Gabby confirmed from her mother the colors of ribbon she needed and hurried out the door. The sun dipped behind the trees to the west, casting long shadows across the boardwalk.
The mercantile doors yawned wide, propped open with barrels. She stepped inside unannounced by the tinkling of the little bell over the door. Straight ahead of her, Micah leaned against the counter, chatting with Mr. Murdock. His back was to her, but the sound of his voice warmed and aggravated her at the same time. The amiable conversation flowing between Micah and the storekeeper stung her with envy. Such a comfortable exchange had never occurred between her and Micah. She hung back, not wanting to interrupt, since she rarely got to listen to Micah enunciate more than three words at a time.
Micah examined some of the pocketknives in the display case. “My grandfather used to make great carved pieces: picture frames, figurines, chess pieces, fancy knobs, walking sticks, and the like.” He shook his head. “Too bad you don’t see items like that around here. I’ve seen them in the bigger cities, and they cost plenty.”
Mr. Murdock bobbed his head. “I wish I could stock items like that, but it’s hard to find a supplier for fine work.”
Micah shrugged. “Did you know Robert Newberry is a pretty good hand with a whittling knife?”
“That so?” Mr. Murdock paused to look at Micah. “He got any stuff he’d like to sell?”
Gabby smiled to herself as she listened to Micah plant the idea in Mr. Murdock’s head. She sidled a little closer, but the two men still didn’t notice her.
Mr. Murdock tapped his pencil on the few items stacked on the counter. “Will that be all for you today, Micah?”
Micah pointed to the shelves behind the portly gentleman. “Give me a half-dozen cans of those beans, a sack of potatoes, couple of pounds each of cornmeal and flour, a tin of molasses, a slab of bacon, some saleratus, tea, and a pound of coffee.” His eyes scanned the barrels lining the wall. “Three pounds of sweet potatoes, and some of those apples, too.”
Mr. Murdock chuckled as he retrieved the items Micah added to his list. “Reckon having your cousin visiting is adding to your grocery bill, eh?”
Micah just smiled and tapped his finger on one of the glass jars sitting on the counter. “Add a handful of that penny candy, too.”
“Ha! That Pinkerton agent has a sweet tooth, does he?” Mr. Murdock wrapped the candy in paper and tucked the package into Micah’s crate.
Gabby stepped forward, and the floorboard under her shoe gave a cheery squeak. Both men turned in her direction.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Murdock.” She drew a breath to slow her pulse. “Good afternoon, Micah.”
For the space of about three seconds, Micah’s face lit up. A moment later, splotches of red crept up his neck and he sputtered. A look of panic widened his eyes, and he dropped his gaze. He mumbled something indistinguishable, plunked money down on the counter, and hoisted his crate in his arms.
He hesitated a split second on his way past Gabby. “Af–afternoon.”
And he was gone.
Micah’s arms ached, but the heaviness of the crate was nothing compared to the weight deep inside. He wished with everything in him that he could tell Gabrielle what his heart felt but his lips couldn’t manage to speak.
He peered in the front window of the depot as he passed. Jed waved, and Micah acknowledged his relief man with a nod. He strode down the narrow path behind the depot toward his cabin. The door opened and Rod exited, straightening his tie as he came.
“Here you are. I thought you were handcuffed to the telegraph key.” Rod chuckled at his own joke.
Micah ignored the comment. “You going somewhere?”
Rod’s grin widened, and a gleam glinted in his eye. “I have a date with Millicent Brown. I’m taking her to the hotel dining room, and we’re meeting some friends.”
Friends? What friends? His cousin had been in Whitley barely a week. Micah had lived here since he was nine years old and counted his friends on one hand.
Rod cast an apologetic look toward him. “Sorry, old man, but…”
Obviously Micah wasn’t invited to his cousin’s party. Not surprising. Rod attracted people—especially the ladies—like flies to buttermilk, while Micah became utterly tongue-tied in the presence of women. Especially one particular woman. Was Gabrielle on Rod’s guest list this evening? If she was, he doubted Rod would have any trouble expressing himself in her presence.
