But she simply must resolve the banking question sooner rather than later. If she was going to be temporarily in charge, she had to know what each employee was doing.
****
Later that afternoon, dark clouds cast purple shadows on Etta’s desk. Rain was always welcome in drought-prone Burnet County, but the heavy air only intensified her already low feelings. A bolt of lightning illuminated the room, followed quickly by a clap of thunder. Etta jumped in her chair, took a deep breath, and chided herself for being startled. The acting president of a bank couldn’t be afraid of thunder. She had to embody confidence and strength, just as her father always had.
She leaned back in her chair and stared at his empty office. It would be a long time before Papa returned. Even if Charlie Simpson worked miracles, Papa had a long road of healing ahead of him.
Hard pellets of rain struck the glass. This was no gentle spring shower. Papa was probably anxious about the horses being caught in the storm and frustrated about his inability to do anything. Perhaps she should call Gabriel.
Etta reached for the candlestick telephone, but her hand stopped in mid-air. She had been grateful for Sara’s offer, but now that she’d met Gabriel, she wished she hadn’t accepted so quickly. Who knew Sara’s son had grown into such a handsome man?
His dark brows framed light blue eyes that made her catch her breath every time she’d looked into them. His strong jaw was shadowed with dark stubble, and his full lips made her yearn for her first kiss. She’d tossed and turned throughout the night worrying about her father and thinking about Gabriel Benson.
Etta curled her fingers into her palm and rested her hand on the desk. The horses weren’t brainless. They’d gather in the three-walled shelter her father had installed in the north end of the pasture if Gabriel didn’t get them into the stable. Besides, he might think she was checking up on him.
“Miss Davis?”
Startled by the voice, Etta jerked to attention.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Arthur Lewis said with a contrite smile. “But I’ve come across something I need to show you.”
“Of course, Mr. Lewis.” Etta cleared her throat. “I’m afraid you caught me daydreaming.”
Arthur adjusted his wire-rim spectacles. “I understand. You’ve got a lot on your mind.”
Most of which she’d never share with Arthur Lewis. “What can I do for you?”
He slid a ledger book onto her desk. “I found a discrepancy a few days ago and it’s taken me this long to figure it out.” Mr. Lewis’s brows drew together. “Something’s not right, Miss Davis.”
Arthur flipped the pages back and forth as he explained his discovery.
Etta’s mind slipped away from the tallied columns and returned to the few times she’d seen Gabriel as a boy. He’d been a few years older than she and at least a foot taller, and he’d paid little attention to her. Even when she’d accompanied her mother to Sara’s house, Gabriel had been helping his father or working on a neighbor’s land. He’d probably thought of her as a bothersome little girl. What did he think of her now?
“So you see, Miss Davis, I’m certain someone has been falsifying the general ledger.”
Etta’s heart skipped a beat. “What did you say, Mr. Lewis?”
“Over the last few weeks, farmers and ranchers have been coming in about late notices I sent. There’s no record of their loan payments, but they had teller receipts. I had no choice but to apologize for the error and to credit their accounts. That made me wonder if any other accounts had similar problems.”
“Did you find discrepancies in any of the other loans?”
“Not yet. Normally I would have brought this to your father’s attention, but since he’s not well, I thought you would be the next logical person.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” She steadied herself and reached for the key to her father’s office. “My father keeps the general ledgers in his office. Let’s compare them to your records.”
The desk lamp did little to dispel the gloom brought on by the storm. “Farm and ranch loans are here,” she said as she removed an account book from a walnut bookcase, “and here’s a copy of the daily cash transactions.”
Arthur frowned over the books. “Who’s been keeping these up-to-date since you and your father have been gone?”
“Carolina Swanson. She’s been working with my father for almost twenty years.”
Arthur turned the pages of his ledger until he came to the right page. “Here’s where I found the first discrepancy.”
