"I don't think there's any call for the rifle, girl. I'm here on friendly terms. I’m declaring my love for you. Give up this nonsense and come on home with me. After we stop by the preacher’s house, that is." He offered a tentative grin.
She shook her head and ignored the itch in her thumb. Pulling back on the hammer was tempting. But she didn't want him to faint right there in front of the cabin. The thought of having to touch him while she dragged him away sent a shiver down her back. "I've had about enough of you, Lat. This is the third time you've been around here wanting to get hitched. This is my last friendly 'no'. Now you get on home before I run out of patience and put some of this bird shot in your back side."
The man dropped the straggly bouquet of wildflowers in his hand and started to turn. "You'll live to regret this, girl. I'm the best offer you're ever gonna have."
Tension ease from her limbs as he disappeared among the brush and trees. “Good riddance to you. And don’t you come back,” she shouted to his retreating back. If he was the best offer she'd ever have, then she was thankful to send him on his way. A woman could do better on her own than having something like him tied to her apron strings.
***
“Frankie! Frankie! Look what Mr. Woods gave me!” Charlie came running from behind, waving a white envelope in his hand.
Her heart dropped to her boots. She’d sent him into the store to pick up a couple of pounds of cornmeal. If the postmaster handed a letter to Charlie, it could only mean one thing. Uncle Wally, way down in Texas somewhere, had answered the note Mrs. Brown had sent to him almost three months ago.
Frankie sucked in her cheeks and chewed her upper lip. From its perch above the fireplace, the ticking of a shelf clock echoed against the log walls of the reverend’s cabin, beating in time with the chant of ‘hurry, hurry’ going round in her head. She scooted forward on the wooden bench as Mrs. Brown carefully sliced along the edge of the envelope with her letter opener. Sunlight from the window caught on the silver blade and sent a flash of brightness through the room.
Frankie squelched the cry of impatience that threatened to escape her throat. Maybe she should have tried to read it herself. But it would have taken too long to sound the words out. And she was in a hurry.
Every fiber in her being yearned for the reverend’s wife to just read Uncle Wally‘s answer. But there would be no hastening Mildred Brown. She was a good, steadfast woman who had her own ways. Patience is a virtue, she always said.
Frankie sighed as she watched her take time to give another look at the front of the envelope, as if the postmaster might have handed Charlie the wrong piece of mail.
Envelope open, note unfolded, her eyes followed Mrs. Brown’s chubby finger as it trailed under toe lines of pencil scribbling scattered across the lined piece of paper.
Mrs. Brown looked up, her faded brown eyes soft and sweet. “He’s been sick. That’s why it’s taken so long to answer. Frankie, he wants you and Charlie to come! He wants to give you a job in his store. And send Charlie to school!”
Frankie swallowed hard. She had been sure he would write that he had no interest in meeting his niece and nephew. In fact, she’d been positive he would never answer the letter, much less send an invitation. Mrs. Brown must have read wrong. She folded her arms, putting a barrier between herself and the words she hadn’t wanted to hear. “It can’t be.”
Mrs. Brown’s brow creased in uncertainty. “Why do you say that, honey? He’s written it all out, plain as can be.”
Wally Stoner had never taken the time to contact them all these years, and Mama was his only sister. If he’d had any real concern, he would have helped her and the two children she desperately needed to support. Instead, he left them to fend for themselves. Frankie cleared her throat and unclenched her jaw. Angry words spewed from her throat. “If he ever cared about my mother, he would have written her years ago to find out if there was anything he could do for us. Instead, to survive, she tied herself to that sorry Harlo Wright. The last three years of her life were wasted on that mangy. . .no good. . .and she wouldn’t have died!”
