“Herb and me saw you putting food down there. A whole heap of food.”
Neva nodded slowly. “That’s right.” The padlock for the doors waited in the grass near her foot, but they could easily overtake her before she managed to secure it. Her heart began to pound. “It’s food for my youngsters. Bud and Belle, Ch-Charley, Cassie, and little Adeline. They’re all upstairs”—she risked a glance toward the kitchen window, a square of yellow against the gray siding of the mercantile—“preparing for bed.”
The man named Herb licked his lips. “Bet they’re going to bed with full bellies, aren’t they?”
“Y-yes.” All but Bud, who still picked at his food rather than eating.
“Now, take Ansel and me.” Herb inched toward her, wringing his dirty hands against his tattered jacket front. “We haven’t had a decent meal in close to a week. Word up the line, though, is fellows can get a meal at the Main Street Mercantile in Buffalo Creek. Word is the lady owner is kind and giving.” He took another step closer. A foul stench came with him. He apparently hadn’t bathed in weeks. “Is all that a lie?”
Nausea rolled through her brought on by fear and the unpleasant essence clinging to the hobo. She hugged the now-dead lamp, inwardly praying for guidance on how to best handle the situation. She wouldn’t wish hunger on anyone, but neither did she want them ransacking the cellar and carting off the things meant for her family.
“It’s not a lie.” She spoke slowly, amazed at how calm she sounded despite the fierce thud of her pulse. “You see that lean-to on the barn? That’s where I put the soup kettle.”
Both men craned their necks in the direction of the lean-to.
“Go look. There’s a little woodstove out there. I use it to keep the kettle warm.” Go. Just go. If they went to the barn, she should have enough time to lock the cellar and get inside.
“I’ll go see.” Ansel ambled off, leaving Herb standing guard. Moments later he hollered, “There’s no kettle out here—just a cold stove!” He trotted to his buddy’s side.
Neva inwardly groaned. Now what would she do? Lord, protect me, please.
No sooner had the prayer left her heart than another male voice, this one authoritative, intruded. “Just what exactly are you gentlemen doing in Mrs. Shilling’s yard at this hour?”
Neva released a startled gasp. Her rescuer was Arthur Randall?
Arthur
Arthur crossed the uneven ground to Mrs. Shilling’s side. She gaped at him as if she were seeing a ghost. He swallowed a chortle and aimed a stern frown at the two hobos. “I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”
The ragtag fellows shifted in place, their shamefaced expressions pointed at the ground.
“They were looking for food,” Mrs. Shilling answered.
Arthur folded his arms over his chest. “Just as I expected.” He angled his body to shield her from the other men. “Listen up, both of you. Mrs. Shilling isn’t running a bread line. She’s a widow lady with children to feed. Before you hop on the next passing train, you carve an X over that drawing of the cat on the barn’s lean-to. Then you spread the word that no one’s to bother this lady again.”
“No!” Mrs. Shilling removed a match from her apron pocket and lit the wick on her lamp. She held the lamp aloft and turned an insistent look on Arthur. “Don’t be hasty. They didn’t harm me. They’re just hungry.” She grimaced as she faced the men. “I realize the stove’s cold this evening and there’s no kettle out. The last few days have been busy. And taxing. I haven’t had time to set out the share-kettle. But if you’ll wait just a minute, I’ll…”
She scurried down the cellar stairs, leaving Arthur to keep watch over the two bums. They watched, too, their furtive gazes flicking from him to the cellar opening. After only a few minutes, she emerged with the lamp in one hand and the other clutching the corners of her apron skirt together. The skirt hung like a pouch. She handed Arthur the lamp and then crossed quickly to the men.
“Here.” She transferred a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a few apples to the men’s dirty hands. “I know it’s not the same as a hot meal, but I hope it will fill your stomachs so you can sleep without hunger pangs tonight.”
Watching her treat those grubby bums with kindness, Arthur experienced a swell of admiration. She’d been clearly afraid of these two when he’d come across the alley, but compassion had conquered the fear. In those moments she reminded him of Mabel, and the remembrance was sweet. But somebody had to be stern. She’d apparently worn out her starch on him that morning, so he’d take the harsh role this time.
