Land Of Promise

by Cox, Carol

  Elizabeth confined herself to a noncommittal murmur.

  Apparently misinterpreting this as a sign of agreement, Richard leaned forward, an anxious frown crinkling his forehead. “Perfectly understandable, of course, but you must understand that life out here isn’t all drudgery. We’re hoping you will extend your stay past the point when Letitia is well again in order for us to prove it to you.”

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath and patted her lips with her napkin. “I may as well tell you that once Mrs. Bartlett has recovered, I plan to make my home in Prescott permanently.”

  Richard and Letitia stared at one another, then looked at her with broad smiles.

  “What a wonderful idea,” Letitia said. “And there will be plenty of prospects for you to choose from, just you wait and see.”

  “That isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  “Good for you.” Richard regarded her with approval. “It’s important to be cautious. This is, after all, an untamed territory. We do have our share of riffraff around here.”

  “Yes, indeed. You can’t be too careful.” Letitia looked at Richard, her face alight as though she had just come up with a brilliant idea. “And we can help, to repay you for your kindness in taking care of me.”

  “But I really don’t—”

  “Of course.” Richard picked up on Letitia’s thought and forged ahead. “After all, we do know the right people in the territory. We’ll help you get acquainted. In fact, I already have an ideal candidate in mind.”

  Letitia wore a look that reminded Elizabeth of a cat with cream on its whiskers. “We’ll have a party—”

  “Or perhaps a more intimate dinner—”

  “With candlelight and soft music. Maude Avery’s son plays the violin—”

  “Wait!” Elizabeth planted her palms on the table and pushed herself to her feet, finally bringing the juggernaut to a halt.

  “You don’t understand.” She stared from one of the Bartletts to the other, appalled. “I do plan to stay, but I have no intention of using my time here in pursuit of a husband.”

  Their looks of astonishment would have been ludicrous if not for the crackle of tension building up in the room. She pushed her chair forward and gripped its back, readying herself to launch into an explanation.

  “I want to use my time during Mrs. Bartlett’s convalescence to get to know the area and learn its needs. When the time is right, I plan to launch my own business. At the moment, I’m thinking about dealing in mining supplies. There’s certainly a need for them at present and will be for some time to come. Once I’m established, I can expand my inventory as needed.”

  A long silence followed, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantel. Finally, Richard cleared his throat.

  “I will speak to you as I would to my own daughter. The business world is no place for a young woman, especially one who comes from such a fine family as yours. I’m certain your parents would never countenance such a thing. Your father is sure to refuse any request for funds to finance such a mad venture.”

  Elizabeth squeezed the chair back more tightly. “Any number of women have run their own businesses—and quite successfully.” She looked out the window and waved her hand at the activity outside. “One reason for my coming to Arizona is that it’s new and open and holds such opportunity. And as for needing my father’s support, rest assured that I have my own money and my father’s good wishes. The money I asked you to keep for me is more than enough to open my own business. Its success or failure is up to me.”

  Letitia pushed herself forward in the rocker. Her eyes held an angry glint. “You’re certainly a young woman of strong viewpoints. Unfortunately, propriety dictates—”

  “We’ll discuss it later,” Richard interrupted. “Alone.”

  The Bartletts continued their meal in stony silence. Elizabeth crumbled a biscuit into her bowl, but the meal she had prepared no longer held any appeal. She set down her spoon, ready to leave.

  No. She would not allow them to chase her away from the table as though she were a petulant child. She had done nothing more than express her opinion and outline her plans to them. True, she was a guest in their home, but that didn’t mean they could control her thoughts or dictate her future.

  She settled back in her chair and pulled Carrie’s letter from her pocket. Typically, Carrie had filled it with news of dinners, balls, and plans for Virginia’s wedding. And one wistful comment: And while all this activity fills my days, I wonder how much of it is of any lasting value. How I wish I could be with you!

