“Good.” Suddenly her frown faded into a pleading look that chased every bit of humor from Jesse’s thoughts. “Mr. Caudel, when you brought the children here, you said Warren’s store and stock had been sold to pay outstanding debts.”
“That’s right.” Too bad, too. She could have used those goods to fill her shelves.
“How would I go about ascertaining that all of his debts are now covered?”
He paused midchew, thought for a moment, and then swallowed. “I suppose you could put a notice in local newspapers, asking creditors to speak up.” He angled his head. “Have any debtors from around here approached you about taking care of unpaid bills?”
She shook her head. “No. But until you mentioned a sale to cover debts, I assumed Warren operated on a strictly cash basis with everyone. He always gave me envelopes with cash to pay for coal, electricity, and incidentals on the months he was on the ro—” Bold red splashed her cheeks. “I mean, when he was in Beloit with…”
Jesse nodded to spare her the pain of admitting what her husband had been doing. “Unusual for him to have cash at the ready, considering he was keeping two businesses afloat.” His thoughtless remark planted seeds of fretfulness. He could tell by the way she bit down on her lip and turned sharply away.
He added quickly, “Of course, you said this place does well, and the mercantile in Beloit was always bustling. I’m sure he brought in a good amount of profit at both places—enough to pay his bills in Beloit and give you money for the bills here.”
She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you think so?”
Jesse forced a light chuckle. “Well, now, unless he was robbing banks, it’s the only logical explanation.”
She straightened, smoothed one slim hand over her hair, and gave a brusque nod. “Yes. Well. I’ll visit Mr. Starkey at the telegraph office about posting notices, just in case.”
“Actually, if there are any outstanding debts, unless your name is on the lien, too, you aren’t responsible for his bills. So when you make that notice, be sure to include his, er, demise. That way you won’t be contacted by unscrupulous folks trying to grab an easy dollar.”
“All right. I will.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “Now, I have work to do. I found a stack of catalogs from vendors under the counter, and I need to hunt for my best bargains. So…” She raised one eyebrow at him.
He battled a grin. He was destined to be shooed away by females that day. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thank you.” She pattered to the opposite side of the counter and bent over, disappearing from view.
He called to the empty space where he’d seen her last. “Oh, by the way, there’s a freighting company in Beloit—Sutherland Freighting. They send wagons all over Kansas. They could probably deliver your goods from the train station.”
She popped up like a puppet on a stage. Her face was chalky except for two bright circles of rose in her cheeks. “I can’t possibly use a Beloit company.”
Ah. Because of Warren. Jesse blew out a breath, the scent of licorice filling his nose. That man was probably causing more problems from the grave than he had in life. He gentled his voice. “Well, ma’am, using a company right there in Beloit will be the least costly to you since it’s the closest railroad town. I’m familiar with Brax Sutherland and his crew. They’re trustworthy. They’ll treat you fair.”
She raised her chin slightly. “I cannot use a Beloit freighter.”
Jesse shook his head. “All right, all right, do it your way. But, Mrs. Shilling?” He pointed at her again with the candy. “I think you’re biting off more than you can chew, and your kids”—he wisely didn’t mention Warren’s three—“are gonna be the ones affected most. Maybe you need to really think through whether keeping this business and keeping Charley, Cassie, and Adeline is best for all of you.”
Neva
Neva chose not to attend the Sunday evening service. Instead, she gathered the children in the parlor and read aloud from a Bible storybook they’d had on their well-filled bookshelf since Bud and Belle were no older than Adeline. The stories were really too simple for her twins at their age, but she hoped hearing some of the familiar tales would remind them of former happier days and let them drift off to sleep with good memories playing in their minds.
The children lined up on the sofa across from Neva’s rocking chair—Bud slouching at one end, Charley sitting erect on the other, and Belle in the middle with a little girl tucked beneath each arm. Cassie and Adeline had taken to Belle like ducklings to a mother duck.
