by Linda Broday
Her apology touched him in places he hadn’t visited in a while. She’d tried to find the one who’d be least missed. Like he’d done when his father gave the ultimatum that he could keep only one in a litter of pups. He’d looked into the mother’s pleading eyes, then chosen the runt because she wouldn’t mind losing that one quite so much.
Such a long time ago and yet it seemed like yesterday.
Without contemplating the worm’s family, Luke selected one, threaded it on the hook, and dropped the line in the water.
Patience followed suit and leaned back on her elbows. “I like fishing with you. Ain’t this fun?”
“Yep.” He stuck a matchstick in his mouth and let it hang out the side. Funny how the girl’s language switched. In her mother’s company, “ain’ts” automatically became “isn’ts.”
“I noticed you and Hope don’t go to school in town.”
“They don’t want us. Ol’ Miss Goodnight said we couldn’t come.” The girl squinted when she raised her face. “Mama teaches us cipherin’, readin’, an’ writing when she don’t have a sick headache. She used to be a schoolmarm before she married my papa.”
Wasn’t right to blame the children for the sins of the father, either real or made up. It was the townspeople’s attitude that was the sin, surely.
“It’s a shame Glory had to go to town or she could’ve come with us.” He gave the girl a sidelong glance, keeping his tone casual.
“She an’ Mama had business to take care of.”
“Business, huh?”
“But Glory wouldn’t have come anyhow. All she does is work, work, work. An’ when she ain’t working, she’s bossin’ me around.”
He jiggled his pole up and down, ignoring the bossin’ part. From watching the family, he reckoned Patience wouldn’t have suffered any from a good deal more scolding than she got.
“Couldn’t have anything to do with the visitor last evening, you don’t suppose?”
The girl copied his movements, jerking her pole. “Mr. Fieldings at the bank sent him.”
He shouldn’t have pumped Patience for information. But after Glory’s desperate deal-making attempt, he’d suspected as much.
“You don’t say.”
“He’s callin’ in the note on the farm. Glory says we have two weeks to pay what’s due or we hafta leave.”
“Two weeks? Not much time.”
Little wonder the blue-eyed beauty had resorted to begging. In comparison to the Day family’s plight, clearing his name seemed minor. This new development put a rush on his plans.
“Glory’ll think of something. She said not to worry.” Big tears welled in the girl’s eyes. “But I still do anyway.”
Her shoulders seemed too small when his arm slid around them. “Punkin, I’m going to make sure you keep what’s yours. I promise.”
* * *
“Mama, how are you today?” Glory asked the question she’d put off since Ruth climbed into the buckboard. She must judge her mother’s state of mind before they faced the banker.
“Fine, dear. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sometimes you scare me. I don’t know how to help. And the things you say don’t make sense.” That wasn’t the half of it, but she couldn’t just come right out and voice her suspicions.
“Not to worry, dear. I’m perfectly well.” Ruth smoothed her hair back with long, slender fingers.
Glory persisted. “You understand why we’re going to town?”
The clop of the mule’s hooves on the hardened ground couldn’t override Ruth’s loud sigh.
“We’re going to talk to Mr. Fieldings, silly goose.”
“You remember what about, don’t you?”
For a second or two, Glory could tell from her mother’s expression that confusion fought with reality. Glory wondered which side of Ruth would win. She crossed her fingers.
“Of course I do.” Impatience echoed in the sharp tone. “Don’t speak to me as if I were a child.”
“Sorry, Mama. I need to make sure you grasp the situation.”
“I don’t care for your sassy tongue, Glory Marie Day!”
“You’re right. I apologize.” Feeling rotten for overstepping her bounds, she quit probing.
Rampant thoughts of the deal with McClain swam in her head. She couldn’t bear to remember the scandalous declaration.
I’ll do anything you ask.
A desperate bargain for a girl who’d never kissed a man, much less given him leave to have his way. Without a doubt, he thought her bolder than a scarlet woman.