Mrs. Brown‘s kind face puckered in a frown. “Now, Frankie. We’ve discussed all of this. It was God’s will that your momma went on home to Him. You know–”
The words burned hot in her mouth. “What I know is that if it had been God’s will for Harlo Wright to get drunk and fall off his mule in the creek a few years ago instead of last year, none of this would have ever happened! Momma wouldn’t have had the baby. She wouldn’t. . .” the rest of the words stuck in her throat.
Silence filled the room. Frankie steadied her watery eyes on the shelf clock, letting the steady rhythm calm her raging thoughts. She would not cry. The time for tears was over when it came to the past. At last she cleared her throat. “Are you certain he wants us to come?”
Mrs. Brown‘s voice was soft and quiet. “Well, of course I am. And I don’t know why you had any doubts about what his answer would be. You and Charlie are his family. The only family he has left, according to this letter,” she said, her fingers searching the lines until she found the passage. “They’re all I have left”, is what he wrote. He says that he owns a general store and a barber shop right there in the town. And he wants you to work in the store. A real job with pay, honey.”
Frankie stood and walked to the window, staring through the wavy glass. The Brown’s were the only people in all of Jasper Creek that had such a window and she made sure to peer through it with every visit. Someday she would have a home with glass windows. She smiled as she caught a glimpse of Charlie.
He was always tagging along after the pastor. This afternoon, he had followed the man outdoors, unaware that his own future might be affected by the letter he’d brought home from the post office. The boy’s silky blond hair shone bright in the late afternoon sun as he knelt on his knees, digging with his fingers through the rocky dirt that was piled near a stack of firewood, waiting to be split. Probably looking for worms so he and Frankie could fish for their supper.
A warm hand touched hers and she turned to look at the woman who had loved her, prayed with her, and guided her for the last year. She owed a lot to this gentle soul, and arguing with her would be wrong. With no words to truly explain her feelings, silence on the matter might be best.
“This really is a wonderful thing for you and your brother, Frankie. God’s given you an opportunity to get out of this. . .this. . ..” She cleared her throat as she seemed to search for the right words. “And you’ll have a good job at your uncle’s store. Just think about it, Frankie…”
Frankie bit her lip as Mrs. Brown’s voice faltered. It was no secret that the Brown’s found Jasper Creek to be a rough and backwoods kind of place. Only Frankie’s love for the couple prevented her from resenting the comment that bored deep into her heart. They had been there for her and Charlie whenever they needed someone to help make a decision. . .or make soap, or put up preserves. A job Mama had always done until her sickness took her away.
“I understand what you mean, ma’am, but we. . .well, this is our home.” How could a stranger to these mountains ever understand what leaving here would do to her? It was true that their little log cabin wasn’t much more than a shack, at least not in the way of possessions. A single room with a fireplace, one skillet for making cornbread, a small pot for whatever Frankie could bring home from an afternoon of hunting. And barely enough quilts to keep the chill off a body on a cold winter’s night.
It was a way of life that they were used to, as were their neighbors. What might seem like a terrible hardship to outsiders was a normal way to live to the people of these hills and hollers. A quiver of fear rushed through her as she considered what it would be like to live somewhere far from the mountains that she loved.
They’d be leaving Mama and her Papa, and all the little ones in their graves, as well. No more taking bouquets of wildflowers and sitting beside her mother’s resting place, telling her about Charlie and all the things he was do
ing. Giving her all the news from the Creek area. Mama had always loved hearing how the neighbors were doing and Frankie had been sure she’d still want to know, even if she’d gone on to her heavenly home. How could an outsider like the reverend’s wife understand what they would be giving up?
Mrs. Brown smiled, wrinkles creasing her chubby cheeks. She patted Frankie‘s arm. “But honey, God has something good planned for you. Just think, you might even find a husband in this,” she consulted the envelope, “this Chance, Texas.”
“A husband!” That would never happen. She would put up with a lot of things in her life, but a man wasn’t one of them. She’d seen enough of men and marriage to wonder why any woman wanted it. Besides, once a man knew much about her, marriage would be impossible. Except for men like Latimer Wilson.
