Chapter 12
“How’s your brother?” Hannah whispered across the mathematics text she shared with Wes.
The weeks of hard choring had dwindled with December’s first snow, and the short winter days now filled themselves with indoor tasks like spinning wool, weaving cloth, sharpening tools, mending harnesses…and school. Hannah had only returned a few days ago, but already she anticipated the end of the term.
Wes ducked so the blond head of Mary Burns blocked Miss West’s line of vision. “Marcus is okay. He’s been working some at Mr. Van Volkenburg’s mercantile.”
“Is he any happier?”
Wes shrugged. “He never jokes around anymore. And he spends a lot of time staring into the bottom of a tankard.”
She doodled on her tablet. She’d only finished four problems in the last twenty minutes. “He needs to stay busy. I bet he could relearn how to do a lot of things one-handed.”
“Hannah,” Miss West called from the front of the room. “Slide across the aisle and sit with Sue Ellen, please.”
“Sorry, Miss West.” She collected her pencil and tablet.
The older girl made room with a welcoming smile. Hannah’s greeting more closely resembled a grimace.
“Since you will have to wait for Wesley to finish his arithmetic before you can use the text, you may start on today’s spelling assignment.”
“Yes, Miss West.” Spelling was her worst subject.
The school day crawled past more slowly than a turtle with a broken leg. Sue Ellen waded through her schoolwork with singular purpose, and Hannah had no doubt that in another year or two the girl would qualify to teach a school of her own. But Hannah had no such ambitions. She spent the greater part of the morning leaning on her elbow watching wisps of white clouds shred on the spindly fingers of the oak tree.
At twelve o’clock exactly Miss West rose. “You are dismissed for lunch.”
Children scrambled to grab wraps and be the first one out of the schoolhouse, and Hannah jockeyed in their midst. But over the hubbub, the teacher called out, “Hannah, may I see you for a moment?”
Hannah’s posture melted like sugar icing left too long by a stove. She slumped to the front of the room to await her chastisement.
“I’m not sending you to the gallows,” Miss West quipped. “Mr. Briggs simply asked me to tell you there is a letter waiting for you at the post office.”
Hannah sprang for the coatroom and whisked on her heavy shawl. “Thank you, Miss West!” she shouted over her shoulder.
It took only moments to scuttle through the snow to the little toll booth where Mr. Briggs sat on his stool looking between his knees at a mail-order seed catalog. Hannah was certain he’d watched her slipping all the way up the Plank Road, but he feigned surprise at her appearance. “Why, hello, Hannah! School let out already?”
“It’s lunchtime, Mr. Briggs.”
He pulled at the gold watch fob and consulted his timepiece. “Well so it is,” he announced grandly. “The noon stage is due any minute.”
He gazed toward Allegan and Hannah shifted impatiently. “Miss West said you have a letter for me.”
“Certainly, I do. It’s right here.” He drew a crisp, white envelope from a stack on his desk. “Looks important too.”
While Mr. Briggs looked on curiously, Hannah read the return address with disappointment. “Mercurial Landholdings, Albany, New York.” It wasn’t from Pa.
“Can’t figure what some fancy pants eastern firm wants with your pa.”
Hannah shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Mama and Joel can open it.”
“That’s probably wise,” he agreed, looking just a bit crestfallen. “Funny thing, though. I’ve seen two more letters just the same as that addressed to other folks.”
His eyebrows bunched together as he chewed on the mystery, and Hannah knew it would plague him till he discovered the answer.
Coming out of the post office, Hannah saw Marcus sitting on the porch of the hotel clad in heavy flannel. He slouched listlessly, long legs pushing his chair back against the wall, a cigarette in his hand. An empty sleeve dangled at his side. He hadn’t even bothered to pin it.
“Hi, Marcus!” she called, waving cheerfully.
He turned toward her blankly, took a long drag of smoke, and looked away.
Back in the schoolyard, Hannah slipped the envelope among her books and went in search of her lunch bucket. Justin had left her only an apple and half a ham sandwich. She grabbed up both and went in search of Wes.
