jail cell, and stormed out the door.

  “Thank you, Sheriff Taslo!” Nathalie said. “How long do we have until the judge comes through? Can’t you release Pete to me in the meantime?”

  “Now that I can’t do, Nathalie, unless you post a proper bond,” Sheriff Taslo said. “If young Pete here decides to slip away, you’d have to forfeit the money. I’ll let you file your papers, but please don’t ask me to do more. The town will already wonder why I haven’t turned Pete over to his legal father. I’d like them to know that I’m keeping law and order. Pete will stay here until the case can be decided.”

  Nathalie finished writing and looked at Sheriff Taslo. “I’ll go right now and get the money. I want Peter out of here before nightfall.”

  “Let’s not be hasty,” the sheriff said. “It’s been a long day for everyone and I’m due to make my rounds along the rail lines in a few minutes before dark falls. Pete is safe here tonight; and besides, it might do him good to spend on
e night thinking about the trouble he’s caused. If you still want to post bond for him in the morning, you’ll know where to find me.”

  By now, Pete was standing at the bars of his cell, looking at Nathalie in wonder. Nathalie rushed over to him and held his hand.

  “Miss Nathalie, what are you thinking? Old Man McGraw told me a hundred times the money he’d spent on the orphanage fee and for every morsel of food I ate and stick of firewood he used to keep me warm. He’ll make you pay to buy out the adoption from him. And he doesn’t even want to let me go; he just wants a worker for his farm.”

  “Well, he can charge all he wants. I can handle it,” Nathalie said, though she wondered if the train fare she had hidden in her trunk would be enough for the bond and the claim. “Don’t worry about it, Peter. What happened at the store?”

  “I was by the flour bins helping Mrs. Higgens when I heard his voice at the door. Mr. McGraw didn’t know I was there, so I tried to hide. Mrs. Higgens asked me what in Sam Hill I was doing, and that’s when he saw me. I thought I could run, but he grabbed at me and I almost got away—.”

  Pete stopped to catch his breath. “If Mrs. Higgens hadn’t gone for the sheriff, he would have hauled me off in his wagon and you never would have known! The sheriff was real sorry to put me in here, but I didn’t mind as long as it meant I didn’t have to go back to McGraw’s farm. I’m sorry for the mess I made of the store and everything. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “It’s all right, Peter. I can clean it up in the morning. You try to get a good night’s sleep. I’m sorry you have to spend the night in jail.”

  “Don’t worry about me! This cot looks real fine and I already had my supper,” Peter said. A shy grin stole over his face. “Thanks for standing up for me, Miss Nathalie. However it works out—I’m in your debt.”

  “No, Peter, you owe me nothing. You have worked hard and been honest with me. If this works out and I can somehow adopt you, I promise I’ll treat you like my own son. I’m only a bit older than you, but I’ll never let anyone treat you like Mr. McGraw did.”

  ***

  Nathalie finished filling out papers in the sheriff’s office that would set her counter-claim in motion and promised Sheriff Taslo she’d be back in the morning to post bond for Pete. She spent the next two hours cleaning the store. She kept the sign turned to Closed on the door, even though it meant a loss of business on a day that already had turned into a financial disaster. She couldn’t face the townspeople now until she figured out how to handle this mess.

  Exhausted and defeated, she returned home to Mrs. Maduro’s worried greeting.

  “Nathalie, it’s gotten so late! What happened? Mrs. Higgens was here and said there was a terrible calamity with young Pete. Has he gone? Did he leave with that Mr. McGraw?

  “No, thankfully Sheriff Taslo said we could wait for the judge to get here to decide.”

  “Decide what? From what Mrs. Higgens said, Mr. McGraw had the adoption papers with him, and Pete is his son. Did you know?”

  “I did know, yes,” Nathalie said. “I’ve filed papers myself to adopt Pete. It was the only way I could force Mr. McGraw to leave him in jail until the judge gets here.”

  “The judge? Well, my dear, Isadore is the judge right now, have you forgotten? Surely he’ll rule in your favor!”

  Isadore! Nathalie had forgotten about him and his letter. His name was more of a myth to her now and it seemed like she had never even known a man named Isadore X. Maduro. Yet, when she stopped and closed her eyes, she could feel his warm hands on her shoulders, and even remember the feeling of his stolen moonlight kiss.

  Nathalie wanted only a few minutes of privacy to open Isadore’s letter and read it, but first she prepared a simple meal for herself and Mrs. Maduro, and then helped the older woman to bed. Mrs. Maduro smiled up at Nathalie as she pulled a blanket up from the bottom of the bed to cover her.

  “It’s supposed to be a bit more chilly tonight, Mrs. Maduro,” Nathalie said.

  “Please, dear. Call me Mother?”

  Nathalie drew in her breath. Had she ever said the word, Mother, to a woman who was her mother? She wasn’t sure if she was talking yet when her own mother had died. Nathalie looked at the sweet woman smiling at her from her pillow.