  So do I, Carrie dear, so do I. She tucked the letter back in its envelope. The Bartletts maintained their silence, Richard steadfastly ignoring her, Letitia casting quick glances her way from time to time.

  James’s ebullient personality flowed from his written words as though she could actually hear him speak:

  I had a lively discussion with some of the men in my club in regard to women’s rights. They thought they had me, until I presented them with some of your arguments. You should have seen how it stopped them cold!

  Elizabeth chuckled at the picture his words painted.

  “Pleasant news, I trust?” Letitia’s voice rasped in the otherwise still room.

  Elizabeth grimaced, then forced a smile. “Yes. An amusing story from a dear friend back home.” She started to add more but decided to let it go at that.

  “Sending letters across the country is not an inexpensive proposition. You must be loved very much to receive such a quantity of mail.” The statement came out sounding more like a question, one Elizabeth chose not to answer.

  What business was it of the Bartletts’ how much mail she received?

  Six

  As a counterpoint to the steadily warming trend in the weather during the days that followed, Letitia’s attitude grew increasingly frosty.

  “Be more careful with my hair this time. If you keep yanking through it like you did yesterday, I won’t have any left.”

  Elizabeth reached for the porcelain-backed hairbrush and gripped it so tightly the handle bit into her palm. “Such a lovely morning. Would you like me to move your chair so you can see the robins outside?”

  “It’s no good trying to distract me. Just watch the way you handle that brush.”

  Elizabeth drew the brush through Letitia’s graying locks with gentle strokes and searched through her memory for verses on forbearance. Paul spoke of charity in his first letter to the Corinthians, she remembered. What were some of the characteristics he listed? Oh, yes. According to Paul, charity suffers long and is kind. It bears all things and is not easily provoked.

  Paul never met Letitia Bartlett. Elizabeth rebuked herself for the unworthy thought. She would hold her tongue and not respond in kind, however tempting that might be.

  Smoothing Letitia’s hair into a soft bun, Elizabeth pulled a few strands of hair from the brush and tucked them into the hair receiver on the vanity table.

  “Don’t think I didn’t see that,” Letitia snapped. “The way you pull and tug, my poor hair is coming out by the handful.”

  Teeth clamped together, Elizabeth let herself out of the room and leaned against the wall, fighting for control.

  “Difficult morning?”

  She whirled to see Richard outlined in the sunlight coming through the kitchen window.

  Richard grimaced, and Elizabeth knew she must have failed to keep her irritation from showing.

  “You aren’t thinking of leaving, are you?”

  “Of course not.” She tried to ignore her longing to do just that.

  Richard took a step toward her, fidgeting with his tie. He glanced at the closed bedroom door and lowered his voice. “I know Letitia is not always an easy person to get along with.”

  A bear with a toothache might have a sweeter disposition. “Please don’t worry. I can manage.” She had to. If she let herself be bested by one woman’s sour attitude, how could she find the fortitude it would take to make it in the business world ou
t on the frontier?

  “I want you to know how much we appreciate everything you’re doing.”

  If he pulls that tie much tighter, he’ll choke himself.

  Richard took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped his forehead. “Letitia has always been high-strung and tends to have a rather sharp tongue.” He paused, seeming to gauge the reaction his words brought. “I’m afraid the accident has only made that worse.”

  He shook his head, the picture of despair. “I know she hasn’t made life pleasant for you lately, and I’m sorry.”

  You’d better make up your mind whose side you’re on. Elizabeth bit back the tart remark. Richard alternated between taking Letitia’s part and apologizing for her with a speed that left Elizabeth dizzy.

  He went on, his brow creasing. “You’ve been working too hard. I’m afraid we’ve taken advantage of your generous nature.”

  Elizabeth blinked. What could he be leading up to?

  “We can’t afford to lose you. You need some time off. Starting today, in fact. Why don’t I relieve you after lunch, and you can call the rest of the day your own?”

  If his wavering attitude kept her off balance, this offer threatened to bowl her over. “That would be. . .very nice. Thank you.”

