A Thousand Little Blessings

by Claire Sanders

  Two blocks east and two blocks north. Simple enough, except for what awaited him at his destination. But he’d take whatever Blake’s parents dealt. A guilty man must pay the price of his mistake, and once he’d been chastened by those he’d done wrong, perhaps the ghosts would let him rest. Then he could offer himself to Etta as a whole man.

  Gabriel’s stomach twisted as he searched for the right address. Accepting his punishment was the least he could do, but he dreaded it nonetheless. He finally stopped outside a brown brick, side-gabled bungalow and checked the address. Orange and yellow flowers edged both sides of a central walkway leading to the cement porch where a glider swing moved slowly in the spring breeze. He could imagine Blake growing up on this tree-shaded street, playing with the neighbor kids and walking to nearby schools. It must have been a pleasant childhood, free from want or danger. Gabriel took a deep breath, fighting the guilt that threatened to swallow him whole, and knocked determinedly on the front door.

  The muffled voice of a young boy sounded from inside. “I’ll get it, Dad.”

  Gabriel removed his hat and locked his knees as the door swung open.

  Anthony Blake smiled at him with the open earnestness of youth.

  Gabriel’s voice recoiled as his throat tightened in shock. He’d seen Anthony’s dead body, had visited the younger man’s grave before leaving France. How could he be here?

  “May I help you?” the young man asked.

  Gabriel backed away. What miracle had resurrected Anthony and returned him to his family?

  A woman’s voice called from somewhere in the house. “Who is it, Robert?”

  Robert. Anthony Blake’s younger brother. Not Anthony. Robert.

  A middle-aged woman with blonde hair and a flowered apron joined Robert at the door. The two of them turned curious gazes on Gabriel.

  “Good morning,” he said, but his voice came out as a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Good morning. I’m Gabriel Benson. I knew Anthony in the Army and—”

  The woman gasped and her hand went to her throat. “Gabriel Benson? Lieutenant Benson?” She stepped onto the porch. “Oh...oh…” She touched her lips with her fingers and her eyes filled with tears.

  Gabriel’s chest tightened at the woman’s show of emotion. This was just the beginning. There were many more recriminations to come.

  The woman stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Oh, Lieutenant Benson. Thank you so much for coming.”

  Gabriel wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d slapped him, but an embrace and a warm welcome stunned him.

  She stepped back and took his hand. “I’m Celia Blake, Anthony’s mother. Please come in. I just put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

  The boy who’d answered the door shook his hand vigorously. “Hi, Lieutenant Benson. I’m Anthony’s brother.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Gabriel mumbled as he followed Anthony’s mother into the house.

  “Vernon?” Mrs. Blake called. “Vernon, one of Anthony’s officers has come to call.”

  A slender man wearing slacks and a white shirt with suspenders walked into the parlor. A newspaper dangled from his fingers. “Morning,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

  Gabriel shook Mr. Blake’s hand while Mrs. Blake pulled out a chair at a linen-draped table. “Have you had your breakfast?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  Robert stood at Gabriel’s side. “Dad, this is Gabriel Benson, Anthony’s lieutenant.”

  Vernon’s eyes rounded. “Oh, Lieutenant Benson. So nice of you to pay us a visit. Please…” He pointed to a chair. “Please sit down.”

  Gabriel waited for Mrs. Benson to take a seat, but she declined the gesture. “I’ll get us some fresh coffee. You go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Robert, would you give me a hand?”

  “Sure, Mom.” The boy followed his mother out of the room.

  Other than the noises from the nearby kitchen, the Blakes’ house was silent.

  Mr. Blake lit a pipe and puffed fragrant smoke toward Gabriel while examining him with narrowed eyes.

  How did one begin the type of confession Gabriel had to reveal?

  “Where are you from, Lieutenant?” Mr. Blake asked around the pipe clenched in his teeth.

  “Burnet.”

