by Caryl McAdoo
“Well, that’s just it. It wasn’t fine, anything but fine. My father owned the bank, and made a fortune running it. But in the end, he lost all his money trading securities on Wall Street.”
“I’ve heard about that place. New York, right? Didn’t they use to sell slaves there?”
“Yes, sir, in the old days, but now they just buy and sell pieces of paper. Stocks and bonds. Guess wrong too many times like my father did, then…” He pulled his finger across his neck.
Brother Paul closed his eyes, bobbed his head a few times, then looked him square on. “How’d your mother take it?”
“Not well.” Tears formed, but he blinked them back. What compelled him to tell this man about her? “She… She…”
Brother Paul patted his knee. “Father, comfort my brother. Take the pain out of his heart and give him peace.”
For a few minutes, Jethro sat there in the silence, looking into the past, reliving that day. He’d loved her so much, and had done everything to make her love him. He begged her not to send him away. He didn’t want to leave her—not that day.
Something told him he needed to stay, but obedience.… “I’m the one who found her.” Tears boiled out of his heart and ran down his cheeks. “She was so cold. She hated being cold.”
The old man stood and moved his chair directly next to his. Before he sat again, he wrapped his arms around Jethro’s shoulders. Finally, the tears slowed then stopped all together, and the old man took his seat again, but kept one arm wrapped tight across his back.
The man’s touch radiated comfort and warmth.
A peace settled onto Jethro’s heart where unshed tears had festered for so long. He wiped his face with a sleeve.
“He’d lost it all, the bank our house, everything.” Jethro stiffed his back. “No more school for me. I got that wish, hated being sent away. Went to work on the docks, and that’s where I met Moses.”
“Sins of the fathers, have you heard about that?”
“I guess not, what are you talking about?”
The old man held a finger up and hurried to the altar. He returned with a Bible, flipped pages until he found his spot, and read. “Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them.”
“Who’s them?”
He looked up. “Talking about other gods here, telling His children not to bow to them.” He continued. “For I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me.”
“So I get punished for my father’s sins? That doesn’t seem right. Is that what it means?”
“No, not exactly. God is telling the children of Israel how things work. You plant corn, that’s what you harvest—corn. Reap what you sow. Same with bowing down to other gods. The second commandment is not to have any other gods. When you put something—anything—ahead of God, you don’t get blessed.”
“So I’m doomed to repeat the sins of my father?”
“No, you accepted the Lord’s salvation. Not under the curse anymore. You don’t hate Him anymore, do you?”
“No, sir. Don’t know that I hated Him before.”
“There’s no gray with God, son. You love Him or hate Him. But Christ became a curse so that we will be blessed. Still, the devil has a right to visit our parents’ sins on us.” The old man smiled. “In reality, that’s a blessing.”
“What? How so?”
“Well, the child sees how the parents mishandled their situations and sinned against God. From witnessing their iniquities, younger generations learn from the elders’ mistakes. They’ve seen the bad outcome.”
“I think I see.”
“Yes, sir. So when the devil comes around with the same temptations, they can make different choices. Overcome.”
Made sense. There’d been a nagging, a part of him that hated it that he’d found so much gold, got so rich—like his father. He still wasn’t fully convinced, but that voice weakened to only a whispering whimper now.
He pointed at the Bible Brother Paul still held. “Have you got another one of those?”
“No, sir, gave the last one away yesterday.”
“Where do I get one?”
“I don’t know. There’s a church in Georgia that sends me a few from time to time, but I’m not sure where they get them.”
“So you give them away?”
“I do.”
With so much to learn, he needed his own Good Book. “I best go check on Moses, and go to the…” He stuck his hand into his pocket then held it out. “Ever seen a prettier nugget?”
Brother Paul leaned in. “That’s a beauty alright. Can’t say that I have.”
Jethro put the chunk of gold in the man’s hand. “Should bring you a nice price. The jewelers love these, call them character gold.”
The old man closed his fingers then hefted his hand. “Bless you, brother.”
From her desk chair, Mary could see the comings and goings outside the Mercantile’s plate glass window. She loved it that her adopted town was growing so fast. More and more, folks were saying even if the gold played out, it wouldn’t matter.
San Francisco would continue to boom.
Seemed each time she visited the wharf, more of the ghost ships had either been scuttled for lumber or sunk as fill.
Then the very man she needed to see drove his wagon down the street, passed and turned at the corner. Hopefully, to put the mules and wagons in the barbershop’s barn. Good. Mister Risen had returned. She’d have it out.
He had to agree to sell for cash money. Edward’s banker about fell over himself when she brought it up, right after she presented her bill for the Nob Hill house’s supplies.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been hearing good things about you, Mis’ess Wheeler,” he’d grinned. “You, young lady, are exactly the type of cliental we want here at First National.”
The memory still sent a little wave of chills over her heart. One fine day, when she and Susannah went back to Texas to see her sisters, and Mother May, and oh, Levi and Wallace and Rose, she could tell them she’d built herself a good reputation.
Would Daddy be impressed? Pigheaded man. Why did he have to separate her from the family?
