by Caryl McAdoo
Sure seemed to him he’d been on his best behavior. And his personal tell-all didn’t have a clue to what was wrong either, but she’d noticed the change, too.
Once back in town, he stopped at the bank, then after arranging for the sawmill to draft on the orphanage’s account, strolled toward the front door.
“Mister Risen.”
He turned around. J. Pierce himself hurried toward him, holding a small fat piece of cream paper. “A moment, my friend?”
Oh, how oily could one man be? “Of course.”
The bank’s big gun stopped short and extended an envelope. “I’m hosting a pounding for Mister and Mis’ess Clinton, to welcome her to our little town and their new home.”
Jethro took it. “What do you get a man like Edward?”
The older man’s lips turned up slightly. What could only be called a smile, except it wasn’t, not really. “One of your kegs of nuggets would be nice.”
Of course, the man had been lying awake at night lusting after his gold. Wasn’t actually on deposit, so he couldn’t loan it out but still couldn’t bring himself to charge a storage fee. Just wait until he opened the Miners Bank.
J. Pierce would have himself a conniption fit.
“Black tie and evening gowns?”
The man nodded. “Extend the invitation to Mister Jones and his Mis’ess. And please, I’m trying to keep it a surprise as much as possible.”
“I don’t know about a keg, but we should think of something. When is it?”
“Saturday the fourteenth.”
“I’ll clear our calendar.”
“Excellent. See you at seven sharp. The Clintons’ address is on the invitation.”
Once back in the buggy, he allowed himself a smile. So that was it. Mary must have heard Edward had found himself another lady, someone richer or better connected, and married her.
Bless God. Once she got over her disappointment, then maybe she’d see the error of her ways and realize she truly needed him.
Awesome news. Thank you, Father.
If only the mare could fly, but he got to the Mercantile plenty quick. He waited at the counter while she helped an older miner who couldn’t make up his mind over exactly which shovel he needed, like it mattered. Finally, she weighed out his dust and sent him on his indecisive way.
She strolled over, but stayed back too far. “Mister… Excuse me, Jethro, how are you this evening?”
“Don’t know, I seek a boon, but am concerned you won’t be agreeable.” He made his lips not smile. He hated that her heart hurt, but also loved the hope he now celebrated.
Unsure exactly what the man meant or how to take him, Mary went to straightening the counter and shelves beside him. “Why are you talking in riddles? What’s your favor?”
“I need a companion for a big shindig J. Pierce is hosting. Don’t want to go by myself.”
“When is it?”
“Saturday the fourteenth, seven sharp. That’s plenty of time to have a gown made, isn’t it? At my expense, of course.”
“How do you always manage to be so irritating? Do you not think I have clothes or the money to buy a dress for myself?” Eight days. Yes, a formal gown could be easily sewn in half the time. “Just you and me, or did he invite Moses, too?”
“He did, and Lanelle.”
“But he didn’t ask me?” That’s strange, her being a successful business owner and depositor at his bank. But she hadn’t been in for a week or better. Jethro held a cream envelope.
Mister Prescott probably had an invitation for her. A formal party. She’d read about them. Sounded like fun. She’d always wanted to go to one. “And where is the party to be?”
He extended the envelope. “That might be my downfall.”
She took the invitation, ripped it open, and folded out the piece of embossed heavy stock.
You are cordially invited to the home of
Mister and Mis’ess Edward D. Clinton
The paper slipped from her fingers. The words burned into her heart, branded her. Edward was married. Had that been the reason he went to New Orleans? His domineering father! He’d met him there and made him wed some socialite.
But… It couldn’t be. Her hand went to her belly. Tears welled, but she blinked them away.
“Jethro…” She swallowed, had to get away. “Please lock…” The salty wetness overflowed. She glared through the tears. “How. Could. You?”
“Oh, Mary.” He looked genuinely sorry and concerned. Did he know? How could he know? “I, of course, thought you knew. I never would have. Thought that was the reason you’d….”
“The keys… Desk drawer.” She spun and ran upstairs, doing her best to hold back the sobs. Once to her room, she locked the door and flung herself across her bed, buried her face in her pillow, and wept.
What was she going to do?
Oh, God, dear Father in Heaven, what in the world am I going to do?
Twice, Francy-sized knocks sounded on her door, then finally Susannah’s cries pulled her back from the black pit her life had jumped into; yes jumped, she hadn’t fallen. Oh, no. She’d chosen to do what she did.
But her babies needed her. The situation, as bad as it seemed, wouldn’t kill her, no matter how much she might wish….
But she couldn’t die, wouldn’t die; Susannah needed her.
She wiped her cheeks. Besides, once Edward found out she carried his child, he’d send his new wife home with a divorce and wed Mary.
After all, in California folks did all sorts of crazy things every day. Just look at Jethro… Oh, she’d made such a fool of herself. He couldn’t have known….
Lord God in Heaven, help me, please.
Chapter Twenty-Four
From the oldbarbershop’s front porch, Jethro watched the street come alive. Wagons, men on horseback, a few folks walked, and children darted here and there. Reminded him of ants scurrying about.
