Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Deborah’s Old-Fashioned Southern Lemon Cake
About Caroline Clemmons
Chapter One
Pearson Grove, Texas, 1885
Deborah Taber clutched the handle of her wicker basket as she surveyed the after-church crowd. She hated box lunch auctions and hadn’t wanted to participate. With her parents being so active in the community, she had been unable to escape.
Her mother elbowed her. “Smile, dear, instead of looking as if you’re going to be burned at the stake. Remember this is to raise money for a new church organ and shouldn’t be taken as punishment to you personally. You look as if you’re about to bolt for home.”
“I would have walked there immediately after the service if I thought you’d have let me. I’d run now if I didn’t know you’d send my brother after me.”
Her brother Jeff’s eyes sparkled. “You know I’d love to drag you back kicking and screaming. Think of the headline that would make.” He spread his hands as if holding a newspaper. “Stubborn spinster dragged to church box lunch auction in front of stunned congregation.”
She pretended to sock his arm but couldn’t keep from smiling. “Thanks for saying I’m a spinster, you wretch. Now I feel especially conspicuous.”
Getting really annoyed with Jeff was impossible because he was a great young man. With an easy laugh and outgoing personality, he got along with everyone. Since her brother had finished school, he had become the main reporter at the family’s newspaper, The Pearson Grove Gazette.
Her smile faded when she spotted Eric Barton and a couple of his friends staring at her and laughing. She hoped he didn’t win her basket.
Wade Pearson III, who went by Trey, sauntered over and extended his hand to shake with Jeff. “Wanted to thank you for the nice article you wrote on my return to Pearson Grove. Didn’t make me sound too stuffy or boring.”
Jeff shook Trey’s hand. “Because you’re neither. Don’t know why you wanted to go all the way to Massachusetts to university, but glad to have you back in Texas.”
“Glad to be here.” Trey turned to Deborah and her parents. “Mrs. Taber, Mr. Taber, good to see you. Pleasant day for the social, isn’t it?”
Without waiting for them to answer, he met her gaze. “You look lovely today, Deborah—or do I need to call you Miss Taber now?”
She smiled at the man on whom she’d had a secret crush since second grade. “I think we’ve known one another enough years that you should still call me by my first name. I can’t see myself referring to you as Mr. Pearson.”
His grin added an air of mischief to his blue eyes. “I hope not. With three of us, that would get confusing.”
He dipped a nod. “Good to see all of you.” Trey ambled to stand nearby with his parents.
His father and grandfather and he were handsome men. Each was tall and looked fit for his age. She imagined Trey would grow to look like his father and then his grandfather. His mother and grandmother were attractive, admirable women who were always stylishly dressed. She was a bit in awe of them.
Eric strutted over to Deborah. “I see your basket has a green ribbon.” He flashed a gold coin in his fingers and leaned forward with a leer. “Got me twenty dollars here to make sure I win the bid on your lunch. Have a nice, private spot picked out so I can sample… your food.”
Deborah fought the urge to punch him in the mouth. “We’ll see who wins the bid.”
Eric swaggered back to stand with his friends. She didn’t see why he’d bothered to attend. He rarely came to church and couldn’t possibly care whether or not the sanctuary had an organ.
Her father frowned at the departing man. “What nerve that young Barton has.”
Mama sniffed. “He’s a very rude young man.”
Deborah grabbed Jeff’s arm. “Don’t let him win my basket. I’ll give you whatever you have to bid to keep him from winning.”
Jeff gaped at her. “Are you crazy? I can’t bid on my own sister’s dinner. Besides, I was planning on bidding on… well, never mind whose basket. Besides, you don’t need to worry about who gets your lunch because there’ll be people all around while you eat.”
Her father leaned near. “If that young man gets your basket you make sure you stay with the crowd and where I can see you.”
Her reply was cut off by the minister’s voice. “Ladies, please place your baskets or boxes on the table here and we’ll start the sale. Remember, all proceeds go toward purchasing an organ for the church. Our fall fundraiser secured half the money we need. Gentlemen, dig deep into your pockets. Let’s make up the rest today.”
Deborah wanted to untie the green ribbon on her basket, even though it matched the new, green, sprigged muslin dress she was wearing. Her mother nudged her forward. With a fatalistic sigh, Deborah placed her dinner with that of the other women from the congregation and retreated to stand with the crowd.
At least there was a large turnout for the auction. Bidding was fast with most of the lunch containers garnering a dollar or two. Ron Novak, the banker’s son, bid $10 for the box containing the Novak housekeeper Dorcas Conner’s, meal.
Mrs. Conner chided, “You should have bid on a pretty girl’s basket. You might well find the woman you want to marry.”
Ron leaned down and kissed her cheek then placed his hands on his heart. “I’d marry you tomorrow if you’d have me.”
Everyone around them laughed.
Norris Kirby bid twenty-five dollars for the basket belonging to his wife, Vivian. She preened at the attention his bid caused.
The choices moved closer and closer to Deborah’s basket. The knot in her stomach coiled tighter and tighter. She told herself she was being foolish, this was only one meal. If anyone but Eric were involved, she might listen.
