The Trouble with Patience

by Maggie Brendan

  “Yes, Daddy would. Good night, Mother.”

  “Ta-ta, Patty dear.”

  Patience could hardly wait to strip off her party dress and drop into bed. What a shock to find Mother on my doorstep! she thought as she pulled her nightgown over her head. Most likely she had come to see what Creekside looked like now.

  Patience slipped under the covers, remembering that her mother had been very displeased when she hadn’t been the one to inherit this boardinghouse. Patience sighed and closed her eyes. “Lord,” she whispered, “help me to be kind and loving to Mother, even when she doesn’t treat me the same way.”

  She hoped her mother would be pleased with all the improvements she’d made to the boardinghouse and that her visit would be pleasant. For now, she curled up with her pillow—Buttercup snuggled against her—and went to sleep with the memory of her special evening with Jedediah.

  Patience couldn’t have been more mistaken in hoping her mother would be gracious on this visit. On Monday morning, Charity glided into the dining room near the end of breakfast time, dressed in a skirt of light blue silk taffeta and bodice adorned with chenille fringe that matched her blue eyes, her best feature. Though middle-aged now, her mother had somehow maintained her slim silhouette, which made Patience feel poignantly aware of her own fuller figure. She could never expect to age as pleasingly as her mother.

  “Good morning, Mother,” Patience said, laying a place for her at the table. “Everyone, this is my mother, Charity Cavanaugh.” Hellos and nodding of heads were the responses from the few still finishing their breakfast.

  Her mother looked around, no doubt sizing up the guests. “Good morning to all,” Charity said with an elegant sweep of her hand and a smile that quickly faded when everyone continued to eat. She sat down at her place and looked around uncertainly.

  Patience nodded toward the sideboard holding the breakfast items, and her mother nodded in return, picked up her plate, and rose to help herself to what was left of breakfast.

  “Patience, dear, were there any potatoes left this morning? I should love some with my sausage.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but I didn’t serve potatoes today. There’s still some oatmeal left next to the sausage.”

  Her mother removed the lid and spooned oatmeal into a bowl. “Then I shall put in my request for potatoes on the morrow,” she said, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “We always had those at home, you know.”

  Patience winced at her mother’s veiled rebuke as Emily came in from the kitchen to gather the dishes. She stopped short when she saw Charity. “You must be Patience’s mother,” she exclaimed. “I do see a resemblance between you. I’m Emily.” The young woman held out her hand.

  “Yes, I’m Mrs. Cavanaugh,” she said, taking the outstretched hand. “I’m not that sure of the resemblance, though,” she added with a shrug. She placed her bowl of oatmeal on the table, sat down, then looked up at Emily. “You do the kitchen work for my daughter?”

  “Heavens, no! I can’t cook at all. I’m Patience’s partner in business,” she said cheerfully. “Patience probably hasn’t had a chance to tell you yet.”

  Patience didn’t miss her mother’s glance from Emily to her and then back to Emily. “No, I wasn’t told. It seems my daughter has more than a few surprises in store for me.” Her lips formed a smile but her eyes narrowed. “It’s probably a good thing I was able to come in person. A few letters obviously aren’t sufficient. ”

  Patience’s mouth felt dry. “We work well together, Mother, and our abilities are very compatible.”

  “I see,” she said, and proceeded to eat her oatmeal.

  The last of the boarders excused themselves and departed for the day. Patience began clearing the sideboard food with a large tray.

  “Well, my dear, it appears your enterprise is beginning to flourish in a fairly short time. I will be happy to share some ideas with you.”

  Patience paused at the kitchen doorway with the tray balanced on her hip. “Yes, things are going well, and if you have some helpful ideas for further improvements, by all means, I’ll want to hear them, Mother.”

  “Perhaps when you’ve finished with cleaning up, you can show me around the town. It’s been a while since I visited my mother here.”

  Patience eyed her thoughtfully. “And you’re dressed to go out already.”