“Now that you’ve got what you came for, you scoot on out of here.” Arthur took two steps toward the men, and they moved backward the same distance, cradling the food against their midsections. “And don’t you tell any more of your ilk what Mrs. Shilling has in her cellar. Don’t repay her benevolence by setting her up to be robbed.”
“No, sir.” The taller man shook his head hard. “We wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“We’ll tell everybody to look out for the nice lady at the Main Street Mercantile, mister,” the second one said. “You can count on it.”
“All right then. Now go on.”
The pair shot smiles of thanks to Mrs. Shilling and trotted up the alley. Shadows swallowed them within seconds.
Arthur crossed to the woman, discarding his stern countenance as he went, and offered her the lamp. “Are you all right? You looked pretty scared when I first got here.”
She cradled the lamp against her apron bib and released a long, uneven breath. “They said they’d seen me fill the cellar with food, and I was afraid they might clean it out. They seemed so desperate.” She tilted her head, her forehead crinkling. “How did you know they were out here?”
He pointed across the alley to his house, to the two square windows beneath the eaves. “I was working in my study. I happened to notice your lamp go out, and then there were three shadows in the yard.” How fortuitous for him to have gazed out the window at that exact moment. Fate must intend for the mercantile to be his. “I decided it would be much less than neighborly not to come see if you were faring well.”
She shook her head, still gaping at him. “Thank you. I find your concern…”
He offered a smug grin. “Touching?”
“Um, no.”
His grin faded.
She laughed softly. “Confusing.” She gently swung the lantern, making shadows dance. “I chased you out of the mercantile this morning. I was rude.”
“Yes, you were.” Arthur heaved a sigh and hung his head. “But I was pushy.”
“Yes, you were.”
He lifted his chin and gawked at her. To his surprise an ornery gleam lit her hazel eyes. He choked out a short laugh. “Mrs. Shilling, I believe you’re taunting me.”
The impishness instantly disappeared. “And I shouldn’t be. I should thank you. I don’t know what might have transpired had you not come over when you did. Thank you, Mr. Randall.”
He bobbed his head in a chivalrous manner. “You’re welcome.”
“And…” She took a tiny step forward, bringing the toes of his slippers into the half circle of light cast by the glowing lamp. “Allow me to apologize for my less-than-charitable behavior this morning. I don’t want to sell the mercantile. It’s my means of supporting my family. But I should have refused your offer more graciously. For that, I am sorry.”
How quickly one act of gallantry had softened her. He chuckled deep in his throat. “Oh, now, you’d had a harrowing morning with the little one so upset. I tell you what, I won’t hold a grudge for your reaction if you won’t hold a grudge about me asking to purchase the property.”
She held out her hand. “Agreed.”
He took it. Although her hand was small and delicate, her grip possessed strength. He found himself reluctant to release her cool, slender fingers. How long had it been since he’d held a woman’s hand? “Mrs. Shilling?”
“Yes?”
�
��How did things go today, keeping the little girl in the mercantile with you?”
She didn’t need to answer. Her expression spoke volumes.
He chuckled again and gave her hand a little squeeze. “I believe I might have a solution to that problem.”
Hope ignited in her face. “What?”
“Oh, not yet. I need to confirm it first.” Arthur eased his hand from hers and took a slow backward step. “But if my idea works out, you’ll be the first to know.” He touched his forehead in a pretend tip of the hat. “Watch for me tomorrow morning, Mrs. Shilling. I’ll pay you a visit, and this time you won’t want to chase me from your mercantile.”
Neva
By the end of the first full week in October, Neva and the children had established a routine that, if not cheerfully followed, was at least agreeable. Each morning by eight thirty, all five children trooped out the door, and Belle delivered Adeline to the Randalls’ housekeeper on the way to school. After school Belle retrieved Adeline and minded the younger children in the apartment or the backyard while Bud helped Neva in the mercantile. Poor Belle often played peacemaker because Bud continued to openly chafe at Charley, Cassie, and Adeline’s presence. Since the youngsters weren’t going anywhere, Neva did her best to keep them separate as much as possible and prayed for her son to accept their intrusion into his home.
