Hope Rekindled

by Tracie Peterson

  G.W. exchanged a grin with his father-in-law. “It would be just the kind of thing Albright would do to us if the shoe were on the other foot.”

  “But that’s not the attitude I want us to have in this,” his mother chided. “We are Christian folk, and as such, we do not want to lie or cheat.”

  “I do not recommend either of those options,” Mr. Decker agreed. “As I said, the contract has nothing in it to suggest this would be a breach. You agreed to provide Perkins and his mill with logs. There is no mill at this time, and Perkins’s associates have not decided whether they will rebuild. To be certain, they have made it clear that they will not pay for log deliveries. Therefore, I see no reason that you cannot do as you like with your own timber. So long as you aren’t selling, you should be fine. I’ve run this by the best legal minds.”

  “But that was back East,” Uncle Arjan countered. “Texas isn’t exactly known for doin’ things like the rest of the country. I’ve seen the book of rules get thrown out more’n once.”

  “And that might very well work to your benefit.” Mr. Decker paused and picked up his fork once more. “The most Mr. Albright could do is demand you begin log distribution to him again. That, of course, will mean he’ll have to pay for those logs, and you will have the money you need. I do not see a problem with the situation.”

  “We’ve got good friends to the north who own mills and would probably agree to the arrangement,” Mother said. “They go way back with this family.”

  “Why don’t I go with G.W. and Arjan, and we’ll visit these folks,” Mr. Decker suggested. “I could assure them of the legalities and put to rest any concerns.”

  “We can use the excuse of picking up our horses in Lufkin. Jefferson Marshall was expecting us to fetch them most any day now,” Arjan said. “And if anyone asks, we won’t have to lie about why we’re there.”

  G.W. nodded. “We can also pick up a few supplies.”

  Deborah could hear a collective sigh of relief from around the table. She certainly hoped this was the answer they were looking for. If not, G.W. had made it clear serious financial problems would soon befall them. She had offered the money she’d set aside, but G.W. refused it. He told her the day might well come when they’d have no other choice, but for now, there were still alternatives. It appeared Mr. Decker had just widened the possibilities considerably. Now, if Christopher would just return or telegraph to let her know what was going on, all would be well.

  “We can leave tomorra,” G.W. declared. “We’ll start up in Lufkin. The logs won’t even have to pass through town at all; no one even needs to know what we’re doing.” He got up from the table and looked to their mother. “Could you watch the babies for a spell? I want to make sure Lizzie is all right.”

  Mother nodded. “Of course. She needs you.”

  Deborah watched her brother leave, wishing she could go with him. Lizzie was her dear friend, and she wanted to offer her comfort. But Mother was right. Lizzie needed G.W. more than anyone else.

  She let out a heavy sigh and picked at her food. If she didn’t hear soon from Christopher, she might well go mad.

  After sleeping a little more than two hours, Christopher arose and went quickly to work. He decided it would be best to be gone when the children came home. That way, Mrs. Maynard could let them know he was in town and that he would be back to speak with them. Christopher hoped it would allow them a little time to deal with the surprise of his presence, given that Mrs. Maynard had not mentioned to them that she’d sent a telegram. Not only that, but there was plenty to be accomplished.

  First, he needed transportation, and Mrs. Maynard assured him a livery was just a few streets away. As he walked, Christopher made a mental list of what needed to be done. He should telegraph Deborah, then make his way to the funeral home to see what kind of debt was owed. Mrs. Maynard had also informed him that the children had little more than the clothes on their backs. Something would have to be done about that.

  The livery was exactly where Mrs. Maynard had directed. A tall beanpole of a man welcomed him.

  “Name’s Rothberg. Need a saddle ride or a buggy?”

  “A horse for now,” Christopher replied. “I’m Christopher Clay . . . Kelleher. Mrs. Maynard sent me over.”

  The man nodded and sobered. “Sure was sorry about your folks.” He motioned Christopher into the stable. “I have a gelding over here. One of my best.”