Etta found the corresponding page in her father’s book. “The entries match, but the handwriting is different. See here,” Etta pointed to a column of numbers, “where Carolina wrote her initials?” Arthur nodded. “That shows she’s the one who entered the information. But here,” Etta tapped the page, “the handwriting is different and no one initialed the entry.”
“Someone other than Mrs. Swanson has been entering information.”
“And these numbers don’t match your ledger.” Nausea roiled through Etta’s stomach as she stepped away from her father’s desk. She had to tell her father about this right away. He’d investigate this matter until the thief was caught. He’d —
Etta rubbed her forehead and sighed. She couldn’t lay this at her father’s feet. Every ounce of his energy was needed to recover from his stroke.
This was her fight. She straightened her spine and leveled her gaze at Mr. Lewis. “Have you told anyone else about this?”
“No, Miss Davis.”
“I’ll need to call an independent auditor. It’s imperative you tell no one else about your discovery until I’ve found out more.”
“I understand completely. I owe my job and my family’s security to your father, and I’ll do whatever I can to help. For now, I’ll go on as if nothing’s out of the ordinary.”
“Yes, that would be best. Thank you, Mr. Lewis.”
He retrieved his ledger, tucked it under his arm, and left. Etta sank into her father’s chair and stared at the rain. Is this why Carl had been in her father’s office? The Board of Directors was scheduled to meet in a few weeks. Would she have an answer by then, or would she be forced to admit that a thief had been steadily robbing the bank under her watch?
****
Gabriel lifted his face to the rain and let the cool water wash away the dust. It had just been thunder. Plain, every day, natural thunder. Not shelling. Not German artillery trained on his platoon. Just thunder.
Thank goodness, no one had seen him dive for cover except the horses. Even they had pricked their ears and huddled in conference about his unusual behavior. When his heart had stopped pounding, he’d rolled over and gazed at the ominous clouds. A simple, spring thunderstorm. Almost every farmer and rancher in the county had probably danced for joy at the first rumble, but not him. He’d hit the ground and searched for his entrenching tool.
Now he sat in the doorway of the stable, letting the rain wash away the last scraps of fear and watching the cats run for shelter. The lead mare, Mira, shook her head and pulled at the rope that tethered her to the grooming post. Gabriel stood and ran his hand down her neck. “All right, girl. I know you’re tired of waiting.” He retrieved a brush from the bucket of tools and ran it over the mare’s muddy belly.
This was supposed to be Benito’s job, but there would be plenty to do once the teenager arrived. No use getting worked up about a tardy stable boy. If Gabriel hadn’t had the Arabians, he’d have little else to do except stew over the events of the last year. That never led to any good outcomes.
Antares lifted his muzzle above the stall door and neighed loudly.
Gabriel stopped brushing the mare and listened for what had triggered the stallion’s vocalization. Over the sound of the rain hitting the stable’s metal roof, he heard two voices speaking Spanish.
Etta entered the stable with Benito at her side. She lowered her umbrella and propped it against the wall. “Hello, Gabriel.”
Gabriel nodded i
n greeting.
“You’ll have to excuse Benito for being later than he promised. His aunt made him eat dinner first.”
Benito smiled broadly. “Tía Rosa is the best cook in our family.” The boy looked down the row of stalls. “What should I do first?”
“Get their feed,” Gabriel answered. “Then you can finish the grooming.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy answered with a wide grin as he jogged toward the tack room.
Etta smiled at Gabriel. “I see you got caught in the rain.”
Gabriel used his sleeve to push his wet hair off his forehead. “I’ll dry. Looks like the rain’s letting up.”
Etta turned to look through the open doorway. “You’re right.” She tucked her arms behind her and stood silently. Something was different about her tonight, as though someone had thrown a rock into her placid surface. “Well…if you don’t need anything… I’ll let you get back to work.”
Gabriel couldn’t let her get away that quickly. “How’s your father?”
