Lariats, Letters, and Lace

by Agnes Alexander

  Since she and Joshua had not married yet, she received no official notification. The letter and Joshua’s personal effects were sent to Joshua’s parents. It was only when the Penrose wagon carrying a stern-faced David Penrose and a sobbing Ellen at his side with a tearful Anna and frightened Alice huddled in the back had pulled in the front of their house in the middle of a workday that Mali had known something terrible had happened.

  Mali, along with her mother, Nancy, had burst into tears upon learning the news. Even then-fourteen-year-old Joe, annoyed over the obvious crush then-twelve-year-old Anna had on him, had been considerate enough of her grief over the loss of her brother to help her and Alice down from the wagon and walk beside them as the two families made their way into the Forsythe home for lemonade and biscuits with berry jam from the last of Nancy Forsythe’s previous year’s batch. There, Mali had heard read to her and her family the letter of condolence from Joshua’s commanding officer.

  But Mali did not have a copy of it. All she possessed to treasure were the letters written to her by Joshua himself, including this last one finished in the bold hand of his friend—a man she knew only by name and the comments Joshua had written over the two years he had been gone. Beyond Joshua telling her Hal and his family lived in Vallejo Mills, which was somewhere on the southeast end of the San Francisco Bay, she knew nothing about him.

  Mali recalled the day she had received this last letter. After reading it several times to herself, she had shared it with her mother. Nancy Forsythe had kindly pointed out to her that the Penrose family had brought her word of Joshua’s death, and now it was her turn to share these last words with his family. When Mali and Nancy arrived at the Penrose home, they learned the family had also received a letter from Joshua sent by the same benefactor. With a smile on her lips, Mali recalled how envy had flamed in Ellen Penrose’s eyes when the realization hit her that it was Mali, not her, Joshua’s mother, who had possession of Joshua’s final words written before his death. It was small comfort, but Mali accepted it with gratitude.

  Once again, Mali puzzled over Joshua’s last sentence written by his hand.

  I done all I can for your future…

  It had been written as though she would know to what he referred. She had yet to understand his meaning. Because they had not married before he enlisted and went away, he left her nothing to inherit: no money, and not even his personal effects. Mali wondered if she would go to her grave trying to figure out what he meant by that last statement.

  “Mali, are you about packed in there? I could use your help in the kitchen.” Nancy’s words called through the door shook Mali out of her reverie. She quickly folded the letter and placed it in its spot of honor on the stack of letters from Joshua. “I’m just about done, Mama. I’ll be right there.”

  “Remember to pack your leather work gloves, Mali. If you have time, I’m sure Lizzie would appreciate it if you could get her garden worked and planted so by the time she is able to leave the baby and step outside for awhile she’ll have some greens coming up.”

  “I will, Mama.”

  That decided it for Mali. Although it would be a month before the last frost—months earlier than in Massachusetts where the family had come from when Mali was just a little girl—she would be too busy working a garden to moon over the letters. Mali’s days would be full. She would still be busy once she returned home. Mali knew her mother would put in some radishes, broccoli and lettuce greens. But it was Mali who had the green thumb and who would plant the rest of the garden.

  Now she had worked through the worst of her grief, she did not read Joshua’s letters nearly as often as she had immediately after she had received word that he had been killed. If she were to honestly think about it, it had been almost a month since she had last read them completely through. She would keep them at home and anticipate reading them again once her brother-in-law brought her home when they gathered at the Forsythe ranch for Easter. With the holiday on April first this year, it would be early enough for her to have plenty of time to plant her garden and expect a big harvest, especially if they had a late Indian summer. She carefully stashed the prized packet in the bottom of the trunk she kept at the foot of her bed.

  Mali usually kept her leather gloves in the barn along with the hand tools for the garden. To protect them from the foggy dampness of winter, she had brought them into her room before Christmas. She folded them in one of the squares of muslin she used as a facecloth and set it in the top of her valise just before she joined her mother in the main part of the house.

