Charley squirmed in place, his chin pressed to his left shoulder. “A boy’s always supposed to do what his daddy says. But…”
Jesse caught Charley’s chin and lifted his face. “What’s the problem, Charley?”
“Bud’s there, too, and he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t want me around. He told me to git. That’s why I’m out here.” Twin tears rolled over the boy’s lashes and down his reddened cheeks. “I can’t do what Daddy wanted and do what Bud wants. I don’t know what to do.”
Hadn’t Bud listened to anything Jesse had told him earlier? That boy needed to grow up some. Jesse planted his hands on his knees and pushed himself upright. “Well, what you’re gonna do right now is scoop up those marbles and put ’em in your pocket before someone steps on one and takes a tumble. Then I’ll walk you back to the mercantile and have a talk with your aunt Neva—see if we can’t find a way to set things right between you and Bud.”
Charley chewed his lower lip. “You think you can do it?”
Jesse wouldn’t be much of a sheriff if he couldn’t settle a disagreement between two still-wet-behind-the-ears kids. But he wouldn’t make a promise he couldn’t keep. “Let’s just get goin’, huh?”
Neva
Neva stared at the list of items written in her neat script. Such a long list. So many supplies needed. Why hadn’t she noticed how empty the shelves were getting? She whispered to the quiet room, “Because I’ve never had to worry about it. Warren always arrived in time to fill them.” A sob built in her throat. “Oh, Warren…”
The words on the page began to waver and dance. She propped her elbow on the counter and rested her forehead against the heel of her hand, her eyes closed.
“Will you sell the mercantile?”
Reverend Savage’s question haunted her. She’d said no. She’d meant no. Even with her eyes closed, she knew exactly what she’d touch if she stretched out her hand in any direction. To the front, candy jars. Behind, medicinal cures. On the right canned goods and on the left bins of dried beans. She didn’t even bother to test her memory so certain was she of what her fingers would find.
Eyes still closed, head low, she allowed her thoughts to transport her backward to the day she and Warren said their vows before the justice of the peace at the Belleville courthouse. That same day they’d ridden in a stagecoach to Buffalo Creek, and he carried her over the threshold of this very mercantile. She only eighteen, Warren a worldly twenty-two, they’d opened their business with the confidence and energy of youth. And they’d made it a success. This mercantile was more than a store. It was her home, her refuge, her security.
“Will you sell the mercantile?”
She jerked upright and shouted a reply at the half-filled shelves. “No!”
Someone tapped on the front door. A deep, masculine voice called, “Mrs. Shilling? Are you all right in there?”
Embarrassment flooded her. Who could be out on Sunday afternoon? Everyone treated the Lord’s day as a day of rest in Buffalo Creek. She scurried across the floor, smoothing her hair as she went, and pulled up the shade. Mr. Jesse Caudel stood on the other side of the glass. She jolted in surprise. What was he doing back in town?
He jiggled the doorknob. “Open up, please.”
She shook her head. “It’s Sunday. I’m closed.”
“I don’t want to buy anything. I need to talk to you.”
On his last visit he’d sent her down a pathway of confusion and anxiety. She couldn’t take one more piece of bad news. “No.”
His eyebrows formed a sharp V. He half turned and, to Neva’s second shock, tugged Charley from behind him. Then he pointed to the doorknob again. This time Neva opened the door.
Mr. Caudel gave Charley a little push into the store and stepped in behind him. He kept his hand curled over the boy’s shoulder. “I found Charley up the street a ways, playing marbles on the sidewalk. Since nobody else was out, I thought it would be better if he came on back.”
Dried tears stained the boy’s cheeks. He leaned against Mr. Caudel’s hip, his head low, and peered at her sheepishly through his fringe of bangs. He had Warren’s straight walnut husk–colored hair.
She jerked her attention to Mr. Caudel. “I didn’t even know he was gone.”
“I kind of figured.”
The statement held no rancor, but defensiveness rose within Neva anyway. She folded her arms over her chest. “I’ve spent my afternoon doing inventory. I instructed the children to go to their rooms after lunch and entertain themselves quietly as is fitting on the Lord’s day. I assumed they would all obey.”
