A Thousand Little Blessings

by Claire Sanders

  At last, Gabriel arrived at the orchard the town’s postmaster had indicated. Hand-painted letters on a wooden sign announced “Scott Family Pecans,” and beyond that stood a small frame house with peeling white paint. A young, thin woman wearing a flowered house dress and a faded apron swept the front porch with a worn broom. She shielded her eyes with one hand and watched Gabriel approach the house.

  “Good afternoon,” he said.

  The woman wore her light brown hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her dark gaze watched Gabriel with the wariness of a coyote protecting its den.

  “My name is Gabriel Benson. I served with Kenneth Scott in the 36th Division out of Fort Bowie. I’m looking for his widow, Lorena Scott.”

  The woman dropped her hand but didn’t smile. “I’m Lorena Scott,” she said curtly. “I heard your name before. Kenneth didn’t write home much, but he mentioned you. I guess you want to talk to his family.” The woman’s ruddy skin was stretched tautly over her face and deep-set wrinkles marred her forehead.

  “If it’s no trouble.”

  “No trouble. I’ll call Kenneth’s brother. He’ll want to meet you.” She perched her hands on bony hips and walked to the edge of the porch where she pulled the rope attached to a black cast iron bell. After several loud rings, she opened the worn screen door and motioned for Gabriel to enter.

  Gabriel removed his hat. Once inside, he realized the house was one large room. A rocking chair sat near a blackened fireplace and a small table with two benches served for a dining room. A metal bed frame with a thin mattress took up one corner of the bare, but clean, room.

  “Go on and sit down,” Lorena said. “Donald will be here soon. You want some water?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She went to the far corner where a metal sink with a hand pump sat beside a rusted cast iron stove. “We’ve got the best well water in twenty miles.” Lorena took a canning jar from a wooden shelf, dipped it into a metal bucket, and set the jar on the scarred table. Gabriel sat on the crudely made bench and drank the cool, sweet water. “That’s really good,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

  “Told you so.”

  A dog barked from outside and a tall man wearing faded overalls and a stained shirt stepped through the back door. A young boy dressed in clothes too small for him tagged behind.

  The man was brawny and smelled of sweat. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Gabriel, who stood.

  “This here is one of Kenneth’s Army friends,” Lorena said.

  Gabriel straightened to his full height. “Gabriel Benson. I served with Kenneth in France.”

  The other man uncrossed his arms. “I’m Donald Scott, Kenneth’s big brother.”

  Gabriel shook Donald’s heavily calloused hand. “Nice to meet you.” Gabriel smiled at the boy who peeked from behind Donald’s leg. “Is this your son?”

  Lorena bent down to the boy’s level. “This here is Kenneth Jr. He’s mine.” She swung the boy up and perched him on her hip. “You been helping Uncle Donald?”

  The boy nodded and laid his head on his mother’s shoulder.

  “This here is Lieutenant Benson. Can you say hello?”

  The boy turned chocolate-brown eyes toward Gabriel and shook his head.

  Lorena smiled for the first time, showing several gaps where teeth should have been. “Can you tell him how old you are?”

  The boy concentrated on his hand, finally managing to hold up four fingers.

  “Four years old,” said Gabriel. “And here I was thinking you were at least eight. You’re such a big boy.”

  “I help Uncle Donald with the milk cows,” the boy said, “and I can get the eggs all by myself.”

  A new pang of guilt set up camp in Gabriel’s heart. Because of Gabriel’s bad decision, the boy would never know his father. “I can see you’re a great helper.”

  “You want some water, baby?” Lorena asked.

  The boy nodded, and Lorena carried him to the kitchen corner. Donald gestured to the table as a way of asking Gabriel to take a seat. “Weren’t you the officer in charge of Kenneth’s platoon?”

  Gabriel slid onto the bench. “That’s right.”

  “Kenneth didn’t send more than three letters home the whole time he was gone. We don’t know much about his life in the Army, but I guess he was happy there. He sure was miserable here.” Donald Scott scratched one of his muscular forearms with dirty fingernails. “Our Pa used to say Kenneth was born hating the farm. We all expected him to move away, but fatherhood caught up to him.”