Mrs. Brown shook her head. “Well of course you want a husband, sweetheart. Maybe not like Mr. Wilson. Think about it, don’t you want someone to take care of you?”
Frankie snorted. More like she would have to take care of him. No man was going to be telling her what to do. Mama had had three husbands, all of them worthless.
Guilt rushed through her at the reflection. Maybe not her own Papa. And since only a child’s memory remained of him, she couldn‘t be sure exactly what kind of man he was. Maybe better than the rest. He was the one that had brought Mama here from her home in Charleston. She’d been a maid in a big house, and Papa had said he loved her and was taking her away to a new life where she wouldn’t have to work for anyone.
Six years later, Frankie was born, the third and first to live. And only nine more years, and two more babies put in their graves, until Papa had died. Mama always said that sparse living and disappointments had been what sent him on home to his heavenly reward at such an early age.
But the last two men hadn’t been worth the air they breathed. The second husband had been the best of the two; lazy but kind, in the few years before he died. He had given Mama another baby that died. And when he died, they were left as penniless as before he became part of their home.
Only Charlie’s birth a few months later had saved the woman from total heartbreak. For that, Frankie found herself thankful to his father.
She forced herself to explain. “You know I could already have a husband if I wanted one. Latimer Wilson’s asked me three times now.” And for the last time, she failed to add. Twenty years older, always the stain of tobacco on his face and teeth, the odor of whiskey on his lips, she had turned him down in a moment. A cold shiver ran down her back. The man probably hadn’t bathed in years. The thought of him and his filthy cabin you could smell ten feet from the doorway was so repulsive it could take one’s appetite away. If she wasn’t the lady Mama had taught her to be, she’d have hit him in the mouth for the offer.
“I’m sure there might be more for you to choose from over there in Texas, honey. And you might not want to greet them all with a shotgun.” Mrs. Brown’s eyes twinkled as she smiled at Frankie.
Charlie. When was he ever going to stop blabbing everything about their lives. Not that anyone would expect her to say ‘yes’ to Lat. She brushed away thoughts of the suitor and continued. “And then just two months ago, West House wanted me to hitch up with him,” she added. No. There would be no husband for her. She was just fine like she was.
Mrs. Brown sighed. “I know there hasn‘t been a decent man for you here, my dear, but things might be different once the two of you are with your uncle in Texas. And don’t forget how good it would be for Charlie. He could go to school, learn to read and write.”
Her resistance wavered. Going to school was important. Mama had always wanted Frankie to go to school. It was too late for her. But it could mean something better than Charlie scratching in the dirt for worms so they could eat. Or the years ahead when he might have to make corn whiskey to get his family by, like so many mountain boys did. She swallowed hard. When she considered the idea, there really wasn’t any choice. And maybe somewhere else was a better place to live the lie that Mama had said she must. “I’ll go. For Charlie‘s sake. But not for any husband.”
“Don’t you worry, honey, the reverend and me will keep you in our prayers.”
Frankie paused as she unlatched the door. “That’s fine, ma’am. But you just make sure God understands that I don’t want a husband.” Surely God already knew that, even if she hadn’t spoken to Him much in the last year. For some reason, He was always putting things in her life that she didn’t want.
Mrs. Brown shook her head and smiled. “You never know what God has in mind for you. Once you’re there and all settled you’ll get some pretty dresses on, and change your mind right quick. A nice fellow will come along and you’ll be glad he did.”
A shudder took hold of her as she glanced down at her trousers. It would be a long time before she wore another dress. Or accepted anyone’s hand in marriage.
Chapter 2
Frankie gave a loud whistle and dropped the broom. It clacked and bounced on the dirty sidewalk boards she was sweeping. A useless project in her mind, as folks walked back and forth over them all day.
