A Thousand Little Blessings

by Claire Sanders

  “But what?”

  “I told him it’s not appropriate for me to see him socially until this business at the bank is cleared up.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve got to make sure no one suspects Mr. Owens of skewing his findings in one direction or another. If word gets out he’s courting me, someone could accuse him of falsifying the evidence in order to help me.”

  “Courting you? Is he that serious?”

  “He thinks I’d make a wonderful wife. Does that sound serious to you?”

  “Boy howdy, it does. But why aren’t you more enthusiastic about it?”

  If Etta told the whole truth, she’d have to tell Sara she was falling in love with her son. But Etta wasn’t ready to share every secret she had. “George Owens is what some girls call ‘good husband material’. He’s got steady employment, and he seems nice enough, but…”

  Sara finished Etta’s sentence. “But you don’t like him.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  Sara removed several pins from her mouth and turned to look at Etta. “It used to be that a woman needed a man to take care of her, but that day has long past. You’re an educated woman who holds her own in a man’s world every day. You don’t need a husband.”

  Etta understood Sara’s meaning. The fight for women’s suffrage had opened the door to all sorts of talk about independent women. But not needing a husband and not wanting one were different matters altogether. “A lot of people think I’m already a spinster, but to tell you the truth, I’d like to have a family. Someday.”

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t get married. I’m saying you don’t have to get married. See the difference?”

  Etta shrugged half-heartedly. “I guess so.”

  “And take it from me”—Sara continued—“You’ll be spending the rest of your life with the man you marry, so for heaven’s sake, you should at least like him.” Sara kept stitching, her needles flashing in the afternoon sunlight, while Etta thought things over.

  Etta didn’t dislike George Owens, but the thought of his touch made her skin crawl. Gabriel on the other hand…

  “What are you going to do about this auditor?” Sara asked.

  “I agreed to go to the pictures and dinner with him next Saturday.”

  “What? If you don’t like him, why in the world would you allow him to escort you to dinner?”

  “He pressed me so much it was finally easier to just accept his invitation. But,” Etta held up one finger, “I’m going to persuade my cousin Nora to go with me.”

  “Isn’t Nora expecting her third child?”

  “That’s right, but she’s not too far along. I put a note in the mail this morning telling her about my plan.”

  “I imagine Nora will jump at the chance to leave her two youngsters at home with their father. And if this auditor is a good man, he’ll understand why you’ve arranged for a chaperone on your first outing together.”

  Etta picked up her needle and returned to the quilt.

  Benito was taking care of the horses and the flower garden, Charlie Simpson was taking care of Papa, and Rosa continued to take care of the house.

  But there was no one to take care of the bank except her. How she wished she could talk to Gabriel about everything. What would he say about George Owens? Nothing good, she hoped.

  9

  The Union Depot in Brenham featured a large sign on its roof in the shape of the state capitol building.

  Gabriel studied the structure for a few minutes, wondering who had come up with that idea. It set the building apart from all the other depots he’d seen, but to his eye it was merely false advertising. Anyone could visit the actual building in Austin free of charge.

  After a prolonged conversation with the station master during which Gabriel learned much more than he’d ever wanted to know about the Czech immigrants who’d settled the area, Gabriel finally received directions to Private Josef Patek’s family.

  Brenham wasn’t as big as Waco, but the place was livelier than Caldwell had been. At the center of town, the Italianate style red brick county courthouse was the hub of activity.

  Men in business suits rushed in and out of the colonnaded doorway while workmen on ladders cleaned the rounded arch windows. A mix of automobiles and horse-drawn vehicles crowded the brick-paved streets that lined the perimeter of the square. Merchants sold everything from undergarments to furniture and farmers offered fresh-picked produce from the back of wagons. One enterprising middle-aged woman sold bouquets of flowers.

  If Etta were with him, Gabriel would buy her a bunch of pink roses. Did she like pink? Did she have a favorite flower? He had a lot to learn about the woman who occupied his thoughts both night and day. “Keep Etta safe, Lord,” he said under his breath. He needed to be whole before he spoke to Etta about what was in his heart.

