by Caryl McAdoo
She nodded. “I'll keep that in mind. You take care now.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Again, like her mother, doomed to be in love with an unworthy dead man—except Andrew Baylor hadn’t got killed over a whore—still, every manjack drawing breath wanted to wed her.
How many stories had her mother told about the exact thing happening before she met Mary’s father and fell in love on the Jefferson Trace.
Oh, to be home. She missed Texas.
John couldn't help but overhear Elijah's proposal. He would never just blurt out his feelings like that. He'd wait, let her finish mourning, then he’d ask her.
Partners already in the business, shared a name, no reason he could see not to share a bed. Even big and pregnant, she was so desirable. Smarter than a whip, yet naive and strong.
Back to work right after the funeral, the very day. John figured she needed a week or better off, but no, she wouldn't hear it. She insisted she had a business to run, said he did all the hard work.
But dealing with the customers, she shined. And how she kept all the costs in her head, he couldn’t begin to comprehend. What an ace with numbers.
Hadn't made a bad deal yet, a queen of negotiating. If she wasn't getting the best, then she wasn't trading.
What was proper? If his idiot cousin hadn't got himself killed in a brothel fighting over a sporting lady, then maybe it’d have taken her a year or longer. But she had to hate Caleb, couldn't still be in love with the scalawag.
And how could she have missed what he and Lanelle had been up to? Or why she so eagerly married Moses Jones.
Each night, he wondered when and how he should broach the subject.
Be nice for the baby to have him listed as the father instead of Caleb, and what if she somehow found out he’d known about her husband’s trip to the mine? Would she hate him for not telling her about that?
One month and one day, long enough to wait. She seemed better. After he locked up, he took her down the street for a late supper. Once back inside, he lit an oil lamp and nodded toward the kitchen table. “Sit a spell, Mary, if you're not too tired.”
She eased into her chair. “Not too bad, feet are a bit sore.”
Sitting on the opposite side, he admired her beauty then cleared his throat. “I think we should...” His mouth went dry. That wasn’t how he meant to start at all. The words hung in his throat. He was doing it all wrong. “Uh...” He swallowed. “We're already business partners and have the same name, and well, truth is, I love you, Mary Rachel. If you’ll have me, will you be my wife?”
After studying a spot on the table too long, she looked up. He’d made a mistake. It was too soon. All there in her eyes. Shortly she shook her head and stood, grabbed the lantern, turned, then marched up her stairs without one word.
He wanted to run after her, convince her, and make her say yes. Why couldn’t she understand it was the best way? But he didn't, he’d wait, let her mull it over. She hadn't said no. She only needed some time.
She'd see.
He'd give her a few days then ask again. But she needed to say yes before the baby came. He lit another lamp, climbed his stairs, and went to the room that had been his sister’s. He poured himself a double then downed it in one gulp.
Wasn't as good as Caleb's last batch, but it had a nice kick. He refilled his glass and flopped down in his overstuffed chair. Time was on his side. He could wait her out, she'd see things his way.
Mary crawled into bed, curled up and wrapped her arms around her belly.
Oh dear Lord, what am I going to do?
John wasn’t Caleb. About the only thing they had in common was a last name. The first time his cousin came courting Rebecca, Mary knew. John and her sister weren’t a match, Rebecca said so, too, but gave him two more visits.
After all, he wasn’t hard to look at. And her big sister had never wanted to dismiss a suitor at first blush.
Fine then, she’d sleep on it. He for sure would be better than some lovesick miner or Elijah. That fellow was so cute, but her father’s words smacked her between the eyes. Tears welled, but she blinked them back.
Oh, Daddy, why did you have to be right about Caleb? More boy than man after all, letting that harlot turn his head.
For the next week, any time it seemed John might bring up marriage, she shook her head and changed the subject. While she couldn’t imagine running the Mercantile without him, would he stay once she told him her heart?