  “That will be fine.” Christopher noted the sturdy-looking chestnut. He was a tall one, just like the man, and looked to have some Arabian blood.

  “Your folks was good people.” He quickly cinched the saddle. “Your brother Jimmy used to help me out during the summer. ’Course, when school began, he was only able to come for a few hours after classes. A smart one, your brother.”

  Christopher knew from his mother’s letters that Jimmy was quite interested in his education. He hoped to promote that interest and keep his brother motivated to continue his education.

  “Yes, sir. Good people. Your ma was one in a million.”

  “Thank you for saying so,” Christopher said, the ache in his heart becoming more pronounced.

  “She’d send over a loaf of just-baked bread from time to time. Probably the best I ever ate. And cookies as big as dinner plates.” He smiled and shook his head. “Everyone in the neighborhood is going to miss her.”

  It touched Christopher to hear this tribute to his mother, but he felt as if his own emotions might boil over at any moment. He paid the man for two days. “I don’t know how long I’ll need him, but I’ll return and pay additional fees should it be longer.”

  “No problem. You’re staying with Mrs. Maynard, and I can always check up on you there.” He smiled and handed Christopher the reins. “Colleen owes me a hot meal. I think she’s sweet on me anyway.”

  It was the first time Christopher had felt like smiling in days. He could well imagine the stocky Mrs. Maynard and the tall, skinny Mr. Rothberg. “Could you direct me to the closest telegraph office? I need to send a message to Texas.”

  Rothberg walked with him and the horse to the front of the stable. “Just turn right at the second street. You’ll go down about six blocks and then you’ll see a row of businesses. The telegraph office is on the corner.”

  “Thank you.” Christopher stepped into the stirrup and mounted the horse. The gelding was well behaved and stood stock-still. “I’ll be in touch.”

  The horse acted as if they were old friends. He quickly complied with Christopher’s directions and seemed completely at ease with the city traffic. The area had changed a great deal since the last time Christopher had been back. Everything looked foreign to him—felt foreign, too. Of course, most of his adult life had been spent elsewhere avoiding his Irish heritage—avoiding the pain of seeing his father helpless.

  “Helpless is exactly how I feel,” he muttered.

  His parents were dead. His mother gone—truly gone. He hadn’t even been able to say good-bye. He thought about his last letter home. What had he told his mother? What kind of affection had he offered? His eyes blurred, but he refused to give in to the pain of his loss. He could grieve later. For now, there was work to be done.

  He thought again of the children who barely knew him. It wouldn’t be easy for them to see him as their authority or rescue.

  “Nothing will be easy for them now.”

  “And this is your youngest brother, Jonah. He just celebrated his seventh birthday two days before the fire,” Mrs. Maynard declared. She finished the introductions and took a seat beside the boy.

  Christopher let his gaze travel over the ragged quintet. Jimmy and Tommy glared at him with expressions that suggested they wanted nothing he had to offer. They were angry and hurting, and the appearance of a big brother offered no comfort. Darcy, at the age of thirteen, was quite a young woman. She admonished nine-year-old Emma to sit up straight and reached over to straighten her sister’s pigtails. The three youngest were quite petite—perhaps even unde
rfed. No doubt they had less to eat than their older brothers. Christopher shook his head, feeling guilty for not having done more.

  Jonah continued to watch him with wide eyes and a look that seemed almost fearful. The boy’s intensity caused Christopher to rethink how he would approach them. Somehow he had to win their trust—had to help them to see that he was there to help.

  “I realize that none of you know me very well, but I can tell you honestly that I grieve our mother’s loss as much as you do.” He paused and added, “Our father, as well.”

  “Mrs. Maynard said they went up to heaven,” Jonah offered, then buried his face in the stocky woman’s waist.

