by Lori Wick
“Rylan and Trace are the first two who come to mind.”
“Will you talk to either of them?”
Chas smiled. “Nope. If they’re not bright enough to see that she’s special, they don’t deserve her.”
The two shared a look and both laughed. Chas was done talking about it, having said all that was on his mind. Miranda, however, had a hard time getting to sleep, the future of Cassidy Norton filling her mind.
“And I need to have this fixed,” Mrs. Hibbard said of the next thing on a long list, standing in Cassidy’s shop on Saturday morning and pointing to a popped seam on a dress Cassidy and Jeanette had made. “I think if you had sewn this correctly the first time, it would have stayed sewn.”
Cassidy did not argue but made note of the area, planning to fix the dress to Mrs. Hibbard’s satisfaction. Jeanette, standing by to help, placed a pin in the spot so they would miss nothing.
“And here,” Mrs. Hibbard displayed the last complaint. “The fabric doesn’t look right here. I don’t like it.”
Cassidy looked at the skirt of the dress, not sure what she was supposed to be seeing.
“Could you show me exactly where, Mrs. Hibbard?” she asked.
“Right there!” that lady snapped. “See how the weave is off?”
Cassidy did not see and had no choice but to shake her head.
“Maybe if we go into better light,” Jeanette suggested, full of admiration for her boss who did not answer back or try to defend their work.
“Right there!” Mrs. Hibbard pointed again, and Cassidy had to give up.
“I think what I want to do, Mrs. Hibbard, is simply return your money. I don’t see what you need here, and I don’t think I’m the best person to try to fix your dress. I can repair these other things, but I can’t see what’s wrong with the weave in the front here, so I’m just going to give you your money back.”
“What about my dress?” Mrs. Hibbard demanded.
“Well, you’ll have your money back,” Cassidy said reasonably, “and maybe you can find someone else to fix the weave.”
“Fine,” the irate customer said tightly. “I’ll be back for this on Monday.”
Cassidy nodded. She would have to put off other work to get it done, but she wanted Mrs. Hibbard gone, and today could not be soon enough.
The door closed too hard when that lady exited, but Cassidy didn’t say a word. Going directly to her sewing machine, she got to work on Mrs. Hibbard’s dress. Jeanette’s heart wrung with compassion over what she’d just seen, but she didn’t comment or try to comfort her. She went back to her own work, hoping it would stay quiet for a time.
It didn’t. The door opened not five minutes later, and both women looked up to see Chandler Di Fiore standing just inside the door. He did not look happy.
“May I speak with you, Cassidy?”
“Certainly.”
“I was going over some accounts this morning, and I’ve made an error in yours.”
Cassidy’s heart sank a little, but she did not speak. Jeanette, owning the bank and having known Chandler for years, was not silent.
“Is it in Cassidy’s favor, Chandler?” The older woman went right to the point.
“No. She actually has ninety dollars less than we thought.”
Jeanette looked stunned by this, but Cassidy remained quiet, and her face did not give her thoughts away.
“I’m sorry, Cassidy,” Chandler went on. “I assume the mistake is in your bankbook too.”
“It’s all right, Chandler. These things happen.”
“Do you want to get your bankbook, Cass?” Jeanette asked. “You could send it with Chandler, and he could make sure it’s corrected.”
“Yes, I’ll do that,” Cassidy agreed, feeling a little numb. Ninety dollars was a lot of money. Her account had been nicely padded. She almost dreaded finding where the numbers would end up.
“I’m sorry, Cassidy,” Chandler said again, his eyes searching her quiet face. He almost wished she would get upset with him. Her quiet response was harder to take than his own recriminations.
“It’s all right, Chandler. I’ll come after work, and you can tell me where things ended up.”
“All right.”