Charley hunched his shoulders. The collar of his jacket hid the bottom half of his face, but his velvety-brown eyes lined with thick black lashes continued to silently plead with her for…what?
She sighed. “Go upstairs, Charley, and stay there now.”
Charley didn’t move. Mr. Caudel gave his shoulder a nudge, and Charley bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am.” He trudged off.
Neva waited until his plodding footsteps on the stairs faded, and then she turned to Mr. Caudel. “Thank you for bringing him back. I’ll make sure he doesn’t wander off again.” She opened the door for him.
He pushed the door closed. “I haven’t talked to you yet.”
She needed to finish taking stock of her merchandise, peruse the catalogs for the best prices on canned items and dress goods, and jot a few notes for the memorial service Reverend Savage insisted the community needed to say a proper good-bye to Warren. She pulled the door open and gestured to the sidewalk. “I don’t have time to talk.”
“Make time.”
If only she could manufacture time. Then maybe she’d have a better chance of keeping the mercantile afloat. “Mr. Caudel, I—”
“Charley told me Bud told him to ‘git.’ That’s why he was outside by himself.”
Cool air, carrying a few crisp leaves and dust, whisked through the open door. She didn’t have time to sweep again. Neva closed the door with a snap. “I’m sure Bud didn’t intend for Charley to leave the mercantile. The boys share a room now, and Bud hasn’t yet accepted the arrangement. He probably wanted Charley to stay on his own side of the room.”
Mr. Caudel frowned. “So you think it’s all right for Bud to order Charley about?”
Of course she didn’t. She’d spoken with Bud multiple times in the few days they’d been together about the need to be kind to Charley and the little girls. But none of this was Jesse Caudel’s business. “I can see to my children without your interference.”
He had the audacity to chuckle. “I’m not so sure about that. Or I wouldn’t have found Charley up the street by himself and you unaware that he was gone.”
But Charley isn’t my child. The words formed in her head and nearly spilled from her mouth, but guilt held them back. She should have known he’d left the mercantile. A good mother didn’t let children wander off alone. A good wife didn’t lose her husband to another woman. She winced against a stab of pain, her eyes slipping closed.
“About Charley…”
Neva looked at the man. Sunlight sneaked through a gap in the window shades and painted a ribbon of yellow along his side, emphasizing his tall, sturdy frame and drawing attention to the shadow of whiskers on his cheek. He seemed formidable, yet in his blue eyes she glimpsed a hint of tenderness. She focused on his eyes.
“He’s trying to sort things out, but he’s still a little confused.”
His comment confused her. “Sorting out what?”
“Relationships.” Mr. Caudel shifted slightly, removing himself from the sunbeam’s path, and hooked his thumb in his trouser pocket. Even though he wore a plaid shirt in place of a deputy’s uniform and no star shone on his chest, he looked every bit the lawman in his posture. “He asked me if you were really his aunt, but he’d already reasoned you couldn’t be because the preacher called you his daddy’s wife instead of his sister.”
Neva broke out in goose flesh.
“I don’t think he�
�s grasped the whole truth of the situation, and honestly I hope he doesn’t. Not until he’s a good bit older.”
“Wait.” Neva’s head spun. She lurched to the apple barrel and perched on its edge. “What do you mean by ‘the whole truth of the situation’?”
He released a small huff of breath. “I stood by while a minister in Beloit spoke words over Warren and Violet Shilling’s graves. I carted their youngsters to you at Warren’s dying request. I know full well that your husband took up housekeeping with another woman. That’s the whole truth, isn’t it?”
She sent a frantic glance toward the staircase, then darted to the front window and peeked out. No one around to hear. Relief sagged her knees. She staggered back to the barrel and sank down. There was more—things Mr. Caudel couldn’t know. She’d driven Warren to Violet. His desire for a big family couldn’t be met any other way. The whole truth included her failure. She sat in silence, deep remorse stealing her ability to speak.
Mr. Caudel stepped close. “Isn’t it?” He spoke gently, the simple question falling like cottonwood seeds along the creek bank.
