Chapter Three
March 16, 1881
Leah shook out her gray linen dress, eyeing the wrinkles. Why did Millie have to be in town when she needed her? Of course Leah had used a flatiron before, but she was handier with a branding iron than with using a flatiron to press wrinkles from cloth. The last time, she’d gotten distracted and burned a hole in the middle of her best skirt. That couldn’t happen now. It was vital she make a good impression at the bank.
She looked out her bedroom window, willing their buggy to materialize. Several minutes passed, but the only thing that appeared in the road was Buddy’s brown mutt, Rusty. He planted himself off to the side and stared toward town.
Leah chuckled. It appeared she wasn’t the only one longing for Millie’s arrival. That dog doted on the older couple and, while Buddy claimed the animal was his, Rusty swayed to Millie’s side more often than not.
At least the rain had stopped a few days before Beth’s wedding, and in the three days since, the deep mud had finally started to dry. This time of year they could still get snow flurries, but hopefully nothing would stick. Roundup would begin soon, and the dry weather would be a blessing. Nothing like roping a calf and trying to hold on to the slippery critter while tying its feet and applying a brand.
She draped the dress over her arm and headed for the kitchen. There was no help for it—either do the job herself or go to town in a wrinkled garment. After a while she replaced the flatiron on the shelf and returned to her room, where she slipped into the gray gown. It was plain and serviceable. After all, she didn’t want to appear gaudy for her visit to the bank. Better to look like the serious, hardworking woman everyone knew her to be and make a good impression.
One last peek in the mirror stationed above her cherry bureau showed everything in place. She ran a hand over the smooth wood grain. Her mother had loved this piece. Pa had given it to her as a wedding gift twenty-two years ago, not long after Leah’s first birthday.
He’d been the only father she’d known, since hers died shortly after her birth. Leah remembered laughter and hugs those early years of her childhood. Then, for some reason she never understood, everything changed. Ma withdrew, and Pa spent most of his time outside. That hadn’t bothered Leah at first, as she worshipped the man and became his shadow, attempting to emulate his every action.
If only Ma’s death nine years ago hadn’t changed him so much. Something inside Pa seemed to die, and his drinking accelerated shortly after that. She tucked a wayward strand of hair into the knot at the base of her neck and grabbed her shawl.
It did no good thinking of the past when everything she loved was in jeopardy. Time to see what could be done to change the present, and hopefully some part of the past could be redeemed as well.
She stepped outside and drew her heavy woolen shawl close around her shoulders, knotting it across her chest. The wind coming off the Wallowa Mountains had a bite to it, and Leah was thankful for her warm gloves and lined bonnet.
Hurrying across the barren space between the house and the barn, she approached the barn and drew open the heavy door, wincing at the grating screech of the hinges. Another chore Pa had ignored that she’d have to tackle.
Why hadn’t she thought to harness the horse to the extra buggy before putting on her good dress? She hurried to the stall and removed a rope hanging on a hook to the side, then swung wide the door. A shadow fell across her path and she started. “Pa?”
“What you up to, Leah girl? Dressed mighty fine for a trip to the barn, ain’t you?” Weary eyes peered at her from under the brim of his hat. “You’re lookin’ pert today, whatever the occasion.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. How long had it been since Pa had spoken to her in such a gentle voice? She glanced at him again, worried at the sight of the stooped shoulders and tired eyes. He must not be sleeping well, as she saw no evidence of alcohol. “I’m headed to town.”
“Huh.” He grunted and pivoted away, then grabbed the harness off a nearby peg. “Suppose you want the mare hitched.”
Surprise wrapped itself around her heart. “I can do it. No reason to bother you.”
“Ain’t no bother. Hate to see that fancy dress mussed.” He clucked to the mare, and she stepped forward, nuzzling his pocket. Grinning, Pa pulled out a carrot stub and offered it on the flat of his hand. “Good girl. Bet you’d like to get out and stretch your legs a mite, wouldn’t you now?”