  “Here, Mother. Have another blanket so you keep warm,” Nathalie said. Mrs. Maduro closed her eyes peacefully. Nathalie held her hand and stood quietly next to her, wondering how it was she had to come so far to find a woman as kind as Mrs. Maduro. When her breathing slowed to a soft rhythm of sleep, Nathalie kissed her on the forehead and left the room.

  Exhausted from the long day and worried about Peter, Nathalie went to her room and undressed for the night. Isadore’s letter fell from the pocket of her dress as she slipped it off. She put on her nightgown, covered her shoulders with her shawl, picked up the letter and a lantern, and went quietly down the stairs.

  It seemed fitting to read the letter outside, under the stars. The moon had not yet begun to rise as she looked at the broad indigo expanse of sky. Her eyes could make out the vast swath of stars that formed the Milky Way. She looked until she found Venus and Mars.

  Where are you now, Isadore? Are you looking at the sky tonight and thinking of me? She set the lantern down on the rain barrel and opened the envelope.

  My Dear Nathalie,

  I’m sorry to be just now writing you after two weeks, when in truth I think of you every day. In absolute truth, I think of you by the hour. Are you well? How is Mother? Is Pete helping you in the store?

  My days are filled with court hearings of land disputes, jailhouse pleas, and petty crime. I’ve tried one case of cattle rustling, and one for murder. I never thought about the power of the law, but as it has been entrusted to me, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done to condemn a man to death.

  The murder conviction didn’t bother me; my religious teaching tells me an eye for an eye is justice. But the cattle rustler; he was just a poor man wanting more than his due. I agree it’s a crime to steal, but in these parts it’s a death sentence to steal cattle. That man had a family somewhere he was trying to feed. Still, under the law, I did my duty.

  But oh, how I wanted to talk to you. Would you have supported my decision? Would you argue against me? I don’t know you well enough to know which side you would take. I do know I’m interested in what you think. It matters more to me than anything else that in your eyes I am doing the right thing.

  Dear Nathalie, would you ever love me? Could you, in time? I’ve thought of nothing but your sweet face as I’ve gone from town to town. Everywhere I look, I see your golden hair shining in the sun. I love you and give you my heart and my soul.

  Yours ever,

  Isadore

  P.S. I’ve had a telegraph from Judge Sinclair, and he’ll be back on the circuit in a week. I’m to meet him in Springvale to resign my commission back to him.

  Nathalie sought a date on the letter but could find none. She only hoped Isadore’s letter had been sent a week ago. I need you, Isadore, she pleaded at the blinking stars. Please come home to me.

  ***

  Isadore looked at the calendar on the wall behind the clerk’s desk for the fiftieth time that hour. Once again, it didn’t make the time go any faster until tomorrow, the day he would finally be finished on the circuit and head home to Springvale—and to Nathalie.

  “Nathalie.” He whispered her name for maybe the tenth time that hour, each time making sure to cough before or after so the clerk wouldn’t hear. He needed to hear the word, to better imagine he was saying it to her.

  Joe was wrong. Isadore was interested in a woman, and it had lasted more than five minutes. He had to marvel at how she had done it. How she had captured his imagination and held it from the first days he spent with her, through the long weeks away when he’d had no word of her. He imagined her at the table in his mother’s kitchen, and out back in the darkness. He pictured her in the store, ringing up a customer and wiping off the shelves. He tried
to forget the look of disgust on her face when she first saw the condition of the place. He longed to get home and make everything right so she would smile and be proud of him.

  He’d been away before, but he’d never been in charge of anything that mattered to him. Deciding cases and having a lasting effect on people’s lives had brought his idealistic passion for justice to a new-found maturity. He realized now that the law was not as black and white as he imagined. There were two sides, and sometimes multiple sides, to every story. And he knew that the one thing he wanted more than anything was to finish his law studies, marry Nathalie, and take up his place helping this new state grow.

  The clerk got up from his desk and left the room. Isadore put down his pen and gave up any pretense of concentrating. He sat back in the high-backed leather chair and rocked it slightly as he hummed a tune. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. He opened it and admired the gleaming gold ring nestled against black velvet inside.

  “Judge Maduro, sir!” The clerk came rushing back in, out of breath. Isadore snapped the box shot and slipped it back into his pocket.

  “What is it, Stan?”

  “Telegraph for you, sir. From Springvale.”

  Isadore jumped up and crossed the floor to the waiting young man in two strides. He took the paper and quickly read it through.

  “That settles it, then. Stan, what cases are left for me today?”

  “Stevensen vs. Stevensen at 2:00, sir. And Philip Dryson’s sentencing after that.”

  “The Stevensens; are they back again? They were in before me two weeks ago. What is it this time?”

  “Mrs. Stevensen claims the other Mrs. Stevensen, you know, her sister-in-law, hasn’t abided your last order to keep her chickens on her side of the property. Says Mrs. Stevensen’s chickens, that is, the other Mrs. Stevensen’s chickens, are coming in her yard and eating the feed she’s throwing out for her own chickens.”

  “My word, can there be no peace among sisters and chickens?” Isadore boomed. The clerk looked startled at the sound of agitation in the normally sanguine voice of Judge Maduro.