Cassidy went back to her sewing machine. Chandler stood for a moment, watching her, before looking at Jeanette with all the misery he felt. Her face was compassionate. Her husband had been a banker long enough for her to understand these kinds of mistakes, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Chandler slipped back out the door into the warm day. He walked slowly back to the bank, the weight of this mistake resting heavily upon him. He hoped and prayed that when all was figured out and resettled that Cassidy would not be left in need.
Whom do you trust, Cassidy Norton? that woman asked herself as she sewed, her movements swift with agitation. Where does your trust lie? Have you made your bankbook into a god?
“Are you all right?” Jeanette had waited a little while to ask.
“I think so.” Cassidy stayed bent over the machine. “I’m having a little talk with myself.”
“Is it helping?”
For some reason this made Cassidy smile. She turned to Jeanette and laughed a little.
“Yes,” the younger woman was able to say. “It’s helping.”
Jeanette laughed with her, and with both hearts still prayerful, the women went back to work.
Cassidy came back from the bank a little shocked. Her savings had been drastically depleted. At the same time, two folks had come in that day whom she’d never met. One ordered work, and the other was considering a project and even looking at one of the quilts.
Cassidy knew that God would not leave her alone in this. She had to make a living, and He was more aware of that fact than she was. Cassidy was talking to Him about that when she turned the corner to head up her stairs and found Trace Holden sitting on the bottom step.
“Oh, Trace!” Cassidy stopped short. “You startled me.”
Trace came to his feet and removed his hat. “I’m sorry. I found your shop locked, and no one answered your door. I assumed you’d gone to the bank.”
“Yes, I did. Are you meeting with Rylan tonight?”
“No, I came into town to deliver this.”
Cassidy took the letter Trace was holding out to her. She looked at him a moment, but he just stood there. Cassidy eventually opened the letter and read.
Dear Cassie,
Sometimes it takes us a while. I’m only glad it didn’t take longer. The three of us have talked, and we want you to stay with us on Saturday nights. Trace will come for you, or bring you later if he has study with Rylan. Your proximity to the saloons is not safe on Saturday night, and we won’t take no for an answer. Gather what you need for tonight and in the morning, and come with Trace. I know he won’t leave town without you.
Love, Meg
Cassidy read it, and read it again. She finally looked at Trace.
“Do you know what this says?”
“Sure. Brad and I were there when she wrote it.”
“But the three of you are to come to dinner tomorrow after the service.”
“Meg said you would bring that up. She said to remind you that we can help you with the meal, or we can make it another week when you’ve had more time to plan.”
Cassidy opened her mouth to argue, but Trace had more.
“Your hospitality is appreciated, Cass. We were all looking forward to it, but it’s not as important as your being safe.”
“But I’ve been staying in my apartment for the eight, almost nine, months I’ve lived here.”
“But things are different now,” Trace said.
“How so?”
“I’ve been reminded as to what town is like on Saturday nights, and that’s just not going to work for us anymore.”
He had sounded almost arrogant, and Cassidy’s chin came up. Trace recognized the signs from their shooting lesson the previous week. Without warning, he put his hat bac
k on his head, sat down on the step, and talked out loud to himself.
“It’s going to be a long night on this step with no dinner and no breakfast. And I’m not going to be very fresh or even shaved for church in the morning. It’s a sad thing.”
Cassidy’s hand came up to cover her smile. Trace didn’t look at her, or he would not have managed to keep his own smile hidden.
“You’re pathetic, do you know that?” Cassidy asked.
Trace heard the acquiescence in her voice and stood. With one hand the cowboy indicated the stairs. “If you’ll gather your things, Miss Norton, I’ll wait for you right here.”
With unconscious grace, Cassidy swept up the stairs. She knew some moments of panic about what to take and how to make it work in the morning. She didn’t actually believe she would do this every week, but for the moment, she gathered her things and went back downstairs.
Trace assisted her into the wagon, and almost before she could gather her thoughts, they’d pulled under the wooden arch where the Holden Ranch sign hung. Meg must have been watching because both she and Brad were in the yard waiting for her.
