His Rainbow After the Rain

by Grace Clemens

  He’d met most of them and hadn’t been impressed. Especially since he had a socialite niece who sometimes brought her friends with her to family gatherings or festivals in town. He knew what they were like and how silly they could be. Silly girls. That’s what his father called them.

  Sometimes Philip wondered if he knew they called him Old Man Jenkins behind his back. Children as far back as ten or fifteen years ago were calling him that. And he wasn’t really that old. Philip had the opportunity of hearing a grown man call his father that moniker.

  But as gruff and rough as his pa seemed, Philip knew he had a gentler side and he was always trying to do what he thought was right. That was the difference between his father and John’s father. Rory Hanover was out for himself and himself alone. Philip had no doubt he would sell his own mother if it meant his coffers would be full.

  Despite that fact, Hanover had been elected and since then, Philip’s hands had been tied, simply out of respect for the position of mayor. But now it was time to take a stand. It was time to print stories that needed to be told.

  He’d thought about it and pulling his piece on the supply store inventory, with new fabrics, sewing supplies and fishing lures was also a slight to women, as they were the ones typically in need of those things. Fishing lures may appeal to men more but he knew women who regularly went fishing, especially if they needed food for the family and the father was at work.

  It was also a fun family pastime.

  Philip mounted his horse and rode toward his parents’ house to help them with chores. It was no wonder he had no social life at all. He was so busy with his parents and the printing press that he didn’t have time for a woman or friends. It was a little sad, he thought, because he could be a real delight to be around.

  He chuckled. Patting himself on the back was fun, too.

  The thought made him laugh and shake his head. He couldn’t wait to get to his parents’ house and tell them what he was planning to do. He wanted to see the looks on their faces when they realized he was about to stir the pot.

  Philip Jenkins was not a stupid man. He knew full well that when he printed the stories he wanted to print, without running them past the mayor first, it would raise some hackles. Someone would pitch a fit about it, most likely the mayor.

  But he knew it was the right thing to do. He had no doubt in his mind after speaking with Mary, seeing how passionate she was about printing articles that focused more on what women cared about. He could only imagine how many interesting stories there were to tell.

  He rode his horse up to the hitching post and dismounted, leaving the animal tied up outside while he ran up the walk to the front porch.

  Moments later, he was in the kitchen, coming up behind his mother. She was standing with her back to him, kneading dough on the counter. He scanned her from head to toe, impressed by how well she kept herself in shape. The only reason the mayor’s wife was kneading dough was because she was part of the baking class and had found she had a talent for it. Not only was she good at it, she loved doing it.

  He grabbed her around the waist, making her jump and cry out. Her head spun around to see him and she clucked her tongue.

  “Philip Allan Jenkins, how dare you come up on me like that? You nearly scared me to death!”

  Philip laughed as she turned around, lifted up on her toes and placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

  “Well, you know I wouldn’t want that, ma. Looks like you’re making me something delicious, huh?”

  Vivian pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. No matter what she did, Philip always thought his mother was a beautiful woman. Her brown hair, wavy like his, was a little unkempt and there was flour in it from where she’d patted her hair without thinking, probably to sweep the stray hairs away from her face.

  She even had some flour spots on her long, slender face.

  “I’m making your father a cake. His birthday is coming up, you know. I want to make him his favorite cake.”

  “I’m sure he’ll love it. Listen, Ma, can I talk to you before Pa comes in? You know where he is?”

  Vivian turned back to the counter and pushed her fingers into the dough, giving him a side glance of curiosity. “He’s outside. I don’t know when he’s coming in. You have time. You’ll just be a little later helping out with the evening chores.”

  Philip waved his hand. “That’s okay by me. This really won’t take long anyway, I don’t think.”

  Vivian shaped the dough into a circular shape before putting it in the big pot-bellied stove to bake.

  “What is it, son?” she asked, grabbing a towel from the counter beside the rolling pin and wiping her hands with it. Despite her effort to clean a little, when she wiped her hands on the towel, a puff of white flour dust rose up in the air around her face. She turned away, coughing a little.

  Philip chuckled softly. “Come on over and sit down with me.”

  Once they were both seated at the table, Philip rested his arms on the top, folding his hands together. “Ma, I’m going to start printing some articles that some people in town might not like. I’m real excited about it and I’m thinking you might approve and be proud of me, even, for these choices.”