  “Oh, sure,” Mr. Blake said around puffs. “I know where that is. Northwest of the capital, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “The train from Austin comes in at eight o’clock. When it’s on time. Did you arrive last night?”

  “No, sir. I came from Forth Worth.”

  “Fort Worth? Then you came in on the seven-thirty.”

  “Sounds as though you’ve got the railroad schedule committed to memory.”

  “Just the Waco arrivals. I travel all over this part of the state on sales trips. Did Anthony tell you I’m a cotton buyer?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “I travel all over the Brazos Valley, buying cotton for a consortium of mills around here. In fact, I’m leaving tomorrow morning on another trip.”

  Mrs. Blake returned with a tray of cups and saucers. Robert followed her with a white enamel coffeepot. “Here we are,” she said. “Cream and sugar are already on the table.”

  Gabriel drank the hot black coffee and tried to remember if Anthony had taken any of Nichols’s sugar. He could remember precious little about the young soldier, only that he’d been green, trusting, and eager to see battle.

  “Anthony wrote us every week,” Mrs. Blake said, “and he always had some funny story about his platoon.”

  “He sure did,” Robert said. “Remember when he wrote about the most important rule he learned?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Blake chuckled.

  “Do you know the Army’s most important rule?” Mr. Blake asked Gabriel.

  Several answers flitted through Gabriel’s mind, jokes the men had told among themselves, not all of them suitable for ladies. “What did Anthony think it was?”

  “Never tell a sergeant you have nothing to do,” Robert answered.

  “That’s a good one, all right,” Gabriel said.

  “Anthony also wrote about you,” Mrs. Blake said. “He was glad you were the platoon leader.”

  “Anthony was a fine boy. He made us all proud to know him.”

  Mrs. Blake’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “The letter from Captain Brooks said that Anthony was killed in action during the siege at St. Etienne. Can you tell us more? Were you with him when he died?”

  Gabriel swallowed hard and sat back in his chair. This was why he’d come. May as well get it over with. “Did you read about the battle at St. Etienne?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Blake answered. “I read a rather detailed account in the Dallas Morning News. I don’t know how our boys got through the German lines.”

  By the time Gabriel had made it back to the American camp, the battle had been over. But the dead lay where they had fallen, their twisted bodies betraying the final peace that death was supposed to give. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know how they did it, either.” He continued his story, recounting how he’d led the squad along the eastern flank of the battlefield. “Anthony never faltered once. The men in the squad took turns at point, but I hesitated when it was Anthony’s turn. He was the youngest, and I hated putting him in more danger. Nevertheless, he took his place at point before I could decide one way or the other. No one in the platoon ever had reason to doubt him.”

  The Blakes looked at Gabriel as though they were enthralled with his story. But he couldn’t continue to hold their gazes. He stared into his coffee as he related the most difficult part of his narrative. “We took a direct hit from an artillery shell. It knocked me out and killed everyone else in the squad.”

  Robert stood and walked to the window.

  Mrs. Blake cried quietly.

  Mr. Blake poured more coffee into Gabriel’s cup.

  “There’s more you need to know,”
Gabriel continued. “Anthony’s death was my fault. I got lost in all that smoke. I should have turned back, retraced our path…but I didn’t.”

  A minute of silence ticked by.

  Mrs. Blake sniffed quietly, and Robert continued to stare through the window.

  Mr. Blake left the table.

  Gabriel’s throat ached with unspoken emotions. If only he could return to France and change his decision. If only he’d sent Anthony back to camp to retrieve something. But such wishes were futile. He could no more change the past than he could walk on air.

  Mr. Blake returned with a stack of mail. “These are Anthony’s letters. There’s one I’d like to read to you.”

  Gabriel nodded. Listening to Anthony’s words was minor penance.

