Pa’s voice choked on the last word, and his face contorted. “Now you come back thinkin’ you can waltz right in and get all sorts of smiles and a big thank-you-kindly. It don’t work that way, boy. Not now and not ever.”
Tom fisted his hands by his sides. “Ma needed me. I told you that.”
“Yeah, so you said. But so did I. And she wasn’t sick when you took off and left us.”
“But all you wanted me for was work. It’s not like you cared about me. Ma got sick. Bad sick. It was cancer. I couldn’t leave her to …” He turned his head and choked back a sob.
The picture exploded in his mind—his mother lying on her bed, wasting away from the cancer that killed her one day at a time. As he’d sat by her bed helpless to take away the disease, he’d hated his pa. Hated that the man hadn’t followed his wife and convinced her to return home years ago.
Maybe she wouldn’t have come, but he didn’t so much as try. “Why, Pa? You never tried to see her after she left. You never wrote to her, not once. Why didn’t you care enough to come when she was dying? Why did you ignore my letter and stay away?”
Gravel crunched behind him, and Tom turned. Leah stood a few yards away, her fingers to her throat and her face white, Steven Harding one pace behind. Leah extended her hand toward their father. “Pa?”
Charles Pape’s face turned as red as a man whose head was stuck in a noose. “I don’t have to answer to you, boy. You run outta here and never looked back. You didn’t care about your sister, who nigh worried herself sick, or Millie, who looked like walkin’ death for months after you left. As for your ma …”
His face went from red to deathly pale as the blood drained from it. “I’m sorry she suffered, truly I am. But I won’t talk to you about her, or to anyone else. And that’s the end of it.” He stalked onto the porch, bolting through the front door and pulling it closed behind him with a decisive click.
Leah stared after her father, then turned her eyes to Tom. “Is it true, little brother? Did she suffer for months with only you to tend her?” She brushed her palm across her cheeks, swiping at tears that she couldn’t control. She’d gotten the first glimpse into her mother’s heart since she’d become an adult, and now this new pain was added to the rest of her troubles.
Cancer. The dread disease that doctors still didn’t understand or know how to treat. Only that the patient wasted away—sometimes lasting weeks, other times months, or even beyond—often in excruciating pain.
She wouldn’t wish that on anyone, and especially her mother. “Did Pa really know she was sick and refuse to come?”
Tom shot a look at Steven. “I don’t want to talk about it in front of strangers.”
Steven jerked as though suddenly awakened and took a step back. “You are right, of course. I have some things to take care of in the bunkhouse.” He bowed his head toward Leah. “If you need me for anything …”
Leah wanted to grab Steven’s hands and hold on tight, drawing from his gentle strength. She’d always seen herself as a strong, capable woman—sometimes more competent than her father—but right now she felt as weak as a newborn calf. “I want you to stay. Please,” she murmured to him.
Tom glared, not trying to hide his displeasure.
Leah glared back, then thought to soften her expression. “He’s not a stranger, Tom. He’s my friend, and I think if you’d let him, he’d be yours, too.”
Steven gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m not sure there’s any way I can help, but I’ll certainly listen and try.”
“Thank you.” She touched Steven’s arm, her other hand still clutching her wood box.
Tom curled his lip. “All people do is walk away when you need them. But I won’t fight you about it. I don’t really care.”
Tom kicked at a rock. “Nobody can help, mister. Not you, or Leah, or Pa. Ma’s dead and gone. There’s nothing to be done about it now.”
Steven arched his brows but didn’t respond.
Leah shifted the box to a spot deeper under her arm.
Tom lifted his head and jerked a thumb toward the box. “What’s that?”
She averted her eyes, unwilling to let him see too deeply into her heart. She allowed several moments to pass before she replied, “Some things I collected as a child. Ma and I put various objects in it when I was growing up.”
Her brother gave a dismissive wave. “Girls and their play-pretties. Truth be told, Leah, I’m about done with this place. It’s clear that old man in there doesn’t care about me at all.”
