Ginger Snap

by Marisa Masterson

  Out the corner of her right eye, Ginger caught Step Pappy rubbing his hands together. She deepened her voice and asked, “Did he leave any outstanding bills?”

  Edwards shook his head. “No. One reason the man was so well-liked in town. He always paid cash money and never made anyone wait for payment. Came to Kearney with the money he’d saved from freighting up to the Black Hills and the forts around these parts. You’ll see he had a cozy home and nice barn since he could afford lumber and didn’t need to build with sod.”

  Ginger nodded, remembering her always smiling uncle who once worked around the farm with Ginger’s father. He had left to find a better way of life, he’d told the family. Like Ginger, her uncle had been able to read and write so he sent sporadic correspondence. News of his death saddened her. It also made her curious. She had yet to learn how he died.

  She jumped at the sound of Wiley’s guttural voice booming by her head. “So, the boy here just needs to visit the bank to get hold of the money?”

  Melvin Edwards shuffled the papers on the desk. Tapping them into one neat pile, he met Wiley’s eyes. “It’s not that simple. Mr. Snap felt it best for me to approve all expenses. There will be a reasonable household budget, and Guy may discuss improvements with me. All monies will be under my control until your stepson reaches twenty-one. I understand that is almost two years away.”

  He stopped and gave Ginger a questioning look. She gave a clipped bob of her head, confirming the fact. Guy had been almost a year younger than her. And foolhardy. He never should have bullied Willard into wrestling that today. All to show off for those idiot Henderson boys.

  “Well good, we’ll work closely for the next few years. I will receive a nominal fee, of course, at the start of each year. Twenty dollars.” At Step Pappy’s angry glare, the lawyer ducked his head and began to shuffle papers.

  Awkwardly clearing his throat, Edwards looked above Ginger’s head. “My fee for this year has already been paid.”

  Odd that he seemed so nervous. Didn’t a businessman expect to be paid for his services? Come to think of it, why hadn’t he read the actual will to them? She pushed any suspicions from her mind. Uncle Tavish had trusted this man and so would she.

  Needing to bring this meeting to a close before Step Pappy exploded, Ginger turned the conversation to practical matters. Keeping her face tipped downward below the flat-crowned hat she wore, she tonelessly asked, “Can you tell us if there is food at the farm? Should we stop at the mercantile first?”

  The lawyer handed her a set of keys and an envelope with twenty dollars—Guy’s monthly allowance. “I checked out the house and outbuildings. There’s a smokehouse with meat and a root cellar with some vegetables. Seems I saw a bag of flour and one of corn meal in the pantry. Your neighbor’s boy has kept the livestock fed and watered. I promised him a dollar if he did it all month so he should be by tonight.”

  At the front door of the building, Edwards spoke again. “One more thing. Since Tavish was in town when he died, the team and wagon are still in the livery. There might be a bill there, come to think of it.”

  Within the hour, Ginger drove her own team of fine Belgians up the path to the prettiest little farm she’d ever seen. The boxy two-story house had a welcoming porch that stretched around two of its sides. A dog, some type of shepherd, barked at them from the porch before bounding down the steps to run next to the horses.

  The team obviously recognized him, and the dog’s warning barks changed to happy yips as she kept pace on the left side. She ran with the horse Ginger had named Skip. Maybe the neighbor would know if her uncle had already named the team.

  From somewhere behind the house, a hen cackled, letting the world know she’d laid an egg. A rooster crowed in response, and a cow bellowed from inside the barn. These sounds of life delighted Ginger. She truly felt as if she’d come home.

  Step Pappy jumped from the wagon and came face to face with an ornery dog. It growled and circled him. Ginger readied herself to coax the dog’s attention away from the cursing man. She didn’t need to.

  Willard hopped down and made an odd smacking noise with his lips. Then, he sat down in front of the animal and wrapped strong arms around it. At first, Ginger was sure he’d kill it, like he’d done to Guy. The whimpers and yips from the dog added to her fear. But, in only a few seconds, the animal was licking Willard’s face as he wheezed out his odd laugh.

