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

by Ginny Aiken

  Her moment of truth lay before her. Much though Olivia had tried to carry on without thinking of her arrangement with Eli, all along she’d known much was wrong with her marriage. Now, when her loved ones needed her help, she found herself in an impossible position.

  She’d promised to stay clear of her husband’s business dealings. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t help her father.

  Shame heated her cheeks. She squared her shoulders and stood. “There’s something I have to tell you about my circumstances, Papa. Something I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to share.”

  A shadow crossed Stephen Moore’s face. He nodded encouragement, but said nothing.

  She went on. “Ours hasn’t been a… regular coming together, as most marriages are. When Eli first proposed, he made very clear that I couldn’t meddle in his business affairs. At no time and for no reason whatsoever am I to bring up the subject matter. And this”—she waved the odious letter—“deals with bank business.”

  Papa’s frown turned thunderous. He took a step toward Olivia. “Did that man threaten you?”

  “Never. Eli wouldn’t do that. He made himself very clear. His business is his alone. The children and the house are mine. I gave him my word, and I have to honor his wishes.”

  “As a child of God, Olivia, you’re also called to help those in need.” Papa’s jaw hardened as he clenched the fists at his sides. “You’ve no idea how difficult this has been for me. I’ve always provided for my family, and this is… shameful. I need your help.”

  Oh, yes. She did know how hard it had been for him. Time after time for the last two years she’d heard his anguish when he’d talked with Mama late into the night. But she’d given her word. She couldn’t go back on it, no matter the reason. Although Eli had never said so, Olivia feared he’d send her packing back to Papa if she went against his wishes. What good would that do?

  None, but to make her husband feel betrayed—by her. And of course, she’d lose Luke and Randy. A pang struck her heart. From the moment she voiced her wedding vows, she’d seen the four of them, Eli, the children, and her, as a family.

  But she had another family. How could she resolve this dilemma? How could she choose one family over the other? How could she fail one family or the other?

  She couldn’t.

  Besides, Eli would never listen to any plea she presented, not when it referred to the bank. If that happened, more than likely, all she would accomplish would be to make the situation even worse. That was not an option she could consider.

  After a deep, ragged breath, she forced the words past her lips. “I… can’t.”

  “You must.” Papa gestured around the attractive room. “Even though you live here now, this letter will affect you. You’re still a part of us, Olivia. You’re our daughter and the younger ones’ sister. I know how tenderhearted you’ve always been. If we end up homeless—if we suffer—it will affect you, too.”

  “But—”

  “And I trust God. If you don’t act, He will. He’ll work out His plan in the end—with or without you.”

  “Well, then, why not wait for Him—”

  “Oh, child, listen to me. Don’t you think this might be the reason the Lord brought you into Eli’s home? For Him to work through you? For such a time as this?”

  After Papa left, Olivia went through the motions of supper, where she picked at the ham, creamed potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots she’d planned with Cooky that morning—a lifetime ago, or so it felt. She oversaw the rest of the children’s schoolwork, but her attention drifted so much that Randy had to correct her mistakes when she tried to help with Luke’s mathematics assignment. Sooner rather than later she hurried the children through their bedtime routines, unable to think of much but her family’s troubles. Finally, she fumbled through her last chat of the day with Cooky as though she were lost in the depths of a cloud.

  A cloud. Indeed. Thick and vast and bearing storms.

  Feeling like the worst of cowards, Olivia slipped from the kitchen to the stairs, eager to reach her bedroom before Eli caught sight of her.

  But she wasn’t quick—or furtive—enough.

  “Olivia,” he said as she went to take her first step up. “I’d hoped we could end the day with our usual cup of coffee. Will you be back down soon?”

  She turned slowly, searched for acceptable excuses, but failed to come up with even one. “I’m sorry, Mr. Whitman—” At the raised eyebrow, she revised her words. “I’m sorry, Eli. It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted. I would like to make an early night of it. Please excuse me.”

