A Hero in the Making

by Laurie Kingery

  Ella had only skimmed the surface of what she could have told Bohannan. The hour had been growing late, and she hadn’t wanted to risk seeing pity in those blue eyes. If she told Maude about her past, and went into more detail, would it be like shining the light on vermin, sending those remembrances fleeing into the darker, deeper recesses of her brain? Or would it bring those memories that she couldn’t quite recall to the surface, memories so horrible that they would destroy her if she fully remembered them?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ella was just mounting the steps to the boardinghouse the next day when Maude came bustling out.

  “Did you come back so we could walk to the meeting together? That’s nice.”

  Meeting?

  At Ella’s blank look, Maude crowed, “You forgot, didn’t you, silly goose? Don’t say you’re not going to the Spinsters’ Club meeting.”

  “I...I didn’t remember,” Ella admitted. “I suppose I can go, but I can’t stay very long, as usual.” It would be fun to go and tell the other ladies about the café raising, for she hadn’t seen any of them since she’d decided to go ahead with the plan.

  Maude chuckled. “Somebody’s a little distracted these days, and I think I know why,” she said in a singsong voice.

  “Well, sure I am,” Ella replied. “I keep changing my mind about the layout of the café, where I want the windows, whether to expand the menu—you know the sort of thing.”

  “It’s not what, but who that’s distracting you,” Maude retorted. “I think a certain tall handsome fellow with twinkling blue eyes is to blame.”

  “Maude Harkey, I wish you would stop teasing me about Bohannan,” Ella snapped. “He and I are friends, but I have no intention of losing my heart to a man who doesn’t mean to stay in Simpson Creek a minute longer than he has to.”

  “Peace!” Maude said, holding up a hand. “I didn’t mean to get you all riled up.” It was clear she wasn’t daunted by her friend’s vehemence. “So he’s still planning on leaving when he finishes the furniture?” she asked as they made their way down Main Street toward the church social hall where the Spinsters’ Club meetings were held. “Once he started playing piano for the church, I rather thought he might decide to stay. Did he say where he’s going?”

  “To California,” Ella said, pretending great interest in the display of fabric and notions in the window of the mercantile so her voice wouldn’t betray that she cared one way or the other. “San Francisco, to be exact.”

  “Why there?”

  “A business opportunity, he told me the other night,” Ella said, remembering the conversation they’d had on the way back from practicing his music. “His cousin is apparently a man of some wealth and influence there, and he’s offered Nate a partnership in a hotel, as well as introductions to his powerful friends.”

  Maude wrinkled her nose. “He didn’t strike me as the sort of person who’d be interested in that kind of life,” she murmured. “A man who’s good at working with his hands, who likes to play music...”

  Ella shrugged. “To each his own, I guess. It doesn’t matter to me, anyway. He said he thought he’d be done repairing my three tables and the chairs that go with them at the end of this week, and tomorrow is Friday, so I’ll imagine he’ll leave the next morning.” No matter how much he’d encouraged her to accept the church’s gift of the café, she thought, he apparently didn’t care enough to stay and see it built.

  Maude gave her a look that said Ella hadn’t convinced her of that, even if she’d managed to fool herself. “Ella Justiss, all you’d have to do is crook your little finger and that man would stay.”

  “Oh, you think so, do you?” Ella retorted, lowering her voice because they’d reached the churchyard by then, and a trio of ladies were just entering the social hall ahead of them. “I don’t, and I think you’re a great deal more interested in Mr. Bohannan than I am. Why don’t you go flutter your eyelashes at him, if you find him so fascinating? See if he’ll stay for you.”

  She had her hand on the door and would have flounced on into the social hall ahead of Maude, but her friend placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, detaining her. “Ella, I didn’t say I was interested in Mr. Bohannan,” she said calmly. “I’m not.”

  Ella realized how she had lashed out at her friend, and how defensive she had sounded. “I’m sorry, Maude. I didn’t mean to be so cross.”

  “It’s all right. And just between me and you, I’ve about resigned myself to being an old maid.”

  That stopped Ella short. “Horsefeathers, Maude. You won’t be an old maid. You just haven’t made the right match yet.”

  It was Maude’s turn to shrug. “The Spinsters’ Club’s been in existence for four years now. If the Lord wants me to have a husband, He’ll find me one. If not...well, I intend to find out what else He wants me to do with my life.” She sighed. “We’d better go on in. It wouldn’t do for the president to be late, would it?”

  Ella followed her friend inside, wishing she had a share of Maude’s equanimity. She herself longed to be cherished by a strong, protective man—and yet there was something fearful about that, too, something buried deeply in her brain that she couldn’t identify, the same something that visited her in her nightmares. Mustn’t think about that now...

  Maude banged the gavel, calling the meeting to order, and Ella soon discovered that the other Spinsters had already caught wind of the coming café raising and planned to play a major role in it. They had taken it upon themselves to make a list of what dish all the ladies of the town, both married and single, were bringing for the noon meal, to assure the menu would be varied. Ella was not to bring anything, Maude told her—her job was to relax and enjoy directing the workmen.