  Anthony’s father slipped the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it. “Dear Mom, Dad, and Rob.” He glanced at his wife as though seeking permission and then returned to the letter. “I hope you’re not worrying about me. Life in the Army isn’t as bad as people say. I’ve fallen in with a good group of guys. Nichols is the clown of our group. Even his complaints are funny. We call Sgt. Schmidt the ‘old man’ because he’s over thirty. The sarge acts like a scrappy dog that’s been left out in the rain too long, but he takes care of us in his own gruff way. Our lieutenant is Gabriel Benson. He’s tough but fair, and that’s all a soldier needs. One day, back in basic, Lieutenant Benson saw Sgt. Schmidt chewing me out. Benson must have felt sorry for me, because he talked to Sarge. Next thing I knew, I was assigned to the lieutenant for the rest of the week. All I had to do was carry messages, but it got me out of Sgt. Schmidt’s line of fire for a while. So you see, as long as I’ve got good officers looking out for me, I’ll be fine.”

  Mr. Blake laid the letter on the table. “Almost all of Anthony’s letters have something good to say about you.”

  Gabriel closed his eyes and let out a long, quiet breath. He’d come to confess and accept his punishment, but the Blakes were trying to console him instead. When he opened his eyes, Mr. Blake was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “When Anthony told me he’d volunteered,” Mr. Blake said, “I thought immediately of my own father. He’d been a Confederate soldier with Hood’s Brigade, and he had one unbreakable rule. None of his sons would ever be allowed to join the military. My father didn’t talk much about his war, but he did tell me about the chaos of battle. So, although I don’t know firsthand what you and my son faced that day at St. Etienne, I do know it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault Anthony signed up. It’s not your fault he was sent to France, and it’s not your fault he got caught in German artillery fire.”

  Mrs. Blake stood and walked slowly to Gabriel’s side. “I can’t tell you how much it means for you to take the trouble to visit us, Lieutenant Benson. Knowing what happened, knowing that my son didn’t suffer…it’s everything.”

  “We’ll never forget our son,” Mr. Blake added, “but now we’re no longer haunted by the question of how he died.”

  How could Anthony’s family be so kind? Didn’t they understand Gabriel was accountable for their son’s death? Didn’t they realize he was to blame? Should he explain his culpability again? No. He’d told his story and repeating it would only be salt in the wound. Gabriel stood. “I should be going. Thank you for the coffee.”

  Mr. Blake and Robert shook Gabriel’s hand. Mrs. Blake embraced him. After more thanks and their wishes for a good trip home, Gabriel left, forcing himself to walk at a normal pace until he was out of sight.

  Gabriel’s nerves skittered under his skin like angry ants. He’d come to confess and to receive his just punishment. Where was the righteous anger he deserved? Didn’t the Blakes realize that his actions had led to Anthony’s death?

  There was no way he could sit in the railroad station for two hours. With a clenched jaw and hunched shoulders, he turned toward the center of town for another long walk.

  ****

  “You’ve definitely got a thief working for you.”

  Etta shut her eyes, trying to banish the ledgers on her desk and the evidence George Owens had found. But when she opened her eyes, he was still leaning over her, the overpowering scent of his aftershave lotion causing her nose to tingle.

  “The embezzler has been intercepting loan payments for five months. I’d say your chief suspect is Arthur Lewis since he manages loans, but he’s only been here two months.”

  “If you found evidence of the theft going back that far, why did we just notice it?”

  “Two reasons.” George ticked off the findings on his fingers. “First, you regularly have your accounts audited once a year. The embezzler knew that and started falsifying the ledgers just after the last audit. Second, there have been some changes to your normal routines in the past few months. Arthur Lewis taking over the loan department and your father’s recent absence may have forced the thief to change his tactics.”

  A sharp pain shot through Etta’s head. This was too much. Too much to think about, too much to deal with, too much for her to tackle alone.

  George perched on the corner of Etta’s desk. “Now that you know how the money is being siphoned off, what are you going to do next?”

  Etta leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know yet. Your audit shows where the problem is but doesn’t pinpoint any one person. I’m going to need more evidence.”

