by Mercy Levy
“Hello, Mrs. McClure,” I said in a worried tone. I was expecting a severe tongue lashing. Surely Joshua told his folks what how my papa had treated him. Instead, Mrs. McClure reached into a brown saddle bag and pulled out a loaf of freshly bakes bread. She walked through the dry yard and handed me the bread. “And how is Papa today?” she asked.
Shocked by the kindness, I took the bread and looked at the house. “Papa is napping again,” I explained. “He had a bit too much wine last night, I’m afraid.”
“I see,” Mrs. McClure said examining the house with her house. The house was small with only two bedrooms, but it was clean, cozy, and filled with lovely items that I had managed to purchase or Mrs. McClure herself brought to me: pretty yellow curtains, a lovely brown sitting couch, a nice kitchen table with a white tablecloth, dishes, drinking glasses, quilts, and other items that made the house feel like a home. The yard, though dry, was well maintained and manicured with love and care. “Have you eaten, Eva?”
“Yes, mam,” I promised. “Papa and I made stew last night. Would you like a bowl?”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. McClure smiled and patted her belly, “Mrs. Jones filled me full of cake last night. I swear that woman thinks I’m twenty instead of fifty-four.”
I smiled. I loved Mrs. McClure very deeply, even though I had only known her for a year’s time. The woman felt like a real mother to me. I supposed at the age of twenty-two I needed a mother. “Will you come inside out of the heat?”
“No,” Mrs. McClure smiled at me, “thank you, dear. I wanted to come by and give you the bread and ask how you were doing? We missed you at the birthday party last night. Maureen was sad when you didn’t show up.”
I bowed my head and looked down at the dirt on the ground. “Papa…acted horribly toward Joshua when he invited us. I didn’t think it would be appropriate for us to attend. Please tell Maureen…that I’m very sorry. She is a dear friend.”
Mrs. McClure reached out and put her gentle hand on my right shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on your papa,” she told me in a soft voice. “Your papa is from the old country. My papa was the same way. Do you know my husband is full-blooded Irish?”
I raised my eyes and looked into Mrs. McClure’s caring eyes. “No?”
“My Michael is part Sioux. That’s right,” Mrs. McClure smiled. “Michael’s papa married a full-blooded Sioux woman. Now if my papa had known that, he would have never allowed me to marry Michael. You see, it was the last name that mattered to my papa, not the man. Very silly, I know.”
“Love doesn’t need to be imprisoned by names,” I told Mrs. McClure and looked down at the bread in my hands. “Joshua is a good man.”
“Yes, he is,” Mrs. McClure agreed, “and you, Eva, are a good woman.” Mrs. McClure lifted my chin with her right finger. “I would be honored to call you my daughter, even though I already think of you as my daughter now.”
Tears began spilling from my eyes. I wrapped my arms around Mrs. McClure and hugged her. “What is happening?” Papa’s voice floated off the front porch.
“Hello, Mr. Fontana,” Mrs. McClure said and gently wiped at my tears. “I was just telling Eva how much we missed you at the birthday party last night.”
Papa was dressed in a brown shirt and black pants—his gold digging clothes. A brown hat was shoved onto his head, hiding his sleepy eyes. He quickly glanced up at the bright sun resting in a clear blue sky and then looked back at Mrs. McClure. “We hope your daughter had a very pleasant birthday.”
“Maureen turned twenty-two, the same age Eva is now,” Mrs. McClure explained, smiling at Papa. “Going somewhere?”
Papa stiffened. “Uh, yes,” he said in a quick voice, “I thought about taking a walk.”
“For Gold?” Mrs. McClure teased. “Mr. Fontana, your brother was a very nice man, and he worked very hard for to buy this land from my husband. But I can assure you there is no gold in this land.”
“We will see,” Papa said in a stubborn voice.
Mrs. McClure stared at Papa with kind, patient, eyes. “If you ever did find gold,” she continued, “please know that my husband and I would never interfere. This land is legally yours and what your find on it belongs strictly to you.” Mrs. McClure winked at me and walked back to her horse. “Mrs. Jones is cooking a wonderful dinner tonight. I expect you to attend, Mr. Fontana.”