Without warning, the events of the day came flooding back to Cassidy. The sight of her friend, standing there in warm welcome, put tears in her eyes. Meg saw them but didn’t comment. She put her arms around Cassidy and hugged her close.
“This is where you belong on Saturday nights, Cass,” Meg said quietly. “We’ll take care of you now.”
Cassidy, who had been ready to argue about this plan, could only thank Meg and the men. She had been so confident that God would take care of her, and wasn’t He doing that right now?
CHAPTER SEVEN
“HOW DID IT GO AT THE BANK YESTERDAY?” Jeanette asked Cassidy as soon as she arrived at the church.
Cassidy looked into her eyes for a moment before saying, “Let’s just say I’m glad I have steady work.”
Jeanette nodded and gave her a swift hug. She was so proud of the younger woman that she could barely speak. Cassidy was not panicked or angry but was facing this setback with calmness and humility.
“Something you want to share with me, Cass?” Trace was suddenly saying into her ear.
Cassidy turned slowly, not aware of how close he’d been when Jeanette questioned her. “Why do you ask that?”
“It just sounded like something was a little bit wrong.”
Cassidy didn’t realize her chin had come up until Trace reached with one finger and pushed it back into place.
“What’s up?” he pressed, and Cassidy thought fast.
“Jeanette was asking me about work.”
“At the bank?”
Cassidy mentally scolded Jeanette for checking on her in a public place but was rescued from answering when the music started.
“We’d better sit down,” Cassidy said, and Trace had to smile at the relief in her voice. Whatever was going on, she did not want to talk about it. He would certainly not press her, at least not right then, but the eyes he had trained on her were not missing much.
“We’ve talked off and on about the fear of the Lord for more than a year now,” Rylan said near the end of his sermon. “I’ve had varying responses concerning that topic, but the one that strikes me the most is about time lost, time wasted. What does a person do who’s started to fear the Lord too late? I don’t mean too late in the sense that there’s no hope, but too late as in time lost.
“My best answer is to look at the life of Paul, who as an adult had his life completely turned around by God. Once Paul understood who Christ was and what He’d done for him on the cross, there was no stopping him. He doubled his efforts. He worked all the harder for the start he had. In the same way we need to double our own efforts. Double our humility, our zeal, wisdom, and devotion.
“Don’t be discouraged. Paul wasn’t. You talk about wasted time, Paul was born late, but he made up for that, and we can learn from his example. When you read Paul’s letters, keep that in mind. Remember that he doubled his efforts.
“Let’s pray together. Father God, we thank You for Your Word and the example of men like Paul. Thank You for being the God who lets us start the race late but still win. Help us to go from this place with You on our mind and hearts. Bless each one here and in Your will and time bring us back together next week. In the name of Jesus I pray these things. Amen.”
The congregation dispersed, but Brad looked thoughtful. Meg noticed his face and took his hand.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I was encouraged by those last words.”
“I was remembering my father with his milking,” Meg said. “When the cows didn’t give as much milk as he’d counted on, he used to say there was nothing more he could do. I always felt my mother’s helplessness in those times. I don’t know what made it come to mind, but not being helpless in this is so freeing.”
“Yes, it certainly is,” Brad agreed, giving Meg’s hand a squeeze. Almost before he was done saying this, Trace came to stand beside them.
“Are we going to Cassie’s now?” the younger brother asked.
“Did she already head out?” Meg asked.
“She must have because I don’t see her.”
“Let’s go,” Brad said as he stood. They had decided to eat at Cassidy’s, but Brad knew she would want to do more than she needed. She was like Meg in that way, very caring and a bit too hard on herself.
The three went to Cassidy’s and found her working hard. She had pulled her small kitchen table away from the wall so everyone would fit around it and was heating a pot of something on the stove. The contents smelled wonderful, and it became obvious that Cassidy had already planned ahead. While they watched, Cassidy finished mixing cake batter, and poured it into pans that went into the oven of the cookstove.
