Nosy biddy. Jake felt his eye twitch, a clear sign his patience had remained outside with his horse.
“So, Mr. Marcum, your lady friend is coming April fifteenth— at least to Hardyville. Will you be going for her or have the stage bring her to Charleton? She can always wait right here for you, if necessary.” She stood close, a hungry look in her eyes while Jake read the telegram. The smell of her toilet water assailed his nostrils, and he stepped back two paces.
“I need to send a reply.”
Cordelia escorted him to the postal counter. “Here is the telegram form. Can I help you write the message so you can use the fewest words? My son, Horatio, says I’m good at that.”
“No need.” Jake placed his Stetson on the counter and wrote his message. He passed it back to her without looking up. “Where is Horatio?”
“We have a mare about to foal. I think he prefers working with horses over being a postal clerk. I don’t suppose you prefer the company of horses. You apparently enjoy the company of a refined lady like Miss Olson or you wouldn’t have been corresponding for a year.”
Jake retrieved his hat. “When will it go out, and how much do I owe ya?”
“Let me see.” She read the words out loud. “Meet you in Hardyville STOP Preacher there STOP Jake.” She looked up at Jake, her pencil poised in the air. “That’s one dollar and fifty cents. So, you’ve decided to pick her up in Hardyville. I haven’t been there in over a year …”
Her chatter sounded like a dull saw on a log. Jake reached into his pocket for the money without offering a reply. He tipped his hat and headed toward the front counter.
“Don’t worry,” she called after him. “Horatio will get this out right away.”
Jake headed toward Angus. “Here’s the list.” He unfolded a sheet of paper. “I was wantin’ to order somethin’.”
Angus Hanks, as round as his wife but six inches shorter, offered a pudgy hand in greeting. Reaching beneath the counter, he pulled out the mail-order catalog. “What is it you want?”
“A sewin’ machine,” Jake said low, hoping Cordelia wouldn’t hear.
Angus turned to a well-worn page. “Your new wife will be the envy of every woman around. They swear this top one’s the best. Cordelia has had her eye on it for ages. Says her old machine needs replacing. I know she just wants to be the first one to have the newest model.”
Jake swirled his hat as he stared at the picture. “Kinda pricey.”
“This one below it is also an excellent choice. We could ask my wife what she thinks.”
“No thanks.” Jake grabbed Angus’s arm and lowered his voice even more. “I’ll take the first one.”
“I’m placing an order tomorrow. It should be here soon after your wife arrives.”
“I got twenty dollars to put on it, and I’ll pay the rest after the cattle drive.”
“I’ll get your things together and add your payment to your account.”
Jake waited as sweat formed under his collar. Glancing over in Bertha’s direction, he inadvertently caught her eye.
She flashed her version of a coy smile, albeit awkward and large. With voice booming, she greeted him as she greeted every male in the area. “Why, howdy, Mr. Marcum, it’s a real delight to see you. How have you been?”
“Just fine. And yourself?”
“Mighty fine. Mighty fine. Thanks for asking.” Bertha batted her eyes. “I must be going now.” She gave a clumsy curtsy to Cordelia, then Angus, and finally to Jake. “My Pa instructed me not to dilly-dally, but wait for him in the wagon.” The child-like woman marched out the door swinging her arms.
What if the reason Evangeline ain’t ever married is because …
Jake felt his neck redden.
God forgive me.
***
Jake arrived home in time for dinner, still nettled by Cordelia’s prying.
Whole town probably knows ’bout the telegram. That woman seems to know who died before they’re dead.
His irritation compounded his already anxious thoughts. After a year of writing, she was finally coming. He pulled the picture from his pocket and studied her image.
“Evangeline Olson, you seem like a fine woman—maybe too fine for me,” he said aloud to the picture. Now that she had agreed to come, he could barely breathe.
Standing before the washstand mirror in his room, Jake stared at his face—darkened and weathered by the sun—as he dried it with a towel. What would she see? Would the scar frighten her? Smoothing his shirt and tucking it into his pants brought his mother’s words to mind. Jacob, coming to the table disheveled is disrespectful to the cook. He could hear her laughter.