What would her daddy think about them living in the store together? Would the separate rooms count?
Why had she designed a shared kitchen and parlor? Sure seemed the thing to do at the time. Was there enough extra money to build a house on one of the lots? Maybe if he did the carpentry work, but sure would dent her reserves.
That night as she knelt beside her bed, she bowed her head.
Oh Lord, show me what to do, should I say yes for the baby’s sake?
Chapter Eight
The days slipped by. Thankfully, her cousin-in-law didn’t press Mary, but she had almost talked herself into saying yes. The baby, due in only a few weeks now, could have a living father.
If her Chinese midwife had it right, there’d be no way she could try to make it to Texas, even if she wanted to. She considered it, but dismissed the idea. Not with Daddy hating her for running off.
At eight that morning, the Mercantile’s doorbell tinkled, announcing the first customer of the day. She looked up from her ledger. John stood with his hand out, about to greet the early shopper.
Good, she could finish yesterday’s entries. Before she did though, her partner interrupted her calculations.
“Mary Rachel?”
Kind of nice, him using both of her names, reminded her of home. She stood and nodded toward her cousin and the man standing next to him. “Yes? How can I help?”
“Who’s making leather water hose now? Remember? We found some for Moses and Jethro.”
She closed her eyes and tried to picture the name on the bill. Yes! “Billy Mortenson, he’s got a shop next to the slaughterhouse.”
“That’s right.”
John took to giving the man directions, and she went back to her numbers. After only two new entries, a shadow fell over her desk. She looked up, the customer stood at the counter.
“Something else I can help you with, sir?”
“A man I knew in Texas talked some about his little sister named Mary Rachel.”
She smiled. “That so, what was that man’s name? I’m from Texas.”
“Captain Baylor.”
She stood. “You know Levi?”
“Yes, ma’am. Rode with him and Sergeant Rusk and a whole troupe of Rangers against Mexico. We couldn’t have done it without them.”
She laughed. “To hear Wallace Rusk tell it, he and Levi won that war all by themselves.” The sound she’d made surprised her. Had it really been so long since she’d laughed?
The man chuckled then tipped his hat. “Edward Clinton, ma’am. Can you tell me, did your brother and Wallace do all the things Rusk claimed?”
She nodded. “I’m certain, and you probably haven’t heard the half of it.”
“Did they really ride into a Comanche war camp and rescue six women? One of them being your future sister-in-law?”
“Yes, sir, but then after the peace treaty didn’t get ratified, Bold Eagle put a bounty out on his Red Rose.” She pointed her pencil at the man. “While y’all were off running all over Mexico, a mixed band of Comanche and Comanchero came calling. Worse night of my life.”
“How’d that turn out?”
“Daddy and Rose’s son…” She shook her head. “My nephew Charley ended up shooting the last one, poor kid. He was only ten then.”
The doorbell tinkled again. Mary greeted the lady then turned back to the man. “So good to meet you, sir, but –”
“Of course. I need to go see about that hose. Good day, Mis’ess...”
“Wheeler.”
He nodded toward the b
ack. “Tell your husband, I’ll be back for my supplies after I see about the hose.”
“Cousin by marriage, sir. John and my husband were cousins.”
“Oh.” He tipped his hat. “Were, as in you’ve been widowed?”
She gave him a slight nod and a little smile then rested her hand on her baby belly. Why hadn’t she let Edward assume? “Afraid so.”
After she finished with the lady and two others who needed her help, she answered her own question. Mister Clinton was cut from the same cloth as Levi and Wallace, maybe even a shade of her daddy’s lofty weave.
How could she even think of marrying John when men like Edward Clinton walked the earth? It’d be nothing but wrong.
Oh Lord, am I a shameless hussy?
Then she spent much too much time swapping yarns with the man when he returned for his goods. That evening, after the last customer finally paid his bill and took his leave, she’d made up her mind for sure and for certain.
She faced her partner. “How about supper, any ideas?”