  Tension seemed to ebb from Richard’s frame. “And if there is anything else that will make your stay more pleasant, you must let me know at once. We couldn’t bear the thought of your leaving us.” He opened his mouth, then pressed his thin lips together and gave a brief nod. “It’s settled, then. I’ll be home promptly at lunchtime.”

  ❧

  Elizabeth drew in a breath of pine-scented air and reveled in the freedom of this glorious spring day. Although she’d occasionally run a few quick errands for Letitia, she had chafed at not being able to explore the town on her own. This unexpected time off had proved to be more of a boon than Richard could have known.

  He had returned as promised and shooed Elizabeth out the door without waiting for his lunch to be served. “I’ll see to everything,” he promised. “Just enjoy yourself.”

  What got into him, Lord? The more time she spent around Richard and Letitia, the less she understood them.

  No matter. The afternoon was hers to do with as she wished, and she intended to make the most of it.

  Freedom beckoned. Elizabeth made her way past the scattered houses until the plaza came into view. She stopped for a moment to take in the scene. Wagons loaded with freight lined up along Gurley Street, awaiting the order to depart. Self-important politicos hurried along the boardwalk, rubbing elbows with dusty miners in town to replenish their supplies. The bustle of a new city trying to discover its identity—much like Elizabeth herself.

  A light breeze drifted from the northwest, carrying the scent of fresh-cut lumber from the sawmill. . .a pungent raw smell, full of promise.

  If you could capture the excitement and hope of this new land in a fragrance, it would smell like that. Elizabeth filled her lungs with the heady aroma. This is what God made me for. He brought me out here to be a part of this. The seed of thought took root and sprang up as a certainty in her heart. “I could stay here forever,” she whispered.

  She walked to the center of the plaza and pivoted in a slow circle, surveying her surroundings. Where to start? If Richard kept his word and gave her at least one half day a week off, she could make a systematic reconnaissance of the businesses already in place.

  Knowing how changeable both Bartletts could be, that might be a pretty big “if.” She’d better accomplish as much as possible today.

  The saloons of Whiskey Row lined Montezuma Street on the plaza’s west side. That eliminated one fourth of the area she needed to investigate. She turned her attention to the buildings on the north side of Gurley Street.

  Prescott Market. Blake & Co., Assayers. The Hadley House. The Bowen Mercantile caught her notice; a steady stream of customers entered the clapboard building. Elizabeth saw few women among them, but it didn’t matter. What she sought was information. She crossed Gurley Street and pushed open the door.

  Inside, a mustachioed man wearing a white apron looked her way.

  “Can I help you, Miss?”

  Perhaps it would be well to play the part of an ordinary customer rather than a potential competitor. “A packet of pins, please.” Elizabeth scanned the shelves for other likely purchases. “And a penny’s worth of those horehound drops.”

  With her reason for being there established, she scanned the faces of the men clustered near the pickle barrel.

  “Good afternoon,” she ventured. Several of the men nodded; others watched her with guarded expressions.

  All right. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’m thinking of starting a business here. What do you think of Prescott’s future prospects?”

  The group stared at her as though she had sprouted an extra head. One bearded fellow worked his jaws slowly, then sent a stream of tobacco juice into the sawdust around the cuspidor.

  “We’ve already got a dressmaker,” he said, eyeing the pins the proprietor held out to her. “I’m afraid me and the boys won’t give you much business that way.” His sally brought chuckles from the group.

  “You mistake my meaning,” Elizabeth retorted. “I’m talking about something more substantial—selling dry goods, perhaps, or mining supplies.”

  The chuckles grew to outright laughter.

  ❧

  Michael checked off the last item on his freight manifest and pulled the tarpaulin down tight across the wagon box. He turned to the lead driver. “Looks like you’re ready, Ben. Keep a sharp eye out for Indians. I want all you boys to make it back safely.”

