Each afternoon when Neva asked Cassie with whom she played that day, she always answered, “Charley.” Likewise, Charley said he played with Cassie. No one tormented them, but no one included them either. Bud and Belle received similar treatment, ignored by children they’d known their whole lives, which made the shunning even more painful for them.
“The kids look right past me, Momma, as if I wasn’t even there,” Belle reported with tears swimming in her eyes. Bud didn’t shed tears. He wore a scowl as openly as Sheriff Caudel wore licorice stains on his fingertips. Even with no signs of the community softening, Neva continued to pray. Please act swiftly.
By the week of Thanksgiving, Bud’s bruises had faded to yellowish smudges and all swelling had subsided. Unfortunately the wounds on his spirit hadn’t faded, and Neva began to fear he would bear permanent scars on his insides.
Monday morning of Thanksgiving week, as Neva served oatmeal with dried apricots and a bit of honey, she approached the subject that had niggled in her mind since Arthur Randall’s last visit to the store. “Children, have you studied anything about the state of California?”
Charley and Cassie shook their heads, but Belle nodded. “We read about the gold rush of 1849. People rode in wagons across the United States with signs that said ‘California or Bust’ on the side. The people who left their homes to pan for gold were nicknamed the forty-niners.” She tilted her head, curiosity lighting her face. “Why are you asking about California?”
Neva feigned nonchalance, pausing to take a sip of her coffee before answering. “Oh, I read an article about California a while back—about how people from Oklahoma and Arkansas were moving there for a better life than what the plains can offer.”
Charley looked up. “Do we live in the plains, Aunt Neva?”
“Yes, we do.” She took another sip, purposefully shivering. “This hot coffee tastes good this morning. There’s such a bite in the air. The article I read said California is warm all the time. Is that what your teacher told you, Belle and Bud?”
The twins looked at each other and then at Neva, their faces wearing matching expressions of puzzlement. Bud put his spoon down. “Ma, are you thinking about going to California?”
Please act swiftly. “Would you think I was foolish if I said yes?”
The children, with the exception of Adeline, who was too interested in pinching chunks of apricot from her oatmeal to be disturbed, erupted with questions, all speaking at once.
Neva laughingly covered her ears with her hands. “Please, settle down!”
Their clamor stopped, but they sat as alert as a row of prairie dogs watching for hawks. Charley and Cassie wriggled with contained excitement. Belle’s eyes danced. Even Bud replaced his glower with an expression of interest.
Knowing the children were excited rather than fretful relieved her mind, but at the same time it saddened her. They could leave their home so easily? She sighed. “It’s time for school now.”
“Aw, Ma…”
“But, Aunt Neva!”
“Momma.”
She held up her hand to silence the outbursts. “Thanksgiving break is only two days away. We’ll have time then to talk more. For now, concentrate on your studies.”
Grumbling a bit, the older four left the table and headed to their rooms.
Adeline used her fingers to scoop out another bit of apricot and jam it into her mouth. Neva chortled. The child had more oatmeal smeared across her face than in her bowl. She tapped the end of the little girl’s nose. “Adeline, you’re a mess.”
She hunched her shoulders and giggled.
“Would you like to stay here with Aunt Neva today?” With no customers to fill the day, why send Adeline elsewhere?
“Uh-huh. I stay Tant Neba.”
Neva smiled. “Good. We’ll have fun, yes?”
“Fun.” Adeline grinned her adorable nose-crinkling grin.
Neva rested her chin in her hand and watched Adeline finish eating. Maybe at noon, when she put out the lunch sign, she’d bundle them both up against the chilly air and walk to the newspaper office. The editor, Marsh Bobart, also listed properties for sale and handled the legal paperwork. If she intended to sell the mercantile, she’d need Marsh’s help.
Arthur
“California?” The word exploded from Arthur.
Leon drew back. “Don’t holler at me. I didn’t tell ’em to move there.”