The sight of Belle so at ease with the little ones made Neva’s heart ache and sing at the same time. Belle now had the little sisters she’d long prayed for, but knowing how they came to be was a wound that might fester forever in Neva’s soul.
She read the story about Joseph and his jealous brothers. She chose it for the similarities between the story characters and the children in her parlor—both groups of siblings came from the same father but different mothers. Would Bud see a bit of himself in the brothers who callously tossed their younger brother into a pit and then sold him to passing slave traders? His repeated yawns and dramatic sighs said the story bored him rather than touched anything inside of him.
When she closed the book on the father’s anguish at the loss of his favorite child, her stomach was rolling in anxiety. But she forced a smile as she rose from the chair and slid the book into its place on the shelf. “All right now, off to bed, all of you. School tomorrow.”
Bud sat straight up, making the sofa springs whine in protest. “Are we all goin’?”
Neva pressed both palms to her middle in an attempt to calm her jumping stomach. “All but Adeline.” What would she do with Adeline while the others attended school? Warren hadn’t started traveling until Bud and Belle trooped off to the Buffalo Creek School, so she’d had help when they were small. Would the three-year-old behave all day in the store?
Bud stomped over to Neva. He folded his arms over his chest, his jaw set at a stubborn angle. “I think I oughta be done with school.”
Neva recognized a storm brewing. She stepped past Bud and addressed the others. “You children get into your nightclothes and under the covers. Belle will tuck you in.”
Belle, ever sweetly helpful, ushered Charley, Cassie, and Adeline up the hall.
Neva turned to Bud and gave him her firmest frown. “Exactly what do you mean you think you should be finished with school?”
“I’m fourteen.” Bud’s voice cracked in the middle of stating his age. His face flushed pink. “Same age Pop was when he quit school and started workin’.”
Why had Warren told the children about his rowdy youth? He’d glamorized being on his own, grasping manhood well ahead of his time. How Warren loved to boast about successfully squirreling away enough money to purchase this building outright and open their business. She wished he’d talked more about the hard side of growing up too fast.
“Your father didn’t have a choice. His parents died, and he was left on his own. But I’m here to take care of you, and I want you to get a full education. Maybe even attend college someday.”
Bud rolled his eyes. “You can’t do everything by yourself, Ma. If you wanna keep those kids Pop picked out, then you’re gonna need help in the store.” He squared his shoulders and jabbed his taut chest with his thumb. “So I’ll quit school and become a storekeeper. Pop always said the business’d be mine and his someday anyway.” The hard edge of Bud’s voice wavered, a touch of hurt creeping in. He swallowed. “Might as well claim my half now.”
Neva wrapped her son in her embrace. His slim, lanky frame felt so different from the little-boy softness she remembered. Sharp shoulder blades rested beneath her palms, and his chin connected with her collarbone. It wouldn’t be long before she’d look up to him. She sighed against his temple and pulled back, her lips quivering into a sad smile.
“Bud, I know you want to help, and I appreciate your offer. But you’re
still a boy.”
He opened his mouth as if to protest.
She pressed one finger to her mouth to silence him, then went on softly. “Just as you and your father planned, this mercantile will be yours someday.” She’d hold on to it for him somehow. “After you’ve finished school. After you’ve grown into manhood. Your father would not approve of you giving up your education to work.”
“Pop did just fine as a businessman even without schooling!”
He’d done better than either she or the children had even realized—running two businesses and supporting two families at the same time. How had he managed it when so many other businesses were failing? She wished he’d shared his secrets for success with her. She could use the knowledge. But he’d held many secrets from her.
She pushed down the rising tide of bitterness and prayed for Bud’s cooperation. “Yes, he did, but he told me many times he wished he’d had the chance to finish his education because he would have been better prepared to open his own business. Education was important to him, Bud, and it’s important to me, too. It should be important to you.”
He aimed his rebellious glare to the side and growled out, “I don’t wanna go. Not with those kids.”
