by Karen Kirst
He dropped into a chair and raked his fingers through his hair. “I should have. I meant to. I even tried several times, but…” A red flush crept up his neck as he stared at the rug.
Despite her eagerness to find enough material to convince a lawyer to take on her case, her heart went out to Henry. She’d been so focused on helping the children deal with their grief that she hadn’t thought about what he was going through. She pulled out a chair and sat facing him. “It’s all right. We’ll do it together. Tonight, after the children are in bed.”
She waited for him to speak, the merriment in the parlor a sharp contrast to the silence in the dining room. Several seconds passed before he responded. When he finally did, his voice was thick. “Thank you for the offer. I appreciate it. And if you need my help with the party, what with Gladys being gone and all, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Not that she had any intention of taking him up on his offer. This was her opportunity to make an impression on the children, as well as the townspeople, and earn some goodwill. That could come in handy if she found herself facing a jury comprised of locals, which seemed more likely, thanks to the banker’s revelation.
She’d prayed for grounds to have Henry’s rights as executor and guardian revoked. If what Mr. Nichols had said was true and there was an outstanding mortgage, she might have found just what she needed to secure representation and build a case.
For some reason, that didn’t make her as happy as she’d expected.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Take all the time you need, Henry.” Norma cast a glance at the two girls playing in her parlor and smiled. “Yvonne welcomes any opportunity to spend time with Dot.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t like to take advantage of their neighbor’s generosity, but with Gladys married and off on her honeymoon with Mr. Staples, and Lavinia already downtown on an errand of some sort, Henry had no choice. He couldn’t take a four-year-old to a business meeting. Not that he wanted to go at all.
The weekend had flown by. Normally, he looked forward to Monday and the start of a new week filled with opportunities and adventures, but he wasn’t looking forward to what Mr. Nichols had to say.
Even though a search of Jack’s desk hadn’t resulted in the discovery of mortgage papers, that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. The banker had spoken with certainty after Gladys’s wedding, his startling message having clenched Henry’s stomach.
Lavinia had tackled the hunt for the documents with determination and her usual thoroughness, searching every closet, cupboard and bureau in the house. She must be as eager to disprove Mr. Nichols as he was. A man could do well with an ally like her.
And speaking of Lavinia, she’d be waiting at the bank for him, and she valued punctuality. He’d best hustle.
Henry arrived on Main Street just as Lavinia stepped out of the mercantile. Her shoulders sagged, and she shook her head.
He strode after her, catching up to her as she neared the bank. “Lavinia.”
She stopped and turned his way. “Oh, good. You’re not there yet. I was afraid I was going to be late.”
He stifled a smile. Evidently, she’d been baking. “Looks like you tangled with some flour. I’ll take care of it for you.” He brushed her cheek, removing the powdery streak. Her skin was soft, her eyes wide. He stared at his hand, which he had yet to remove, and jerked it away.
“Did you get it all?” Her question came out whisper soft.
“I believe so. You look lovely.”
Lovely? What had come over him? First, he’d let his big ol’ paw linger, and then he’d opened his mouth, spouting words he hadn’t meant to utter. She was a beautiful woman, though. He smiled every time he thought about her standing at the top of the stairs in that red gown, waiting to come down before Gladys had. Lavinia had so captivated him that he’d begun playing one of the Scottish tunes his father had taught him when he was a wee lad. She’d looked as surprised by his choice as he’d been.
“Thank you. We should be going.” She set off down the plank walkway at a brisk pace, her boot heels tapping out a staccato beat.
He matched his stride to hers. “Is everything all right? You were frowning when you came out of the shop.”
“I’ve had a bit of a setback regarding the party. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“I appreciate the offer, but you’ve already done so much. I’m sure things will work out.”
Her independence was an admirable trait, but one that made it difficult for her to accept help. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
She nodded but said nothing.
They reached the bank moments later and went inside.
“Welcome. I’ve been expecting you.” Mr. Nichols crossed the lobby, extended his hand and shook Henry’s. Lavinia offered hers, and the banker shook it as well. “Let’s go to my office, shall we?” He swept an arm toward the doorway beside the teller’s cage.
Lavinia perched on the flowery armless chair in front of the banker’s expansive desk, looking every bit the elegant lady she was, despite the fleck of flour Henry had missed. He took a seat in the supple leather wingback chair. The well-appointed room smelled of furniture polish, India ink and money.
Mr. Nichols plopped down on his centripetal spring armchair, a clever creation on wheels that had Henry imagining what it would take to forge an intricate design like that. The banker reached into a drawer and pulled out a document and ledger. He flipped open the latter, thumbed through it until he came to the page he was after and set a paperweight on the opposite one to keep the book open to that spot.
Henry’s stomach pitched when he read the words Hawthorn Mortgage at the top of the page. Despite having found nothing in the house to indicate Jack having taken out a loan, it appeared he’d done so. Henry ventured a glance at Lavinia. She, too, was looking at the name penned in crisp black letters.
Unlike him, she appeared to take the revelation in stride. Her calmness while awaiting the news of what would happen to the home Jack and Pauline had worked hard to provide for their family was admirable.
