Be My Texas Valentine

by Jodi Thomas

  Neither of the women breathed a word, but each gave her a knowing look that made Laurel realize Melba Ruth knew exactly why they were dressed the way they were.

  Although Laurel had caught only a couple of glimpses of the inside of the Sundance, she had seen both of them plain as day, but of course, she didn’t recognize them until they had met in the alley.

  “I know it was about the railroad.” Melba Ruth took a sip of tea. “Hunter has always been driven, and for a kid born and raised in this simple part of the country, he’s a visionary and has always been.”

  She kept talking, barely taking a breath in between sentences. “I remember when he was just a little boy, he’d help me gather eggs and I’d sell them in town. Times were tough. We were so poor we couldn’t even get a charge account at the mercantile. Eventually, I realized that either our chickens were gettin’ lazy or someone was stealing eggs. As it ended up, Hunter was beatin’ me to the chicken coops and was gathering a dozen or so eggs each morning. He’d then take them to town and sell the dern things to his schoolteacher.”

  Melba Ruth laughed with sheer joy at her memories.

  “It’s funny now, but it wasn’t then. He was undercutting me and I lost a customer, and didn’t know why for a long time.” Melba Ruth’s expression stilled and grew serious, but quickly relaxed into a smile. “He didn’t realize how much we counted on those eggs to put food on the table.”

  “What did he do with what he made, buy candy at the mercantile?” Laurel attempted to lighten the mood.

  “No. He saved every penny and bought his sister a doll for her birthday. It was endearing, but it was just the first of many times we had a discussion with him about how the end doesn’t necessarily justify the means.” Melba Ruth giggled softly under her breath. “That’s when I knew he had a special gift and someday would be a good businessman.” She set her teacup on the table. “And he didn’t disappoint me either.”

  “I bet you kept count on your chickens from then on to make sure he didn’t sell them next?” Pearl said.

  Laurel couldn’t control her burst of merriment at Pearl’s observation. The others joined in. It felt good to laugh, something Laurel hadn’t done for a long time.

  “Okay, enough of what was, we need to talk about what can be,” said Mrs. Campbell. “What did you all find out at the meeting?”

  Laurel sat back and sipped her tea and listened while absorbing everything being said. She wasn’t sure exactly what the problem was, so she’d best save her opinions until she knew more.

  Ruby led the conversation, and filled not only Mrs. Campbell but Laurel in on every detail of the meeting. She didn’t miss the opportunity to discuss Greta Garrett at length, then went on to tell just how happy she was that Pearl had drawn the short straw and had to clean the spittoons instead of her.

  Melba Ruth listened patiently, while making sure the teacups were filled. “I want to make this very clear. I totally support my son and know why he’s so passionate about the railroad coming to Farley Springs. Frankly, I can see some validity to it, but this time I think his vision of how it would impact our community is more of an obsession than good logic. It could be his undoing, and I can’t stand by and let that happen.”

  “Why do you think so?” Ruby set her cup and saucer on the parlor table.

  “This town was little more than a Comanchero trading post not too many years ago. The original town was platted in a buffalo wallow. It isn’t ready for what the railroad will bring. The stage line that Hunter has an interest in would be shut down, leaving a lot of people without jobs. It’d change his whole life, as well as the lives of others.”

  “But it’d bring in new people, new jobs,” observed Ruby.

  “Riffraff and shady characters galore. Our town is simply not ready to be that big ... not yet. Only a handful of people think we’re prepared to become a railhead, much less the county seat. Most are just happy that we have a schoolhouse and would settle for a library.”

  Melba Ruth’s eyes were sharp and assessing, as she spoke. “Hunter is very passionate about whatever he is doing, and is driven, but he needs something else ...” She stopped and focused squarely on Laurel. “Or somebody to love more than his work.”

  Laurel stirred uneasily in her seat and deliberately smiled, smoothly betraying nothing of her annoyance at the older woman for her underlying message.

