Bailey couldn’t look at the mule barn without warmth creeping across his chest, and yet he’d found excuses to walk by it a hundred times that day.
Men waved from the back of a wagon as it rolled out of the lumberyard to take them home. Bailey returned the gesture, but he didn’t have the heart to smile. No matter. They’d probably credit his melancholy to some deep contemplation of biblical scholarship, but his thoughts were occupied with a more earthly matter.
He entered the barn and saw that the pitchfork was still in the haystack where he’d tossed it. He inhaled the warm straw and animal scents, letting the memory of Molly in his arms return undiluted.
Why had he refused to meet with her? The answer was hidden somewhere between her past with Edward and their future. Could he forget her rejection when so many were eager to remind him?
The least he owed her was a sympathetic ear, but maybe another location would be better. His ear was attached to the rest of him, and there was no limit to the trouble found on a riverbank under the stars.
He latched the barn door and headed to the office to get the ledger. Thomas claimed to have gone over it like a mother searching for nits, but besides the low balance he could find nothing amiss. That wasn’t good enough for Bailey. What if they were losing money because of him? He was the new man, and he wanted assurance that the dwindling profits weren’t caused by his ineptitude.
Through the office window he saw Russell kneeling next to the woodstove. In his hand were what looked to be sales receipts. Russell swung open the square metal grate and stuffed the papers into the stove.
What in the world?
Striding through the door, Bailey snatched up the poker and stepped between Russell and the stove. He jabbed the rod into the blaze and tried to drag out the flaming paper, but it was too late to retrieve the receipts.
“What did you do?” He glared at the man crouched on the floor.
“I’m discarding the duplicate receipts. I didn’t want them to get mixed in and cause confusion.”
Bailey’s fingers went as cold as the poker. Part of him wanted to accept the weak excuse, to turn a blind eye so he wouldn’t learn anything he didn’t want to know. But the truth was truth, even if it proved him wrong.
“Why would we have duplicate receipts?”
Russell stood, his bald head glistening from the heat. “I spilt ink on a stack of them, so I had to rewrite them all. We can’t have two copies floating around.” He shrugged easily. “Here’s the ledger. Tell Thomas we had another busy day.”
Bailey took the leather-bound book from his hand. The bright flames had returned to their normal height. Russell closed the grate and reached for his tan felt hat—the same color as the hands that grasped it.
Bailey’s eyes narrowed. Russell’s hands were clean. Bailey walked around the desk and found no deep stains marring its surface. The trash bin held no blackened rags. Everything was tidy.
Russell had his hand on the door before Bailey spoke.
“Have you seen your son lately?”
Russell turned to him, his face blotchy. “I should deny it, but yes, I’ve seen Michael. I see him every chance I get. Look, you’ve always treated me fair. You have to understand that I can’t turn on my own flesh and blood. He’s in a lot of trouble, and I can’t refuse to help him.”
“Even if he’s a murderer?”
“But he’s not. It’s a misunderstanding.”
“Like the mess of duplicate receipts?” Bailey’s heart sank. “I’ve defended you to Mr. Lovelace. I’ve stood up for you.”
“Mr. Lovelace doesn’t deserve loyal employees. You know that if anyone does. We all saw how he treated you when you were courting Molly. You weren’t good enough for his daughter, but that doesn’t stop him from profiting off you.”
“He gives me fair compensation.”
“But does he appreciate you? Thomas Lovelace believes I’m a thief, whether I am or not. What do I have to lose?”
“Mr. Lovelace’s opinion doesn’t matter, not if your conscience is clean.”
“My conscience doesn’t trouble me. It’s spotless.” And the door fell closed behind him.
“As spotless as your hands?” Bailey replied to the empty room.
Night had fallen. Molly set the lamp on the table and picked up the dish towel. The cozy parsonage had seen more visitors than she’d expected. That morning Mrs. Weems had stopped in with little Charlie for a visit. With a pencil and the back of an envelope, Molly and she had compiled a list of her expenditures. There wasn’t much excess, but with frugality she could make ends meet on the money sent by her errant husband.
By the time Molly had cleaned up her meager dinner, Mary Garner had appeared on the doorstep to school Molly in culinary skills that she’d been lacking for years. Molly smiled at the memory. Mary hadn’t bothered asking what Molly needed to learn, but jumped in assuming she knew nothing—and she was right. Molly wiped out the basin. Despite her brusque manners, Bailey’s mother had taken the time to help her, and Molly appreciated it. They got along splendidly, possibly because neither of them mentioned her son.
The dog next door barked, as if startled. Molly peered out the window, but her ears told her almost as much as her eyes did. She could barely see the man who veered into the neighbor’s yard to pet the squirming animal. The chain rattled as the animal tried to reach its friend.
Molly went to the front door to pull in the latchstring when she heard the front step creak. The cabin was so small that whoever was on the front porch could tell that her lamp was lit and could probably see her through the lone window.
She took the globe off of the lantern and was pursing her lips to blow on the wick when she heard Bailey’s voice.
“Molly, it’s me. Are you still up?”
She straightened. “Just a moment.”
