Tabitha_Bride of Missouri

by Amelia C. Adams

  “He’d be about eleven now, I think. Yes, he’s quite the character.” Tabitha surveyed the packages. “Ham and a dress, you say. At the same time.”

  “Why not? They’re both useful.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t complain.” She shook her head, her smile even bigger. “Oh, this town. The people are so well meaning.”

  “Just keep that in mind and don’t try roasting the fabric when you mean to be cooking the meat. I’ll see you later, Tabitha—I have a few errands to run.”

  “All right. Thanks for your help.”

  He snorted. “Like I was of much use—your bag weighed all of three pounds.”

  “But the company was nice.”

  “Yes, the company was very nice.” He nodded. “See you.” He left her standing there, contemplating the pound of sugar she’d just been given.

  ***

  “Well, now.” Dr. Gideon peered at Thomas’s hand, poking each finger in turn. “You say you’re trying to move the fingers right this minute?”

  “Yes, sir. As hard as I can.”

  Dr. Gideon shook his head and sat down on the chair across from Thomas’s. “This does present some interesting possibilities. Raise and lower your right arm, please.”

  Thomas did so without any trouble.

  “Bend your elbow.”

  Thomas complied.

  “I believe you’ve suffered some nerve damage, Mr. Scott. You see, the nerves conduct messages from the brain to the various different parts of the body. When you want to lift your arm, your brain sends a message along the nerve pathway to the arm, and then it complies. But if the nerve becomes damaged, it can’t comply. Another possibility is muscle damage, but your hand doesn’t seem quite that crushed to me.”

  Thomas didn’t like how ominous this sounded. “What can we do about it?”

  “At the moment? Nothing. We’re waiting for your bones to knit. As they heal, chances are that the nerves will as well. The body wants to be healthy, and when it’s given what it needs, it will improve.”

  “You said, ‘chances are.’ What if the nerves don’t heal?”

  Dr. Gideon took off his glasses and laid them on his desk. “I won’t lie to you, son. Some patients never do recover.”

  Thomas nodded slowly as he thought about what that would mean for his future. No one in town seemed to be hiring at all, let alone offering jobs to one-handed men. He would have to find another place to live. Perhaps it was best that Ivy hadn’t come out to Atwater yet. He needed to be sure he could provide for her.

  “Now, now, I can see the wheels in your head turning. It’s not the end of the world—we don’t have all the answers yet. Wait and see what happens as your hand heals. Another few weeks, and we should know more.” Dr. Gideon smiled and put his glasses back on. “Would you like a bowl of stew?”

  Thomas’s first impulse was to refuse—he wanted some time alone to think about what he’d just learned. But then his stomach growled quite loudly, and the doctor laughed. “I take that as a yes. Come through to the house. The wife would never forgive me if I sent you away hungry.”

  Chapter Nine

  Tabitha hadn’t expected to see Thomas waiting for her at the train station, and it had unsettled her. How would she slip the letter into the mix without calling attention to herself? At the last moment, she had the idea to drop some mail on the floor, which gave her the chance to grab his envelope from the shelf under the counter. He didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, so she counted that a success.

  He’d seemed so pleased to get the letter that she felt a momentary stab of guilt, but that faded as she thought about the alternative. He must never know how rudely his bundle had been returned.

  Clara entered the post office a few minutes later, bringing a gust of cold air in with her. “Was finally able to get a job,” she said as she wrestled the door closed against the wind.

  “You were? That’s wonderful. Where?”

  “Kitchen staff at the saloon. But listen to me.” She came closer and leaned on the counter. “You can’t tell Herbert. He made me promise that I’d never work in a saloon.”

  “I’m not sure I want to lie to him,” Tabitha said. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Of course it’s not a good idea, and I don’t like lying to him either. But what other choice do we have? This post office simply doesn’t bring in enough revenue. The town is small—we don’t handle a lot of mail. Big offices like New York—they handle so much mail, they have countless employees and pay all their salaries.” She shook her head. “Unless you can somehow double the amount of mail going through here, I’m taking that job.”