His appetite gone, Arthur dropped his fork next to his plate. When he’d returned from work to Mrs. Lafferty’s grumbles about missing Adeline, he thought the day couldn’t get worse. But thinking about Neva packing up and moving so far away was much worse than listening to his housekeeper’s bitter complaints.
Leroy stabbed a forkful of string beans. “What’s in California?”
Leon shrugged. “Bud didn’t say. Just said he and his ma were gonna talk about it more at Thanksgiving, decide if they wanna go.”
Arthur leaned in. “If?”
Leon nodded. “Yeah. They haven’t quite made up their minds yet. But I think Bud would go. He’s fed up with the kids at school. And I don’t blame him. Ever since I dove into that fight to defend him, the boys in our class have picked at me, too.” He ducked his head, a sheepish look creeping over his features. “Not much fun being picked at. Kinda makes me not wanna pick at somebody else.”
Leroy stared at his brother with his eyebrows high.
Arthur understood Leroy’s surprise. His sons, bigger than most of the other children and with more energy than a dozen boys combined, had never hesitated at claiming status as leaders of the play yard. Even though worry still rolled in the back of his mind over the Shillings, Arthur experienced a rush of pride at his son’s proclamation. Maybe the boy was growing up.
He clapped Leon on the shoulder. “The golden rule, Leon. That’s what your mother practiced and wanted for you boys. I probably didn’t enforce it as much as I should have”—he grimaced, realizing he hadn’t enforced it at all—“but I’m glad you’ve stumbled upon it on your own.” His throat went tight. “Your mother would be pleased.”
Leon blushed red. “Aw, Dad…”
Leroy reached for another roll from the basket in the middle of the table. “If the Shillings move, you could buy the mercantile. You’ve wanted it for a long time.”
“Yes…” Arthur slumped back in his chair. “Yes, I have.” He couldn’t imagine anyone else in town buying it. Who had money these days? If he didn’t buy it, it would sit empty. Go to rot. Ruin the appearance of the whole block, which would affect his business.
“Seems like a good opportunity for you.” Leroy grinned and jammed the roll into his mouth.
A good opportunity, yes. But if he bought the building, he’d be single-handedly funding their move. He’d be helping the Shillings but devastating himself in the process. He groaned.
“Dad?” Both boys stared at him, their food forgotten.
He forced a smile and rose. “Go ahead and eat. I believe Mrs. Lafferty left a ginger cake on the counter for dessert. Help yourselves to it when you’re done.” He draped his napkin over his plate and strode toward the kitchen. “I have an errand to run.”
Neva
Neva headed for the lean-to through the early evening shadows, a tray of sandwiches in her hands. The breeze whistling between the buildings stirred dry leaves into a miniature cyclone and tried to lift the towel she’d used to protect the sandwiches. Strands of hair, loosened from her bun, blew across her eyes. With her hands needed to hold tight to the towel, she couldn’t push the wavy locks aside, so she turned her gaze to the breeze. The strands immediately lifted over her forehead and brought Arthur Randall into her line of vision.
She paused, watching him stride up the alley toward her with arms swinging and a look of determination on his face. She hadn’t talked to him since the day of Bud’s fight. As she stood as still as a statue, waiting for his approach, she realized she’d missed him. And she didn’t know if it pleased her or perplexed her.
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br /> He stopped directly in front of her. The stern lines of his face softened. “Neva.”
“Hello, Arthur.”
He pointed to the tray. “For the hobos?”
She nodded.
“Let me take it. It looks heavy.”
She transferred the tray to him, then moved alongside him to the lean-to.
He placed the tray on the cold stove, lifted one corner of the towel, and peeked at the stack. “Ham?”
“A few. Mostly cheese or peanut butter.”
“Something for everyone.” A grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “Some look as if a mouse did some nibbling.”
She liked when he teased. She laughed lightly. “The bread had begun to mold. I cut off the bad spots, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the entire slices. Too wasteful.”
