Land Of Promise

by Cox, Carol

  “On the contrary. I meant every word.”

  “Nonsense,” Letitia snapped. “No young woman in her right mind chooses to be a spinster. It isn’t respectable.”

  “Quite right. You have plenty of drive and resourcefulness ,and those are fine qualities, in their place. But it’s time you started thinking about settling down. You don’t want to focus all your energies on a daydream, only to wake up one day and find out it’s too late to have a normal life.”

  “And we can help.” Letitia had dropped her waspish mood and now seemed positively eager. “We’d be happy to introduce you to a young acquaintance of ours.”

  Elizabeth hesitated, bewildered by the abrupt change in Letitia’s demeanor. “Please try to understand. I believe a woman ought to be more than mere decoration. I don’t discount the idea of marriage, but I know I possess intelligence and abilities. If I do marry someday, I want to be more to my husband than someone to cook his meals, wash his clothes, and warm his bed.”

  Letitia’s gasp cut off the rest of her intended statement. Richard’s face darkened. “I will not sit here and listen to this,” he thundered. “You have much to learn about propriety.” He tossed his napkin on the table and stalked out of the room.

  Elizabeth cleared away the supper dishes in silence and returned to help Letitia prepare for bed. Letitia raised her arms and waited for Elizabeth to slide the cotton nightgown over her head.

  “You’ve upset Mr. Bartlett quite badly.”

  What about the way he and his guests treated me? “That wasn’t my intention. But I do hold strong opinions about what women are capable of and feel I have the right to express them.”

  “You might want to think less of your rights and more of your obligations.” Letitia scooted back on her bed and settled against the pillows. “Remember whom you have to thank for bringing you out here.” She didn’t wait until Elizabeth had exited the room before blowing out her light.

  Elizabeth pulled the bedroom door closed with a soft click instead of the slam she longed to give it.

  Nine

  Michael whistled as he strode beneath a row of piñon pines along Granite Creek. A freshly signed freighting contract crackled in his pocket. If business continued to pick up at this pace, everyone in Prescott would soon know the O’Roarke Freight Company was the best freight line around. Assuming he could control his drivers long enough to keep his wagons moving.

  His happy mood faded at the memory of Walt Logan’s disappearance. . .and where he had finally located him. He understood the loneliness men experienced on the frontier, where they outnumbered the women twenty to one. But he could never comprehend the need to seek comfort in the arms of fallen women.

  Ben, his lead driver, shared his opinion. But they parted company over Ben’s opinion that the women were to blame for the situation. Michael agreed that what they did was wrong, but his heart ached at the idea that many saw that kind of life as their only means of survival. More than one woman left on her own had felt reduced to selling herself to stay alive. He’d like to kick the stuffing out of the men who trafficked in such trade.

  He stopped in the shade of a large pine and mopped his brow. The weather had turned warm again after a brief cold snap, but that was typical of weather in this mountain capital. It could just as easily snow again before summer settled in to stay.

  From his vantage point on the high bank, he watched the water trickle along the creek bed. He scooped up a handful of pebbles and tossed them into the water one by one. A lovely spot, this, if one could forget what went on in some of the buildings only a stone’s throw away.

  A woman’s high-pitched shriek shattered the idyllic silence. Michael spun around, trying to pinpoint its location.

  Another piercing cry. He sprinted toward the source of the sound.

  Voices rose on the far side of a row of small buildings. Michael rounded the corner at a dead run and saw a couple entwined at the end of the row. He put on a burst of speed.

  In the moment before he reached them, he realized two things: The woman’s screams were punctuated by giggles. And the man who held her in his arms was his father.

  Dust and gravel sprayed from under his boot heels when he skidded to a halt.

  “Indians chasing you?” His father regarded him with a look of cool amusement.

  Michael stared from his father to the painted woman at his side, unable to speak a word.

  “Cat got your tongue? Allow me to introduce you to Ruby, one of Prescott’s most delightful young women. Ruby, my son, Michael.”

  The woman wrapped one arm around his father’s ample waist and gave Michael a broad wink. “I see the resemblance.”

  “Don’t go getting your hopes up, Honey. Michael doesn’t indulge.”

  “That’s a pity.” Ruby’s rouge-coated lower lip protruded in a pout.

  Michael looked at his father in disbelief. “I thought you had at least enough decency not to carry on your affairs in public.”

  “Not so very public.” His father looked around at the deserted alley and the creek beyond. “Not until you came charging up, anyway. Speaking of that, what brings you back this way? A sudden decline in your scruples, perhaps? Or maybe you’re more like me than you’ve let on.”

  Ruby giggled and gave Michael a speculative grin.

  Michael ignored her and looked straight at his incorrigible parent. “We need to talk. Now.”

  His father gave an exaggerated sigh. “I can see things aren’t going to work out today, Ruby dear. Run along for now. I’ll see you soon.”

  Ruby trailed her hand along his cheek and turned to go. His father stared after her, then turned to face Michael.

  “All right, what do you have to say that can’t wait?”

  Righteous anger exploded in Michael’s brain. “I can’t believe you’ve sunk so low.” Couldn’t he? His father hadn’t earned his reputation as a womanizer from idle gossip. But seeing it firsthand made him sick.

