Michael Edwards frowned and shook his head. “No, I won’t be staying. I have your law practice to oversee, after all.”
Feeling like a referee, the young man held up his hands, interrupting the cold battle he felt beginning. “I would like you to witness Father and I signing a document. I’ll explain it to you after we sign. Father was involved in his work when I interrupted him with this request and needs to hurry this along.”
Soon, Michael Edwards left and his son held the signed contract. The senior Theodore frowned solemnly.
“You’ve trained to take over my offices. I built up that business and expected your father to maintain it until you were grown.” His hands shook as he held them up in question. “Why do you want to be a minister? You’re a qualified attorney. Why seminary?”
The old man sank back into his chair. He seemed to shrink in front of the grandson’s eyes. A frail old man replaced the eloquent speaker.
As badly as his “Young Teddy” wanted to please this man, he viewed his future as his own. Well, his own and the Lord’s. How could he help his grandfather see it that way?
“Don’t fret, Grandfather. I have another year to think about it as I work on the frontier.” Half-kneeling by the old man’s chair, Theodore laid an arm on his grandfather’s bony shoulder. “Remember, it’s all in the Lord’s plans. I feel it.”
The old man gave a rueful-sounding snort. “Don’t forget the Lord gave you a mind for making those decisions.”
He lifted his knobby finger and shook it. “Go ahead and pray for guidance. I’ll pray for wisdom for you, among other things.” His eyes took on a twinkle as he finished speaking. “We’ll see what has changed in the next year.”
The younger man stiffened. His grandfather was known for his fervent prayers. What had he meant by “among other things”? Theodore asked, and the old man simply pointed to the dresser near the door.
“I’ve been feeling you’re nearly ready to give that to your bride. Be sure to pack the locket when you leave for Kearney.”
Uncomfortable with the conversation, Theodore Edwards balked. “I’m not sparking a girl, Grandfather. There’s time yet. I’m not even twenty-four.”
Silent, the grandfather pulled himself forward in the forest green chair and pointed again at the dresser with his cane. “Trust me, boy. The Lord has a purpose in taking you to Kearney. I believe that.” The man laid a hand over his heart. “It fits with this feeling He’s given me. I’m trusting that.”
An enameled box sat on the dresser. At his grandfather’s urging, Theodore opened it. Immediately, he recognized the gold locket with its entwined hearts on the case.
Opening it, he saw the small painting of his grandparents on the underside of the lid. They were the way he remembered them from when he was a small child. So precious and so serious.
From across the room, Grandfather’s voice held twin notes of pain and nostalgia. “We were fortunate to have that photo done soon after our fiftieth anniversary. Years earlier, her parents sent money as a wedding gift. Your grandmother insisted on using it to have the large portrait painted. You know, the one hanging in your mother’s parlor.” He pointed again with his cane toward the locket. “Two portraits of us, fifty years apart.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. Theodore waited for his grandfather to continue his story and wasn’t disappointed. “But the locket. I gave her that for our twenty-fifth anniversary. Bought it from a Bavarian jeweler here in town. Good man and does excellent work.”
The old man struggled to keep his focus and his story clear. Theodore could sense his grandfather’s weariness and inwardly winced.
As he rose to leave, he asked, “Do you want me to call Jenkins?” He thought Grandfather might want his manservant’s help so he could rest in bed.
Weakly, the old man waved away the offer with a trembling hand. “No. I want you to understand. She was the best helpmate a man could want. I needed her to become the success I was.”
Resting for a moment against the chair’s back, this beloved old man surprised Theodore by suddenly grasping his grandson’s hand with his failing, gnarled grip. “Help others, but be open to the woman the Lord will bring. She’s meant to help you.”
Holding the black enameled box in his palm, the old man wistfully gazed down at the portrait in the open locket. “Give this to the girl who’s waiting for you. With my blessing on you both. May the Lord reveal His plan for you.”
Chapter 3
“Put the hen down! You’ll squeeze her, and she’ll stop laying.”