  “I agree. I’ll probably be called to testify if this ever goes to trial, but for the time being, my work here is finished.” He closed the ledger books and stacked them on the edge of Etta’s desk. “Doesn’t your Board of Directors meet next week?”

  “Yes. I’ll have to tell them about your findings.”

  “I think you should wait. Fraud almost always happens in three steps. The theft itself, concealment of the theft, and conversion of the money. The thief rarely squirrels away the money for his old age. It’s more likely he’ll spend it on high priced items like luxury automobiles or real estate. A person who’s living beyond his means is usually the first person to investigate. Does that sound like any of your employees?”

  It sounded like Uncle Carl, but Etta balked at sharing her thoughts. It could be someone else, someone she hadn’t considered. “I don’t feel right keeping my discovery from the board, but I’ll also explain that the matter is under investigation. My father always preached the benefits of full disclosure, and I’m not about to go against his philosophy now.”

  “My firm could put you in touch with one of the detectives we use,” George continued. “A lovely young woman like you has no business delving into the dirty world of thieves and liars.”

  How would she even begin to follow the embezzler’s trail? “Perhaps you’re right. Give me a few days to think about it.”

  George put one hand on the back of Etta’s chair and leaned in. “I’m so glad you called me to look into this problem. I’d planned to speak to your father about this but, given his recent illness, I see no reason not to speak to you directly.”

  Etta pushed against the chair’s rigid back. “Did you find some other irregularities in the bank’s ledgers?”

  George smiled at her the way one would smile at a child. “No, Henrietta. What I want to ask is permission to call on you. I’ve always thought you’d make someone a fine wife, and if I don’t act soon, someone else may snatch you up.”

  He spoke of her as though she were a prize-winning heifer. “Oh, Mr. Owens…I don’t know how to respond…I…uh…”

  He chuckled softly. “That’s why it’s best for a man of good intentions to speak to the girl’s father first.” George covered her hand with his.

  How could she get out of this? If she declined, she’d risk ruining the working relationship she had with him. If she accepted, she’d give him reason to think there was a chance for more than a business partnership. She withdrew her hand from his grasp and stood. “I can’t tell you how flattered I am by your offer, Mr. Owens, but I simply can’t give you an answer now.
Between my father’s illness and my responsibilities at the bank, I’m unable to think about the future.”

  George’s disappointment was evident in the tight line of his mouth. “Of course, Henrietta. But there’s no reason we can’t get to know each other better. How about dinner and the pictures next Saturday? Shall I pick you up at seven?”

  Her breath fluttered in her chest like a wild bird hurling itself against the bars of a cage. Perhaps she could postpone his more serious intentions if she accepted his invitation to dinner. “I’ll be visiting my cousin in Austin next weekend. That would save you the trouble of driving all the way to Burnet.”

  “Wonderful. Will you give me the address?”

  She’d do that as soon as she asked Nora for permission to spend the weekend and begged her to act as chaperone. “May I send you a note after I’ve finalized my plans with my cousin?”

  “Of course. I’m so happy this is all working out so well. You’ll see, Henrietta. We’ll fit together like a hand and glove.”

  More like a pebble in the toe of a shoe. Etta forced herself to smile.

  8

  From what Gabriel knew of Kenneth Scott, he’d been a farm boy, lured away from Caldwell by his sense of duty and a desire to get away from small town life. Kenneth had been older than the other men and had rarely spoken about his home. Much to his surprise, Gabriel had discovered a wife registered as Kenneth’s next-of-kin.

  As he walked down a dusty road that wound through fields of corn, Gabriel tried to recall anecdotes about Kenneth to share with the Scott family. But what he remembered most was how unhappy the man had been. Kenneth had been a drinker, the only man in the squad who spent off-duty hours in the nearest tavern. Alcohol changed him from laconic to surly, and Gabriel had been forced to discipline the private more than once. At least Kenneth had held his own when the company saw action. He’d followed orders quickly and accurately, never argued or shirked his duty.