“Let’s just sit on the porch in the shade for a bit,” Nan suggested. “Then you can go back to sanding. Preacher Hayes will be sorely disappointed if the railing isn’t painted for next Sunday’s services.”
Gabe had built this church with very special worshipers in mind, so the sign at the edge of the yard read, A CHURCH FOR SINNERS ONLY, welcoming people of all faiths, persuasions, and walks of life. Because of that, the recent Sunday services had become a huge sore point for him. He’d originally hoped this building, erected on his land, would be a place where people who didn’t feel welcome at the other church could come to pray. Then, before he knew it, Preacher Hayes offered to do a weekly Sunday service here, and his town flock soon followed. Instead of welcoming the saloon owner, prostitutes in residence at the brothel, and the occasional stray Cheyenne Indian who had escaped being herded off to a reservation, Gabe had to endure couples like Simon and Geneva White.
“They’ve got their own damn church!” Gabe had complained to Nan a few weeks ago. “Let them pretend to be better than everyone else in that church and leave mine alone.”
In her ever-gentle way, Nan had pointed out that those who believed they were better than everyone else were the worst sinners of all.
“I’ll get the porch painted,” Gabe assured his wife as they sat together on the shady steps to watch their son toddle across the grass. “Geneva won’t snag her fancy white gloves on my porch rail.” He waited a beat. “But she might accidentally sit on a nail poking up through that pew she and Simon have staked claim to.”
Nan giggled. “Did you see that dress she wore last Sunday? I can’t believe I made it. Purple sequins on carnation pink! And the décolletage is cut so low, men’s eyes pop from their sockets when she walks.”
“Mine don’t.” Gabe nudged her with his shoulder. He’d been worrying about his wife for more than a month, and he felt that this was a perfect opportunity to talk with her about it. Since being direct was his way, he didn’t prevaricate. “You’re not enjoying all your absences from the shop, are you?”
Nan sighed, and Gabe knew she was considering all that they had done so she could have the time off. A year ago, she had decided that she wanted to spend more days at home, being a wife and mother. So she and Gabe had approached the young prostitute that Gabe had once consorted with at the brothel, offering her a proposal she couldn’t refuse. Nan had spent the next six months training the girl in millinery and dressmaking. Now Mary—Gabe still couldn’t quite credit that a woman whose services he’d once rented bore his mother’s name—ran the shop by herself much of the time. Nan went in to work only on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday mornings from eight until noon. The arrangement had given Mary a much-needed chance to improve her lot. She made better money now than she’d ever earned in that shabby upstairs room, and she loved living in the apartment above the shop.
There had been hell to pay at first, of course. All the fine folks of Random had boycotted the shop for more than three months, the ladies refusing to set foot in a place where a “woman of ill repute” was employed. Fortunately Preacher Hayes had finally swayed public attitudes with several consecutive sermons about those times when Jesus had forgiven sinners, sought them out, and even broken bread with them. According to Hayes, Christ had set an example for everyone to emulate, and the good people of Random seemed to be missing the whole point, behaving toward others in ways that Christ would not condone.
“At first, I loved having so much more time at home,” Nan finally said.
Gabe heard a big but hanging at the end of that sentence. He’d come to realize that Nan was a person who seldom spoke without thinking it to death first, so instead of pressing her, he remained quiet.
“Do you want the truth?” she asked out of the blue.
Gabe chuckled. “No, I’d love to hear lies instead.”
She smiled. “The truth is, my forward protrusion is becoming quite large and is making me ungainly. Sometimes all the chores I thought would be so rewarding are exhausting instead.” She studied her palms, reminding Gabe of the time she’d asked him if he thought she’d been born with a serious line. “I think of all the thousands of women who have worked far harder than I do while they were even heavier with child, and I feel—” She broke off and sent him a stricken look. “I feel like a lesser person, I suppose. And it’s very difficult for me to admit that, even to myself, let alone to you.”