Hundreds of tiny prickles marched to the tune Luke had chosen. All the way to the meeting spot in her belly. The chance of what would happen if Fieldings turned down her offer created the maelstrom. She sucked in her breath. She’d have to keep her word.
Then again, could she endure the disappointment if he didn’t hold her to it? Now where in blazes had that thought sprung from?
Only the incessant creak of the wagon wheels and the mule’s noisy rumblings broke the silence.
Besides, if things went accordingly, she’d have no need for such ridiculous speculation.
“I know we need money.” Ruth’s childlike statement came from the blue.
“In the worst possible way, Mama.”
“Mr. Fieldings will give us a loan.”
“No loan. Time is what we’re asking for if we can’t persuade him to take the watch and brooch in trade. A few extra months should help us catch up so we won’t lose our home.”
“Oh.” Ruth shrugged her shoulders.
Glory had the answer to her question. Ruth’s mind drifted aimlessly toward no particular shore. She wouldn’t get much support from her mother today.
“I need you to stand with me, Mama. I’m depending on you to stay focused.” She couldn’t do everything by herself. Heaviness sat on her chest.
Sometimes she needed a parent. Sometimes she needed Papa.
The buckboard turned the corner onto Santa Anna’s main street. All of a sudden, everything blurred. She descended into a gray, thick fog.
Not now. This couldn’t…she didn’t have the strength to fight this enemy today.
Strange how her vision had remained crystal clear the whole of yesterday. In fact, after shooting the two turkeys, she believed the problem had passed. Now, it returned with a vengeance.
Glory gripped the reins tightly, trying to salvage her mangled nerves. Don’t panic. Calm down. Take a deep breath.
Then, as quickly as the thick grayness had swooped over her, it left. The release of her pent-up air gave a good imitation of an overboiling teakettle.
Old Caesar appeared to sense their destination, for he made a beeline for First Bank and Loan and stopped before she could say whoa.
The establishment bustled with business. Glory wondered how many others stood in the same shoes as the Day family. Other families probably faced eviction too.
She captured Ruth, who had wandered to the dry goods store next door. When she entered the bank, she steered them to the nearest window. “We’d like a word with Mr. Fieldings, please.”
Alex O’Brien peered through the black iron bars separating him from the patrons. “Good morning, ladies. Nice to, uh…see you. I’m sorry. He’s, uh, busy right now. If you—”
“We’ll wait,” Glory interrupted, regretting her curt tone. No one could blame the young man for another’s greed.
Her grip on Ruth’s arm loosened a bit as she maneuvered them through the busy crowd to the bank proprietor’s closed office door.
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do.” The banker’s flint-hardened refusal drifted through the partition. “You failed to uphold your part of the deal. I have no choice.”
Glory could plainly hear crying of the feminine kind mixed with low, deep mumbling. Her hopes dropped faster t
han the level of Red Bank Creek. Another family reduced to pleading. She met her mother’s troubled gaze. At least she could be thankful Ruth finally appeared to grasp their dilemma.
The door flew open and out stomped Helmut Volker. The German immigrant ushered his sobbing wife from the bank.
“Next!” Fieldings’s stare drilled a hole in Glory.
She never twitched an eyelid. But she did clutch the bag that contained their sole valuables tighter to hide her shaking hand.
Her heels pounded the wooden floor when she marched in. If it reminded anyone of a firing squad volley, she couldn’t help that. She perched stiffly on a chair. Following her, Ruth did the same.
“Let’s cut to the chase, Mrs. Day.” The portly man squeezed his girth into his protesting chair. “I know why you’re here.”
“How can you when we haven’t said?” Glory demanded.
A snort shot from Fieldings’s huge nostrils. His piggish breathing filled the room. She’d heard quieter hogs rooting in a favorite mud hole—or a slop pen.
