Christmas at Stoney Creek

by Martha Rogers

  Joe hadn’t really given that much thought to it, but curiosity about the man brought on a question or two. “How have you liked living here?”

  Once again a huge grin spread across his face. “Right nice. We came here with Doc and Miss Sallie. My wife, Lettie, grew up with Miss Sallie back in Louisiana. She wouldn’t have it any other way but for us to come here with them.”

  “I don’t detect the kind of speech I’ve heard from most of your race in the South.”

  Burt’s laugh filled the room. “I ’spect most of you northerners would be surprised to learn I had schooling under one of the finest lawyers in Louisiana. His daughter is the one who taught my Lettie to read and cipher along with Miss Sallie. The Dyers were fine people.”

  “Hmm. That dispels some of the horrible stories I’ve heard.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Fitzgerald. There were some dark, dark times, and there still are, but some of us had people like the Dyer and Whiteman families taking care of us. Stoney Creek has been good to us as well. We were the only Negro family for a year, and then others began drifting in.”

  Joe had guessed that by the number of other families like Burt’s he’d seen. “Where do you and Lettie live?”

  “We have a house a little ways out of town. Other families like us live out there in our own little community. We have our own church and school there now. Miss Molly taught our boy, Yancy, and daughter, Dorie, until Yancy grew too old. He’s about as big and strong as I am now.”

  The more Burt told him, the more interested Joe became. “So you don’t come into town and attend one of the churches here.”

  Again Burt’s laughter rang out. “Well, it’s like this.” He leaned both forearms on his hammer. “We darkies, as some call us, have our own ways to worship that are a little different from what you white folks are accustomed to. We sing a lot, preach some, sing some more, and then preach again. Early afternoon we stop and have dinner on the grounds with all the food prepared by our women, and then we might have more preaching at night.”

  Joe shook his head and chuckled. “I can see how one of our church meetings might be boring after that, but don’t you feel isolated and discriminated against?”

  “No, because the people in town are friendly, and we have no problems buying supplies. I know it’s not like that in most other towns, but Mayor Gladstone is different. He takes his Christian and civic duties very seriously.”

  Joe’s appreciation and admiration of Stoney Creek grew another notch. He’d seen enough abuse and persecution of former slaves to last a lifetime. After a few more questions about Burt’s family Joe glanced down to see the newly forged horseshoes and realized he’d kept Burt from his work. He extended his hand toward the blacksmith. “It’s been nice talking to you, and I look forward to meeting your family, especially that son, Yancy, if he’s like you say he is.”

  Once again Burt grasped Joe’s hand in a firm handshake. “Oh, he is.”

  Joe left Burt to his work and contemplated the man and his lifestyle. So many places he’d been had far too much racial strife, although he could understand why. Carpetbaggers had come down and ruined much of what the Southern people had managed to save. Finding peace between the two races wouldn’t come easy and would take more years than he liked to think about unless the good Lord came first.

  He exited the livery and stopped on the boardwalk to decide his next destination. The courthouse loomed to his left. Here again red brick and native stone comprised a two-story building with a tower in the middle that housed a clock. Mayor Gladstone had every right to be proud of his town, which grew larger every week. Two new streets had been added on the east side with houses being built as new families arrived and sought places to live.

  Even with its growth the feel of family still pervaded, and once again the desire for a place to really call home rose in his chest. Impossible. Best get rid of those thoughts and get about business.

  The sheriff’s office sat across the corner from the courthouse. Joe made his way there. He found Sheriff Bolton seated behind his desk perusing wanted posters.

  “Good afternoon, Sheriff. Mind if I sit a spell and ask a few questions?”

  Sheriff Bolton didn’t rise from his seat but did wave his hand toward a chair next to the desk. “I have a few minutes to spare. What can I do for you?”

  “I hear there was a bank robbery in town several years ago. How safe is your bank now?”

  “And why do you need to know that?” Bolton leaned back in his chair, elbows on the arms and fingertips pressed together. His eyes narrowed, and he stared at Joe.