  Christopher was rather at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. His discomfort stymied rational thought; he could have more comfortably performed surgery while wearing a blindfold. Drawing a deep breath, Christopher knew he would have to be strong. Strong and firm. He’d already decided that he would take the children back to Texas with him. There was certainly nothing for him in Kansas City, and while it would be stripping away the last remnants of all that was familiar, a new start would be good for all of them. Of course, Jimmy and Tommy would have plenty to say on the plan.

  “I asked Mrs. Maynard to gather you all here,” he began, “because I wanted to explain what will take place in the next few days. Since the house has burned down and the landlord had no insurance to rebuild, you have no home here in Kansas City.”

  “We got a home with Mrs. Maynard,” Jimmy said in a terse clipped tone. “I can see to it that we manage. I’m almost seventeen.” He was clearly used to being in charge of his siblings.

  Christopher met his brother’s gaze. “I’m sorry, but I cannot allow that. You see, I know our ma wanted to see you continue your education. She was very proud of you—proud of each one of you. She wrote to me all the time about what you were accomplishing. I know she would want you to be happy, but she’d want you to be safe and cared for above all. Mrs. Maynard cannot continue to care for you—that isn’t her job.”

  Jimmy folded his arms against his chest but said nothing more. Tommy, too, remained silent, while Darcy had little difficulty posing the questions they no doubt all had on their minds.

  “So where are you gonna take us?”

  He smiled, hoping it would ease their fears. “I’m going to take you back to Texas with me. I’m soon to be married, and I know my wife would love having each of you.” At least he hoped she would. He hadn’t been able to explain everything in the brief telegram he’d sent her and had already decided he would wait until they returned to let her know the full impact of the fire.

  “I ain’t gonna go,” Tommy declared, getting to his feet. “You can’t make me. I’ll be fifteen in a couple of months, and that’s old enough to take care of myself.”

  “Me either,” Jimmy said, joining his brother. “You can’t just come in here and expect us to leave. We’ve lived here all our lives. We’ll go on livin’ here.”

  It was just as Christopher had expected. “I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible. You are underage and cannot fend for yourselves. You cannot earn a living to support the little ones, and even if you were allowed to roam off on your own, the county would come in and take the rest of your brothers and sisters.”

  Jimmy let out a breath that was something between a growl and a sigh before storming off upstairs. Tommy opened his mouth as if to speak but then closed it and stomped off. At this, the two youngest began crying and Mrs. Maynard gathered them in her arms.

  “I’ll tend them in the other room,” she told Christopher.

  That just left Darcy. The blue-eyed, redheaded girl looked at him rather matter-of-factly. “Looks like you got a big problem.”

  On Saturday, Deborah accompanied her mother to the commissary. The building was poorly stocked and able to satisfy only the most basic of needs. Her mother hoped to purchase at least several spools of thread, and two or three bags of flour, cornmeal, and coffee.

  Deborah walked the aisles, looking for anything useful. There had been a time when the place had been brimming with supplies and trinkets. Now it was just the basic needs, and hardly much of those.

  She heard footsteps fall behind her and backed up to let the other person pass. To her surprise, Deborah was immediately taken in hand by Jael. Her friend hurried them to the far end of the store, catching her skirt for a moment on a rough spot on the wood floor.

  “Oh bother.” She tugged the material loose, not at all mindful of its delicacy. She pulled Deborah behind a stack of barrels. “Stuart is livid. He apparently had a falling out with G.W.”

  “I know about it. G.W. asked Stuart to let Vandermark Logging out of the contract since they aren’t moving ahead to rebuild.”

  “But now Stuart has decided he will rebuild. He figures if he’s rebuilding and your family files for breach of contract, he can get a judge to rule in his favor because . . . well, something about there being a tangible effort to rectify the situation.” Jael rolled her eyes. “It was all rather muffled as I was eavesdropping on Stuart and my father.”

  “So he plans to rebuild?” Deborah questioned. “That’s wonderful news.”