Mr. Nichols looked from Lavinia to Henry. “I owe you both an apology.”
Hope sprang to life. Could the banker have gotten his facts wrong? Had he discovered that Jack had paid off the loan years before?
“It was evident neither of you knew about the mortgage, which I found puzzling.”
Lavinia leaned forward. “I’m curious why you hadn’t mentioned it to Henry before, after his brother’s passing. Surely, with Henry being Jack’s executor, you would have wanted him to be aware of your bank’s claim on the estate.”
Her question echoed one Henry had asked himself.
“I’d assumed he would have found the papers among Jack’s things and come to see me if he had any questions. Since he hadn’t and the date of the payment was drawing near, I decided to bring up the matter when I saw you two alone at Emery’s wedding.”
“Lavinia and I searched the house afterward, but we didn’t find anything.”
Mr. Nichols shook his head. “No. You wouldn’t have, and that’s my fault. It wasn’t until yesterday that I recalled a brief conversation Jack and I had back in the fall of ’56. Much of Placerville had been destroyed in a series of fires earlier that year. Because fires are common occurrences with the many wooden buildings in the towns here in the Gold Country, such as this one, our bank had just purchased one of Wilder’s fireproof Salamander safes, which I’d mentioned to Jack. He brought in the promissory note and asked me to store it inside. I had my teller go through the safe first thing this morning. He located the note in the back behind some papers we rarely remove.” The banker held up the document he’d placed on his desktop. “I’m sorry about the confusion.”
Henry’s mouth had gone dry
, making forming his question difficult, but it had to be asked. “Where do things stand?”
Mr. Nichols smoothed his neatly trimmed mustache and cleared his throat, delaying tactics that heightened Henry’s anxiety. “I don’t know if Jack told you, but he was having some difficulty making ends meet. His annual mortgage payment was due on the thirtieth of June, but he didn’t have the money this past summer. When the other smithy in town opened a few years back, he experienced a drop in business. He asked for an extension on the loan this past May. Since he was a valued customer and had never been late on a payment before, the board granted it.”
“An extension?” Lavinia asked. “For how long?”
“Six months. The payment is due the thirty-first.”
“That’s only two weeks from today.” She glanced at Henry, the shock on her face mirroring what he felt.
“How much is it?” He braced himself for the answer.
Mr. Nichols spun the ledger around and pointed to a number. Henry and Lavinia leaned forward. “This is how much is due that day, but this—” the banker moved his finger to another figure “—is the total balance remaining.”
Henry chest tightened. The amount was equal to five payments, meaning the house wouldn’t be paid off for another four years.
Lavinia’s lovely features had relaxed, so much so that she appeared calm and composed when Henry was anything but. “My sister did mention in a letter several years ago that she feared Jack might have been out to impress her by building such a large house. Apparently, he overextended himself. What will happen now?”
“Nothing…” Mr. Nichols let the word hang for several nerve-wracking seconds, “provided the payment is made on time.”
“I’ll make it, but…” Reality settled on Henry with the weight of an anvil. At present, he couldn’t even make the mortgage payment due at the end of the month.
Lavinia sat there silently waiting, as did Mr. Nichols.
A grandfather clock stood in the corner like a sentry. Each tick of its pendulum was a stark reminder of how little time was left before the loan payment would come due.
Henry fought a wave of nausea. If he couldn’t come up with the payment, he could lose the house. He refused to let that happen—he’d do whatever it took, even if it meant lowering the asking price for his hotel up in Marysville to facilitate a quick sale. “It could take me a few days to come up with the money.”
The banker spun the ledger around, closed it with an ominous thump and rested his clasped hands on top of the leather cover. “My friend, Emery Staples, said you mentioned having found a buyer for Jack’s shop.”
“I did, but things didn’t work out quite like I planned.” He explained the terms of the sale. “I gave Dealy my word. I can’t go back on it.”
“Of course not,” Lavinia agreed quickly, easing some of the tension in Henry’s shoulders, “but there are other ways out of your situation.”
His relief was short-lived. The banker might interpret her statement as supportive and encouraging, but Henry knew exactly what she was suggesting. She wanted him to let her take the children back east, but nothing and no one—not even the curly-haired beauty with eyes as warm as a steaming mug of cocoa—would make him consider giving up his nieces and nephew.
Mr. Nichols nodded. “Miss Crowne has a point.” It’s possible I could find a buyer for the house who would assume the loan and pay you the difference between that and the price you agreed on.”
Lavinia smiled. “That would be kind of you.” She turned from the banker to him. “Wouldn’t it, Henry?”
“I have no intention of selling the house.” He stood, gave her a curt nod of dismissal and held out a hand to the banker. “Thank you for apprising us of the situation, Mr. Nichols. I’ll be in contact soon.”
But first, he had to figure out a solution to the dilemma that had been dropped in his lap.
* * *
Sweat ran down Henry’s face. His muscles ached and his lungs burned, but he didn’t care. Pounding red-hot iron had eased some of the tension that had him tied in knots.