Distress coursed through Leah. “Tom! That’s no way to talk about Pa. Can’t you show some respect?”
“Why should I? He doesn’t care about either of us.”
She rounded on him, sorrow warring with anger in her heart. “I don’t know the details about what happened to Ma, or what happened between her and Pa. But I do know that you didn’t write to me when she got sick. You didn’t give me a chance to care for her or to say good-bye. So don’t point a finger at Pa.”
Tom hung his head. Finally, he lifted it, and his stormy eyes met hers. “I didn’t write because she told me not to.”
Leah felt as though she’d been pitched from a rank horse and landed flat on her stomach. “I don’t understand.” She gazed from Tom to Steven and back again, hoping one of them might have an explanation. “Why would she say that?”
Tom shook his head. “It wasn’t only you. She didn’t want me to write to Pa or Millie, either. I think she hated having anyone see her toward the end, once she knew she wasn’t going to make it.”
Leah’s lips parted. “But you did write to Pa. You didn’t heed what Ma said, and you wrote anyway.” It wasn’t a question. She’d heard what Tom had tossed at their father and Pa’s less-than-charitable reply.
Tom squared his shoulders. “I did.”
“Then I don’t understand why you couldn’t have done the same for me. Pa might have been able to ignore your request, but I would have come.” She wrapped her arms around herself to contain a shiver, hating the image that wouldn’t leave her mind of Ma lying sick and dying.
His gaze shifted away, and his body tensed. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Yes, it does! It matters to me. You and Pa both kept me from knowing about Ma from the time she left until she died. That wasn’t kind, and it wasn’t fair, and I want to know the reason.”
Steven touched her shoulder in a warm, comforting way. Leah moved closer. Steven placed his arm across her shoulder and, suddenly, all felt settled and steady once more.
Tom took a step closer, his breathing ragged. “You want to know why? I’ll tell you. Because I left home to take care of Ma. I abandoned the ranch and everything I knew to follow her. And you know what happened? She cried and carried on because it was you she wanted. Not me. I fetched and carried for her when she got sick because she was my ma and I loved her.
“And all she could talk about was you. ‘Leah is such a sweet girl,’ she said. ‘I miss her so much.’ And, ‘Why doesn’t Leah write to me?’ It wasn’t fair, that’s what. If I’d written to you and you had come, she would have forgotten me completely.” His red-rimmed eyes glimmered with unshed tears.
Leah could only stare, barely able to believe what she was hearing. “I can’t accept that, Tom. I’m sure Ma appreciated everything you did for her, and she loved you very much. You were there every day, but I was gone. That’s the only reason she spoke of me so much. It would have been the same for you, if I’d gone with her and you stayed here.”
He backed up a couple of steps, his eyes wild and his body shaking. “No, she loved you and didn’t care about me. I saw it for six years. Nothing you can say will change that. Nothing.” He turned and bolted for the bunkhouse.
Leah took a step, slipping out of Steven’s embrace, intent on following and trying to bring her brother some kind of comfort.
St
even grasped her hand. “No. Let him be, Leah. He needs time alone. If you go to him now, he’ll only resent you more.”
“I don’t understand why he resents me at all.” She pulled free, irritation at Steven’s comment overcoming the earlier warmth she’d felt at his touch. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m the one who was lied to and left behind, not Tom. He had our mother for years while I stayed on the ranch and put up with Pa.”
She crossed her arms. “Fine. I won’t talk to him now, but this business needs to get settled. Pa has to face some things about the past as well as the present, and Tom had better do the same.”
She turned and headed up the steps to the house, then pivoted to face Steven. “Forgive me, Steven. It’s not your fault either, but I find it hard to accept that you seem to have so much compassion for Tom after the way he’s behaved.”
