Christmas at Stoney Creek

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Christmas at Stoney Creek Page 7

by Martha Rogers


  Tom extended his hand toward Gretchen. “Welcome to our office, Miss O’Neal.”

  She glanced around the space. “Thank you, Mr. Whiteman. It’s much bigger than I thought it would be.” She smiled and grasped Tom’s hand in hers.

  He led her to a new desk by the window. “This is where you’ll be working. If I’m supposed to address you as Gretchen, then please call me Tom.”

  One thing became evident; life around the newspaper office would be most interesting in the coming weeks.

  “Of course. That will be much easier, Tom.”

  “I see you’re getting acquainted with our office.” Mr. Blake emerged from his office to add his greetings. “I’m sorry I had to leave before you came down to breakfast, but I had some things to do here.”

  “That was quite all right. Mrs. Blake explained it to me. I didn’t mind the walk at all this morning. The fall air is crisp and invigorating.” She turned to Tom. “Don’t you think so, Mr. White . . . er . . . Tom?”

  Words caught themselves in Tom’s throat, and he all but stammered. “Er . . . uh . . . yes . . . it is. Fall is a nice time of year.” Heat filled his face. He held no attraction to the woman, but she could sure make a mess of his mind without any trouble. She exuded a boldness and self-confidence he hadn’t seen in many women.

  Mr. Blake beckoned to Gretchen. “Come to my office. I can bring you up to date with our stories and give you your assignments.” He turned to Tom. “I believe you have yours already.” With that they disappeared into the office, but the door was left open.

  Tom grinned. Mr. Blake was taking no chances being alone with a woman as attractive as Miss O’Neal. Angela Booker and Faith Delmont were just as pretty as Gretchen, but he had the feeling Gretchen cared more about her career than any man.

  Tom pushed the new reporter from his mind and set about jotting down a list of the research he’d need to do in Austin to make his time there more profitable. While in Austin he planned to sit in on a session of the legislature in order to let the people in Stoney Creek know what their elected officials were doing. Not much might be on the agenda, but it was Tom’s job to keep up with it all. He’d be glad to get the wire service installed and cut down on some of these out-of-town trips.

  Tom was deep into research when Gretchen returned from Mr. Blake’s office. She stopped at his desk. “Looks like you’re working on an important story.”

  He jerked his head upward. “Oh, uh . . . um . . . yes. I’m preparing for my trip to Austin later this week. Did you get your assignment?”

  “Yes, he wants me to interview some man named Joe Fitzgerald and see what I can learn about him.”

  Tom erupted into laughter. “Good luck with that.” If she got a real story, he’d eat his hat.

  Gretchen’s eyebrows rose to an arch. “Really? Isn’t he some old man you met on the train?”

  Getting her view of Joe would be interesting, especially since it was now her assignment. “I did meet him on the train. He said he’d come from Chicago. I sent off for some information from the paper there but so far haven’t heard anything from them.”

  She hung her jacket on the coat rack. “Of course you wouldn’t. Perhaps I can come up with some questions that will get him to tell me more about himself.”

  If she was able to do that, her reputation as a reporter would shoot up in his estimation. Joe had been so wary around everyone, however, that Tom sincerely doubted she’d have any success. But he kept his thoughts to himself.

  “I’m leaving this afternoon for Austin and won’t be back until Thursday evening. I’d be quite interested to hear what you find out.”

  “I’ll be glad to share what I learn . . . you can read it in the Wednesday edition of the Herald.” A wide grin turned up the corners of her mouth and her eyes sparkled.

  Ah, yes. The newspaper office would see a lot of changes in the days ahead, and from the looks of Miss O’Neal, they wouldn’t be bad at all. As she settled at her desk and inserted a sheet of paper into her typewriter, the telegraph operator from next door pushed open the front door and headed for Tom’s desk.

  “Mr. Whiteman, got a message for you.” He held out a sheet of paper.

  “Thanks, Andy.” Tom grabbed it and began reading. He groaned and flopped back in his chair.

  “Problems, Tom?” Gretchen spun her chair to face Tom.

