For Such a Time as This: A Women of Hope Novel

by Ginny Aiken

  He sat back, right ankle atop his left knee. “The holidays are only weeks away. I’d like your opinion on the gifts for the children.”

  She nearly choked on the hot coffee. “My opinion?” How astounding.

  “Of course. You’re their mother now. I think the gifts should come from the two of us.”

  “That’s a lovely idea. What did you have in mind?”

  “Have you noticed my son’s interest in trains?”

  “I’d have to be deaf, blind, and a fool not to.”

  Eli sent her a satisfied look. “You’re none of those. That’s why you will make such an excellent wife.”

  “Why… thank you.” A most unusual evening, this.

  “You’re welcome to the truth. And because you’re so aware of the children’s needs, I can appreciate your opinion. What would you think of a wooden train set for Luke?”

  “He would love it. But where would you find one? It’s too late to order one from back East.”

  “I’d have Tom Bowen make it. The man’s a marvel when it comes to working wood.”

  “Papa thinks a great deal of Mr. Bowen’s talents. I’m sure the train would be a dream come true for any little boy, especially Luke.”

  “Then that’s settled.” Eli frowned. “I just wish Randy… er… Miranda were as easy to shop for as Luke.”

  “Miranda shouldn’t be any trouble. She’s become quite tall these last few months. Her dresses are much too short for a young lady. She’s even straining the seams of last winter’s coat.”

  Eli shook his head, a wistful smile on his lips. “I can’t believe my little girl has grown so fast. I suppose longer skirts are appropriate now.”

  “I’m afraid so. She grows more interested in fashionable clothing by the day. Prepare yourself for your young lady, one with a young woman’s tastes.”

  “Then gentlemen callers can’t be too far off in my future.”

  Olivia took another sip of coffee. “With Randy’s looks and her spunk, I suspect they’ll come in droves.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  His continued attention unnerved her. She felt more comfortable back in her room. “Do you agree with my suggestion, then? New dresses and a coat?”

  “I’d rather keep her in pinafores and pigtails forever, but of course she must be properly dressed. I knew your opinion would help tonight.”

  She set down her cup and saucer. “I’m glad. They really are wonderful children. I’ve grown to love them.”

  “Then you don’t regret our marriage?”

  Olivia drew a sharp breath. “No. No, I don’t.”

  It had only been a few days, but she didn’t regret marrying him. At times, she did wonder if she would someday regret the business arrangement to which they’d agreed. Especially since the man she was coming to know had so many appealing traits. But she could hardly say that.

  Eli cut into her thoughts. “I’m glad. That brings me to my last question. What would you like for Christmas this year?”

  Olivia stood. “Me?”

  Eli gave her a knowing look. “Indeed, Mrs. Whitman, you. A hint would help me choose something you’ll welcome.”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. I can’t imagine more than you’ve already given me.” She gestured toward the room. “I have more than I ever thought I would. The children, the home, easing Papa’s burden… I thank God daily for these gifts. I can’t think of a solitary thing more a woman could want.”

  Eli’s expression darkened. “Try. I’m sure you can come up with at least one more. Women always do.”

  She’d never heard Elijah Whitman speak in any but the most respectful, kind, and gentle tone. Until now.

  Well… and when, during his proposal, he’d warned her to stay out of his business matters. True, he’d wanted to delineate what her duties would be. However, he’d seemed unduly harsh and unbending about that issue. Had she in any way given him the idea that she possessed even a hint of interest in the Bank of Bountiful?

  She didn’t think so. Still, a serving of bitterness had accompanied his words. She couldn’t help but wonder what lay behind it, but she didn’t dare ask.

  Her earlier happiness gone, Olivia set her cup gently down. “I’m most appreciative of all you’ve given me, Mr. Whitman. I don’t have other needs, so please, don’t waste another thought on a gift. I’m quite content.”

  She left the parlor, then in the hallway, paused again. “Good night.”

  In her room, she fell to her knees by the bed. “Lord Jesus, did I do something to displease him? Have I seemed ungrateful? Have I somehow crossed that invisible line he drew between us?”