I hope Evangeline laughs.
“Uncle Jake, it’s time for dinner,” Juliet hollered.
Jake left his anxious thoughts as he followed her voice to the dining room.
“Did ja get another letter?” Juliet’s sing-song voice was light, like Nora’s had been. It pierced his heart. She ran to hug him. “I want to read it. Did she say yes? Did she?”
“I received a telegram today, said she was comin’, so I s’pose the answer’s yes.”
“Hurrah! I can’t wait.” Juliet danced around the room, her black braids bobbing up and down in rhythm. Jake could see his brother Robert’s carefree ways sparkle in her brown eyes.
He took his place at the table and smiled at his niece. “Well, you’re gonna be waitin’ a mite longer. She won’t be comin’ for a month.”
“A whole month?” The girl’s face sagged. “I think I shall just die.”
“Sit down and eat,” Cookie chided as he carried a plate of beef to the table.
Juliet flopped onto her chair.
Cookie dragged his leg, extending his right arm for balance. Even after stampeding cattle threw him from his horse, the man wouldn’t quit the ranch. Jake admired his determination. He’d stepped into his new role with ease, helping around the house and mentoring the cowhands.
Selena followed Cookie from the kitchen. “Mija, you’re going to break the chair. Stop sitting like a boy and try to sit like a lady.” She placed a bowl of beans on the table. “No man will want to marry a girl who acts like a boy.” Selena’s deep-brown eyes twinkled as she teased Juliet. She grasped the side of her dress and, rising on tiptoes to appear taller than her five-foot-two-inch frame, glided gracefully back into the kitchen.
Jake grinned as Cookie observed her movements with admiring eyes.
“Who says I’ll ever get married?” Juliet turned in her chair, raising her voice so Selena would hear her. “There’s no one here to marry anyway, ’cept your son, Manny.” Her nose crinkled as she spoke. “An I ain’t marryin’ him anyhow, so I can sit how I like.”
Selena’s knowing laugh drifted from the kitchen. She brought out the tortillas and grinned at Juliet. “You will be sorry you did not try. Someday there will be someone special, and it will be too late to learn how to be a lady.”
“Uncle Jake, why’s Selena always tryin’ to marry me off? I don’t wanna get married. I wanna be a rancher like you.”
“Say grace, Juliet,” Jake said, trying to keep laughter from seeping through his lips.
***
Jake removed the letter and telegram from his pocket and seated himself on the parlor chair that had belonged to his parents. The floral upholstery was worn and faded now. Juliet sat on the arm of the chair to look over his shoulder while he read the letter.
He then placed the telegram in her outstretched hand. She studied it for a long time. “I ain’t never seen a telegram before,” she said, then began to read. “Mr. Marcum I will be arriving fifteenth April taking train to Hardyville STOP Please advise how to proceed from there STOP Miss E. Olson STOP. Why does it keep sayin’ stop?”
“That’s how the telegraph operator knows it’s the end of a sentence.”
“Ain’t that somethin’?” Juliet’s eyes lit as she kept up her barrage of questions. “How far is Hardyville from here? Why can’t she go to Charleton? It
’s closer.”
“Hardyville is where the train goes. Charleton has only a stagecoach stop. I sent a response tellin’ her I would pick her up in Hardyville.”
“You sent a telegram, a real telegram?” Her eyes sparkled as she listened.
“I certainly did.” Jake marveled at his niece’s fascination with trivial matters.
The smell of hay and sunshine surrounded him as she hugged his neck. Juliet looked sweetly at him and asked, “Can I go with you?”
“No.” His answer was sharper than he meant it to be. “I figure I’ll go alone.”
Her smile melted as he disengaged her arms from his neck. A pout replaced the smile, and Jake softened his tone. “Besides, there won’t be no room for you on the buckboard for the return trip.” Seeing an argument forming on her face, he added, “And no, you can’t ride in the wagon bed. It’ll have her trunks in it.”
