by Kari Trumbo
She smiled and sat in a pew. “Do you have any copying for me to do yet? I don’t really feel like going home, but I can’t be out about town either.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Now, why would that be? You are certainly old enough to walk about town on your own.”
“I don’t know if you saw him yet, but Mr. Cahill is back, and I’ve told you how Mama feels about any mention of him.”
“Yes, I recall. Do you think your parents will be joining us for service this Sunday?”
“No, sir. Just me, as usual.”
“Have your parents ever told you why they stopped attending?”
Lillian shook her head. “I’m just happy they allow me to attend. So many times, if they will not do something then I’m not allowed to, either.”
“That is a blessing. I’ll continue to pray for their return.” He walked to his lectern and grabbed a sheaf of paper. “Here are my notes for next Sunday. Feel free to sit here as long as you like. I’d like about ten copies, please.”
Lillian took the paper and sat at a small desk in the back that held the guest book and ink. She first wrote a note to the reverend that the ink well was low, then began her job of copying the text for the following week’s lesson.
Chapter Seven
James sat at his old desk in his father’s office, and a feeling of nostalgia settled on his shoulders. Everything was falling back into place, just as it had been before he’d made the worst decision of his life. It was like forgiveness, something he’d never bothered to ask for. Divorce was wrong; it said so in the Word. Whether it was his choice or not, he’d committed a sin and in the eyes of the Lord, this was a big one. Marriage was a covenant, a sacred vow, and he’d broken it.
He flipped open the account book to see that his father had told the absolute truth. The only handwriting in the book was his and his father’s. He took a deep breath. Business appeared to be good, and working for his father paid better than roofing. He opened the top drawer of his desk and an old picture of his fiancée looked back at him. He lifted it out and examined it. She did not smile. He’d never noticed how sad her eyes looked until just now, far removed from that time.
The picture had been taken as an engagement photo. He’d just told her he was leaving the lumberyard behind and striking it out as a bookkeeper at a large law firm in Billings. She hadn’t pressed him to stay, but her joy at marrying him had seemed to wane just after that. She’d been happy spending his money as soon as he’d made it, but their relationship never really rebounded.
He leveled the picture over the trash when something in the photo caught his eye. He brought it back to his desk and wiped the dust for a closer look. It was him and Gwendolyn standing in the street in a light embrace, but far in the background walking along was Lillian. She was staring right at them with a look of dejection on her young face. He touched the glass, trying to make the picture reveal more than it could.
He’d been so much older than Lillian that he’d never even noticed her in that picture. How often had she been there, watching in the background, knowing something was wrong? Why did she wait for his wedding day, when it was obvious to him even from the old photo that she knew something?
He dropped the frame into the trash and it shattered in the metal bin.
“My cleaning woman is not going to appreciate that.” His father walked into the room.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think before I did it.”
“At least all the glass stayed in the bin. Did you find everything in order with the account books?”
“Yes, it seems like you kept up everything well. I’m not sure why you need me; you have it all well in hand.”
“It takes a long time to do two jobs. I’m glad to have you back, son.”
“How did you manage to live so far from town and keep up with the business?” James closed the account book and pushed it to the edge of his desk.
“I came once a week to get orders and receipts. It really is amazing the place has done as well as it has without me here. It’s a testament to how honest the people of Cutter’s Creek are.” Mr. Cahill sat at his own desk.
James nodded, pulling the next drawer out on his desk. He’d always been meticulous with money matters, and his relationship had been no exception. He pulled out a folder and within found all the receipts of where and how he’d spent his money on his intended. It all came back to him, the lavish perfumes and soaps she’d requested. Jewelry, photographs, parties…his stomach tightened into a knot.
He was such a blind fool. How had he not seen that her only intent was money? Below the folder he found another book. Mathematical Primer 2. He opened the book and looked at the list of students he’d taught. The year before his engagement he’d been asked to help the school teacher. He was young and it had sounded pleasant enough at the time. The students liked him and treated him well.
He ran his finger down the list and stopped, moving it back up to a name he’d skimmed over. Lily Donaldson. That was how he’d known who she was, that long-ago day in the chapel. She had been in his class. He’d completely forgotten. The young Lily hadn’t made much of an impression on him; the older Miss Donaldson was another story. He hadn’t been able to keep her off his mind since he’d returned.
He tucked the book back into its place and shut the drawer, finally looking into the very bottom drawer. Inside, he found an old pair of his shoes that he used to change into once he got to work, to assure he’d never worn dusty shoes to meet with a client or bill collector. He slipped off his old boots and put them on, looking at the two-tone leather and intricate detail. He hadn’t been able to afford anything like it in months.
“Father, will you be staying here again, or do you intend to go back to Billings?”
“Our plan was to always stay near you. Gwendolyn kept you too busy to ever visit with us and we have missed you very much. Our intent is to sell the home in the city and remain here.”
