By Saturday, however, the good humor and smiles had been replaced by frowns of worry. The rain had been relentless, turning the streets into a muddy bog which captured wagons, horses and sometimes people in its clutches. The creeks in the surrounding area overflowed, and Willow Creek lapped at the edges of the bridge.
Ty and Camille stood inside his store, gazing out the front window at the dark, cloudy day. The streets were almost empty. Other than Camille and the employees, nary a soul had ventured out to McKinnon Brothers in the two hours they had been open.
They had decided the day before not to drive out to the ranch. It was just as well, since Cade had come to town to be with his family instead of taking them back home.
“Does it rain like this often?” Camille asked gloomily.
“No, and it doesn’t last too long when it does. Maybe tomorrow will be nice and sunny.”
“I hope so. We had rainy spells in San Antonio, and of course, lots of rain in New Orleans, but it wasn’t this cold, dreary stuff.”
Ty gently turned her away from the window. “I think I know someone who needs a distraction.”
“Doing what? Stocking shelves?”
“How did you guess?” Resting his hand on her back, he propelled her down the aisle. “I have two boxes of books to unpack.”
She slanted him a glance of disdain. “You want me to unpack books?”
His expression was filled with pure mischief. “Not a good idea?”
“Nope.”
“Why, Miss Dupree, I thought you’d jump at the chance to do some hard physical labor.”
Camille batted her eyelashes, exaggerating her Southern drawl. “Mr. McKinnon, I’ve never done physical labor, hard or otherwise.”
He chuckled, guiding her into his office. She noted that he left the door open this time. It was the proper thing to do, but it made her wonder if there had been some talk or some questions after her visit on Monday. He pulled the extra chair over in front of the desk next to his, waiting until she sat down before he took his seat.
“Red Mulhany and I are thinking about building an opera house.”
“I’m surprised he’s interested after his experience with the Hamilton Performers Extraordinaire. You, either, for that matter.”
“We’ve both been thinking about it on our own for about a year but hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else. He thought he was getting a different kind of entertainment. I’m sure he wouldn’t have brought them here if he’d known what they were like. We want to build something high-class, and bring in entertainment suitable for families as well as the cowboys.”
“It’s a wonderful idea. But won’t it be expensive?”
“Yes. I’m looking for a few other people to invest in it. Red wants to run it. He and the missus go to plays fairly often in Fort Worth and Dallas. He has some good ideas, but I thought you might have some suggestions.”
Camille had often gone to the theater, particularly in New Orleans, but she was surprised that Ty would even consider that she might have. “Let me see what you have in mind.”
He unfolded a floor-plan sketch. “He’s based this on one in Dallas. It’s about the size that I think we could build and support here.”
“What about boxes?”
He unfolded another sheet. “I think we could only do one row on three sides of the building.”
“That should work. Then they could watch the stage if they wanted or check out who else is there.”
“Which always seems to be important to some.”
“The lobby seems large enough. So does the hallway around the boxes. Are you going to slope the stage or the main floor?”
“We haven’t decided yet. Red’s going to take a trip to Fort Worth and Dallas as soon as the weather clears up and see which one seems to work best.”
She leaned against the back of the chair. “Red velvet curtains. Padded seats?”
“Only in the boxes.”
“Benches on the main floor?” She frowned thoughtfully. “That could get uncomfortable in a long performance. Especially for women and children.”
“We were thinking chairs that can be fastened together. Something with a shaped seat, but no cushion. Most of the cowboys and freighters scrub up when they come to town, but some don’t. Plain wooden seats would be easier to keep clean.”
She studied the drawings once more. “You might need to make the dressing rooms a bit larger, and the pit for the musicians. There should be room for a piano as well as a handful of other instruments. And you’ll need to provide the piano.” She leaned back again. “I hope you have several investors.”
“Three so far. Red, Cade and me.”
“Make it four.”
“Camille, I didn’t tell you about this to try to get money out of you.”
She liked the soft, gentle way he said her name, and the fact that he spoke without thinking about whether it was socially proper or not. It was the way friends talked, not polite acquaintances. “I know you didn’t, but I’d really like to be a part of this. An opera house can be so important to the community. Churches, schools, and local drama groups can all use it, too.”
Ty searched her face. “You sound like someone putting down roots.”
“Maybe. Even if I move on, at least I’ll have contributed to something worthwhile.” At the moment, staying in Willow Grove held great appeal, but she had learned long ago that life could deal a lousy hand when you least expected it.
She glanced at the clock hanging above his desk. “I should go. Nola is expecting me a little before noon. Hester is making chicken soup.”
Ty smiled and folded up the opera house notes. “I assume you like chicken soup.”
“Love it.” Camille pushed back her chair and stood. “Then again, I like almost any kind of food. It’s probably good that I don’t know how to cook. I think I’d be far too prone to eating more than I should.”
“It might not make any difference. Jessie loves to cook and she stays nice and slim.” He stood, too, but didn’t seem in any hurry for her to leave.
“She has two children to keep up with.”
“There you go. Have a couple of young ’uns and you can eat all the time.”
