by Lily George
Without her guidance, Ada would never have experienced any of this—the heartache and the sorrow coupled with the love and the friendship. Her life, since coming to Winchester Falls, had been difficult. Yet, somehow, it had been richer and fuller for all the experiences she had lived through.
She wanted to rebuild this town. Even if she had to leave it when St. Clair heard about his attorney’s disastrous visit.
“I suppose we should focus on rebuilding the telegraph lines and restoring mail service,” she continued. “Without communication to the outside world, we are well and truly stranded.”
The postmaster raised his hand. “I’m happy to say that mail service was restored today, and the men from the telegraph company should have the lines repaired by the end of the week.”
So soon? Ada smiled, but her heart froze within her chest. She had been hoping to remain in a little bubble, safe from St. Clair hearing and from reacting to his attorney’s visit, for just a little while longer.
Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen. Somehow, the attorney had made the train out of town before the tornado hit and had communicated with St. Clair about his disastrous visit.
“Thank you,” she responded mechanically. “That is good news.”
“I’ll say,” Pollitt replied with a grin. “There’s a fellow with a big newspaper out of Fort Worth who’s come to town to report on the twister and the damage it did. He’s got a photographer with him. Winchester Falls is going to make big news.”
A sudden clamor arose at this news, as the townspeople began chatting amongst themselves. Ada furrowed her brow. This could be good or it could be bad. If the reporter only told of the death and destruction, then Winchester Falls would look like a pitiful place, indeed. That would be no way to show off the town she had come to love so much. Moreover, any newspaper coverage would, eventually, make its way back to the St. Clairs. If it seemed that the town had been completely devastated, then that would show very poorly in their favor.
“We need to make sure this reporter sees the good that is being done,” Ada blurted, and the commotion from the assembly died down. “If he focuses on the tragic aspects of the aftermath, then we’re just going to look like a sad little town out in the middle of nowhere on the prairie. He needs to tell the truth. He needs to show how we are rising from the ashes.”
“Hear, hear,” Aunt Pearl echoed. “That photographer needs to take pictures of the homes being rebuilt, not just of the ones that have been blown away.” Unshed tears sparkled in her eyes, and she slapped her broken leg, still in its cast. “Ada, you need to take that on.”
“I don’t know,” Ada demurred. “Surely Mr. Pollitt—”
“I’m going to be rebuilding the shantytown,” he reminded her. “Besides, you speak as though you really love Winchester Falls. Who better to tell our story than you? You came in as an outsider, but here you are, months later, organizing our rebuild.”
“All in favor of Mrs. Burnett managing the reporter, say aye,” the burly man with the cigar announced.
A tremendous shout of “aye” surged through the room.
“I’ll bring them here tomorrow,” the postmaster replied. “They are staying just up the road in Sparrow for the night. I just got a wire today. They have to travel by horse and buggy, since the train tracks are being repaired and the train depot still has damage.”
“Of course,” Ada replied. How on earth was she going to accomplish this latest feat? “Bring them here as soon as you can. I don’t want him to photograph anything or interview anyone until I’ve had the opportunity to start showing him around.”
“Let’s move on to other business.” The burly man pointedly took out his gold pocket watch and looked at it. “Some of us have things to do.”
The rest of the meeting was a whirlwind of planning and setting up of committees. One group was working on the train station and railroad, offering to assist the railway company as best as they could. Another committee was going to work on setting the post office back to rights. By the end of an hour, a committee had been assigned to almost every building and portion of the county save one.
“Ada, what are we going to do about the chapel?” Aunt Pearl asked, as the meeting wound down and people began to leave.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Ada said, hoping her voice sounded breezy. In truth, she wasn’t sure what to do about the chapel. Rebuilding the entire town seemed easier, somehow, than starting anew what had barely begun.
She had wrapped up so much hope in that little chapel. She had stood with Jack on top of the hill and felt closeness to him she had never known. She was going to help him. They were going to help each other. It was the way a marriage should work, even if this one had started out as a business arrangement. Because of the chapel, they had become dear friends.