He nodded. It wasn’t as if his prospects for getting remarried looked very good. He might as well live with his folks and let his mother take care of him a bit before he found his own place. He could save some money again that way.
~~~
Lillian sat in the back of the chapel, in the corner where she always situated herself so that she would not be in anyone’s way. No one even had to look at her if they didn’t wish to, and, in fact, most people avoided her and the back row altogether.
She looked at her copy of the sermon notes, though she knew them by rote at this point. It was to be an interesting study today and she didn’t want to miss a word. She hummed a hymn that came to mind, quietly as she waited for the little chapel to fill.
The bench lifted slightly as someone sat next to her in the short pew. She shot the intruder a look of indignation but it melted as quickly as it built. Mr. Cahill sat at the other end of her seat, beaming at her as if they shared some secret.
He leaned his head toward her and whispered, “I figured your parents would allow you to come to church.”
She could feel her cheeks flush, and the warmth in his eyes didn’t help the erratic thumping in her chest. “Surely it isn’t your goal to get me banned from church as well? I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t come.”
“I have no such intention, Miss Donaldson.” He looked at the flowers along the windowsills. “Did you bring them here?” He nodded toward them.
She smiled at the lovely colors, only just starting to fade. “I couldn’t throw them away.” She felt her cheeks grow even hotter. “I did keep one. Thank you.”
“I intended for you to keep all of them. I’m glad you were able to at least have one to enjoy.” His mouth flattened. He could not figure out why a young woman so controlled in her home would not choose to leave and live on their own. It was not often done, but he had heard of it.
He turned to ask her another question when a robust woman in front of him turned and cleared her throat loudly. “It is time for quiet now.” She looked down at hi
m. “Are you sure you should even be here…Mr. Cahill?”
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I need saving as much as anyone else.” He faced forward in his seat.
“From what I’ve heard, that ship has already sailed.”
Lillian gasped at the woman’s audacity. The woman turned her back on them. James stood and strode from the building, leaving Lillian short of breath and full of questions.
Chapter Eight
Lillian stood with her mother in the kitchen; the silence ate away at her as it always did. Penny’s mother, Sarah, would talk and laugh with her daughters. Why didn’t Mama ever laugh or give her comfort? Visiting Penny always left her feeling wonderful during and mildly jealous after the fact.
“Mama, is something bothering you?”
Her shoulders straightened into a rigid line. “Bothering me?” She slammed her paring knife onto the table. “You ask what is bothering me? I allow you to go to that church because it seems wrong to keep you away if you want to go. I’ve asked that you avoid Mr. Cahill, yet I hear he joined you at church on Sunday.
“I can only think that you are intentionally meeting him to disobey me. Haven’t we raised you, fed you, made sure you had an education and a roof over your head? We made sure you knew your manners and right from wrong, but I fear lately those lessons have fallen on deaf ears.”
“No, Mama. It isn’t true. I’ve never sought his attention. This is a small town; where can I go where he isn’t, and why is it so important to you that he stay away?”
“I suspected as much. You still fancy him. You mooned over him when he was your teacher, and you have no sense to realize you are mooning over him now. He is much older than you and the only reason he is showing you any attention at all is because I have forbidden it.”
“Then please, stop forbidding it so he can move on! I am tired of this argument. I can’t possibly win without leaving.”
“You won’t be leaving, but you will be spending more time in the house. I simply can’t have the scandalous talk anymore. To think, everyone is talking about my daughter meeting with a divorced man. Sitting next to him at church! Why, I am shocked the reverend even let him in the door.”
“How will I do my job if I cannot go over to the chapel and work? He has never seen me there; you would know if he had. Please say that I can still work…”
“This is the last straw, Lillian. You will mind me.”
“Mama.” Lillian dropped her voice and tried to adopt the gentlest tone she could muster. “I don’t understand why he vexes you so, and I’m sorry. I wish I knew what to say to make this right.”
“Just do as I ask and stay away from him.”
Lillian frowned. In order to do as her mother asked, she would have to be rude to Mr. Cahill, and he didn’t deserve that. He had been through enough already, by her account.
Lillian’s father came in and tossed his hat onto the table.
“Good evening, Father.”
He ignored her and went to his wife. “Supper’s not ready yet?”
“No, your daughter has been too busy flapping her jaws and running around with divorced men to help me. I’ll have it ready in a bit.” She scowled at Lillian.
“I’ll eat my dinner at the café.” Lillian lifted her hat from its peg.
“You’ll do no such thing. You don’t need to go out.” Mama slammed the pan onto the stove.
“Mama…” She paused, closed her eyes. Lord why? Why can’t she be understanding? She hung her hat back on its peg. “What can I do to help?”
“You can stay out of my way.” She pushed past Lillian to get to the small pantry.
Lillian picked up her shawl and stepped onto the porch. The evening had grown cool. She looked across town, the mercantile, the bank, the café and sheriff’s office. She closed her eyes; out of her field of view were the stagecoach, the boarding house, the little red chapel, and the lumber yard, where James worked. James. She sighed. Just thinking of him made heat crawl up her neck and infuse her cheeks.