  Not much was likely to get by this man. “I’m considering an account at the bank, and I want to be sure my money is safe.”

  “I see. We did have a robbery. Micah Gordon’s father was shot and died at the infirmary, and Miss Swenson was injured. We did finally catch the thieves, and we have new security measures in place. Your money is safe with us.”

  “No known outlaw gangs roaming the hills or hiding out?”

  “None that I know of.” He tapped the papers on his desk. “There are fewer wanted posters because more of the thieves are being caught and brought to justice or are hightailing it farther west to less tamed lands.”

  Joe had his answers and decided not to arouse any more suspicions on the part of the sheriff. Mrs. Hutchins had told him earlier that except for a few drunks getting into fights, the jail cells sat empty most of the time. That suited Joe fine.

  “I appreciate your telling me this. Looks like my money will be safe.” He stood and extended his hand.

  The sheriff shook Joe’s hand. “Guess that means you might be staying a little longer in town.”

  “Yes, it does. The people are friendly, and I enjoy doing a little carpentry work here and there. Thank you for your time.”

  Joe stepped through the doorway but sensed the sheriff’s eyes still glued to his back. A good visit, but it may have aroused more than a little curiosity and certainly suspicion if he was any judge of the wary look in Bolton’s eyes.

  He glanced down the street and realized evening shadows had begun to fall. Where had the time gone? Stoney Creek was a town that closed up early. Only the hotel, café, and saloon stayed open past dark. Even now the twang of the Texas Star Saloon piano rang on the evening air.

  All the displays from the front of Hempstead’s Mercantile had been taken inside. Up the block the bakery and bank both sported signs to let customers know they were closed. One wouldn’t find such peacefulness in the early evening in any of the larger cities he’d visited. The horsecars, people milling about, and lights and noise from all the places open in the evenings made for a very busy and restless life in those places. He much preferred the simple pleasures of a small town.

  A few yards from the tailor shop he spotted Zachariah locking up. When the tailor spotted Joe, he waved and called out, “Come on, my friend. We don’t want to be late for Mrs. Hutchin’s supper. I saw her stop in at the bakery, so we’ll have a fine dessert tonight.”

  Joe stepped up his pace. No, he didn’t want to miss that meal either and certainly not if she indeed had purchased one of Mrs. Delmont’s chocolate concoctions. A trip to the bank and visit with Mr. Swenson would have to wait until another day.

  CHAPTER 11

  FAITH FILLED THE glass display cases with pastries and buns fresh from the oven. She loved the smells of spices all blended together with the aroma of fresh yeast bread. Mama and Aunt Ruby brought two more trays from the kitchen.

  Two pies and two cinnamon cakes completed the array for those who liked to drop in early in the day for coffee or tea and a sweet treat. Mama closed the door on the case. “Mrs. Booker has ordered two dozen pastries for the Ladies’ Altar Guild meeting at their church this morning. I’d like for you to deliver them there at nine o’clock. The meeting starts at nine thirty.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I will.” Faith flipped the sign on the door to show the bakery was now open for business, and the first one in
was Tom.

  “Can’t get past this place in the mornings without stopping in.”

  The grin on his face sent Faith’s heart into a tailspin. He’d left town Monday, arrived back from Austin on the Thursday late train, and gone straight home, so she hadn’t seen him since the Whiteman family dinner on Sunday.

  “What can I get for you?” Faith hurried behind the counter to hide her trembling hands. The day brightened whenever he came into the shop, and these few days had been quite dull in his absence. If all he came in for was to buy a pastry or two, she’d be happy just being near him.

  “Hmm, I think I’ll have one of the jelly-filled rolls, kolacky, I believe it is.”

  Using a clean sheet of parchment, she selected a bun and placed it in a paper sack. Tom placed a few coins on the counter and grinned. “Couldn’t find any this good in Austin.”