Without hesitating, Willard lowered the bird into the dirt furrow. It stumbled before quickly looking for bugs among the tender shoots that grew in the neat garden rows.
Thick fingers returned to his job of pulling the weeds growing between the rows. Ginger was afraid to trust him with anything more or to give him a hoe. Still, he usually worked hard at any job she gave him and sought out her company, ready to work, every day after breakfast. The dog, who she’d named Blue, lay in the dirt by him as if she guarded Willard.
Even Step Pappy started each morning with a whistle, heading out with a hoe over his shoulder to tend his five acres of corn. Perhaps he was happy to work because Amy May was breeding. These days, he often spoke excitedly about the son he would have.
Ginger eyed the ever-rounding woman and personally worried over the dangers of a forty-year-old woman giving birth. She’d even hesitantly mentioned her fears to Amy May. The woman only shrugged indifferently and muttered, “Good Lord allowed it, so that’s that.”
The pregnancy didn’t stop the woman from doing the majority of their cooking and cleaning. That was a relief for Ginger. Sure, she could do anything required of a housewife. Problem was, with the large garden and the livestock to care for, Ginger simply didn’t have time to spend on inside chores.
Amy May willingly took over caring for the house as long as Ginger watched over Willard. Since she no longer had to constantly supervise him, Amy May even hummed occasionally. The sound shocked Ginger the first time she caught a snatch of the dancehall tune the woman hummed. Not surprised by the song. No, it was the fact that the woman was humming at all, one more change moving to Kearney had brought to their lives.
The biggest changes had to be in Ginger herself. Food was plentiful here. Uncle Tavish had plenty of game and pork in his smokehouse. Potatoes and turnips filled the root cellar.
With three cows to milk and two dozen hens, Ginger and Willard took milk, butter, and eggs into town twice a week. This allowed them to have luxuries such as sugar, something she’d rarely tasted at home in Tennessee.
At times, Ginger felt like an Israelite entering the land of milk and honey. With the plentiful food, she’d begun to round out. The bindings became a necessity now as her bosom developed. Ironically, she daily became more womanly even while Ginger pretended to be a man.
Things had never been better. So why did it eat at something deep inside of her?
Life, she was discovering, was funny that way. Her ma had taught her that liars and cheaters didn’t prosper, yet she and the others had never been better. And it was all because she was misrepresenting herself to the lawyer and the entire population of Kearney Junction each time she went into town.
Step Pappy, scamp that he was, had managed to set up a still soon after they arrived at the farm. He’d used the extra corn stored on one side of the small granary to cook up his mash. Since then, boys from town began visiting to drink and carouse after dark. It was another reason Wiley Snap was so jolly these days. He had a new bunch of young men to corrupt.
At home in the Hollow, she’d seldom went to town. Her family didn’t attend church, and she and her brother rarely attended school. Especially not after they were eight or nine. They could read enough and cipher some. It would get them by. At least, that’s what her father figured.
The family did own a large family bible, something Wiley Snap also sold in Camden. Ginger’s mother used it to further her children’s readin
g. Guy fidgeted and pleaded to go outside during those lessons.
Not Ginger. She read the scriptures faithfully. Verses she’d memorized came back to her lately. It was one more reason she knew that her deception was wrong.
Lately, she struggled between her full belly and her conscience. She’d speak to Mrs. Hooper about it after she dropped off the eggs and milk at Barney Finney’s mercantile.
Mrs. Hooper truly had been a godsend. The widow noticed her one day at the mercantile. Ginger couldn’t keep a smile from her face as she remembered. Careful to be mindful of what were weeds and which were vegetable plants, she kneeled in the dirt and let her mind wander.
That day, early in February, she’d carried in her first delivery of eggs. Hesitant to approach Mr. Finney, she stammered out her offer to provide his store with eggs and milk. The man snorted and offered a price that even Willard might recognize as too low.
A throat cleared behind Ginger as she stood before the counter, wringing her gloved hands. Ginger peeked over her shoulder, trying to see the woman while keeping her low-crowned hat shading most of her face. The tall, commanding woman behind Ginger gave her a little nod before frowning fiercely at Barney Finney.