  Tabitha nodded, and Clara went through to the kitchen.

  It was hard to hear, but truth was truth, and Clara was right. They simply didn’t generate the kind of income they needed to stay afloat as a family, and after losing that five hundred dollars . . . Again, Tabitha felt guilty for coming back and adding to the expenses, but then she realized that if she hadn’t come back, Clara would still need to look for work, and Herbert’s health would still be poor. Who would run the office then? Perhaps she’d been brought home by a providential hand.

  The next person to enter the post office was Mr. Parker. He too wrestled with the door until it closed. “My, that’s quite the wind,” he said with a chuckle. “I practically blew down the street right along with all the leaves.”

  “And you can just blow yourself right out again,” Clara said, striding in from the kitchen. “You’re not wanted here, Lem Parker.”

  “I know that, Clara, and I understand all the reasons why. I hoped that if I had the chance to explain—”

  “Explain? You’d like to explain how it is that you talked my husband out of five hundred dollars and then proceeded to lose that money on a land investment? Have you come to tell me that’s not true and give back that money?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.” Clara took a step back into the hallway.

  “Wait! Listen, please. I lost money too. You aren’t the only ones hurting.”

  Clara came forward again, a look in her eyes Tabitha knew well. She felt sorry for Mr. Parker, who had no idea what was about to happen.

  “Tell you something, Lem. I saw your wife at church on Sunday in her brand-new silk dress and her little velvet cape. Maybe you lost money, but you aren’t hurting. You don’t know the meaning of hurting. Herbert’s upstairs right now, all the strength sapped right out of him. Now, maybe I’d understand if this was all some honest mistake, but you promised Herbert this deal would go through. You called on his friendship to ask him to speculate. You promised and you lied and you connived, and my husband believed you. My husband, who would never name a snake a snake.”

  She took a few steps, her eyes like lightning bolts. “I will, though. You are a snake. Maybe you lost money too. I don’t know. But when you make promises and my family is left with nothing, and then your wife shows up in burgundy silk and flounces down the church aisle, and you come here to talk about hurting, I find I don’t want to listen. Now I suggest that you leave right now before I pick up the nearest sharp object and chase you out of here with it.”

  Mr. Parker nodded several times as he backed toward the door. “Of course. I understand. Good afternoon, ladies.” He couldn’t get the door closed fast enough to suit any of them.

  “Well done,” Tabitha said, turning to her cousin. “I didn’t see Mrs. Parker at church. Where was she sitting?”

  “Left side, under the window.” Clara leaned against the doorframe, suddenly looking wrung out. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please. But let me make it. You hold down the office—we’re having a very quiet day.”

  Clara pulled a kitchen chair into the post office and sat down to wait as Tabitha made the coffee. It made her happy to open up the bag she’d been given and use it instead of the meager stores in the kitchen canister. It felt like more of a contribution. She b
rought another chair out to the office, then the two cups, and they sat there together and watched people get blown by outside.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled,” Clara said after a long moment.

  “You didn’t yell. You were calm, but very clear.”

  “Must have been yelling in my head, though. Someone was.” Clara took another sip. “This is good. Different from what I usually get.”

  “I don’t know what kind it is—it didn’t say on the package.”

  “I’ll take some up to Herbert in a minute.” She paused. “You won’t say anything to him about the saloon?”

  “I won’t. I promise,” Tabitha said, better able to understand the situation now that she’d seen the depth of Clara’s feelings about it.

  “Thank you.”

  They sat together for another few minutes, then Clara hoisted herself to her feet. Tabitha put the chairs back and grabbed a dust rag. The same old routine, but now she felt a sense of purpose in it—she was helping keep a family afloat. Running the post office meant they all had a place to live.