For reasons Neva couldn’t fathom, Mr. Randall began the habit of stopping by each day. In the midmorning “just to say hello,” sometimes shortly after lunch with pastries baked by Mrs. Lafferty, and once in the evening armed with rope and a sanded board, which he used to fashion a swing in the old apple tree beside the barn. Given the unseasonably warm, dry weather, the children enjoyed it for hours after school.
She puzzled over her neighbor’s odd behavior. In all the years she and the Randalls had lived with an alley between them, he’d never made any attempts to establish a friendship. Deep down, suspicion niggled. But she was letting Warren’s choices color her feelings toward Mr. Randall. Just because Warren had proven untrustworthy didn’t mean she should distrust everyone else she encountered. She and Mr. Randall had shaken hands and agreed not to hold grudges. Most likely he was only trying to prove he held no hard feelings about her unwillingness to part with the mercantile.
At odd moments guilt swooped in and attacked her. By holding on to the business, Neva forced Belle into bearing the weight of responsibility for the younger children. But not once did the girl complain, so Neva tried to ignore the unwelcome emotion and focus her attention on pleasing her customers. Fortunately, the townsfolk exhibited patience with her sparse shelves. She had more than a dozen lists of orders to fill as soon as her stock arrived. According to the telegrams sent by the Kansas City distributors, her goods would arrive in Beloit on the Friday morning train. She could only hope Mr. Caudel would deliver them to her that same day so she could distribute the orders on Saturday morning.
Friday at breakfast Neva set aside her coffee and addressed the twins. “Remember to come home at noon break, and no dallying. We’ll only have a short amount of time for you to change into your Sunday clothes and get to the chapel for your father’s memorial service.”
Belle propped her chin in her hand. “I wish we had Poppa’s wagon and horse. Sandy was such a nice old horse, and she could take us to church so much faster than we can walk.”
Since the wagon came and went with Warren, Neva hadn’t given it or the sorrel horse much thought. Warren was gone, so the wagon was gone. But Belle’s comment raised a worry in the back of her mind. Apparently Warren had taken out loans to cover his expenses in Beloit, yet he’d paid cash outright for everything at the Buffalo Creek mercantile. Or she presumed he had. She didn’t know what she would do if an official came to her door and held her accountable for bills in Warren’s name.
“Why can’t we just stay home this morning?” Bud’s scornful question chased away Neva’s inner reflections. “Seems silly to go for only half a day.”
Belle tsk-tsked. “You know our grade has an arithmetic examination this morning. If we miss it, we have to make it up during noon recess on Monday.”
Before Bud could voice an argument, Neva put her hand on his arm. “You’re going to school this morning, and that’s that. Just make sure you hurry back at noon. We don’t want to be late to the service Reverend Savage has prepared.”
Charley dropped his half-eaten biscuit on his plate. “Should I come back, too, Aunt Neva?”
Bud huffed. “Why?”
Charley frowned. “To go to the service.”
“Why would you want to?”
Bud’s derisive tone made Neva cringe. Charley seemed to shrink, too. She spoke kindly. “I think it best you stay at school, Charley. You and Cassie both.”
“But—”
“You already attended a service with the people who live in Beloit, didn’t you?” Neva felt Bud’s narrowed gaze boring into her, but she kept her face aimed at Charley. At the boy’s nod, she added, “Well, this service is for folks who live in Buffalo Creek.”
Charley sucked in his lips and furrowed his brow. “Don’t we live in Buffalo Creek now?”
“Well, yes, you do, but—”
“Then we should go, too.” Charley stood, as if trying to make himself bigger. “He’s our daddy, and—”
Bud rose, fists clenched, face reflecting fury. “Listen here, you little pipsqueak, don’t you ever call my pop your daddy, you hear me? He had me a whole lot longer than he had you, and he was mine!”
Charley shrank back and Cassie began to cry. Apparently frightened by her siblings’ reactions, Adeline joined her sister in wailing.