“Neither Charley nor Cassie will be anywhere near your classroom. You probably won’t even see them all day.” She caught hold of his arm and gave it a little shake. “But you will walk them to and from school, and you will be kind to Charley when you’re in your bedroom together. Your father wanted those children. This is their home now.”
Bud yanked loose and stomped up the hallway. The slam of his door echoed through the entire building.
“Maybe you need to really think through whether keeping this business and keeping Charley, Cassie, and Adeline is best for all of you.”
Mr. Caudel’s parting statement exploded through Neva’s mind. Bud resented the children’s presence so much. Should she consider taking them to an orphan’s home? She raised her gaze to the papered ceiling, envisioning God in His heaven looking down. “Where’s the discernment for which Reverend Savage promised to ask? Why are You withholding it from me?”
Arthur
Leon and Leroy slapped their forks onto the table, bounded out of their chairs, and reached for the schoolbooks stacked precariously on the edge of the dry sink.
Arthur released a stern, “Ahem!”
Both boys halted in their tracks and turned toward the housekeeper. “Thank you for breakfast, ma’am,” they chorused in a flat recital.
Mrs. Lafferty, unsmiling and always weary looking no matter the hour of the day, gave a nod of acknowledgment and then returned to swishing a damp cloth over the linoleum countertops.
“Bye, Dad.” Leon offered the farewell. Leroy slammed out the door, and Leon darted after him, hollering, “Hey! Wait up!”
Arthur sat holding his cup of coffee beneath his chin and staring at the back door. Pencil marks climbed one side of the jamb, indicating the boys’ heights at each birthday through Leroy’s eleventh and Leon’s ninth year. The marks looked ridiculously low considering how tall both boys had gotten in the years since their mother died. In his mind’s eye Arthur could still see them as scrawny boys, rising on tiptoes so the marks would be higher than reality. He remembered Mabel’s soft laugh and chiding voice. “Here now, that’s cheating. You’ll be taller next year. Wait and see.”
The leftover smells of bacon, eggs, and biscuits—Mabel’s standard weekday breakfast—hung heavy in the room. The sound of a woman’s leather-soled slippers scuffing on the polished floor, her starched apron whisking with her movements, joined with the aroma and carried Arthur backward in time. He jerked his face in the direction of the approaching woman, expecting to see Mabel coming to collect the dirty dishes.
The sight of Mrs. Lafferty’s wrinkled face, her lips set tight in an unsmiling line, sent the fanciful imaginings for cover. What was he thinking? Mabel had never been one to hold her tongue. She was always talking, laughing, scolding, sometimes even nagging, depending on her mood. But silent? He snorted. No one would ever mistake the taciturn housekeeper for his vibrant Mabel.
He set the half-empty coffee cup aside and rose, then stepped out of the way of Mrs. Lafferty’s reaching hands. She wasn’t a talker—he didn’t think she’d said more than a dozen words in all the years she’d worked for him—but she was efficient. His house never sported a speck of dust, hot and tasty meals were always on the table, and he and his boys walked out the door wearing clean, pressed clothes every day. He had no complaints.
Except for occasional loneliness. Two rambunctious boys and an efficient housekeeper could never take Mabel’s place.
He removed his jacket from a peg beside the door. “I’m off to the emporium.” He spoke out of habit, not expecting a reply, but somebody needed to disturb the unearthly quiet. “I’ll be here at eleven thirty for lunch.” Of course he would be. He never deviated from his routine.
Mrs. Lafferty lifted the stack of dishes and turned toward the sink without a pause.
Arthur sighed. He shrugged into the jacket, plopped his hat on his head, and aimed himself for the back door. His gaze connected with the faded pencil marks. Mabel’s cheerful voice chirped through his memory again. “You’ll be taller next year. Wait and see.” Sadness threatened. She hadn’t gotten to see. And Arthur hadn’t recorded it.
He gave himself an inward push. Why was he standing here lost in the past? He had a business to run—a business to build so his boys would have something to carry into the next generation. His old man certainly hadn’t left him anything of worth. Just a trunk of coal dust–smudged clothes, a tattered Bible, and an outstanding balance at the company store.