  Deep inside, Laurel’s soul screamed, Not me! I don’t need anyone to need me for anything!

  Melba Ruth continued, “But that will come in time. He’s wrong about what’s best for our town right now.” She hesitated and looked straight into Laurel’s eyes. “And so is your uncle. To be fair, I think those of us who feel we need a library should stick together. I know the railroad would be nice, and frankly, I wouldn’t miss the dirty drovers and dusty cattle drives, but we can’t afford to have a train here.”

  “But he said the railroad will bring a lot of new merchants. Isn’t that good?” Pearl asked.

  “Not if nobody in town can read the signs they put up. We have everything we need now, and my son knows exactly how I feel. We don’t need any more merchants butting into our business, taking away customers, making more competition for all of us. My mama always said, ‘Don’t trouble trouble until trouble troubles you.’ More competition will mean less income for our existing merchants. Few women are convinced that the men’s way is the best.”

  Ruby sat back in her chair, then said, “We can get anything we want here in town, and if we can’t, we can order it out of the Sears, Roebuck or Montgomery Ward catalogs and get them shipped to us direct from Chicago. It looks like it’d be just a waste of money to pave the streets, hoping the railroad might come someday.”

  Melba Ruth took up where Ruby left off on a grocery list of reasons a library would be better than paved streets.

  A picture of young Melba Ruth and Hunter, at the age of about thirteen or fourteen, hanging on the wall caught Laurel’s eye. Memories flooded her mind, reminding her of the first time she met Melba Ruth Campbell. A day still vivid in her mind.

  At the tender age of thirteen, Laurel had stepped off the stage originating in San Antonio, feeling as though the whole world were spinning inside her. She felt strange and so out of place, but stood outside the stage line office as she’d been told to do by her uncle, waiting for him to return with his carriage.

  The month prior to her arrival had been horrendously heartbreaking for her; first with the untimely death of her parents, then being snatched up by her mother’s brother from the only life she had ever known in the Hill Country and shipped off to the Panhandle.

  She was too immature to understand her parents’ deaths, much less what was happening around her. It was as if she’d been awakened from a beautiful dream and dropped into a nightmare.

  Laurel recalled standing there surrounded by total strangers, scared out of her wits.

  That was the moment she had made the decision to always stand alone and never allow anyone into her heart again. She didn’t want anyone to need her and she didn’t want to need anyone but herself. It hurt too much when they had to leave.

  Laurel watched a tall, motherly-looking woman waiting on the porch in front of the stage line fussing at her son, who Laurel later learned was Hunter Campbell. She wore a faded, threadbare calico day dress with a nondescript bonnet that had seen better days.

  The woman introduced herself as Melba Ruth Campbell and obviously felt sorry for the frightened teenager because she struck up a conversation with her. Later, the lady gave Laurel a big hug and told her that she was welcome to their little homestead outside of town any time.

  Even today, Laurel’s heart filled with affection when she thought about how the stranger had turned to walk away, but returned to give Laurel another hug. The woman used the excuse that if Laurel had any problem with her son, Hunter, just to let her know.

  In no more than a flash in Laurel’s life, Melba Ruth Campbell had given her a gift that could never be taken away
... a gift of time. Every day since then, Laurel had thanked the good Lord that he’d given her a living, breathing angel on this earth.

  That saintly voice disturbed Laurel’s daydreaming. “Laurel Dean, since you’ve been living back East and have been involved with all kinds of social organizations, what is your opinion?”

  “I was so young when I lived here before and don’t feel right expressing my beliefs in regards to something I know little about, so I’d much prefer to stay neutral.”

  “Just give me some idea how you’d handle a quandary when two groups don’t see eye to eye.”

  Laurel took a deep breath but decided she felt comfortable enough to give them a fairly basic observation that could apply to most any situation. “The local women’s organization should take a stance and stick together. I’ll give you an example. Think about a play with only one actor. The story wouldn’t be very interesting or even make much sense, but when you add a cast of characters, it comes to life. It’s a cohesive play, not one lone actor attempting to fill an entire stage by himself.”