  She sifted back over her actions of the past weeks and found nothing to condemn her. Except…

  Except that niggling sense of something missing, of emptiness. Feelings and emotions. Although she’d agreed theirs was a marriage of convenience, she’d always expected to find something else in marriage. Something more.

  Olivia sighed. That something was nothing Eli could produce for the holidays. He more than likely never would be willing or able to produce it.

  Until death do you part.

  It would be a long time, indeed.

  To her surprise, she suddenly wished for the warm tenderness her parents still shared, even after decades of marriage and five busy youngsters.

  Nothing but affection. Although a twinge of sadness had pierced Olivia’s heart, she’d come to see the various benefits in becoming Mrs. Elijah Whitman. They remained as strong as ever. Especially when it meant she’d never have to leave the children who were becoming so dear to her.

  How selfish could she be?

  God had blessed her with an upstanding husband, a respectful, sober, moral, hardworking man. Eli in turn had provided her with all the comforts a woman might need. Still she found herself longing for more.

  Why? Why wasn’t she satisfied with all she had?

  “Forgive me, Father,” she murmured. “Take away this discontent I never before knew might someday be a part of me. Help me find contentment in what I do have… in you.”

  A short while later, Olivia went to bed, her uncertainty eased, as always, by her faith. Her dreams, however, were filled with Eli’s intriguing if distant face.

  Chapter 12

  “Afternoon, Missus Whitman,” called Barry Woollery, Bountiful’s blacksmith, as she crossed Main Street at his corner. It took a moment for Olivia to realize he was speaking to her.

  “It truly is lovely,” she replied with a smile.

  As he stepped from his doorway onto the boardwalk, the large man wiped his shiny forehead with the back of a hand. “Just how I like ’em, ma’am. Cool and crisp and smellin’ of winter, but sunnylike and bright.”

  Olivia took note of Mr. Woollery’s flushed features and the roar of the fire behind him. “I can see where you would like the cold. It’s hot work even now that the temperature has dropped.”

  “That it is, ma’am. That it is.” He grinned and pointed with his chin. “Are you and the little missy out for an afternoon’s walk?”

  At Olivia’s side, Randy bristled with impatience. “No, sir,” she hurried to say. “We’re on our way to Metcalf’s Mercantile. I need certain dry goods, and I promised Miranda a special treat once I’m done.”

  “Licorice drops were my boys’ favorites. Would they be yours, too, Miss Randy?”

  Randy took a step toward the mercantile. “I prefer peppermints.”

  Mr. Woollery tapped his brow and turned back toward the gleaming-red forge. “I won’t keep you ladies, then.”

  Olivia smiled at her daughter. “Thank you for your patience. I promise not to take too long choosing my dress goods.”

  Luke, who’d watched the town’s hustle and bustle from the boardwalk, frowned. “I sure hope not… hey! Can I go see Papa? Please? Just for a little while. I promise I won’t be a bother. ’Sides, I don’t like girls’ dresses and stuff.”

  After a moment’s consideration, Olivia nodded.
“But only if you ask Mr. Holtwood if your father’s busy before barging in on him.”

  Earnest blue eyes met hers. “Oh, I will, Mama. I promise. An’ I won’t bother one bit.” He took off at a run, his footsteps pounding out his progress down the wooden walk outside the town’s businesses.

  “Such a child,” Randy said.

  Olivia ignored the comment and opened the door to Metcalf’s Mercantile. “Let’s see what we can find here. I have a fair idea what I’d like, but I do appreciate another lady’s opinion.”

  Randy’s blue eyes widened. “D’you mean… me?”

  Olivia took a moment to study the girl. With her black hair, rose-tinted skin, and bright eyes, Miranda was already more than halfway to becoming a beauty. Blues and roses and whites would suit her better than the browns, rusts, greens, and occasional plums Olivia favored.

  “I don’t see why not. I’m sure you know what you like when you see it. I certainly don’t want Mrs. Gallagher to make up any dresses in fabrics that will look foolish or dreadfully dull.”

  Randy stood taller. “That would be a waste, wouldn’t it?”