“So why does a face so young carry so much burden on such a fine evening?”
Her eyes flew open. “Mr. Cahill, I’m beginning to think you are seeking me out.” She kept her voice low to keep Mama from hearing her.
His lip lifted in a lopsided smile. “I’ve told you as much.” He leaned on the railing. “So, care to share what’s got you looking so forlorn?”
Though the earth around them darkened, she took in everything about him: his strong shoulders, the cut of his new coat, his smile…her gaze lingered on his lips and she knew she should look away, hopefully before he noticed.
“I don’t think you would understand, Mr. Cahill.”
He pulled a tiny pink wild rose from his lapel and handed it to her. “I thought you might be able to sneak one in so small.”
“I don’t want to hurt my mama.” She hesitated, her hand hovering between them. She wanted to take it, but her desire warred with her need to do as her mama asked, even if she didn’t understand it.
“Can I assume that your mama wouldn’t allow me to come to call on you?” His eyes flitted over her face, as if he were memorizing every detail.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think she would ever agree, and Papa always agrees with Mama to keep the peace.” Her stomach sank low and she felt ill as she said the words. It would always be so.
“I guess I’ll have to be alright with catching you out on your porch in the evening once in a while.” He touched his hat and offered the rose one more time.
She stood and reached for the flower; his hand enveloped hers around the prickly plant and she gasped at the touch.
“I will wait for the chance to get to know you, Lillian. You’re worth it.” He released her hand and disappeared into the darkness as he walked back to his side of town.
Her heart raced and she looked down at her hand, sure that the heat he’d left in the wake of his touch surely left some mark, but she could see no indication, not even from the dim light coming from the window. Now…how would she sneak her rose up to her room?
Chapter Nine
James bounced down the stairs to the kitchen, feeling more free than he’d ever felt. He was moving on, his old life finally in the past, and the future looked good. He’d have a secure job with his father for as long as the town was here. The town would eventually forget he’d been married before. He’d ask about public absolution; that should satisfy those who wanted to judge. He’d begged forgiveness from the Lord on his walk home last night. He wouldn’t beg his former wife, and she’d want no part of it, anyway. There was only so far a man could go.
He sat down to his coffee and smiled at his mother. “Good morning, beautiful!”
She chuckled at him. “Well, what’s gotten into you this morning?”
“I just feel—” A knock interrupted him.
His mother went to the kitchen door and opened the top half.
“Well, Mr. Holston, you don’t usually deliver to our house. To what do we owe the occasion?”
He handed James’s mother a wrapped bundle James couldn’t see.
“This was sent to James Cahill. It seems to need attention right away so I thought I’d bring it over.”
Attention? What did he mean?
“My word! It’s a baby! I didn’t think people could still send children through the post!”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s getting rarer, but people still do it. Wish they wouldn’t. We aren’t nursemaids. Good day, Mrs. Cahill.”
James stood and rushed to his mother. She pulled the little blanket back and a sallow little face lay beneath it.
“Is it…alive?” he whispered.
The child opened its eyes and let out a wail to wake the dead.
“I guess that answers that question.” He looked to his mother. “What do we do with it?”
“James Cahill, calm down this moment. Now, look at him, he’s just a button.” She snuggled him close. “But wet. Follow Holston back down to the mercantile and get some fla
t nappies, a couple bottles, and some rubber nipples.”
James turned white. “Nappies?”
“Now James!” She turned to his father, descending the stairs. “Bill, we need a goat, now. Go buy one.”
His father took in the scene, as if this sort of thing happened every day in his house. He grabbed his coat and hat and left without comment.
James took a look at the little one. He had a letter pinned to his small gown. On the letter was his name and address. The child’s eyes left no question as to whose he was. James saw his ex-wife in them. The weight fell back on his shoulders and he gasped as the feeling of freedom skittered away and hid.
But was it his child? It was too young to see any resemblance to anyone, save for his eyes. He glanced at his mother and handed her the letter.
She put her hand on his shoulder. “You need to get things for the baby now. He needs you, whether he is truly yours or not.”
He nodded. She was absolutely right. Only someone who cared very little would send an infant through the mail. The poor thing didn’t even have the energy to keep crying. He grabbed his own hat and rushed for the mercantile.
~~~
James picked his son up out of the cradle his father had found in the attic. The boy had been fed and checked by the doctor. He was fine, just hungry and tired. James held the bottle over him like his mother had taught him at the boy’s last feeding.
It had taken him a few hours to make a wet diaper, and James wasn’t prepared for how often he’d need to be changed when they began feeding him. James held him close and the boy ate with a voracious appetite.
“We’ll get you better, little man. You need a name.” He looked deeply into those large innocent eyes, so like his mother’s whose had never held such feelings.
“How about James, Jr.?” His mother rested her hand on his shoulder, looking over at her grandson.