  “Not really.” He handed the message to her. “The Chicago paper says no information on anyone by that name. He suggests trying some of the smaller towns around Chicago. This doesn’t surprise me, but it was a long shot I had to take. Guess we’re on our own trying to figure out who he is.”

  Gretchen handed the paper back to him. “What a disappointment. But since Joe Fitzgerald is on my story list, I think I’ll go hunt him down now and see what I can learn.” Gretchen rose from her desk and shrugged on her jacket. After placing her hat back on her head, she picked up pencil and pad and marched out the door, her skirt swishing about her ankles.

  Tom returned to the work before him and muttered, “I wish you good fortune with that, Miss O’Neal.”

  Down the block Joe spotted Miss O’Neal exiting the newspaper office. His first impulse was to turn around and head the opposite direction. Then, deciding she couldn’t be avoided forever, he stood in the doorway of the mercantile and waited for her to see him. If she did and came his way, he’d answer her questions. If not, he’d be spared this time and could go on about his business.

  Miss O’Neal noticed him right away. Her face lit up with a smile as she waved and called, “Mr. Fitzgerald, you’re just the person I’m looking for.”

  He smiled in return and observed her with a keen eye as she approached. More than a few male heads turned to follow her path, and rightly so. Despite the severe clothing, her comely figure was one to be admired.

  Her footsteps ended by his side. “I’m glad I found you so quickly. I wasn’t sure where you’d be.”

  “It’s a small town; you wouldn’t have had any trouble. Now what can I do for you, young lady?” As if the pen and paper in her hand weren’t clue enough.

  “I’d be delighted if you’d sit and answer some questions for me. Mr. Blake has assigned me to write an article about you for the Herald’s next edition. Is there someplace we can go and be more comfortable?”

  Joe surveyed the town before him. The bakery shop held temptation, but they’d have too many interruptions from curious townspeople coming in on the pretense of buying a muffin or a few cookies. The hotel wasn’t good for the same reasons, and of course the saloon was out of the question.

  “Why don’t we go back to the boardinghouse and sit a spell on the porch?”

  “That sounds fine to me. It’s only a few blocks away.”

  As they made their way down the street, more heads turned. Most likely their being together whetted the curiosity of a lot of the good people of Stoney Creek. When they turned the corner to cross over to the boardinghouse, Mrs. Rivers waved from the door of the library and hurried toward them. No doubt she’d seen them through the plate glass window by the door.

  “Wait up a moment, you two.” She caught up to them, her breath coming in short gasps. He’d never seen the widowed woman move quite that fast.

  “Miss O’Neal, I was coming down to the news office to see you. I wanted to ask if you could possibly do a piece on our town library. Tom said he would, but he hasn’t yet.”

  Miss O’Neal smiled and grasped Mrs. Rivers’s hand. “I’ll check into that, Mrs. Rivers. I’ve heard from Mrs. Blake that you have a fine library.”

  Pink tinged Mrs. Rivers’s cheeks, and her shoulders lifted with pride. “We certainly do, and if more people know about it, then the more likely they are to visit us and possibly make donations for its support.”

  Joe made a mental note to visit the library. He’d neglected to do that in his walks to the downtown area of Stoney Creek. Miss O’Neal appeared very interested in what Josie Rivers had to say, and that spoke more to him about the
young woman’s character than anything she may say to him. Mr. Blake had made a wise choice in bringing her to town. Mrs. Rivers had become more animated than he’d ever seen her, and that certainly altered his first impression of her.

  The two women finished their conversation, and the librarian headed back to the library. Miss O’Neal flashed her smile again and nodded toward the boardinghouse. “Shall we continue on to our destination?”

  He walked beside her up the front steps and to the wicker table and chairs Mrs. Hutchins had for guests on her porch. They settled in their seats, and Joe leaned back, his elbows on the armrests and his fingertips touching. “Now what I can I do for you, Miss O’Neal?”

  She paused with pencil in one hand and tablet in the other. “Seems you haven’t been in Stony Creek much longer than I have, but more people talk about you than they do about me.”

  “And that is important because?”