  “I try to plan ahead, dear. I’ll be in the parlor when you’re ready,” she said. “Oh, and I’m sure you’re planning to change from that drab housedress before we leave.”

  Emily gave Patience a sympathetic glance. “I’m the one who does the dishes, Mrs. Cavanaugh, while Patience makes us such excellent meals,” she said. “One can’t very well do that in beautiful clothing such as you are wearing.”

  Charity arched an eyebrow, and Patience almost laughed outright—her mother had met her match. Little did Emily know that Charity Cavanaugh never cooked or cleaned or washed dishes if there was anyone else around to do it for her.

  “That doesn’t surprise me at all. She learned to cook from me,” Charity said with a smug little smile.

  Yes, you left the running of the house to me because of your “illnesses.” But all she said was, “I’ll meet you in the parlor a little later, Mother.”

  Her mother dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “I think I’m finished here—Emily, is it? You can take my plate too. I have to watch my figure, even at my age.” She sent Patience a meaningful glance. “I believe I’ll have another cup of coffee and take it with me to the parlor. Excuse me.”

  When the two were alone, Patience whispered to Emily, “I’m sorry about my mother. She likes to be in charge. But thanks for sticking up for me.”

  “No need to apologize, Patience. I understand,” Emily told her with a smile. “I can finish up here. Why don’t you go ahead and get ready for the outing with your mother.” Emily took the plates from Patience. “I wish I’d had more time with my mother . . .”

  Patience wiped her hands on her apron, then touched Emily’s sleeve. “I’m so sorry. Hopefully your mother was a kind, gracious woman.” Patience could tell Emily was suppressing the tears that filled her eyes.

  Emily sniffled and turned toward the kitchen. “She wasn’t perfect, but she was certainly a good mother to me. Don’t forget to put on something nice—you know, for your mother’s sake.”

  Patience shook her head. “She must assume I can run this place and cook meals dressed to the nines.” She untied her apron, slipped it over her head, and laid it on the table. “Thank you, Emily, not just for the work you do here, but for being a good friend.”

  “That goes both ways. We all need someone we can talk to. Now shoo!”

  “I’m going. I’m going,” Patience said over her shoulder with a smile and exited the dining room. What would it have been like to have a mother like Emily’s? she wondered as she headed toward the stairs. Maybe growing-up years would have been pleasant ones, and she wouldn’t have had to struggle to even be seen and heard.

  “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” Patience heard the familiar words in her mind. I know, Lord, but I don’t know what You’re trying to work into me.

  The answering voice was clear in her heart. Maybe you don’t need to know, Patience. And may I remind you of your name, My beloved daughter?

  16

  Patience hurried upstairs and quickly selected a periwinkle-blue street dress with cream-colored lace ties at the throat. She pulled the corset she’d mended with new ribbons as tight as she could so she would fit into the slender bodice cutting deep into the folds of the matching skirt. With the darker fabric-covered buttons running the length of the gown, she hoped she would seem to have a nicely smaller waist.

  She smiled wryly as she gathered up her reticule. “Showing Mother about town” would mean passing by the saloons, looking into three mercantile stores, seeing the butcher’s shop, the livery stables, blacksmith, maybe coffee in The Star Bakery, and a visit t
o two hotels. Most of the wooden structures had been hastily built with false fronts to give them the illusion of two-story buildings.

  This won’t take very long. What are we going to do with the rest of the day? she wondered as she caught her skirt up with one hand and hurried downstairs.

  She paused at the bottom to catch her breath, then sailed into the parlor where her mother sat in an armchair near the fireplace, looking every bit the part of queen of the manor. She was sipping the last of her coffee while thumbing through an outdated copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book.

  “Was there a fire?” her mother asked in a clipped tone.

  Patience stopped. “Fire?”

  “The one you’re rushing from, my dear. It’s not ladylike, especially when you’re the owner of an establishment, to look so—befuddled.” Charity’s gaze swept the length of Patience’s apparel, and the woman apparently approved.

  “Yes, Mother. I didn’t want to keep you waiting. Are you ready to take a stroll through our little town?”