  Chapter 3

  “Wagon’s coming, Mama,” Joe breathlessly blurted out as he burst through the door.

  “Oh, no!” Nancy lamented as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “I knew Mr. Penrose said to be ready so he could take us as soon as he got a break, but I thought sure he would send one of the girls over with word so we could make final preparations.”

  “Would have been nice, as long as it was Alice and not Anna,” Joe opined.

  “That’s enough of that attitude toward Anna, young man,” Nancy chastised. “She is a sweet, young girl. You should be flattered she has a schoolgirl crush on you.”

  “Well, I’m not. It’s embarrassing, Mama, especially when all the fellas at church know it. I’m tired of getting teased about it.” Joe stepped back out on the front porch to watch the approach of the wagon.

  “Come help me, please, Mali,” Nancy shook her head in frustration. “I’ve about got these beans fully cooked and the crusts made to get this meat and potato stew baked into turnover pies. I need to leave something for Joe while we are gone. I know that boy, at fifteen, thinks he is full-grown, but I hate to think what he might do to my kitchen if he is forced to prepare all his own food while we are gone.”

  “He’ll be fine, Mama. He can scramble eggs and make flapjacks. It won’t kill him if that’s all he eats until you get back home. It’ll only be three to four days.”

  “I know. Perhaps it is the state of my kitchen I worry about if he is left to prepare all his own food,” Nancy grumbled. Then she turned to fully face Malinda. “I hope you realize my asking you to stay with your sister instead of leaving you home with Joe is a big sacrifice for me. I would so love to spend the month and a half with Lizzie and that sweet new granddaughter. But, you’re younger and healthier and can do more for her, not to mention I worry you and Joe would squabble far too much if it were just the two of you at home. Joe’s of an age where he is trying to prove his manhood, and I know you don’t have the patience to let too much get by in order to keep the peace.”

  “Mama, I’m not a little girl anymore. You know Joshua and I had set a date before his father convinced him to wait to get married until both he and Papa were home again. Except…” Mali’s voice faded and her body slumped as the sadness overwhelmed her. She glanced at her mother, who now stared off into the distance. They both felt painfully aware of the knowledge that neither Joshua Penrose nor Charles Forsythe made it home. Mali straightened up and swallowed, determined to exhibit the maturity she knew her mother hoped she had attained. “Mama, I know it is a sacrifice for you to come back home with Joe instead of being the one to stay with Lizzie. I thank you for that. I will enjoy being with little Julia. I promise, I will help Lizzie around the house, and I’ll get her garden in before I come home.”

  “Not the Penroses.” Joe burst back into the house with his announcement. “I can tell it isn’t either Jeremy or Mr. Penrose. He’s young, maybe in his twenties, but it isn’t Penrose’s wagon, so I don’t know who it is.”

  “Thank you, Joe.” Whether Nancy sighed with relief or frustration, her two children could not tell. “That may mean I have a little more time to finish in the kitchen. Joe, either in or out, but close the door. If you choose to wait outside for our visitor, please welcome him and ask him his business. Mali, it’s getting close to dinnertime. Please set another place. As long as he means well, we’ll not send him away hungry.”

  Joe stepped
outside and slammed the door as Mali wordlessly reached for another plate, cup and fork to put on the table across from where she usually sat, next to Joe’s chair. Unless they had a full house for a meal, the family still left Charles Forsythe’s chair at the head of the table empty.

  The door opened more slowly this time as Joe quietly stepped into the room and pressed it shut behind him, keeping both hands on the latch. A perplexed expression on his face, he stared at his sister as if searching for an answer only he knew the question to. “Mali? The man says his name is Henry Avery. Isn’t that the name of the man who signed the bottom of Joshua’s last letter?”

  Mali sucked in a lungful of air. “Yes. Did he say why he is here?”

  Joe shrugged his shoulders. “He says he has something to give you. He didn’t say what.”

  “It doesn’t matter why he is here, Joe.” An annoyed tone underscored Nancy’s words. “Where are your manners? Invite him in.”

