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

by Ginny Aiken

  The story of theft and betrayal horrified Olivia. It enlightened her, too. “Poor Eli. She signed his name? Forged his signature?”

  Cooky nodded. “It was his name, but it was her signing like him, wouldn’t you know? Those other folks taken in wouldn’t believe Mr. Whitman, no matter how he explained, how hard he argued, she did it so good. I tell you, all kinds of strange folks came by and demanded to be paid back what they put in, since their schemes and such never had a payday. To protect the bank and his good name, Mr. Whitman stepped up and cleaned all that mess. Took him the better part of a year, but he paid every cent, he did.”

  In spite of how little she knew of the situation, how brief a time she’d known her husband, Olivia’s heart ached with sadness for what Eli had gone through. Another part of her glowed with pride at his determination and persistence and decency. That was the man she was coming to know. Not one who could turn her family—and others, too—out of their homes in the dead of winter.

  There had to be something she could do, some way to appeal to Eli’s better side. He couldn’t have died to compassion, regardless of what his first wife’s family had done to him.

  Olivia would have to pray and pray and pray. Surely, the Father would guide her to the right solution. She believed the Lord would show her the best plan to put into motion.

  But for her to have any chance to put a plan into motion, she would have to let Eli come to know her folks better. The more time he spent with them the sooner he would see what deserving, upright people they were.

  Sunday dinner would fill the bill. Maybe many Sunday dinners would be needed. That was something she could handle.

  “I do say,” Cooky went on, “I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am he’s taken you for his bride. I never ever expected him to even think of wedding again. Not after what all them Tylers did to him. Never. I never would have given it the slightest chance, knowing what I know about what happened here starting three, maybe four years ago.”

  A cold lump landed in Olivia’s middle. “How long has the first Mrs. Whitman been dead?”

  “Am I hearing you right, Miss Olivia?” Cooky sagged back in shock, nearly upending her chair. “Why, she’s been gone about a little less than three years now. Git on with you, dearie. Here, and you’re telling me you don’t know even that much?”

  She shook her head, dreading the answers she might get.

  As the bubbling sound on the range turned to a hiss and a sizzle, Cooky rushed to check on her supper makings. She snagged a wooden spoon and a thick piece of towel. Once she’d uncovered the iron kettle, the savory scent of lamb and barley soup teased Olivia’s senses.

  “Oh, my! That does smell good.”

  Cooky shook the long-handled spoon at Olivia. “There is good, and then there is not. It’s plain wrong to have brought you into this family here all blind-like. I never would have thought Mr. Whitman would do such a thing. Just goes to show, and he’s still a-hurting something fierce. It’s glad I am you’re here. Seems to me the good Lord knew what He was after doing when He had that pig run right out there in front of you.”

  Olivia’s unease grew.

  Cooky went on. “And here folks think pigs are such horrid, stupid critters. Nuh-uh. This one knew just what he was doing when he crossed your path.”

  “I wouldn’t be putting any guilt on the pig, Cooky.” Olivia stood. “Luke was the one who chased the poor beast out into Main Street.”

  Cooky planted her fists on her plump hips. “And you’re after telling me the Almighty couldn’t just have picked up that animal and turned him round to where He wanted it to go? God always knows what he’s after doing, it seems to me. And see, dearie? God knew what He was doing when He brought you here. You’re the right one for us, you are.”

  Olivia’s unease grew with every step she took. Now it wasn’t just Papa telling her God had brought her to the Whitman home. Even Cooky, a woman of great if earthy and uncomplicated faith, believed she’d been guided here by the heavenly Father.

  With a quick excuse for her friend, Olivia left the kitchen, everything Cooky had told her filling her thoughts.

  “Why me, Lord? Why now?”

  As she went up to her room, the silence in the house seemed to deepen and turn as rich as velvet cloth. If the Father had indeed brought her here for a purpose it was as plain as could be that He was not ready to answer her questions or reveal that purpose to her.