  Gabriel shouldered his way along the crowded sidewalk until he turned east and walked through a quieter residential area.

  The Patek house, an inviting gray shiplap with a hexagonal turret and a wraparound porch, was located on Pecan Street. Although it didn’t come close to the grandeur of the Davis’s country estate, it was a far cry from Lorena Scott’s one-room cabin.

  Joe Patek had often spoken with nostalgic ardor about his family home in Brenham, and looking around the well-groomed community, Gabriel could understand why. Everything about the street spoke of neighborhood baseball games on lazy Sunday afternoons and Christmas caroling on frigid December evenings.

  On the left side of the house, a white-haired woman and an adolescent girl stood amid rose bushes. The woman dressed in the old style. A dark blue skirt covered her ankles and a long-sleeved lacy blouse covered her arms, but the girl’s clothing was the latest fashion. Her white skirt stopped just south of her knees and a sleeveless pink top showed off slender pale arms.

  The older woman noticed Gabriel first. “Hello, young man,” she called in a strong voice. “May I help you?”

  Gabriel removed his hat and slowly approached the pair. It would be impolite to come within reach of the ladies, and the last thing he wanted was to make them feel threatened. “Good afternoon. I’m looking for the family of Josef Patek.”

  “Then you are to be congratulated,” the woman said in a formal tone, “for you have found his grandmother.” Despite her formal manners, Joe’s grandmother smiled as she answered, giving her an amiable demeanor.

  “My name is Gabriel Benson. I served with Joe in France.”

  “Lieutenant Gabriel Benson of the Thirty-Sixth Division and before that, Burnet, Texas?” the older woman asked.

  How did she know so much about him? “Yes, ma’am.”

  Joe’s grandmother walked toward him, her progress slowed by the use of a silver-handled stick. “I am pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Benson. I am Honoria Hurta Patek. Allow me to introduce Josef’s fiancée, Darina Batla.”

  Joe had talked about his girl, but Gabriel didn’t know they’d been engaged.

  Darina stepped beside Joe’s grandmother, smiled broadly, and offered her hand. “How do you do, Lieutenant?” It wasn’t much of a handshake. Darina’s hand lay limp and cool next to Gabriel’s palm. She tucked her chin and looked up at him through thick, dark lashes. Only actresses and women of ill-repute wore makeup, but Darina’s cupid-bow red lips couldn’t have been natural.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Gabriel said automatically.

  “Darina and I were just about to have tea,” Mrs. Patek said. “You’ll join us on the porch?”

  It wasn’t really a question. Joe’s grandmother had issued an order with as much authority as any of his senior officers.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  The older woman walked stiffly to a white wicker table and stood by a matching chair. Gabriel waited for her to be seated. Then he realized she expected him to pull out her chair. While he rushed to obey, Darina stepped into the house.

  Mrs. Patek withdrew wire-rimmed spectacles from a leather
case on the table. She slipped them on and lifted her chin. “Now I can see you better. Without my special lenses you were no more than a tall man with dark hair. Josef wrote about you quite frequently in his letters. I suppose you’ve come to tell us about him.”

  Gabriel placed his hat on an empty chair and sat down. “Yes ma’am, and to answer any questions I can.”

  “Did you know that the men of this family have served in our country’s military forces for three generations?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Oh yes. Josef’s father fought in Cuba in ’98 and my husband was a Confederate cavalry man. My own father was with Sam Houston at San Jacinto.”

  “That’s quite a history.”

  “Indeed. We are all quite proud of Josef.”

  Darina returned with a tray of food.

  Behind her, a dark-skinned woman wearing a maid’s uniform carried another tray with a teapot and cups.

  Gabriel stood and pulled out a chair for Darina.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” the girl said with another bright smile. “How nice to have a caller with such good manners.”

  Mrs. Patek poured tea into a flowered china cup with a matching saucer. “You’ll find lemon, milk, and sugar on the table,” she said as she passed the tea to Gabriel. “Help yourself to a cake.”