  Her hand fluttered the pencil, and she cleared her throat. “No reason, just an observation.” Her shoulders lifted, and her back straightened. “Now, let me see. Tom Whiteman said that you come from Chicago. Is that correct?”

  “When I met him on the train, I was coming down from Chicago.” Let’s see how she handled this interview. If she was as astute as her fellow reporters, he’d have to hedge with his answers, but he would not lie.

  “But you have been to Chicago. Did you live there?”

  “Yes, I’ve been to Chicago, and I’ve lived a number of places.”

  “I see. Well then, what brought you to Texas? I know Tom invited you to stop at Stoney Creek, but why were you in Texas to begin with?”

  Before Joe answered, Mrs. Hutchins appeared at the door. “Oh, I didn’t know you had company, Joe. Hello, Miss O’Neal. May I bring you something to drink like sweet tea?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Hutchins, I’m sure Miss O’Neal would appreciate it as I would.”

  “I’ll be back in a moment.” She disappeared back into the house, and Miss O’Neal leaned forward.

  “You were about to tell me why you are in Texas.”

  “Oh, yes. I simply decided I wanted to see this great country of ours and took out across the states. As I told Mr. Gordon recently, I stop in a town long enough to make a little money, then I buy a ticket for the next town on my route. The trip through Texas is by far the longest to this point.”

  At her raised eyebrows, Joe realized he had been speaking with the voice he used back home and not the one of an old, beggar man down on his luck, riding the rails. He couldn’t go into that dialect now though, or her suspicions would shoot to the sky.

  After Mrs. Hutchins set the tea glasses on the table, Miss O’Neal’s probing continued, but he kept to simple words, short answers, and as little information as he could divulge without a falsehood. After a few questions about his carpentry skills and his odd jobs around town, Miss O’Neal quit writing and closed her notebook.

  “I guess that will do it for now. I think I may be able to write a story about our new town handyman. I do hope you’ll decide to stay in Stoney Creek a little longer than you have other places. I’m finding it to be a very friendly town.”

  She stood and held out her hand. “No need for you to walk back with me. I’m sure you have other things you need to do. I’ve enjoyed our chat and hope to see you more often now that we’ve met.”

  “It’s been a pleasure, Miss O’Neal.” He grasped her hand and grinned. “I’m sure we’ll see each other about town.”

  A minute later she hurried down the walk and across the way to the main street. Joe stood, his hands resting on the porch railing. At least she hadn’t learned any more about him than most of the people in town already knew. He reached into his pocket for the list he’d started in his room last night. Tomorrow he’d finish what he’d set out to do before Miss O’Neal interrupted his plan.

  CHAPTER 10

  JOE TRUDGED UP the stairs to his room after lunch. At the top of the stairs he stopped and breathed in deeply. Not bad for a man his age with a death sentence hanging over his head; climbing steps would grow harder as the days progressed.

  The good people of Stoney Creek had kept him so busy the past few days that he’d never completed the errand he’d set out to do on Monday. Now that he’d finished the bookshelves for Miss Simmons at the school, he had some time to himself. With Tom Whiteman out of town for a few days, this was his chance to work on his plan.

  He changed to clean trousers and shirt. They were getting a little threadbare, but they suited the image he wanted to convey. He sat at the table he used as a desk, his pencil poised above the paper. Before going to the bank, he’d stroll about town and take note of a few more businesses. One person he wanted to have a chat with was Sheriff Bolton. The security of the town and especially the bank held particular interest to Joe. He added that to the list he had begun over the weekend.

  Perhaps a stop by the livery should be on the list. He’d heard about the blacksmith there, but he wanted to meet the man for himself.

  Satisfied with what he had to do in the next few hours, Joe sauntered downstairs and pushed open the kitchen door. He poked his head around the edge. His landlady stood at the sink scraping carrots. “Mrs. Hutchins, I have a few errands to run in town. Will supper be at the usual time tonight?”

  “Sure and it will, Mr. Fitzgerald. Have a hen roasting with vegetables. I bought one of those new chocolate cakes Mrs. Delmont cooked up, so we’ll have a fine dessert tonight.”

