What Comes My Way

by Tracie Peterson

  Mary nodded. “Only then.”

  Lizzy started to get up, then sat back down. Ella’s news had nearly made her forget her own. “I have something else I wish to discuss. I’m not at all certain what to do about it.”

  “What is it?” Ella asked. She would no doubt be glad to get the attention off of herself and her family.

  “I just learned the other day that my uncle no longer owns any part of the show. No one in my family does. Henry Adler owns it all.”

  “How can that be?” Mary asked. She looked just as surprised as Lizzy had been.

  “My father must have left the show to Uncle Oliver when he died. I don’t know the details of it because I haven’t spoken with my uncle. I intend to, but I’ve been deeply troubled by it and didn’t know how to approach him. Especially since Amanda is around him almost constantly. Then Carson got hurt, and we needed to locate another performer and get her set up with the show . . . and, well, time just got away from me.”

  “That still doesn’t explain how Henry Adler ended up owning it all,” Mary countered.

  “Apparently when Uncle Oliver was ill, he feared he would die. He asked Henry to buy him out. Henry already owned some stock, so I suppose Uncle Oliver felt it wise to sell him the rest. I don’t know. It hurts me deeply that he would do such a thing without discussing it with Mother or me.” She felt tears well up in her eyes.

  “I would talk to him about it before you feel too betrayed. You don’t know the circumstances.” Mary grew thoughtful. “There may have been no other choice. Didn’t you tell me that last year’s tour was set up with unusual contracts that required all of the shows to be fulfilled or the pay would be lost?”

  “Yes, there was a special arrangement with the portion of the shows we did in England. I agree that Uncle Oliver must have had his reasons. And I know it does little good for me to sit here and speculate. I need to speak with him, and I suppose now is as good a time as any.” She drew a deep breath. “Pray for me. I don’t want to be accusatory with him, but I feel terribly deceived.” She wiped her eyes with the cuff of her blouse.

  “You wanted to leave the show anyway,” Mary reminded her. “You still have the ranch.”

  Lizzy shook her head. “Do I? What if Uncle Oliver sold that as well? I have no idea what’s happened or where I stand.”

  “Then go talk to him. Ask him. I know your uncle. He’ll tell you the truth.”

  “I suppose you’re right. There’s little else I can do.”

  Those words were still rumbling through Lizzy’s thoughts as she went to Uncle Oliver’s office and knocked on the door. There truly was very little she could do. She couldn’t change her uncle’s mind or heart where Amanda was concerned, and if he had sold the ranch as well as the show, her hands were tied.

  “Come in,” her uncle called.

  Lizzy opened the door and found him sitting at his desk, paperwork all around him. Near his elbow was a whiskey glass holding a small amount of amber liquid. Lizzy didn’t want to ruin her opportunity to find out about the show, so she determined then and there to hold her tongue about the alcohol.

  “Can we talk for a moment?” she asked.

  Oliver nodded. “Of course. Take a seat. What’s on your mind? I hope you aren’t here to tell me that you’re leaving.”

  “No. Not yet anyway.” She took hold of the rounded chair back but remained standing.

  Her uncle watched her for a moment. “You look quite serious. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Lizzy decided to just come right out with it, but then Amanda waltzed into the office without so much as a knock.

  “If you don’t mind, we’re having a private meeting,” Lizzy said, turning to glare at her.

  “No doubt you’re here to convince Oliver to forsake me. Honestly, Elizabeth, you need to learn that some things are none of your business.” Amanda went to Oliver and leaned down to put her arms around his neck. She planted a long, leisurely kiss on his forehead, then stood to smirk at Lizzy.

  Lizzy lifted her chin. “I didn’t come here to talk to my uncle about you, but if you insist on it, I’m happy to accommodate. I think the only reason you’re trying to marry him is for his money.”

  Oliver protested. “That’s ridiculous, Lizzy. Amanda isn’t that way.”

  “You’ve hardly known her long enough to know what way she is or isn’t.”