With his jaw set in a determined jut, homburg placed at a jaunty angle on his head, and shoes as shiny as a new penny, he set out the door for work.
Instead of crossing through the alley, as was his usual custom, he rounded the house and stepped onto the sidewalk. No sense in getting his shoes all dusty after Mrs. Lafferty had done such a fine job making them look like new. He inhaled the morning air, letting its cool crispness chase away the melancholy reflections that had taken hold of him after breakfast.
Two boys swinging tin lunch pails, their shoelaces flapping, dashed past him, and he started to holler at them to watch where they were going, but a movement ahead stole his attention.
Mrs. Shilling’s son burst past the overgrown lilac bushes at the corner, looked both ways, then darted across the street. Seconds later the boy’s sister emerged from behind the cluster of bushes. Two younger children—a boy and a girl, both strangers to Arthur—accompanied her. Belle Shilling reached for the younger ones’ hands. The little girl took hold, but the boy backed away and shook his head. Belle leaned down a bit, seeming to reason with the boy, but he linked his hands behind him, out of reach.
Arthur stifled a chuckle. The boy possessed a stubborn streak. Or maybe an independent one. Either way, it tickled him to watch the brief battle of wills. The school bell rang, and Belle put her hand on the boy’s back to propel him forward. The three hurried off together. Arthur watched them until they went inside the brick schoolhouse.
With the sidewalk clear, Arthur proceeded to the corner. Why hadn’t he heard about a new family moving to Buffalo Creek? The town had experienced a substantial population growth in the midtwenties when Fowler Marbleworks expanded their operation, but these days newcomers were rare. He’d need to seek the new folks out, let them know whatever they needed to set up housekeeping from the newest appliances to the most up-to-date parlor sets and everything in between, he had it.
Even though the boy and girl with Belle Shilling were much younger than his boys, Leon or Leroy would probably carry home information about them. His sons were aware of everything that went on school. They’d mentioned the Shilling twins had skipped some days of school and pondered if they were ill. Arthur knew the reason for Bud and Belle’s absence, but he’d kept quiet, as Mrs. Shilling had requested. He could talk now
, though, since their time of private mourning was over. It must be if she was sending the twins to school again.
That meant he’d be free to visit her, make his offer for the mercantile. Excitement stirred within him. His pa had been satisfied to live in a tiny shack, wear coal dust under his fingernails, never have two dimes to rub together. But Arthur had aspirations to be as rich as the town banker. Even richer. He knew how to do it, too, but he needed more space. He needed the Shilling mercantile—it was the most logical choice for expanding his emporium. He couldn’t very well build on the south or west sides. He’d spill over into the street. The north side offered only four extra feet, much less than what he needed. But the mercantile adjoined his emporium on the east, and on its other side was an empty half lot also owned by the Shillings. All the space Arthur could possibly want stretched in that direction.
He unlocked the back door and, leaving the electric lights off, crossed through the shadows to his small office in the back corner of the store. He flicked on the lamp in his office, shrugged out of his jacket, and slid into his tall banker-style desk chair. As he did every morning before putting out the Open for Business sign, he checked his books to be certain his balances were still in the black. As always, they were.
Oh, his profits had declined since that horrendous Wall Street crash. But he’d been sensible enough to hoard his money in a safe in the cellar instead of trusting the banks, so he’d come out better than some. He still had his emporium. Eventually the economy would improve. Of course it would. In the meantime, he’d be content with the black numbers in his ledgers. Only the most astute businessmen kept a positive balance these days.
With a sigh he leaned back in the chair and rested his head on the high carved backrest. The regulator clock on the wall showed five minutes until opening time. Mrs. Shilling opened the mercantile at nine o’clock, a half hour after he invited customers to visit. If things were quiet this morning—both in his store and in hers—he’d take a little break shortly after nine and plant a few hints about his willingness to take that cumbersome responsibility off her hands.
Room for Hope Page 9