  “Nothing to get all excited about, my boy. Just letting off a little steam. You wouldn’t want to begrudge me that, would you?”

  What Michael wanted most at that moment was to grab his father by his jacket collar and fling him down the steep bank of Granite Creek. A good dousing in the icy water might be just what he needed.

  “And wipe that sour look off your face. It isn’t as if I’m planning to make her your stepmother. She’s good for a bit of fun, that’s all.”

  “Good? You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

  “Where’s that Christian charity I hear you harping about so much?” His father roared with laughter at Michael’s shocked silence, then moved toward him and draped his arm over Michael’s shoulder.

  “Come walk with me, Son. I’ve been meaning to speak to you. This is as good a time as any. I won’t mince words, Michael. You need a wife. You’ve put it off long enough, but it’s time you got married. Past time.”

  Michael twisted to one side and flung his father’s arm off his shoulder. “How can you speak to me of marriage when I’ve just found you behaving like that in broad daylight?”

  “Another matter entirely, my boy. You’re going to be somebody someday. And I don’t mean the owner of a piddling freight business. I haven’t spent my life setting the stage for your future to see you throw yourself away on some insignificant enterprise.”

  “No.” Bitterness laced Michael’s tone. “You’ve spent your life focusing on one thing and one thing only: getting whatever you wanted for yourself.”

  His father pulled a cigar from an inner pocket and took his time trimming and lighting it. He closed his eyes and puffed contentedly before he responded. “I’ll grant you it may seem that I’ve promoted my own interest at times. And I’ll admit diversions like little Ruby have been strictly a matter of pleasure. But my political aspirations haven’t been only for my benefit. The country is expanding. We’re on the edge of the frontier now, but this place won’t live in isolation much longer.

  “We’r
e building this territory, seeing it start from nothing and shaping it into what it will become. But I’m building something beyond that, Michael. Something for you and me.” He blew smoke into the air in a series of quick puffs. “I’ve sought one thing for years: power. And it’s just about within my grasp. I’m talking about a dynasty, Son. A legacy we can share.”

  Michael stared into his father’s keen blue eyes. Eyes so like his own, as was the dark, curly hair. He might be looking at a picture of himself twenty-five years in the future. He prayed the resemblance would only be external.

  His anger evaporated, leaving sorrow in its place. “I wish I could make you understand. Your goals are not mine. We’re both interested in building this territory, but in vastly different ways. I’m not interested in your brand of wheeling and dealing. I know there’s a place in politics for men of God—and heaven knows we need them there—but it isn’t the place He’s called me to be.”

  “You fool!” His father spat the half-smoked cigar onto the ground. With one quick thrust of his foot, he sent it flying down the slope and into the creek below. “I didn’t raise a man, I raised a simpering fool! Or, rather, your mother did. It’s all the same in the long run.” He glared at Michael. “One day, you’ll see the truth. I just hope it won’t be too late.”

  ❧

  “Dear God, how can he believe that web of lies he’s spun?” Michael leaned his elbows on his desk and cradled his head in his hands. He didn’t remember the walk back to his office, couldn’t have told which route he’d taken. He’d returned by pure instinct and holed up like a wounded animal in its den.

  Wounded. That’s exactly how he felt. His father hadn’t dealt him a physical blow, but the result was just as painful. Perhaps more so.

  “How have I failed him? Where did I go wrong?” To think that after trying his best to live out the truth of the gospel before his father, the man could still think he’d be willing to drop it all and join him in his power-hungry quest.

  His reason for coming to Arizona Territory hadn’t been to found a business or make a name for himself. It had been for the sole purpose of shining the light of Christ into the dark corners of his father’s life.

  And he’d failed. Failed miserably.

  Amy had warned him. Before he left Albany and in every letter since, she continued to point out the hopelessness of trying to convince someone who didn’t want to be swayed.

  When his father ignored all his efforts at first, Michael only dug in and tried harder. Every setback had fueled both Amy’s conviction that their father was a lost cause and Michael’s determination to prove he wasn’t.

  Up to now.

  What was it Amy had said in her last letter? That their father had robbed them of a normal life? Michael couldn’t argue with her there. What about the charge that he’d cut short their mother’s life?

  A picture of Ruby in his father’s arms sprang unbidden to his mind. Michael gasped as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

  Could Amy be right? Like a dam had opened, scenes from the past flooded his memory. His gentle, godly mother reading her Bible alone while his father gallivanted off somewhere. Coming across his mother in her sitting room and asking why her cheeks were damp. Seeing her square her shoulders and putting on a brave smile before capturing his attention with some childish diversion.

  And once, listening to a conversation between his mother and her best friend. A conversation he wasn’t meant to overhear.

  “It’s happening again, Grace.” He remembered the sound of his mother’s voice, choked and tight. “I confronted him about it last night. He didn’t even bother to deny it, just told me I needn’t think he’d let my objections stand in his way. What am I to do?”

  Her words had puzzled him at the time. Today, the pieces fell together, revealing the whole ugly picture. How she must have suffered over the years!