  Amanda gave a simpering smile. “He’s known me long enough. True love doesn’t require a long time.”

  Lizzy felt a growing sense of frustration. All of the issues that had come to light seemed to join together into one colossal ordeal for her. She had to get her uncle to see reason.

  “Do you have any of your own money, Amanda? You surely don’t, or you would never have taken on a sewing job with the show.”

  “It isn’t important what I have or don’t have, and it’s none of your business.”

  “Really, Lizzy,” Oliver interjected. “You mustn’t worry about this. Amanda isn’t marrying me for my wealth. I don’t have any.”

  Lizzy glanced at Amanda, whose expression had sobered. “Have you told her that you sold the show to Henry Adler last year? You certainly didn’t tell me. I had to learn it from Henry.”

  Oliver looked down at the papers on his desk. “I didn’t think it important.”

  “Not important?” Lizzy repeated. “It was something of my father’s—something I presumed would always be in the family. Not only that, but I felt certain my mother had inherited my father’s share. Instead, I learn that you owned the show in full.”

  “That was part of our arrangement. Your father knew that the show was important to me, and when he was on his deathbed, we made arrangements for him to take full possession of the ranch so that you and Rebecca would always have a home and income. I got the show, thinking it would be my livelihood for the rest of my life. Then when I grew ill, I felt I needed to sell it to Henry. He promised me I would always have a job. You, as well.”

  “A job?” Amanda questioned. “What are you saying, Oliver?”

  He looked up at her and smiled. “I’m saying that I work for Henry now, which is why I know you aren’t marrying me for my money. I don’t have any.”

  “But you are Oliver Brookstone. The Brookstone show is your namesake. You can’t be serious.” Amanda sounded close to hysteria. “This must be a joke.”

  Lizzy folded her arms and shook her head. “Mother owns the ranch in Montana?”

  Despite a worried look at his fiancée, Oliver ignored Amanda’s comments. “Yes. The ranch is hers in full. Your father always preferred it there and wanted to make sure it stayed in the family. He knew you would want to live there when you left the show.”

  A heavy sigh escaped Lizzy’s lips. She didn’t like that she hadn’t been consulted. After all, she was a grown woman, and the ranch and show were intricate parts of her life. But on the other hand, it was a relief to realize that the ranch belonged to her mother. They would always have it, because she knew her mother would never sell it.

  “What about the money from selling the show?” Amanda asked. “Surely you still have that.”

  “Not exactly. When I thought I was dying, I told Adler to pay for shipping my body back to the States and then to give the rest of the money to Rebecca. When I recovered, we agreed he would pay me in installments so I’d have a monthly stipend. I get a comfortable amount each month. We’ll do just fine, since our room and board is a part of our arrangement with the show.”

  “But I’m sure you can get the lump sum from Henry, and then we can leave the show,” Amanda said, her tone returning to its sugary sweetness. “After all, we already talked about living in a grand house in California.”

  “Sure, we talked about it,” Oliver said, “but no decision was made. I’m not ready to leave the show just yet, and besides, you told me you wanted to see the world. This is the ideal way to do it.”

  “No, it’s not. I want to travel as a lady with beautiful clothes and the best of furnis
hings. Not as the seamstress to this lot.”

  “But, darlin’, you don’t have to work unless you want to,” Uncle Oliver assured her. “I’ve already talked to Henry about it.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You have ruined everything, Oliver Brookstone.”

  Lizzy raised a brow. “I thought you weren’t marrying him for his money.”

  “Oh, shut up. You’re both the stupidest people I have ever met. You had every opportunity to be a wealthy man for the rest of your life, and you let it slip through your fingers. Well, I don’t intend to be a part of this nonsense. You can forget about the marriage, Oliver. I won’t live the rest of my life in train cars going from town to town while you announce this ridiculous show.”