He ran a hand over her forelock and stroked her face, whispering endearments too low to reach Leah’s ears. Looking back to her, he scowled. “You didn’t tell me what you’re up to. Lots of chores to be done before the day ends.”
Why was it that most of the sweet words he managed to utter were saved for the horses and dog? She turned away, regret and bitterness leaving a sour taste.
“Don’t worry. I won’t be long. There hasn’t been a day that I haven’t done my share of work and more.” She bit back the rest of what she’d like to say, but Ma always told her to treat her elders with respect, even if they didn’t always deserve it.
A few minutes later, Leah stepped into the buggy and took the reins her pa offered. “Thanks.”
“Drive careful. The mud is pretty much gone, but the sky don’t look good. Could get another storm before nightfall.” He stepped back, lifting his hand. “Don’t suppose it would do any good to ask you to bring home a bottle?”
Irritation at his request ate away every bit of the warm sensation in her heart at the earlier concern in Pa’s voice. “No, sir, it would not.” She slapped the reins against the mare’s rump. “Get along there.”
Why did his life have to revolve around the comfort he got from a bottle? She’d done everything in her power to make Pa’s days easier since Ma’s death, but it hadn’t seemed to help. She’d given up asking him to attend church. In the early years he’d managed to find an excuse, but lately he’d simply said no.
Within thirty minutes of leaving, Leah stepped down from the buggy and wrapped the reins around the hitching rail in front of the First Commercial Bank. Hopefully she could speak to Mr. Hunt, the bank president, and get this over quickly.
She pushed her way through the heavy wood door with the engraved plate glass set in the center. This brick building had been the talk of the town when it went up a few years ago, but now several others had joined it, and it no longer seemed out of place.
There were still plenty of wood-framed structures, but fancy brick edifices had sprung up along the main street, and talk was that a wealthy man was thinking of building a large, ornate hotel, the like of which this city hadn’t envisioned. The last she’d heard, the town had grown to a little over twelve hundred souls—more than she’d ever thought would be drawn to this area. Of course, that’s what gold and silver did. It changed things … and people.
The door thudded shut behind her, enveloping her in a hush. Two tellers spoke in low tones to their customers, and a man worked at a desk in a far corner, his profile slightly toward her. An office door beyond him was ajar, but Leah couldn’t see inside. Hopefully Mr. Hunt would have time to see her.
She didn’t relish driving into town again this week, even if it wasn’t raining. That wind bit clear through her shawl and bonnet. She removed the bonnet, smoothing a lock, which seemed to have a mind of its own.
Leah crossed the polished wood floor and stopped in front of a teller’s cage, then waited for the man to look up.
“May I help you, miss?” His dark eyes flickered over her face.
“Yes, thank you. I’d like to see Mr. Hunt.” She removed her gloves and placed them on the counter in front of the barred window.
He raised his brows. “Is he expecting you?”
“No, but I’m sure he’ll see me. My father does all our ranch business here.”
“Is your father with you, then?” He leaned to the side and peered behind her. “What might his name
be?”
“Mr. Charles Pape, and he’s not with me. Could you please let Mr. Hunt know I’m waiting?”
“I’m afraid not, miss. He’s not in right now. May I ask the nature of your business?”
“You may not. I don’t care to discuss that with anyone but Mr. Hunt.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I asked so that I may direct you to someone else.”
Leah tapped her toe. “I’m sorry, but you are the one who doesn’t understand. I don’t care to see anyone else.” She motioned to a row of chairs placed along the side of the room. “I’ll wait until Mr. Hunt returns.”
The clerk sighed. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have a long wait. He’s out of town until next week. You can come back then, but I can’t guarantee how long it will take to work you in. Mr. Hunt is always on a tight schedule, especially when he’s been gone for a time. Now, if there’s nothing else I can help you with?” He glanced at the man standing behind her. “I have several other customers waiting.”