  To hide her smile, Olivia turned toward the table stacked high with rainbow bolts of cloth. “What about that periwinkle one?”

  Under the pretense of gaining her daughter’s opinion on new dresses for Olivia, the two of them went through the store’s choices in systematic fashion. No cotton dimity went unnoticed, not a serge, calico, or wool. Randy forgot all about putting on her usual airs, and Olivia found the sweet side of the girl she tried so hard to hide. If only she could help her new daughter see she was most like the young lady she so desperately wanted to be when she relaxed enough to be herself.

  As they narrowed their choices to six or so, familiar footsteps pounded into the store.

  “Mama!” Luke cried. “I just heard the bestest news in Papa’s office. I can’t hardly believe our great good luck.”

  Holding her son by the wriggling shoulders, Olivia forced him to pause long enough to ask him a question. “Do you think you can slow down and let us in on your news?”

  “Yes! But it’s the best thing that’s ever happened.”

  Here Olivia had thought, after last night, that Luke felt she was the best thing to ever happen. Trust the Lord to use a child to put a woman’s pride in its proper place. “Tell me about it, then.”

  “Why, Mama, the railroad’s coming to town. And Papa—Papa’s—the one bringing it here.”

  Gasps flew from various corners of the store. Olivia and Randy had been so busy choosing fabric they hadn’t noticed the other customers in the emporium.

  “The railroad?” she asked. “Are you sure, Lucas?”

  Wide-eyed nodding answered her.

  “But… Bountiful’s such a small place.”

  “Won’t be anymore,” the boy crowed.

  “The railroad…” Olivia stepped to the Mercantile’s door. She glanced out toward Main Street and watched the normal midday bustle of their small town for a moment. Horses drew neighbors’ wagons to their business, while pedestrians paused to chat with friends as they attended to errands. Everyone knew everyone else and found comfort in that knowing.

  But now… the railroad was coming. According to Luke, her train-mad child. Could he have mistaken what he’d heard? “Just what did you hear in your papa’s office?”

  “He said a spur line was coming through Bountiful, and… and what a—a boon that would be for everyone. He said the railroad would bring wonderful changes with it. Nothing will ever be the same again.”

  Olivia took another look out the glass door. Reverend Alton crossed the street at his usual brisk pace, his well-thumbed black Bible under a brown-suited arm. Addie’s mother, Mrs. Hadley, and her dear friend, the recently widowed Mrs. O’Dell, stepped up to the latter’s home, probably discussing the bakery the widow planned to open in the two front rooms of her house. Hector Swope, the town ne’er-do-well, sat in his usual spot outside the Folsoms’ River Run Hotel. Every so often, he persuaded a resident to treat him to a meal or give him a handful of coins. The rumbling wagons, the chatting neighbors, the busy street. Those were the sights of Bountiful, Olivia’s home.

  But now, if Luke were right, railroad tracks, locomotives, even a station, would come to change the landscape. The strangers who’d follow would change the flavor of their small community. When they did, Luke’s statement would more than likely prove correct. Nothing would ever be the same in Bountiful again.

  Unease nipped at Olivia.

  On top of all she’d experienced in the recent months, especially the past two weeks, it looked as though still more change lay in her future. What would the traffic of a railroad mean to small, peaceful Bountiful?

  Would it bring a blessing or a curse?

  Eli watched his son tear out of the office in search of willing recipients of his good news.

  It was good news. “What do you think, Holtwood?” he asked the serious man on the other side of his walnut desk. “It would appear our hard work of the past six months is about to pay off.”

  Mr. Holtwood nodded as he neatened a stack of papers. “Your vision, sir, was most clear. I appreciate working for a man like you.”

  He waved the compliment aside. “A good idea at the right time can make a man look wiser than he might really be. But I do believe God wants Bountiful to prosper, and for that to happen, we need a more direct link to larger cities.”

  Holtwood set the papers down on the desk corner nearest him. He nodded. “Perhaps we’ll benefit from the cattle trade as well.”