“Indeed.” He tucked the edges of the towel under the tray and turned an approving smile on her. “I’m sure those passing through will enjoy them.”
He’d never once berated her for feeding the down-and-out men. She appreciated his lack of censure. “I hope so. If I can’t sell the loaves, at least I can give them away.”
His brows pinched together, a gesture that spoke volumes.
She’d been too frank. Embarrassment brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. She adopted an overly cheery tone to override the touch of sarcasm in her last statement. “Thank you for carrying the sandwiches for me. And please thank Leon for coming to Bud’s assistance at school. He might’ve been beaten worse if Leon hadn’t joined the fight on his side.”
Arthur slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and took a step that brought him close to her. “Leon said Bud took quite a pummeling. Something to do with the boys being unkind to Charley?”
“That’s right.” The sun’s continued departure stole the remaining remnants of warmth. She shivered, eager to go inside. “The unkindness has stopped now, though.”
“So why do you want to move?”
She gaped at him. Unexpectedly a laugh built in her chest. She let it roll.
He frowned. “Is something funny?”
She shook her head. “No. Not funny. Ironic. I only talked to Marsh Bobart this afternoon about possibly selling the mercantile. Less than six hours later here you are questioning me about it.”
“I didn’t hear it from Marsh Bobart.”
“Then who?”
“Leon, who heard it from Bud.”
Maybe she should have told the children to keep the possibility a secret. She didn’t want to give Buffalo Creek residents more fuel for gossip. “Well, since you asked, I’m considering it for the reasons you mentioned—Charley and the little girls would have an opportunity to grow up without their father’s choices haunting them.”
“I didn’t mean for you to go away.”
His remorseful words touched her. “I know. But I won’t separate the twins from their brother and sisters. If we can’t all stay here, then we’ll all go somewhere else. But we will stay together.”
A train’s mournful whistle carried from a distance.
Neva took a step toward the mercantile. “The men won’t come for sandwiches if we’re out here, and then the food will be wasted. I better go inside.”
“May I escort you?”
She was capable of crossing her own backyard without accompaniment, but she nodded, and he gently cupped her elbow as they moved over the brittle grass together. He tempered his stride to match hers, and a spiral of loneliness rose from her center. Walking with Arthur, shielded from the wind by his larger frame, his hand warm and protective on her arm, made her long for a partner with whom to share her life.
Warren’s schedule of coming and going had built within her an independent spirit, but it also left a part of her empty and wanting. Would she someday marry again, this time to a man who would walk beside her daily, bolster her, protect her, provide for her, and be honest with her?
Please, God. The prayer formed without effort and brought a desire to cry.
They reached the stoop, and she sniffed hard before turning her face to him. “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness despite our disagreements.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes glimmering with an emotion Neva couldn’t read. He smoothed his mustache with his finger and cleared his throat. “Neva, would you do a favor for me?”
Though she wasn’t sure why, her heart began to pound. “What favor?”
“You didn’t deliver Adeline to Mrs. Lafferty’s care today. The woman was terribly lonely without the little girl’s company, and”—he chuckled—“quite vocal about it when I arrived home from work. Would you allow her to continue watching Adeline until you’ve made your decision about leaving Buffalo Creek?”
Remorse struck. “I didn’t set out to upset Mrs. Lafferty. I kept Adeline with me because I have the time to watch her.”
Worry pinched his brow. “Yes. I’ve noticed the lack of activity at your place. They’re still staying away.”
A knot of hurt filled the back of her throat. She nodded.
He touched her arm. “But you know how the town is—how a new wave of gossip sweeps away the old. In time they’ll move on to some other perceived scandal, and things will return to normal.”
“You might be right. Sheriff Caudel said the same thing, that in time people would forget.” Neva gathered her courage and made a confession. “But I don’t know if I can forget. I thought the people of this town were my friends. My twins have grown up alongside their children. We’ve worshiped together in church and rallied together in times of tragedy or need. They know me, yet they’ve turned on me over a situation that is completely out of my control.”