“Fine.” Leah kept a rein on her frustration. The last thing she cared to do was make a scene in the one place that could help her. “You mentioned directing me to someone else.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m here to inquire about a loan.”
The gate in the low wooden barrier between Steven and the clientele entering and leaving the bank opened, and he swiveled his chair. The clerk stepped aside and beckoned to a woman dressed in a demure gray gown. His gaze traveled to her face, and he stiffened. He’d know that red hair and those green eyes anywhere. “Miss Carlson to see you, Mr. Harding.”
He rose and extended his hand. “Miss Carlson, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
She halted midstride. “I … I …” Turning, she beckoned to the clerk, who had headed to his station. “Excuse me, but I think there’s been a mistake.”
The man paused. “You want to see someone about a loan, miss. Mr. Harding handles the loans when Mr. Hunt is away, and ofttimes when he’s here.” He glanced from Miss Carlson to Steven. “Is there a problem?”
Steven shook his head. “All is well, Mr. Parker. You may return to your duties.” He stepped aside and motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “If you’d care to be seated, Miss Carlson, I’d be happy to help you.”
She appeared riveted to the spot. “Maybe I should leave.”
Something was amiss here, and Steven struggled to decipher what that might be. “I’m not sure I understand. Mr. Parker said you were here on business. Did you change your mind?”
The attractive redhead hesitated, seemingly torn between the seat he offered and the front door. Then her expression softened. “I beg your pardon.” She sat but didn’t lean back against the spindles. “You surprised me, that’s all.”
“Ah.” Of course. He should have understood immediately. “You thought I worked at the saloon, I suppose.” A smile quirked one corner of his mouth, and he pressed his lips together to keep it from blossoming further.
A soft flush colored her cheeks, making her all the more attractive, but she didn’t lower her eyes. “I imagine I had that coming. I hope you’ll forgive my ill temper and poor manners, Mr. Harding.”
Contrition bit at his heels. He didn’t make a habit of jesting with women—he’d simply hoped to lighten the mood and make her more comfortable. She had responded like a lady, and his admiration raised another notch. “Not at all. I am the one who must beg your forgiveness for my uncouth remark.” He placed his forearms on the desk. “Now, how may I help you?”
With a tiny smile, she settled into her chair. “Thank you. I’m here for a loan.”
Steven stifled his surprise. It wasn’t completely uncommon for a woman to request financial assistance, but from what he understood, Leah Carlson was single. “On behalf of your father?”
She stiffened. “Why would you assume that to be the case?”
He picked up a pencil and rolled it between his finger and thumb. “You aren’t married, and you live with your father. However, I may have jumped to conclusions. Would you care to explain?”
“I want to borrow against our ranch so we can increase our herd and hire more employees. Since the land is unencumbered, that shouldn’t pose a problem, should it?”
Leah stared into Steven Harding’s blue eyes. How could she ever have thought him a ruffian? His clothing as well as his buggy should have given her pause when he brought her father home, but at the time her anger at Pa had blinded her to those details. Seeing him in his work environment, it was all she could do to mask her embarrassment and ask for his help.
“Well, now.” He leaned forward. “I require a few more details. Is your name on the ranch deed, Miss Carlson?”
She blinked. “No, it’s not. But I help my father run it. In fact, at this point I do many of the outdoor chores as well as care for the books.”
He tapped his pencil on the desk. “I see. But you don’t have a legal interest in the land, is that correct?”
Her hope was evaporating as fast as a raindrop on a hot skillet. “What does that have to do with my request?”
“Everything, I’m afraid.” He placed the pencil carefully beside a stack of papers. “I wish I could help, but we would need Mr. Pape’s signature to grant a loan.”
“But I’ve lived there and worked the ranch alongside him my entire life. It will be mine someday.”
“Be that as it may, it’s still legally his property. We would have to place a lien against the deed, and we can’t do that without his permission.”
