Room for Hope

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Leroy angled his gaze at Arthur. “Dad?”

  “Didn’t I ask you to be quiet?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then why can’t you do it?”

  “Because I’m pretty sure I know why you’re so upset.”

  Arthur twisted his lips into a sneer. “Oh, you do, huh?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s because of Mrs. Shilling.”

  Leon bounced forward and slung his arms over the seat again. “That’s what I was going to say.”

  Arthur slowed, downshifting when the car lurched in complaint. He pulled over and set the parking brake. The vehicle bounced in place, the engine occasionally coughing. He turned a frown on his busybody sons. But when he glimpsed the concern on their faces, his aggravation died.

  He feigned innocence. “Why should I be upset about Mrs. Shilling?”

  “Because she left with Sheriff Caudel,” Leon said.

  Leroy rolled his eyes. “That’s not why. It’s because she’s keeping all those kids. Dad’s gone sweet on her, but what does he want with a bunch of kids at his age? Jeepers, he’s thirty-nine already.”

  Arthur spluttered, “Thirty-nine isn’t exactly ancient, young man.”

  Leroy didn’t seem to hear his father’s outburst. “If it was only Bud and Belle, so what? They’ll be grown and on their own about the same time we will be. But those littler ones’ll be around for a long time.” He shook his head, releasing a low whistle. “I don’t blame you, Dad. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with all of them either.”

  Arthur lowered his head and pressed his knuckles to his forehead, battling the urge to laugh. “Boys, you’re both wrong.” He raised his gaze. “And I’m sorry I got grouchy with you. I’m…worried about something. And I need to think it through. It would help if you would let me think in peace. Will you do that, please?”

  They both nodded. Leroy said, “Sure, Dad. Go ahead and think.”

  Leon held up his hand like a witness in a courtroom. “We won’t say a word. Not until we get to Beloit.”

  Arthur checked behind him—not a soul on the road today—and pulled out. The car bucked. He didn’t drive often enough to shift smoothly. But once he hit second gear, the car stopped bouncing.

  With the boys quiet again, he set his attention on the road and let his thoughts drift inward. Was he upset with Neva, or was he upset with himself? Not so long ago he would have celebrated her loss of revenue. No money coming in would force her to close the mercantile. To sell it. And he would have snatched it up in the space of one heartbeat. But now the thought of her being forced out—because of people’s ridiculous judgments—stirred an anger beyond any he’d experienced before.

  When those men stood and challenged her this morning, he’d wanted to jump up and berate them. Even leap over the pews, grab them by their coat lapels, and smack their heads together the way he used to do to Leon and Leroy when they misbehaved. But he’d kept himself in his seat like a coward. Because if he defended Neva, the condemnation pouring down on her would spill over on him, and his business would suffer, too. He couldn’t lose his income. Not even for the woman on whom, as Leroy had so aptly put it, he’d gone sweet.

  “She deserves better.” He growled the statement through his clenched teeth.

  Leroy shot a quick look at him but didn’t say anything.

  Arthur bit down on the end of his tongue to keep any other words from escaping. He finished the drive in silence. And the succulent fried chicken, creamy gravy, and plump buttered peas served by a uniformed waiter in the Beaumont Hotel’s dining room did him no good at all.

  Neva

  Beans with ham and a pan of cornbread might be considered a simple dinner, but no one seated at Neva’s table complained. The sheriff, who accepted her invitation to eat with her family, ate three bowls of the flavorful beans, topping each with a crumbled chunk of moist cornbread. One bowl proved sufficient for everyone else, so they sat and visited while Mr. Caudel finished eating.

  He spooned up his final bite, swallowed, then pushed the bowl aside with a satisfied sigh. “Thank you, Mrs. Shilling. That was real good.”

  “You don’t want any more?” Belle asked.

  He shook his head, patting his stomach. “Nope. I’ve had enough.”

  Belle reached for the tureen in the middle of the table. “Good. I hoped there’d be some left for the share-kettle.”