  Jael shook her head. “I don’t trust Stuart to be doing a good thing in this matter. The man still hates you and your family. He even threatened you.”

  Deborah looked at Jael and shook her head. “What in the world are you saying?”

  “I told Stuart that I wanted a divorce. He refused, of course, though I can’t imagine why at this point. He has all that he wants—his inheritance, the ability to hurt Lizzie and your family. He’s extremely wealthy. Anyway, when I mentioned that I wanted a divorce, he told me no. Then he added that if I dared to try to leave him or divorce him, he’d make you pay—with your life.” Jael reached out and took hold of Deborah’s arm. “He means it, too.”

  “I’m not afraid of Stuart Albright,” Deborah replied. How dare he deliver such a threat!

  “Perhaps you should be. Stuart made some comment about having killed before. I don’t know exactly what it was all about, and he certainly offered no details, but Deborah—I’m scared of what he might do.”

  Deborah felt her brows knit together. “He boasted of killing?”

  Jael nodded and glanced around to be sure no one could overhear. “When I asked him if could really kill another person, he said it wouldn’t be the first time or the last. It might well have been nothing but lies—just words spoken in anger to frighten me.”

  Deborah shivered as if a sudden icy breeze had blown into the store. “What an evil man.”

  “I fear if I do not stay with him and cooperate fully, he will carry through his plans to harm you. I couldn’t bear it if that happened.”

  “But if you left him, where would you go? Were you planning to leave Perkinsville?”

  Jael looked toward the floor, then back to Deborah. “I thought I might stay a while with you.”

  Deborah could see what her friend had in mind. “Of course you would be welcomed. You needn’t stay with him because of his threats. I’ll let G.W. and Uncle Arjan know. Christopher, too, when he returns. Perhaps they will speak to the constable.”

  “Stuart probably has the man paid off. I wouldn’t trust anyone but family at this point. Have you heard from Christopher? Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “There was a brief telegram. He said he’d arrived safely and that his parents’ home had been destroyed by fire, but little else. Certainly nothing about when he planned to return.” She shrugged. “I suppose he will have to see them moved to new lodgings before he can leave.”

  “Stuart talked of us moving back to Houston, at least for the summer. He has no desire to be here, where he believes there is a greater chance of disease breaking out. I’m not sure why he believes this, but I think it would be good to get him away from here and your family. Especially from you. He still blames you for taking Lizzie from him.”

  At this, Jael’s expression changed to one of betrayal
and hurt. Deborah wanted to comfort her but didn’t know what to say. Jael continued, however, before Deborah could offer so much as a single word.

  “I knew he didn’t love me when we married. I didn’t love him, either, but I thought I might come to. Now I know that won’t happen. It grieves me to know that I made such a hasty mistake.”

  “You did what you felt you had to.”

  Jael nodded. “And I’m paying the price for it.” She squeezed Deborah’s hands. “He’s forbidden me to see you at all. I don’t know what I shall do or if I’ll even have a chance to say good-bye.”

  Deborah thought for a moment. “You can leave messages with Mara Shattuck. If you go to Houston, you can even correspond with me, through her. I’ll speak to her today and let her know what’s happening.”

  “I should be able to manage that,” Jael agreed. She glanced around once more, fidgeting like a treed coon. “I need to go.”

  “Please be careful. We know now that Stuart is dangerous. We must be on our guard.”

  Jael nodded.

  “Go out the back way and I’ll keep watch.”

  “That’s a good idea,” her friend agreed. “Where is the door?”

  Taking Jael by the hand, she led her to the storage room, careful that they should not be seen. “The door is there—to the right.”

  Deborah waited until her friend had fled and then went to find her mother. Whispering, she relayed the information Jael had shared—all but the threat on Deborah’s life. She would talk to G.W. first. He wouldn’t overreact, but her mother might be inclined to do something out of pure emotion.

  “I need to speak with Mara,” she told her mother. “Would it be all right if I did it now?”