  “I did, Mama. He said he didn’t want to be a bother. He asked if he could just speak to Mali.”

  Nancy propped the handle of the wooden spoon on the lip of the bean pot and hurried to the front door. Both Mali and Joe followed her in time to see her hurry down the stairs toward their guest.

  Joe followed his mother, but Mali, suddenly feeling shy, held back and stayed on the porch. She studied the man sitting in the wagon behind a sturdy pair of sorrel draft horses.

  Joshua had mentioned Hal—Henry Avery—several times in his letters, but he had not once described his appearance other than that he was taller than Joshua had been. Of course, that wasn’t saying much. The Penrose men were built short and stocky. The man Mali saw before her was thinner than Joshua, almost wiry, with long arms and a long, narrow face. In spite of his dark brown slouch hat—not a forage cap like so many returning Union soldiers wore—his brown hair appeared to be several shades darker and possibly with more yellow in it than her own light brown hair. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes which were shaded by his hat brim, but his tanned skin bore witness that he spent a great deal of time outdoors. He wore black wool trousers and a light, homespun shirt covered by a brown waistcoat several shades darker than his wool outer coat.

  Her mother’s words of introduction pulled Mali back into the present. “Mr. Avery, welcome to the Forsythe ranch. It is an honor to meet one of the men who served with Joshua. The Forsythes and the Penroses are like family, as you may know. We both came out from Massachusetts in the fifties and have been farming the Santa Clara Valley ever since.”

  “Yes, Josh often mentioned how close the two families are.”

  The deep, rich tones of Henry Avery’s voice alone, so different from the higher pitched tones often filled with laughter that had belonged to Joshua, drew Mali to him. She sensed that she could sit and listen to him speak for hours, not to hear the words, but to feel their calming quality. She found herself inching to the edge of the porch.

  His next words motivated her to action.

  “I have a letter from Joshua for Malinda. I gave him my word of honor I would hand it directly to her.”

  Mali stepped down the stairs and hurried to her mother’s side. As she looked into his face more closely—gray eyes, she now saw—she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. She knew her hair with its straight hanks that often fell to frame her face was nondescript. Still, people often complimented her on her wide, clear blue eyes framed by dark brown lashes. It was her mother who had assured her more than once that her best feature was her clear pink and white complexion that didn’t freckle and had escaped the ravishes of teenage acne.

  “This is my daughter, Malinda,” Nancy said. “And I assume my son Joe already introduced himself to you earlier.”

  ****

  “Nice to meet all of you, Miss Forsythe, Joe.” Hal nodded to each in turn. “Like I told Joe earlier, I have a letter I promised to deliver to Miss Forsythe in person.”

  Hal tried to not stare at the lovely young woman before him. He could now fully understand why Joshua had felt she was so special. This young woman he had only known from Joshua’s talk about her and a few snippets from her letters Joshua had occasionally shared with him far exceeded what he had expected. He wondered if she still grieved for Joshua, or if she had found another beau. He doubted it would be long before another fortunate man would catch her eye and capture her heart. He only knew it would not be him—not after what happened to him and the damage that continued to plague him. Still, he had an obligation to fulfill.

  He watched Mali wait patiently as he reached his leather-gloved hand into an inside coat pocket to pull out a worn, wrinkled envelope that had started to discolor. She reached to take it from him.

  “If there is anything I can do for you, Miss Forsythe, please let me know. Otherwise, I do not wish to impose upon your time, and I will be on my way.”

  Two of the three, thought Hal. He would not burden her with the third thing Joshua had somehow convinced him to swear to on his word of honor. She would no doubt consider it an insult.

  Hal expected Mali to tear open the envelope and read it contents. Instead, she turned her attention to him. He was ready to leave, but he soon realized she had other ideas.

  “Tell me, Mr. Avery,” she said with a teasing smile as she shoved the letter into her pocket, “Did you offer to help as a show of good manners, or is that also something Joshua asked you to do along with deliver this letter?”