  “We’ve never thought about having a women’s group.” Melba Ruth tapped her index finger on her lip several times, as if a plan was coming together. “What’d Hunter call his men’s assembly?”

  “Farley Springs Men’s Club,” Ruby answered.

  “Then we’ll be the Farley Springs Women’s Society. That sounds more like something, uh, more political, not an ol’ boys’ social club. What do you think, Laurel?”

  Laurel had already lent some of her opinion, so what difference did more make? Against her better judgment, she asked, “Then why don’t the folks who are as passionate about the library as Hunter is about the railroad stick together? Your women’s organization could do a lot to accomplish that.”

  “That’s exactly how I see it. We think so much alike. You’ll be our new president ... problem solved!” Melba Ruth blurted out.

  “No. I can’t. I haven’t been back in town long enough to even know which way the wind blows, and I’m not sure how my aunt and uncle might feel about it.”

  “You’re a grown woman and there’s no reason you can’t have your own views whether they are along the same lines as others’ or not.” Melba Ruth looked her straight in the eye. “Look at Hunter and me. We have totally opposite opinions but respect the other’s right to believe the way we do. I still think you’re the perfect person for the job. You’d be impartial, are well educated, and have been living in a big city, so you’d know more than anyone how to run a women’s group.”

  “I can not do it,” Laurel said softly but sternly.

  “Well, we’ll see about that.” Melba Ruth smiled confidentially.

  Chapter 5

  Laurel twisted uncomfortably in her chair, absolutely flabbergasted at Melba Ruth’s statement, which appeared more of a promise than a passing remark. Setting her chin in a stubborn line, Laurel took a deep breath and adjusted her smile, hoping that her friend would realize that she was as determined not to be a part of the women’s social club as Melba Ruth seemed to think she would.

  For a two-cent piece, if it wouldn’t be rude, Laurel would say her farewells and head back to town.

  Laurel would not—absolutely would not—get involved regardless of how much respect and love she had for the older woman.

  Melba Ruth settled back in her chair, picked up her teacup, and took a sip. As if reading Laurel’s mind, she looked over the lip of her cup and raised a questioning eyebrow. She shifted her gaze to the Wilson sisters. “Then what did the men decide to do to raise money?”

  The Wilson sisters looked at one another as though if they stared long enough one would give in and answer the question.

  “A Valentine’s Day box supper and dance,” said Pearl.

  Melba Ruth almost choked on her drink. “A what?”

  “A Valentine’s Day—” Pearl repeated, but was interrupted by her sister.

  “She heard you the first time, Pearl.”

  “There’s no way for the love of Jesus my son would ever go for such an idiotic idea. He’d pay for it out of his own pocket before he’d get involved with a girlie thing like that.” The lines of concentration deepened along her brows. “There’s just no way.”

  “There was a lot of talk about how much money the women could make if they held one, so I think he was sincere,” said Pearl, although her sister gave her a look that questioned her sanity.

  The women batted the notion around. Suddenly, Laurel had an overwhelming desire to contribute her own observations. Surely it wouldn’t be a sign of her willingness to become permanently involved in their mission ... surely!

  “I don’t think he was serious at all,” she said as the others stared at her. “I agree with you, Melba Ruth, there’s no way he’d go along with something like that. I couldn’t hear very much, but by the time he got around to making that part of the announcement, he’d stepped near me at the front door and made it very loud and clear that since he was president of the men’s organization and there was no clear consensus as to what should be done, he’d make the decision. It came straight from the mayor’s mouth. I believe he wants us to think he’s going through with the plans he announced.”

  “That makes sense.” Melba Ruth pursed her lips, seemingly in deep thought. “He’s trying to sell us a pile of cow patties and make us think they’re flapjacks. He might be my boy, but he’s as sly as a fox when he wants to be.”