She found him crouched behind the woodpile, lobbing snowballs at Danny Woodrow and Trevor Coops and making explosion sounds each time they hit the ground. The younger boys danced at the edge of his range, but a powdery dusting in Danny’s dark hair testified to Wes’s good aim.
Hannah bit into her sandwich. “What are you doing?”
“General Grant, your reinforcements arrived just in time,” he called. “I have Jackson on my left and Longstreet on my right. My artillery is keeping them at bay, but I’m hard pressed without you. Take the left flank.”
She took another bite of her sandwich and watched Trevor laugh as his snow bomb burst in front of Wes, spattering him with icy fragments. She wondered briefly if Marcus had lost his arm to shrapnel.
“Well, aren’t you going to help?” Wes would get no medals for patience.
She shrugged. “When I’m done with my lunch.”
He threw her an odd look. She was usually much quicker to join these adventures. “Eat fast, Mr. Grant.”
But Hannah couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for the game. Instead, she strolled to the front steps, bit thoughtfully into the apple, and sat down beside Sue Ellen to wait for Miss West’s bell.
~
Maddy stirred a kettle of soup over the cook stove. Hannah could now see a gentle bulge rounding out the front of her dress. It was fashionable to hide a pregnancy as long as possible, and when it became obvious, to hide oneself away until the baby was born, but she thought the practice was downright silly. Of course everyone knew anyway. And it was entirely impractical when there was so much work to do.
“It’s about time you got home,” Maddy groused. “Punch down this bread dough so I can run after some potatoes.”
Hannah looked up at her sister in surprise. It was the first order Maddy had given since Tommy died. She grinned. Then she refused to comply. “The dough will keep,” she answered saucily and helped herself to a handful of cookies.
Maddy clanged the spoon against the kettle harder than necessary, but Hannah had chores of her own to do. For starters, there was a whole jug of cream in the root cellar that Mama wanted churned tonight. But as she left the cellar with the jug, she softened and filled her skirt with potatoes.
Hannah settled at the kitchen table with her school books and plunged the churn’s handle up and down, up and down as she read. She switched hands a score of times and finished her homework before the cream finally congealed. Setting her books aside, she poured the buttermilk into a pitcher on the table. Then, using a wooden paddle, she worked the butter until all the liquid squeezed out. By the time it was rinsed and scooped into molds, darkness had fallen and Maddy was calling the family in for dinner.
Mama came in first. Her face looked pale and lined, and she shivered violently. The old malady. But this time there was something more, a rasping sound that rattled out of her chest with every breath.
Hannah jumped up. “Mama, you look terrible! Want me to fetch Doc Graves?”
Mama waved her off and stumbled toward her bedroom. “No, no. It’s just a touch of the ague. I’ll be fine, but I don’t feel much like dinner. Tell Joel I left the milk in the barn. I was afraid I’d splash it all over the yard if I tried to lift it.”
“All right, Mama.” Hannah watched her go, and as the others filed wordlessly to the table, she set water on for tea and spread a slice of warm bread thickly with butter, knowing all the time that Mama probably wouldn’t touch it. Only the sound of chewi
ng and the clink of silverware on plates was audible, but the room throbbed with strain. It was mighty late in the year for summer sickness.
Hannah brought the tray in to her mother. When she returned she confessed, “I’m worried about her, Joel.”
Justin blew it off. “Mama gets the fever and ague all the time.”
“Not like this.”
Joel nodded. “I’ll get some quinine from Doc after dinner.”
“Can we afford it?” Maddy asked.
Joel stared hard at her. “We have to afford it.”
“That reminds me,” Hannah said, rummaging among her school books. “I picked up a letter today from some business in New York. It’s addressed to Pa.”
Joel took the envelope and studied it some before ripping open the flap. He withdrew a single, crisply folded page, and as he read his face grew dark. Then he wadded it into a tight ball and threw it on the table.
“What is it?” Justin had to know.