  Michael clenched his fists. Could Amy be right? Had their father’s philandering cost them precious years of their mother’s presence?

  He had always defended his decision to join their father in Arizona by telling Amy he knew it was the right thing to do. Their mother had prayed faithfully for her husband’s salvation. He only wanted to finish the job that meant so much to her.

  Now he wondered. Maybe Amy had been right all along. Maybe their father had truly reached a point beyond repentance.

  And if that were the case, did he have a reason to stay on here?

  Ten

  Gold pans. Shovels. Blasting caps.

  Elizabeth nibbled on the end of her pen. Had she missed anything? She went over the list again, trying to think of other items a miner might need.

  Picks. Candles.

  She put down her pen and surveyed the list once more. A thrill shivered up and down her spine. One day soon, her store would carry the best selection of mining equipment this side of Denver.

  Elizabeth wished her father could be with her to share her joy. Years of watching him work had taught her the value of advance planning. He would be as excited as she to watch her dreams take shape.

  More questions remained to be answered. Where would be the best location for her new venture? And what would she need in a building? Elizabeth pulled out another sheet of paper and sank into thought.

  A knock on the front door roused her. She left her papers spread out across the table and went through the parlor to admit Dr. Warren.

  “How is our patient today?” asked the genial man.

  “Quite well, in my opinion.” Elizabeth swung the door closed and lowered her voice. “Although she still complains of pain and feeling weak.”

  The doctor snorted. “Letitia Bartlett complains of everything that could possibly be wrong and a great deal that couldn’t. I’ll just go have a look, shall I?”

  “Of course. You don’t need me, do you?” He shook his head, and she returned to her planning. Once Letitia no longer needed her help, she could start setting her plans into motion. She picked up her pen and started sketching ideas for a floor plan. It seemed no time at all before Dr. Warren stopped by to take his leave.

  “How is she, Doctor?”

  “She’ll always have a bit of trouble with that arm, but for all that, she’s as fit as can be expected.”

  “When can she start getting up and around?”

  “She could have been up for some time now. Don’t let her get away with languishing in her bed all day. She needs to be moving. See that she does.” He paused in the doorway. “You’ve done a fine job, Elizabeth. Just don’t let her bully you. I can’t stand malingerers.”

  Elizabeth rushed to the sickroom, expecting to find Letitia as elated as she felt. “Dr. Warren told me the news. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “The old fool.” The corners of Letitia’s mouth curved downward accentuating the deep lines in her cheeks. “He can say anything he likes. He doesn’t have to live with my pain.” She let out a piteous moan and sank back against the pillows.

  “Straighten my blanket, Elizabeth. That quack couldn’t be bothered.”

  Elizabeth hesitated. Surely the doctor knew what he was talking about. And the sooner Letitia could manage on her own, the sooner Elizabeth could make her dreams a reality.

  She grasped a corner of the blankets and threw them to the end of the bed. Ignoring Letitia’s indignant yelp, she helped the older woman into a sitting position and draped her robe around her bony shoulders.

  “Let’s get you out into the parlor. You’ll feel much better once you’re sitting up among all your lovely things. Come on, now.”

  “Have you taken leave of your senses? I need my rest.”

  “You can rest in the wing chair. I’ll bring some pillows to make you more comfortable.”

  She put her words into action over Letitia’s protests and soon had her seated in the parlor.

  “Now, isn’t that nicer than staring at the same four walls day in and day out?”

  With a colorful quilt draped across her knees and a pink flush tingei
ng her cheeks, Letitia already looked more robust, although Elizabeth thought the flush might be due more to anger than health.

  “What am I supposed to do, just sit here all alone?”

  “Why don’t I bring my papers from the kitchen and work on them here to keep you company?”

  “Why ask for my permission? You’ll do as you wish, anyway.”

  Ignoring the jibe, Elizabeth brought out her papers and spread them next to her on the settee. She bent over the rough map she had drawn of the town. Would it be best to locate her store facing the plaza or on one of the outlying roads? She touched different spots with her finger, trying to envision her business in each place.

  “You mean you’re still bent on pursuing this foolish notion? You’ll wake up one day and realize all the good husbands have been taken, mark my words.”

  “I’m not worried about it.” She returned her attention to her map. Perhaps she could find a suitable building already in place. That would save her a good deal of time.

  “And think of children. They’ll be a comfort in your old age.”

  “Really, Mrs. Bartlett—”

  “Richard and I always wanted a large family, but it was not meant to be, more’s the pity.”

  The front door opened, saving Elizabeth from another onslaught.

  “You’re up, my dear!” Richard burst into the room.

  “Only because she forced me here. That idiot doctor is trying to say I’m fully recovered. You must make him understand that I still have a long way to go.”

  “Good, good,” Richard murmured.

  “Good? Richard, do you hear a word I’m saying? I still need Elizabeth’s help. You must make him see reason.” She glanced at the mantel clock. “What are you doing home so early? It’s only the middle of the afternoon.”

  “Ah, yes.” Richard darted a quick glance from his wife to Elizabeth, then back to Letitia again. “Everything’s in a bit of a muddle. Mr. Fleury is all stirred up. Some flap about missing money.”