Right on time, Mary unlocked the Mercantile’s front door, but she didn’t come out and sweep her porch like so many mornings. Why had he thought she knew about Mis’ess Clinton?
But if she hadn’t, then what else had changed to make her so cranky? She’d been so happy at the picnic, then boom, the next day so cold and unfriendly. Women, would he ever understand them?
Did he know so little about the opposite sex because of spending so much time away from his mother growing up?
One afternoon with her. Oh, how wonderful that would be.
He’d want a week to get his list of questions ready, and an extra day just to love on her, but…. Francy flew out of the Mercantile, paused long enough to look both ways—just like he’d drilled into her little thick skull—then raced right for him.
She sucked in one big breath. “Mister Jethro.” She smiled and gulped another. “Miss Mary wants you.”
He stood. “She mad?”
“Not really. Her eyes are red. What did you do?”
“Long story.”
“Oh, don’t say me that. I’m ten now remember? You were at my party.”
“For this story, you’ve have to be at least sixteen.”
She wrinkled up her nose then slipped her hand into his and pulled. “Come on.”
He let his littlest love pull him to his true love. Hope floated on the morning breeze, but he wouldn’t grab hold. Not yet. Not until he saw her face and heard her words.
Mary stood at the sales counter, not sitting on her throne hiding behind her desk. “Francy, go see if Miss Mattie needs help with the babies, please ma’am.”
“Oh, they’re fine.”
“Mind Miss Mary.”
She glared at him, puckered her lips and nose, then smiled real big. “Yes, sir. I’ll leave you two alone if that’s what you both want.” She skipped toward the back.
He looked to the queen of the Mercantile. As though she’d been crying, her eyes seemed a bit swollen and red, but other than that, he couldn’t read her at all. Happy? Sad? Mad? Disappointed?
Another w
oman like all the rest, and he didn’t have a clue.
“Good morning.”
“Why did you think I knew Edward was married?”
“Sunday last, we had such a nice, happy picnic, then Monday you were so…uhmm…”
“What was I? Spit it out, Jethro.”
His given name, not Mister Risen, that was a good sign, right? “Cool? Is that fair?”
“Just because I didn’t want to have supper with you? I was cool? And that led you to believe –”
“I’m sorry. When I heard about Clinton having a wife, I just –”
“You assumed that I had found out on Monday and that news had ruined my disposition?”
“Yes, ma’am. Figured it responsible for spoiling your usually good mood. I’d seen the two of you and knew about your supper date.” He shrugged and mouthed to Francy. “I’m so sorry, can you please forgive me?”
He resisted using his little boy grin, the one that always melted his mother’s heart.
He wanted her to wife not be his mother.
Could Mary believe this man?
She couldn’t abide being mean and hated it that anyone would think she acted that way. If he really thought that of her…and that she already knew about… But how could any of it matter now?
She had to see Edward, get a good look at the socialite for herself, and definitely did not want to go alone. Jethro offered that opportunity. Had Prescott not invited her on purpose? Did he know?
Had Edward said something to the banker?
Oh, dear God, surely not.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“What?”
“Uh, for your….” He stepped back and looked her over. “Green would be perfect, or a sky blue. Want me to have a seamstress bring some samples by? I mean if it wouldn’t offend you.”
There he went again. “No, sir, I do not. I’m perfectly capable.”
“Yes, ma’am, you are. I know that. You’re one of the most capable ladies I’ve ever met. I only want to help, maybe lighten your load. So you will go with me?”
A chuckle came out as a little snort. In a different situation, she’d have herself a good laugh at the pathetic expression plastered across Risen’s face. Oh, if only Edward loved her as much as it seemed poor Jethro did.
Would she always draw men’s affections on looks alone? Though to be fair, he appreciated her head for business, even bragged on it.
So many suitors reminded her of the stories Rebecca told of all the men seeking the hand of the beautiful Widow Baylor before her father had won her heart. She pondered on her mother’s vow, how it had kept her single all those years.
Maybe something similar might protect her from all the lonely men in San Francisco.
Oh, Mama, why did you have to die? I still missed you so much, even after eight years.
“Yes, I’ll go with you, but don’t read anything into it, please. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am, and thank you, Mary. I’m thinking it’s a thirty to forty minute buggy ride, so I’ll call for you at six-twenty on Saturday.”
“Six-thirty will be fine. We don’t want to arrive early. Good then, now go away. I’ve got work to do, a dress to see to, and you have…” She finger-waved him away. “Whatever it is you do to get done.”
He backed to the door, his grin about as big as Texas. “Yes, ma’am.”
Texas. That’s what she needed. Rebecca and her Wallace, her brother Levi and his Rose, and Mama May. Wouldn’t that be fun to show up at this little shindig with the two of the most famed Texas Rangers ever?
One on each arm.
Like for you to meet my brother and brother-in-law, you chowderhead, low life, sorry excuse for a man.
Dare you. Look wrong at me, and they’ll shoot you dead and feed you to the hogs. Her daddy had told Caleb that. And he’d been so right. Shut your pie hole, girl; that’s what Laura would say.
Rangers didn’t go around killing folks just because they broke your heart or got you pregnant.