“Lawson duped us.”
Three sets of eyes stared blankly at him.
“What do you mean?” Maddy ventured.
“It’s a letter from Lawson, a demand for payment. It says if we don’t cough up the money by the end of the year, he gets the deed to our farm.”
“But I thought he told Mama we could work out arrangements if we couldn’t raise the money by the end of the year,” Hannah pleaded. “I thought he wanted to help us.”
“I thought so, too.” Joel ground his teeth. “Blast! How could we have been so stupid?”
But Hannah wasn’t ready to suspect the friendly shopkeeper. “Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. Maybe if we pay him a visit we can get to the bottom of it.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” Joel stated.
~
The children chose not to tell Mama about the letter. Leaving Maddy behind to care for her, Joel left for town, hitching up the cart for Hannah and Justin who insisted on coming along.
They stopped at Doc Graves’ house first. The old man cheerfully prepared some medicine.
“Keep her warm as always, and try to get liquids down her. When it changes to fever, sponge her with lukewarm water. Let me know if she isn’t feeling better very soon.”
They moved on quickly to Mr. Lawson’s.
The store was dark. Joel pounded on the front door. “Lawson, you in there?” His breath clouded in icy puffs that faded with his words.
As Hannah stared up at the cold, unlit windows in the apartment, a chill darkness seeped under her wraps and froze up solid in her chest. She couldn’t believe Mr. Lawson would betray them. Part of her wanted to scream in his face and pound on his barrel chest with her fists. Another part dreaded the confrontation. And a third still hoped it was all just a simple misunderstanding. But as they waited in silence, a growing realization began to spread over her.
Mr. Lawson was gone.
Rounder nuzzled Hannah’s cheek and snorted his concern through wide nostrils. Hannah reached out to hug his neck, glad to lean against the horse’s strong, warm shoulder.
Joel pounded again. “Lawson!” he shouted. “Lawson, open up!”
Justin and Hannah added their own voices till Mrs. Clark charged out her front door. “What’s the meaning of all this racket? You sound like a pack of alley cats yowling in the street.”
Hannah rushed up to her. “Mrs. Clark, do you know where we can find Mr. Lawson?”
“Lawson? Haven’t seen him since yesterday. Packed a wagon and headed toward Hilliards.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Do I look like his secretary?”
“Please, Mrs. Clark, you must know something.”
The old woman peered through oversized spectacles. “If I told you, would you hold off howling outside my door?”
“Of course. We’ll go straight home like proper children.”
“Well then,” she told them, “don’t look for Lawson to come back.”
Hannah’s heart dropped. She had known it.
But Joel needed further proof. “What makes you say that? Maybe he’s just off on a visit.”
Mrs. Clark shook her head. “No visit. He’s cleared out. Loaded that wagon till there was nothing left in his store. And then he packed up that big orange cat. Plunked it in a basket and wedged it in the wagon and lit out.” She shook her head again. “He’s not coming back. I never did like that man.”
The children stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Joel said, “Thank you, Mrs. Clark.”
She harrumphed. “Get along home now, all of you. It’s freezing out here.”
They straggled into the cart in defeat. Rounder’s hooves clopped loudly in the darkness.
“Now what?” Hannah moped.
“I’m going to pay a visit to Mr. Thomas and see if there’s any way out of this mess.” His voice sounded as tight as a piano wire, and Hannah knew he blamed himself.
Mr. Thomas was commonly regarded as the local authority on matters of law because he once worked as a legal assistant in Connecticut before moving west to try farming. His children were all grown up and moved away, except one daughter who had married the shoemaker and lived in town. A single light shone in the kitchen window. Joel knocked apologetically.
“Sorry for intruding on you so late, Mrs. Thomas,” he said when the woman opened the door, “but we really need to speak to your husband. Is he in?”
The lady swung the door wide. “Yes, come in. My, three of you? I hope everything’s all right. Is your mother well?”
“She’s down with the fever,” Joel answered, “but that’s not why we’re here. I was wondering if I could show something to your husband.”