“Is it possible to acquire a personal loan?” She gripped her gloves and bonnet lying in her lap.
Sorrow or pity darkened his eyes. “Are you employed, Miss Carlson?”
Impatience touched her words. “I told you I work on our ranch. I have no time to work anywhere else. It’s a full-time job keeping things running there, especially when Pa—” She jerked to a stop. Mr. Harding had already seen too far into her personal life when he’d brought her father home after his all-night binge in town. She needn’t make things worse.
“I see.” He leaned forward. “Do you draw a salary?”
Her heart sank as realization set in. “I suppose that’s necessary, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so. The bank would want assurance the loan would be repaid, and you must have the ability to do so.”
“But if I had a job that paid a salary, I wouldn’t be asking for money.” Annoyance oozed from her voice, but she didn’t care. “That is the silliest thing I have ever heard.”
Steven Harding closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “I’m sure it seems that way, but it is bank policy.”
“I’ve lived in this town my entire life, and my reputation is above reproach. You can ask any of the merchants where we do business. We pay our bills.” She hesitated as a horrible thought hit. “Does this have anything to do with my father’s condition when you brought him home? I assure you; he’s a hard worker and cares about the ranch.” Warmth stole into her cheeks yet again, and she had to steel herself not to avert her gaze. She would never have come if she’d known Mr. Harding was the person in charge of approving applications. If only he hadn’t stumbled upon her father when he’d been drinking.
“This isn’t personal, Miss Carlson. If it were up to me, I’d consider giving you a loan, but my hands are tied.”
She rose swiftly. “Then it appears I was directed to the wrong person. I’ll return when Mr. Hunt is available and take the matter up with him.”
Steven stood and held out his hand. “Please. Give me another minute, won’t you?”
Leah hesitated, then slowly sank back onto her chair. “Have you changed your mind?”
He winced. “Not exactly.”
She started to rise again.
“Wait. I’ll take the matter up with Mr. Hunt on your behalf next week. Since your father
is a customer here, it’s possible your request for a small loan will be approved, although I can’t make any promises. Would that meet with your satisfaction?”
She studied him for a long moment. “It would.” She allowed a small smile. “And I appreciate your offer to help. Shall I come back to see you next week?”
He shook his head. “I’m not certain when I’ll have the opportunity to speak with Mr. Hunt. I do a bit of traveling to mines and ranches on bank business. Since I know where you live, why don’t I swing by after I’ve spoken to him?”
Leah’s mind raced. Did she want her father to know her plans? She hadn’t thought the matter through that far. All along she’d simply assumed she could walk in and borrow a few hundred dollars—enough for a couple of good broodmares and operating money to tide them over until they could sell the four-year-olds they’d finish training this summer. Never once had she considered her father should be included. At one time she would gladly have consulted him, but his erratic behavior no longer made that an option. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer returning. I’d rather not have our ranch employees speculating on why a banker is visiting.”
“Of course.” He rose and offered his hand. “Give me at least a week, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter Four
March 30, 1881
Steven pulled Mr. Hunt’s door shut behind him and crossed to his desk, regret and frustration battling in his mind. Nine days had passed since Leah Carlson’s initial visit. She’d let several more days pass, then had visited him again yesterday, to determine if he’d attained a decision from Mr. Hunt. At least he’d managed an audience with the man, but little good it had done.
He ground his teeth. Where was the joy that used to accompany this job? When he was in his teens, he’d longed to leave the farm and find a new start in the city, certain he could make a difference in people’s lives. But from what he’d observed, his boss hadn’t developed an iota of mercy in that regard.
The past thirty minutes had been spent laying out Leah Carlson’s request and balancing it with the young woman’s sterling reputation, all to no avail. John Hunt didn’t give a fig whose pride he trampled on, regardless of the years they’d banked here.
Dreaming on Daisies: A Novel (Love Blossoms in Oregon Series Book 3) Page 3