Fingers steady, she carefully worked the thin sliver of wood from her thumb. She sighed and stared at the knobby handle, split from age. It was the second splinter this morning. Uncle Wally was probably too cheap to get a new handle made. No doubt he took this one down to Herman’s shop and had new broom corn put on it every year. She considered herself to be thrifty, but he beat anything she’d ever seen when it came to supplies for working in the store. The apron the man wore must have ten patches on it. Not that she was complaining. He was a good man and so far, fed them well.
Giggles drifted through the early morning air, distracting her attention from her hand. She turned to see two young women on the other side of the street. They were staring into the window of Ada’s Millinery Shop, pointing at the hats on display. Violet and Penny, if she remembered their names right. The two of them had come into Uncle Wally’s store yesterday. She’d snuck glances at them as they took a lot of time looking over the fabric display, buying multiple yards of several different bolts.
A slight twinge flitted through her and she turned from the sight of them. She’d made up her mind years ago that fancy dresses and soft, fine things were nothing but trouble for a woman. Taking care of Charlie was the most important thing in her life. Still, someday she’d have a pretty dress and a new hat. And maybe some of those shiny boots with the buttons on the side instead of grungy work boots, she thought, staring down at her leather-clad feet. And most important, a pistol in her reticule. Only then would it be safe to dress like a woman
As it was, she had no reason to complain about the life that she and Charlie had. There was a good roof over their heads and she would work as hard as possible to keep it that way. If Mama could see down from heaven, she would know that Frankie was doing her best to give Charlie the life that he should have.
Charlie. A laugh raced up her throat as she watched him scoot on his knees across the board walkway, his only thought on the marbles he might find.
She turned as footsteps sounded behind her. Looking up, she smiled at her uncle. Tall and heavy, with a mass of graying hair, he had welcomed them to his home and already made the two of them feel like family.
He pushed the hat back on his head, allowing wisps of wiry hair to escape and fringe across his forehead. “I’ll be at the barber shop if you need me, girl.”
A quick glance inside, and she could see the clerk behind the counter. She nodded. “I’ll see you after while.” No fear he was going to give himself a haircut. It was amazing that a man with hair like that was trusted to cut others. She suspected most of the time the man spent in the barber shop was used for jawing about the local news. It was rare to see a customer leave that looked like scissors had been taken to his hair.
She turned her eyes back to Charlie, busy digging between the planks with a stick.
He saw her glance and held up a grubby hand, fingers wrapped around his p
rize. “A red one, Frankie!”
“You’d better stand up and wipe off your knees. Then go wash your hands. You need to make a good impression for the teacher this morning,” she reminded him. He looked so clean and sweet wearing his nice overalls and a new blue shirt. Uncle Wally had given her credit at the store to buy them for him. She didn’t like being in debt to anyone, even family, but it was important for Charlie to have them.
The humiliation of arriving the first day of school in tattered clothes was still sharp in her mind. She ignored the memory and concentrated on sweeping the dust from the pitted boards beneath her feet. Charlie’s childhood would be different than the one she’d had. It was a promise to herself, as well as the last promise to her mother. And she meant to keep it.
The rattling of wagon wheels attracted her attention and she paused in her sweeping.
***
“Whoa, there, Barkley,” Seth shouted pulling back on the reins as the horse danced sideways, frightened by the gray squirrel scurrying across the road. “It’s OK, boy,” he added, bringing the animal under control. What had possessed him to hitch Barkley to the wagon? The horse was afraid of his own shadow.
Seth shook his head at his incompetence and smacked the reins a little harder, impatiently urging the horse forward. You’d think it was the animal’s day out to enjoy himself. Spoiled is what he was.
“I’m going to have a talk with Mark and get some of this nonsense stopped,” he said aloud to the dark pony. Younger brother Mark doted on the horses around the ranch like they were children. No wonder the animals never had any respect when Seth hitched them up and took them out for a chore.
Chance Creek Brides (Volumes 1-3 & the Stagecoach Bride) Page 10