by Caryl McAdoo
“What’s that got to do with you?”
“Just saying, it weren’t fair. Thought we went to town once a month. Ned didn’t need to go. He never wants to do nothing fun anyway.”
“Drinking and whoring your idea of fun?”
The boy smiled. “Yes, sir. Uh… No, sir. Uh, I mean no, them ain’t no fun. They’s mortal sins.”
What was he going to do with this one? “Stack what you’ve got split then come help me work on Moses’ cabin.”
“Yes, sir.” He took off his hat. “What’s those papers Elijah had to sign? You and Mister Moses selling out?”
“No. We traded some holdings with the Wingates, and the new county clerk wanted Elijah to sign off on the deal.” He held a hand up. “Long story, but we’re swapping some of our interest in the Mercantile for their old barbershop.”
“Why? Ain’t that store making loads of money?”
“It is indeed. Miss Mary’s doing wonders with it, but we’ve got plans for the barbershop.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
Jethro shook his head. “No, you don’t. I’m not standing here yapping with you all day. We’ve got work to do. Now shake a leg, boy.”
Cody jammed his hat back on and grinned. “Yes, sir.”
Just before last light, Jethro got the room addition laid out and squared. Moses and his misses penciled it all out on paper, but the doing proved harder, especially without his friend’s help.
The boy seemed plenty strong and eager enough, but with no experience, he probably hindered more than he helped.
The next day Jethro rolled the first course of timber in place. Then he and the boy spent the following morning felling more trees and skidding them close. Apparently, that monster horse loved labor. Jethro never even had to raise his voice.
He’d have paid double what Moses gave for the animal if he’d have known how good the Clydesdale worked. The third day proved even better. Rolled two courses in place.
The boy took to cabin raising. Maybe carpentry was his calling. Sure seemed to enjoy it.
Reminded Jethro of when he and Moses worked the canal. Having each other made the days fly by, except now he bent the boy’s ear about the Lord’s salvation, instead of the other way around.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t take Cody so long to find redemption.
A couple of hours past dinner of the fourth day, Elijah and Ned returned. Finished the last two courses with extra help. Tickled him that Francy had sent him a letter. Poor little darling.
She sure needed help with her spelling and grammar, but the way she signed it made him want to head straight back to San Francisco. He read it again.
Dere Mistr Jethro,
We ar all doing finn. I ben doing lettrs and working hrd keeping tha babees hapee when thae aint eeting. Amos is deing biferclt but I be tring not to hit him xcpt it is hrd. Mis Maddee sas hi I do not like Hanck he bes meen to me. Can I tel hem yuu wil wup hem win yuu git bak? Hop so caz I don did. I ben taking to God lik yuu sed asking hem to mak Mis Mary luv yuu as much as I do
And for yuu to de my pa and hr to de my ma decuz a grl neebs pernts. I neeb yuu. I luv yuu. Yer dater if God sas yes. Francy
Couldn’t make himself out to be a liar though. He told Mary he had to go to the capital, and he wanted to get Brother Paul more Bibles quicker than she could get a case delivered. Imagined the priest could give away as many as he got to him.
That night after beans, jerky, corndodgers, and some scripture reading, Elijah invited him outside. “Cabin’s looking good, sir.”
“Think you’ll have any problem with the roof?”
“Shouldn’t. You don’t have to stay. You and Cody did the hard part.”
“Good, then I’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”
Elijah leaned in close. “The dust we carried in weighed out at nine thousand, six hundred and four dollars.”
“Excellent, you get a weight on the nuggets?”
“Yes, sir, watched them mark ’em and put this keg with the others.”
“Good.” He kept nodding.
“That dude—the bank’s big gun—he asked after you and Moses.”
“Did he now? Say any more?”
“Not really, just being friendly.”
“Men like J. Pierce are never just anything. Did I tell you he offered to buy the mine?”
“No, sir.”
“Be careful around bankers. The ones I’ve known worship at the altar of greed.”