  Gabriel sipped the beverage and wished for coffee, but Mrs. Patek wasn’t offering anything more than weak tea and small, square iced cakes. “Thank you, ma’am, but this is fine. I had lunch before I came.”

  Darina accepted her cup from Mrs. Patek and turned toward Gabriel. “Is this your first visit to Brenham, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, it is. I noticed the bluebonnets were budding. A few days more and the town will be full of them.”

  Darina placed her hand on his forearm and leaned closer. “You simply must come back and see our glorious bluebonnet fields. There’s no place in Texas as beautiful as Brenham in April. Perhaps you’d like to bring your family.”

  “I’m not sure about that. My parents don’t travel much.”

  “Is it just you and your parents? No wife or children?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Darina smiled again and twirled a strand of hair around her forefinger. “Isn’t that nice.”

  Gabriel knew when a girl was flirting, but Darina’s expertise made other girls’ attempts pale in comparison. Perhaps it would be wise to change the subject. “Mrs. Patek, are Joe’s parents in town?”

  The older woman filled her cup. “I’m sorry to tell you this, young man, but my son and his wife died recently. Except for my two daughters and their families, I am Josef’s only kin.”

  Darina leaned closer to Gabriel, giving him a whiff of floral perfume. “I visit Miss Honoria every day. Joe’s aunts live in the country and don’t get into town very often, but I keep an eye on her. It’s the least I can do.” Darina’s smile looked as fake as her scarlet lips.

  Gabriel turned his full attention toward Mrs. Patek and tried to disregard the coquette sitting next to him. “I only asked because I wanted to tell Joe’s family about…well, about his final days.”

  Mrs. Patek folded the white linen napkin in her lap, giving undue concentration to evening the corners. “Yes, I assumed that was the purpose of your visit. Captain Brooks wrote a lovely sentiment about my grandson. He explained that Josef was part of a squad sent to scout a route of attack at St. Etienne. He also explained that Josef died as a result of an artillery bombardment.” She stopped examining the napkin and raised her gaze to Gabriel. “Do you have anything to add to that?”

  Gabriel’s chest tightened as he reached the thorny part of his visit. He emptied his cup, licked his lips, and returned Mrs. Patek’s forthright gaze. “You have the details correct, ma’am. The two pieces of information I can add are that I was the squad leader and that Josef died because of my mistake.”

  Darina’s cup clattered against its saucer, and she coughed into her napkin.

  Joe’s grandmother, however, eyed Gabriel solemnly. “Perhaps you should explain yourself, Lieutenant.”

  Gabriel blew out a long breath, but the band of anxiety encircling his chest refused to ease. He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and looked at the older woman’s patient but uncompromising features. “My squad got caught between American and German artillery fire. Some of my men wanted to turn back and retrace our steps until we reached our unit, but by that time, there was so much smoke and noise we were trapped. I hesitated, trying to decide what to do. The artillery shells were coming from both sides, exploding in front of and behind our position. My squad took a direct hit.” Gabriel closed his eyes and waited for his heartbeat to return to normal. When at last he thought he could endure Joe’s grandmother’s inevitable reprisals, he opened his eyes and looked at her. “So you see, ma’am, if I’d chosen another way, Josef would still be alive.”

  Mrs. Patek gazed at him with dry eyes and a stern face. “Did you shoot my grandson, Lieutenant?”

  Her question knocked Gabriel back into his chair. “What? No, ma’am.” How could she imagine he’d done such a thing? “Of course I didn’t shoot Joe.”

  “Then you’re not at fault. Do you think my grandson did not know the risk he was taking when he signed up? Do you not think we all knew?”

  Gabriel searched for a response, but Mrs. Patek answered her own question. “Of course, we knew. You are still a young man, Lieutenant, but I am seventy-eight years old. I have lost my parents, my brothers, my husband, my son, countless friends, and now my grandson. You are just beginning to learn what I have known for many years. Losing those we love is the price of living a long life.”