Neva’s chin quivered. Her dry, aching throat resisted a reply, but somehow she croaked out, “He had children with another woman, yes.” Then strength borne of desperation propelled her from the barrel. She gripped his forearms. “And you cannot tell anyone. I won’t devastate Bud and Belle with their mother’s betrayal.”
He frowned. “Don’t you mean their father’s betrayal?”
Neva rushed on. “Warren’s children are innocent of wrongdoing, but if people find out, they will suffer in his stead. The truth must stay buried with Warren, Mr. Caudel.”
He slowly shook his head. “That’s not the kind of thing that can be hidden. Those three kids upstairs are living evidence of what Warren did.”
Why couldn’t he understand? She pushed away from him and gripped her hands together in a prayerful position. “You’re the only one who knows. Because you live in Beloit, you know. But no one in Buffalo Creek knows. No one in Buffalo Creek has to know. They’ll only know what they’re told, and—”
“So you’re gonna lie to everybody?”
The question took the wind out of her. She slowly slid onto the apple barrel again. “No.” She swallowed. “No, I won’t lie. I just won’t tell…the entire truth.”
He raised his eyebrows and gazed at her with an expression of uncertainty. “Not so sure that isn’t the same thing as lying.”
She wasn’t either. But what else could she do? She wasn’t foolish enough to believe Warren’s indiscretions would be overlooked. They would trickle onto her, onto Bud and Belle. Instead of condolences, she’d be offered condescension. She’d suffered it before—folks turning up their noses at the orphans living in the Brambleville asylum, expecting the worst because they didn’t have parents. One woman had even pointed at them on a visit to town and spat, “The sins of the fathers will be visited upon the children to the third generation!”
The Jonnsons had assured her and the others that the woman was wrong, but Neva still carried deep within her the hurt of that moment. She would never condemn her children to such treatment.
She pulled in a fortifying breath and straightened her spine. She met Jesse Caudel’s gaze and spoke with a boldness she didn’t know she possessed. “My children will be protected, Mr. Caudel. No one in Buffalo Creek will ever be given reason to suspect Charley, Cassie, and Adeline are anything more than three orphans taken into Warren’s care out of concern and compassion.”
The man scrunched his lips to one side, his forehead puckering. “Well, now, I think somebody in town’s gonna know.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering patience. “Yes, I’m aware that Charley will know. And Cassie and Adeline, although they’re so young they may forget their other family completely in time. But as far as Charley is concerned, I—”
“I wasn’t speaking of Charley, ma’am. I meant me.”
She flipped her hand. “You’re just passing through.” A sudden worry descended. She rose. “You are just passing through, aren’t you?”
A grin, somehow both sardonic and sympathetic, creased his face. “I’m not so sure about that, ma’am.”
Jesse
“I might be taking the position of sheriff here in Buffalo Creek.” Jesse took no pleasure in the defeat that fell across Mrs. Shilling’s features.
She lowered her head and covered her face with one slender, chapped hand. A soft moan escaped her lips.
Part of what she’d said—about her children suffering because of their father’s behavior—cut him. He’d experienced some of that treatment himself, even in Severlyn, by a handful of folks. He didn’t understand it, but an ugly stench followed anyone who didn’t have two parents to call his own. Mrs. Shilling seemed most concerned about Bud and Belle, but Jesse’s concern spilled over on Charley and the two little girls. All five of those kids could face some real scorn if the folks of Buffalo Creek discovered Warren Shilling’s unfaithfulness.
He crossed to the window and peeked out the slit between the sash and the sturdy canvas pull shade. He glimpsed the same neat, well-kept storefronts he’d admired earlier. He’d felt at peace on the street, as if he walked in a place of serenity. Maybe, just maybe, this town would be the one spot where folks would understand, would accept and support instead of accuse and shun. But then again, the folks of this town were as human as the ones in any other city. Warren Shilling’s deception might give them reason to drop their kindliness and take on disparagement instead.