“Oh, Papa, can we?” I asked excitedly. “We did miss Maureen’s birthday party. It’s the proper thing to do.”
Mrs. McClure crawled up on her horse. “Mr. Fontana will come or I’ll come looking for him with my rifle,” she smiled down at me. “Dinner is at seven.”
I smiled happily. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“My sweet baby,” Mrs. McClure smiled into my eyes and rode off.
Papa threw his hands over his large chest. “Who does that woman think she is demanding we attend a dinner?” he asked in a gruff voice.
I walked up onto the front porch and handed Papa the loaf of bread I was holding. “You may fuss all you want, Papa, you and I both know you love her bread.”
Papa handed the bread back to me. “I have gold to search for,” he said and walked away into the bright sun.
In my heart, I hoped that Papa would find the gold his brother had promised was hidden under the land we owned. But as I watched Papa walk away, I realized that the gold no longer seemed very important to me. Sure, I wanted to travel the world and see all of God’s beautiful creation, but as I stood on the front porch of my little house and watched Papa walk away into the bright sunlight, I felt a sweet peace touch my heart. Riches are everywhere. I smiled and walked into the house. I put the loaf of bread up and then went back to feeding my chickens.
Chapter 2
Chasing the Tiger
Papa shifted in the brown chair he was seating on and then fiddled with straightening out the white shirt he was wearing. “Stop,” I whispered in an annoyed voice.
Papa huffed. He nodded at the glass of wine sitting in a very nice crystal wine goblet. “Such wine,” he fussed. “The liquid in that glass is not wine…it’s watered-down mud.”
“Stop it,” I snapped and quickly glanced around the empty dining room. Oh, the dining room was lovely, I thought. The long wooden table covered with an elegant soft pink tablecloth; a beautiful, antique, chandelier hung down from a gorgeous wooden beam, dancing over the dining room table like an enchanted musical. Delightful pieces of artwork stood on the wooden walls speaking of beauty and brilliance. But Papa’s fussing was ruining the entire evening. “The wine is very nice.”
Papa rolled his eyes. “In the old country, we would have hanged the tyrant who created this…this…muck.”
“Why Papa?” I asked in a desperate voice. “Why must you be so difficult? We have been invited to a wonderful dinner and you are acting like a…bratty child.” I felt my temper rising in my cheeks. Even Mrs. McClure had not walked into the dining room I would have really plowed into Papa, which would have caused the evening to come to a sudden halt.
Mrs. McClure placed a white down in front of Papa and smiled. The plate was holding a bread. “Fresh out of the oven,” she explained. “Dinner will a few more minutes. Please, eat some bread while you wait.”
“Thank you,” I said in a tired voice. I wanted to tell Mrs. McClure how beautiful she looked in the soft blue dress she was wearing, but my heart was too angry at Papa to say more than two words. Mrs. McClure read my eyes, patted my shoulder, and walked away. “Have some bread, Papa,” I said and folded my arms together.
“No,” Papa said and shook his head. “I want this evening to pass quickly. I am tired and my eyes are heavy.”
“And a bit annoyed because you didn’t find any gold and now,” I said in a miserable voice, “you’re expressing your anger at innocent people who are simply showing us compassion and love. I doubt Jesus would be very happy with your right now.”
Papa grew silent. He considered my words. “No, I guess Jesus would not be happy with me,” he a
greed, “or you for speaking out of line with me.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Papa. Please forgive me.”
“And please forgive me,” Papa told me and patted my hand. “Perhaps I will have some bread.” Papa smiled and looked at me. “You are very beautiful in your yellow dress.”
“Thank you, Papa.” I smiled and hugged Papa. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Papa promised me. He picked up the bread, broke it in half, gave thanks to God, and handed me a piece. “Eat.”
I happily accepted the bread and took a bite. As I did Joshua walked into the living room looking very handsome in his suit. “Hello, Mr. Fontana…Eva,” Joshua said and politely seated himself down across from me.
“Hello,” Papa told Joshua and took a bite of bread. “Bread?” he offered.
Joshua shook his head. “Thanks, but Ma has been filling me full of her bread all day. When she gets in the mood to cook bread it’s best to get your stomach ready to be full.” Joshua looked at me. “You look very beautiful, Eva.”