Belle slipped her arms around the little girls and glared at Bud. “Now see what you’ve done. You made everybody all upset.” She turned a pleading face on Neva. “Momma, maybe we should all go. Maybe it would”—she glanced at Bud and Charley before pinning Neva with the same hopeful expression—“bind us together.”
It pained her to deny her daughter’s heartfelt request, but Neva could not sit in the service and maintain her composure with her husband’s illegitimate offspring beside her.
Bud snorted. “You’re such a Pollyanna, Belle. Nothing’s ever gonna bind us together, so why don’t you just shut up?”
“Bernard Warren Shilling!” Neva jolted to her feet. “Being upset is one thing, but speaking hatefully to your sister is another. Neither your father nor I have ever allowed such vulgar talk. Apologize.”
He glared at her with his lip curled.
She smacked the table, making everyone except Bud jump. “Apologize!”
Seconds ticked by. Tense seconds, with Cassie’s and Adeline’s muffled sobs the only intrusion in the otherwise deathly silence.
Finally Bud pulled in a breath that expanded his chest. He held it for a few more seconds and then eased the air out between his clenched teeth. Not until his shoulders had completely deflated did he speak. “I apologize.” His flat, emotionless tone held little sincerity, but something akin to remorse flickered in his hazel eyes.
A sad smile quavered on Belle’s full lips. “It’s okay, Bud. This day’s gonna be hard on all of us. I don’t want to say good-bye to Poppa either.”
Neva sagged back into her chair, her rubbery legs unwilling to hold her up any longer. Of course Bud’s outburst came from his reluctance to truly believe his father was gone forever. She stared, amazed, at her daughter. Optimistic and also wise. Belle was growing into a mature young woman right in front of her eyes. And Warren would never see it.
Tears clouded her vision. Neva blinked twice to clear the moisture and then fixed Bud with a steady look. “Off to school now. You can eat a sandwich here with me before we go to the service.” She turned to Charley. “I want you to stay at school all day. Belle will come get you when classes let out.”
Both boys nodded, apparently too emotionally spent to argue.
Relieved at their acquiescence, Neva shifted her attention to Belle. A swell of tenderness nearly
toppled her from her chair. She reached up and tucked a stray strand of red-brown hair behind her daughter’s ear. “Can you wash the girls’ faces and help them into fresh dresses?” Tears stained their round cheeks and the bodices of their frocks.
“Of course. Do you want my help with the breakfast dishes?”
“No. You’ll be late for school. Just go on now. I’ll see you at lunchtime.”
Belle, still holding Adeline, leaned down and delivered a kiss on Neva’s cheek. She whispered, “We’ll be okay, Momma.” She hurried out of the room with Cassie trotting on her heels. Bud and Charley, Charley well behind Bud, scuffed around the corner, and Neva was alone.
She rested her forehead in her hand. Bud’s angry statement, “Nothing’s ever gonna bind us together,” competed with Belle’s sweet words of parting, “We’ll be okay, Momma.” As much as Neva wanted to emulate her daughter’s confidence, she feared this time Bud was right.
Jesse
Friday morning after his last breakfast at Garrett’s Boardinghouse, Jesse cleared out the room he’d called home for the past half-dozen years. Funny how it didn’t even pain him to do it. He’d thought himself happy in Beloit, and he expected to experience at least a twinge of remorse at pulling up stakes and moving on, but only a sense of excitement filled him.
When he finished loading everything on the truck, he paused for a moment and frowned at the small amount of items. Being a bachelor, always living in one room of a boardinghouse or a cramped furnished apartment, he never had need for much clutter. Still, it panged him a little to realize just how few things he had to call his own. Shouldn’t a man have a little more to show for himself by the time he was thirty-five years old?
Slapping his hat back onto his head, he climbed behind the wheel of his truck and aimed it for the train station. The morning sun bounced off the hood of the truck and made him squint. Depending on how long it took him to load the goods he promised to transport for Mrs. Shilling, he’d be in Buffalo Creek by noon or a little after, which would leave him plenty of time to situate his belongings in the little house behind the sheriff’s office.
Room for Hope Page 12