Why had Jack jeopardized his family’s future by taking out a mortgage on his house? And why hadn’t his brother said anything about it? Those questions had plagued Henry ever since he’d walked out of Mr. Nichols’s office two hours ago.
Henry gripped the wolf jaw tongs firmly and studied the piece held in them. Despite not having worked with metal in eight years, his decorative twists on the long handle had turned out well, as had the elongated bowl shape below them. Now to put the final details on the leaf he’d made earlier before welding it just below the loop from which the utensil would hang.
Dealy nodded approvingly. “You haven’t lost your touch, Mr. Hawthorn.”
Henry started. He’d been concentrating so deeply on his work that he’d forgotten the young smithy, who was hard at work in the shop that was now his. He’d invited Henry to try his hand. In his present state, taking his frustrations out on metal had seemed like a good idea. It was better than snapping at the woman who could make him happier than a kitten under a leaky cow one minute and madder than a cat caught in a creek the next. “Smithing is like milking. Once you’ve done it, you don’t forget how.”
“Why’d ya give it up?”
That was a good question. He set down the items and stared at his hands, which were coated with charcoal and soot. “I suppose it’s because I wanted to experience new things.”
“I love the work. I can’t imagine doing nothing else.”
Henry clapped a hand on Dealy’s shoulder. “You do fine work. I’m glad to know you’ll be keeping Jack’s dream alive. He wanted this shop to be one of the best in the Gold Country.”
“Don’t know if I can make that happen, but you won’t find many who work as hard as me.”
“I don’t doubt that.” The young man’s confidence reminded Henry of himself. He’d headed west determined to make something of himself, and he had. He’d left Sutter Creek for Marysville eight years ago with his meager savings. Now he owned a successful hotel, providing housing for others, although he hoped he wouldn’t own it much longer.
If only a buyer would come along who was willing to buy the hotel at the reduced price he’d telegraphed to his Marysville lawyer before heading to the smithy. He could then use the money to pay off Jack’s mortgage and see to it that the children would be able to remain in their home.
He left the shop, completed the gentle climb up Church Street, entered the house and removed his coat, hat and gloves. Once again, he was struck by his hands. He’d vowed not to do the work of a smithy again, not to bear the stains that marked him as a common laborer. What had come over him? He could have bought that silver-handled shoehorn at the mercantile, but instead he’d made one out of iron. Was it the need to release the tension that had been building for weeks, the urge to stand where Jack had stood and remember the bond they’d forged when they were boys—or something else entirely?
The answer came swiftly. He missed his brother deeply, but the reason he’d felt the need to pound iron was because he’d hoped Lavinia would have admitted defeat and retreated by now. She had no right to take the children, and yet she wasn’t about to back down. The exasperating woman was as determined as she was beautiful.
He didn’t want to fight with her. He wanted to kiss her. Soundly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lavinia stood in the kitchen the following afternoon, gripping the mixing bowl with one hand and the wooden spoon with the other and rehearsed to herself. “You offered to help me with the party, Henry, and I’d welcome your assistance.”
No, that wouldn’t work. If she approached Henry with a request like that, he might get the impression she wanted him around, which she didn’t. After the heated look he’d given her when they’d left Mr. Nichols’s office, the last thing she needed wa
s Henry thinking she enjoyed his company.
She stirred the dry ingredients with such vigor that she almost fluffed the flour over the side as she had the day before. Apparently, she’d managed to get some on her face in the process. Warmth rushed into her cheeks at the memory of him brushing away the evidence of her mishap.
He’d been so intent on his task that he’d forgotten where they were, or so it had seemed, since he’d started and jerked his hand away. While that had been surprising, what was even more so was the attraction evident in his eyes. She’d thought she’d seen admiration in them when she’d prepared to descend the stairs during Mr. Staples and Gladys’s wedding. Perhaps she’d been right, after all, and Henry was drawn to her. She swiped the back of her hand over the spot where his fingers had rested far longer than was necessary and smiled. A woman did like to be noticed by a man, especially by such a handsome one.
Unfortunately, his obstinacy was proving problematic. He was as set on keeping the children in Sutter Creek as she was on taking them back to Philadelphia. What he didn’t know, though, was that the meeting with Mr. Nichols had given her the grounds she needed to build a case against him. Henry might be the executor, but he’d violated at least three statutes.
One article of the law allowed him two months to give notice to the estate’s creditors, or the court could revoke the letters of administration that granted him his rights. She’d discovered from perusing back issues of the Amador Weekly Ledger, loaned to her by Norma’s husband, that Henry hadn’t placed such a notice in the newspaper. Through a series of tactfully worded questions while at the mercantile checking on her housekeeper advertisement, Lavinia had also learned from the talkative owner that Henry hadn’t posted any notices around town either, thus putting him in violation.
If that was all she had to go on, she might have trouble making a case. Sutter Creek was a small town, after all, and everyone was aware of the tragedy that had befallen Jack and Pauline. Any of her brother-in-law’s creditors would surely have come forward as Mr. Nichols had.