  Gabriel glanced at the boy who was drinking from a stoneware cup missing its handle. He handed the empty cup to his mother, and Lorena carried her son outside, the screen door slamming behind her.

  Donald leaned over the small table. “Do you know what I mean by that, Lieutenant?”

  Gabriel had an idea what Donald meant, but he’d learned long ago that jumping to conclusions usually landed him in hot water. “Kenneth’s wife seems like a nice girl.”

  Donald’s upper lip curled into an ugly sneer. “She comes from nowhere. Raised in an orphanage in Harris County. Kenneth was working construction around Houston when he met Lorena. Next thing you know, she was in the family way. He brought her back home and then joined the Army first chance he got.”

  Gabriel didn’t know why he felt the need to defend Lorena. Perhaps it was because she had no one to speak up for her. “She appears to be a good mother.”

  Donald pushed out his bottom lip while he considered Gabriel’s words. “Yeah, I’ll give her that much. And she’s a hard worker. She keeps this house spotless, and her garden produces enough vegetables for all of us.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Six. My wife and I have two girls. We live down the road a bit.”

  A more complete picture of who Kenneth Scott had been formed in Gabriel’s mind. Kenneth hadn’t wanted to be tied to the farm or to his accidental family. The Army had provided an escape.

  Gabriel finished his water and sat quietly at the small table. Through the screen door, he saw the boy playing with a brown and white dog while Lorena cheered him on.

  Donald ended the lull in their conversation. “We got a letter from Captain Brooks telling us what a fine soldier Kenneth was. Were you with my brother when he died?”

  Gabriel took a deep breath. It was time to get to the point. “Yes, I was. We were at St. Etienne. Did you read about that battle in the newspaper?”

  “We don’t get much news out here.”

  “It was the only time Kenneth’s platoon saw action.” Gabriel described the battlefield and his squad’s mission.

  Donald listened intently, his gaze never wavering from Gabriel’s face, his expression never changing until Gabriel described the artillery hit that had widowed Lorena and taken away Donald’s brother. Donald closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his fists. After several long seconds, he looked at Gabriel. “It sounds like hell on earth. I can’t imagine how my brother must’ve felt being in the middle of all that.”

  “Private Scott was a quiet man. I don’t think he ever talked unless someone spoke to him first.”

  Donald shook his head once. “That doesn’t sound like my little brother.”

  “Private Scott never challenged a superior’s orders and always did his duty.”

  “Are you sure we’re talking about the same person? Thirty years old, six foot tall, kind of reddish hair?”

  “That’s him. He had a scar right here.” Gabriel pointed to the center of his chin.

  “That’s Kenneth all right. He got that scar choppin’ kindling. A piece of wood flew off and cut him there.” Donald rubbed his own chin as though he’d been the wounded one. “I guess the Army taught him that griping wouldn’t get him what he wanted. Our Pa had to take him to the wood pile more than once for smartin’ off. And when Kenneth came back home with a pregnant bride, he grumbled like an Israelite in the desert. My brother jumped at
the first chance to leave his wife and child.”

  It was easy to understand why there might have been bad feelings between the Scott brothers, but it was none of Gabriel’s business. “Mr. Scott, there’s more I need to tell you about the day your brother died.”

  Donald settled back in his seat, as though steeling himself for bad news. “Did Kenneth hurt someone? Or turn coward?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Did he do anything that would bring shame to our family?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t need to know. I’d rather think of my little brother as dying in the service of his country. There’s something noble about that. I know I shouldn’t say this, but I don’t believe Kenneth would’ve ever come back here. And despite what I said earlier, my wife and me don’t really mind having Lorena and her boy. We both wanted a son, but my wife can’t have more children. Plus, Lorena helps out quite a bit. She even gives us part of the government benefits she receives for being a widow.”

  Gabriel wasn’t going to get the recriminations he deserved. He could force Donald to listen to the rest of his story, but that would be pure selfishness. Wasn’t there a Proverb about fools venting their spirits, but wise men holding back?