  Not yet.

  Chapter 15

  The next day, after she left the children at school, Olivia put into motion an idea that came to her in the middle of the night. Perhaps if Eli became accustomed to seeing her at the bank from time to time, he would grow less wary.

  She walked in, and again was struck by the elegance and the heavy quiet in the air. Near the front of the building, on opposing walls, were the two cashiers’ windows. At the far end of the large room sat a pair of desks, one on either side of the door to Eli’s office. Two men looked quite busy at the desks, as did the two at the brass-barred windows. Moments after she stepped in, a gentleman with slicked-back brown hair, wearing a sober gray suit, approached.

  “Mrs. Whitman,” he said. “I don’t know if we’ve been formally introduced before. I’m Samuel Holtwood, the bank’s head cashier. How may I help you?”

  She smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a good deal about you.”

  A line appeared across his brow. “None of it bad, I hope.”

  “All of it good. I hear you’re my husband’s greatest help.”

  He gave her a modest nod. “I appreciate my position and my work with Mr. Whitman.” He gestured around the bank. “Again, how may I help you?”

  She blinked, thought fast. “Oh… ah… yes. I had hoped to stop in and have a word with Mr. Whitman.”

  Without a change of expression, Mr. Holtwood replied, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He’s busy at the moment, and cannot be disturbed.”

  Olivia was relieved. She hadn’t come up with an excuse for her appearance at the bank, but at least she wouldn’t need one. Not this time.

  “I understand,” she said. “I suppose I’ll wait until he returns home this evening.”

  “I trust it’s not an emergency, then.”

  “No,” she said. “Just a few questions I need answered. But at least I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you. Thank you for your time, Mr. Holtwood. I’ll be on my way home now.”

  Olivia hurried out, shaking her head. She certainly hoped her husband’s right-hand man was as efficient as she’d heard, because he came across as cold as a winter blast and stiff as frozen laundry on the line.

  Next time she came, she intended to meet the two at the desks—if she somehow got past Mr. Holtwood.

  That evening, Olivia was still not ready to face Eli with the matter of her family’s situation, but she was just as unwilling to refuse to meet him for their after-dinner coffee, so Olivia stopped in her room to pick up the dress she was making for Randy. With her sewing basket over her arm, she made her way into the parlor as soon as the children were in bed.

  Eli smiled when she walked in. “I trust you’re feeling better than the last few nights.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I’m not as tired today.”

  He gestured toward the fabric draped over her arm. “What do you have there?”

  She set the sewing basket on the sofa, then shook out the fabric. “This is one of Randy’s new dresses. I want to finish everything but the hem. I’ll measure her and put that in after we’ve surprised her with her Christmas gifts.”

  Olivia took her seat next to the sewing basket and puddled the deep rose wool across her lap. She’d trimmed the luscious cloth with cream-colored lace at the throat and wrists, as well as six parallel rows down from the shoulders to the waist. It was becoming a smart and beautiful garment.

  “You have quite a talent,” Eli said. “I can imagine Randy will be overjoyed when she sees it.”

  Olivia kept her gaze
on the dress, still perturbed by what she’d learned from her father. “Mama taught us girls to sew from the time we were little.” Then, remembering her determination to help Eli become comfortable with the idea of her family, she went on. “I should say, Mama has tried to teach us, but I’m afraid the lessons have not taken well with Marty—Martha Jean, the older of my two younger sisters.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, Marty would rather do anything but pick up a needle and thread. She’s happiest in the garden. That girl can coax masses of green out of even the worst plot of ground.”

  “Then I would imagine a couple years’ drought and the two grasshopper plagues have been difficult for her.”

  Olivia sucked in a sharp breath. How could she have taken them down that pitfall-laden conversational path?

  “Oh, Eli.” Her voice rang with the miseries of the last two years. “The drought and the plagues have been devastating for everyone, not just Marty. Can’t say as I know anyone around this area who’s gone unscathed.”