Mary pulled her knees up and bent over. Her tummy rolled. She swallowed twice, then the nausea eased some, hung on for a few more minutes, then vanished. “Stupid squid. Will I ever be over them? Or that night?”
The sound of her own voice shattered the silence and startled her. Why was she talking to herself? She waited, being as still as she could. When the sourness didn’t return, she rolled out of bed.
Susannah and Francy didn’t move. Good. A few minutes to herself would be nice. She peeked in on Amos and Joshua. The almost-man-sized lump cuddled into the covers on the bed in what had once been her sitting room.
They rose and fell with each breath the boy took.
In his crib, Joshua lay on his back, his little mouth working on his dream breakfast. What would she do when they took her baby boy from her? Mercy, she had him more than they had. He was…
She must stop thinking that way. He wasn’t hers. She eased out and down the stairs; Mattie and Virgil sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Both looked toward her and smiled. “Good morning.” The old dear gestured behind Mary.
“Yes, it is.” The ten-year-old stood at the bottom of the stairs.
She turned around. “So, how long have you been awake?”
Francy shrugged. “Since before you curled up in a ball. What’s stupid squid?”
“Something I promise you I will never eat again. They live in the ocean, a little like an octopus.”
“You ate it!” The horrified expression on the little lady told the story. She’d never eat it either. “Why’d you do it?”
“Already chewed and swallowed before I knew what it was. It made me sick to my stomach almost immediately.”
“Who fed it to you?”
“That isn’t important.”
“Long story?”
“Yes, ma’am. Want some coffee?”
“Can I have some honey with it?”
Mary looked to Mattie, who raised one shoulder slightly, then back to the girl. “Two spoonfuls.”
“Thanks.”
Coffee then breakfast, followed by another workday. She loved the store, battling wits with the customers, loving it when she won, but hating it all to blue blazes when she let someone beat her down too far. Even with the constant flow of traffic, the days dripped by like molasses in the winter.
When would Edward get himself back?
She tried to remember how long before he returned, but the weeks had run together. She should have written it down.
“Here. How’s this?” Francy held out a piece of paper.
Mary rolled her new chair away from her desk, took the offering, and read. Halfway down, she held it out and pointed. “What’s that word?”
Francy leaned in. “Hmmm, what does it look like to you?”
“Well, benintiredleeto… Do you remember what you were saying? Right before, read it. Start about here.” She pointed to the paper.
“It says, ‘It has already been two weeks since you left and you said you would not be gone that long.’” Her eyes sparkled and lit up the whole room. “Oh, yeah, I remember now. Entirely! That’s what it says.”
“Excellent.”
“I was telling him it’s been entirely too long, and he needed to get hisself back because I miss him too much. Guess I didn’t leave enough spaces.”
“I suppose not; without them, your words run together. Try to remember.”
“I will. Ain’t you hankering for him to get back, Miss Mary?”
“Some, be nice to stop hearing you harping on h
im being gone all the time, I can tell you that for certain.”
With a sly grin, Francy moseyed over next to her and twirled a loose curl around her finger. “Oh, you’ve got the prettiest hair. Ain’t you just a little tiny bit wanting to see his handsome self?”
Mary pursed her lips and wagged her head, smiling at the girl’s blatant attempt at matchmaking, but how could she argue? Risen was not hard to look at, that she freely admitted—well, not aloud—but his arrogance. Now that galled her. “Want me to put this letter with the others?”
“Yes’m. Can I go now? Me and Susann got plans.”
“Oh, you do. What are y’all up to?”
“If I’m done with my letter writing, then we’re going over to Miss Lanelle’s and have high tea. Josh and Mister Moses ain’t invited. It’s only us girls and not Amos or Hank either.”
“Go on then, wouldn’t want to keep you from high tea.” She rolled back to her desk and put the missive in the drawer on top of the letter she’d started so long ago but still hadn’t finished.
Nicked her heart some that she wasn’t invited, but then they all knew she had a business to run.