  ***

  Thomas had spent the last hour dragging his leftover pieces of lumber from the back of the house over to the corner of the property where he intended to build the shed. He’d thought about it long and hard—should he even be thinking about improving the place when he might not be able to keep it? He’d eventually decided that he needed to press forward. It would give him something to do while he recovered, and it might bring him more money if he had to sell.

  Sell. He didn’t want to sell. It had taken him a long time to be able to afford this place, and while it was tiny and still in need of repairs, it was his. Turning it over to someone else would be difficult, especially without knowing if he’d ever be able to afford another. His father would find jobs for him to do on the ranch, but none of them would pay enough for a house, and he didn’t like the idea of asking his parents for money. They believed in working for what they got, and so did he.

  He just wasn’t sure how a one-handed man was to go about that.

  He’d always done physical labor, but perhaps the answer was to change tack. He could probably work in an office or something similar. He’d have to learn how to write with his left hand, but he knew it could be done. He’d read an article in the newspaper some time back about that very thing. Or perhaps there would be a way to use whatever muscles did still work in his right hand and balance the pen just so.

  The whinny of a horse startled him, and as he watched Hoss ride up, he realized he was thinking about this far too much. Yes, it was good to have a plan and to know what he would do, but it was festering in his brain, and he needed to put a stop to that. All he had was the here and now, and it was time to get busy.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said as soon as Hoss was within earshot. “I’m eager to get going.”

  “I can see that. Is this all the wood?”

  “It is. Now that it’s laid out, I do think we’re going to need more.”

  Hoss nodded. “Let’s make some plans, and then we’ll see how far we get.”

  The sun was already lowering in the sky, so they didn’t have much time. They made good use of what they had, though, and sketched out a design. Hoss sawed a few pieces of wood, then drove a nail partway and passed the hammer to Thomas. “Let’s see how good your idea is.”

  Thomas took it with his left hand, where it felt strange, and lined it up above the nail. Then he gave a few sharp taps. The nail instantly curled to the side.

  “Hmm. I don’t think that was quite what you meant to do.” Hoss used the claw side of the hammer to dig out the nail, then drove in another. “Try again.”

  Thomas did, with the same result.

  Hoss scratched his neck. “I don’t know how many nails you want to ruin on this project. Think maybe I should do the hammering?”

  “They’re not ruined. They can be bent back into shape,” Thomas protested.

  “Yeah, well, watching you do it is bending me out of shape. There’s got to be another task around here that you could do.”

  “I’ve figured out how to shovel some, and I can sweep my kitchen floor. I’ve even dunked my dishes in hot water a time or two.” Thomas grinned, but it faded quickly. “Dr. Gideon says there’s a chance I might not get the feeling back in my hand.”

  “What?” Hoss instantly became serious. “I’m sorry, Scott. That’s a rotten blow.”

  “Nothing’s for certain, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Mr. Charles, all right?”

  “Of course. So, when will you know?”

  Thomas shrugged. “We have to wait for the bones to heal and cast to come off before we’ll know much of anything. In the meantime, I’m going to stay busy. I hereby make you the official nail pounder, and I will be your faithful assistant.”

  By the time it was full dark, they’d built a frame for one wall of the shed. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and it gave Thomas something to look forward to for the next day. He needed that.

  Chapter Ten

  Tabitha was mildly disappointed when Thomas didn’t meet her at the train the next morning. She shouldn’t have been—he had no obligation to be there—but still, she missed him. He’d become such a bright spot in her life so quickly, it was surprising how much he’d come to mean to her.

  She arrived back at the post office and unlocked the door. She was sorting the mail when Clara tiptoed through, her shawl pulled high on her neck.

  “Heading over to the saloon,” she said, her voice low. “I’ve just taken Herbert his breakfast. He says he’s feeling well enough that he might go out to the shed later and work on some of his tin orders. If he asks where I am, tell him . . . well, tell him something, all right?”