  “Malinda…” There was no mistaking the warning in Nancy’s voice. Hal watched Mali ignore her mother as she continued to study his face waiting for an answer.

  “Miss Forsythe, if there truly is something I can do to help you or your family, I most certainly am willing as long as I am able. But, to answer your question more to the point, yes, Joshua did extract a promise from me that if something happened to him, I would offer you all possible assistance. We live some miles apart, but I assure you, if there is ever anything within my ability to do for you, I hope you will call on me.”

  “Then, please, come into the house and visit with us for awhile.” Mali graced him with her most fetching smile. “Joe, if you don’t mind, will you see to his horses before you join us? Mr. Avery, perhaps you could tell us a little of your friendship with Joshua—as much or as little as you are comfortable speaking about, considering the war and you being with him when he died. If you’d like, I think we may have some coffee left from breakfast to warm you up. We also have water or milk to offer. And I know Mama came out to invite you to share dinner with us. I’ve already set your place at the table.”

  Hal froze with indecision. He would love nothing better than to spend more time talking with Malinda Forsythe. But if he climbed out of the wagon, she would learn of his deficiency. After seeing her, the last thing Hal wanted was the humiliation of having her witness the spectacle of him getting himself on the ground.

  “I sincerely do not wish to be a burden to you and your family, Miss Forsythe.”

  “You won’t be, Mr. Avery, unless you decline our offer of hospitality. For one thing, I thought I already received Joshua’s last letter. I would like to better understand how it came about that he tasked you with bringing a different letter to me in person. I wouldn’t want to keep you if you have another pressing matter to attend to, but I hope you can stay and visit awhile and perhaps enlighten us.”

  Hal took a deep breath. She wanted details about Joshua. He owed it to his friend to share what he knew with her. Well, perhaps not everything—only those circumstances that would help her accept his loss. He would swallow his pride and stay for a short while.

  ****

  Malinda held her breath as she watched Henry Avery hesitate, as if debating whether or not to join them. Apprehensive, she barely disguised the urgency she felt—a feeling she did not wish to examine too closely. He must join them for a visit.

  Why did she feel drawn to this man? Was it only her desire to learn more about Joshua? Or was it the messenger who now so intrigued her? Why did she fee
l loathe to merely accept the letter and let Henry Avery go? Did this mean her heart was fickle, that she had stopped being loyal to Joshua’s memory? After all, he had been dead almost two years.

  As soon as Henry Avery wrapped the leads around the brake handle, Mali quietly let go of the breath she had not realized she was holding. He would stay and visit. As soon as he reached to the floorboard in front of his seat and picked up a cane, she began to suspect a possible reason for part of his reluctance to leave the wagon to join them for a visit. Joshua had never said anything in his letters about his friend Hal being injured. Perhaps he had received a wound after Joshua died.

  “I got the horses, Mr. Avery.” Joe moved to the head of the lead horse.

  “Thank you, Joe. And call me Hal.”

  Malinda’s eyes crinkled with a sparkle as she nodded her thanks to her brother, knowing how pleased her brother no doubt felt that this man, this war veteran who had fought with Joshua, had invited him to regard him as an equal. She kept her focus on Mr. Avery’s face as it grew stiff with resolve, aware of his awkwardness as he climbed out of his wagon with a weak right leg. She politely avoided revealing her awareness of his struggle. Joe waited to take the horses to the trough until after his mother and sister had escorted Henry as far as the porch. Nancy hurried up the stairs, leaving Mali to escort Henry.

  Mali patiently stayed by Henry’s side as he took each step. He stepped up with his left foot and then used his cane to pull his right leg up. She opened the door for him and motioned him to the chair before the place setting she had prepared for him.

  “Would you care to chance that coffee I mentioned earlier, Mr. Avery, or do you prefer water or milk?’

  “I’ll chance the coffee, Miss Forsythe. Even if it has been sitting, I’m sure it is better than that swamp swill we sometimes found ourselves drinking while on campaign. If you don’t mind, I’m not used to standing on much ceremony at home. Please, feel free to call me Henry or Hal.”