  “I’ve heard her chocolate concoctions are really good. Missed out on her cookies last Sunday. I’ll be sure to be on time tonight.”

  A few minutes later he crossed over to the street leading to the main part of Stoney Creek. Most of the buildings were of board, but a few newer ones were of brick and stone. Mrs. Rivers waved to him from the library now housed in the former land office. That establishment had moved to the new courthouse.

  Joe chuckled and waved back. From the way Josie Rivers stationed herself at the plate glass window, she must know when everyone in Stoney Creek came into town. She knew a lot about the good citizens of Stoney Creek, but he didn’t dare start asking her questions. She’d tell him all right, but then she’d tell everyone else that he’d asked.

  By far the finest building on Main Street belonged to the theater. Tom had said the place had been open only a few years, but they’d had some of the finest entertainment available to perform there, and a new play was scheduled to open there tonight according to the colorful posters adorning the outside wall.

  Across the street a number of women entered the bakery, where tantalizing aromas of bread baking wafted out to the street to entice patrons to come inside. The ladies must be ready for afternoon tea and pastries.

  To most folks up north any town in Texas sounded wild and untamed, befitting the tales of the Wild West they heard. But in Stoney Creek he’d found crime to be all but nonexistent and the citizens law-abiding and friendly. Even the saloon was tame in comparison to some he’d seen.

  People nodded and spoke a few words to Joe as he made his way through town. To them he was a grungy old man Tom Whiteman had met on a train and invited to town, and who happened to be a good carpenter. Hadn’t taken long for that word to spread. If time and circumstances had been different, he wouldn’t mind settling here for his old age. Since both his wife and daughter had gone on to be with the Lord, he had nothing to hold him back home, but he did plan to go back there to die.

  His steps became more urgent. If the doctors he’d gone to back home were right, he had precious little time to do what he’d set out to do. Willy Brunson waved to him from the livery. Now would be as good a time as any to visit the old man and meet the blacksmith.

  “Good afternoon, Willy.”

  “Hey there, Joe. You in need of a horse this afternoon?”

  “No, I’m simply taking a walk around Stoney Creek since I didn’t have any work and have a little free time.”

  “Yep, I hear tell how people are keeping you busy bu
ilding stuff. Nice of you to help out the school.” Willy removed his hat and ran his palm over his bald head.

  “It’s been my pleasure. I’ve been told you have a fine blacksmith here. I’d like to meet him.”

  “Sure, come on back. Burt’s finishing up some new shoes for Doc Whiteman’s horse. Can’t have one of his horses going lame.”

  Joe followed Willy through the stable area and through a door near the back. On a cool day like today the open fire from the pit warmed the area. Burt held a pair of tongs holding a shoe in one hand and a solid hammer in the other. Joe stared at the man’s bulging biceps straining the homespun shirt. A black leather apron circled his ample chest and midsection, and his hands held firm on his tools.

  Willy waited until Burt stopped banging and pounding the horseshoe before speaking. “Burt, Joe here sez he’s wantin’ to meet you. He’s the one came in with Tom on the train. And Joe, this here is Burt, the best blacksmith in the whole county.”

  Well over six feet tall, Burt towered over Joe. When their hands clasped, Burt’s was strong but not hurtful. “You’re the one Miss Sallie told my Lettie about. Pleasure to meet you.”

  Joe’s curiosity rose another notch at the man’s clear speech. It bore none of the dialect and mannerisms of most folks like Burt he’d met in the South. Strong white teeth filled the man’s mouth and shone against the black skin surrounding it when he smiled. “Nice to meet you too. Mind if we talk a bit?”

  “I have a little time. These shoes are ready for Doc’s horse, so I need to get them on soon.”

  Willy stepped back. “Well, you two get on with your jawin’. I got to get the buggy ready for young Mr. Gladstone. He’s takin’ his gal Miss Clara to the openin’ of that new play at the theater tonight.” He turned and headed back to the stables.

  Burt leaned on the handle of his hammer with the head of it braced on the anvil. “Now, what would you like to talk about?”

 

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