He opened his mouth, but she was suddenly too weary to hear more. “We’ll talk another time, if you don’t mind. Right now I need to go to my room, read my mother’s letter again, and figure out what I’m going to do. Thank you for staying with me when I talked to Tom, and forgive me for my frustration. I meant what I said about you being a good friend and hoping you might be to Tom, as well, even if I don’t completely understand your reasoning.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
May 18, 1881
Steven settled behind his desk at the bank with a quiet groan, wishing he were back at the ranch. It was getting harder and harder coming to work each day, leaving Leah behind with her troubles and facing his own challenges, both at work and in his family life. His relationship was getting smoother with his sister and mother, and he thanked the Lord for that.
But he needed to make some important decisions. His job no longer held the thrill it once had or offered the same stimulating challenges. He’d hoped that the move to Baker City would bring contentment, but he realized anew that his position in La Grande had been eminently more satisfactory.
Was it because he was stuck in an office day after day at this new position, and he’d been able to travel while working in La Grande? Or had the discontent with his job come after living at the ranch and the fulfillment he’d found working with his hands? Whatever the case, he couldn’t continue this way much longer, disliking his job and praying the hours would pass quickly until time to close.
The gate set in the wood rail moved soundlessly, but the motion caught Steven’s eye, and he glanced up. He rose to his feet as his boss carefully closed the gate behind him. “Mr. Hunt. Did I miss an appointment with you, sir?” He peered at the clock sitting on a nearby shelf and racked his memory, but nothing came to mind.
His boss shook his head. His suit, as always, was impeccable, and his eyes sharp as he surveyed Steven’s office, then refocused his attention on his employee. “Getting along all right, Harding? Any troubling customers lately?”
Steven tried to contain his surprise and cover his unease, wondering where this was leading. “None to speak of. The usual requests for loans and an occasional extension, but nothing of consequence.”
He gestured to a chair. “Would you care to have a seat, sir?” He waited until the older man sat, then took his place behind his desk. Why had Mr. Hunt come in here instead of calling him into his office?
“I’m happy to hear that.” Mr. Hunt smoothed an imaginary wrinkle on the front of his lapel, then looked up. “Are you happy working here, Mr. Harding?”
“I, uh—certainly, sir. Why do you ask?” Steven straightened, praying his boss wouldn’t pick up on his hesitation and press the matter. “Is my performance of concern, sir?”
“Not at all, Mr. Harding.” He cast a look over his shoulder at the empty bank and lowered his voice. “By the way, I would have asked you to my office, but Mr. Parker is setting up in there for a meeting with some of the mine owners in an hour or so.”
He leaned his forearms on the front edge of Steven’s desk. “This is a bit confidential, which is why I came first thing this morning before we open the door to customers.”
“I see.” Steven didn’t, but he had no idea what else was expected. “How can I help, Mr. Hunt?”
“By giving me a satisfactory answer to what I’m going to propose.”
Steven’s mind scrambled over the possibilities and came up blank. “I’ll certainly try to be accommodating, sir.”
Hunt rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Good, good. That’s what I like to hear from my men.” A broad smile creased his face, a rarity except when in the company of large investors. “Here’s the situation. You remember Mr. Marvin Riddle at the La Grande bank, I assume?”
Steven gave a slow nod. “Of course. He was the vice president while I was there. A good man, as I recall.”
“I’m sure he is, but that’s not the issue. He’s been promoted and will be heading up a branch in Pendleton in two months’ time. The bank makes a number of substantial loans to farmers and ranchers in the area.”
Steven listened closely but still couldn’t decipher where he fit into this. “I’m happy for Mr. Riddle. He’s a hard worker and deserving man.”
“Quite so.” Mr. Hunt scooted his chair closer to the desk. “The board that governs all three banks, which I happen to sit on, met recently to decide on a replacement. We are offering the position to you, Mr. Harding, assuming you care to accept. I am aware that your mother and sister both live in Baker City now, but since La Grande was your mother’s home for a number of years, I imagine she would be content to return.”