  “We can hope the worst is over.”

  “If only it were…” She shrugged. “Anyway, Leah Rose, my youngest sister, is the one truly gifted with a needle. I’m just competent.”

  “I can see from here that you sell yourself quite short, Mrs. Whitman. I hope Randy’s happy cries prove that to you Christmas morning.”

  His compliment pleased her more than it should have, especially in view of the conditions on which she and Eli had based their marriage. She couldn’t be foolish enough to let kind words go to her head. They would only lead to heartache someday down the road.

  To draw his attention away from her, Olivia asked Eli about the progress on Luke’s train set, her gaze fixed on the buttonholes she was putting into Randy’s dress. He launched into enthusiastic descriptions of every piece and minute part. Clearly, the father was as enchanted by the project as the son would be with the finished product.

  Olivia was thrilled to have shifted Eli’s focus away from her. She would have to develop the skills needed to do so on a regular basis. She couldn’t spend evening after evening dreading her conversations with Eli, nor could she reveal more than she should until the proper time. She had to build his trust.

  The only way she could see any hope of success was if she bided her time until she could recognize, by Eli’s broader scope of conversation and the easing of his demeanor, the deepening of the friendship between them. Only then would she know he was ready to trust her. Only then would she be able to approach him about the mortgage.

  She prayed it didn’t take too long.

  Soon, Lord Jesus, please. Sooner rather than later.

  A short while after her silent prayer, she failed to suppress a yawn. “Oh, Eli, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude. It is getting late, and I’m ready to retire. If you’ll excuse me?”

  He smiled. “Don’t let me keep you. I confess I’m something of a night owl, myself. I don’t expect you to try and match my hours, especially if you’re going to keep up with the children the next morning. We’ll have another opportunity to spend time together tomorrow evening.”

  As the blush crept up her cheeks, Olivia sensed a return of her earlier boldness. “That would be all our tomorrows, Mr. Whitman.”

  He laughed. “You do have a point there. It is a matter of all our tomorrows, Mrs. Whitman. Good night.”

  Feeling better than she had since Papa showed her Eli’s letter, Olivia made her way up the stairs. She opened the bedroom door, slipped inside, and put away her sewing.

  This latest conversation between her and her husband gave her hope. Oh, yes. She was indeed prepared to wait upon the Lord. The prize, relief for her family and an excellent marriage for her, was well worth the required patience.

  Again, she hoped it wouldn’t be for long. If for no other reason than her folks didn’t have much time.

  As Olivia walked out of the parlor, Eli stood. He couldn’t quite put a finger on what might have caused it, but he did know something had brought about a change in Olivia. As a result, it also had changed things between the two of them. He was certain the change had occurred either during or right after the time Olivia’s father had spent with her when he’d come to visit days before.

  That visit had been the trigger.

  The moment he’d seen that horse tethered out front, an unwelcome mass of dread had dropped into his gut. It hadn’t budged since. As much as he’d tried to dislodge it, it had, instead, strengthened.

  The last couple of nights, Olivia had begged off their pleasant evening chat. He had always felt she enjoyed those times as much as he did. For her to scuttle off to her room right after she’d put the children to bed like that… something had to have been troubling her. Then tonight, instead of sitting in the armchair not three feet from his, as she usually did, Olivia had ensconced herself on the sofa all the way across the room. While he’d known she was working on the dresses for Randy, he hadn’t expected her to use her needlework as an excuse to avoid meeting his gaze. Her evasion alarmed him.

  What was she hiding?

  What kind of trouble had he married this time?

  Eli paced across the parlor, his thoughts rushing. Could his fears be coming true? Could Olivia’s family have begun to pressure her to act on their behalf? And what manner of request might theirs be? If his suspicion was correct, it could only mean one thing.

  History was repeating itself.

  This time, however, he wasn’t as gullible as he’d been during his first marriage. He’d learned the lessons, and he was well known for his excellent memory.