All through school he’d teased and tormented her. He’d bullied her and her friends endlessly. At separate times, Ron Novak and Trey Pearson had fought and bested him. All that happened was Eric learned to be wary of them and picked on the smaller boys.
Here came her turn. Reverend Patrick held up her basket. Her green ribbon rippled in the light breeze. She looked through the branches overhead toward the sky. Would it be sinful to pray for a selfish thing like keeping Eric from winning her basket?
She heard bidding. Bert Nixon opened with two dollars. Jeff Hardman bid three. Deputy Milton Sprouse raised it to five dollars. Amazed and pleased, she smiled at each man who bid and waited for the minister to end the bidding.
Eric yelled loud enough for everyone to hear, “Preacher, I bid twenty dollars.”
Deborah’s stomach dropped to her knees.
“Thank you, Mr. Barton. Do I hear another bid?”
Trey called, “Twenty-five.”
Deborah couldn’t believe her ears or her good fortune. Her hand went to her throat and she smiled at Trey. She was saved.
Eric collected money from his friends. “Twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents.”
Shaking his head, Trey said, “Fifty dollars.”
The crowd was silent, apparently as stunned as she was.
Except for Reverend Patrick, who quickly cried, “Sold to Trey
Pearson.”
Eric rushed at Trey but his friends pulled him back. “You yellow-bellied coyote. You Pearsons think we all have to kowtow to you because you have so much money. You’ll be sorry for this, just you wait and see if you’re not.” He turned and stalked toward his horse, mounted, and rode toward his ranch.
Without commenting on Eric’s behavior, the minister picked up another basket and inhaled the contents. “What am I bid for this basket that smells so enticing?”
Grinning and carrying her basket, Trey ambled toward Deborah. He offered his arm. “Shall we find the best spot remaining?”
“Thank you, Trey. I brought a blanket we can use to spread on the ground.”
“Good, I didn’t think of that.”
“You spent a lot of money for fried chicken and potato salad but I’m grateful to be eating with you instead of Eric Barton.” She indicated the buggy her parents had hired for the day.
“I’m delighted to eat with the prettiest woman here. Plus, it’s all for a good cause.” He stopped long enough to retrieve the plaid blanket. “Do you see a likely spot?”
“If you don’t mind the cemetery, there’s a lovely place near the center.”
He led her weaving through the headstones. “Don’t mind at all. I’ve always thought this site was peaceful—not that I’m eager to move here permanently, mind you.”
She grinned at him. “Thank you for not saying people are dying to get in here. It is serene, isn’t it? I think it’s the town’s coolest spot in summer.”
She led him to the spot she had in mind. A large oak tree provided shade. Nearby, a bed of roses sent their fragrance on the breeze. Overhead the brilliant blue sky was dotted by a few fluffy cotton wool clouds. Birds sang and squirrels chattered their complaints at being disturbed.
On the bench nearby, Virginia and Ambrose Green shared the box lunch she’d prepared. The couple was far enough away that their conversation was a murmur with no words distinguishable. She was glad because that meant what she and Trey said would be private.
Trey set the basket on the ground long enough to spread the blanket where she’d indicated and then moved the basket to a corner. He extended his hand. “May I help you settle?”
When she’d arranged her skirt to insure her ankles were covered, she removed the small tablecloth and spread it before she set out their food. She was so glad she’d taken extra care with the meal. The chicken had browned nicely, thank goodness. Before packing it, she’d pulled apart one thigh piece to be certain the meat was done all the way to the bone.
Potato salad and deviled eggs were greeted by Trey’s “Mmm.”
The rest of the food included pickles, cheese, corn relish, butter, biscuits, and peach cobbler. To drink, she’d packed apple cider.
Trey accepted the tin plate, napkin, and silverware she handed him. “From the looks of this spread, I should have at least doubled my bid.”
“What a nice thing to say.” While he filled his plate, she said, “Tell me about your years away and how it feels to be back.”
His blue eyes sparkled. “Didn’t you read Jeff’s article?”
“I certainly did. It was short, however, and hardly consisted of six years’ worth of information.”
“There isn’t that much to tell. I missed Texas, but I had to learn about investing and finance and our business interests. Although he’s supposedly retired and handed over the reins to my grandfather, I spent a couple of years in Boston with my great-grandfather after I finished Harvard.”
“You’re fortunate to still have him.”
“He’s eighty-seven but remains sharp. You’re right about me being fortunate. I learned a lot more about business in those two years with WW, which is what we call him, than I did in four at university.”
He gave a slight shrug of one shoulder. “I don’t like to talk about money, but I have a responsibility to follow in my father and grandfather’s footsteps.”
He reached for a biscuit. “I don’t suppose it’s a secret that our ranch is not our main source of income. The ranch is our home and holds our hearts, but we can’t depend on it for the entire family’s support.”
She sipped her cider. “Besides you and your parents, grandparents, and this great-grandfather WW, are there others?”