Steven fumbled for words, but none came. He gave his head a slight shake, hoping to clear it. “Me, sir? The vice president?”
“It’s quite an honor, and of course, comes with a sizable salary increase. I can’t imagine anyone turning down an opportunity like this, but it’s your choice. You have one month to give me your decision, unless you feel you can tell me now?”
“No, sir. I mean, thank you, sir.” He forced a smile. “I’m quite honored, and I do appreciate the time to mull it over. You are correct. I have family to think about, as well as other considerations.”
“Certainly, Mr. Harding.” Hunt frowned and tapped his fingers on the desktop. “And if by chance you come to a decision sooner than thirty days, let me know. The board has another man in mind who already lives in La Grande, but you were at the top of our list. Other than family responsibilities, I can conceive of nothing that should cause a conflict.”
He pushed to his feet and towered over Steven’s desk. “Of course, we’ll be sorry to see you leave us here in Baker City. You’ve done an admirable job since you arrived, but I imagine you’ll want to accept the board’s offer.”
Steven stiffened but kept his smile firm. “As I mentioned, there are other considerations, but that doesn’t mean I’ll turn it down. Thank you again, sir, for your generous recommendation. You’ve given me much to think about.”
Hunt’s frown deepened, but he smoothed out the scowl as he spotted the owner of one of the mines.
Steven waited until his boss exited his office and disappeared inside his own door before sinking back into his chair. What had happened? Had the past ten minutes been real, or had he imagined it all?
Steven looked out over the main lobby of the bank as a line of customers formed at the first teller’s window and another two prominent businessmen strode toward Mr. Hunt’s office. Mr. Parker stood nearby, balancing a tray of coffee like a butler instead of a bank clerk. Business as usual.
Leave Baker City and move back to La Grande? Would his mother even consider such a thing now that she’d found Beth? Probably not. In fact, he knew she wouldn’t. Maybe Beth and Jeffery would think about moving to La Grande. His career as a writer and hers as an illustrator didn’t depend on the town where they lived. But somehow he doubted it. Beth seemed to have made friends at the boardinghouse, as well as the church, and Jeffery appeared quite content in Baker City. Besides, it appeared Beth’s adop
ted aunt intended to settle here as well.
Where did that leave him? The opportunity to take a vice presidency, which of course was only a stepping-stone to running a bank of his own, was immense.
Leah. Why hadn’t he thought of her first? The offer had hit him so hard and come so unexpectedly that he was surprised he’d even thought of his family. But it wasn’t as if he had any ties to Leah beyond friendship, although he’d change that if it were up to him.
There had been times recently when he’d touched her that she’d responded in a way that made his heart leap, but other times she puffed up like a startled porcupine.
He blew out a frustrated breath as another memory surfaced. Yesterday she’d appeared upset at his suggestion that she leave Tom alone and allow him to think through the turmoil assailing him. Somehow she’d seen that as taking her brother’s side rather than how Steven meant it—a warning that pushing Tom could result in more hurt for her.
He’d hoped that explaining his struggles with his own family would help Leah understand her brother a little better. But in all fairness, Tom wasn’t an easy person to be around. He hadn’t helped his case by keeping the truth from Leah all these years, no matter his excuse.
Steven dipped his pen in the ink pot and drew a blank sheet of paper from a stack. Time to get to work and put personal issues aside. Mr. Hunt would want this report by the time his meeting ended, and he’d better have it ready, or the offer of a new position, or keeping this one, might not be something that need trouble him any longer.
Chapter Twenty-Five
May 25, 1881
Steven hitched sideways in his saddle and peered across the brush-covered ground at Leah riding her gelding nearby. A week had passed since Mr. Hunt’s offer, and he still hadn’t told a soul. He’d planned on talking to Beth and his mother, and possibly Leah, but something held him back—more than likely, his own indecision, or possibly, concern over the various reactions of the women he cared for.
Dreaming on Daisies: A Novel (Love Blossoms in Oregon Series Book 3) Page 22