  “Thank you,” Ella breathed, touched at their thoughtfulness. “You’re all so organized. I didn’t even know anyone knew about the event. Did you tell them all, Maude?”

  Her friend nodded, eyes sparkling. “With a bit of help from Faith,” she said, nodding toward the preacher’s wife, who was also present. “We’re all so pleased for you, Ella honey, and we wanted to make sure it’s a special day.”

  Tears stung Ella’s eyes. “Y’all have thought of everything!” she cried. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Maude made a carefree gesture. “We’re all there for each other, aren’t we? I’m glad we’ve grown beyond a group of women only out to make marriages—though that’s still important, of course.”

  Ella was a relative newcomer to Simpson Creek, but she’d heard tales of the way the Spinsters had rallied to nurse the victims of the flu epidemic, and she’d seen the way they’d provided emotional support for each other, brought over meals when there was illness and helped with new babies.

  After refreshments and the latest news had been enjoyed, the meeting broke up.

  “Are you stopping back at the boardinghouse, Ella?” Maude asked.

  “No, I need to get back to the café to start working on supper. I’ll see you later.” She left Maude talking to some of the other members.

  * * *

  Nate gazed with satisfaction at the four sets of newly repaired tables and chairs he had just varnished for Ella—her three sets, plus an additional one he had built.

  He’d wanted to make the furniture with lots of decorative features like scrolled tops on the top rail of the chairs, caned seats, a midrail with an oval wood medallion with E carved into it, as well as fancy spindle legs for both table and chairs. But that would have been the work of months, not weeks, and her new café would need furniture before that. So he’d been forced to be practical, but the end result had been much nicer than the serviceable pieces she’d had in her café that had been no better than what was in the saloon. He’d varnished the new pieces a darker shade, too, that he thought she would like.

  He could still picture making furniture wi
th those fancy touches on them for her, though, perhaps for a bedroom dressing table and bench, where she would sit and comb out that thick, dark hair...

  Thinking like that was a waste of time. He’d be hundreds of miles away long before Ella ever had more than just a room at the boardinghouse

  “You do beautiful work,” said a female voice, startling him. “Are those for Ella?”

  He whirled around. It was Ella’s friend Maude Harkey from the boardinghouse.

  “Miss Harkey,” he said, wondering why she had come. “Thank you. Yes, those are for Ella’s—Miss Ella’s—café,” he corrected himself. “What may I do for you?”

  The red-headed woman hadn’t come to flirt with him, he thought, judging by the no-nonsense way she met his gaze. That was a relief. Maude Harkey was certainly an attractive woman, and she would be a credit to any man, but she wasn’t the one who tempted him to throw his dreams of San Francisco to the wind.

  The woman replied, “You know I’m a good friend of Ella’s, right?”

  “Yes, she’s told me that.” He wondered where this was leading.

  Maude seemed to hesitate, her gaze wavering, then she drew herself up straight again.

  “I don’t want anything to hurt my friend,” she said, looking him in the eye again.

  He waited, but that was all she seemed to want to say.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Again, Maude Harkey seemed to waver. “Are you planning on leaving town as soon as you deliver those tables and chairs to her?” she asked, nodding toward them where they stood drying in the lumberyard shed.

  He was sure as blazes not going to discuss his plans with this woman, not when he hadn’t finished debating with himself on that very subject. What business is it of hers?

  “That was the deal we agreed upon, George Detwiler, Miss Ella and I,” he said. It was the truth—that was the original deal. “Room and board in exchange for repairing and rebuilding the furniture for the saloon and the café.”

  “You don’t look like a fool,” Maude said.

  He blinked. Even for a redhead, it was a bold thing to say.

  “No? And what would make me a fool, Miss Harkey?”

  “Thinking that the grass is greener in San Francisco, Mr. Bohannan,” she said crisply.

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying, Miss Harkey.” He was determined to make this woman say exactly what she meant and stop talking in riddles.

  “Like I said, I care about my friend Ella and don’t want to see her hurt.”

  “That makes two of us, Miss Harkey. But what does it have to do with me?”

  His words seemed to encourage her a little, but she was still diffident.

  “I—I’ve only known Ella Justiss since she came to Simpson Creek a couple of years ago—not always, like the rest of my friends—but I...think she’s had a hard life. I know her parents are dead and she’s been alone for a while, but other than that, she’s pretty closemouthed. I think somewhere along the line, she was hurt.”

  You don’t know the half of it, Nate thought, remembering what Ella had told him about the asylum. He felt humbled anew that Ella had chosen to confide in him when she hadn’t told her close female friend.

  She did it because she knows I’m not staying, Nate reminded himself. Yet Maude seemed to be hinting that Ella would be hurt if he left.

  Did Ella really care about him as much as that?

  But how badly would she be hurt if he declared he was staying, then started feeling confined by small-town life, and left later?

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven’t made up my mind to anything, Miss Harkey,” he said.

  The lack of a clear answer seemed to flummox her. “Pray about it,” she said. “Don’t be blind and a fool. Good day to you, Mr. Bohannan.” Then turned on her heel and fled.