She resisted the urge to run over and confront Risen first thing. Besides, she had some crow to eat, too. Still, one thing her daddy taught her is that it’s best they come to you. He’d said it a hundred times at least.
And come they did, hat in hand, wanting to selling him a nice block of black land or set of prime beef. Or could he buy their lint, their baby was sick and they couldn’t wait. Of course, he always would, long as the price was right, and even a few times when it wasn’t.
Buy and sell, all except for land. She’d never seen or heard him sell one acre of dirt. Like the man wanted the whole valley or the state. If her mother had lived, he’d have probably already been governor or senator.
President Buckmeyer had a nice ring.
But could she vote for such a stubborn, mean-hearted man?
The door’s bell tinkled. Risen, his high and mighty self, strolled in and walked right up to her desk. Just like her daddy said, best if they come to you.
“Afternoon, Mister Risen.”
He tipped his hat. “You keep Bibles in stock, Mary?”
Scoundrel caught her off guard. “Why, yes. I believe I have three if memory serves.”
“I’ll take them. And would you be so kind as to include a case for me on your next order?”
“I’ll certainly inquire. The ones I have came in trade.”
As though her words hit him full in the chest, he swayed backwards. “Folks trade in their Good Books?”
“Amazing, isn’t it? The idiots would give the shirts off their backs if that’s what it takes to buy them more time in the gold fields.”
“Where you keep them?”
Pointing to the center aisle, she smiled. “Top shelf, about halfway down.” Why was he so all-fired focused on those Bibles?
Maybe Lanelle told her the truth. Maybe he truly had gone and got himself saved, but still….
He retrieved all three then brought them to the counter. “What do I owe you?”
She stood. “Nothing. Take them, they’re yours.”
He smiled, gathered the books. “Thank you, ma’am.” Then he turned and headed toward the front door.
“Mister Risen?”
He looked back. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I’ve spoken with my banker. I’ll give you the original ten thousand you paid to John—cash money—plus interest. Say the word, and he’ll make the transfer.”
“Our part isn’t for sale.” He threw her a condescending, smug little smirk. “Sorry you went and wasted your time.”
Oh, she wanted to slap his face, but instead she smiled. “Oh, I doubt I have. Pray tell, sir. Why not?”
“I like the Mercantile. You’ve done wonders with it.”
No! He could not sweet talk her into changing her mind. She’d have it all, or.... “Then buy me out. I’ll start another.”
“No, thank you, ma’am. I like our arrangement just the way it is.” He tipped his hat then strolled out.
Her cheeks burned. The arrogance of the man! Good thing she didn’t apologize—he certainly didn’t deserve one. He may not be a whoremonger, but he definitely made a perfectly terrible partner.
Well, he might boss everyone else around, but he better not be trying to tell her what to do, or he’d get a piece of her mind!
The burn cooled, and then her mistake hit her.
She didn’t want to sell, she wanted it all. But if not, she’d take her half and make the best of it. Maybe Edward could convince Risen to change his mind. Either way, she wouldn’t be leaving the Lone Star Mercantile.
Once Jethro stepped off the Mercantile’s porch, he patted his pocket. His stomach soured, then he realized he’d given Mary’s nugget to Brother Paul. Why had he done that? And for that matter, why had she?
Why was the woman so intent in buying him out?
He hated how she did him.
Well, fine. That fancy man could have her.
Should have said yes the first time when she called him a whoremonger. He sighed. She couldn’t know. Why yes, Mary, buy me and my partners out, only the asking price was twenty now, twice what we paid John, because you’ve done so good and the….
He opened the old barbershop’s front door.
Moses sat in the barber’s chair, his wife trimming his hair. Lanelle looked his way. “Want to be next? You’re getting plenty shaggy.”
“No, Horace would skin me if I let anyone else cut my hair.” Would not do for her to be putting hands on him anyway. Not her or any other woman. “How you feeling, partner?”
“Better, but don’t make me laugh.”
“Good, up to getting out for supper? I could stand a steak.”
Moses looked to his wife. “What do you think, Babe. Got anything planned?”
“No, and yes. I’d love getting out. Want me to ask Mary? I hate her being all alone.”
Before Jethro could say no, Moses shot his big mouth off. “That would be great. The four of us, and the babies, too. Maybe that bath you forced on me won’t be wasted after all.”
What could he do? Hopefully, the Mercantile’s proprietress had other plans.
Like Moses and Lanelle conspired against him. He sighed. Well, he could be nice to anyone a few hours. Best go to Horace’s and get in line. Perhaps a bath would be in order, too. And a new shirt, and maybe a pair of britches.
Maybe even a… No. Why bother? She hated him, made it clear. No reason for him to get all gussied up for the beautiful widow.
Mary agreed too fast then tried to back out when Lanelle mentioned Risen was coming. But her cousin laughed off her excuses and wouldn’t let her renege.
“We’ll fetch you at seven. Wear that blue dress, it really sets your eyes off, and –”
Mary held her free hand up. “Cousin! It’s just supper, and believe it or not, I can dress myself.”
“I know, but…” Her friend ducked her chin and grimaced.
“What.”