  The weathered driver leaned out from the wagon seat and spat in the dust. “I aim to do just that. This trip down to Big Bug may not be a Sunday stroll, but it sure beats that drive in from the river.” He wagged his head. “A hundred and eighty miles from La Paz, and only six water holes between there and Date Creek. Dries out a man’s bones, just remembering it.”

  “Well, make this one as quick as you can. I’ll see you when you get back.” Michael stepped back and lifted his hand to Ben and the drivers of the two wagons behind him. Leather harnesses slapped against mule hides, and the heavy wagons set off.

  A small whirlwind spun a column of dust along the street and sent Michael’s hat tumbling along the boardwalk. He caught it just past the market and slapped it against his leg to beat out the dust.

  The creak of the wagon wheels receded in the distance. His wagons. His business. A business that gave every appearance of growing into a thriving concern. Hard work and fair prices had built a name for the O’Roarke Freight Company, a reputation based on reliability and trust.

  Michael knew just how precious that reputation was. He had worked as hard to live down the stigma his father had given to the name O’Roarke as he had to build up the business itself.

  A sarsaparilla would go well right now to cut the dust in his throat, he decided. He scanned the length of Gurley Street.

  Farther along the block, the door to Bowen Mercantile opened and a woman emerged. Her chestnut curls glinted in the afternoon light as she stood for a moment, then set off in the opposite direction with quick, decisive steps.

  For a moment, Michael thought he recognized her, but his memory couldn’t supply a name. He squinted against the sun’s glare. No, she was no one he knew. But she’d just come out of the mercantile. Someone there might know her.

  A wave of laughter trailed off when he pushed through the door. “A bottle of sarsaparilla, please,” he said, then turned to the chuckling men.

  “Everett been telling more of his stories?”

  “Not this time.” Roy Guthrie wiped tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes with a frayed bandanna. “He didn’t have to. That eastern gal gave us plenty to laugh about without any help from him.”

  “Eastern gal?” Michael took the sarsaparilla, tossed a coin on the counter, and took a long pull from the bottle.

>   “The one who skedaddled out of here like Jael getting in the mood to smite Sisera. You must have just missed her.”

  “She sure didn’t miss Everett,” put in Harry Goldberg.

  “What do you mean?” For the first time, Michael realized Everett was busy mopping himself dry with an empty burlap sack.

  Roy grinned broadly. “She came waltzing in here telling us she ‘planned to go in business for herself.’ ” His voice rose to a falsetto pitch, mimicking her tone. “When we tried to guess what kind of business she was after, she said she wanted to sell mining supplies. Can you beat that?”

  “So where does Everett come in?”

  Roy raised his hand to quell the rumble of laughter. “We thought that was pretty funny, but Everett’s the one who told her how to make her fortune.”

  Michael fixed Everett with a dubious gaze. “Which was?”

  Everett gave his face a final scrub with the coarse sack and looked up with a wounded expression. “All I said was, ‘If you were sellin’ kisses, we’d each buy a hundred.’ ”

  “That’s when she grabbed a tin cup from the counter and doused him with pickle juice,” Roy explained. He let out a whoop that set the tails of his mustache dancing.

  Michael grinned as he hunkered down and rubbed the bottom of the bottle back and forth across his knee. “Any idea who she is?”

  Roy shot a keen glance his way. “You wouldn’t be fixin’ to make yourself a target, too, would you?”

  “Just curious,” Michael said. “I didn’t even get a good look at her, remember?”

  “Don’t know what her name is,” Roy told him. “But I seen her before. She’s staying over at Bartletts’.”

  Michael’s blooming interest wilted like a fragile flower in the Arizona sun. Richard Bartlett seemed to pop up everywhere he turned lately.

  What was it about that couple that set his teeth on edge? He couldn’t pin his feelings on anything specific, but he’d sooner trust a rattlesnake than either of those two. They were on a par with his father, the type who hurried out to the new territory, not to build it into something fine, but to get whatever they could out of it for themselves.