Four days and as many letters later, the man Francy wanted for a daddy rolled into town in the new buggy he and Moses had bought. She had heard all about it by way of the little one-girl-herald.
Then to celebrate his return from Sacramento, he insisted everyone go to supper with him. Beside herself, Francy’s excitement was so cute and infectious. Mary couldn’t help but catch some of it.
In the three-block walk to the restaurant, Francy worked hard at getting and keeping Jethro and Mary next to each other. She finally gave up for the girl’s sake and stayed by the man’s side.
After all, no need to be rude. Her partner deserved a little civility from her, being in business together and all. Even if she’d preferred not to be, facts were facts, and her mother would surely roll over in her grave if she could watch from Heaven and see Mary be rude for no reason.
By the same token, Mama didn’t like being bossed either, and arrogance got her hotter than Texas in July. Still it didn’t cost anything to be nice.
Good food, and news of the capital, Jethro buying half-interest in a newspaper. And more than that, arranging for the man to print Bibles—all he could produce. Some both testaments and others with just the Psalms and New Testament.
Maybe Jethro Risen had truly changed, turned over a new leaf.
“Now that the Bibles are in the works, Mary, there’s one more thing I’d like to do, and I sure could use you help.”
She gave him a little smile. “What would that be, Mister Risen?”
“Moses and I want to start an orphanage. We’d like for you to be its business manager.”
Had she just heard right? “An orphanage? And you want me to run it?”
“Not the day to day operations, but yes, ma’am, the business part of it. You’re the best I know, man or woman. We’ll do it all up legal. I’m committing half of my mine stock to it. You will be compensated, of course. What do you say?”
She covered her mouth. What should she say? Why was he doing this? “Mercy, this is certainly out of the blue. I had no idea.” Dumbfounded, she attempted to unscramble her thoughts. “I just don’t know. Exactly how would it work?”
“We want to have a dairy farm, out a ways from town but close enough to haul milk and butter back to sell. We’d be teaching the children along the way; to read and write, how to work, you know, integrity and honesty. Give the little darlings a roof over their heads, three meals a day.”
“Impressive. You’ve definitely given the idea lots of thought.”
“Hopefully, it’ll pay its own way, but more than anything else, we’ll show them God’s love and teach them His ways.”
Mercy, had she totally misjudged the man? How could she not agree to help?
Oh, Lord, am I doomed to be yoked with Jethro Risen for the rest of my days?
Chapter Twenty-Three
With the added work of the orphanage, days piled on top of each other for Mary, good ones though. The further they got into it, the more excited everyone got, even her. Her stomach had settled, finally got that stupid squid out of her system, though a few times, she’d thought she’d felt a flutter in her tummy. But the skies over her shone sunny and blue.
Plus, all the extra work helped her not to dwell on Edward’s absence.
How had Risen done it? Entangled everyone in his web? He bought the Wingates with a piece of the Mercantile. Elijah with a share of the mine. And now her with the children’s home. Little Francy with his love and doting. Oh, it certainly tickled her how much those two loved each other.
Poor baby, latched onto the first man who came along after her father got himself killed, but Mary understood about a girl loving a strong man. She closed her eyes and thought of home. Oh, why didn’t Daddy write? How could he hate her so much? Men and their stupid pride.
“Can I, Miss Mary?”
She shrugged. “Yes, you may, but tell me why you want to go. It’s only a piece of property.”
Francy grinned. “Thought maybe you could come, too. We could have a picnic. Miss Mattie said she’d be happy to pack us a dinner, and Hank and Amos and Mister Virgil can run the store, except…”
Mary exhaled. Bless the little darling’s heart, she wanted so badly for her and Risen to fall in love, but… “Except what?”
The girl wrinkled up her nose then smiled rather sheepishly. “Me and Mister Jethro thinks you shouldn’t open the store at all on a Sunday anyways.”
“Say Jethro and I; putting yourself first isn’t right. Sounds like mean Mister Jethro.”