“I’ll have to write to the missionary group and tell them what’s happened,” Aunt Pearl fretted. “This will be a difficult letter to write. I surely did look forward to Winchester Falls having its own chapel.”
“I’m sure we will someday,” Ada replied, placing her arm around Aunt Pearl’s shoulder. “We have other, more pressing concerns to attend to at the moment. Once the buildings have been repaired, and everyone has suitable shelter again, we’ll see what can be done about the chapel.”
Aunt Pearl sighed. “I suppose so.”
She made her way out of the parlor, leaning heavily on her cane. Macklin intercepted her at the vestibule, speaking to her in a low voice. He must need her opinion on what to do about rebuilding her house now that the rubble had been cleared away. That was a little disheartening. Not that she wanted to keep Aunt Pearl from having her own place. It was just so nice to have her here. Jack enjoyed her company, especially since they had been invalids together for such a stretch of time. She herself had come to rely on the old woman’s salty retorts. Laura enjoyed listening to Aunt Pearl talk about the early days of ranching and Winchester Falls.
It would be a sad day when Aunt Pearl left for her own place. She had become, in a short time, an integral part of life in the house.
The clock on the mantel chimed three in the afternoon. Ada jumped, startled. She must leave soon to pick Laura up from school. “Maggie,” she called. “Cathy?”
The two maids clustered in the doorway. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I declare the parlor is a mess,” she replied, waving her hand at the cigar butt on the floor and the teacups scattered throughout the room. “We had a good meeting, but I am afraid we’ve increased your labor for the afternoon.”
“Think nothing of it,” Cathy replied. “We’ll have it cleaned by the time you bring home the young miss.”
“Thank you.” Ada left the parlor and waved goodbye to Macklin and Aunt Pearl, who were still in deep conversation in the hallway.
“Miz Burnett, I wouldn’t go around by the hilltop if I were you,” Macklin interjected as she walked past. “Jack is going to be running some cattle through there this week. It’s going to be loud and there’s a lot going on. Even though it takes longer, you might want to take the other route up to the schoolhouse.”
“Thank you, Macklin,” she responded. “I’ll make sure to avoid the area.”
Macklin nodded and turned back to Aunt Pearl. Whatever they were speaking of, it must be rather important.
She made her way from the front porch to the gig, where Blue waited patiently. If only Jack was here. She would love to talk to him about the day’s events and ask his help on how to best handle this reporter tomorrow. One of the nice things about his recuperation had been the chance to go and talk to him when she wanted. He was unable to vanish for hours at a time, and she had really come to enjoy his company.
She climbed inside the gig and started Blue on the alternate road to the schoolhouse.
Now that Jack was on the mend, he was back to his usual schedule. That was fine. It was best this way. If St. Clair was going to break this family up, she should get used to being without Jack.
> *
Jack turned to the group of about thirty-five men gathered before him on the hilltop. “We’ve got about a week to build this chapel,” he announced. “If we all pull together, I think we can have it done. Or mostly done. We don’t want to delay the preacher’s arrival, that’s for sure.”
The men nodded. “Where’s Mack?” one of them asked, breaking apart a little from the crowd.
“Macklin’s up at the house. He’s sitting in on the rebuilding committee for the town. He’ll be joining us later.”
“Why don’t we just add this to rebuilding the rest of the town? It’s gonna be part of the town, ain’t it?” Another man stepped forward, tilting his hat back. “I don’t see why we’ve got to make an extra effort for the chapel.”
Jack looked at the hands. Most of them were his own men, but a few were from other ranches, brought in by the promise of the extra pay Jack had offered. They were all strong and tough, and like all strong and tough men, they thought they should be in charge. Well, there was going to be one man only heading up this operation, just like on the ranch.
“It’s not the same thing, because this chapel was never finished,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “It can’t be rebuilt, because it was never fully built in the first place. The rest of the town is going to work on fixing the buildings, the railroad tracks and all the things Winchester Falls needs to be a town. What we’re going to work on is building up its soul.”