  “Oh, and how was your stay in our fair capital?” She rang up his purchase and handed him a few pennies in change.

  “Quite informative. I have a lot of news to report in my next story about the governor. I still haven’t learned anything more about Joe Fitzgerald, though. Even Gretchen didn’t really learn anything we didn’t already know. What about you? Have you had any opportunity to visit with him while I was gone?”

  “No, he’s been busy with carpentry work, although I did see him strolling about town earlier this week. He went into the livery and then down to Sheriff Bolton’s office.”

  Tom frowned and pinched his bottom lip. He snapped his fingers. “I bet he’s seeing if there’s a wanted poster with his name on it. I should have remembered to speak to the sheriff. Thanks for letting me know.”

  He grabbed up the sack and headed for the door. “I’m sure this will go well with my morning coffee.”

  Faith nodded and sighed. If only she could capture Tom’s heart like her ma’s cooking did his stomach. Some days he treated her like she was the only one in the world, but on others he hardly seemed to notice she was around. This morning he’d been more interested in his kolacky and what she’d heard from Joe than he was in her.

  “Faith, I have more tarts ready. Come get them, please.”

  “Yes, Ma, I’m on my way.”

  When she entered the kitchen, Aunt Ruby turned from the counter where she prepared bread for the lunchtime menu. Her spectacles slipped down her nose as she peered at Faith. “Was that Tom Whiteman’s voice I heard out front a few minutes ago?”

  “Yes, it was. He came in for one of Ma’s kolacky.” Faith picked up the tray of fruit tarts. “I hear the bell, so I’ll take these and put them in the boxes as soon as I take care of whoever just came in.”

  After her errand Faith spent a busy morning serving customers. Even with the café down the street, some people still came into the bakery for a light meal at midday. With Stoney Creek growing like it was, the bakery and the town café stayed busy.

  Finally the last customer left. Faith wiped away crumbs from a table by the front window and glanced out to see Joe entering the bank. Now why would Joe be going to the bank? She grabbed a piece of paper and pencil from her apron pocket and scribbled on it the time and Joe’s destination.

  Joe paused before the bank doors. Once he took the next few steps and talked with Mr. Swenson, there would be no turning back. He’d be settling for the next few months in Stoney Creek. Still, he’d have to leave before Christmas and return home.

  Drawing a deep breath, he grabbed the door handle and pulled. When he stepped into the building, he had to pause again to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. Herbert Spooner called to him.

  “Hi there, Joe. How can I help you today?”

  “Is Mr. Swenson in his office?”

  “He sure is. Let me get him for you.”

  Herbert left the teller’s cage and headed for the president’s office. Herbert might be curious as to Joe’s purpose in the bank, but he wasn’t the sort to be nosy.

  Mr. Swenson exited his office with hand extended in greeting to Joe. “Good afternoon, Joe. What may I do for you?”

  “May we step into your office where it’s more private?”

  The banker raised his eyebrows but opened the gate separating the office from the bank lobby and gestured for Joe to enter. Mr. Swenson followed Joe into the office and closed the door. He walked around to the chair behind his desk and sat, nodding for Joe to be seated across from him.

  “How can I help you, Joe? Do you need a loan?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve come to open an account.”

  “I see. You’ve been making a little money with your carpentry jobs, so you want to keep it safe. I’m happy to assist you with whatever you need.” Then he grinned. “Guess that means you plan to stay awhile.”

  “It does.” Joe leaned forward with arms resting on the chair and his hands clasped in front of him. “I plan to leave my account here when I do leave, if that’s all right.”

  Again Mr. Swenson’s eyebrows rose. His mouth puckered as he contemplated Joe’s request for a moment. Finally he nodded his head. “Certainly. We can hold your funds as long as you like.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled an envelope from his pants pocket and handed it to Mr. Swenson.

  “This is the money I’ve made so far from my carpentry work. It’s not much, but it’s a start. I trust you will keep this information to yourself.”