  Josef and the other squad members would never have the opportunity to learn such a hard lesson. Was that a good thing?

  Mrs. Patek fingered the silver head of her walking stick. “Have you traveled all the way to Brenham in hope I will chastise you?”

  Gabriel’s throat tightened as he fought back the surge of emotion threatening to embarrass him in front of Joe’s grandmother. How had she seen so clearly into his troubled soul?

  “If that is why you have come, you will receive nothing but disappointment,” she continued. “I do not hold President Wilson responsible for Josef’s death, nor do I blame the United States Army. A German artillery shell killed my grandson. Not you, Lieutenant.”

  Gabriel looked at the older woman with a mixture of astonishment and esteem. He deserved her scorn, but she’d been merciful. In one way or another, all of the families he’d visited had given him their grace. Anthony Blake’s family grieved for their son but understood the innate peril of battle. Kenneth Scott had used the Army as a way to escape his responsibilities and his family had accepted his absence. Why was Gabriel traveling central Texas in search of forgiveness if no one held him accountable?

  Mrs. Patek refilled his cup. “I am confident I will see those I’ve lost in heaven. That was our Lord’s promise, and I’ve never had reason to doubt His word. Are you a believer, Lieutenant?”

  Was he? Gabriel had always taken his religion for granted, just another part of the sweet life his parents had provided. But he prayed every day in one way or another—quick entreaties to keep Etta and his parents safe—and he’d definitely done his share of praying in the Army. “Yes, ma’am. I could probably do a better job of it, but I’m a believer.”

  “Faith is not an all or nothing proposition, young man. It is a journey. Each trial I have faced and each blessing I have received has strengthened my faith. ‘When I was a child, I spake like a child, I understood as a child, I thought like a child.’ Do you know that verse?”

  Gabriel finished the quote. “’Now that I have become a man, I put away childish things’.”

  Mrs. Patek’s smile indicated approval. “I use that passage to illustrate my point. When I was a child, I believed as a child. Now that I am near the end of my earthly journey, my faith is stronger. You are facing a trial now, Lieutenant. A very difficult trial. Have you asked the L
ord for guidance?”

  Gabriel thought back to the last time he’d seen Etta. She’d prayed for him that night by the creek and she’d received the Lord’s answer. “I thought so, but nothing’s working out the way I thought it would.”

  “From what you said earlier, I assume you search for forgiveness.”

  Gabriel looked at the amber liquid in his cup, unable to meet Mrs. Patek’s incisive gaze. “I made a terrible mistake at St. Etienne.”

  Mrs. Patek gently touched Gabriel’s wrist. Her spotted hand, made tender with age and kindness, send a current of warmth straight to his heart. “Our Lord has already forgiven you,” she said, “and I do not hold you culpable. But I wonder if you have forgiven yourself.”

  Understanding spread through his chest like the light of a newborn star. He’d jumped to conclusions the last time he’d been with Etta, cutting off both her and the Lord from helping him to comprehend fully. It wasn’t grief-stricken families from whom Gabriel should seek forgiveness. He needed to seek it for himself. He had to forgive himself for the mistakes he’d made. His throat tightened as tears filled his eyes.

  Mrs. Patek squeezed his hand. “Forgiving ourselves is sometimes the hardest thing of all, but we are all human and, therefore, prone to mistakes.”

  Gabriel blinked back the tears and drained his cup. How could he ever forgive himself for leading ten men to their deaths? As hard as the memories had been, Gabriel suspected that absolving himself would be harder. “I’m not the kind of man who can quote the Bible, but I’m reminded of a Scripture my mother often used when I was growing up.”

  A twinkle lit the older woman’s eyes as she released his hand. “I am not sure if that is a good thing or not. After all, the Good Book does say ‘a wicked woman maketh a heavy countenance and a wounded heart.’”

  Gabriel chuckled softly. “I don’t even know that verse, ma’am, but when my mother felt as though I wasn’t giving her enough respect, she’d say, ‘Wisdom is with aged men, and with length of days, understanding.’”