I blushed. “Thank you.”
Papa huffed. “Wine?” he asked Joshua.
“No thanks,” Joshua told Papa in a respectful voice. “I don’t take much to drinking.”
“Oh?” Papa asked and narrowed his eyes. “Wine is too good for you, eh?”
“Papa,” I warned under my breath.
Papa held up a hand to me. “I asked a simple question.” He looked at Joshua. “Is wine too good for you?”
Joshua shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. “I just don’t like the taste of wine, or beer, or whiskey. I like fresh milk from Old Bertha and cold water from the well. Sometimes, if I pester her enough, Mrs. Jones will make me a gold pitcher of her famous lemonade.”
“But no wine?”
“No,” Joshua answered Papa. “I’m so sorry, sir, I just don’t care for the taste. Please don’t be insulted.”
“I’m not insulted,” Papa informed Joshua and nodded his head at his wine goblet. “Your parents, they drink wine, yes?”
“Pa don’t care much for wine, but sometimes Ma will have a glass with Mrs. Jones out on the front porch when the stars come out,” Joshua explained. “I guess a little wine is good for the stomach.” He smiled.
“Indeed,” Papa said and snatched up his wine goblet. He took a sip, winced, and then took a second sip. “Wine is a delicacy in this world, a gift to be adored and appreciated.”
Joshua nodded his head. “I guess it is,” he agreed with Papa. “Maybe someday I’ll get a taste for wine. I’m still pretty young, and Ma is always fussing about how picky I am at supper time.”
“Picky?” Papa asked. I moaned under my breath.
Joshua smiled. “I like my food plain, sir. I guess I’m boring that way.”
“Not at all,” I promised Joshua. “God has given each person their own preferred taste and we must respect that. Right, Papa?”
Papa mumbled to himself. “Yes, I guess we are entitled to our own taste.”
I looked at Joshua and sighed. To my relief, Joshua smiled and tossed me a kind wink. “Well—” before Joshua could finish his sentence a beautiful young woman wearing a soft blue dress walked into the dining room. “Hello, Maureen,” I said and looked at the pretty braid Maureen had her long red hair tied in. “You look so lovely.”
Maureen, humble and shy—even though beautiful and amazing—blushed and sat down next to Joshua. “You look very beautiful tonight too,” she complimented me. “Hello, Mr. Fontana. How are you this evening?”
“Sleepy,” Papa told Eve and grabbed his wine goblet.
Maureen grinned. For some reason she found Papa’s fussing amusing rather than insulting. Maureen had a wonderful sense of humor that always brought a smile to my face. “The older you get,” she teased Papa.
Papa huffed. “Indeed,” he fussed and forced some wine down. At least the wine would calm his mood, I thought.
“We still have a few minutes before supper,” Joshua told me, “Eva…would you like to walk out on the front porch with me a minute and look at the stars.”
“I would love too,” I told Joshua before Papa could intervene. I quickly stood up and followed Joshua out of the dining room and walked outside with him into a clear, warm, night holding a dazzling night sky shining and twinkling with millions and millions of beautiful, mysterious, stars that filled my heart with wonder and excitement. The stars were merely a speck of light in the night sky to my eye, but way out in the heavens, far, far away, the stars were alive, impossibly large, resting in nebulas and galaxies that my imagination could not comprehend. Oh, how wonderful was God’s heavens, designed with perfection and brilliance—order and harmony—focus and wonder; mystery and beauty. Staring up at the stars made me feel like a mere grain of sand, small and humble, an honored spectator of heaven’s glory. Who was I to receive such a noble gift? “So beautiful,” I whispered.
“Just like you,” Joshua told me in a soft voice and leaned against the front porch railing. He looked into my face with loving eyes, smiled, and then tossed his eyes out at the ranch. A few ranch hands were standing around a large barn, talking and resting under a warm breeze filled with the smell of fresh hay. In the distance, I heard cattle settling down for the night. Beautiful horses were resting in a coral north of the barn. Smoke was coming from the chimney of a long wooden bunkhouse situated next to the barn. “Old Sam must be cooking up his famous beans again in the bunk house,” Joshua told me when he saw me staring at the bunk house.