The men shifted a little. It was clear they weren’t exactly with him yet. Funny, even the prospect of extra pay wasn’t enough to sway some of these stubborn Texans.
“Fact is, Mrs. Burnett has set great store by this chapel,” he continued, his voice tighter than he expected. “Her aunt, Pearl Colgan, cares about it, too. Mrs. Stillman and Mrs. Colgan have written letters to missionaries and convinced them that Winchester Falls is a good little town in need of a man of God. The mission folks say they’ll send someone here just for us. All we have to do is provide a place of worship.”
“All right then.” One of his workers, Red Jones, clapped his hands together. “If it means that much to Miz Burnett and Miz Colgan, we’ll build it for them.”
“Yep. I’ve seen Miz Burnett out here working those cattle for weeks. She’s a fine lady. Never thought I’d say this about a Yankee girl, but she’s one of the best cowgirls I’ve ever seen.”
Jack chuckled. “I agree. Never thought I’d say it, either.”
“Miz Colgan helped my family when we first came to Winchester Falls.” Chuck Baker, one of the hands from the Stillmans’ ranch, stepped forward. “My wife died in childbirth, and the baby died with her. Miz Colgan arranged for their funerals and burial. She never said a word about it. She never expected thanks. To me, she’s a real Christian lady. If she wants a chapel, I’ll build it. I don’t need extra money for it, either.”
One by one, the men spoke up, praising Ada’s hard work and Pearl’s long years of service to the community. These men were rough around the edges and toughened from years in the saddle. Yet they were genuine in their appreciation for those two women and eager to pay respect to them.
That was good. It was gratifying, even. Somehow, though, it wasn’t enough. They needed to know the true reason for the importance of building the chapel. Jack gave a loud whistle, which caused a little pain to shoot through his ribs. It was worth it, though. The men calmed down, looking at him expectantly.
“I’m real glad to hear how much my wife and Miz Colgan mean to everyone here,” he began. What should he say next? He never talked much, not about anything serious, anyway. “But the real reason for building this chapel is that we need a place to worship. Winchester Falls needs a heart. In a way, we’ve had a body for a long time—buildings, railroads, mail service, telegraph wires. We’ve got no heart. I want to take my little girl for Sunday worship. I want to feel the hand of God on my back as I go about my labors.
“I know I’m supposed to feel that anyway. I reckon I have and didn’t know it. I suppose I want to thank God for putting up with me all these years I blamed Him for what was wrong in my life, especially all the trouble I caused through my own stubbornness. So if you want to help me bring a heart to Winchester Falls, let’s get to work.”
Slightly abashed, he looked out over the crowd of cowboys, expecting them to laugh and jeer him. Instead, quiet and stoic as they were, they nodded and walked off, splitting themselves into groups so that they could begin working on the foundation.
Macklin was supposed to deter Ada so she wouldn’t be coming past the hilltop while construction was going on. He was going to surprise his wife and thank her for all she had done. Most importantly, he wanted to tell her how she had not just brought family into his life, but had rekindled his love of God. Seeing her work in the community, seeing Winchester Falls band together—it restored the love that had been lost. Without her, none of this would have been possible.
He almost dared St. Clair to take it all away.
Chapter Sixteen
Laura flounced into the dining room the next morning, wearing a sensible cotton dress, and gave Ada a kiss on the cheek. Ada patted her stepdaughter’s arm. “Planning on enjoying your day off from school? Saturdays are precious, you know.”
“I know.” Laura helped herself to a piece of toast and sat at the table. “Where’s Father?”
Ada smiled. Laura missed Jack and wanted to know where he was. Surely she was growing closer to him. “Where he usually is every morning, day in and day out,” Ada reminded her. “Working the cattle.”
“Oh.” Laura took a bite out of her toast. “I suppose I should expect that by now.”
Aunt Pearl tottered into the room, leaning heavily on her cane. Ada jumped up, ready to help her aunt to the table, but the old woman merely waved her aside with her cane and turned to Laura. “Hey, chickadee. Help an elderly lady out. I need my chair.”