  Tabitha nodded. She’d better decide now what that “something” would be so she wouldn’t hesitate when the time came.

  Clara slipped through the door, looked both ways, then headed off toward the saloon. Tabitha wished her cousin didn’t feel like she had to sneak around. Working in the kitchen of a saloon was really no different from working at a restaurant, but the townspeople would likely take a dim view of it. Tabitha had to admire her cousin for what she was willing to do for her family.

  A moment later, Mrs. Smith came in, looking over her shoulder. “Good morning, Tabitha. Tell me something.” She edged forward and whispered, “Did I just see Clara going into the saloon?”

  Oh, no. Mrs. Smith, while being a kind, caring woman, was also the biggest gossip in Atwater, and this was highly likely to get around. Tabitha thought over all her options, but realized that her best choice was simply to tell the truth.

  “She’s taken a job in the kitchen. Please, Mrs. Smith, don’t tell anyone. Of course people will see her going in, but if we can do anything to keep them from thinking things . . .”

  Mrs. Smith reached across the counter and patted Tabitha’s hand. “You can count on me. Now help me mail some letters, and then let’s chat.”

  Tabitha accepted the four letters Mrs. Smith had brought in and tucked them under the counter. “What would you like to chat about?”

  “You and the pastor, of course. How is that going?”

  Tabitha smiled. “He did mention that you’d sent him my way.”

  “How could I not? You’re the very picture of everything he’s looking for. Are you getting along well?”

  “Actually, we’ve decided to be friends.”

  Mrs. Smith raised an eyebrow. “Friends? A man and a woman can’t be friends! If they’re not courting, they should avoid each other entirely.”

  Tabitha chuckled. “But why?”

  “To avoid temptation.” Mrs. Smith lowered her voice and glanced around. “If there are no serious intentions, the devil can have his way.”

  Tabitha leaned forward and lowered her voice as well. “The devil will not be having his way here, Mrs. Smith. I assure you.” She straightened and said a little louder, “Besides, I don’t think Pastor Reed is quite the big, strapping fellow
you had in mind when I first got here. You remember—the one who was supposed to kiss me.”

  “He might not match that description exactly, but he’d do in a pinch.” Mrs. Smith bobbed her head. “But be careful, young lady. The kiss and the courtship should go together. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, I do. And I’ll be very careful.”

  Mrs. Smith seemed content with that answer and went on her way. Tabitha had to wipe her cheeks—it had been so difficult to hold back her laughter, her eyes were watering.

  A moment later, she heard Herbert’s lumbering gait on the stairs, and then he called out for his wife. Tabitha stepped over to the doorway. “She’s not here, Herbert. She took Mrs. Watkins her mail—she’s not feeling well enough to come in. She also wanted a visit, so I’m not sure how long Clara will be gone.”

  “I’ll be in the tin shed. Getting behind on orders.”

  Tabitha nodded. “Come in around noon and I’ll make us some lunch.”

  He didn’t respond, but Tabitha knew he’d come in. He was a man of routine.

  The door opened again, and Tabitha held back a sigh. The office had been so quiet the day before, and now, it felt like she’d never get the mail sorted. This time, it was Pastor Reed who had come in.

  “Miss Phillips, I’m taking your advice to heart.” He held up an envelope. “This is an advertisement to be placed in the Grooms’ Gazette. It’s a paper printed in Massachusetts that helps men find mail-order brides. I can correspond with her for some time before making any final decisions.” He paused. “What is it? You seem surprised.”

  “I am. Quite surprised.” Tabitha shook her head and smiled. “I know that paper very well. I lived in Massachusetts, if you’ll recall, and several of my friends recently decided to become mail-order brides.”

  “That is quite the coincidence. I only heard of it the other day. I happened to be down at the train station to see off a parishioner and spoke with a woman who was on her way to Colorado to get married. She told me about the newspaper, and I decided to give it a try. Do you think I’m making a mistake?”