“I see,” I smiled. “Old Sam is the old man who limps on his right leg, yes?”
“That would be Old Sam,” Joshua laughed. His laughter was kind and honest. “Old Sam took a nasty fall off a horse many years back when he first started working for my pa. He’s been around ever since. Pa kinda takes it easy on him. Maybe it’s because he blames himself for letting Old Sam get on a horse that he shouldn’t have tried to ride.” Joshua shrugged his shoulders. “Pa was young then, about my age, and so was Old Sam. There’s no hard feelings between them…live and learn.”
“Old Sam, he never married?” I asked Joshua breathing in the thick smell of fresh hay. The smell was very delightful and cheered up my heart.
“Oh,” Joshua said and nervously looked around, “I don’t think Old Sam is the marrying type.”
“Why not?” I asked curiously. I eased closer to Joshua and rested my body on the front porch railing.
Joshua stared at me. I knew he was on love with me and that truth swelled my heart with joy. “I guess because men like Old Sam don’t figure they’re good enough to be a husband.”
“You’re good enough,” I promised Joshua in a tender voice. “I know Papa is gruff and insist I marry a man with Italian blood, but I don’t care. I want to follow my heart. Joshua. I love your family and I know your family loves me…and in my heart, I feel that you are in love with me. Am I wrong?”
Joshua became extremely nervous. He looked down at the porch and then back up into my eyes and drew in a scared breath. And then, to my shock, he reached out his hand and gently touched my cheek, leaned forward, and softly kissed me. The kiss felt like home. “You’ve stolen my heart,” he whispered.
“And you’ve stolen my heart,” I whispered back.
Papa cleared his throat. “Dinner is being served,” he said in a hard voice. “Eva, inside now. Young man, we will speak later, alone.”
“No, Papa,” I said in a stubborn voice, “I will not let you insult Joshua anymore. He is a good man.”
“He is not one of us,” Papa snapped at me.
“One of us?” I asked. My temper erupted. “One of us, Papa? Didn’t God make and design every man and woman who walks this earth? Are we not all God’s children? It is you, Papa, that destroys unity of heart by claiming allegiance to a foolish tradition that separates the souls of good people.” I stomped the front porch with my right foot. “You are as hardheaded as the wood that covers this porch. Why Papa? Why must you insist on claiming Italian
blood is more honorable than the man standing before me?”
“We will speak later, at home,” Papa warned me.
Joshua stepped forward. “Mr. Fontana,” he said in a respectful voice, “let’s go inside and eat supper, huh?”
Papa shook his head. “You are a clever one,” he said and lifted a finger at Joshua. The wine he had been drinking was taking effect. “You will never marry my Eva…never!” Papa shouted and stormed off the front porch. “Eva, take me home at once!”
Joshua began laughing. “This is not funny,” I told him in a scared voice.
“Oh,” Joshua said and shook his head at Papa, “Mr. Fontana is from the old country, Eva. His kind are more stubborn than any donkey I’ve ever seen. I don’t take offense to anything your Pa says to me because I know inside of his heart he understands he’s the one being foolish. You’re a grown woman and you can marry any man of your choosing and your Pa knows that too. He’s just trying to strong arm you into surrendering to his own traditions. If you and I got married your Pa would eventually accept our marriage and settle down.”
I was shocked to hear Joshua speak in such a way. “Do you really believe this?” I asked him.
Joshua nodded his head. “Want me to prove it to you?”
I watched Joshua grin. “Yes, please,” I asked confused.
“Come inside and eat supper. Mr. Fontana will be along shortly.”
I looked out into the yard and saw Papa walking toward the barn. “Papa is very upset. I’m not certain he will return back to the dinner table.”
“I am,” Joshua promised me. “Please, trust me.”
Joshua’s loving eyes placed a sweet calmness into my worried heart. “Yes, I will trust you,” I told Joshua and walked back into the house with him. Mrs.
McClure greeted me in the dining room, put her arms around me, gave me a warm hug, and sat me down. “Mr. McClure is still in the barn worrying over our new milk cow. We will start dinner without him.”