  “You mean he knew that we’d come report back to you, and then we’d all jump onto their idea. Then it’d look like we were being underhanded and stole their project. That’d make it seem that we forced them to change projects, making us look bad.” Pearl smiled and looked at the other women as if she was really proud of herself.

  “That’s right, Pearl.” Melba Ruth rubbed the palms of her hands together. “But we’ll turn the tables on them. We need everyone’s ideas on what their real plans might be.”

  “First off, they are going to challenge us to see who can raise the most money. No doubt they won’t do bake sales or bazaars. Might be a rodeo of some sorts.”

  “I don’t think that’s it. Maybe horse races like on the Fourth of July. If it were cutting season, it’d definitely be a calf fry, but it’s too early,” Melba Ruth said confidentially.

  The women tossed around a number of ideas. Laurel added a few, but remained determined that once the meeting was over, she’d go back home, settle in for the night, and wouldn’t be involved in whatever was decided. One thing was for certain—she wanted to see the town have a library, but she had to admit that not getting mud on her shoes when it rained sounded good, too.

  “I know what it is.” Melba Ruth jumped to her feet. “It has to be something that would only appeal to a man.”

  “Taking a donation from the soiled doves’ earnings one night,” said Pearl.

  Everyone shook their heads in amusement.

  “No. They’d get the men into the saloon, get ’um drunk, and get donations of some sort. Maybe put a beef on the spit, something that would draw in the men, and a boxed supper and dance wouldn’t do it.”

  Ruby said, “I’d say it isn’t a secret, since Hunter announced it in a public meeting—”

  “Except he told the men to keep it quiet,” said Pearl.

  “Which only proves it’s a ruse,” said Melba Ruth. “How long do you think it’d take your ink jockey friend to print us up some posters to place all around town?” She looked squarely at Ruby. “I know he’s a little sweet on you, so maybe ...”

  “He’s probably puttin’ the weekly newspaper to bed, and if so, he might have time once he’s finished.” A wicked smile crossed Ruby’s face. “I’ll drop by and see if I can entice him to get some printed as soon as possible.”

  “Have him send me his bill, regardless of the cost. Here’s the deal. We’ll beat Hunter and the men at their own game, something he isn’t accustomed to.” Melba Ruth continued to rub her palms together, as if it helped her think. “We’ll lend a
hand to the men. We’ll prepare flyers announcing both events on Valentine’s Day and plaster them all over town. If you’re successful ...” She raised a knowing eyebrow at Ruby, then continued, “We can have the posters out before anybody even realizes what is going on. The men, as a matter of pride, will have to go through with a boxed supper and dance, while we’ll roast a beef and give away beer.”

  “Give away beer!” Ruby sounded astonished. “I figured you’d do something like donating a percentage of the proceeds or something on that line, but never free beer.”

  “Well, it’s my saloon and I can do anything I damn well please. For every glass of beer sold, I’ll give them a free one and donate the money to the library fund.”

  Laurel could see by the expression on Melba Ruth’s face that her mind was made up. “We’ll need a lot of help, so I’ll expect you girls to be my extra eyes and ears.”

  Everyone nodded, except for Laurel. Mentally she had to stay strong and true to her convictions, while her heart screamed that she could do something that would make a difference in people’s lives by helping the town raise money for a library.

  “Okay, ladies. Just like Hunter told the men, keep this under your bonnets.” Melba Ruth looked at each woman as if appraising their surprised looks. “We’re gonna give the men one hell of a run for their money, ladies!”

  Melba Ruth pointed a bony finger at Laurel Dean. “And you, my dear, will be our president.”

  “I’ve already said, I can’t. I don’t even have a job yet.”

  “That makes it easy then. I have a need for a bookkeeper and someone to help me with my businesses, and you’re the perfect person.” Melba Ruth stood up, smiled at each lady, and focused on Laurel’s eyes. “My dear, you said you didn’t have a job yet, so I’ll see you at nine o’clock in the morning.”

  “I haven’t said I’m taking the job, Melba Ruth.”

  “But you will, my dear.”