Not having any answers, she returned to her original task. She marveled at the papers scattered over the desktop . . . there were so many!
Uncertain where to start, she decided to place everything into two piles: one for general correspondence and the other for bills. Half an hour later, she’d made progress, but the stack for bills was twice as high as the correspondence.
Things didn’t look good. Why were there so many bills? What was she going to do?
She started at the beginning, reading each statement. It appeared the parsonage owed everybody in town. When had the situation become so bad? And why hadn’t Father Brown told her how desperate their circumstances were? Maybe this is the reason the staff had started to thin out.
On the right-hand comer of the desk lay a faded green ledger, which she grasped and pulled to her, sending pieces of paper flying off the desk. She opened the heavy cover and started to scan the contents.
There hadn’t been any entries for incoming money for the past two months. Of course, Father had been ill. Brandy rubbed her temples as she felt a headache coming on. She thought that they received money every month from the bishop ... So, where had the money gone? And was this the reason he hadn’t let her help with the ledgers over the last several months?
Still puzzled, Brandy reached for the mail. On the bottom of the stack was an official-looking document from the bishop. Good. Maybe this letter would tell them when the money they normally received to run the parsonage would arrive.
Brandy read the letter not once but twice before shaking her head at the dire circumstances described before her in black and white. Void of all emotion, she stared blindly at the wall as she realized the significance of the letter.
There it was, in dark, bold script. They wouldn’t be getting a new priest.
There would be no money!
Father Brown had been instructed to find homes for the children. The bishop had decided the church should be closed.
As she eased back in the chair, tears welled in her eyes and cold fear spread over her. She wanted someone to wake her from this nightmare.
Now what? Brandy wondered. How could Father Brown have died and left her with all these problems?
“He’s always taken care of everything,” she said aloud. If she hadn’t made that promise, she would only have herself to worry about, and that was bad enough.
But now she had five more problems . . . five big problems.
One way or the other, she would have to find money to support the children. If the people of the community had wanted them, they’d have taken the children already. So she had to find some money. But where?
Without warning, the door opened and Billy materialized in the doorway. “So you’re sittin’ here doin’ nothin’ while the rest of us are workin’ our butts off.”
Brandy glanced at him and, in a strangled voice, said, “Shut the door, Billy, and sit down. We have a problem.” She sighed. “We’ve got a big problem.”
Billy closed the door, but refused to sit. Instead, he leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, and looked at her like the man he’d someday become. There was a suspicious line at the comer of his mouth.
For the next ten minutes, she explained their present situation, leaving nothing out. She watched Billy’s scowl grow deeper, and a look of despair began to spread over his face. Finally, she’d laid it all out for him.
“So what are you going to do?” Billy asked.
“What do you mean?” Her voice rose in surprise. “What am I going to do?” Exasperation gathered in her chest, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming. “There is only one thing to do. You and I will start looking for jobs as soon as possible.”
Billy snorted. “What can you do?” he challenged her. “At least I can muck out stalls. Your lily-white hands have never done a day’s work.”
Her blood pounded as her face grew hot. What Billy said was true, but it still stung. “I don’t know,” she answered in earnest, “but surely there must be something. We’ll start looking tomorrow.”
Billy pushed away from the wall and reached for the door. “Reckon we’ll have to do somethin’ or starve.” He yanked the door open and stepped outside. “So far, you ain’t doin’ too good a job as our leader,” he called over his shoulder. Glancing back, he ducked, barely missing the book Brandy hurled at him.
Brandy remained in the chair, thinking about her lack of skills. Thankfully, she had been well educated. Father Brown had seen to that. She had taught the children, and was fairly good at that, but Independence already had a teacher, so that job was out Brandy shook her head. She had always assumed she would stay at the parsonage with Father Brown and teach until she got married and had a husband to take care of her.
Now she was expected to support a family, and she hadn’t the slightest idea how. Billy was right. So far she hadn’t done a good job. She didn’t want to disappoint Father Brown, but she was completely unprepared for the task he’d left to her.
Her head throbbed, but she didn’t have time to coddle herself. She had to think of something. She had to come up with a plan.
Drawing in a deep breath, she rose from behind the desk; staring at Father Brown’s records wouldn’t change a thing, she thought as she left the office. Perhaps if she kept things as normal as possible, an idea would come to her. She had to try.
As the day went on, nothing improved. If anything, things became worse.
The children were in no mood to cooperate. All they did was bicker. She tried to hold classes for them, but finally gave up when she couldn’t keep their attention. She could not remember this much fighting when Father Brown was alive.
Later that night, dinner was a far cry from Rosa’s delicious breakfast. The meat was charred and the gravy, a thick brown paste, lacked appeal. The children stared at their plates a long while before picking up their forks. Brandy took a bite and realized it looked much better than it tasted.
“I’m sorry,” Brandy said, the lump of meat she’d just swallowed sitting heavy in her stomach. “This isn’t very good. I’ll try to do better next time,” she said. “I guess cooking is harder than I thought.”