  Gabriel stood and carried his empty jar to the small kitchen. Through the window above the sink, he saw Kenneth Jr. and Lorena watering part of the vegetable garden. Was there anything he could do for Lorena and her son? Surely, he owed them something.

  Donald stood. “Walk with me over to my place and I’ll give you a ride into town. Want to stay for supper?”

  “I’d appreciate a ride into Caldwell, but I think it’d be better if I’m on my own tonight.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “To tell you the truth, you’ve given me a lot to think about. I do my best thinking when I’m on my own.”

  “I know what you mean. Around here, finding a quiet place to think is like finding the end of the rainbow. I don’t know what’s on your mind, Lieutenant, but whatever it is, I hope you get it settled.”

  Gabriel put on his hat and followed Donald into the spring twilight.

  Kenneth Jr. emptied his watering can and smiled up at him, all earlier shyness forgotten.

  Gabriel squatted to the boy’s eye level. “I see you’re good at keeping the garden, too.”

  “Sure I am. Momma teached me. We planted watermelons. Come see.”

  The boy ran to a sunny corner where green shoots promised an abundant crop. “I’m gonna grow the biggest watermelon in the whole world. It’s gonna be as big as Momma’s house.”

  Gabriel smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm. How could Kenneth Scott have left such a precious son? Had Kenneth even known the boy?

  “Come on, Ken Junior!” Lorena called. “Time to go see Aunt Betty.”

  The youngster scampered toward his mother and Gabriel followed.

  Donald led them along a well-worn path to a two-story white farmhouse. The boy ran toward two girls who played on wooden swings, and Donald walked toward a stout woman who was hanging laundry from a clothesline.

  Lorena turned and put her hand on Gabriel’s arm to stop him. “Thanks for coming, Lieutenant. I don’t know what Donald told you, but I can imagine. Kenneth…well, he didn’t much want to have a wife and a baby, but he did the right thing. Now I got me a home and a family, two things I always wanted, but never had. Want to eat with us? Betty there, she’s a good cook.”

  Lorena was happy.

  She didn’t need anything from him, least of all a confession. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’d like to get back to town. I’m catching the morning train to Brenham.”

  “I see. Well…don’t you worry anymore about Kenneth or his family. We’ll be all right.”

  Donald waved at Gabriel and pointed at a banged up Model T. Gabriel’s ride was leaving. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Scott.”

  Lorena blushed. “Oh, nobody around here calls me that. It’s either Lorena or Mommy. You have a safe trip, Lieutenant.” She ducked her head and walked toward the children who had begun to quarrel over who would vacate a swing so that Kenneth Jr. could have a turn.

  Gabriel maneuvered his long legs into the passenger seat of the vehicle. Donald drove through the farmyard and turned onto the dirt road. Dust blew into Gabriel’s eyes and mouth, causing him to clamp both tightly shut. He’d struck out twice, so far. Hopefully, he’d be able to explain the gravity of his mistake to the Patek family in Brenham.

  ****

  On the first Saturday in April, Sara Benson led Etta into her front parlor. Etta’s quilt top was affixed to a wooden frame in the center of the room. Sara placed a friendly arm around Etta’s shoulders. “You did a fine job stitching the squares together.”

  Etta doubted the sincerity of Sara’s praise, but appreciated it nonetheless. “It’s kind of you to say so.”

  Sara moved two straight-backed chairs from her kitchen table to the quilt frame. “Sit by me and I’ll show you the basic stitch. The women from the ladies’ circle will be dropping by during the week. The quilting will go much faster with their help. You don’t mind if we work on it without you, do you?”

  “Heavens, no. If you waited until I had time, this quilt could take a decade to finish.” Etta settled herself next to Sara. Why hadn’t she ever taken the time to attend the quilting bees with her mother? A quiver of guilt passed through her heart as she realized the answer. Etta knew little about sewing because she’d always chosen her father’s horses or working in the bank over spending time with the ladies. “Gabriel told me he used to hide whenever the ladies from church came to your house.”

