Daylight Comes

by Judith Miller

  Moses dropped down beside her on the settee and tapped his finger on the envelope. “Aren’t you going to open that? I made a special trip home. I thought you’d be anxious to hear how Fern was faring in Nicodemus.”

  “Yes, of course.” Truth slipped the point of her letter opener beneath the flap and neatly slit open the thick envelope. She removed the folded pages from the envelope and glanced at her husband. “Appears she’s written us a lengthy letter. What could be going on in our empty house that would take up so many pages of explanation?”

  Truth pressed open the pages and silently began to read.

  Dear Mrs. Wyman, I hope this letter finds you well and happy in Topeka. All remains fine with your home. I have not had any problems caring for it as you requested.

  Truth sighed and met her husband’s steady gaze. “She says all is fine with the house.”

  “Well, that much is good news. What else does she say?”

  Truth returned to reading.

  I would very much like to continue my position as your housekeeper, but first I must tell you of a change in circumstances. I considered keeping this matter a secret. However, I have had a long talk with Pastor James from over at the First Baptist Church, and he said I should tell you the truth. He says honesty is always repaid with kindness and I hope that will remain true in this circumstance. You will recall that prior to your departure Arthur Wilson had expressed an interest in me. Our devotion to one another flourished, and although Arthur’s parents aren’t particularly fond of me (particularly his mother), we were secretly married. As of this writing, we have not told anyone except Pastor James. And now you, of course. Arthur doesn’t know how his parents will react to this news. In addition, there isn’t adequate space in their rooms above the store to accommodate two families.

  Would you heartily object if Arthur moved into your house with me?

  I pray you will be accepting of this idea as we have nowhere else to go. We would not take advantage and you could forego payment of my wages as payment for Arthur’s lodging. I give you my word, I will continue to look after the house with due diligence. I anxiously await your response.

  Your servant, Fern Kingston

  The pages fluttered to Truth’s lap. “Fern has secretly married Arthur Wilson!”

  Moses retrieved the letter and quickly scanned the contents. He laughed and slapped his leg. “I thought she’d have him at the altar before six months had passed.”

  “But what of her request, Moses? Do we permit them to live in our house? I’m not certain I like the idea.”

  “Why? Arthur is a fine young man, and what Fern has said is true.

  Living with his parents would be difficult. Arthur’s days working at the store will be misery enough. You know his mother’s tongue will wag against Fern and their marriage from morning until evening. The young man will need some form of escape.” Moses folded the letter and handed it to his wife. “In addition, you want someone living at the house. There is no one else readily available. Fern has shown herself to be trustworthy by sending this letter. I say we let her and Arthur remain.”

  “I suppose you’re correct. I’ll write a letter to her this afternoon, and you can post it in the morning.” Truth tucked the letter into the envelope and shook her head.

  “What is it that befuddles you, my dear?”

  “The fact that Fern has chosen Pastor James as her advisor. Knowing him, he’ll lead her to Jesus, and Arthur and Fern will become the first white members of First Baptist.”

  Moses grinned. “Not such a bad thing. Not such a bad thing at all.”

  Macia hesitated outside her father’s office, contemplating whether she should go in. Her father had willingly come to Mr. Faraday’s assistance once. She doubted he’d take kindly to helping the man again, especially since Mr. Faraday hadn’t learned from his earlier near catastrophe. At least it appeared he hadn’t learned anything. Yet how could Macia help Camille on her own? Her father was the only one Mr. Faraday listened to.

  Macia peeked through the office door. Seeing no one in the waiting room, she drew in a deep breath and opened the door. “Father?”

  “In here, Macia.”

  She followed the sound of his voice. She guessed he was reading one of the many medical books that filled his office bookcases. Her father was leaning back in his large, cushioned chair, his shoes resting atop one corner of the desk. His reading spectacles were perched on the tip of his nose. Her father placed the book on his desk and lowered his feet to the floor as he met her worried look.

  The robust scent of the tobacco blend her father tamped into his pipe several times a day wafted through the room as if to greet her.