  It seemed Willard felt right at home, too.

  Chapter 2

  “Oh, my heart!”

  He watched her nervous hands fly to her chest. The movement didn’t surprise him. The shriek of anguish that accompanied it raised the hairs on the back of his neck, though. Trust his mother to add melodrama to his simple announcement.

  Theodore Edwards shook his head when his mother, Mamie Edwards, gracefully fell backwards onto the maroon fainting couch. Appropriate name for that piece of furniture, he silently joked. And how convenient that she swooned directly onto it.

  Theodore’s father sat beside his wife, patting her hand gently. With one longsuffering look at her, Michael Edwards turned his gaze to his son.

  In a cold voice, he managed to look down at Theodore. An amazing thing since the man sat while his son stood. “What do you mean, you aren’t planning to practice law? Your grandfather exercised considerable clout to have you admitted to Yale, my boy.”

  Mrs. Edwards wailed and then sank into another faint. With a disgusted snort, her husband rose. Standing only inches away from his son’s embarrassed face, he shook a finger as his voice grew icy and commanding.

  “Best you remember your place in this family. Go unpack your bags. You, young scamp, are headed to the law office on Monday.” He slammed a fist into his palm to emphasize his next words. “Plan to stay in St. Louis.”

  How typical, Theodore thought. His father was always cold and overly formal with him. Michael Edwards had enough love in his heart for two things—his wife and the family law firm. No crumb of affection had ever been tossed Theodore’s way.

  Shaking his head, Theodore backed up a step. His father never hit him. What caused Theodore to retreat? That confused the son. Perhaps he needed distance to think clearly.

  “My apologies, Father, but that’s impossible. I’ve arranged to live at the Manse and work with Reverend Wyatt. He will help me enter a seminary in the fall.”

  At those words, a long moan came from the couch before loud weeping made discussion impossible. Theodore moved to the bell pull and gave it one tug. Only a minute passed before Reynolds, their butler, entered the parlor. Theodore guessed the man must have had his ear to the door, listening, when the bell rang.

  With a wave of his hand toward his mother, Theodore wordlessly nodded to the man. Reynolds impassively eyed the lady of the house before returning the nod and leaving.

  Silence hung like a heavy fog in the room. Energetic footsteps echoed loudly, breaking that uncomfortable silence. Irene, Mrs. Edwards’ personal maid, entered through the open door. Moving briskly to the prone figure, she waved a vial under the woman’s nose. More moans floated back to Theodore as Irene escorted his hunched mother from the room.

  Theodore heard himself haltingly explain, “I just want to help people.”

  When Mamie passed her husband, she sobbed weakly, “Please, dear, don’t let him break my heart.”

  Her husband leaned in to kiss her brow. He softly whispered words Theodore couldn’t make out. Then, he tenderly squeezed his wife’s arm. Supporting the weeping woman by the elbow, the maid led her out of the room.

  Michael Edwards stared at her back as she left. Theodore watched his father’s mouth grow harder and thinner with each of his wife’s steps. His tight lips managed to growl two words.

  “Library. Now.”

  As if I’m a child and not twenty-three with a degree from Yale.

  Nevertheless, he followed behind his father with his shoulders stooping. Visions of the time he’d broken the vase, a gift to his mother from Aunt Myrna, fl
itted through his mind. He’d been seven.

  How could things still be the same? He was no longer a child.

  His father surprised Theodore by pointing to a chair in front of the cold fireplace. In the past, he’d stood, head bent, in front of the man’s desk while Michael Edwards sat in his desk chair and yelled.

  In the murky darkness of late afternoon, he squinted, wanting to study his father’s face as the man settled himself in a chair opposite his son. Theodore worked to keep revulsion from his face at the tumbler of whiskey in his father’s hand. The man was a violent drunk.

  For a moment, his father held the amber liquid high and studied it through the diamond pattern cut into the lead crystal. Sweat popped out on the back of his neck at his father’s delay.