  Eli’s gut twisted. “Haven’t seen benefit there but for the least ethical and most corrupt.”

  Holtwood winced, clamped his lips tight. “So sorry, sir. I’d all but forgotten about—”

  “Please do me a favor and really forget it. Don’t bring it up again.”

  Eli had tried to do just that for the last two years, keeping in mind the Apostle Paul’s words about forgetting things past and pressing toward God’s high calling in Christ. It hadn’t been easy, and he evidently hadn’t achieved true forgetfulness, as his response to Holtwood’s reference revealed. He had, however, thought about his mistakes and others’ betrayals less frequently of late, and he intended to continue that pattern.

  He changed the subject. “How about looking into available land around Bountiful? We could find out who is interested in selling property at a fair price. Since the railroad is sending representatives here to investigate their options, we would do well to provide them with a list of potential purchases.”

  Interest brightened Holtwood’s expression. “I’ll certainly look into it, sir.”

  A knock at the door interrupted the men. “Come in, please,” Eli said.

  Larry Colby, the bank’s other teller, entered the office, his skittish gaze flitting from man to man, one corner of the room to the other, floor to ceiling. “I have yesterday’s tally, sir.” He nodded and his spectacles slid to the tip of his nose. “And the letters to the railroad Mr. Parham wrote.”

  Holtwood nodded. “So glad Parham answered the advertisement for a secretary so soon. We really were in need of the help.”

  Lewis Parham had appeared in town, a copy of a Seattle newspaper in hand, Eli’s advertisement for an experienced secretary circled, a sheaf of recommendations ready for his new employer.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Whitman,” Colby said, setting the papers on Eli’s desk. His nervous movement caused the stack, along with several of Eli’s files, to slide, and all the pages poured to the floor. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry. Let me gather this for you, sir.”

  He went down on one knee, but his eyeglasses fell, as did the pencil he’d slipped over an ear. As he scrabbled across the rug, Colby offered a stream of additional anxious apologies and ran a twitchy hand through his already unruly red hair.

  “Aha!” Colby cried, glasses back in place, papers gathered, pencil clutched in a fist. “No loss, sir. So, so very sorry. Don’t know what’s come over me this morning.
Won’t happen again, sir. Won’t let it.”

  That would be a feat.

  Exasperation chafed Eli. Colby had worked for his father and him at least a decade now. During that time, father and son had demonstrated their appreciation for Colby in multiple ways, and still his nervous-ninny demeanor continued. Eli didn’t think he treated his employees in any way that might lead to such behavior, since none of the others displayed similar skittishness.

  He tamped down his irritation. “Holtwood and I were just discussing potential land purchases to prepare the bank for the arrival of the spur line. It would be beneficial if we owned property we could offer them, or if it can’t be bought by the bank, we can recommend the railroad buy it outright. Please help him look into who owns the most logical stretches for tracks both north and south of town. Let me know what you find as soon as possible.”

  With yet more rabbity movements, Colby headed out, leaving Holtwood to close the office door as they left. Relief replaced Eli’s tension once the jittery man had gone. Despite Colby’s anxiety and nervous tendencies, his ability to spot accounting errors had earned Eli’s admiration and confidence, making the man a valuable employee.

  Through painful past experience, Eli had learned to hoard his trust. From those who’d proven loyal, as Holtwood and Colby had, he could tolerate petty annoyances—even if at times he feared Colby’s might drive him half-mad. Nobody was perfect, after all.

  He shook his head, then tugged on his watch’s gold fob. Hmm… a quarter past four. He’d intended to leave the bank early this afternoon to stop by Tom Bowen’s, but he’d lost track of time, what with all the developments regarding the spur line. That left him little time for the carpenter, but Eli wanted to see if Luke’s wooden train was possible by Christmas Day.

  He dropped a pencil into the desk drawer, rose, and then, taking his black wool suit coat from the rack by the door, put it on and reached for his hat. Filled with the satisfaction of a job well done, he left the office with a bounce in his stride.

  He paused at Holtwood’s desk, where the two cashiers had spread a map. “I would appreciate if you would close for me tonight, Holtwood.”