“Have a good time.” Micah pushed the crate inside the door. With his cousin gone for the evening, he set about making himself a simple supper of leftover sausage and a couple of cold biscuits. While he munched, he distributed his purchases from the crate into two canvas bags he could sling on either side of the saddle.
“Wonder what kind of stories Rod will entertain the ladies with this evening?” He wasn’t in the habit of talking to himself, and his question echoed in the empty room. A sliver of loneliness sliced through him.
Nagging speculation over the accuracy of his cousin’s stories seeped into his thoughts. Guilt stabbed him immediately. Rod’s gunshot wound wasn’t fabricated. Micah had seen it for himself, and shame niggled at him for his lack of charity toward his own cousin.
“God, please give me discernment where Rod is concerned.” He finished filling the sacks and cinched them closed. Judging whether or not Rod’s stories were invented wasn’t up to him.
He made quick work of saddling his old mare and hung the canvas sacks from the saddle horn. With a prayer for the right attitude, Micah swung aboard and nudged the horse down the street through the gathering dusk. As he passed the hotel, laughter spilled from the open door. He slowed the mare and peered in the front window. Sure enough, there was Rod with Millicent on his arm, holding court in the hotel dining room.
Chapter 5
Gabby sat back, trying to pay attention. The ladies of the church auxiliary nodded as her mother described the needs of the missionaries on the Indian reservation. Try as she might, however, Gabby’s thoughts wandered down the street where Micah sorted mail and sent and received telegrams. She released a tiny sigh, still unsure whether or not to tell her parents Micah had repaired the railing. His shy nature explained his reluctance to take credit, but it felt wrong that no one had thanked him.
The vision of the ivory dress goods she’d purchased captured her musing. Mama had eyed her, more with curiosity than suspicion, when Gabby insisted on starting on the dress right away. Mama knew sewing wasn’t her favorite activity, and when Gabby asked if they could edge the neckline with a bit of ivory lace, she’d noticed her mother’s lips curving upward. Did Mama discern her real reason for wanting a new dress?
“Gabby?”
She jerked her focus back to the meeting and found a dozen pairs of eyes studying her. “Uh… I beg your pardon. I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.” Heat crept into her face.
Her mother raised one eyebrow and sent her a look Gabby remembered from her childhood. “Have you any suggestions for increasing the book drive donations?”
Gabby gulped. “Well, um, what about approaching some of the businesspeople here in town?”
Several ladies exchanged glances and tittered behind gloved-covered fingertips. Mama cleared her throat. “That’s what we were already discussing. Bessie volunteered to help solicit donations, but she suggests you approach Mr. Linquist.”
Gabby pressed her lips together. From the time she was a child with pigtails, Mr. Linquist, the banker, had singled her out as one of his favorites. He always treated her to a peppermint stick when she was a little girl and had accompanied her father to the bank. Not surprising Bessie Linquist felt Gabby might have greater success in asking for a donation from her husband.
Gabby turned her focus to Mrs. Linquist, whose eyes twinkled with suppressed merriment. “Yes, ma’am, I’d be happy to do that.”
Mama’s scrutinizing gaze remained fastened on Gabby for an extra moment before returning to the list in her lap. “All right, who will take the opposi
te end of town? Daphne, could you and your mother speak to Mr. Timmons at the Chronicle? See if he will write an article about the book drive for the newspaper. Maybe you can even talk him into putting it on the front page. Trudy, if you could stop by the feed and seed and the blacksmith, and Millicent, would you speak with your father at the apothecary?”
The ladies each nodded their agreement, but Millicent spoke up. “I’ll volunteer to go to the post office.”
Daphne gave an unladylike snort. “You’re just hoping to see Mr. Walker.”
Millicent’s mother raised her chin. “Mr. Walker?” She aimed a probing look at her daughter, but Millicent simply narrowed her eyes at Daphne and pursed her lips.
Sullen haughtiness etched a scowl on Daphne’s brow. “Surely you’ve heard how Millicent has been throwing herself at Rod Walker, that Pinkerton agent who came to visit his cousin.”