Scott looked at his food, then at her. “Could you try not making everything so black?”
“It’s not black,” Brandy assured him. “It’s brown.”
“It’s black. I know my colors!” Scott informed her.
Brandy looked at her plate and shoved a stray lock of hair out of her face. Scott was right. Everything was black. There was nothing to do but laugh, and laugh she did until tears flooded her cheeks and her sides ached. She glanced up to see the children’s stares. They, evidently, thought she’d lost her sanity, and Brandy wasn’t too sure she hadn’t. She laughed harder, wiping the tears from her eyes.
Her laughter became infectious, and soon the children were laughing, too. Before long, the tension seemed to evaporate and they all tried to choke down dinner.
Brandy knew that her cooking had to get better. It certainly couldn’t get much worse.
* * *
The next morning, the gray, sun-washed buildings stood in stark contrast to the vivid blue sky. Billy and Brandy marched across the street. Their heels kicked up little puffs of dust as they crossed Main Street, barely avoiding a horse and rider. Billy, who had been a step behind Brandy, grabbed her arm and jerked her back just as the horse galloped down the street.
“Dang it! If you don’t watch where you’re goin’, we could be burying you right next to Father Brown,” Billy said as he released her arm.
“I wasn’t paying attention,” Brandy told him, her heart beating furiously as they continued on.
“No shit,” Billy muttered from beside her.
They moved carefully among several wagons. Independence, Missouri, had become the starting point for many wagon trains heading west. Two trails left Independence, the Oregon and the Santa Fe, so wagons were a common sight in town, as well as strangers from all over the East Coast and
the world.
The folks they passed turned to look at them, and Brandy figured it was because of her high-necked black dress. She had known the day would be much too hot for such tight clothing, but she had little choice. This was the best dress she owned.
As they stepped up on the boardwalk, Billy turned to Brandy. “I think we’d do better if we split up,” he said. “Will you be all right by yourself?”
Touched that he’d thought of her safety, Brandy managed not to show how she felt. Instead she said, “Of course. What in the world could happen to me?” Billy chuckled and shook his head. “Maybe it’s better that I not scare you with all the things that could happen to a young woman alone. Just make sure you stay on Main Street. Don’t wander off onto the side streets.”
She recognized a heavy dose of sarcasm in his voice. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” she quickly pointed out. “I am older than you!” “Yea, but wiser could be debated. Hell, you were practically raised in a convent.” A flash of humor crossed his face. Then he sauntered off, leaving Brandy completely dumbfounded.
* * *
After two hours of going in and out of shops, the dry goods store, and the emporium, Brandy was hot and tired and discouraged. Her puffy feet felt two sizes larger than her shoes, and her face hurt after smiling and putting on a good front. Seeing a long, wooden bench in front of the emporium, she made her way to it and sat down to rest her weary feet.
A stray lock of hair fell over her eyes and clung to her damp face. She brushed it away and secured it back into the severe bun that she’d twisted her hair into this morning.
“It’s so hot!” Brandy muttered, pulling at the clinging neck of her woolen dress. That didn’t provide much relief, so she unbuttoned the top two buttons and started to fan herself with the open flaps.
Every day brought new surprises. When she thought about how her day had gone, she wanted to shriek. No, she wanted to weep. Though everyone had been sympathetic to her plight, no one was willing to help her out by giving her a job. Brandy closed her eyes and thought about her last two hours.
She had entered Mr. Gardner’s dry goods store, where everyone in town bought their food supplies, hoping her luck would change. But it hadn’t, she thought, as she recalled the conversation. . . .
“What can I do for you today, Miss Brandy?” Mr. Gardner took off his spectacles and wiped them with a cloth. He propped his elbows on the counter and watched her.
“I would like to apply for a job.”
His brows arched. He put his spectacles back on and carefully looked her over. “Now what can a pretty little lady like you do?”
“I could stock shelves or help keep your books. I’m very good at figures, Mr. Gardner,” she said confidently. “I used to help Father Brown.”
“That does sound appealing,” Mr. Gardner agreed. He rubbed his jaw while he thought.
Just when Brandy thought Mr. Gardner might offer something, Mrs. Gardner came out of the stockroom “I overheard what you said, and I just don’t think you’d be suitable working here,” she said primly and pursed her lips. “We have all the help we need.”
“Suitable?” Brandy mimicked the woman’s words as she sat on the bench fanning herself. What had she done to the woman to be treated so rudely? When it had been clear that Mrs. Gardner wasn’t going to say anything else, Brandy had forced a polite smile, then left the store.
Unfortunately, she’d confirmed what the ledger had shown her Father Brown owed everybody in town. And she had no earthly idea how she was going to pay any of them if she didn’t have a job. Finally, she drew a deep breath for courage, then opened her eyes. Maybe Billy had had better luck.
After sitting for half an hour, Brandy grew tired of waiting. The bench had grown hard, so she got up, stretched, and strolled over to a billboard where notices and wanted posters were tacked up.