  Sara laughed softly. “I know he did. Whenever he’d see me getting the house ready for a meeting of the Ladies’ Circle, he’d suddenly remember a chore he had to do or someplace he had to go. His father isn’t much better.”

  Etta watched Sara thread several needles. During Gabriel’s absence, her brain had swarmed with thoughts of the bank and her father, but Gabriel was ever-present in her mind and in her prayers. She longed to hear his voice or to see him. As though it had a mind of its own, her skin recalled the feel of his hand in hers. His palm was calloused and the fingers strong, but he’d held her hand with the gentleness of a mare cleaning her foal.

  “I don’t know when Gabriel will make it back home,” Sara said, “but I hope he gets whatever’s bothering him out of his system. My son was the most even-tempered, agreeable baby ever born in Texas. But he came back from the Army as grouchy as a ninety-year-old man with rheumatism. Of course, one reason he’s been so irritable is because he hardly sleeps at all. I hear him up and about almost every night.”

  How was it that mothers knew everything? Gabriel thought he’d kept his insomnia a secret, but even so, Sara worried about him.

  “Now get a thimble,” Sara instructed, “and I’ll show you how to do a rocking stitch.”

  Etta slipped a thimble over the tip of her finger and watched Sara. Then she imitated the stitch.

  “That’s it,” Sara said. “You’ll get it in no time. Now, tell me how things are going at the bank.”

  Mothers might know everything, but Sara didn’t know about the embezzler. Etta had been right to believe Gabriel would keep her secret, and since her mother had relied on Sara, Etta would as well. “Things at the bank aren’t going so well. I recently discovered a discrepancy in the ledgers. Someone is stealing from us.”

  Sara gasped, her eyes wide with incredulity. “No! What are you going to do?”

  Etta tucked the point of her needle in the fabric. She couldn’t concentrate on the stitch while she talked about embezzlement. “I’ve already completed the first step. I called an outside auditor, and he found the problem. Someone’s been intercepting loan payments.”

  Sara stopped stitching, as well. “Oh, this is awful. You think it’s someone who works at the bank?”

  “It has to be. The books show the loan payments were received and credited, but the loan manager keeps a se
parate record, and he never received the payments.”

  “Have you told anyone about this? The county sheriff or William Clark? Since William’s the county prosecutor, he might be able to help.”

  “For the time being, I need to keep this as quiet as possible. With my father away from the bank, the thief is growing bolder. He took money from the teller’s cash drawers.”

  Sara sank back into her chair and shook her head slowly. “Oh, Etta. As if you needed another problem. Have you told Henry?”

  “I can’t burden my father with this. I have dinner with him almost every evening, and I can see he’s improving, but he has far to go. His mood is all over the place. One night he’ll be quiet and relaxed, the next he’ll be as bad-tempered as a fussy two-year-old.”

  “What does Dr. Russell say?”

  “I haven’t spoken to the doctor. I’m afraid he’ll just restate his advice about sending Papa to a convalescent home. But Mr. Simpson thinks Papa’s moodiness is normal. He says people who’ve suffered injuries to their brains have a hard time managing their emotions.”

  “That makes sense.” Sara returned to her stitching. “I like Charlie Simpson. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s the most optimistic person I’ve ever met. Isn’t it wonderful how the Lord sent the right person at the right time?”

  “I thank God often for that blessing.”

  Sara sewed a few stitches then stopped and looked at Etta. “What about this auditor you mentioned? Can he help you find the thief?”

  Etta blew out a long breath. “That’s another tricky situation.”

  Sara’s eyebrows lifted. “Care to elaborate?”

  “His name is George Owens. He works for a firm in Austin that’s audited our books before.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “He’s interested in me.”

  Sara’s face lit with excitement. “Really?” But her smile disappeared when she saw Etta’s reaction. “Why is that a problem?”

  Etta pushed her chair away from the quilt frame and crossed her arms over her chest. “Mr. Owens is a nice enough gentleman but…”