  Father’s voice hissed out low when he finally spoke. “Commendable to want to help others, I suppose.” What passed for a smile twisted Michael Edwards’ lips. “Since you want to leave St. Louis, I plan to help you with that.”

  Unconsciously, Theodore fisted his hands. He tried to relax them. After all, he wasn’t preparing to defend himself in a dark alley. No, he sat in the safety of his father’s library. He forced his face into an expression of sardonic unbelief, something he’d practiced for court while at Yale.

  His father chuckled, not the reaction his son expected or wanted. “You’ve been preparing to examine witnesses, I see. Excellent! That might come in handy in Kearney.”

  Unguarded surprise had Theodore’s mouth gaping. Hands again fisted, he snapped his mouth shut and rose quickly. His father stood, also, and the two met nose to nose before the hearth.

  Quietly, coldly, the son stared into his father’s cold brown eyes. Eyes like his own but so much colder. Dark chocolate eyes should be warm and welcoming, not icy.

  “You plan to send me to the farm? I hardly think you’ll succeed. I’m grown. A man who determines his own calling and course.”

  The iciness changed to calculation in Mr. Edwards’ gaze. A raspy command slipped past his clenched teeth before he took a sip of whiskey.

  “Sit down, Theodore. In the end, my plan will benefit you.”

  Out of habit and curiosity, he obeyed his father. Once both sat again, the man placed his tumbler on a nearby piecrust table.

  “My cousin, Melvin Edwards, wrote asking for help. He needs a law clerk. He hoped I might know of someone who wanted to start a new life out west.”

  He eased backward and made a steeple with his hands. Tapping his pointer fingers together, he arched an eyebrow at his son. “You want to help others. This is your chance.”

  “Absolutely not what I meant, Father, and you know it.” Theodore inwardly complimented himself on the control he heard in his voice.

  “I have plans in place. Why would I drop them to travel there? Grandpa and Mi Maw aren’t there for me to visit. Not like I did every summer when he was stationed at the fort.”

  The tapping fingers stilled. Theodore’s opponent leaned forward. “As to that,” his smooth, low voice hissed, “you said you want to help people. Melvin does need help.”

  His next words determined Theodore’s decision. “I will make it worth your while. Work for him one year. Then, I will pay your way through seminary.”

  “So, you see why I won’t be moving into the manse. The opportunity to have my father pay for seminary is a godsend.”

  Theodore sat opposite Reverend Parker in a small parlor. June heat had him pulling at his stiff collar. Sweat ran down the back of his neck, like it had during the meeting with his father. This time, though, heat instead of worry caused it.

  The man remained silent, staring at a spot above the younger man’s head. When he finally spoke, he met Theodore’s eyes. While his features remained grave, his voice was encouraging.

  “Yes, it’s best to have your family’s support and blessing. Always you want to honor your father and mother, my boy.”

  The reverend’s expression changed. Theodore read skepticism on his face. “What are you not saying, sir?”

  The man shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know your father. He rarely attends services.” Pausing, he rubbed a hand down his chin. “Will he hold to his word and pay your way when it’s time? That’s my thought.”

  “Truth to tell, I’m not sure.” Theodore realized how little he could predict about his father. The man remained aloof during Theodore’s childhood.

  “Hmm. Perhaps a document? Something that outlines what both he and I need to do in this agreement.”

  The white head nodded. “Might be best. From what I know of your home and your father, consider having your grandfather witness the document.”

  The minister gave his rare smile, tight-lipped but evident. “Now there is a man of honor. Helped many a person and gave generously to the church. Still does, even bedridden.”

  Warmth filled Theodore, both at the minister’s kind words and thoughts of his mother’s father. As Theodore Marshall’s namesake, He had a close bond with the man. In truth, Grandfather was more of a father to him than Michael Edwards.

  Reverend Parker stood, and his younger guest did as well. Gripping Theodore’s shoulders, the older man willed him to meet his gaze. “Helping others doesn’t require you to be a minister. Remember that. You’re already equipped to do good for the people of Kearney, Nebraska.”