  His mother looked curious. “Tell me more.”

  “Well, it’s come to my attention…” Philip smiled, thinking about Mary’s abrupt nature and go-to attitude. His heart jumped a little in his chest. “That there are few, if any, articles in my paper about issues pertaining to women.”

  He could see a look of mild surprise on his mother’s face. But did he see approval? That’s what he was looking for.

  “Do you know Mary Ross, the schoolteacher?”

  Vivian smiled softly. “Why yes, I know who she is. Very lovely young lady. Nothing like the other women in town. She has a good head on her shoulders. She’s the one that brought this to your attention?”

  Philip nodded. “Yeah. I like her. She does seem to be very smart and attentive.”

  “What did she have to say?”

  “Well, there’s a women’s theater group coming to town and…”

  His mother’s eyes lit up. “You know about that? How did you know about that?”

  “Greta came in and told me.”

  Vivian rolled her eyes but a smile was plastered to her lips, reaching up and crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Sweet little Greta. She’s so excitable.”

  “Well, she sure seemed excited about this. And Mary was in the office when she came in and heard about it, too. She thought I wouldn’t do an article on the theater group because they are all women. It’s not like that, Ma. I just know what some of the influential men in town think of using up space in the paper for irrelevant things.”

  He could see by the small frown that replaced his mother’s smile, and the resentment flickering through her brown eyes, that she didn’t appreciate men who thought that way.

  “But I think it’s high time we added some issues that other people will be interested in.”

  “Specifically women,” his mother added.

  He nodded. “Yes. Specifically women. I think the papers would sell more and we would turn a good profit if women were interested in purchasing and reading the paper.”

  “Will you be writing about other subjects, too? Other things that have to do with women’s rights here?”

  Philip could already tell she was happy with him. He loved to make her proud.

  “Yeah, I have another article that will be on the front-page next week. Hopefully. Have to get the facts before I can write anything but I do think once all the information is in, I can get something churned out before the deadline.”

  “Churn something out?” his mother said, doubt tracing her voice. “Is writing that much of a chore for you? You shouldn’t do it, if it does. You should be happy with what you’re doing in life or you will be a miserable old hog.”

  Philip kept his surprise inside when his mother’s eyes instinctively flicked to the kitchen window. He could only assum
e she was thinking of his father. Was his father that miserable? Was that why he treated people with disrespect?

  Philip didn’t have the answers. He doubted his mother would have them either.

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Ma,” he said. “I just meant I would write something up quickly. When I know what I’m talking about, especially with numbers and figures and making them understandable to the regular public, I can write quickly. It’s putting all the letters and numbers in the right places to print a copy that takes up a lot of valuable time.”

  “I see. Well, I look forward to anything you write, as usual. My dear boy.” She reached across the table and put a hand on his cheek. “I’m so proud of you. I’m always telling people about your newspaper, especially when someone new comes to town.”

  Philip gave her a confused look, unsure what she meant by that. “What do you mean?”

  Vivian laughed. “When I see a stranger in the restaurant or sitting on a bench outside and they are reading a newspaper, I always make sure to tell them you are the newspaper man here in Glenwood.”

  Philip couldn’t believe his mother. He laughed, saying, “Now why does that sound like something you’d do, Ma? You better be careful. Don’t be a public nuisance.”

  Philip said it with so much love and affection, the two of them laughed.

  “Don’t worry, son. I won’t embarrass you,” Vivian said before they both laughed a little longer.

  Chapter 16

  Mary overslept that Saturday morning and had to hurry to meet Sarah for lunch. The night before, she’d left herself with nearly all the chores, cleaning her rooms and running a few errands. She hurried down the sidewalk, stopping suddenly when she saw the door to the theatre open and Philip walking out next to one of the ladies who worked there regularly.

  The two of them stood by the ticket booth for a moment, talking. Mary forced herself to continue walking, ignoring the fact that her stomach was suddenly tied in knots. What was this? She wasn’t jealous. Why would she be jealous that Philip Jenkins was talking to a beautiful dancer?

  He was a handsome bachelor. It was typical for men like him to consort with beautiful single women.

  As she got closer, she pushed down her resentment and shame for being jealous to put on a smile.

  “Hello, there,” she said as she passed by, not intending to stop. Philip looked up at her just when she rested her eyes on his face. The look that came over him made Mary think twice about her original assumption. He looked absolutely delighted to see her.