“Ah, sweetheart.” Gabe curled an arm around her shoulders. “You’re not a lesser person. You’re an increasing person.”
She laughed and turned her face against his shirt, a blue one that she’d made for him. It was one of Gabe’s favorites. “This is a deep concern, sir. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t make jest.”
“I’m not jesting. You’re definitely increasing.” Gabe’s heart clenched at the thought of her pushing herself too hard, trying to measure up to imaginary women who’d been able to do it all without a single complaint. “Why haven’t you said something to me? I’ll pitch in. You don’t have to do the heavy work, Nan. Make me a list, and I’ll make short work of everything.”
“You’re already too busy tending to our livestock and crops, overseeing the construction of the new town library, being the marshal, and going to council meetings. How can you possibly find time to help me as well?” She straightened and stared toward town. “Besides, you’re missing the whole point. I want to manage on my own, just as other women have done for centuries.”
“That is such a load of bullshit that your wagon axle’s going to break.”
“Gabriel!”
“Well, excuse my language, but sometimes polite words don’t get my message across. Other women don’t have to clean homes with eight bedchambers and three water closets. A lot of the paragons you’re comparing yourself to live in one-room shacks with dirt floors. Every member of the family owns, at most, two changes of clothing, so wash day is much easier, and they sure as hell don’t stand over a hot iron for hours in July, pressing ruffled dresses, several shirts, and their own gowns, and also cook three large meals a day. That isn’t to mention that you work at the shop three days a week and often drop in on Mary at other times to make sure all is going well.”
Nan placed a fingertip over his lips, her eyes shimmering up at him.
Unable to speak clearly, Gabe said, “I’m nod finithed yet.”
She laughed and dropped her hand. “You are finished, because, as always, you’ve made me feel immensely better.” She slanted him a sideways glance. “So what is the answer to my problem?”
“Me!”
Nan shook her head. “This is your day off, and instead of relaxing, you’ve been working since sunup.”
“I can resign from the school board and let the guys building the library do the job without my input. It’s enough that I’m footing the bill. As for the livestock and crops, I’m not even sure I want to be a farmer. I’ll be happy to raise a few steers, a milk cow, a couple of pigs, and some chickens. I can be highly successful at that, be the marshal, and still help clean, do the wash, iron clothes, and cook. Well, I’m pretty much a lousy cook, and you’ll have to teach me how to do our wash and use an iron, but I can clean as good as anybody.”
Her dimple flashed. “Gabriel, please don’t take offense, but when you sweep, you send dirt flying three feet into the air.”
“I what?”
“You sweep with all your strength. Afterward I have to dust everything in the room.”
“Oh.” Gabe had never considered that he might get overly enthusiastic with a broom. “Well, I’ll work on it. And there’s not a reason on earth why Laney and Christopher can’t help more.”
“They both have daily chores, and they never complain about doing them,” Nan reminded him. “During summer holiday, I don’t mind asking more of them, but during the school year, they need to focus on family time and their studies. And I don’t want
you to resign from the school board. You’ve brought about changes in the classroom that should have been in place years ago, and I know you want to make even more improvements. Without you pushing, none of those things will happen, and the children will suffer for it.”
Gabe was a huge proponent of education, so he couldn’t argue that point. “You need help around the house, though. If I’m going to keep the marshal job and remain active in the community, we have to come up with a solution. Maybe we could hire some woman to come in and lend you a hand.”
Gabe jumped up to collect their son, who had decided rocks looked good to eat. He was tickling the child to distract him when he noticed a woman cutting across the back of Lizzy’s lot and coming toward their place.
Returning to the porch, Gabe observed, “Some woman’s coming this way. I don’t know her. Do you?”
Nan narrowed her eyes. “No, I can’t say that I do. I wonder what she wants.”
When the woman reached the edge of the churchyard, she stopped and asked, “Can you tell me where I might find Marshal Valance?”