“That doesn’t seem to work for some people.”
“I suppose not.” He paused, then met her gaze. “Do you want a family?”
Her heart skipped a beat. She was afraid to admit how much she longed for a husband and children. “Yes. Though I haven’t been around kids very much. I don’t know if I would be very good with them.”
“Given how well you and Ellie hit it off on Sunday, I expect you’d do fine.”
“Brad certainly didn’t jump into the conversation.”
“Never does. He’s shy and likes to size people up before he starts talking to them. His pa treated him real bad. It took a lot of love and patience for Cade to convince him that he could trust somebody besides his mother.”
“They certainly seem fond of each other, now. Oh, I almost forgot. I’d like to get a Bible. Do you have any?”
“Yes. Even have some that are still in the box.”
“As in the boxes you wanted me to unpack?”
“Yep. But I have some on the shelf, too.” He peeked out the office door. “Still no customers.” Surprising her, he grabbed her hand, tugging her through the doorway. “Come on, we’ll pick one out.”
Laughing, she followed him for a few steps, then walked beside him when he slowed down. “I thought there was only one kind.”
“Well, basically there is, the King James Version. But it comes in several styles and sizes.” He pulled a large, heavy tome from the shelf. “Here is the pocket-sized version.”
“Maybe a giant’s pocket. It reminds me of the one we had when I was a child.”
“It’s a family Bible, the kind where you record all the marriages, births, deaths and other important events. Do you still have it?”
“No. Like yours, our home was burned, too.”
Ty took a
much smaller book from the shelf. “This one is the right size for everyday use. It’s called a teacher’s Bible, but I like it because it has maps and a concordance—an index of various words with a listing of some of the verses where they’re found.” He turned to the back of the book and opened it. “It doesn’t list every word, of course, but the important ones, or at least the ones the publisher thought were important. A lot of times, it doesn’t include all the verses where a word is found, like some of the bigger Bibles do. I don’t know how they decide what goes in it.” He closed the book and handed it to her.
When she opened it, she was surprised by how thin the paper was. “I’ll have to be careful with it.”
Ty nodded, his expression solemn. “The pages are stronger than they look. But you should treat it with reverence. Not because you’re afraid you might tear a page, but because it contains the word of God.”
“You truly believe that?”
“Yes, I do. The teaching found here has stood firm for almost two thousand years. Folks differ sometimes on the peripheral stuff—such as whether a sprinkling baptism is just as good as immersion.” He glanced toward the front window at the pouring rain. “Today, you could go out in the street and do both. I figure God doesn’t pay too much attention to those things as long as the core beliefs remain true to what Jesus taught. I think God looks on each person’s heart, not what pew he sits in on Sunday morning.”
“Should I start reading at the beginning?”
“Have you ever read any of it?” he asked gently.
Camille understood that he would not criticize if she admitted the truth. “No. We went to church when I was very small, but that pretty much ended when the war started. After that, neither of my parents had any use for church or the Bible.”
“I’d suggest starting in the New Testament.” He opened the Bible to the first page in that section. “It will tell you about Jesus. The first four books are about Him and His life. They were written by different men, close followers and His friends. Matthew and Luke talk about Jesus’ birth.”
“The Christmas story. My father had a friend who always told it on Christmas Eve.” She smiled, remembering the incongruity of the scene. “Folks said that Preacher Sam had lost his faith, but I don’t think he really did. Not all of it anyway. He would sober up on Christmas Eve and sit on a stool in the corner of the saloon. At eight o’clock, everyone would gather around, and he would tell us about Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus. How the angel visited them both and told them what was going to happen. There was such reverence in his voice when he spoke. It took him over an hour.”
“Then you’re familiar with that part of the story. You might want to start with John.” Ty opened the Bible to the Gospel of St. John. He pointed at the first verse. “When he refers to the Word and to the Light, he is talking about Jesus.” He handed her the book. “The main thing is just to have an open mind and an open heart. Let God show you His truth from the scriptures.”
She held the Bible carefully, curious to read it, yet a little frightened, too. Would the words scorn her as that fire-and-brimstone preacher in New Orleans had done? “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
She started to protest, but stopped when he held up his hand.
“I want to give it to you as a gift. It means a lot to me.”
“Thank you, Ty.”
“You’re very welcome. If you’ll let me borrow it for a minute, I’d like to fill in the inscription page.”
“All right. I’ll get my things while you do it.” They walked back to his office. She sat down in the spare chair and pulled on a pair of overshoes. She glanced at Ty as he sat down at the desk, a thoughtful look on his face. Taking her rubber coat from the rack in the corner, she put it on, buttoning it up as he bent over the desk and began to write. By the time she reached for her hat and gloves he was finished. She waited to put on the gloves.
He stood and handed her the Bible. “Here you go.”
Camille opened it, flipping a couple of pages until she reached the dedication page, where he had filled in the blanks and added a few lines:
This Bible is presented to Camille Dupree by her friend, Ty McKinnon, on February 9, 1884.
May this book and the God who inspired it be a blessing to you. Psalm 25:1-6.