  Though her mother wouldn’t permit him to smoke his pipe in the house, her father had never completely given up the habit. “What brings you to the office? Not feeling well?”

  Macia plopped into one of the chairs across the desk from him.

  “I’m fine, Father. Well, at least physically.” She glanced toward the waiting room. “Are you expecting any patients?”

  “No. Mrs. Cafferty was my final patient for today. Unless an emergency should arise.” Leaning forward, he rested his arms atop his shiny mahogany desk. “Now, tell me what brings you to the office on this blustery March day—nothing better to do than walk about in a cold, gusty wind?”

  Macia cleared her throat and told him of her recent meeting with Camille Faraday. Her father’s face tightened as she relayed what Camille had told her, and Macia feared his anger would outweigh his willingness to once again be drawn into the pharmacist’s familial difficulties.

  Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Boyle pulled the intricately carved pipe from his pocket and cupped the bowl in his right hand. “I truly don’t know what I can do in this instance, Macia. Even if what Camille tells you is true, how can I approach him? He’d wonder how I came by this information, don’t you think?”

  Macia absently tapped his desk with her fingers as she gave the matter thought. The fact that Mr. Faraday was illegally selling medicines that contained high levels of alcohol and opiates to finance his gambling habit wouldn’t be public knowledge. Yet those who gambled with Mr. Faraday knew how he came by his gambling money. In addition, Mrs. Faraday had become suspicious when her husband’s sales and the diminishing pharmacy stock didn’t balance. And now, Mrs. Faraday had charged Camille with the task of acting as her father’s overseer—an unseemly arrangement for their daughter.

  Macia fidgeted with her handbag for a moment and then perked to attention when she got an idea. “Why don’t you state your case and if he should ask, tell him you promised you’d not break a confidence?”

  Macia bobbed her head excitedly. “Should he ask, you can honestly tell him the information didn’t come from any member of his family.”

  Her father packed a pinch of tobacco into his pipe and tamped it tightly into the bowl. “I don’t like meddling into—”

  “Please, Father. If you won’t do it for Camille, please say you’ll do it for me. I can’t imagine how difficult this is for her. If you could have seen her when she was telling me—”

  “Oh, I suppose it won’t hurt to have a talk with Faraday. However, if the man didn’t learn his lesson when he nearly lost his house, I doubt another visit with him is going to have much impact.” He held a match to the bowl of his pipe and sucked on the amber stem. Once the fire took hold, he took a deep draw on his pipe. “I’ll give it a try if it will make you happy.”

  Quickly circling her father’s desk, Macia leaned down and kissed his lightly stubbled cheek. “Thank you. I’m very happy you’re my father. I can’t imagine having someone like Mr. Faraday as a parent.”

  Her father chuckled softly, holding the pipe stem between his teeth. Macia knew what he was thinking; at least she thought she knew. He was likely remembering the many times when she’d objected to his fatherly decisions—particularly his decision to move west. She knew now his judgment had been sound. She shuddered to think what her l
ife would have been like had she married Jackson Kincaid, the beau she’d had back in Kentucky.

  Macia tied the black satin ribbons that edged the collar of her dark gray cape. “You’ll talk to Mr. Faraday this afternoon—before you come home for supper?”

  “As long as you and Camille realize this may prove to be a futile effort.”

  Macia retrieved her reticule from atop the desk. “I have faith in your ability, Father. I’ll look forward to hearing what Mr. Faraday has to say for himself.”

  CHAPTER

  26

  Macia shifted in her chair. She’d thought supper would never end. Then, to make matters worse, her mother hadn’t gone directly to bed after supper as she usually did; she’d decided to remain downstairs and stitch on her latest piece of needlepoint. Macia had attempted to lure her father into his library for a private conversation, but he hadn’t seemed to get the hint. If she was to hear her father’s report about his conversation with Mr. Faraday, she’d be forced to wait until her mother retired for the night. She’d tried to read, but lacked the ability to concentrate. The few times she’d been able to catch her father’s eye, he had merely smiled and continued reading his paper.

  When she could bear the waiting no longer, she asked to be excused. “I believe I’ll go upstairs and prepare for bed.”