“You’ve found him.” Gabe handed Nan the baby and walked out to greet their visitor. She was thin, dressed in a faded gray dress, and had dull brown hair. When he’d closed the distance to about five feet, he noticed her blue eyes and knew who she was before she said a word. Christopher had her eyes. Gabe wasn’t sure how he felt about this female suddenly reappearing. For one, she’d taken a hell of a long time to do it, and second, he couldn’t help but feel that Christopher was a lot better off, in a hundred different ways, now that he lived with Gabe and Nan. “How can I help you?”
The woman turned her head slightly, giving Gabe a clear look at the left side of her face. A pink scar ran from the edge of her mouth to the outside corner of her eye. Gabe had seen enough healed wounds to know that she’d been injured recently, sometime within the last year. She had another scar on her temple, paler than the one on her cheek, telling him it was older, but even so, the edges were jagged. She’d taken a blow to the head that could have killed her.
“I’ve been told by some shopkeepers in town that you and your wife have taken in a homeless boy,” she finally revealed.
“Yes. His name is Christopher Broderick.”
The woman met Gabe’s gaze straight on. He liked that about her. He saw her throat work. Then she suddenly glanced away. “I, um . . . Is he a bother to you and your missus?”
Gabe felt rather than saw Nan come to stand beside him. Then the baby tugged on his sleeve. He turned to take the child and perched him on his hip.
“Are we speaking of Christopher?” Nan asked.
The woman sent Nan an imploring look. “I’m Christopher’s mama.”
“Oh.” Nan’s voice shook just slightly. She bent her head and brushed invisible dust from her summer blue skirts. When she’d recovered from the surprise, she injected a note of pleasure into her tone. “How delightful to finally meet you!” Stepping forward, Nan extended her hand. “Christopher will be over the moon.”
The woman retreated a step. “A fine lady like you . . . Well, ma’am, you don’t want to be shaking hands with the likes of me.” She looked past Nan at Gabe. “I came back to get my boy. I know I’ve been gone a very long time. Things happened, you see, and I couldn’t come until now. I figured . . . Well, I had no idea fine folks like you had given him a home.” Her eyes, so like her son’s, went bright with tears. “That’s why I asked if he’s a bother to you. If he is, I’ll take him back with me to Cheyenne—or someplace closer.” Her shoulders lifted. “Depends on how long my money holds out. But if he ain’t a bother, well . . .” She blinked and the tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “Maybe he’d be better off if I was to leave him be.”
“Christopher isn’t a bother,” Nan said softly. “My husband and I love him as if he were our own.”
The woman brushed at her cheek and smiled, her mouth quivering at the corners. “That’s good.” She nodded. “That’s real good.” She backed away another two steps. “Will you just tell Christopher that his mama came? Tell him I’m right sorry for takin’ so long and all, but I couldn’t help it none. And that I’m real glad he’s got himself a proper home now with good folks who love him.” She stopped in her tracks for a moment. “Also tell him I love him a powerful lot, if you wouldn’t mind, and that I’ll write, sendin’ him money by and by.”
The woman spun and began walking away. Gabe stared solemnly after her. Without looking at Nan, he said, “Isn’t it strange how solutions to our problems seem to appear from out of nowhere?”
Nan flicked him a bewildered look. Then the frown vanished from her brow. Her face lit up with a glowing smile. “Wait!” she cried. Placing both palms under her swollen middle, she trotted after Christopher’s mother. “Mrs. Broderick, please don’t leave just yet. Christopher will never forgive us if he doesn’t get to see you. He loves you so very, very much.”
The woman stopped and turned. “I ain’t married, Mrs. Valance, so if you’d just call me Suzanne, I’d feel righter about it.” She hugged her thin waist. “As for me seein’ my boy, I don’t think it’d be smart. I’d go to cryin’, and he’d go to insistin’ on leavin’ with me.” She shook her head. “I got nothin’ to offer my son. With my looks goin’, I don’t make much money no more. It’s all I can do to feed myself.”
Nan rested a gentle hand on Suzanne’s shoulder. “What if I were to offer you a position of employment that would pay quite well, come with room and board, and give you a daily opportunity to be with your son?”