“You’re here same as the others, trying to beg, borrow, or steal their way into my good favor. Won’t work.”
“If you had a good favor, no soul would know it. I wouldn’t steal or beg for a crumb of food. I’d rather starve to death. As for borrowing…that’s a mistake my father already made.” She glanced at Ruth and wished her mother had some gumption about her.
“I told Jack Day he’d rue his lack of judgment.” The chair screeched as he leaned back in satisfaction.
“My Jack’s an honest man! If we could get him home, he’d set things right and make you eat your words.”
A brief flash of fire shot from Ruth’s eyes. But before the sign of life took root, it vanished, and a dull pallor took its place. Glory wondered if it’d ever been there at all. “Mama’s not well.”
“My condolences.”
The overstuffed feather mattress didn’t appear a bit sorry.
“Sir, I have a simple request. We’ve brought some family valuables that we’re offering in exchange for the balance of the note. Or to buy us a little more time.” She fiddled with the strings, trying to get the cloth bag open. “These heirlooms mean everything to us. If our circumstances hadn’t gone past the point of no return, we’d keep them under lock and key.”
He leaned forward, a greedy leer in his beady eyes. She prayed he wouldn’t notice a few flaws—the missing emerald from the brooch and a broken watch stem. Perhaps he wouldn’t look close. At last the knot yielded. She reached inside.
“My grandfather’s silver pocket watch given to him by Sam Houston himself and Mother’s emerald brooch. Handsome, aren’t they?”
She stilled her trembles as she handed them over.
* * *
Luke returned their fishing poles to the barn. His mind whirled with purpose.
“Come on, Soldier.” He led the paint from its stall.
“I never knew your horse’s name. I like it.”
Patience glued herself to his side just as the strange-eyed Mr. George padded imperiously in her footsteps.
He didn’t relish his task. It was going to be hard for her to understand, and no amount of explaining would soften the blow.
“You never asked me.” He grabbed the saddle blanket and spread it over Soldier’s back. “Punkin, you wanna go help your sister in the house now?”
“Aw, she don’t need no help.” The girl flipped her pigtails in true Patience fashion. “You goin’ somewhere, Luke?”
Her mother would skin her alive if she heard her omit the “mister.”
“Yep.” The saddle seemed to weigh a ton when he lifted it up and adjusted the cinches. He couldn’t bear to see the hurt he knew he’d find in his fishing buddy’s innocent gaze.
“Where you goin’? Ain’t you gonna wait for Glory?”
“There’s things I have to do. Stuff that can’t wait. I have to go today…now.”
A sniffle tightened the pain in his gut. The girl didn’t know how this ripped his own heart out. Punkin deserved a better hero than a man like himself. She needed someone with honor who didn’t resort to shameless deceit and trickery.
And Glory? She’d be a mad hornet. Thank goodness he wouldn’t be around to catch her temper.
“Don’cha like us anymore?”
He stopped. Her quivering chin made the lump in his chest more uncomfortable. Leaning down, he took her face between his hands. With his thumb, he wiped away a tear that inched down her cheek.
“I’ll be back. It’s not forever.”
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Solemnly, he made an X on his chest with his forefinger.
If dying came first? Well, he’d just cross that bridge when he came to it.
Eight
“You have only one item that might interest me, Miss Day.” Fieldings’s slack mouth glistened with unswallowed spit. “And I don’t think you’ll part with that.”
Livid, Glory jumped to her feet, snatched up the valuables, and stuffed them into the bag.
He chuckled. “Should you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Confusion swept Ruth’s face as Glory grabbed her hand and yanked her from the office.
Before the door slammed, she heard the fat pig snort, “Two weeks. Not a day more.”
Shaking, she didn’t stop or take a breath until they reached fresh air outside.
“He said we had one thing to bargain with, whatever he meant. Think of your father.”