“I haven’t been throwing—”
Daphne waved her fingers in a dismissive gesture. “Why, she’s been acting like a hussy—”
Millicent leaped to her feet, the papers from her lap spilling onto the floor. “You take that back. You’re just jealous because Rod is paying more attention to me than you.”
Gabby held her breath as Mrs. Brown stood and came to her daughter’s defense. “Really, Daphne, I hardly think that classifies my daughter as a hussy.” She claimed Millicent’s arm. “Come along, Millie.” The pair stomped out of the meeting.
Mama closed her eyes, and Gabby suspected she was praying for wisdom. Gabby swallowed and addressed the remaining ladies. “Why don’t we—”
Daphne refused to leave it alone. “You know I’m right.”
“We don’t know any such thing, Daphne.” Mama’s tone brooked no further discussion. “After our business here is concluded, I suggest you go and apologize.”
“But—”
Mama held up her hand. “That’s enough. The purpose of this meeting is to conduct charitable business in the name of our Lord, not gossip or pass judgment.”
Daphne pressed her lips into a tight line and slumped in her chair. Gabby sucked in a deep breath. The meeting proceeded, but tension hung in the air. Mama dispensed with any further discussion of the book drive donations and moved on to the upcoming church picnic. Gabby released a sigh of relief as the ladies’ attention was diverted to planning games for the children, activities for the adults, and deciding who would be in charge of setting up. As soon as she finished, Mama led the group in prayer to dismiss.
The ladies knew better than to pursue the conversation regarding Millicent, Daphne, or Rod Walker, but Gabby suspected the opinions and speculation would fly like dandelion down as soon as they were away from the church.
Mama gathered her papers and paused. “I must stop by the butcher before I go home. Are you coming with me, or do you have something else you need to do here?” Gabby squeezed her mother’s shoulders. “I just want to make sure my Sunday school materials are ready for the children. Then I’ll be along.”
Her mother gave her a peck on the cheek. “Do you want me to leave the door open? It’s a bit stuffy in here.”
“Yes, please.” Gabby smiled and lifted her fingers in a tiny wave.
After her mother left, Gabby sorted the papers on which she had painstakingly copied the scripture verses for the children to memorize and located the picture she wanted to use for her Bible story.
“Gabby?”
She jumped and spun. Daphne stood in the side doorway. Gabby clapped her hand over her heart. “My goodness, Daphne, you gave me a start. I thought you’d left with everyone else.”
“I did, but I came back to talk to you.”
Daphne’s reply raised wariness. With a quick prayer for discretion, Gabby arched her eyebrows. “Daphne, I don’t think talking about a friend behind her back is a good idea.”
The girl moved to the back of the church where Gabby was working. “I’m not going to talk about Millicent. Your mother is right, I owe her an apology. I don’t know what got into me.” She flopped down on the rear pew beside the open door. A soft breeze wafted in, lifting the wilted tendrils drooping past her ears. “Gabby, you had a beau. How did you get him to notice you? What am I doing wrong?”
Gabby leaned against the side of the pew and placed her hand on Daphne’s shoulder. “Just be yourself. God will bring the man He intends for you into your life.” She shrugged. “As far as my having a beau, I suppose everyone in Whitley knows how that went.”
“But he gave you a ring. A ruby.” Daphne’s eyes grew round with awe.
Gabby shook her head at the memory of Cullen Poole professing ardent love for her but insisting he had to make his fortune first. “Yes, Cullen gave me a ring—a garnet. Then he left, and I haven’t heard a word from him since. Truly, I believe God prevented me from making a terrible mistake. Cullen didn’t love the Lord.”
Daphne lifted her shoulders and tipped her head. “But a lot can happen in three years. Maybe he’s changed.”
Gabby pulled her hand back and pushed away from the pew. “I suppose that’s possible, but the fact remains, he disappeared and didn’t come back like he said he would. I don’t even know if he is still alive.” She shifted her position to face Daphne more fully.
“Make sure any man you fall in love with shares your priorities.” Gabby crossed her arms over her chest. “My experience made me more cautious, but also more sensitive to God’s leading. I should have prayed to know His will before accepting Cullen’s attention or his ring.”