“Of course. I’ll call him.”
The children hovered near the cook stove, exposing pink skin to the heat still radiating from it. As they warmed, Hannah’s fingers grew fuzzy and prickly, as if massaged by a score of tiny-clawed mice.
Mr. Thomas strode into the room with trousers pulled hastily over long underwear. He was short and wiry and looked like every other farmer in Allegan County. “Hello, Joel, Hannah, Justin,” he called, securing the straps of his suspenders over his shoulders.
Joel nodded a greeting for all of them.
“What can I help you children with?”
Joel pulled the wrinkled letter from his pocket. “A few weeks ago we signed loan papers with Mr. Lawson.”
“Of course, of course. Good man, Lawson.” Mr. Thomas pulled up a chair.
“We thought so too.” Joel handed the letter to Mr. Thomas and sat across from him. “Until we received this in the mail today.”
The farmer threaded his eyeglasses over his ears and hummed to himself as he read. Then he peered at them over the top of the lenses. “Do you have a copy of the loan?”
Joel produced it.
Mr. Thomas scanned the pages briefly, and his face turned thoughtful. “It’s all in order, unfortunately. It seems our Mr. Lawson is something other than what he appeared.”
Hannah was indignant. “But he said we could have more time to pay the loan.”
“I’m afraid a verbal agreement isn’t obligatory. But this contract,” he shook the pages, “is signed by both parties and binding in any court of law. I’m sorry.”
A muscle clenched in Joel’s jaw. “But what does any of this have to do with Mercurial Landholdings?”
“I suspect Mercurial is a speculating company that Lawson owns or works for. They buy up land as cheaply as possible and sell it at a profit. You’ll recall Lawson was pretty keen on the railroad going through, driving up land values. I’d be willing to bet he set up more of these loans to other folks just like yourselves—trusting folks struggling to make ends meet—with the intention of gaining their land.”
Joel’s eyes screwed up and his lips pinched together. “You mean Mr. Lawson’s part of a land racket?”
“Well, I’d say he’s a scoundrel, but this is all legal I’m afraid. If these loans default, Lawson picks up a
lot of land cheap. If they don’t, he makes a little interest and he’s not out anything. It’s too bad,” Mr. Thomas added. “I liked him, but he duped us all.”
“But Mr. Lawson set up shop, got involved in the community, made friends. Why would he spend a year with us only to sell us out?” Joel asked.
“Maybe he never came with such intentions. It’s possible he just spotted the opportunity and acted on it.” Thomas shrugged. “But most likely he’s been scoping out the area, quietly buying up all the land he could get his hands on, and procuring the rest by whatever means worked.”
Justin piped up. “Mr. Lawson’s gone. We just stopped at his place, but the store is empty. Mrs. Clark said she saw him leave town yesterday.”
“I’ll bet he did. He’d face a lynching if he stayed.”
“I just can’t believe it of him,” Joel said glumly.
“Well, I can,” Hannah stormed. White-hot fire coursed through her veins. “If I ever see him again, why I’ll—”
Justin grinned. “You’ll what, slug him in the stomach? You might just about reach it.”
“I don’t know what,” she glowered. “But I’ll tell you one thing. If I have to walk to New York, Mr. Lawson will not be getting our farm!”
Chapter 13
Doctor Graves closed the door softly and lowered himself into a kitchen chair. “It’s a classic case of whooping cough, I’m afraid.”
The anxiety that had boiled Hannah’s stomach into pudding finally cooled. Quinine had cut short Mama’s chills and fever days ago, but her breathing had declined into great consuming coughs that racked her body till Hannah feared consumption. Whooping cough was a serious condition, one that would take weeks to recover from, but it carried no death sentence. Hannah saw her relief mirrored around the table in the faces of her siblings.
“Is it catching?” Maddy asked.
“It’s extremely contagious, and deadly in young children, so you will have to make arrangements for Justin to move in with friends immediately.”
“I’m not leaving,” Justin stated firmly, but no one paid him any mind.
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