“I think things are ready,” Cassidy said with a smile, wondering why she hadn’t done this months ago. “Please sit down.”
“We were all ready to help you,” Meg said, smiling at her friend as she began to put food on the small table.
“I had things in pretty good shape, and I left right after the service so I could get started on that cake.”
“Is it the recipe you gave me?” Meg asked when Cassidy sat down with them.
“Yes, it’s my favorite.”
“It’s our favorite too,” Brad said dryly, knowing that when Meg made it, he and Trace tried to eat it all. Meg, thinking the same thing, laughed at him.
The table fell silent then, and for some reason Cassidy felt awkward. She wanted to ask one of the men to pray but suddenly felt herself blushing. Trace caught her look and came to the rescue.
“Do you want me to pray?”
“Please,” Cassidy answered, glad to have an excuse to close her eyes and gather her thoughts. She wasn’t sure she caught any of Trace’s prayer, but she had managed to pray and calm down before he said amen.
“How’s business?” Brad asked Cassidy as they began to eat.
Cassidy didn’t answer, and Brad found her looking at his brother.
“I didn’t put him up to that,” Trace said, preferring things to be out in the open.
Cassidy looked apologetic and turned to Brad. “It has its ups and downs, but I make it every month.”
“I’m glad,” Brad said, wanting to ask what had just gone on but forcing himself not to.
“Any interesting customers this week?” Meg asked, also wondering if something was wrong but opting to change the subject.
“I had an interesting order,” Cassidy said, not wanting to talk about Mrs. Hillard even if she didn’t mention her by name. “One woman wants a rather elaborate tablecloth. It’s a very creative design—just not very practical.”
“Why is that?”
“She wants some quilting and piecework. It would be nice if she was going to use it for a bedspread, but I don’t know that I would want people eating off of it.”
The men ate quietly while the women discussed this tablecloth. The food was very good, so it
wasn’t hard work, but when Meg suddenly noticed how empty their plates were, she laughed.
“Not interested in tablecloths, Brad?” she teased.
“I’m interested in ones that are holding food I can eat.”
Husband and wife shared a smile. Trace was reaching for more bread, and Cassidy pushed the butter a little closer to him before checking on her cake pans. She brought the cakes out to cool, and then the conversation shifted to the sermon.
“I had never seen Paul in that light before,” Trace shared. “It’s motivating.”
“And challenging,” Brad put in. “There are no excuses.”
“And I appreciated his reminder of how much we have to be humble about,” Meg added.
“When was that?” Trace asked.
“At the beginning of the sermon. He was talking about how much we need saving, and then mentioned the last verse in Second Corinthians and the way Paul ended his letter with God’s grace being upon us.”
The conversation roamed to other sermons until they had finished their food. Cassidy cleared the table and started on a frosting for the cake. She didn’t get far, however, because Meg settled in the living room, her feet up, eyes heavy, wanting to know what sewing project Cassidy was working on.
“The same quilt. It’s not going that swiftly.”
Cassidy brought out the full-size quilt in an amazing array of colors. It was technically a rag quilt, but Cassidy had matched the fabrics so well that she still managed to create a beautiful design.
“Go to sleep,” Cassidy said, finally noticing Meg’s face. The men had settled in the room, Brad with a newspaper and Trace looking at the bookshelf. Cassidy went back to the small kitchen and kept going on the frosting. It wasn’t long before Trace followed her.
“What flavor?”
“What do you think?” Cassidy asked with a smile.
“Chocolate,” Trace said with satisfaction, having sprawled at the kitchen table. “So tell me,” he went on, “are you sure you’re all right?”
Cassidy turned from the bowl to answer. “I am, Trace. Thanks for asking.”
“All right,” Trace nodded, watching her. “I’ll expect you to say so if you’re not.”