Plus, I will be nervous enough meeting her without having you talk her to death.
“Can I show the telegram to Manny?”
“I reckon so, but don’t lose it.”
Just as the words were out of his mouth, Juliet vanished in search of Manuel, taking her joyful anticipation with her. Dread filled the void as he stared at the worn curtains. The last rays of sunlight fought with shadows.
Cookie eased himself onto the chair across from Jake. “You seem adrift somewhere.”
“Now that she’s comin’ … really comin’ … I’m plum scared.”
“Well, women do that to a man. They scare all the courage right outta him. Turn him to mush. Explains why I never married. ‘Sides, I got me a nice deal here—shelter, grub, and good company. Whadda I need a wife for?”
“I’ve no regrets keepin’ you on when I inherited the place, so don’t make me start now. It was your idea I take Juliet when Robert died. Your idea I place an ad for a wife.” He sure hoped Cookie’s instincts were right about Evangeline. “Maybe I don’t need a wife either.”
“Just ’cause I don’t want a wife don’t mean you shouldn’t have one. Anyways, you said Juliet needed a woman of refinement around to trim the rough edges offa her.”
“True.” Jake’s forehead furrowed.
“Pray on it. The Lord knows all about this here situation.”
“Yep, He does.”
“I’m off to bed. I’ll pray on it too.”
As Jake listened to Cookie’s footfalls, each step reminded him of his own crippled soul.
Lord, You know I’m anxious ’bout a lot of things. Things I never wrote in those letters. Things only You know. When the time’s right, I’ll need to tell her. And please, Lord, help me do right by her.
CHAPTER 3
MacGregor Home
Jordan, Missouri, late March 1873
Evangeline’s bedroom was cluttered with trunks and crates. Dresser drawers lay open like stair steps, and piles of books were strewn about. Glancing up at the mirror on the opposite wall, she could see her sister’s face streaked with worry lines. Although Katie MacGregor had their father’s Swedish blond hair and blue eyes, Evangeline was convinced Katie inherited the majority of their mother’s Irish stubbornness.
“Evangeline Felicity, I still do not see what you are trying to prove.” Katie maneuvered through the packing maze.
“I am not trying to prove anything.” Evangeline stooped over the closest pile of books, her worn black skirt’s loose hem catching the toe of her high-button shoe and causing her to stumble.
Katie grabbed to steady her, then ripped the rest of the errant hem from the dress. “Yes, you are. You’re trying to make some kind of statement to Shamus because he hired Dr. Marshall.” She shoved the strip of fabric into her apron pocket.
Evangeline kept what she hoped was a calm appearance. “Why should I care? He’s a competent doctor.” Acid formed in her stomach with the lie. She leaned into a trunk with a stack of books.
“You’re angry Shamus gave your rooms in the clinic to Dr. Marshall.” Katie tapped her foot. The clicking of her sister’s shoe on the wood floor vexed Evangeline. “You’re taking this on like one of your causes—like temperance and women’s suffrage. That’s it … just another cause.” Katie removed clothes from one of the trunks and refolded them.
Evangeline yanked a blue floral gown from her sister’s grasp and stuffed it back into the trunk. “I don’t know why you insisted on sewing me these new gowns—especially with all your objections to my leaving. My things barely fit in the trunk as it is.”
“Throw out those matronly rags. You don’t need all those black dresses. You’re not in mourning.” Katie retrieved the wadded gown.
“According to you, I am in mourning—mourning over a dying career.” Evangeline’s irritation grew as Katie folded the garment and set it aside.
“Evangeline, there are certain things women shouldn’t do.” She folded another blouse before placing it on the refolded gown.
“Being a partner in a medical practice is one of them.” Evangeline finished the familiar statement. “My moving has nothing to do with Shamus’s decision.”
Katie placed the two folded garments in the trunk. “You know how the community is. Every time you attend one of Shamus’s patients, they run back to him to confirm your diagnosis. The Duncans blame you for Woodrow’s death.”