  Her mother folded her needlepoint and placed it in her sewing basket. “Excellent idea, my dear. I believe I’ll go upstairs, too.” Mrs.

  Boyle kissed her husband and then took Macia by the hand.

  “Macia,” Mr. Boyle said, “would you consider fetching me a glass of buttermilk before you go upstairs?”

  “Buttermilk?” she asked.

  He nodded and winked. Evidently he was going to tell her about his meeting with Mr. Faraday. She kissed her mother good-night and hurried off to the kitchen. Stretching, she reached to retrieve a glass from the upper shelf of the cupboard as her father entered the room.

  He replaced the glass. “Merely a ruse, my dear. I do not want a glass of buttermilk.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go into my library and talk.”

  Macia settled into one of the comfortable overstuffed chairs and wrapped a wool throw around her shoulders. No fire had been started in the room, and the March winds seeped through the windows, leaving the library very chilly.

  Dr. Boyle rubbed his hands together. “A bit cold in here this evening.” He eased into a nearby chair.

  Without fanfare, he told her what she’d been waiting to hear. He’d met with Mr. Faraday. As her father had expected, the pharmacist denied misusing any medicine and stated he understood the liquor laws. Mr. Faraday had said he couldn’t imagine who was passing along erroneous information.

  “Mr. Faraday appeared genuinely affronted by the accusations.”

  Her father rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward her. “I’d like to believe I’ve wrongly accused him, but I fear he’s a man who has lost control over his life. Like those who have need of alcohol coursing through their bloodstream, Mr. Faraday is obsessed with his gambling. And until he admits he has a problem, there is little anyone can do to help him.”

  Macia’s shoulders collapsed as she listened to her father’s verdict. She knew he was correct, yet she longed to carry some words of encouragement to Camille. Drawing the wool throw close around her neck, Macia wondered what it would take before Mr. Faraday changed his ways.

  Her teeth chattered as she slowly rose from the chair. There was nothing more to discuss. She would talk to Camille in the morning.

  “Thank you for trying, Father.”

  He took her hands and held them between his own. “Pray for him, Macia. That’s all we can do at this juncture.”

  She knew her father was correct, yet she wondered if Mrs. Faraday, Camille, and Jonas didn’t deserve her prayers more than Mr. Faraday!

  “I’ll answer the door.” Macia tucked a blond curl behind one ear and waved to Gerta.

  Gerta’s rosy cheeks rounded into the shape of two ripe apples as she thanked Macia. She realized how peaceful their home had become since Fern’s departure. With her sweet disposition and constant smile, Gerta made a pleasant addition to their family.

  A lace curtain covered the door’s oval window, obscuring Macia’s view. Although she couldn’t clearly distinguish who stood on the other side, she knew the caller was a woman—unless men had taken to wearing skirts. Her wandering thoughts immediately dissipated when she pulled open the door. “Camille! Whatever is the matter?” Startled by her friend’s ashen complexion and solemn countenance, Macia tugged her forward. “Come in. We’re having breakfast—come join us.”

  Camille touched her right hand to her stomach. “I couldn’t bear to eat right now, but if your father is here, may I speak with him?”

  Macia reached to remove Camille’s cape from her shoulders, but her friend shook her head. “I can’t stay. I must get back home to Mother.”

  Macia led the way into the dining room, thankful her own mother had decided to take breakfast upstairs this morning. There would be fewer questions. Her father’s eyes widened as the two young women entered the room. He pushed his chair away from the table, but Camille waved for him to remain seated.

  Macia nodded to Gerta and the servant immediately scurried from the room. Taking Camille by the arm, Macia seated their visitor to her father’s left. While Macia sat down across the table, Camille perched on the edge of a tapestry-covered chair as though ready to take flight.

  Dr. Boyle looked back and forth between the two young ladies. “Is someone going to tell me what this is about or am I supposed to guess?”

  Camille traced her finger across the edge of the linen tablecloth. “My father has disappeared. He’s gone—for good, I fear.”