“There are, but they live in Boston and Cambridge. I suppose you know Papa’s an only child. Grandpa has a brother named Wyatt, Sr. and his wife Eleanor, a nephew named Wyatt, Jr. and his wife Millicent and their son William, and a niece named Alice and her husband Sam Holt. Grandpa is the eldest, so we control finances somewhat but we have to answer to a board of trustees.”
“Goodness, that sounds complicated.”
He tilted his head. “Can be but we try to keep it simple and grudge-free.” He closed his eyes. “Ahh, this chicken is prepared perfectly.”
“Thank you. I cooked it this morning, of course, and also made the potato salad, deviled eggs, biscuits, and cobbler then. I’m always afraid to prepare picnic foods the day before in case the meal spoils. The pickles and relish are from Mama’s and my canning last summer.”
Eyes sparkling with mischief, he looked at her over another piece of chicken. “You’re a great cook. I apologize for thinking your mother prepared all this.”
She pretended to be upset. “Trey Pearson, I should be insulted but I’m not. Well, maybe I am a little. Mama is a good cook, but she helps Papa so much that I’ve pretty well taken over meal preparation.”
He glanced around. “I think we’re on someone’s family plot.”
“We are. In fact, you’re sitting on Grandma Taber. I don’t think she’d mind, since I believe she’s looking down from heaven.”
“Sorry, Grandma Taber.” He gazed upward before returning his gaze to meet hers. “Do you also work at the Gazette?”
“Only if I’m needed. That’s if my mother or father is unwell or Jeff is off chasing down a story.”
“Sounds as if you’re not enamored of the newspaper business.”
“I don’t mind working there and I’m quite happy to help out when I’m needed. Still, it’s not something I clamor after like Jeff does. Journalism is in his life’s blood and he’d be lost without the newspaper.”
“What’s in your blood?”
His question pricked a dilemma she’d wrestled with lately. “I’ve wondered that myself. I can’t honestly say I’m drawn in any particular direction. For instance, Moriah loves helping Scott in the Mercantile and talking with all the customers. Mrs. Paine said she loves helping at the furniture store, though she prefers to leave Mayor Paine to the mortuary side. Mama swears she enjoys helping Papa at the newspaper. Alexandra loves being a homemaker for Virgil.”
He raised his eyebrows and reached for another biscuit. “Have to admit that last one sure surprised me.”
She grinned. “Surprised everyone I suppose, but she’s thriving at being married to our sheriff.”
“Maybe that’s the key. Each woman you mentioned is helping her husband. Perhaps when you find the man you want to marry, that will be what makes you happy.”
“I hadn’t thought of things from that perspective. Perhaps you’re right.” She sighed. “Thank you, I’ll relax and quit worrying about being a misfit.”
Chapter Two
Later in the week, Trey paused at the entry hall mirror and brushed a hand over his hair.
Deuce, which is what everyone called his father, stopped behind him. “You’re wasting your time if you’re going to wear a hat.”
“I know. Sure you won’t come to the Lodge with me?”
“Naw, not tonight but I will soon. You know I enjoy staying right here on the ranch but I’m glad you’re going, son. Good for you to go out and see friends your age.”
Trey clapped his hat on his head. “I won’t be late.”
He rode into town with a lot on his mind. With his family pulling him into a management position, a myriad of decisions vied for his attention. He needed a night to relax and chat with fr
iends about unimportant trivia.
He recalled the box luncheon last Sunday with a smile. He’d enjoyed visiting with Deborah. In addition to having a sharp mind and a sense of humor, she’d grown even prettier than when he’d left. He chuckled to himself at having overheard Jeff calling her a spinster and her reaction.
When he reached the Lodge, the place was crowded. This functioned as a men’s club in Pearson Grove. Not a saloon, although liquor was served, but a respectable meeting place for friendships and business deals. Once a month, a business meeting occurred.
The walls appeared to have been updated since he’d been here six years ago with his father. Dark red wallpaper in a new pattern was surrounded by walnut paneling. Plenty of tables in the common area provided places to chat. Armchairs in the lounge offered quiet for those who came to read and relax in peace. He wondered where women gathered to socialize and conduct any business. Not here, that was for certain.
He took time to speak to almost everyone he remembered. He spotted Ron Novak talking with several men whose names Trey didn’t recall. Ron spotted him and spoke what must be an “excuse me” before he walked toward Trey.
“Glad you came. This will give us a chance to catch up.”
Trey peered around. “Good turnout. Any business on the agenda for tonight?”
“Naw, this evening is strictly social. Let’s grab a beer and find a place to sit.”
The two of them signaled for a beer and took their drinks to a table.
Trey looked at his friend. “I read my folks’Gazette back issues and saw where you and your dad were kidnapped. That must have been a harrowing time.”
Ron explained the event. “I’m indebted to Mrs. Tucker.”
“Sounds like the kind of story to impress young ladies. I imagine you’re the target of both hopeful mamas and daughters.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but not the right one. I’m sure you’re dealing with that now that you’re home.”
“Not yet. I only returned on Friday.”
Ron raised his eyebrows. “Watch out—there’s certain to be a deluge of invitations.”
Trey set down his drink. “Now that I attended the box social, guess everyone knows I’ve returned.”
Deborah's Dilemma Page 1