Evangeline fought the desire to flee the room. The memory of her biggest medical disaster taunted her. “Dr. Marshall could not have saved Woodrow Duncan, and you know it.”
“We know that.” Katie lowered her voice as if speaking to a child who had blurted out some inappropriate question. “But the Duncans don’t believe it. If Shamus had been there, they wouldn’t have questioned his death.”
“How can you calmly fold my unmentionables while insulting me?” Evangeline turned away.
Katie’s voice softened. “But you’re a great help to Shamus—he values your gifts.”
Please stop! she wanted to shout, trying to block out her sister’s nagging words. Katie’s anxiety only made things worse. Evangeline’s resolve to not become angry weakened as Katie wore her down.
“You’re only upset. When you calm down, the regret will come.” On and on Katie pressed, her words sounding like a swarm of bees in Evangeline’s head.
Exasperated, Evangeline slumped as she sat on the bed. “Enough.” The pile of books in her lap teetered.
“Oh, dearest sister …” Katie paused, sadness filling her countenance, “why can’t you just stay here?” She joined Evangeline on the edge of the bed. “You are an heiress now. You can buy a house. You don’t need to practice medicine.”
“Heiress is a wretched title for what that money has brought me.” Tears threatened and anger clutched her heart. “We’ve had this discussion before. I’ve made my decision.” Evangeline emphasized her point by sending a book banging into her trunk.
Tears formed in Katie’s eyes. She rose from the bed and turned to face the window. “I worry. What if something awful happens to you?”
“You worry about everything.” Evangeline watched her sister staring at the sunset, the shadows of the approaching dusk resting on her shoulders. “You even worried about Maggie’s marriage, and you adore Dexter.”
Katie turned as she pulled a hankie from her sleeve to dab her eyes. “You’re right, I needn’t have worried. She has married well. Dexter’s family is a pillar in the community. He has loved her for years. I am relieved he came to realize it when he did. Honestly, I worried she would marry below her station, or worse, be an old maid.”
“Really? An old maid at seventeen? I would think you would be relieved I’m ridding myself of the title.”
“You’re different. You’re a doctor—doing noble things.” Katie replaced the hankie up her sleeve.
Can you not hear yourself, Kathryn? First, you tell me being a woman limits me as a doctor, and now you say I’m noble. “So, marriage cannot be part of female nobility?”
“No, I didn’t say that. This rancher is … well …”
&nbs
p; “Below my station?”
“Maaaybeee,” Katie said, dragging out the word. “I mean, he is a total stranger.”
“Momma and Papa were total strangers.”
“That’s different.”
“They were strangers when they met. Other than your daughter writing Mr. Marcum as me, how is it different?”
Katie’s eyes were full of sadness. She sat down beside Evangeline and took her hand. Her voice softened. “You know why I don’t want you to go.”
“Yes.” Evangeline squeezed her sister’s hand. “Please understand. I don’t blame Greta, Heidi, or you for insisting I go to New York to live with Uncle Carl’s family. How could you have known what New York City held for a motherless child of thirteen?”
They locked eyes for several seconds, not daring to say more.
Katie’s voice quavered. “This time it’s different?”
“Yes, this time I want to go. It’s my choice.” Evangeline patted Katie’s shoulder. “Ever since our parents died, all my precious sisters have been telling me what to do. Everyone seems to feel they know what’s best for me. I’m a grown woman, Kathryn, I can hear from the Lord.”
“If something happens to you, I shall never forgive myself.”
Evangeline cupped her sister’s face in her hands. “I cannot promise you nothing will happen, but if it does, you are guiltless. I’m the one deciding to go. After much prayer, I feel this is God’s direction.”
Silence fell between them as Katie resumed refolding. Evangeline closed the lid on her trunk of books.
“Besides, dear sister, I can defend myself. Remember, I learned to use a rifle in the war. Anyone tries to hurt me, I’ll shoot them in the foot.”
Katie laughed. “I’m sure you will shoot more than a foot. You have the O’Malley temper, don’t forget.”
Secrets & Charades Page 2