  Oliver couldn’t have looked more stunned. “But wait, Amanda!” He stood to stop her, but she was already heading for the door. “Please wait. I know we can have a wonderful life together. Amanda, please. . . .” His final word seemed to drain him of all energy. He sank to his chair as she stomped out of the room.

  Lizzy was relieved that the truth was finally out, but she knew this wasn’t going to be easy for Oliver to bear. She went and knelt beside him.

  “I’m so sorry, Uncle Oliver. I knew she was up to no good, but I never wanted to see you hurt.”

  He shook his head. “How could I have been so blind? I thought she truly cared.” His devastation was apparent.

  “She’s a good actress. No doubt she’s done this before. The fault isn’t with you.”

  “Of course it is. She fed my vanity and made me feel young again. I was no longer lonely and thought I had found . . . love.” His voice broke, but he didn’t fall apart.

  “You’ll always have love. Mother and I and Wes—we all love you, and you’ll always have a home with us. We’re family, and no one will ever turn you out.”

  He said nothing, just sat staring at the open office doorway. “I can’t believe this is happening.” He reached out and ran his finger along the rim of the whiskey glass.

  “I know it’s hard, but you can’t let this drive you back to drink,” Lizzy begged. “It nearly killed you last time. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “What is there for me now?”

  She hated the despair in his voice. “There’s the show. You love it. You love the crowds and the performances. You love being the master of ceremonies. Then there’s your family and friends. Uncle Oliver, please don’t give up on us.”

  He stared at the glass. It seemed to Lizzy that he had come to the same crossroads yet again. Which way would he choose?

  thirteen

  Mara had never known the freedom she had with the Brookstone show. She had grown up with a clear understanding that everything she had was at the mercy of the Fleming family. Her mother had taught her from an early age that two things were most important. Love God and others, and keep your mouth shut.

  “Nobody cares what you’re thinkin’, Mara, so you’s just better off keepin’ yo’ thoughts to yo’self,” her mama had said on more than one occasion.

  But that had been hard for Mara. She had a great many opinions, and often she had shared them with Ella. She had been assigned to Ella as a companion and later as her maid, but as Ella had always declared, there was a strong sisterhood between them. Of course, it was a sisterhood that couldn’t be shared with anyone else. Polite society wouldn’t have understood or accepted their closeness. But whereas most white women ordered their black help around and kept them out of sight when not needed, Ella wanted Mara’s company. They could talk for hours without anyone else in the room.

  Better yet, Ella had never treated Mara as anything but her equal. And Mara had Ella to thank for the wonderful job she had with the Brookstone show. At least in part. Granted, her sewing skills were proving her worthy, but Mara would never have attempted to apply for such a job if Ella hadn’t been a part of the show.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Abraham Green said from the open door to the costume car.

  “You’re not,” Mara replied. She and Abraham had shared passing glances and a few words here and there, but this was their first time being completely alone.

  “I wondered what you was up to and if maybe you wanted to accompany me to the mercantile,” he said.

  Mara smiled and set some mending aside. “I don’t know you well enough to accompany you anywhere, Mr. Green.”

  He chuckled. “Call me Abe. That’s what my friends do.”

  She nodded. “In that case, you can call me Mara.”

  “Means bitter in Hebrew. I learned that from readin’ the Bible. But you don’t seem bitter at all.”

  “You can read? How’d you manage that?”

  He shrugged. “My daddy could read and write. He was raised up north. Fought for the Yankees when the war came. Afore that, he learned to lay bricks, and he was good at it.”

  “And did you learn that as well?”

  “No. My daddy was killed in the last year of the war. I was just born, so I never got to know him. But since he could read and write, my mama was determined I’d learn too.”

  “My friend Ella taught me. I’m not real good. There was never much of a chance to practice, and Ella’s folks would not have approved.”

  “Is Ella that little gal who rides those horses standing up?”

  “That and the trick ridin’. She was born and raised on a horse farm in Kentucky. That’s where my people were born and raised.”

  “Slaves?”

