Gideon emptied his coffee mug. “Tessa can be in business for herself, and she can have a decent place to live here while she helps you out with the baking. Plus, the baked goods she’ll sell from the mercantile will be her source of income while it brings more customers into the store.”
“I have a little room behind the kitchen stairs that will be perfect for her.” Miss Pearl blotted her lips with the hem of her apron. “I’ve been using it for storage, so it will take me a few days to get it ready.”
Gideon rose and picked up the tablet. “There’s no rush since it will take me at least a couple of weeks to construct the work area and install the stove.” Even as he spoke the words, he wished he could make it happen today.
“When will you tell her?”
He paused by the door. “I’d like to get the storeroom organized into a work space first. That way, I’ll have something to show her.” Guilt still hounded him over the events of the afternoon. “I just hope she doesn’t think of it as charity.”
Tessa darted out the door and made straight for Maxwell’s Mercantile. Telling Gideon she still had a job wasn’t the only reason for her errand. When she’d opened up the cabinet this morning to retrieve the leftover cinnamon bread she’d brought home, she discovered little ragged holes chewed through the paper, and only a few miniscule crumbles of bread remained. The little beasts had also made a feast of the crackers she’d bought just two days before.
The mercantile door stood open, inviting her inside.
“Hello, Gideon.”
When he looked up, his normal polite smile he used to greet all his customers deepened into something she didn’t dare try to interpret. “Hi, Tessa.”
Her heart skipped. “I wanted you to know that Mr. Kilgore gave me my job back.”
“Oh?”
The scowl on his face surprised her. She thought he’d be happy she still had a job. “After you left yesterday, Mr. Kilgore came looking for me. He said he knew I’d been doing the baking and he’d changed his mind about firing me.”
Gideon shrugged. “Hmph. More likely he was afraid he’d lose business without you doing the baking.”
“I don’t know about that, but he gave me a raise.”
“That a fact? But Tessa, if he ever dares to lay a hand—”
She stopped him. “Don’t worry. I don’t think he will.” She tilted her head to one side. “By any chance do you know who left a lovely bouquet of daisies at my door yesterday?”
If the red stain filling Gideon’s cheeks was evidence, she had her answer. “Thank you. They’re lovely. You keep doing things that puzzle me. I can’t understand why you want to be nice to someone like me.”
Gideon bristled and put his hands on his hips. “Now don’t start that again.” He held his hands out, palms up, in an entreaty. “Tessa, I just can’t understand why your father railed at you so, and I certainly can’t understand why you believe the things he said to you.”
She lifted her shoulders in a resigned shrug. “It seemed like I heard him say things like that all my life. I was … well, a disappointment to him.” She dipped her head. “Mama had a very difficult time—” Heat filled her face. “After I was born, she never regained her strength. I don’t ever remember Mama being healthy.” Her voice became raspy. “She was never able to give Papa the son he wanted, and it was because of me.” The memory of Mama’s soft whisper in the night after Papa’s tirades, telling Tessa how much she loved her, stroked her heart. But Mama feared Papa, too.
Gideon shook his head. “Tessa, he was wrong. You are a lady, and you don’t deserve to be treated otherwise. Please believe that.”
She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. It may take some time.”
“We’ll work on it.” His grin nearly knocked her breath from her. “Was there anything you needed?”
“Well, yes. I need to know the price of a crock or a canister, something with a lid tight enough to keep out a mouse.”
His expression turned sympathetic, and he pulled two sizes of crockery off a high shelf and set them before her on the counter. “This larger one is twenty-eight cents, and the smaller is eighteen cents. Which size would suit your needs?”
Her hand felt around in her pocket for the coins Mr. Kilgore tossed at her yesterday. She hesitated. The smaller one would do nicely, but she wanted to put the coins in her pocket into the old sock she was using to stash away her savings toward her winter rent. Now that Mr. Kilgore had given her a raise, perhaps she could part with eighteen cents later in the week.
She ran a finger around the edge of the smaller crock. “I think I’ll wait for now.”