  “Miss Ross!” Philip said with enthusiasm. “I’m so glad we’ve run into each other.” He turned to the woman he’d been speaking to. “Thank you so much for your help, Ms. Duncan. I appreciate it and will stop by again when the theater troop is here to talk to them, as well.”

  “Oh no, thank you, Mr. Jenkins,” the woman responded, warmly. “Thank you for showing interest. I didn’t think it would ever be something you would want to advertise and it… it means a lot to my family.”

  Philip nodded, taking one of her hands in both of his and giving her a kind smile. “It’s my pleasure. And you can thank this young lady right here, as well. It was Greta who told me they were coming but Miss Ross has been encouraging me strongly…” When he said the word, he gave Mary a teasing look that made her blush softly. “...to focus on issues other than business, crime and politics.”

  Ms. Duncan turned her wide smile to Mary, who couldn’t help thinking how pretty the woman was. “Well, thank you, too. I have never actually read a newspaper and it’s not because I can’t read.” She laughed softly. “There’s just nothing interesting in there, is there?” She asked Mary the question, looking directly at her.

  Mary couldn’t help giggling, too. “No. It’s always drab, boring men stuff.”

  They both turned to give Philip wide-eyed stares and the three of them laughed together.

  “I’d love to walk you to wherever you’re going, Miss Ross,” Philip said. “But I have an appointment that I will be late for if I don’t get on out of here. It was a pleasure, Ms. Duncan.”

  “Thank you. Goodbye.” Miss Duncan addressed the farewell to them both, turned and went inside the theater.

  “Did you want to see me or tell me something?” Mary asked curiously.

  Philip tilted his head to the side. “Why do you ask?”

  “You said it was good to run into me but now you must leave? I am also in a hurry. I was just curious.”

  Philip laughed. “Oh, I was going to tell you about interviewing the ladies here about the theater group coming. I’m planning on writing an article about it. I wanted you to know. But now I must run. We’ll talk again soon.”

  He gave her a wide smile with a tip of his hat and hurried away from her. She watched him through wide eyes, thinking it was the strangest interaction she’d had with him thus far.

  But the thought that he was writing the article about the theater group invaded all her other thoughts. Excitement made her skin tingle. She couldn’t wait to get to the restaurant and tell Sarah.

  Mary hurried down the walk until she reached the corner. She shoved open the door and went inside, looking around for Sarah. She didn’t have to look far; the girl was at their usual table, a bottle of Coca-Cola on the table in front of her but nothing else.

  She was sliding into her seat seconds later. “You will never guess what I just found out,” she said, trying to keep her voice low but the tone was at least two octaves higher than usual.

  Sarah immediately looked interested. “What?”

  “Philip Jenkins is going to do an article advertising the women’s theater group that’s coming to Glenwood in the next week or so.”

  “Really?” Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. “How wonderful! How did you convince him to do that?”

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t know if it was even something I said or did. I mean, I’m not the one who told him about the group coming here. That was Greta, who is his cousin. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.”

  Sarah gave Mary a blank look. “Greta? Is Philip’s niece? Actually, no, I didn’t know that. Greta is a sweet little thing. She reminds me of a little fairy in a child’s story.”

  Mary chuckled softly. “Yes, she seems so fragile and dainty.”

  “But she’s got the confidence of ten men,” Sarah went on. “I like her. So, she told Philip about the women’s theater group?”

  “Yes. I just happened to be there.”

  The usual serving girl was nowhere to be seen. The Nelsons, the owners of the little restaurant, aptly named Nelsons Restaurant, were hovering around. Mrs. Nelson appeared to be serving the front end while her husband worked the back end, behind the counter and in the kitchen.

  Mrs. Nelson hurried to their table when she saw Mary was settled in, a smile on her plump face. “Oh hello, Mary! Here for lunch, are you? Do you want the usual?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Nelson. Where is Becky?”

  “She’s not feeling well. Not sure but her little brother came in and told us she was under the weather.”

  “Well, we’ll keep her in our thoughts. Thank you.” Mary gave the older woman a smile, feeling a trace of worry for the young woman who typically brought them their meals.

  “I hope Becky gets to feeling better soon,” she said under her breath to Sarah, who nodded. She also had a look of concern on her face.

  “Yes, me too. She’s a nice girl. So, were you there when Greta told Philip about it? You seem to have a lot of knowledge about it.”