  Whatever Stephen Moore had in the works, Eli wasn’t about to let the man bring it to fruition at his expense. This time there would be no shady buying and selling of cattle herds, no investment in far-away property he didn’t need or want, mines with yields that vanished the moment Eli’s investment—as well as those of others—was effected. No, indeed. There would be no more questionable investments. None at all.

  And absolutely no special favors at the bank, just because the Moores were now Eli’s “family.”

  He wouldn’t set himself up for another too-close brush with financial disaster while someone else skimmed off profits that should have been part of the bank’s assets. No one would ever enrich himself while Eli wound up face-to-face with ruination.

  Never again.

  Not for anyone. Not even for Olivia.

  No matter how much she appealed to Eli.

  At least he knew better than to fall in love again.

  He was no one’s fool.

  On Sunday morning, Olivia couldn’t shake the knot of anxiety in her middle. She knew she’d see Mama and Papa at church, and she dreaded the worry she would read in their faces. Even more, she feared the question she would read in their eyes. They’d want to know if she’d spoken to Eli about that miserable letter.

  Then, to her mortification, Reverend Alton’s message that morning seemed tailored for her. With verse after verse, he stressed the point that God intended His children to trust Him, really trust Him. In its purest form, true trust blessed the believer with a life beyond the bondage built on the foundation of worry, anxiety, and fretting. Olivia had become much too familiar with those three building blocks in the last two years.

  She’d fretted and worried about the family’s situation since the start of the drought, since the first night she overheard her parents’ worried conversation. Then, when the grasshoppers descended, her fears had escalated. Finally, when Papa had shown her that fateful letter, she’d lost all measure of trust.

  Reverend Alton brought his point to its logical conclusion. A believer who indulged in worry and fretting revealed a lack of trust in God, he said. Lack of trust in the heavenly Father proved a person’s weak faith.

  Could Olivia set aside those common tendencies and truly exercise the faith she professed? Could she fully trust the Father?

  What if Papa were right? What if the Lord had brought her to the Whitmans to help her fa
mily, and others, at the time of their greatest challenge and need?

  If that were the case, however, she knew she’d have to trust the Father to guide her, to show her how to trust His leading. It would require total surrender. After all… she hadn’t succeeded in her own strength. She still wasn’t at that point. Worry continued to flog her on a regular basis.

  As she stepped out into the crisp, clear late fall day, Olivia asked the Father’s forgiveness on her way down the steps to the brick walkway up from the street. Partway there, she heard her name called. “Livvy! Please wait.”

  She stepped aside to let other worshippers leave. She smiled and voiced vague comments as they bid her farewell, her gaze on her mother. The look on Mama’s face told Olivia loud and clear what topic she wanted to discuss. To her relief, neither Eli nor their children were near enough to overhear.

  Her mother gave her the warm, loving embrace Olivia knew to expect. “How are you, dear?”

  “I’m fine, Mama. How are you all? How is Papa’s new calf?”

  The two women discussed every subject but the one that loomed between them. When there was no reasonable way for Olivia to distract her mother any longer, Elizabeth asked her question.

  “Have you done as your father asked? Have you spoken to your husband about the letter?”

  The hope in those loving brown eyes made Olivia’s heart ache. She couldn’t bear the thought of watching the effect her answer would have, so she averted her gaze.

  “No, Mama. It’s not that simple.”

  “You gave your father your word.”

  “I know.”

  Olivia glanced around. Eli stood in the doorway of the church with Reverend Alton, the two men engaged in an animated conversation. She had no idea where Randy might have gone, but she could see Luke and another little boy chase each other between the buggies and wagons in the bare plot to the right of the church.

  “I will speak to him,” she said. “But it’s not something I can just bring up at any time. I… Eli is quite particular about certain things. He has made it clear he doesn’t want me involved in any way whatsoever in his business matters.”