“Now, Mr. Finney, you wouldn’t want folks to know that you take advantage of newcomers. Lots of emigrants coming to settle the area lately. Might be they’d ride the train over to Stevenson just to find an honest storeowner.”
Grumbling, the mercantile owner offered a new price that matched the amount Uncle Tavish had recorded in his ledger. He quickly added the total to the Snap family’s credit with the store and then pointedly ignored the “young man” to help the woman.
“That’s taken care of. No need for anyone to hear about it.” He spoke almost cordially, though his jaw was clenched. “Now what can I help you with, Mrs. Hooper?”
Not taking her gaze away from the scrawny boy, the woman handed a neatly written list past Ginger’s shoulder. She moved toward a display farther away from the counter. Still staring at the youth and the boy’s large, silent companion, Mrs. Hooper crooked her finger toward them.
Curious and grateful to the woman, Ginger stepped over to the same display. Willard followed. After all, that was what he did--shadow Ginger every day.
Standing in front of the woman, Ginger lifted her gaze and unintentionally allowed the woman to see beneath the hat brim. Mrs. Hooper grinned.
Smiling with satisfaction, she hissed in a whisper, “I knew you had a secret. Well, you might want somewhere to visit. There’s a place where you can be yourself, the large, white home two streets over.” She nodded to affirm her offer.
Now, five months later, Ginger and Willard had visited Mrs. Hooper many times. They’d both found friends in that large two-story house. While the farm kept her very busy, she still found time during the week to pay a call there.
With the eggs and milk delivered, Ginger whistled as she cut between buildings to reach her friend’s home. Passing near the livery, she stopped to admire a fine bay stallion that stood in front of it. Sleek and shiny, it drew her.
The man holding the animal’s lead turned at her approach. His look in her direction wiped her dazed mind of all thoughts. The horse was impressive, true. This man, though, was compelling, handsome in a way that went beyond mere good looks and the fine city clothes he wore.
Now what sense did that make? Ginger decided her silliness just went to show why he’d easily rattled her with his glance. Trying to recover her wits and her manly façade, she spit on the ground before greeting him.
“Afternoon. Good lookin’ mount you got.” Was that the best she could say? Sheesh!
Patting the side of the bay’s neck, he chuckled. “Abner here is a good one, for sure. And good afternoon to you both.”
Interesting what that greeting told about the man. Most folks ignored Willard. It was obvious he wasn’t right and it repelled people. Not this man. That only made the stranger more handsome.
“Just arrivin’ to Kearney?” She knew it wasn’t any of her business. Annoyingly, she realized she’d asked the question to have a reason to stay near the man.
His mouth grimaced before he nodded. So, he didn’t want to be here. That was plain to her.
Willard fidgeted and whined. Ginger ignored him and put a hand on the horse’s neck, not far from the spot where the dark-haired man’s own hand rested. “Must have come by train. This fellow’s not sweating or winded.”
The stranger arched one eyebrow over compelling dark eyes. She’d always admired brown eyes. They weren’t like her own, so light that they always looked cold. His were deep and warm, almost appearing black.
When he spoke, his words sounded forced. “Yes, just in by the train. Excuse me, please.” Inclining his head toward her hand, the man hinted to her. Probably, he wanted to escape from the odd boys annoying him, she guessed.
Blushing, something dawned on her. She’d stared overly long at his fascinating eyes. No wonder the man felt uncomfortable.
Jerking her hand back, she tipped her head in a farewell gesture, keeping her hat low to hide the red staining her cheeks. He moved into the stable with Abner following behind.
That should have been the end of it. After all, she needed to avoid anyone who tangled her thoughts like the stranger did. Disaster threatened if she gave herself away. No matter, Ginger still waited a minute to watch him enter the livery.
Picking up a rock out of the road, Ginger handed it to Willard. He turned it over, his tongue hanging to the side of his mouth. That would keep him occupied for a few minutes so she could gawk at the activity in the livery.