“There’s a new diner over on Twelfth Street, want to try it?”
“You do know we could probably hire a cook for what we spend eating out.” She leaned against the counter, suddenly too tired to walk the three blocks to Twelfth. She rubbed her tummy. “I best not go that far. Would you mind terribly bringing me something back?”
“No, not at all. Or we can go somewhere closer if you prefer.”
She held her hand up. “No, you go on. I’ll work on the books while you’re gone. Get today caught up. I want to stay on top of the ledger, knowing I’ll be missing a few days soon.”
He pulled the shades down, flipped the open sign, then locked the door behind him. Once she finished the day’s entries, she waddled back to the kitchen. She slipped into her chair and lit the oil lamp.
Visiting with Edward had cemented what she already knew in her heart. She couldn’t marry John. Her mother hadn’t settled and ended up with her daddy. Well, she wasn’t going to settle either. The devil could just take the hindmost.
John hated that he’d mentioned the Twelfth Street joint. Taking Mary to supper highlighted his day. He got his plate to go, too, then forced marched the three blocks back to the Mercantile.
He hated the way she had laughed with Clinton. It would be tonight. He’d force the issue and make her understand the importance of marrying him before the baby came.
Too many men out there like Captain Clinton. With Levi Baylor and Wallace Rusk in Mexico! What a lie.
The man was some dandy from back east who’d read all about that war. The exploits of those two rangers were well known far and wide. Who hadn’t heard about them? Wonder he and Mary Rachel didn’t get around to Plum Creek.
And why’d he have to go and call her that anyway?
Once she was his misses, there’d be no strange men chatting with her, he’d make sure of that. Put a stop to it in the beginning. He came through the back door to find her at the table.
“There you are. Brought roast beef with all the trimmings. If the smell tells the tale, we’re in for a treat.”
Best roast he’d ever tasted, but she only picked at her meal. No wonder he couldn’t imagine what it must be like so big and pregnant.
Hardly room for a good meal in there. Though the meat proved delicious, he found he couldn’t eat much either in the silence.
A rock in his gut grew by the minute.
“Mary, I’m thinking we need to go ahead and get married. That baby isn’t going to wait much longer.”
She leaned back. “No, I don’t believe so, John. I love you because you’re family, but I can’t marry you. It’d be wrong.”
His cheeks blushed. His jaws clamped shut. The rock suddenly crashed into each fist. Somehow, he found words. “Why not?”
She shook her head.
“I’m twice the man Caleb was, and I love you, Mary. We’re already partners. It’s so logical. I swear I’ll make you a good husband, and I’d be faithful, you’d have no worries there.”
She closed her eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Please, John, let’s agree to…” A sob escaped.
“What? You want to leave it like it is? How can we? It can’t be. I couldn’t stand every single man in San Francisco coming by to propose, or you laughing with them like you did with Captain Clinton today.”
“Please, John.”
He jumped to his feet. “I can’t go on like this. I love you. Have since the first day you walked into my life on Caleb’s arm. But if I can’t have you, then well, we can’t be in business together.”
She opened her eyes and wiped her cheeks. “What are you saying? You want to buy me out?”
“No, ma’am. I love you too much to put you on the street. You buy me out, and I’ll go North. The gold claims are playing out around here.”
“But, John.”
“San Francisco’s liable to be just another ghost town in a year or two. The state’s littered with them.” He snorted. “If someone doesn’t clear the harbor soon, you’ll not be able to land any goods at all.”
“What do you want for your half?”
Half. He’d been so stupid. He started the business and built it with his sweat and blood. He was the one around to buy the lots after the second fire, and it almost took every cent he had, too.
She waltzed in, and the next thing he knows, he’s putting his name to a piece of paper that gave her and Caleb half his land, half his business, half of everything.
“Forty thousand.”