Would Daddy ever forgive her for not listening to him?
Grandpa forgave her mother—but only after ten long years of separation. But the time span had been at least partly Mama’s fault. She’d admitted it, and all because she thought the judge hated her for running off.
Could Mary’s thinking be wrong like her mother’s? Would Daddy welcome her back? Could she take that chance?
She needed to finish that letter and get it posted.
Why generations had to repeat the same mistakes remained a mystery.
But she’d topped her mother, gone and gotten herself pregnant before she remarried. What an embarrassing, degrading predicament. For too long, she wallowed in the pool of self-pity and loathing.
Oh well, Jethro Risen would have to do. She’d order the prettiest, most expensive gown ever. Her hair! How should she fix her locks? Have it coiffured?
“Francy.”
Just as she figured, the girl showed her snoopy little face in no time. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Would you please see if Miss Lanelle is free for high tea.”
“Can I come, too?”
“Yes, you may. I thought we could get together and talk about our dresses. Where’s Hank and Amos?”
“Hank went with Mister Virgil to the docks to pick up our next shipment.”
“Amos?”
“He’s in the store room.”
“Good, go on then, and watch crossing that street. It’s busy this morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She smiled.
Her gown turned out exquisite, too expensive, but Lanelle had talked her into doubling the crystals on it. They’d all surely be dazzled. Mary deserved to have the most beautiful dress at the party, so her cousin claimed.
And cost didn’t concern Francy one little bit as she insisted that Mary added yards of costly lace, and the little darling chose the biggest bustle to be had.
But as the big day neared, the nag lurking in the shadows of her soul grew to a stern whisper. He’s married now. Forget him, the murmur beseeched, but her lovesick heart refused to listen. She’d seen him first.
Some spoiled rich girl that Mister Clinton arranged for his son to marry didn’t count.
Her baby needed its daddy.
Saturday the fourteenth arrived. A horrible, wonderful day like she’d never known. From her window, she watched them load up. Jethro and Moses showed up handsome as she’d ever seen them in their black suits and top hats.
Lanelle, as beautiful as a bride in her soft yellow satin gown, and Jethro hired the perfect coach and driver. When he called for her, she wanted to run the other direction. What would Edward say to her?
Worse, her problem of how to get him alone to let him know about his baby? She decided on, then rejected the idea of a note, twice. She needed to see his face when she told him, work out the details.
He must free himself from the little gold digger.
Or was he the interloper? And the new bride the mother lode he’d been hunting so hard.
Francy pounded on the door announcing what she already knew. “He’s here, come on, Miss Mary!” The minute she opened her door, the girl gasped. “You look like a beautiful princess.”
Jethro stood at the bottom of the stairs with his mouth literally open. She slowly made her way down, enjoying his astonishment, sliding her gloved hand on the rail. At the bottom stair, he extended his hand and took hers.
“Heavens, Mary Wheeler, you look fabulous. Except… That’s not a strong enough word.”
“Why, thank you kindly, sir.”
He raised her hand and examined the bracelet. “And this is remarkable, beautiful and unbelievably unique. Where’d you get it?”
Bowing her head slightly, she smiled at the infatuation in his eyes. She glanced past him toward the carriage and ignored his question. “Guess everyone’s ready.” She turned him toward the front door. “You clean up right nice yourself.”
She’d never disclose that the trinket came from Ed
ward as a gift, right before he tried to bed her for the second time.
Lanelle sat on the far side holding her skirts in. “Wow, cousin, you will definitely be the belle of the ball.”
“I don’t know about that, my love,” Moses touched his wife’s chin adoringly. “You’re the only one I’ll be staring at, because you’re looking quite the beauty yourself.”
Moses seemed crunched into the corner in the closer seat beside her. Lanelle showered him with near worship then looked back to her.
“We figured with all our petticoats and skirts, the ladies should sit across from the gents to have more room.” She giggled. “I’m so excited.”
Not Mary. Not at all. Nervous? Yes. Excited, no. Terrified might be a more accurate description of her condition. “You look wonderful in that dress, Lanelle. That shade of yellow’s just perfect.”
“Thank you. I’m proud you talked me into it.”
The others took to chatting about the big shindig, but all Mary could think of, the closer the hired hack got to Nob Hill, was her upcoming confrontation.
Her head spun, then the coach stopped in front of the mansion—the home she’d thought would be hers. All the time she’d spent on it and errands for him—for another woman to enjoy!
The coachman opened the door. She let the man help her out then took Jethro’s arm. A stream of folks dressed past the nines strolled up Edward’s front walk. The grounds, all finished and so beautiful, were amazing.
Running water tinkled ever so slightly. A sweet, exotic scent hovered in the night breeze, inviting—even alluring—all the guests.
Beside Jethro, she joined the other lesser lights heading to the Clinton’s grand mansion.
A butler or hired doorman ushered them into the grand hall. She knew the floor plan well, but followed without comment. There, just inside the entrance, Edward stood next to Prescott, engaged in conversation.
Next to him, a smaller version of himself stood beside a beautiful young lady who appeared to be younger than Francy, maybe seven. Beyond the little beauty, a mature version welcoming guests.