Laura obediently placed her toast on her plate and held out a nearby chair for Aunt Pearl. “Thank you, my dear,” Aunt Pearl replied, giving her head a pat as she sat.
“Aunt Pearl, you know I would send a tray up to your room,” Ada reminded her. “Going up and down those stairs has to be difficult on your leg.”
“Nonsense.” Aunt Pearl helped herself to coffee. “I need to keep moving. If you rest you rust, so the old saying goes.” She turned to Laura. “What are you doing home? Aren’t they going to send the truant officer after you?”
Laura giggled. “It’s Saturday, Aunt Pearl.”
“Oh.” Pearl looked over at Ada. “I reckon you’ll be working with the photographer and the reporter from that big-city newspaper today.”
“Yes.” Ada glanced up at the clock on the mantel. “Mr. Pollitt is bringing them here at any time now.” The very thought of having to conduct these two men around the county was making her nervous, but it had been her idea. The better the coverage was of the twister’s aftermath, the easier it might be to convince St. Clair to let Laura stay.
“A reporter? And a photographer?” Laura bounced around in her chair with excitement. “May I come, too?”
Ada froze. St. Clair would not likely approve of his granddaughter having her picture in the newspaper. He was of that generation, the kind of man who would say that a woman should have her picture in the paper only three times: at her debut, her marriage and her death. “I will show them around the first day,” Ada replied with a cajoling smile for her stepdaughter. “Once I know what kind of people they are, I might let you help.”
Laura frowned and took a bite out of her toast. “That’s no fun.”
“Cheer up. You can keep me company,” Aunt Pearl replied briskly. “There’s nothing a young person likes more than being some old crippled woman’s companion.” She gave Laura a sly wink, and Laura smiled.
There was a knock at the door, and Cathy showed Mr. Pollitt and two men into the dining room. Ada rose, wishing that Cathy would learn to take everyone to the parlor. The parlor was formal. The parlor wa
s correct. As it was, she could only smile over her half-finished breakfast and offer the men coffee.
The three men took their seats. “Mrs. Burnett, this is Matt Starr, reporter for the Fort Worth Telegram. This is Jacob Ledbetter, his photographer.”
“I’m sorry to intrude on your breakfast, Mrs. Burnett,” Mr. Starr replied. He took off his straw boater hat, and his photographer did the same. “We can wait outside if you prefer.”
“Nonsense.” Ada rose. “Just let me get my hat. I’ll be back in a moment.”
She rushed up the stairs and retrieved her beige straw hat with its wide purple-ribbon trim. She tied it on over the dark waves of her hair, which had been subdued to some extent and coiled into a mass on top of her head. Then she grabbed her gloves and went to join the men downstairs.
Mr. Pollitt smiled as she made her way to the vestibule. “I do hope you’ll bring the gentlemen to see the west part of the county,” he announced. “I went out there after our meeting yesterday and met with some of the residents. We have big plans for rebuilding.”
“Absolutely.” Ada gave him an encouraging smile. “We’ll drive out in the gig.” She turned to Mr. Starr and Mr. Ledbetter. “How long are you two here?”
“Just a day,” Mr. Starr replied. “I’d like to stay longer, but my editor wants the story as soon as possible. After speaking to Mr. Pollitt on the way over, I’d like to come back in a few weeks and talk more about the rebuilding process. It’s a good human-interest story. But at least we can get started on this trip.”
“Very good. Let’s not dither any longer. I’ll start you on the tour before it gets too hot.”
She waved goodbye to Aunt Pearl and Laura, and then led the two men to the waiting gig outside. Mr. Pollitt took his leave, promising to come back for them in the evening.
Mr. Starr helped her into the carriage and then jumped in beside her, grasping the reins. Ada tried not to let her amazement show. It had been months since a man had helped her into or out of a carriage. Jack knew her wishes and applauded her independence to the point that she no longer expected him to try to take over in these matters. She did not really like Mr. Starr taking over, but out of politeness, said nothing.