Molly surveyed the cozy home, comparing it with how she’d found it the day she’d moved in. So far, so good. Just as clean as he’d left it and with the benefit of a woman’s touch—three women if she counted her visitors today.
She smoothed the quilt on the bed and pulled the curtain over the corner where her clothes hung on their pegs, her curiosity running rampant. What was he doing here? Hadn’t he refused to see her?
She swung the door open and held the lamp high. The golden light illuminated his boyish face and disappeared into the depths of his eyes.
“Won’t you come in?”
“No, I won’t.”
The lamp flickered. Molly turned to hide her disappointment.
“I’d like to talk, if you have time,” he said.
She motioned to the chairs. “We could bring them outside.”
“Would you mind? I’ve promised myself . . . Well, I can’t step foot inside unless it’s daylight.”
She handed him the lamp and without a word hooked an arm through each back and hoisted the chairs to the porch.
Bailey blew out the light and set the lamp by the door. “Don’t want to attract bugs.”
He sat. She sat. The dog barked once, probably wondering why the crazy man didn’t go into his own house, but then it settled down, and the rustling of soft spring leaves could be heard.
Bailey didn’t turn in her direction. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw the ledger from the mill on his lap. His fingers drummed against the leather cover.
Molly rubbed her hands together, itching for her turn.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Me? Oh, nothing. I need some cream for my hands, I suppose. They aren’t accustomed to this kind of work.”
“I thought I left the place clean.”
“Spotless. It was spotless. And your mother came over today. She brought me some garden greens and introduced me to the cookstove. She was very helpful.”
“I didn’t know how you’d feel about her visiting.”
“You knew she was coming?” Of course he did. “She’s welcome anytime.”
They fell silent again. Molly’s impat
ience was growing. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the mill?”
Bailey lifted his chin. “Ah yes. Now that you mention it . . .” He tapped the ledger again with his index finger. “I’m not usually this indecisive. There’s something I’d like your help with, but it might not be wise to get you involved.”
Molly’s foot tapped against the floor. “What is it? Is it the accounts? Do you want me to look them over?”
His eyes smiled before his mouth did. “I should’ve known you’d be game.”
She held out her hands. Bailey passed them over.
“As much as it pains me to admit it, your pa may be right. Russell James is acting suspicious. I pray we find there’s an honest mistake. That would be best, but your father looked this ledger over again after supper and couldn’t find a penny missing.”
Molly had left her chair and was holding the ledger out from under the porch roof, trying to catch some moonlight on the pages. “So this is the record of the cash account—credits, debits, balance? I can keep this all night?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll come by in the morning, but I’m not sure what your father would think about you double-checking his work.”
“He’d be furious.” Molly tore her attention away from the numbers to peer at the man. “You’re risking your job. Have you decided you don’t want to work there?”
“Just the opposite. I’ve decided to do everything I can to save the company—and the family—I care about.”
“You’re a good man, Bailey Garner.”
He didn’t respond.
Molly closed the book. “I want to help them, too. Help you. Help myself.”
“At the river last night, you were talking about Mrs. Nimenko and Mrs. Weems. I know your mother is none too happy about your befriending them.” Bailey stretched one leg out before him and wiped his palms on his trousers. “You’ve changed. The old Molly would’ve never noticed them.”
Was she a better person now? Molly picked at a piece of wool caught on the roughhewn post. How could she be godlier yet less accepted than before? It didn’t make sense.
“I pray I’ve changed. I pray that, given another opportunity in society, I won’t forget those women and others like them.” Molly leaned against the post. “I know what it’s like to be friendless.”
“That’s not true.” Bailey rose. “I’ve failed you in the past, Molly, but I won’t again. As long as I’m alive, you aren’t friendless.”
He looked like there was more he wanted to say, but he didn’t. Molly’s eyes lowered. Friend was as good as he could offer. If they could recover the missing money and free up her settlement, she might be able to salvage a future for herself, but she wouldn’t be able to restore the one relationship that meant the most to her.
27
Bailey woke with one leg hung between the slats of the mule stall, a barn cat nestled against him, and a sweet pillow under his head. No one would steal a mule on his watch. He didn’t mind the discomfort as long as Molly was safe in the parsonage, out of earshot of her parents’ frequently voiced disappointments. He watched the cat stretch, its back curving like the slender claws that emerged from its paws. What did Molly’s parents have to complain about? If they had let her make her own choices instead of grooming her to catch the eye of a fop, her situation would be completely different.
Both of theirs would.
He extracted his leg from the slats and sent the cat scurrying. It was time to get the ledger from her, and he was taking off like a calf out of the chute.
Bailey turned off Mill Road toward Church Road, right into the path of Clara Cantrell, one of the old church ladies who’d probably knitted his mother a baby blanket before his arrival. From the way she squinted, she probably couldn’t tell who he was until they’d come within a lasso’s distance of each other. Then her eyebrows raised, her mouth twitched, and she gushed as only a lonely widow could.
“Bailey, what a pleasure to see you this fine morning. Shouldn’t you be at the mill? Has working for the Lovelaces finally done you in?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll be headed out there in a jiffy.”