  “Yes.” Mara didn’t bother to mention that the practice was apparently still going on. While she’d never felt truly free while working for the Flemings, she hadn’t thought of herself as being in bondage. Now, however, those thoughts haunted her constantly.

  “So your folks were free blacks?” she asked.

  Abe turned a felt hat in his hands. “They were. Say, do you mind if I sit? You can get to know me better, and then maybe later you won’t mind takin’ a walk with me.”

  She met his dark brown eyes and nodded. “I think that would be acceptable. Ain’t like we’re hiding away so that folks can’t find us.”

  Abe pulled up a stool and sat. He placed his hat upside down on the floor, then looked at her. “What else you want to know?”

  Mara smiled. “Where’d you grow up after the war?”

  “My mama took me to Chicago. She had an aunt there who worked for a big hotel and could get Mama a job. So we went. Mama worked in the kitchen, and I went to the school for Negro children. An old lady in the city was big on education for everyone, and she used her money to make sure children of color could go to school. That’s where I learned to read and write. Come nighttime, I worked helpin’ with the horses of the guests.”

  Mara couldn’t help but notice the fine build of the man. He had powerful muscles that flexed beneath his threadbare shirt. She’d have to get him another made. Mr. Brookstone and Mr. Adler wouldn’t want their wrangler going around without decent clothes.

  “My mama died when I was ten,” Abe continued, “and my uncle Saul took me west. I kept workin’ with horses. We ended up spending a lot of time workin’ for ranches.”

  “Sounds like you had a good life.”

  “I did.” His expression warmed. “I can’t complain about what God put on my plate.”

  She nodded, thinking about her own life. It might have been an illusion in part, but the love Ella and Mama showed her wasn’t.

  “So tell me about your family,” he said.

  “Ain’t much to tell. My mama was a slave. My daddy died before I knew him, just like you.”

  “See there, we have something in common already.”

  “I suppose that practically makes us best friends,” she said sarcastically.

  Abe laughed in genuine amusement. “You got a smart mouth, girl. I like that.”

  Mara was glad he wasn’t offended. “After the war, my mama stayed on the horse farm and worked for the Flemings, and I worked for them too. My mama was like a mama to Miss Ella, and she and
I grew up close as two peas in a pod. Ella Fleming taught me to read and write a little. It didn’t come easy to me, but since it was important to her, I tried.”

  “And now you’re here with her, traveling around with the show. How do you like that?”

  “Well enough. I ain’t never seen the world, and this has me going somewhere new every day. What about you? You said you went west. You get very far?”

  “We got to California and down to Texas and made stops every place in between. Uncle Saul was a cowboy—worked wherever he could get a job. We even tried our hand pannin’ for gold once. It wasn’t worth the effort.”

  He laughed, and Mara smiled. Abe had a way about him that made her feel comfortable—like she’d known him all her life.

  He continued. “Uncle Saul taught me all about horses and said I had a natural way with them. Me and horseflesh get along real good. It’s like we have a special bond.”

  “I’s seen folks just like that. I think it’s a gift from the Lord.”

  “I do too.”

  “So you know the Lord?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  “’Course I do, woman. My mama told me Bible stories every night before I went to bed. When I was learnin’ to read, that’s what I practiced on. I’d read the Bible and practice copying down Scripture. Caused me to memorize quite a few verses. Then, not long before my mama died, I gave my heart to Jesus at a tent meeting.” He chuckled. “There was singin’ and dancin’ and folks praisin’ the Lord, and I just wanted me a part of that. Mama was mighty proud to kneel down with me when I prayed. I never saw her smile bigger than when I come up out of the water after gettin’ baptized.”

  Mara felt such a strange connection with the man sitting in front of her. It was as if they were long-time friends and were just remembering past stories rather than sharing a first conversation. Everything about Abraham Green put her at ease, from his easygoing manner to his twinkling eyes.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “Me?” Mara shook her head. “What about me?”

  “How’d you come to know the Lord?”

  “Same as you. My mama. She told Bible stories to Ella and me at night before bed.”