Thoughts of Micah whispered to her heart. She’d sought God’s face repeatedly, asking if her attraction to Micah was misplaced. But God had not seen fit to remove those feelings from her.
Daphne tilted her head. “Do you think I’m wrong to set my cap for Rod Walker?”
Gabby shook her head. “That’s not for me to say. Pray about it. Ask the Lord if Rod is the one for you.”
A sly grin slid over Daphne’s face. “You must admit, he’s awfully handsome. And the stories he tells!”
Gabby chuckled. “He is certainly handsome, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a man as entertaining and charming. Life with a man like Rod Walker would never be dull.”
Nobody answered Micah’s knock at the Lockridge house. He glanced at the special delivery letter in his hand addressed to Reverend Lockridge as he strode to the church. He’d considered asking the pastor if he might call on Gabrielle, but perhaps finding no one at home was for the best. What if Gabrielle had answered the door?
He rounded the bend and noticed the front door to the church standing open. But the closer he got, the more preposterous his idea. Even if Reverend Lockridge gave his permission to call on Gabrielle, what would he say to her? His tongue tied into a knot just trying to say good morning.
He lifted his shoulders as he set his foot on the first stair riser. He’d already volunteered to help with the games at the church picnic. Perhaps it was enough to simply be close enough to watch Gabrielle play with the children.
Voices wafted on the breeze. Female voices. Gabrielle’s voice. Micah couldn’t tell with whom she was speaking, but her statement told him everything he needed to know.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a man as entertaining and charming. Life with a man like Rod Walker would never be dull.”
Chapter 6
Working alone gave Micah plenty of time to think. And that was a problem. He emptied the mail pouch and began sorting the various pieces into their respective alphabetical slots. With no one to talk to, his thoughts immediately wandered to Gabrielle. For the past three days, her words had echoed in his head.
“Life with a man like Rod Walker would never be dull.”
He shoved a letter into the M slot. “Dull. Is that what she thinks I am?” He blew through pursed lips. There wasn’t a person in town who thought Rod was dull. He collected followers like the Pied Piper. Truth be told, Micah’s life was quiet, unexciting… “Dull.”
Regret smote him immediately. “Lord, I
don’t mean to complain. You’ve blessed me with a good job and a comfortable home.” Sorting mail and minding the telegraph key might not be very adventurous, but the people of Whitley needed the services he rendered—at least he liked to believe he was needed. He’d never experienced feelings of restlessness or discontentment before. Where did these stirrings come from?
Nobody had to tell him the answer to his question. He knew very well. He’d resigned himself to living in the shadows for years, and it never really bothered him… much, until Rod came to town. Watching every eligible female in town flock to his cousin underscored his own invisibility.
He shook his head and returned to his task. Glancing at the addressee written on each envelope, he slid the pieces of mail into their respective slots. Brown in the B slot. Greeley in the G slot. Parkin in the P slot. Lockridge in the… Micah’s hand halted halfway to the L slot. Instead of the envelope bearing the name of Reverend Oren Lockridge, this letter was addressed to Miss Gabrielle Lockridge.
Micah noted the return address. Mr. Cullen Poole, General Delivery, Abilene, Texas. Micah ground his teeth. He remembered Cullen Poole, the man who had come to town and promised Gabrielle the moon and then left her with a broken heart. She’d even worn his ring, at least for a while. Micah recollected the way she’d gazed at it sparkling on her finger after Poole had left town. How long ago had that been? At least three years. He’d never felt so angry as when he’d seen the way Poole had hurt Gabrielle.
Abilene. Wasn’t that a cattle town? Speculation gave Micah pause. As he recalled, Poole had declared he intended to make his fortune so he could provide Gabrielle a life of ease. Was he some kind of wealthy cattle baron now? After more than three years, why was he writing Gabrielle? What if he intended to renew their courtship?
As much as Micah wished he could toss Poole’s letter into the woodstove, he had a responsibility as the postmaster to ensure the mail was delivered. With a muted growl, he shoved the letter into the L slot.
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