“John, don’t be ridiculous. Maybe the whole kit and caboodle is worth that, but right this minute, at close of business today, we have a little over three thousand dollars in the bank, and another seven either in stock or on the way that’s paid for.”
“Figure something out.”
She shrugged. “I’ll see if I can get a loan, but five thousand would be tops, and I’m not even sure of that.”
“The land alone is worth that.” Like always, if she wasn’t getting the best end, then no deal. He wished he could hate her, but never could. He’d love his Mary until the day he died. “Ten, then, and I’ll think on it.”
“No, six is tops. And that’s liable to bankrupt me. Ask around. See what it’d cost you could buy another business. Might show you that you’re being entirely unreasonable. And you’re the one wanting to leave. Remember that.”
Being bankrupt might be nice, her crawling to him, bonnet in hand, begging a second chance. Once the dust played out, that’s exactly what would happen. “I’ll sleep on it, but either way, I’m leaving.”
She nodded. “That might be for the best. Can you give me a week?”
“A week it is, but either way, I’m gone in seven days, and I’ll be taking half of whatever cash we have on hand. That’s already mine. Remember that.”
Jethro kept his own counsel while the other four talked. Appeared Elijah wanted John’s share of the Mercantile powerful bad, or more likely, to be partnered with the lovely young widow.
But Jethro knew all about loving a woman who didn’t love him, like having a sore finger that wouldn’t heal. Yet he had to keep using his hand though it pained him at every turn.
Lanelle looked across the table. “What do you think, Mister Risen?”
Seemed maybe Mis’ess Jones had mixed emotions. In some strange way, she cared for the young lady, but dreaded being around her. Them both yearning for the same dead man must be hard all the way around.
But if Mary Wheeler was the business lady everyone claimed, he’d be a fool not to take this deal.
“Sounds like a sound investment. I say yes. What about you, partner?”
Moses closed his eyes, tilted his chin a bit, then after what must have been a confab with the Almighty, he smiled and faced Wheeler. “Want dust or nuggets?”
“Either or. Not picky.”
A bit of dinner while the papers got signed and his gold weighed out, then Moses’ brother-in-law couldn’t get gone fast enough. Lanelle begged
him hard to stay a few days, but the man wouldn’t dream of burning any more daylight.
Claimed he had to be about finding a new location for himself and a new store far away from Wheeler and Wheeler Mercantile.
He’d probably go back to being Wheeler Dealer. What an idiot. But a broken-hearted man never made good decisions. Jethro knew that from personal experience.
Once the man’s wagon rolled out of sight, he put his hand on Elijah’s shoulder. “Fancy a trip to town?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about you two? Want to go with him?”
Moses wrapped his arm around Lanelle. “No, we’ve been thinking we’d go in and stay once she gets closer.”
Elijah jumped off the porch then spun around, trying hard to sound serious. “If I go now, I can be there mid-morning tomorrow.”
Jethro stifled a chuckle. Poor boy, willing to sleep under the stars to get there a few hours sooner. “Best get to it then. Come on Moses, let’s help him hitch up the mules.”
Mary took the cup of afternoon tea, set it on her desk, and smiled. “You’re too good to me, Mis’ess Wingate.”
“Darling, you have to call me Mattie.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll try to remember.”
“Virgil back yet?”
“No, don’t expect him for another hour or so.”
The older woman leaned in. “That boy you two hired, I caught him leaning on his broom staring at you just now.”
Mary shook her head. “Keep an eye on him for me. Mister Wingate said he worked hard yesterday.”
“Mary, you are a God-send for us. Please, Virgil and Mattie. You’re the boss. We work for you now. Bless the Lord, since we’re living here with you, don’t you agree we should all be on a first name basis?”
She smiled and nodded. “I’ll try, I will, but truly, it’s me who is blessed. You two are angels from Heaven above. I can’t imagine what I’d do without you two, and this baby’s liable to arrive most any day. I’m so at peace knowing the Lone Star Mercantile is in good hands.”