“Look, Tessa.” He pushed the crock toward her. “Why don’t you take this with you now. You can pay me later.”
She stiffened and shook her head slightly, nudging the crock back across the counter to him. No, she’d not take anything without being able to pay cash for it. “When I get my pay this week, I’ll come back and get it. Meanwhile, could I get five cents’ worth of cheese and crackers, please?” She fished a nickel from her pocket.
He sighed. “Sure.” He went behind the counter and sliced a generous wedge from the large round of cheese.
“That’s too much, Gideon. I said five cents’ worth.”
He put one hand on his hip in mock indignation. “Are you trying to tell me how to run my store?” He wrapped the cheese in paper and went over to a wooden barrel to scoop out a large handful of crackers. “Tessa, is this all you’re eating? Cheese and crackers?”
“No. Flossie said I can take some of the leftovers home at the end of the day.” She pushed the nickel across the counter and picked up the paper-wrapped bundle. “But Flossie has a family to feed, so I usually make sure she takes home most of the leftovers.”
She thanked him and started for the door.
“Tessa?”
She turned.
“God says you are precious in His sight, and I agree with Him.”
Chapter 8
Gideon watched as the bank president glanced over the statement from the land office. When Gideon learned the land was owned by the bank, he’d stopped by to speak with Roland Sewell to inquire about the price and terms.
The portly man behind the desk cleared his throat. “This is a fine piece of land. The man who intended to farm it had a run of bad luck and defaulted on his loan.” Sewell stroked his gray whiskers. “The board of directors meets Wednesday. I will bring your request before them at that time.”
Gideon picked up the document and folded it. “The final agreement will have to wait until I have a buyer for the mercantile.”
Mr. Sewell stood and offered his hand. “That’s fine. There’s no rush.”
Gideon shook the man’s hand and exited the bank.
Down the street, the stage pulled up to the depot amid swirling dust. The door opened, and a man wearing a tweed suit with a fancy vest and bowler hat disembarked. Gideon didn’t recall seeing the man before. He’d surely remember a dandy dressed like that.
Gideon simply shrugged. None of his concern. He unlocked the mercantile doors and turned the sign over that declared the store open.
He set to work measuring and marking the walls for the new shelving in the storeroom. His carpentry skills wouldn’t win any prizes, but he’d learned enough from his father to know which end of a hammer to use.
“Hello, anyone about?”
Gideon hurried from the storeroom to greet his customer. To his surprise, it was the fancy gentleman he’d seen earlier getting off the stage. The man’s neatly trimmed mustache and side muttonchops were sprinkled with silver. “Good morning, sir. Welcome to Willow Creek.”
The man smiled broadly. “Ah, you Westerners. Such a friendly lot, you are. My name is Behr, Hubert Behr.” Mr. Behr’s curious accent sounded European. “You’re pretty well stocked here, I see. I need several articles—shaving soap, some pipe tobacco, writing paper, and a pot of ink. Linen handkerchiefs, if you have them. Also, I need some footwear more suitab
le to this area.”
“Of course. Right this way, sir.”
When Mr. Behr made his choices, Gideon tallied up the man’s purchases. “Shall I deliver these for you, or would you like to take them with you?”
“You deliver, do you? Well, then just deliver them to the hotel down the street. I’ll pick them up at the front desk after I’ve finished my business.” He handed Gideon an extra silver dollar. “Take this for your trouble, young man.”
When Gideon started to protest, Mr. Behr waved his hand. “I insist. You’re saving me an extra trip.” He touched the brim of his bowler in farewell as he exited.
He was a pleasant enough fellow. A smile tweaked Gideon’s lips at the man’s attire. His fancy suit, vest, and hat were as out of place in Willow Creek as a cattle rustler at a tea party. He slipped the silver dollar into his pocket with a grin. That’ll help pay for Martha’s wedding cake.
For the next two hours he worked feverishly on the shelves. When he finished, he stepped back and admired his work. The simple pine planks were plain, but they were serviceable, sturdy, and within easy reach for Tessa.