  Theodore’s mouth twisted downward. “It’s not the same. I feel a calling to minister.”

  Eyes blazing, Reverend Parker moved his hands away from Theodore’s shoulders and shook a finger at him. “I want you to read, repeat, and live 1 Peter 4:10 for the next few months.”

  A blush stained the younger man’s cheeks. He didn’t know the reference. Rather than asking, he swallowed the knot in his throat and shook the man’s hand as he thanked him.

  Later, back in the large brick mansion in Lucas Place, he did two things. First, he drew up a simple document outlining his father’s demand and Theodore’s reward. Then he went to his bedroom.

  Sinking into the tan velvet-upholstered arm chair, he sat near a west-facing window and opened his bible to First Peter. Licking a finger to separate the thin, delicate pages, he thumbed to the fourth chapter.

  Had his minister tried to talk him out of plans for the seminary? He hoped the verse would answer that question.

  Aloud, he read the tenth verse of the chapter.

  As every man hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.

  He read it again, searching for a hidden message. Nothing in it spoke to him about shepherding God’s people. In fact, the verse seemed to speak about every Christian being a sort of minister.

  Reverend Parker’s words echoed in his head. You’re already equipped to do good for the people.

  He spoke to an empty room, meaning his words for the Lord alone. “Fine. I’ll go where you send me. I will look for a way to help others as a lawyer.”

  From downstairs, he heard the front door open. Pulling his watch from the vest pocket, Theodore checked the time. His father was returning from his office.

  Softly repeating the verse, he left his room. Time to face his father with the document.

  In the library, he handed his father the paper and waited, his shoulders squared. Summoning his courage, he stood emotionless with his eyes fixed on the man seated behind the large oak desk.

  Amazingly, Michael Edwards’ face beamed as he read the document. Pride-filled eyes lifted to his son. “Well-written. Couldn’t do better myself.”

  Shock weakened Theodore’s control. Mouth agape, he couldn’t speak to respond. He rarely received approval from this parent.

  “Don’t look so amazed. I knew you had the makings of a fine attorney. Get a little experience out there in Kearney. When you come back, you’ll join the practice.” His father’s voice hardened on those last words, suddenly more like the autocratic man Theodore knew.

  But Theodore wasn’t a child. While his father waited for him to agree, Theodo
re allowed silence to hang heavily in the room. He waited so long that he saw his father’s hands fist. It was a sort of victory that Michael Edwards reacted first. Enough of a victory that his son gave in and spoke.

  “I’ll see about that, Father. It’s possible my plans for seminary might change. Right now, I insist you sign the document. In front of Grandfather, if you...”

  The controlling tone reverberated around his head. He sounded so like his father that it jolted Theodore. When he stopped speaking, his father gave him a questioning look.

  Theodore shook his head in response. “No, that’s not right. I don’t see my plans changing, and I want to be honest with you.” At his father’s raised eyebrow, he continued. “We’re not in court, and I won’t treat you like an opponent. I want your blessing and will honor you by going to Kearney.”

  Disappointment flitted so quickly across Mr. Edwards’ face that his son almost missed the expression. Again composed, the older man rose with the single page in hand. His words were dispassionate. “We will see your grandfather now and get this done.”

  Theodore Marshall sat reading in front of the large west-facing window. When his namesake entered the bedroom, the elderly man placed a marker in his book. Setting it on the table by his chair, he smiled and pointed with his cane to another seat near the window.

  “Young Teddy, come have a seat.”

  For years, Theodore Marshall had called his grandson Young Teddy. Once, the younger man had asked why he didn’t simply call him Teddy.

  The older man had laughingly explained, “First my parents and then your grandmother called me Teddy. That makes you Young Teddy.” Affection and the tradition behind the name kept the grandson from cringing when he heard it used.

  “Oh, Michael. You’re here, too.” With considerably less warmth, Theodore gestured to a chair by the fireplace. “Pull that seat over and join us.”