  Neva’s face flamed, but the sheriff burst out laughing. She couldn’t help but smile at his amusement. “Please excuse Belle’s lack of tact. She worries about the homeless men.”

  He winked at the girl. “She’s got a good heart. Like her momma. Nothing wrong with that.”

  Belle grinned, her cheeks blooming. “Cassie, bring the leftover cornbread.” She scurried through the kitchen doorway.

  Cassie picked up the half-empty cornbread platter and followed.

  Adeline squealed, “Wait fo’ me, Sissy!” She scampered after Cassie.

  Mr. Caudel watched them go, a fond smile lighting his eyes.

  Bud braced his palms on the table. “Ma, can I be excused?”

  “May I…” Neva prompted.

  He rolled his eyes, then grinned. “May I be excused, please?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  “C’mon, Charley.” With Charley close on Bud’s heels, the two boys headed for the hallway.

  The sheriff stacked his arms on the edge of the table. “When I asked if I could talk to you, I didn’t intend to eat half your pot of beans. But I’m grateful you asked. That’s the best Sunday dinner I’ve had since last week at the Savages’ house.”

  The girls paraded through, Belle in the lead, carrying their oldest kettle, Cassie next, holding a wax paper–wrapped bundle of cornbread, and little Adeline bouncing along at the rear, her arms wrapped around the stack of battered tin bowls.

  “Remember the spoons!”

  “They’re in my apron pocket, Momma,” Belle called over her shoulder. She led the younger girls around the corner to the hallway, and soon the clatter of their feet on the stairs drifted to the dining room, followed by the slam of the back door.

  Mr. Caudel jolted at the bang.

  Neva grimaced. “That was Adeline. She never closes a door without slamming it.”

  He shook his head. “It’s as busy as a three-ringed circus over here.”

  She laughed. “Five children provide even more entertainment than a three-ringed circus. You should see the commotion at bedtime.”

  A face-splitting grin creased his weathered cheeks. Then he pulled in a breath, cleared his throat, and assumed a serious expression. “I’m glad the kids are all out of the room. I wanted to talk to you alone.”

  Neva cupped her palms around her cool coffee mug. “Oh?”

  “See, last week after I had lunch with the Savages, I talked to the preacher. About my folks. Then I talked to God.” He bowed his head for a moment, chuckling. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to Him. Most of my prayers, well, I kind of felt like God ignored them.”

  Neva smiled gently, confused by his confession yet honored that he trusted her enough to share his thoughts with her. “I suppose we all feel that way from time to time.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He looked at her again. “But Ernie—that is, Reverend Savage—told me not to give up on praying. He said praying isn’t just for us to get things but for us to get closer to God. So this whole week I’ve been praying about something, and I didn’t really expect an answer, but I prayed anyway. And this morning in church, when you went up front and said what you did, I got my answer.”

  She pressed her hand to her bodice. “What I said?”

  He nodded. “Mrs. Shilling, I’m an orphan, too. A couple in Severlyn, Nebraska, chose me from a group of orphans who traveled on the train from New York, and they adopted me. They were real good to me. Raised me in the church, always treated me right, but somehow I never settled in. Never felt like theirs. Not deep in my heart. Do you know what I mean?”


  Although she’d been raised by a loving couple, the orphans’ asylum had never felt like home. “I think I do.”

  He nodded, the gesture rapid, almost eager. “I thought you would. Well, I left the Caudels’ farm when I was eighteen. That’s seventeen years ago now. And I’ve never once gone back or written to my folks, or…or anything.” Regret pursed his face. “They were nothing but kind to me, but I convinced myself they only wanted me for a hired hand. I wasn’t really theirs. They couldn’t love me the way they loved their daughters. The way I prayed they’d love me. Even after talking to the preacher and talking to God, I still had this doubt in the back of my mind that Pa and Ma really loved me like a son.”

  His forehead scrunched into a series of furrows, and he chewed the corner of his lip for a moment. “So this whole last week, every day I prayed God would show me somehow that I’d been wrong about them. That they could have wanted me for more than free farm labor.”