The bell on the front door sounded.
Gideon laid his hammer down and exited the storeroom to serve his customer but halted in the doorway. “What are you doing here, Kilgore?”
Kilgore smirked and looked around. “It appears your customers are staying away in droves. Your creditors will be knocking on your door before long with their hands out. I’d like to be around then, when you regret not taking my first offer to buy this place.”
“Kilgore, I’ll never regret not selling to you.” Gideon gritted his teeth to keep from saying more.
Kilgore guffawed as though Gideon’s reply was the funniest thing he’d heard all week. “Will you regret having to board up the place and not getting a dime out of it? Think you’ll be able to buy that piece of land if you don’t sell this dump?” His belly shook with laughter again. The sound grated on Gideon’s ears.
How did Kilgore know about the land he wanted to buy? Gideon narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze on the pompous man. “My affairs are none of your business, Kilgore.”
Kilgore pulled his cigar out of his mouth and pointed it at Gideon. “I thought you were smarter than that, but you’re a fool, Maxwell. You still haven’t learned that I’m the most important man in these parts. But you’ll learn it now because my offer just dropped two hundred dollars.”
Before Gideon could retort, both men were drawn to the sound of footsteps. Tessa stood just inside the door. Gideon saw her expression change from friendly to apprehensive the moment she laid eyes on Kilgore.
At the sight of his employee, Kilgore gave another humorless laugh. “Birds of a feather, as they say.” He jerked his thumb in Tessa’s direction. “I offered this girl a job making good money at the Blue Goose. You’d think she’d rather work where she could sashay around and dally with the customers, but she turned me down flat.” His tone turned dramatic, laced with sarcasm. “I guess she thinks she’s too good to serve whiskey. She’d rather bake bread and make half the money rather than soil her hands on demon drink.” He laughed, but then the snide mockery drained from his face as he narrowed his eyes at Tessa. “She doesn’t understand that I don’t take no for an answer.” He stuck his cigar in his mouth and took a puff. The smoke shot from his lips in a derisive jeer.
He turned to Tessa and gestured toward Gideon. “Here’s just the man for you, girl. You’re two of a kind. Both of you are too stupid to know a good deal when you hear one.”
He flicked his ashes on the floor and walked out.
A flood of humiliation crashed over Tessa. Flames shot up her throat and consumed her. Bad enough Mr. Kilgore extended such a degrading offer to her in the first place, but to repeat it in front of Gideon made her wish she was invisible, especially if what Tillie and Flossie said was true. What must Gideon think of her? She couldn’t even raise her eyes to look at him.
“Tessa, just ignore him. He’s nothing but a windbag.”
She appreciated Gideon’s attempt to brush off Mr. Kilgore’s crude remarks as inconsequential, but mortification still choked her. Her eyelids stung, and she bit her lip trying to halt the tears that wanted to further humiliate her. After several slow breaths, she wrangled her emotions under control.
She dared to glance at Gideon, and his warm smile sent tingles through her stomach, which only served to accuse her further. If she experienced such foolish flutters over a smile from a man she’d only known for two months, maybe she was no better than the girls Mr. Kilgore employed at the Blue Goose.
Gideon jerked his head toward the door. “Kilgore was just telling me how foolish I am for not taking his offer.”
Was he trying to make her feel better by changing the subject? “What offer is that?”
Gideon pushed his shirtsleeves up higher on his arms. “He wants me to sell him the mercantile. Of course, I do want to sell, but not to him.”
Tessa glanced around the store with a frown. “Why would you want to sell the mercantile? This is a good, steady business, and I’m sure you make a good living here.” She pressed her lips together. It wasn’t her place to make such comments.
But Gideon didn’t seem to care. “My dream is to sell this place and start a ranch for breeding farm horses. Once I purchase the land and acquire my breeding stock, I’ll be the only breeder in these parts.”
Tessa stared at him. “My papa sold our farm to come west and dig for gold that didn’t exist. It could have been a good farm, but he wanted to chase a mirage.”