Etta moved closer and gently rubbed Mira’s neck. The horse nickered softly, obviously enjoying the soothing touch. “Papa was sleeping when I got home, but his new attendant reported he’d had a good day. I’m not sure what that means, but I’ve decided to take it as a blessing. Did you have a chance to ride today?”
Gabriel tossed the brush into the bucket. “I rode Mira over to my parents’ house. I tried to talk my mom into going for a ride, but she thought I’d lost my mind.”
Etta’s smile widened. “I’ve never seen your mother on a horse.”
“She used to ride all the time when I was a boy, but now she says she’s as old as Abraham’s sandals and climbing atop a horse would do her in.”
Etta laughed at the comparison. “That’s old, all right. If the weather holds, maybe I can go for a ride on Sunday afternoon.”
“Where do you like to ride?”
“Along Hamilton Creek. You know the footbridge that connects your family’s land to ours?”
“Sure.”
“If you go just a little farther south, there’s a nice grove of cottonwoods that makes for a good resting spot.”
The same spot where he’d seen her a few nights earlier. “That sounds nice, all right. Would you mind some company?”
Etta’s brows drew together. “Do you think your mother would like to ride with me?”
Surely, a young woman as pretty as Etta had her share of suitors, but her confusion seemed genuine. “I doubt it. But I wouldn’t mind.”
Etta’s eyes widened as his meaning sank in. “Oh.” She took two steps away from Gabriel. “That would be fine.” She picked up her umbrella. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Is two o’clock all right with you?”
“Two o’clock is fine,” she said as she hurried out of the stable.
Gabriel watched her hasty exit and laughed to himself.
Etta was almost as jumpy as he, but instead of thunder, she shied away from flirtation.
4
On Sunday afternoon, Etta sat at her sleeping father’s bedside and stitched the quilt squares together. Charlie Simpson had only been working with him for a few days, but already she could see an improvement. She smiled to herself as she threaded the needle. Charlie was the most optimistic, good-natured person she’d ever met. Even when she’d come home one evening to the sound of breaking dishes, Charlie had cheerfully swept up the pieces and assured her that no harm had been done.
“Mr. Henry’s just frustrated,” he’d said with a smile and a wink. “You’d be frustrated, too, if you had to relearn how to hold a fork. But don’t you worry, miss. Old Charlie’s on the job.”
Etta stitched and prayed. Thank You for sending Charlie to us, Lord. Help Papa be patient in his healing. A spring breeze ruffled the lace curtains her mother had loved, and doves cooed softly from the oaks. Etta dropped her sewing into her lap and leaned back in her chair.
Everyone had been so kind that morning at church. So many had offered to sit with Papa or to work in her mother’s garden until she was ready to take it over. The fellowship of believers was a sweet blessing.
Etta closed her eyes as one of her mother’s favorite hymns floated into her memory. The fellowship of kindred minds is like to that above.
“Wha…yu…”
Etta’s eyes sprang open at the sound of her father’s voice. “Good afternoon, Papa. I hope you had a good nap.”
“Ahh…waaa…”
“Would you like some water?” Etta stood and offered him a glass.
Henry reached for it with his left hand and curled his fingers around it. Etta held her breath while he moved it shakily toward his mouth. Henry sipped the water, lowered the glass, and looked at Etta.
Relief flooded through her veins. “You did it, Papa! That’s wonderful!” Etta used the edge of the sheet to wipe away the drops of water that dribbled down his chin.
“Hmph.”
“I don’t care what you say,” Etta said as she resumed her seat. “It’s progress. Remember that fable about the tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race.”
Henry nudged the quilt square on Etta’s lap.
“I’m halfway finished sewing the squares together. I saw Sara Benson at church this morning, and she agreed to help me finish the quilt. It will look wonderful on your bed.”
“Hor…hors…”
“The horses are doing wonderfully. Rosa’s nephew, Benito, comes before and after school to clean the stalls and to feed the horses. And Gabriel Benson is still coming. I believe he rides every day.”
Her father’s face remained impassive, his jaws slack, and his eyes unfocused.