  “Are you unwell?”

  “No.” Not really. “I’m fine. It’s just… as I said. I’m drained. From going to the farm and…” She made a vague gesture with her free hand. The other clung to the polished oak banister. “And, well, everything.”

  It didn’t take much to discern his thoughts, as they were right there, legible in his bewildered expression. “I… well,” he said. “I suppose then… the best thing for you would be an early night, as you said. I hope you sleep well. And that you feel better in the morning, of course.”

  She couldn’t face him. Not with everything she’d learned from Papa looming large and ominous in her thoughts. She took that first step up. “Thank you. I hope so as well.”

  Olivia doubted she’d feel better after a few hours’ sleep. With all her concerns and fears growing greater by the minute, did she have any hope of sleeping?

  Not likely.

  Before Eli could say another word, she flew upstairs and into her simple, private, peaceful room. Once she closed the door, she sagged against it, as drained as she’d told Eli, her strength sapped.

  Her emotions clotted into a knot in her throat, and the tears that had threatened from the moment she’d read the loathsome letter rained down over her face. Where had her courage and boldness gone? Had she used them all up when she’d approached Eli for the nanny job?

  How could she find herself in this position now?

  “Oh, Lord, how could you!” The words ripped from her lips in a raw, low, guttural rasp. “How could you put me in such an impossible position? You know I can’t do this. I can’t go against my husband.” And yet… it was her beloved family’s fate that sat in Eli’s hands. Could she just cower from questions that needed asking? Could she just let Eli turn Mama and Papa, her brothers and sisters out of their home for the sake of his bank’s profits?

  Could the man she married have such a cold, unfeeling side? Nothing she’d come to know about him suggested such a possibility. Was that behind his demand that she stay out of his business? Was he, in a way, two different men? The husband and father at home, and the single-minded, cold banker at work?

  It didn’t make sense. Eli’s request didn’t make sense.

  Eli…

  Eli, Eli, Eli.

  He stood, tall as one of the evergreens in the nearby mountains, solid as the massive mountain itself, successful in their small town as… as any railroad magnate from back East. How could she, the daughter of a farmer beholden to Eli Whitman, challenge one of his business decisions?

  Especially since Eli, as a condition of their marriage, had extracted her promise to never do such a thing.

  Impossible.

  There was nothing she could do.

  As she crawled into bed, however, a Scripture much repeated by her mother over the years took shape in Olivia’s worry-battered mind.

  With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible…

  Disappointed at the way his evening had turned out, Eli returned to the parlor and his favorite armchair. He poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. His mind echoed with so many questions that he scarcely felt the heat, much less tasted the beverage.

  Amazing how much a part of his evenings Olivia had become in such a short time. In the three months since he’d hired her he’d come to look forward to spending time with her, and after their wedding, discussing the children and all the details of life
in the Whitman household. It never would have occurred to him to discuss such things with anyone before she came along. Not even with his first wife. Theirs had not been that kind of partnership.

  Although he didn’t know how to reach out to Olivia, how to breach the divide that now lay between them, he did know something was troubling his wife—

  Dear heavens! She was his wife.

  Almost.

  The intimate, emotional aspects of marriage? Well, he didn’t want to consider those, knowing now where they could lead a man if he let his heart take the reins. He’d traveled that path before, and it had led to disaster and near destruction.

  Still, he’d thought they were building an excellent union, one rooted in an easy companionship where they could discuss all kinds of things.

  He drank more coffee, cooler than before.

  Perhaps he was looking for too much too soon. While Olivia had been under his roof since the beginning of September, and even though she had fit in with an ease that still surprised him, the children’s initial objections and tomfoolery notwithstanding, only three months had gone by. They’d only been married for a matter of weeks. Not much time at all.

  Had he become so greedy that he already wanted more and more of the closeness he knew had begun to grow between them? Before they’d had the time to build the level of trust necessary?