Gideon raised his eyebrows.
Regret niggled at her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have blurted out the comparison. Regardless, she needed to complete her purchase and get back to the hotel. “I need a bar of lye soap, please.”
Gideon retrieved the green paper-wrapped block and set it on the counter. “Anything else?”
She dug in her pocket for the few coins to pay for her purchase and managed a smile as she laid them on the counter. “That’s all, thank you.”
As she turned to leave, Gideon came around the counter. “Tessa, everyone has dreams and goals. This has been my dream for a long time. I kept the store going after my folks died so I could support my sister. Now that she’s getting married, it’s time for me to pursue my goal.”
She looked up at him, an apology on her lips. Only days ago, she’d flirted with the idea of having her own bakery, but she’d dismissed it as foolishness. She wasn’t making much money at the hotel, but at least she knew she’d receive a wage every week. After seeing what Papa put Mama through, chasing dreams left a bad taste in her mouth. “I need to get back to the kitchen. Good day, Gideon.” She turned toward the door.
“Wait, Tessa. My sister and I would like you to join us for church on Sunday.”
She halted. The idea sounded tempting. Mama always wanted to go to church when they lived in Indiana, but she was too weak and sickly most of the time—and of course Papa would never allow it. Whenever Tessa voiced a tentative request to attend church, Papa scoffed and told her the church folks wouldn’t let the likes of her sit at worship with them. “Th–thank you, but I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
The scuffed tips of her shoes drew her attention. “I don’t have anything nice to wear, and besides, I’m not the kind of person that churchgoing folks associate with. But it was kind of you to ask.”
Gideon kept step with her as she started toward the door. “Tessa, most of the folks in our church are farmers. Lots of them wear the same clothes to come to church that they wear to work in because that’s all they have. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
A memory slipped through her mind. “My mama used to sing some of the church songs to me when I was little.” The memory darkened. “But my father told me I could never go to a church because they don’t let people like me in.”
Gideon’s face registered puzzled disbelief, and before he could argue the point, she beat a hasty retreat
out the door.
Gideon’s heart ached at Tessa’s reasons for refusing his invitation. He believed she wanted to go, but the image Tessa had of herself was stained with the memory of her father’s ugly accusations.
He returned to the storeroom and appraised his work. Whenever he did find a buyer for the store, the bakery would only enhance its value. He decided to get started installing the stove. Surely he’d be finished well before closing time.
He measured the diameter of the section of pipe that would fit through the wall and marked the place for its installation. While he worked, he recalled the prayer he’d prayed last week, asking God to send him a wife so he could have the kind of marriage his parents had. At the time, he wondered if Tessa could be that woman, but now an element of doubt pricked him. As much as he disliked Henry Kilgore, Gideon couldn’t shake the memory of the man offering Tessa a job working as a saloon girl.
“Is that what she meant when she said people like her?” His hands slowed. “God, I know I promised if You ever sent me a woman to love, I’d not question Your choice.”
Gideon shook his head. He hadn’t known Tessa long enough to be in love with her. Why was he even thinking in terms of love? True, he had feelings for her, but they were purely of friendship, weren’t they? Isn’t that why he was going to all this trouble? He felt sorry for her. Anyone else would do the same. Of course he hoped his plan would make things better for her, as well as enhance the mercantile in the eyes of a potential buyer.
“Hmm, I may run this store forever if You don’t send me a buyer besides Kilgore.” He immediately regretted his words and sent a repentant glance heavenward. “Sorry, Lord. I didn’t mean to tell You what to do. If You want me to be a storekeeper, I’ll be content to stay here for as long as You say.”
He pushed the coping saw into motion. If he didn’t stop woolgathering, he’d never get this job finished. He made the last cut and picked up a section of the stovepipe to test the fit. After a few more minor adjustments, he slid the section of pipe into the hole and nailed it in place. But when he began trying to connect the sections of pipe, something was wrong. Perhaps he should have connected the sections first, before installing the outside piece.
Brides of Iowa Page 7