  Wonder broke across his features. “When you told everybody you loved the children born to your husband by another woman, it was as though God tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘See? A woman can love a child not of her womb. You are loved, Jesse. You are loved. By your ma and by Me.’ ”

  Tears winked in his eyes, and Neva battled them herself. She bowed her head, humbled that God had used her difficult circumstance to bring healing to Mr. Caudel’s fractured soul. She whispered, “Thank You, dear Father.”

  “Amen.”

  His heartfelt expression brought her head up.

  He was gazing at her in admiration. “How did you do it, Mrs. Shilling? How did you open yourself to loving those kids?”

  A Scripture her foster parents had encouraged her to memorize years ago formed easily in her mind and spilled from her lips. “ ‘He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.’ ”

  “That’s from the Bible?”

  She nodded. “Isaiah chapter 40, verse 29. I couldn’t love Warren and Violet’s children on my own power. Without God’s help I would be mired in my anger at Warren. I’d be allowing my anger at him to spill onto his children. But God has increased the strength of my heart. He let the seed of forgiveness take root and bloom, and with its blossom grew a love for Charley, Cassie, and Adeline. So you can cancel your plans to take them to an orphanage after Christmas.” A grin teased the corner of her mouth. “I won’t let them go.”

  “I think I’ve heard that before.”

  They both laughed. When the trickle of laughter faded, he rose. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Shilling. That’s one trip I’ll gladly cancel.” A thoughtful, faraway look crept into his eyes. “But I might be taking a different trip soon. I guess we’ll wait and see if God answers that prayer, too.” Then he gave a little jolt. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about, something important, but I wanted to wait until Bud was better and you’d had a chance to, well, catch your breath.”

  Neva doubted she’d catch a breath until all five children were grown. “Go ahead.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. With slow movements he unfolded it and laid it flat on the table. “I’m not sure how much you know about law enforcement, but officials are able to communicate with each other pretty easily thanks to the telegraph. When there’s a crime in one county—say a murder or a bank robbery or a burglary—the notice goes out through the wires. When the crimes are solved, the notice goes out, too, and sheriffs keep track of the closed and open cases.”

  The serious expression on his face, the waver in his tone, sent spiders of apprehension skittering up and down Neva’s spine. She wanted to tell him to stop talking. She wanted to get up and leave the room. But her muscles turned too stiff to move. Her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth. She could only sit and listen as he went on in the same uneasy voice.

  “Sheriff Abling in Beloit put together a list of thefts that have gone unsolved over the past sixteen years in Kansas. I wanted you to see the items.” He slid the paper across the table to her.

  With a trembling hand Neva turned the page and scanned the list. Rich & Baker furniture items. Mink coats. Radios and harpsichords and phonographs. Little boys’ suits and little girls’ dresses. Pearl necklaces and earbobs. Full sets of French Haviland china. A half dozen gemstone rings. A 1932 set of Encyclopaedia Britannica. Even Frigidaire iceboxes.

  Her heart pounded so hard she feared it would leave her chest. The words on the page seemed to burn her retinas, but she didn’t dare look up, or she’d see the encyclopedias on the shelves in the parlor, the china behind the intricately carved leaded-glass doors of the Rich & Baker cabinet. Nausea attacked. She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Mrs. Shilling, are you all right?”

  Of course she wasn’t all right. She’d only just begun to accept that her husband was unfaithful. Now she feared he was a thief. A thief who had brought home his ill-gotten loot and bestowed it on her.

  She sent a horrified look to the sheriff. “If I am in possession of some of these things, will I be arrested?”

  He rose and eased around the table. He slowly seated himself next to her and touched the paper. “Is it possible you could be in possession of some of these things?”