  “Indeed I am. But before we depart I want to suggest that you find some other drapes, dear, something more formal for the parlor.”

  Patience’s heart pounded in her chest. “I—the truth is, I like them.”

  Her mother strode over to the window, fingering the material. She frowned. “They look . . . homemade—”

  “They are,” Patience put in before her mother could say anything further. “Emily and I made them. Money is not very plenteous just yet, and this was the nicest material I could afford.”

  Her mother dropped the panel as if it were soiling her fingers. “I see. Once you’re flourishing financially, I’ll help you choose some stylish drapes more in keeping with a high-class residence.”

  Patience held her breath to keep from bursting out in anger. She finally said, “You’ll soon see, Mother, that Nevada City cannot support a ‘high-class residence.’ This is a boardinghouse for people from all walks of life. Besides, Emily and I like these drapes. And we enjoyed working on them together.”

  “Well, then, shall we be on our way?” Charity responded with her most elegant shrug.

  “Such a busy little town here.” Charity chatted away as they walked along the boardwalk, with Patience pointing out the shops and introducing the occasional person she knew.

  “And very transient,” Patience explained, “as most of them are miners hoping for a strike.”

  “How will you ever be able to find an eligible man here, my dear?”

  “Mother, I have plenty to keep me busy with running the boardinghouse.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m sure your evenings do get lonely—oh my, what’s that on ahead? A bake shop?”

  “Yes, Miss Hannah runs it. She was a good friend to Grandmother . . . and now me.”

  “I don’t remember my mother ever mentioning her,” Charity murmured with a frown. “But shall we stop in and say hello?”

  “Yes, and you’ll like her. She’s very nice and has helped me get settled here. Let’s go inside.”

  As soon as they stepped into the Star, Patience’s mother began exclaiming about the delicious smells and variety of desserts. “I must have one of those rolls—no, wait! Make that two.” She turned to Patience. “We can have them this afternoon with our tea or coffee.”

  Patience turned to her friend. “Yes, Hannah, please make that three. I’m sure Emily would enjoy one too. And may I introduce—”

  “Oh, yes . . . well—of course,” her mother inserted rather abruptly.

  “Miss Hannah,” Patience tried again, “I’d like you to meet my mother, Charity Cavanaugh.”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Cavanaugh! I’m so pleased to meet you. You know, I knew your mother quite well. Please call me Hannah,” she enthused in her own warm style.

  “Yes, so I understand,” Charity murmured, looking distractedly at the display of items. “I’m glad to meet you too.”

  Hannah lifted the cinnamon rolls from the glass-encased shelf and asked, “Will you want these packed up for later?”

  “That would be perfect,” Patience assured her when her mother did not respond.

  “Your daughter has become quite the entrepreneur, you know,” Hannah said to Charity, “and I should also add that she whips up a better batch of biscuits than I do any day!” She gave Patience a friendly smile.

  “Is that so?” Charity said distantly. “Seems I have a lot to catch up on about my daughter. She must have felt her poor widowed mother’s loss was not important enough to stay . . .” Her voice trailed off with so much self-pity that Patience felt she had to respond somehow.

  “Mother, please!”

  But Hannah quickly stepped in with her own comment. “Oh, I have a hard time believing that, Miz Cavanaugh! Your daughter is simply filled with spirit and adventure, probably much like we both were back in the day. Isn’t that right?”

  “I’m not as old as you might think,” Charity said, staring directly at Hannah for a moment.

  Hannah ignored the awkward exchange and handed over the bags of rolls. “That will be thirty-five cents, please.”

  “Oh my. I didn’t think to bring any cash with me . . .” Charity turned to her daughter. “Dear—”

  “It’s fine, Mother. I have the exact change.” Patience was already reaching inside her reticule and handed some coins to Hannah.

  “Thank you, Patience. Did you have a good time at the dance? I certainly did.” Hannah’s cheeks turned pink.

  “Oh, yes! Lots of food and fun.”