  “Very well, Lord,” he murmured as he set down his coffee and took up his pipe. “You’ve been patient with me. While I can never come close to You, I need to be patient. I need to give Olivia more time. I need to give us more time.”

  He lit the well-tamped tobacco and took a long pull of the aromatic smoke, his thoughts still on his wife.

  In the middle of the night, Olivia again heard Luke cry out, followed by hushed whimpers. It had happened a time or two since she’d come to care for the Whitman children, but she hadn’t felt he would welcome her presence. He’d likely have thought it meddling on her part.

  This time, however, was different. She was his mother now. She slipped from the bed, threw on a housecoat, and hurried to his room.

  “It’s me, Luke,” she whispered from the doorway. “May I come in?”

  The silence left her wondering if he might try to pretend he hadn’t heard her, but then the bedclothes rustled, and the boy sniffled. “Sure.”

  Olivia sat on the edge of his bed, reached a hand to smooth his tousled hair. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing much. Just a bad dream. I woke myself up when I screamed. Silly. Just like a girl.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. All kinds of folks have bad dreams, grown-ups even. I’ve had them, too.”

  He sat up. “Really? Wha—what do you do about ’em?”

  She smiled. “I pray about them. I tell God to take the bad dream and replace it with a good dream. Most of the time, that’s all it takes for me to fall asleep again.”

  “That’s it? That easy?”

  “That easy.” Olivia took his cold hand in hers. “Would you like to try?”

  “Well, sure. Of course, God’s big enough to do anything, right?”

  “That’s right, Luke. He can hear your prayers, and then replace the bad dream with a good one.” She scooted over a bit. “Here. Why don’t you sit next to me, and we’ll pray.”

  Luke scrambled to her side, and Olivia wrapped an arm around his thin shoulders. He leaned into her, the gesture warming her heart. He was a rascal, but he was also a charming, lovable boy. Her boy.

  “Heavenly Father,” she said, “you know all about these nasty dreams bothering Luke. We know you’re the God of all comfort, and he needs comfort right now. He also needs your peace through the night so he can dream good dreams and rest as he needs to do. We love you, and we thank you, Amen.”

  “I know you’ve not lost your hearing overnight, dearie,” Cooky said the next morning, exasperation on her rosy-cheeked face. “Something’s a-troubling you. I’ve called your name three times, and you’ve answered not a one of them. I hope you know you can trust me to talk to.”

  Olivia blushed. “Of course. I do know that, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you. It’s just…”

  “I’m thinking it’s to do with your papa’s visit yesterday.”

  A deep breath. “Yes, it is related. I’m not sure how much I should say, since it’s not my problem to begin with, but I can tell you it affects my new family here as much as it does my old one.”

  “Now that’s odd. Have the families been friendly-like all these years?”

  “Oh, no. Not particularly. Papa has known Mr. Whitman for years, since he’s done business at the bank, but friendly? No.”

  Cooky gave her a penetrating look. “Ah… business. That’s a right sticky matter for Mr. Whitman, I’ll have you know—if you don’t already.”

  Olivia averted her gaze. “I do know. He’s made his feelings far more than clear.”

  “Come, sit a spell, dearie.” Cooky pulled out a chair from the small square table in the middle of the large kitchen and plopped down as she often did these days. “Take a chair. Have yourself a cup of that tea you’re so partial to, and let’s be having us a little chat.”

  The last thing Olivia wanted was to have Cooky—anyone, really—pry and prod. But she realized there was no decent way to turn down the invitation. She’d never do anything to hurt her new friend’s feelings, so she took a teacup from the shelf near the range, and then poured boiling water from the teakettle Cooky had begun to keep full and ready after she and Olivia reached a truce.

  Cup in hand, she sat across from Cooky. To keep from meeting the wise woman’s stare, Olivia focused on stirring honey into the tea. Finally, when she couldn’t keep that up any longer, she set down her spoon and glanced up.