Glory’s thoughts stumbled. For a brief moment, her mother had stood with her. Though wobbly at best, a post to lean on. Now, in the wink of an eye, she’d slipped back into confusion, jerking away that brief support.
“No, Mama. I’d do almost anything to save the farm, but I’m not going to let him touch me. Not for anything.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.” Ruth put her hand over her mouth. “Thank goodness you’re taking care of things until your father gets back from his trip. He should return any day.” The vacant haze they’d grown accustomed to of late had returned.
“I know.” Glory patted her hand and helped her into the buckboard. “Let’s go sell the eggs and milk we brought.”
Unusual activity took place at Harvey’s Emporium. The group of men congregating in front appeared awfully agitated. She pulled the brake, tied the reins to it, and hopped down, beating Horace Simon. He arrived nearly out of breath, a huge grin stretching from ear to ear.
“Howdy, Miss Glory.” He took the basket of eggs from her while she helped Ruth from the seat. “Been hopin’ to see you. I’m still your beau, ain’t I?”
Innocence glowed in the boy’s face. Unlike Uncle Pete, whose head clicked, whirred, and jangled with constant noise, Horace’s inner workings appeared quiet and unmoved. In a way, she envied that. No pressure, no worries. Simply happy to be alive. At this moment, it seemed like pure heaven.
He might be slow-witted, but he had a heart as big as the sky. More than she could say for the majority of Santa Anna’s citizens, lumping a good many of them with that overstuffed feather mattress Fieldings.
Glory patted his arm. “Of course, Horace, you’ll always be my beau.”
“Okay.” If he’d been a dog, he’d have beat her half silly with his wagging tail.
She nodded toward the men. “What’s going on?”
“Pete Harvey’s a-tellin’ about treasure.”
“What kind?”
“The buried kind.” Horace scurried to hold the door for Glory and her mother.
Uncle Pete noticed them and waved. Though short in stature, he made up for it in tall tales. Most of the townsfolk had long ceased to listen to his ramblings and it surprised her now to see their enthusiasm. She did admit that talk of buried treasure made her ears perk up though.
Aunt Doroth
y greeted them. “Is that old coot still out there spouting his mouth?”
“Afraid so.” Glory set the bucket of milk on the counter.
“I told him to shush up about it. But he never listens to a word I say.”
“Here’s some eggs Glory done brung you, Mrs. Harvey.” Horace handed over the basket, his feet moving in constant motion. If the rest of him had followed, he’d have found himself five miles down the road. Anxious to get back outside to the man talk, she supposed.
“Thanks for your help, Horace.” Glory cringed when he tripped over an uneven place in the floor. “You are quite thoughtful.”
“Okay. I gotta go hunt for treasure.” The door banged, setting the bell in motion.
“How you doing, Ruth?” Dorothy led Glory’s mother to a seat at the back of the store where the men gathered to play checkers on rainy days and Saturday mornings. With nary a teaspoon of rain in the last four months, the area saw little use.
“Why does everyone make a fuss about my health?” Ruth’s argumentative tone had her aunt raising an eyebrow.
“We’ve been to see Fieldings. Things look pretty bleak,” Glory explained.
“Let me get your mother a cool drink of water and we’ll chat a bit. Not often I have company. At least the sort who stops in for reasons other than to spread rumors or ask for advice.”
Glory could comfortably say neither applied to them.
She had just finished relaying the eviction news when Pete Harvey shuffled inside.
“There’s my Glory girl.” The dapper man removed his derby hat when he noticed his wife’s silent scolding. Glory smiled at his customary red garters that anchored white sleeves. To her knowledge, he’d never stepped outside the upstairs living quarters without red garters on his upper arms that shortened the length of his long sleeves. She’d always wanted to hide and watch what happened when he removed them. A giggle rose. She could picture the sleeves striking him about the knees.
Pete Harvey put her in mind of a Mississippi gambler. Only his bowed legs, curved in a perfect circle, ruined any misconception one might have of that.