“I’m going to ride this afternoon. You know how I love to take Mira out for exercise.”
“Yuu..riii…”
“Gabriel said he’d like to go with me. You don’t mind, do you Papa?”
Henry shook his head slowly.
“I’ll be back in time to fix you some dinner. We all know I’m not as good a cook as Momma, but Rosa left a stew in the ice box. All I have to do is reheat it.”
“B..Ban..”
Etta dropped her gaze to the fabric. She mustn’t tell her father about her suspicions, but they grew deeper every time Carl sidestepped meeting with her. She’d written to an auditor in Austin who had worked for the bank on a previous occasion. As soon as she heard from him, she’d supply everything he requested and stay out of his way. The less she had to do with his examination, the better. The Board of Directors had to be certain she had no sway over the results. In a few weeks, she’d have an answer about which accounts were affected by the thief, and, if possible, a trail of clues that would lead to the embezzler. “Everything at the bank is functioning as it should, Papa.” She stitched in silence, afraid to look at her father. She hadn’t lied to him, but she hadn’t told him the whole truth, either.
Guide me, Lord. She prayed as she sewed. Show me the right path to follow.
The sound of feet hurrying up the stairs pulled Etta’s attention away.
Charlie entered the room, his cap in his hand. “Afternoon, miss. Thanks for letting me go to mass with Rosa’s family.”
“Of course. Papa’s been resting.”
Charlie winked at Etta and smiled. “Glad to hear it. It’s time for his afternoon exercises.”
Henry waved his left arm. “Noooo…don...wan…”
Charlie wasn’t dissuaded by Henry’s reluctance. “You keep that up, Mr. Henry, and the next thing you know, you’ll be speaking in complete sentences. I’ve seen it happen before. Now if you’ll excuse us, miss, I’m going to get your Papa out of bed and started on his strength building routine.”
Etta gathered her sewing basket and stood. “I’ll check on you after I return from my ride, Papa.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Stew tonight for dinner, Mr. Simpson.”
“That suits old Charlie just fine, miss. Yes, indeed. What do you say, Mr. Henry?”
Etta scampered out of the ro
om before she could hear her father’s reply, but from his dark expression, it was clear he was not pleased about Charlie’s plans.
****
Gabriel strode into the stable a few minutes after two o’clock and found Etta saddling a mare. Instead of her usual prim, pinned-up hair, today she wore a single braid down the back of her white blouse. She looked much more like the woman he’d seen on his first night home, except today she’d dressed in trousers and knee-high riding boots. There was nothing improper about her clothing, but he couldn’t stop looking at what her skirts had previously disguised. He’d seen plenty of women in pants before, especially in the big cities, and he’d agreed with his buddies that most of them looked like peculiarly dressed men. But no one would mistake Etta for a man. She had gentle curves in all the right places.
“I was planning on doing that for you.”
Etta turned and smiled. “I’ve been saddling my own horse since I was ten years old. Back then, I had to stand on a mounting block to do it.”
Gabriel took a lead rope from the wall. “In that case, why didn’t you saddle my horse, as well?”
Etta laughed at his gentle teasing. “I wasn’t sure which one you wanted today. Have you chosen a favorite?”
“They’re all fine animals, but the stallion could do with a good, long ride. I’ll bring him in.”
Etta turned back to her task.
Gabriel walked into the pasture. Already his heart felt lighter, just at having seen her. He’d caught a glimpse of Etta at church that morning, but he’d been surrounded by members of the congregation who’d eagerly welcomed him home. He stole another glance at Etta. Best not think too much about her curves. He was having enough problems sleeping.
Gabriel reached the stallion, hooked the lead rope into his halter, and then returned to the stable to tie Antares to the hitching post.
Etta came out of the stable office with two small crockery bowls wedged in the crook of her arm. “Don’t tell Papa,” she said with an impish smile as she placed the bowls on the floor.
A Thousand Little Blessings Page 6