  The kindness and affection on her friend’s face warmed a shadowed aching corner of her heart. “Oh, Cooky… it’s so complicated.”

  “Oh, pshaw! I’m sure and it’s not. But folks always choose to look at things their way rather than God’s way. From where He’s sitting up there on His throne, things are mighty simple, don’t you think?”

  “Of course, but I’m not there—”

  “Yet. And still and all, our sweet Jesus is there at the Father’s side, stepping in and a-praying for you all this time. I’m sure He can handle this problem of yours, just as He’s been after doing all these long years.”

  Olivia chuckled. “I suppose when you put it that way, it seems silly to be so troubled. If God can make this world work, no matter how irksome it must seem to Him at times, then I’m sure He can guide me to the right solution.”

  “Even if the trouble has to do with the mister’s business.”

  Olivia’s stomach gave a little flip. She sipped some tea in an effort to settle her nerves. “It’s a difficult subject for him, and I can’t see why it should be. He’s such a successful man.”

  A horrid thought occurred to her. “Oh, dear. Is the bank not doing well? Is Eli having trouble there? Is that why he’s so touchy about business matters?”

  “No, dearie.” Cooky waved, as though to shoo away that concern. “I don’t think there’s been much wrong at the bank for a good long while now. All’s what’s wrong is with Mr. Whitman, himself, it is.”

  “I feared as much.”

  “Now don’t go an’ be taking that wrong, Miss Olivia. In some ways, that poor man has his good reasons to feel like that, he does. He’s had more than his share of troubles in the past.”

  “In the past? But if his business is no longer suffering difficulties, then why would he be so—” She caught herself. She didn’t want to appear critical of her husband, even to Cooky, who clearly knew Eli better than Olivia did. “I suppose what I’d like to know is if those troubles you mentioned are resolved, then why would he still be… oh, I don’t know. Why would he be closed up so tight about his business matters if it’s all working well?”

  Cooky shook her head. “Can’t be saying as it’s that easy, dearie. The first Mis
sus Whitman… why, I reckon she nearly cost Mr. Whitman his business and his good name, she did.”

  Olivia gasped. “How could that be possible? How could a wife do that?”

  “Well, child, it happened. Missus Victoria had a greedy streak to her, she did. Her family did even more so. She had herself a passel of brothers, and they were all the time making deals, promising special favors, and buying and buying and buying. Oh, yes.”

  Cooky fell silent, her thoughts in the past. When the moment drew out, grew uncomfortable, Olivia figured it was time to leave. As she was about to stand, Cooky shook her head.

  “And all them deals and favors? Whoo-ee! They cost Mr. Whitman a-plenty, they did. He didn’t know a thing about ’em until everything just came a-calling on him a coupla days after Missus Victoria died. Why, they—she—was always going behind his back.”

  “But Eli’s so cautious, so clever and capable. How could they go behind his back? How did he not know?”

  “Tsk-tsk-tsk!” Cooky shook her head. “Our Mr. Whitman, dearie, he’s just a man like all other men. Why, he trusted his wife, he did. Missus Victoria, she was pretty like an angel, I tell you. She smiled at him, and he sure danced along, talked him into going in with her brothers in their investments, and all.”

  To Olivia’s surprise, the older woman’s normally happy expression changed, her lips clamped down, they thinned, drew a white rim around their edges. She smacked her hand on the table.

  Olivia started.

  “And then she up and died on him,” Cooky said, her voice heated. “But what’s worse, Miss Olivia, is how those brothers talked big, promised big, and all. They took money to put in businesses in California and deals in Washington—Mr. Whitman’s money, and other folks’, too. He was left with nothing but all kinds of papers, his and Missus Victoria’s names on those papers—she did all the signing, even his name, you know. That money her brothers promised?”

  Olivia nodded.

  “Oh, no sirree, no. No dollars came like that riff-raff said would come, especially after they took off with everyone’s last penny. Left Mr. Whitman holding the bag, they did.”