  He stood staring in the direction Maude had gone long after she was out of sight.

  It had to have been difficult for Ella’s friend to come face him like that. He had to admire the strength of the two women’s friendship that she would take such a thing upon herself. He knew with certainty that Ella not only hadn’t put her up to it but had no knowledge of her friend’s action.

  It was a little early yet for supper, but he couldn’t accomplish anything more today. After putting his tools away, he shut the door of the shed and headed back up the road toward the café.

  He hadn’t noticed the tiny telegraph office until he’d passed it this morning, and it had gotten him thinking. He needed to let his cousin Russell know where he was and what had happened to delay him, and that he was still planning to join him in San Francisco. A letter would take weeks, and by the time his cousin answered, Nate would be on the way. But now he could send a telegram, and hopefully get an answer in a day or so.

  He pictured the message arriving in the telegraph office in bustling, prosperous San Francisco, and a messenger delivering it to Russell Blake’s grand hotel situated on the bay. From Russell’s letters, he knew it was a city built on steep hills, bustling with commerce, the air salty and filled with a dozen languages and the scent of many ethnic cuisines. He pictured the rolling fogs and chilly temperatures—hard to imagine in Texas, when the days could still be hot as blue blazes in late September and usually would be so until November.

  San Francisco—what a change it would be from Simpson Creek, with one main street, one hotel, one church, with Ella’s café being only the second eating establishment. Though the town was nestled in the central Texas Hill Country, the only hills in sight were at a distance, and the only scent that reached his nostrils was that of the horses tied here and there to hitching rails.

  He’d be a stranger when he arrived in San Francisco, a greenhorn. He was used to being a newcomer—his life had been a series of new places where he and his father would live until Cal Bohannan got an itch to find a newer place. Nate was tired of always being on the move, always being new. San Francisco would be his final destination, he’d promised himself.

  He’d settle down and raise a family there. Russell had told him that many of his powerful friends had lovely sisters and daughters, and as Russell Blake’s cousin and partner, he could have his pick to be his wife and the mother of his children.

  He’d only been in Simpson Creek a short time, but he was already known to everyone, and he’d gone quite a ways in learning all their names, too. They no longer counted him a stranger. He hadn’t had an auspicious introduction here, thanks to Salali, but most days it seemed like everyone but Zeke Carter and Mrs. Powell had resolved to let bygones be bygones.

  His stomach rumbled, reminding Nate it had been a long time since the noon meal. He’d better get that telegram sent and get on down to Ella’s café. He pushed the door of the little telegraph office open.

  Simpson Creek would always be a source of fond memories to him. He’d tell his children someday about the time he’d been an assistant in a medicine show, an occupant of the jail for half a day, then the man who repaired furniture and played piano for Sunday services at the church. But when he tried to picture the refined lady who was his future wife, the only woman whose image came to mind was Ella Justiss.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Will you still be done with the tables and chairs for the café tomorrow?” Ella asked as she finished putting away the last of the supper dishes. She’d closed early tonight, for after a few early customers, it seemed as if everyone else had chosen to take supper elsewhere, and she didn’t feel inclined to wait around on the off chance someone would arrive at the café just before seven.

  Ella hoped her question didn’t make her sound apprehensive, but surely it was better to know when Nate was leaving than to continue in ignorance. She knew she would miss his presence at meals and his compliments on her cooking, as well as the time they spent together most evenings
. Even with the prospect of the soon-to-be-built new café to cheer her, it felt as if her life would return to its former humdrum state after he was gone.

  Nate looked up from the Simpson Creek Intelligencer he’d been perusing. “I thought you might like to stroll down to the lumberyard this evening and have a look at what I’ve done. You can let me know if you like them,” he said. “I’ve been keeping them in the shed while the varnish dries.”

  What’s he going to do if I say I don’t like them, she thought with a crossness born of her uncertainty, stay on and make entirely new sets?

  “All right, we can do that,” she murmured, realizing he hadn’t answered her unspoken question as to when her furniture would be done—and when he would be leaving. “But I’m sure they’ll be fine. After seeing your repairs to George’s tables and chairs, I’m sure I’ll be happy with mine.”

  Detwiler had been so pleased with the tables and chairs Nate had repaired for him, in fact, that he’d given Nate an unexpected double-eagle tip and declared to the occupants of the saloon that the drinks were on the house. Twenty dollars would go a long way on Nate’s travels if he was careful, Ella thought.

  “You like cooking for folks, don’t you?” he asked after she’d locked the café and they walked away from it.

  She looked at him, but his shadowed face revealed nothing. “I suppose I do.” She did like it, she realized. She felt valuable when people ate everything on their plates and went away with satisfied looks on their faces.

  “Do you ever wonder why you like doing that?” he asked. “I mean, why that, and not something else?”

  She shrugged. A man wouldn’t understand that it wasn’t as if there were that many things for a single female to do—honest things, that is, she thought as she heard one of the saloon girls utter a shrill laugh as they passed the front of the saloon.