His words prompted a swell of emotion and tenderness, bringing a faint mist to her eyes. How had she ever become friends with this kind, caring man? “Thank you. Where is Psalms?”
“In the Old Testament. There is a table of contents in the front. I still can’t find some of the books without looking up the page numbers.” He adjusted her collar more securely around her neck. “Wait until you get back to Nola’s to read the passage in Psalms.”
She looked at the clock. “Oh, dear, I’m going to be late.”
“Tell her you were keeping me company. That will pacify her.”
“No doubt.” Camille tucked the Bible into her bag and drew the top tightly closed. Pulling on her gloves, she picked up the umbrella and laughed. “I feel as if I’m armed for battle.”
“You are—with the weather. Will you be warm enough?”
“Yes, my coat is lined with alpaca.”
“I’ll come by and pick you and Nola up in the morning for church. I’ve already reserved the surrey. Hopefully the top will help keep some of the rain off us.” They started toward the front door.
“Maybe it will have stopped by then.”
“I hope so.” A minute later, he peered out the door as he opened it for her. “But it doesn’t look too likely. Do you want me to go with you? That mud is awful slippery.”
“And have you pull me down when you start falling?” She grinned cheekily over her shoulder. “No thanks.”
“Maybe I’ll drop by after supper.”
She stopped and turned around to face him. “That would be nice.”
“Yes, it would. I’ll plan on it then.”
Chapter Sixteen
Smiling with happiness, Camille carefully walked along the wet boards of the sidewalk until she turned up the cross street. She slogged through the mud, at times wondering if it would pull the overshoes right off her feet. The umbrella protected her head and shoulders, but water ran off the lower half of her coat. When she reached Nola’s, she walked around to the back of the house, thankful for the covered porch that wrapped around it.
Nola threw open the door. “Lord have mercy, what a day. Use that hook there by the window to hang up your coat. Best for it to do its dripping out here.”
“I’ll say. I’m thankful I had it.” Camille set her bag on a chair and propped the open umbrella in the corner so it could dry. Then she laid her gloves on a little table against the wall. Taking off her coat, she hung it up, staring briefly at the water streaming off of it. Sitting down in a chair by the back door, she pulled off her overshoes and left them on the porch. Gathering up her gloves and bag, she went inside.
“I have a nice pot of tea all made.”
“Good. I’m cold and thirsty. Let me run my hat and gloves upstairs, then I’ll be right down to help.”
“No rush. The soup and cornbread will stay warm.”
“It smells wonderful.” Camille hurried up the stairs, placing her things in her room. She took the Bible from her bag, relieved to see that it hadn’t gotten wet. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she smoothed her hair and adjusted a few pins before going back down to the kitchen.
Nola was ladling the soup into bowls. “The cornbread is on the warming shelf. If you want to set it on the table, then get these bowls, we’ll be all set to eat.”
When everything was ready, Camille paused while Nola sat down, then joined her at the table. She had already learned that her landlady said grace at every meal. Bowing her head, she folded her hands in her lap.
“Heavenly Father, we thank You for this food that You provided. We thank You for the rain, too, but You’ve already provided enough. You can turn off the spigot anytime. Please pr
otect folks who live near the streams and creeks and anyone working out in the storm. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” whispered Camille.
“So what’s going on in town?” Nola buttered a piece of cornbread and took a bite.
“Nothing. There was hardly anyone there besides the shopkeepers. Ty didn’t have a single customer.”
Nola’s eyes began to twinkle. “So did you visit a spell and keep him company?”
“I did.” Camille took a spoonful of soup. “This tastes as good as it smells. Is it hard to make?”
“Nope. I’ll have Hester show you next time. Just chop a few vegetables and throw them in with some chicken and water and let it simmer all morning. I often tell her to make soup on Saturday, so she can leave early. What is our illustrious mayor up to? Had any more run-ins with Miller?”
“None that he mentioned. Ty, Cade and Red Mulhany are making plans to build an opera house.”
“It’s about time. Should have started on that a year or two ago.”
“Ty showed me some preliminary drawings, merely idea sketches. They appear to have thought things through. I’m going to put some money into it.”
“Better make sure you have a say, too. I like that. Those men need a woman’s input on this.”
Camille paused to eat some cornbread. “Maybe Hester can show me how to make this, too.”
“She could. Or I will, since I made this batch. It’s easier than the soup, as long as you don’t leave it in the oven too long.”
“Well, either it’s the best cornbread I’ve ever eaten, or I was starving.” She grinned and dipped a corner of the bread into the soup. “Probably both.”
She told Nola all about the opera house and listened to a few ideas the older lady had. She made a mental note to pass the information on to Ty. When they finished eating, she cleaned up the kitchen while Nola retired to her room for a nap. She didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave the dirty dishes until Monday morning.
Camille went upstairs to her room. The night before, she had scooted the rocking chair over closer to the stovepipe which ran up one wall. It wouldn’t be warm enough to stay very long, but it would do until she read the verses Ty had noted. Sitting down, she tipped the Bible toward the window to use the gray light coming through the panes and read his inscription again. She traced a fingertip over the words.
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