Jesse glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Shilling. Sagging forward, eyes closed, face buried in her hands, she looked as forlorn as Charley had. The sympathy he’d felt for the little boy surged up again and spilled over on the woman. He clopped across the floor and went down on one knee in front of her. “I won’t tell.”
Her head jerked up as fast as if someone had lit a firecracker under her. Her wide, gray-green eyes fixed on him, hope aglow in their pale irises. “Y-you won’t?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, Mr. Caudel, you—”
He raised one hand as if making a pledge. “Now, listen. As an officer of the law, I’m beholden to the truth of situations. So if someone straight-out asks me if those kids were spawned by Warren Shilling, I won’t be able to say no.”
Her face crumpled. Tears swam in her eyes.
He dropped his hand to his bent knee to keep it from cupping her flushed cheek in a gesture of comfort the way he had one of his forlorn little sisters. “But unless someone straight-out asks, I won’t say a word about how they came to be here with you. Fair enough?”
She sniffed and flicked her fingertips beneath her eyes, clearing the tears. She nodded. Not with real confidence, but resignation. Still, it was agreement.
Jesse pushed upright. He plucked the lid from the jar of black licorice whips and helped himself to two strings. After digging a nickel from his pocket and sliding it onto the counter in payment, he moved toward the door, twirling the candy. “I’ll go and leave you to your inventory now.”
His gaze drifted across the shelves. Lots of empty spaces. Did she really make a living in this store? It was half the size of the one Shilling had owned in Beloit and didn’t appear to have even a tenth of the goods.
He nipped off the end of one piece of licorice and settled the spicy chunk of candy in his cheek. “Um…is this place gonna be able to support you and five youngsters?”
Her brow puckered briefly, and then understanding dawned on her face. “The shelves are so bare because I’ve done a good business this past month. They need restocking.”
“So you’ve got an order coming then?” He couldn’t be sure why he cared so much about her success, but he suspected it mostly had to do with Charley. The little fellow reminded him of himself at that age—a little lost and a lot uncertain. He wanted that boy well cared for. He needed to know Mrs. Shilling would do it.
She moved to the counter and fingered a sheet of paper. The bow
formed from her apron strings hung crooked, the one imperfection in her otherwise crisp appearance. “Not…yet.”
“Why not?” If she didn’t have money to buy supplies, she had no business taking on the responsibility of three extra kids, and he’d tell her so.
With lightning speed she whirled around and aimed a glower in his direction. “Since you’re privy to my other secrets, you might as well know this one, too. Warren always brought supplies.” She lifted the paper and waved it. “I’m familiar with what belongs on these shelves. I know to a single ounce of salt exactly what I need. But where to get it and how to bring it here? Therein lies my quandary, Mr. Caudel.”
Was that all? He swallowed the soggy lump of licorice. “You order from Kansas City and pick it up from the train station in Beloit.” He took another bite and shrugged.
She stared at him as if he’d cursed. “It isn’t that simple.”
He waggled the licorice whips at her. “Seems pretty straightforward to me, ma’am.”
Mrs. Shilling lifted her face toward the ceiling and heaved a mighty sigh. He’d seen his ma do the same thing when she was exasperated. But he couldn’t think of one reason why the storekeeper would be exasperated with him. He’d told her what the Beloit businessmen did—what her former husband probably had done hundreds of times over the years—and it worked just fine.
“Mr. Caudel, to order supplies I have to know which businesses provide which goods. For me to pick them up from Beloit, I need a wagon and the time to make the trip there and back.” She gestured broadly, her hands stirring the air. “Who will mind the store while I’m away? If I close, I lose customers. If I don’t find a way to provide what people need, I lose customers. Are you beginning to see the larger problem here?”
It took every bit of control Jesse possessed not to laugh at her. The situation wasn’t funny. Not even close to funny. But her stern expression and pose didn’t fit with her neatly pressed yellow dress all decorated with cream lace at the scooped collar and cuffs or her wavy reddish-brown hair brushed back into a fat bun at the base of her skull. He jammed a four-inch-long piece of licorice into his mouth to stifle his chortle and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I see.”
Room for Hope Page 8