“Oh, that Clinton guy.”
“What about him?”
“It’s just that… You let me pick for you, and I’ll take Jethro Risen over that blue-at-the-mizzen fop any day.”
“Don’t call him that. He is neither haughty or a dandy. He’s more a man’s man, fought with Levi and Wallace Rusk in the Mexico.” She rocked back and held it.
What in the world was Lanelle saying. “…doesn’t deserve to be in the same room.”
“Edward is a gentleman! A wealthy, successful business man. Jethro Risen is… He’s a…” She looked off then back. “I’m too much a lady to say exactly what the man is, but you just don’t know my Edward if you think that, that miner—no matter how much gold he’s found—even comes close.…
“Mary!”
She laughed. “I tell you true, Cousin. I’d rather have Elijah than Mister High and Mighty Risen.”
“You can’t mean that.”
She rocked forward. Joshua had finished. “Here, he’s done.”
Her cousin relieved her of the boy and saw to her son, but stopped in front of Mary once she finished buttoning up. She seemed to want to say more but decided to take her leave instead. “See you at seven.”
Mary returned to work. The light traffic allowed her to get the day’s receipts logged in. The store emptied a few minutes after six, and she decided to go ahead and lock up early. Wouldn’t do to have one last customer rush in and make everyone wait on her.
Though, it wouldn’t bother her one iota to make Risen wait.
Shame the man had not stayed at his mine.
As promised, her partners fetched her at seven sharp. All commented on how lovely she looked in her new lavender dress and white shawl. Risen’s compliment caught her off guard. His eyes bored into hers.
How? Why? Never had a man looked all the way to her soul like that. Dear Lord, she must look away!
It lasted much too long, but finally, unable to gaze elsewhere, she made herself close her eyes. The last thing she needed was another man bossing her around. Henry Buckmeyer had been plenty.…
Anyway, she neither needed nor wanted another father.
“Sweetheart, come to bed.”
Henry looked from the burnt piece of paper to his wife who stood in their bedroom’s doorway. “Crockett done with his midnight snack?”
“Yes, sir, and he wants his daddy to come to bed. We both do.”
He stood, grabbed the oil lamp, then took one more look at the piece of envelope with only his name and address legible. And that barely. “Why doesn’t she write again? Mercy, it’s been almost a year. Doesn’t Mary know steamboats catch fire and burn every day? My hard-headed beauty.… Could she think we don’t love her or that we aren’t desperate to hear from her? Anything.”
“Oh, my love, I can’t imagine what’s gotten into her. Perhaps Caleb…”
“A post with only ‘I’m alive’ would suffice. She’s got to know we’re concerned. Maybe we should just go to California.”
“Sweetheart, talk about finding a needle in a haystack.”
“But maybe we could ask around. Anything would be better than this. I mean if Caleb thinks I mean him harm, fine. Don’t tell us where they are, but...”
His wife joined him, slipped her hand into his free one. “We can go to California if you want. That’s where they went, I’m sure of it. Especially since the Wheelers said John had gone the year before.”
“Maybe they could give us the name of a town.”
“It’s where everyone’s going these days.”
He kissed her cheek. “Then what? When we find them? Shoot Caleb and drag our baby girl back home?”
“I like the dragging her back to Texas part, but surely her husband can come, too. Can’t he?”
“Of course.” He grinned. But if the boy was so stupid to come back, Henry would be honor-boun
d to feed him to the hogs.
Chapter Sixteen
Great food.
Jethro couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a better meal or a more pleasant evening. The widow kept her claws sheathed, even when she caught him staring at her. Each time, he’d held her gaze for what?
How many ticks of his pocket watch? Would have been fun to measure each look. See how long it took before she closed her eyes or turned her attention to her plate.
Healthy appetite.
Nothing like his mother’s, who only rarely took more than one tiny bite of each entrée at her fancy supper parties. The woman wouldn’t dare gain a pound, or maybe she thought of eating as low class?
Well, he’d place Mary Wheeler on the top shelf, and though somewhat self-conscious about it, she didn’t leave a morsel on her plate.
Neither did she have the tiny waist his mother sported, but her figure… He made himself stop thinking about her or her desirability. The young lady’s presence had only to do with being social.
Besides, she couldn’t know how to defend herself from the son of a man who had taught him the art of seduction and... No, he refused to think about him either.
He retrieved the Bible—the one he’d kept for himself—turned his oil lamp up, and opened it. Exactly who was King James? He needed to ask Moses about that.
IN THE BEGINNING GOD CREATED THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH
Long into the night, he read. Why hadn’t he been taught this stuff in school? And why had his father garnered such a negative notion about God?
A hand touched his shoulder. He jerked upright. Meiko stood in front of him wearing the same cheap, flimsy silky dress she wore every day of those three weeks.
“I know Mama told you. Why haven’t you come to the Dragon? I need you, Jet.”
“No, I’m not ever coming back there.”
“Your loss.” She smiled that intoxicating smile then vanished, along with the misty glow that surrounded her.
He jerked up. The Bible lay opened in front of him. The lamp’s oil spent. Why was he still dreaming of Meiko?