  “Of course. We do not discuss our depositors with anyone.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a paper. “Fill this out and we’ll set up the account right away.”

  Joe picked up the pen and begin filling out the paper. “It’s been easy to make friends with people here. How was it when you came?”

  “The town was a little smaller then, but we made new friends who thought it a good idea to be friends with a bank president. When Mrs. Swenson passed and again when the bank was robbed, we learned who our true friends were.”

  “And I imagine most of them were from your church with Doc Whiteman and his family leading the rest.”

  “You’re exactly right. Mrs. Whiteman and Mrs. Weatherby organized the ladies of the church to make things easier for Camilla and me. And it didn’t stop after the first few weeks either. Those two ladies continued to make sure we were all right. They took care of Camilla when she was shot during the robbery. A lot of people stormed the bank and wanted their money, but Doc Whiteman talked some sense into them.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me at all. I’ve been impressed by the Whiteman clan. I’ve never seen such friendly, caring people anywhere I’ve traveled. They took me in, helped me get on my feet, and made sure I had whatever I needed.”

  “I for one am delighted that you’re staying. We haven’t had this much curiosity and excitement in town since Micah Gordon returned home after his absence of five years.”

  Joe chuckled. Yes, he had created a lot of curiosity, but would they feel the same about him when they learned the truth?

  Tom read over his article about Governor Hogg and his ideas on education one more time. Satisfied he had all the information correct, Tom laid it on his desk and leaned back in his chair. The only other sound in the room came from the clacking of Gretchen’s typewriter keys as she worked on a story for Saturday’s edition of the Herald. Now that the paper came out on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, circulation had picked up even more.

  Gretchen’s chair squeaked as she backed away from her desk. “For a small town, Stoney Creek sure has its share of social events. The Ladies’ Altar Guild at your church, Tom, and the Women’s Missionary Society at the other are planning to have a special fund-raising activity next week.”

  Tom laid down his pen. “I’ve heard Ma, Mrs. Weatherby, and Hannah discussing the Box Supper Auction. They’re raising money to build an addition to the church.”

  “The Missionary Society wants to raise money for an orphanage in Dallas. Mrs. Booker told me they need equipment and furnishings for the children’s rooms. They’re adding a new dorm section that should be ready in time
for Christmas. Both are excellent causes, and it’s good to see the two churches working together on this.”

  “What’s the name the mission ladies are calling their event?”

  “It’s the Fall Fantasy of Fun and Frolic. Rather a secular title for a church group, don’t you think?”

  Tom shrugged. “Not really. Sounds like fun to me.”

  “Have you asked anyone to go with you? Deputy Cooper asked me, but I told him I’d be working.”

  Tom wanted to smack himself. With the election coming up and the business with Joe, he’d clean forgotten about the festival and box supper a week from tomorrow. He’d planned to ask Angela if he could escort her but then thought of asking Faith. Now he hadn’t asked either one of them, and it was rather late to do that. Better if he waited and took his chances with the box supper. “No, I haven’t asked anyone. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

  He reached over for a copy of Wednesday’s paper. Time to change the subject. “Read your article about Joe. Good writing, but it doesn’t have much we didn’t already know.”

  “Strange, but while we were talking, it sounded like he was giving me a lot more information than that.” She paused and tapped her chin with her index finger. “You know, Tom, there is some mystery about him. I noticed that his speech and use of language is very good. He’s well-mannered too. I’m wondering if that penniless old man routine is some kind of disguise.”

  That exact thought had crossed Tom’s mind more than once since Joe had come to town. He had nothing to go on but a hunch, but if another reporter believed the same, then there might be something to the idea.

  “It’s only been a few weeks, but he usually leaves town after he makes enough money for a ticket to his next destination. I say we leave him alone for a bit. Maybe he’ll let his guard down and reveal something to us unintentionally.”

  Gretchen bit her lip, but her head bobbed in agreement. “I’m thinking you’re right. We can keep our ears open and our eyes on him for however long he might decide to stay.”