  “What’s that? Someone’s disappeared? A kidnapping or runaway?” Harvey burst into the room, his eyes alight with excitement. When he noticed Camille, his features grew somber. “Sorry, Camille. I didn’t realize . . .” Harvey dropped into the chair beside Camille.

  “We’re discussing a confidential matter, Harvey.” Macia motioned for him to leave.

  But her brother didn’t budge from the table. Instead, he took Camille’s hand and patted it as though he’d been soothing distraught damsels all of his life. “How can we help you, Camille? Who has gone missing?”

  She hesitated, but Harvey nodded his encouragement.

  “This must remain confidential.” Her words were no more than a whisper. “Nothing in the newspaper.”

  Harvey’s features remained solemn as he pledged his agreement.

  Camille fished a handkerchief from her pocket as she began the story. “Father came home for supper in a foul mood last evening. He ate in silence. Soon after, he departed, saying he’d be late and my mother should go on to bed.” Her voice grew softer, and she dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “I never heard him return, but he must have come home sometime during the night, for all of his clothing and personal items are missing from the house.”

  “Are you absolutely certain?” When Camille stated that she was, Dr. Boyle massaged his forehead. “I shouldn’t have gone and talked to him. Perhaps none of this would have occurred.”

  “No. I’m the one who asked for your assistance, Dr. Boyle. You wouldn’t have spoken to Father had it not been at my urging.” Camille didn’t linger over the news of her father’s absence for long. “If we’re unable to continue operating the pharmacy, we’ll lose everything. I’ve learned a great deal working alongside my father, and if you will lend me assistance as needed, I believe we can eventually turn a profit.”

  “You’ll be willing to help, won’t you?” Macia looked pleadingly at her father.

  “I believe it would be best if I spoke directly with your mother, Camille. I wouldn’t want to undermine any plans she might have for the future.”

  Camille’s shoulders drooped. “I suppose I have no choice. Thank you, Dr. Boyle. And I’m sorry to have interrupted your breakfast.”


  Macia pushed away from the table as her friend prepared to depart, but Harvey shooed his sister aside. “I’ll see Camille to the door. You and Father can proceed with your breakfast.”

  Her father chased a forkful of scrambled eggs across his plate.

  “Hmm, cold.” His lip curled after he’d swallowed the eggs. “I think I’ll settle for bread and jam instead.”

  Macia passed the bread plate to her father. “I didn’t realize Harvey and Camille had become more than friends. Did you know?”

  Her father took a thick slice of crusty bread from the plate. He shrugged as he liberally spread the bread with layers of butter and strawberry jam. “I knew Harvey was interested in her; I didn’t know if Camille had feelings for him. From the looks they exchanged just now, it would seem that she does.”

  Macia picked up a piece of limp bacon but then put it back on her plate. Likely it would be no more appetizing than the cold eggs.

  “Seems I’m always the last to know what’s going on.”

  Her father chuckled. “Now, I doubt—”

  “Father! Come quick!” Harvey’s shout echoed down the hallway.

  Dr. Boyle jumped to his feet and raced toward the front door. Harvey and Camille stood on the front porch, anxiously pointing in the direction of the river. “Mr. Johnson says for you to hurry. And bring your bag! There’s been an accident down at the river.”

  Without stopping to put on her coat, Macia rushed outdoors. She folded her arms across her chest and hastily rubbed them to ward off the icy chill in the air. She had hoped for more information, but when she could gain nothing further from her brother, she returned indoors.

  Her father had already shrugged into his heavy coat. Macia handed him his fleece-lined leather gloves as he grabbed his medical bag from the table and then hurried out of the house.

  Could one of the children have skipped school and gone ice fishing or skating at the river? Though the weather remained cold, the ice had probably begun to melt near the middle, where the men and boys tried their luck at catching the big ones and the skaters attempted their pirouettes. She shivered at the thought of someone falling through the ice and sent a fleeting prayer heavenward. Perhaps her father would find nothing more than a stranded animal that had fallen through the ice. Folks didn’t hesitate to call on her father to tend their sick farm animals when no one else was available.