Once the flow started, she couldn’t stop. Her voice rose as the pain she’d tried to hide from the children found its way from her heart to Arthur’s ears. “Even if they apologize and begin frequenting my mercantile again, how can I ever trust them?”
She’d said too much. His discomfort was palpable, evident in his stiff stance and red-streaked cheeks. She sighed. “If it means that much to Mrs. Lafferty, I’ll send Adeline over again tomorrow. Of course, she’ll be with me during the days the children are out of school for the upcoming holiday.”
A thought trailed through her mind and spilled out of her mouth. “Would you, your boys, and Mrs. Lafferty—she’s been so kind to take care of Adeline—join us for Thanksgiving dinner?”
His eyes widened in obvious delight.
She hurried on in case he misinterpreted her invitation. Or maybe to assure herself she had no secret motives. “Every year the children and I invite the minister’s family and anyone else who might not otherwise enjoy a big Thanksgiving dinner to sit at our table with us. I’ve already asked Sheriff Caudel and Betsy Ann Mullin. With Reverend Savage’s family, it will be quite a crowd, but the table will accommodate four more.”
The light in his expression faded. “Oh. Well…”
The train whistle blew again, much closer, and the chug-chug of the slowing engine created a soft background hum. She raised her voice to be heard over the train noise. “Leon and Bud have become friends. As have”—she swallowed—“as have we.” She touched his coat sleeve. “Will you join us?”
He must have been holding his breath, because he exhaled a mighty whoosh of air. “All right. Yes, Neva, we accept the invitation. Thank you.”
Arthur
Arthur hurried up the alley, heading for home, but when he reached the backyard, he changed course. The air was cold, the hour late, but he presumed there were no closing hours for a minister’s duties.
When he stepped onto the sidewalk, he spotted Sheriff Caudel approaching from the opposite direction. The sheriff raised his hand in greeting, and Arthur paused to allow the man to reach him.
“Sheriff.”
Caudel nodded. “Good evening, Mr. Randall. Chilly out here, isn’t it?”
Arthur buttoned his jacket. “Indeed. Good evening for a man to prop up his feet in front of a fireplace instead of wandering the streets.�
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“Can’t argue with you there. Maybe I’ll do that when I’ve finished making my rounds. I always like to check the businesses—make sure the doors are locked—before turning in for the evening.”
Arthur wished he’d started the practice before Neva’s store was robbed. “Any problems so far tonight?”
“Nope. Sure is a nice, quiet town you have here.”
Arthur stifled a snort. “Except for Warren Shilling’s shenanigans. He sure managed to make the hornets buzz.”
The sheriff sighed, his breath forming a cloud that smelled strangely of licorice. “I know. I’ll be glad when all that settles. Of course, the outcome might stir a whole new hornet’s nest for Mrs. Shilling.”
Arthur frowned. What did the man mean?
“I’m still hoping we’ll find out Warren earned the money instead of stole it. That would take a great weight from Mrs. Shilling’s shoulders.”
Arthur jolted. “Stole what money?”
Caudel’s face blazed, the color highlighted by the streetlamp. “I thought she’d—She said you gave her advice about—” He rolled his eyes heavenward and blew out a breath. “I thought you knew.”
“You’re babbling, Sheriff.”
He yanked off his hat and whacked his thigh with it. “Listen, Randall, I made an assumption about your relationship with Mrs. Shilling.”
Heat exploded in Arthur’s face. He was probably glowing as bright as the bulbs on a Christmas tree right then.
“I thought she’d told you everything about her husband, but I must’ve been wrong. Let’s just pretend we never had this conversation.”
Despite being flustered—he found it both gratifying and disquieting to realize the sheriff had recognized the feelings developing between him and Neva—he released a laugh. “Was that a conversation? It seemed more an exercise in frustrating one of your constituents.”
Room for Hope Page 31