Whitey Nielsen met the man, setting a pitchfork against a stall. Whitey’s father, the blacksmith, owned both the smithy and this livery. The man’s nickname came from the Scandinavian-blonde hair that grew in waves on his head.
He’d become a common visitor to the farm. For some odd reason, he was fond of both Step Pappy and the man’s rot-gut whiskey.
“Welcome. What can I do for you?” Whitey’s formal speech surprised her. She didn’t know he was capable of stringing that many words together, at least not without a curse word or two interspersed. Too bad he didn’t show this polished side of himself more often.
Holding out the lead, the stranger nodded a silent greeting. “I need to stable this fellow for several months.”
They briefly discussed price and other details. Ginger turned to leave when a change in Whitey’s tone caught her ear.
“Say, aren’t you Teddy Eddy?”
She gazed into the darkened interior of the wood-framed building and saw the stranger’s face flush crimson. His hand fisted, but he gave Whitey a friendly smile.
“My name is Theodore Edwards. And, yes, my grandparents lived in the area when I was young, if that’s what you mean.”
Whitey whistled, and another man appeared from the livery’s tack room. Benny Brennan. She should have expected that. The two were often together.
“Look here, Benny. It’s Teddy Eddy. Remember him with his little ties and neat knickers.” He turned to Theodore Edwards with a mocking, sort of singsong quality to his voice. “Still afraid to get dirty, Teddy Eddy.”
Benny wheezed a laugh behind him and stared at the stranger. Both men must have noticed the fisted hands, and Whitey loved brawling.
Theodore Edwards impressed Ginger then. “Feel free to call me Theodore,” he said before saying goodbye with a cool, business-like inflection. He left the building and picked up a valise she hadn’t noticed that sat near the spot she’d first spotted him.
Keeping her voice deep and free of any sympathy, Ginger followed the man. Willard, of course, gripped his rock tightly and followed her.
“Hey, Mr. Edwards.”
He stopped, looking at her with a question clear on his face. “Yes?”
“Name’s Guy Snap, and I thought, maybe, you might need directions to wherever you’re headed?” She let the question hang in the air.
He sighed, like he was releasing
all the fight from his body, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, kid, that would be great.”
They stood for a moment before she prodded, “Well, where do you need to go?”
He reddened, and she could have kicked herself. Here she wanted to impress him and, instead, he’d been embarrassed.
Pausing, he pulled a paper from his pocket and read it. “Uh, Mrs. Hooper’s home. Do you know her?”
“Yep. She’s a friend to us.” Ginger gestured with her chin toward Willard as she said that. “Kind of an unusual place, but real welcoming.”
His eyes widened before filling with interest. “Lead on. I look forward to meeting this woman.”
As they walked, Ginger did her best to stomp along in the too-large boots while keeping up with the man’s long strides. She waggled out of him that he was a lawyer, sent to help Melvin Edwards. That surprised her.
She couldn’t stifle a snort. “I didn’t know he had enough business to need help.” After considering it, she suggested, “Might be he’s a planning to go hunting some of that Black Hills gold. Most folks who come through Kearney take the stage up to there.”
Politely, Theodore Edwards answered, “Perhaps. I’ll know more once I meet with him. My father arranged this so I don’t know many details.”
So, this impressive man did what his daddy told him. Ginger didn’t know why that left her disappointed. Kind of deflated, like an empty sack.
Not thinking it through, she made a suggestion. “You might want to think about a different name.”
Stopping abruptly, he cast a confused look at her. “A new name? Something wrong with Edwards?”
She worked to stay in the role of Guy. Really, all she wanted to do was flutter her hands nervously. Crossing her arms over her middle, she shook her head. “Nah. It’s Theodore that needs changing. Want to be Teddy for the next year?”
“I get your point.” With his free hand, he rubbed his square, chiseled jaw. “I suppose I could go by Ned or Ted.”
She snickered, unable to swallow the sound. The names seemed too childish for the man who stood in front of her. “No. You need something grown up. Something intelligent.”
Ginger Snap Page 3