  She flung her hand toward the cabinet behind her, then pointed mutely to the harpsichord and the bookshelves. “That list is nearly an inventory of my belongings.” She shook her head slowly, understanding dawning. “When I learned about Violet and the store in Beloit, I couldn’t comprehend how Warren maintained two businesses, two households. I couldn’t understand how he afforded to buy both of his w-wives such nice things. I know he had debt in Beloit, but none here, so I…Now…” She lowered her head and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, I’m such a fool.”

  Mr. Caudel folded the paper and put it back in his chest pocket. “Mrs. Shilling, you have no reason to feel foolish.”

  She gawked at him.

  “If your husband was responsible for some of these thefts, he hid his dealings well. So well, trained law officers never suspected him. Two communities of people viewed him as an honest man and a good neighbor. None of those people knew. How could you have known?”

  She’d lived with him. Worked side by side with him. Borne his children. “I should have known. I should have known.”

  He gazed at her for long seconds. Then he sighed. “I’m afraid I’ll need to examine anything in your possession that resembles an item on this list. If we discover they are stolen goods, then—”

  “Take them.” She sat up straight and hugged herself, suddenly cold. “I don’t want them if they were taken without pay.”

  He pulled in a breath as if gathering courage. He folded his hands on the table and lowered his gaze to his linked fingers. “There’s something that’s not on the list. In 1921 there was a robbery at a bank in Grand Rapids, Nebraska, by a single armed man. Almost twelve thousand dollars was taken. It’s never been recovered.”

  Chills rolled over her, raising goose flesh from head to toe. Nineteen twenty-one…her golden year. The year she married Warren. The year they purchased this building with the earnings he claimed he’d saved over five years in the fur trade. But there was no fur trade. No earnings. Only a man who’d stolen other people’s savings and used it to buy the building that gave Neva her security. Where was her security now?

  Arthur

  Arthur rose Monday morning with a steely determination spurring him to action. As he dressed for work, he organized the thoughts that had kept him awake most of the night. He wouldn’t let her do it. She’d dedicated her entire adult life to building the mercantile into a business that would support her family. He couldn’t allow her to throw it away for three children spawned by a cheating cad of a husband. As painful as the parting would be for her—and for him, because he’d grown fond of the three little Shilling children, too—it had to be done.

  He dressed in his best gray suit and pastel silk paisley tie—all soft, sooth
ing colors he hoped would help lessen the verbal blows he had to deliver. With his stomach in knots and his heart aching, he headed for the kitchen. Halfway down the enclosed staircase, an unusual sound met him. It came from the kitchen. He paused, frowning, his head cocked to better identify the noise. Someone was…humming. His body gave an involuntary jolt, and he stared at the opening at the base of the stairs, uncertain whether he should proceed and intrude upon his housekeeper’s cheerful tune.

  The savory aroma of bacon drifted to him, enticing him to continue onward. He set his feet with force, giving the woman fair warning of his approach in case she wanted to bring an end to the tune. To his further surprise, she continued humming even when he stepped fully into the room. And she smiled at him. A quick flash of a smile, but it held welcome.

  Arthur staggered to the little table, ready with three place settings, in the center of the warm room and plopped into his chair.

  Mrs. Lafferty, still humming, retrieved a bowl of eggs from the refrigerator. She glanced at him over her shoulder, and her humming abruptly stopped. “Coffee’s ready.” Then she began singing softly, “ ‘Bringin’ in the sheaves, bringin’ in the sheaves, we shall come rejoyyyycin’…’ ”

  Shaking his head, Arthur pushed away from the table, lifted his coffee mug, and crossed to the stove. As he poured the rich brew, feet thundered on the stairs. The boys burst into the room.

  Mrs. Lafferty’s song ended midline. She aimed a frown at the pair. “I thought for sure a herd of water buffalo were stampeding the kitchen. Slow down before you vibrate the plates off the shelves.”

  Both boys gawked at her with their mouths hanging open.

  “And close your mouths, you goofy pair. You’ll draw flies.”

  They snapped their mouths closed.

  Arthur quickly took a sip from his mug to drown the laugh rising in his throat. He held his hand toward the table. “Get out from under Mrs. Lafferty’s feet, boys.”