“Oh? Well, I want you to know I think it’s a fine thing you’re doing. If I’ve told Red once, I’ve told him a thousand times, ‘That Bailey Garner carries himself above the fray. People may betray him, they try to drag him down, but he’s got his eyes fixed on Jesus.’” She waved her hankie in front of her face as if overcome by the thought of her Savior. “If only that son of mine was half as righteous as you—”
“I’m sure Red appreciates the comparison.” Bailey would have to steer clear of the man. Red could tear him in two if he had the mind. “People have been more patient with me than you know.”
“I’ll tell you what I know.” She leaned in, her eyes now as clear as an eagle’s. “I know no decent man would get caught up with that Molly Lovelace. She sashayed in from Lockhart, too good for Red or any of the other Prairie Lea boys. Now look at her. She certainly showed her colors, while her poor parents—”
“I’m afraid you don’t know the whole story.”
“When you’re older you’ll see things more clearly, son. I understand she’s even been out to the Nimenkos’ place. Can you imagine?” She tucked her hankie into her black sleeve. “Shameful the way she looks for controversy. Now, I won’t keep you, although I did hear that Pastor Stoker is coming to town today. Please let him know that I prayed for his knee, and the fervent prayer of the righteous availeth much.”
She almost trotted away, leaving Bailey smoldering over the injustice of her comments. He picked up a stick and flung it far from him. The morning was spoiled. Would people ever tire of maligning Molly? What would it take to clear her name?
Molly peeked out the window and shuddered. The sun hadn’t cleared the horizon, but she could make out the despicable bundle at her door clearly enough.
Thank goodness Bailey was coming. Otherwise, who knew how long she’d be trapped inside, unable to step around the carnage? Who was that shadowy figure and why would he do this to her? Although the accounts had kept her up late, she’d woken early enough to visit the privy before Bailey arrived, but the sight of a man leaving dead animals at her door while it was still dark had terrified her.
Privy.
Outhouse.
She hadn’t brought a chamber pot from home, and if someone didn’t move those carcasses, she’d be in sorry shape indeed.
Molly didn’t see Bailey until he’d almost reached the porch. She extended her arm out the window and waved.
“Bailey, it’s me. Be careful.”
“Of what?”
With a deep breath Molly pulled the door toward her, careful to remain hidden behind it.
He stood over the two dead rabbits, as if unconcerned. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t you see them?”
“What?” He followed her pointing finger down between his feet. “The rabbits? Sure. You been hunting?”
“Of all the foolish statements. I’ve been trapped in this house afraid to set foot outside, and you think it’s funny. Someone is trying to frighten me.”
“No one leaves food on the doorstep to be scary.”
“That’s not food. It’s a threat. Dead animals? I’m sure that’s some kind of message in Indian.”
Bailey rolled his eyes. Stooping, he picked up the rabbits by their hind legs and carried them past her into the kitchen, letting them swing in her direction when he rounded the corner.
“I thought you weren’t going to come inside,” she said.
“It’s morning.”
“So it is. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Where are you going?”
“It’s morning. I haven’t been outside yet.” She twisted a curl around her finger.
He turned his back, giving her leave to . . . well, leave.
By the time Molly returned Bailey had the first hare spread on the cutting block and was washing his knife.
“Did you see who left the
m?” he asked.
“Not clearly. It was a man. Young looking.”
“But not an Indian?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Whoever bagged these happens to be a good shot. Right through the head.”
“I knew it. He’s dangerous.”
She looked away as he worked his knife around the rabbit’s back leg above the foot.
“You might be more dangerous than the shooter.” She shuddered.
Molly watched for Bailey to wink, to smile, but he did the grim work without his usual humor. He reached through the curtain covering the cabinet and pulled out a pot, for what Molly didn’t want to know. Good thing he knew his way around this kitchen. She still didn’t.
“I looked over the figures. Father was right. They add up, but what about the inventory record?”
“I keep it. I balance it with the lumber we have on hand every night.”
“Could you bring it to me tonight along with the ledger?”
Bailey’s brow wrinkled. “We haven’t gotten that far yet, but it’s not a bad idea.” He tugged on the rabbit’s hide. “You sure you didn’t recognize your rabbit slayer? Might have been a secret admirer.”
She winced at the ripping sound as the hide separated from the muscle.
“He didn’t look old enough for courting. Had an odd getup, walked like his boots didn’t fit.” Molly stopped. She dropped into her chair. “I know who it was—Anne Tillerton. Oh, fiddlesticks. I’m receiving charity from Anne Tillerton. Won’t Mother be proud?”
With another firm tug, Bailey came up with a handful of fluff. “She needs a friend. You need food. Nothing wrong with that.” He tossed the brown pelt to her.
Molly screamed and batted it away.
“Really, Molly?”
She smoothed her hair and eyed the brown fur suspiciously, then bent to pick it up with one finger and thumb. Molly loved rabbit skin, but she’d never had one so fresh before.
Bailey laid the naked rabbit aside and picked up the second one. “I’ll get you set up for a pot of stew, and you can invite Mrs. Tillerton over to share it. That’d be neighborly of you.”
Regina Jennings Page 24