“I’d ask where you’re hidin’ your angel wings.”
Nan laughed and hooked arms with Suzanne Broderick. “Come along up to the house and we’ll discuss the particulars over tea.”
“I can’t work in your house, ma’am, if that’s what you’re anglin’ for. Folks hereabouts . . . well, they wouldn’t take kindly to it, and before you could blink, they’d be actin’ like you was a weevil in their flour sack.”
Nan smiled and shrugged. “For a time, perhaps, but if they do, I won’t give a hang. I learned from a very wonderful man that it is a huge waste of time to worry about the opinions of others, Mrs. Broderick.”
“Like I said, I ain’t mar—”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re married, dear. From this moment on, you shall be Mrs. Broderick, a widow who still mourns for her dearly departed husband.”
“But that’d be a lie, and nobody’ll believe it. There’s men in this town who’ll recognize me.”
Bouncing the baby on his hip, Gabe turned to follow with his gaze the progress of his amazing wife and Christopher’s mother. He grinned from ear to ear when he heard Nan say, “Not a single one of those men shall acknowledge that they’ve ever clapped eyes on you. Not in front of their wives, anyway! So you needn’t worry for a second about the men. The women may be a bit of a problem if they recognize you.”
“They ain’t gonna recognize me. I always wore me a shawl over my head when I went out shoppin’ for the few eats I could afford to get Christopher.”
“Ah, so there you have it, Mrs. Broderick. Not a soul in town will recognize you. You’re going to need a wedding band, but I just happen to have a spare one.”
“Oh, ma’am, I can’t take your weddin’ band.”
“Of course you can. It never meant a thing to me.”
Suzanne shot Gabe a startled look over her thin shoulder. Nan, on a mission to adopt yet another family member, failed to notice. Gabe fell in well behind the two women as they covered ground toward the house. At the edge of the front dooryard, he paused, lifted his gaze to the azure sky, and winked. Gabe hadn’t heard as much as a whisper from the angel Gabriel since Christmas Day well over two years ago, but he liked to think that the pesky fellow still peeked in on him every once in a while.
With only the baby to hear, Gabe said, “You told me to always listen to my heart. I’m doing
that, but I have to say that if I listen to it much more, Nan and I are going to need a much bigger house.”
No answer. Gabe hadn’t really expected a response. He smiled, fell back into a walk, and kissed his son’s forehead. The toddler grinned and said, “Dada.”
Gabe missed a step. Staring incredulously at the child, he cried, “Did you just say Dada?” Gabe could scarcely believe his ears. The child had been saying Mama for months. He’d had no problem learning to say Pop. He called Laney Neeny. And Christopher was Kiss. But Gabe had only ever gotten grunts. “Say it again, Gabriel. Dada. Come on. Make your old man happy.”
“Dada,” Gabriel said, his toothy grin shiny with slobber. “Dada! Dada!”
“Nan!” Gabe shouted. “Wait! You’ve got to hear this!”
Read on for an excerpt from Catherine Anderson’s
PERFECT TIMING
Available now from Signet
Quincy Harrigan’s riding boots offered poor traction on the patches of ice-encrusted snow, which in the faint light of predawn looked bluish white on his scraggly front lawn. Carefully holding a mug of coffee in one hand, he picked his way between two muddy ranch vehicles, wondering when his dooryard had become a parking lot for pickups, the tractor, and two dented ATVs. Walking with his head bent, he realized his hair had gotten so long that it dangled in a dark brown hank over his left eye. Damn. He’d been out of town and missed his appointment with the barber. Rescheduling was out of the question. From one day to the next, he didn’t know when he’d have to leave again, and while he was here, he was far too busy to drive clear into town for a walk-in visit. It was a wonder he even managed to grab a few hours of sleep. This morning, he felt the exhaustion in every muscle of his body, and he seriously doubted the freshly brewed French roast would give him the jolt of energy he needed.
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