  “I saw you come to the dance with Cody, but I thought I saw you leave with—”

  “Yes, yes I did,” Patience put in quickly. “I was ready to go, but Cody wanted to stay, so Jed offered me a ride.”

  Charity drew back, eyes narrowed, as she stared at Patience. “Cody? Jed? Two different men at the same event? I’m astounded, Patience! That is not how you were raised.” She shook her head, still facing down her daughter. “And I thought you were too busy for courting.”

  “Mother.” Patience blew out a breath and tried to calm her ire. “I am not being courted by anybody, and I don’t have two men in my life—I know two men along with several others I have met here.”

  Hannah was trying to say something to make amends, but Patience gave her a quick look to assure her that nothing further would help at the moment.

  “You must tell me all about them,” Charity said, head lifted high as she took Patience’s elbow and nudged her in the direction of the door.

  The last thing Patience wanted to do was to talk with her mother about anything related to matters of the heart. Memories of her tragic experience with Russell and all the incriminations flung at her for choosing Russell in the first place filled her mind, and she closed her eyes for a moment as her mother almost pushed her out the door.

  Patience walked straight into Jed’s arms, her mother stumbling into her from behind. “Oh, please, forgive me! We—we are just on our way out.” Patience caught her balance and stepped away from her mother’s hand on her back.

  Jedediah had already reached out to steady Patience. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you all right?” His steady eyes looked into hers until she glanced away. “Yes, I am, thank you. Please excuse us. We are heading back to the boardinghouse,” she babbled on.

  Once on the boardwalk, her mother said in consternation, “I didn’t realize that—what’s his name?—Jedediah Jones is the marshal! I just saw his badge. You realize, Patience, it’s far best you don’t get involved with a person whose life is in jeopardy at any moment.”

  Patience shook her head and forced a chuckle. “Oh, Mother, you’re incorrigible. That’s hardly the case.”

  Charity caught Patience’s arm. “But even worse, men like him usually carry a past with them. I can tell just by looking at him.”

  “Why don’t we stop in at the mercantile before we go home?” Patience suggested. “It’s right up the street. Then I must get back to start our supper.” She hoped these distractions wo
uld stay further discussion on the topic of Jedediah.

  Jedediah stood watching the two women as they walked into the mercantile, deep in conversation. From his vantage point, mother and daughter were enjoying their visit. He guessed he wouldn’t see much of Patience now that her mother had arrived.

  “You through gawking after Patience? I saw you two on the dance floor,” Hannah said from behind, giving him a wink as he turned to face her.

  “Am I that obvious?” Jedediah growled.

  Hannah bobbed her head. “Don’t worry about it, though. Have you met her mother? I mean before just now?”

  “Yes, I did. Seems like a proper lady.”

  “Proper? Or particular?”

  “Can’t say I know the difference. Haven’t spent any time with her. You like her or not?”

  Hannah moved back to the counter, wiping up crumbs. “Oh, she seems nice enough. A little hard on her daughter, though.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Something about the way she talks to her, I guess.”

  Jedediah chuckled. “I thought all mothers did that.”

  “She made Patience uncomfortable, seems to me.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure Patience can take care of herself.”

  “You’re right. So, what can I get you, Marshal, the usual?”

  “Ah . . . you know me too well, Miz Hannah. Yes, then tell me about you and Joe.” Jedediah watched a blush turn her cheeks pink.

  “We had a good time, me and Joe did, and he kept his promise not to drink the three days before.”

  “That a fact? You just may be the woman to keep him from that poison.”

  “I’m not sure about that. I’ve heard alcohol is hard to cut loose from, but when he’s sober, we have a lot to talk about.” She took out a cinnamon roll, folded a napkin around it, and handed it to him. “It’s on the house. I’m sure you’re the one that got Joe to clean up his act.”

  “Well, thank you. I told him you wouldn’t give him the time of day unless he did.” Jedediah bit off a large chunk of the roll and licked the cinnamon sugar from his fingers.