Bounty hunter? Now that was an idea! She laughed. Her sense of humor was the only thing keeping her together at the moment. She scanned the board. There were several posters of bank robbers. And then she saw it. . .
In the right-hand corner of the board, Brandy spotted a small notice from a newspaper.
* * *
Wanted—one woman who is pretty, sweet, and a good cook! For marriage to me, Sam Owens. I’m a decent, hard-working man. I will pay expenses for moving to Wyoming and all past bills. Please write and tell me something about yourself.
* * *
Brandy read the note again: pretty, sweet, and a good cook. Well she had one of the three: She was sweet. Her mouth curved into an unconscious smile.
She’d simply lie about the rest. After all, beauty was in the eye of the beholder and maybe she’d learn how to cook by the time she met him.
She tapped her chin as she thought. “I wonder how Sam will feel about five children?” she mused. “No, better keep that to myself.”
Walking back over to the bench, she knew that this could be a way out of their current dilemma and solve the question of where to go when they were told to leave the parsonage.
But marriage to a man she didn’t know? Marriage? She’d never given the subject much thought. She often thought that marriage would be far off in the future. She had read books that mentioned love, but what was love? Did it only exist in books?
She folded her arms and leaned back on the bench. What would it be like to be kissed? Would it be like the kisses she’d given Father Brown on the cheek? They were not so bad. And she had loved him. Maybe marriage would be something like that.
Realizing she’d already made her decision, she stood and hurried down the sidewalk before she could change her mind.
Entering the post office, she went to the big window where letters were mailed, and asked the clerk for a few sheets of paper and a pen. When she explained to the cleric what she was about to do, he agreed to mail the letter. She could pay him later.
Now for the letter.
Upon returning to the faded gray bench, she started writing, carefully choosing her words, describing her features, and peppering them up slightly. What was the harm in a little lie? She told Sam Owens what a wonderful cook she was—"Forgive me, Father,”
Brandy whispered, looking heavenward at yet another he. She also didn’t bother to mention the five children she would be bringing along. Hopefully, Sam would be an understanding man. And if he wasn’t ... no, she didn’t want to think of that She could only deal with one problem at a time.
There. It was done. She folded the letter and looked up just in time to see Billy coming toward her.
“Did you have any luck?” Billy asked as he plopped on the bench beside her.
“Well, yes and no. I looked all over town, but no one would hire me. So, I sat down here, and that’s when I found the answer to our problems.”
“What? Did some divine voice speak to you?”
She ignored him. “I’m going to get married.”
“You’re what?” Billy jerked around and gaped at her. “You’ve been out in the dang sun too long.” He felt her forehead to see if she was hot or maybe delirious.
“No, I haven’t.” Brandy laughed and swatted his hand away. She pointed. “See that notice on the board over there?”
Billy walked over and looked at it. “Wanted, dead or alive?”
“Not that one. Look in the comer.”
Billy frowned. “What’s it say?”
“If you had paid more attention to your lessons, you would be able to read the note for yourself,” Brandy chided.
“I don’t need no lecture,” he said, scowling. “Just tell me what it says.”
“A man by the name of Sam Owens is looking for a wife. He lives near Fort Laramie, and he’ll pay all past debts. So you see, that will take care of our money predicament.” She held up the letter she’d just finished, waving it in the air. “The answer to all our problems is right here.” She stood and sauntered back into the post office to mail her response.
Billy couldn’t believe the crazy g
irl was thinking about marriage. Loco, that’s what she was. She had never even kept company with a man, much less kissed one. Now, she had some fool notion she was going to get married! He stood there, too shocked to move. Finally, Brandy returned from the post office.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“If this man does answer your letter, which is hardly likely, you’re just goin’ to go off and abandon us?” Billy placed his hands on his hips. “You have some nerve, waltzin’ off and leavin’ the children,” he stated flatly. “You made a promise.”
“I know I made a promise. I’m taking all of you with me.” Brandy frowned. “And what do you mean if he answers my letter?”
Billy ignored her question. “Take us with you? Have you ever thought about asking us first? What if we don’t want to go?”
“You forget, Billy, that I’m in charge. You have little choice. Besides, what do you have here?” Brandy asked, her hands on her hips, too. “We won’t have anywhere to live before long.”
He thought for a moment, then frowned. “Reckon you’re right.”
Brandy’s eyebrows formed into a frown. “What did you mean a while ago when you said ‘if’ he answers my letter?”
“There are probably a bunch of women that’s written to the poor man already.” Billy’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Did you think you’d be the only one?”
Brandy stared at him, frowned, then hurried over to the board and snatched the note off.
“Whatcha do that for?”
“Just a little precaution to make sure nobody else gets the same idea.” She folded the note and slipped it into her pocket.
“You’re crazy,” Billy said, shaking his head. “Let’s go home.”
They both stood and started down the sidewalk. “Did you find a job?” Brandy asked.
“Yeah, but it ain’t much. Might help a little, though. I was hoping to land somethin’ better, but I don’t have much experience. And everyone said I was still too young. I get mighty sick of hearin’ that.”
Dance on the Wind Page 3