Her little hands went to her hips and she glared. “Mister Jethro is not mean! Why there’s not a mean bone in –”
“I didn’t say he was. You said me and him, and that sounds like mean him. Putting the other person first, ahead of yourself, gives them respect and honor. That’s all I was saying.”
“Oh.” The girl held her hands out and smiled. “Yes, ma’am, you said put the other person first and that is right. I see it now. So then I can tell Miss Mattie to pack extra food?”
“What are you talking about?”
“For our picnic tomorrow after church. If you put me and Mister Jethro first, ahead of your own self, then you’ll go, ’cause we both want you to.”
“Did he say that?”
“Maybe not exactly, but when I asked him, his eyes twinkled and he smiled bigger. I know he does want you to come. On account of how much he loves you.”
Mary closed her eyes. Oh, Francy girl. “Driving two hours just to see the block of land Mister Jethro bought for the dairy does not sound like a reason to take off work.”
The little shoulders sagged. Her lips turned down. “You promised.”
“What did I promise?”
“To be nice to Mister Jethro. Remember when I sat all day in the corner? That’s when you promised.”
True, she had, though she’d forgotten. And it wouldn’t hurt for her to see the place. After all, she was the business manager. “Fine, I’ll go, but you must stop your matchmaking, little girl. I’m not going to marry Mister Risen.”
She smiled as if she knew better then leaned in close. “Jethro. He doesn’t know why you keep calling him Mister Risen. It is kind of mean. He’d really like you to call him Jethro instead; that’s his name. And you promised.”
Mary held her hands up. “Fine, I’ll use his given name. Now skedaddle and see if Miss Lanelle needs any help with the babies.”
“Sure! Thank you, ma’am.” She turned and skipped around the counter singing a ditty about going on a picnic to the dairy, all the way to the front door then ran across the street.
The trip and picnic with Jethro and Francy surprised Mary, being such a pleasant afternoon. The valley he’d bought literally took her breath away. She gasped at first sight of it.
He went to explaining how he figured to lay everything out, and she couldn’t fault hi
m at all, not one idea seemed wrong. Smart man, not hard to look at either.
Shame he wasn’t Edward Clinton.
Maybe she should take Sunday afternoons off like Francy had mentioned. Business always died down then anyway. But still, so many of the miners only came in once a month, usually on a Saturday. If she closed, then where would those men be?
Maybe if Edward would ever get back and finally stop running all over the state buying up mines, she’d have a reason to stay closed on Sundays. But for right now, she’d keep things as they’d been.
She’d need to post the notice for at least two months ahead if she decided to change her schedule. Wouldn’t want to disappoint any of her customers.
The next morning, she woke before the sun. She scooted away from the baby—such a bad bed partner—but then Rebecca said Mary had been bad herself. Oh, if only she could talk with her sister.
Lanelle had turned into a great cousin, but Rebecca remained the closest thing to a mother she had left.
What was that?
She rubbed her belly then scooted her hand out until she touched the baby. Another little kick. A kick? Blood drained from her face. How could it be?
Oh, Lord, please no. It can’t be.
She jumped out of bed, threw on her housecoat, and tiptoed downstairs. She got a lucifer and hurried to her desk where she lit her oil lamp. Her fingers trembled as she flipped her ledger’s pages.
Right there it was. The date she and Hank delivered Edward’s fixtures. She counted on her fingers, but that only confirmed what she’d already figured out. Twenty weeks ago. More precisely, one hundred forty-two days.
Oh, Lord, no. How could You let… Father, please, bring him home to me now.
Jethro pounded in the last marker stake, stretched his back and shoulders, then drank in the valley’s beauty. He loved it. Everything was all coming together. Well, most of it. Mary wasn’t playing her part yet.
The picnic with her and Francy with the baby crawling all over the place… Almost like a real family. Then the very next day, something or somebody got her goat.
Her refusing an invitation to supper or anywhere else with him didn’t only disappoint him, it flat hurt. Almost too much. Had he said something wrong? Had Francy?
