Corduroy Road To Love

by Coleman, Lynn A.

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-1-59789-646-7

  Copyright © 2007 by Lynn A. Coleman. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  One

  1830

  Charlotte, North Carolina

  “Ida Mae, I can’t believe you’re renting the barn to a tinker. I daresay, isn’t he a week late?”

  “Minnie, I told you he’s a tinsmith, not a tinker.”

  “Tinsmith, tinker—doesn’t matter, he’s a stranger. He’s not one of us, Ida Mae, and you ought to know better. With the way your pa and ma. . . Well, mark my words, it ain’t right, you letting a stranger move in so close to ya. Unless you’re reconsidering Cyrus’s offer.”

  Ida Mae loved her cousin, but sometimes the woman could really tangle her threads. “No, I’m not going to marry Cyrus Morgan. He’s a kind man, but the Lord and I have an understanding.”

  Minnie’s brown hair swayed back and forth as she shook her head. “Ain’t no man going to fill that understandin’, as you say. Only one that could is the good Lord Himself, and He chose not to marry when He was on this here earth. So I say you’re aiming to be a spinster, in both meanings of the word.”

  Ida Mae often thought it odd that her profession was also the name for an old woman who never married. And it seemed odd that Minnie, who was nearly the same age as herself, would feel the need to inform her on the ways of man, courtship, and marriage. Ida Mae sat back down and started spinning the flax into threads. Tomorrow she’d have to get to work on the wool brought in by John Alexander Farres. Folks used John’s middle name to help distinguish him from the various cousins in the area. Not that she should have a problem with that, since she answered to her first two names.

  “I give up.” Minnie stomped out the front door and headed across the street.

  Ida Mae closed her eyes and prayed she hadn’t offended her cousin again. Minnie and the rest of the family meant well, but it seemed ever since her parents died last year, everyone thought they had a right to tell her what to do. Ida Mae blew a strand of blond hair from her face. The order of flax needed to be spun before she could begin work on the woolen yarn for the Farreses. Mama used to weave the linen threads into fine cloth, but Ida Mae didn’t have the same hand. The woven cloth was adequate and could be used for work clothing and such, but it wasn’t the kind of fabric that could grace the tables of elegant homes.

  Cyrus had been mighty helpful after the fire that had killed her parents and destroyed their home last year. He had single-handedly performed most of the reconstruction. But she couldn’t marry him. She didn’t love him, not like the Bible talked about in the Song of Songs. Cyrus is a good man but. . . I don’t know, Lord, is there something wrong with me? Am I made like the apostle Paul and meant to be single all my life?

  A wagon full of wares pulled up outside the storefront that had been doubling as her living quarters for the past year.

  A man with an odd-shaped hat jumped down and secured his horse. He marched up the steps right to her open front door. “Good day, would you be Miss McAuley?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He swooped off his odd cap, revealing a healthy crop of black hair, and bowed slightly. “Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Miss. I’m Olin Orr. I believe you’ve been expecting me.”

  Ida Mae tightened her jaw to make certain she hadn’t dropped it. No man had ever bowed to her before. Folks around these parts weren’t lacking formal manners—they just didn’t have much use for them. Not like Mr. Olin Orr from the big city of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. His hair was a mixture of silk and dark walnut, and curls that a woman’s fingers could have fun— Ida Mae quelled her foolish thoughts. “Yes, your post said you’d be arriving last week.”

  “Aye. I’m afraid I misspoke in my correspondence. The roads were far worse than I recalled them. I often had to make or repair some corduroy roads in order to pass with my wagon. Springtime brings many showers and the creeks are up.”

  “I see.” She could well imagine how many trees he’d had to cut down to get over those muddy holes. But she wondered if he was the type of man to place the logs securely over the road for the next passerby. She glanced at his wagon in front of her shop; even riding over the felled logs, it must have been difficult because of the constant bumps, so like corduroy fabric. In fact, she should fell some trees on the road leading up to the family homestead, but she didn’t see much point since she wasn’t using it. “Let me show you the barn. I hope it is what you were expecting. I tried to be honest and fair with our dealings, Mr. Orr.”

  “Aye, more than fair, Miss McAuley.”

  Ida Mae nodded and headed out the front door. She locked it, then gestured to her right and walked north toward the end of the building. Mr. Orr followed close behind but left a distance of several feet between them until rounding the corner and stopping at the door to the smithy. Father’s blacksmith shop was a stable that he had converted. It seemed the perfect place for a tinsmith. But she had hoped the man would want to blacksmith. Too many folks had high dreams of finding gold like the members of the Reed family had found on their property thirty years ago. The Reed farm was a gold mine now, and word around town was they were talking about digging tunnels to remove ore from the quartz rock below, unlike the way they had been mining. Gold had been found on various farms all over the area. The way folks were moving into the area, you’d think they were just fortune seekers.

  “What brings you to Charlotte, Mr. Orr?” She slid the large board to the right to open the barn door.

  “Work,” he answered. That, she already knew. For a man who could toss out some fancy words, he sure seemed quiet when it came to details about his personal life.

  Slivers of sunlight poured into the old shop. Ida Mae hadn’t stepped foot in here since her father’s death. A knot in her stomach threatened to squeeze the tears right out of her. She cleared her throat. “I’ll let you have a look around. I’ll meet you back in the store.”

  “Thank ye, Miss.” He plopped that odd hat back on his head and stepped inside.

  Ida Mae couldn’t face the memories of her father and hustled back to her shop. Quickly setting her hands to the wheel and her foot to the pedal, she began spinning the flax once again.

  ❧

  To do his tinwork, Olin didn’t need the equipment that the blacksmith had used. But the additional income from making horseshoes and such was worth keeping the equipment in place. The shop had a year’s worth of dust and grit all over the tables and equipment. His parents had written and told him of the tragedy that had befallen Thomas McAuley and his wife. It seemed odd that a man who worked with fire would die by it in his home. He’d heard of blacksmiths dying in accidents relating to their work—but that was between Mr. McAuley and his Maker.

  Stepping back into the open doorway, he looked over the town. It had changed in the past seven years he’d been gone. Olin wondered how many would remember what happened before he left. He had been seventeen at the time and full of himself. Should I have stayed away, Lord?

  Thankfully, Ida Mae didn’t remember him. Not that she would, he supposed.
She was two years younger. And by the time she was twelve she had stopped going to the church school to work full-time with her parents. They were an older couple. She was ten years younger than her brothers, who had all moved away with the promise of larger amounts of land in the frontier.

  He would have gone west if his father hadn’t intervened and set him up in the apprenticeship. He slapped the dust from his hat and gave the barn one final glance. Taking a determined step forward, he headed back into the store.

  “Mr. Orr, is it satisfactory?”

  “Aye, Miss. I’ll bring in the twenty-five dollars after I visit with the bank tomorrow. Is it all right if I begin moving my belongings in now, or would you prefer I wait until a lease has been signed?”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Orr. I’m afraid I should wait until the papers and money have been exchanged.”

  Olin nodded. He would have done the same if a stranger had asked him. “You’re a fine businesswoman. I’ll see ye on the morrow. God’s blessing to you.”

  He strode up to the wagon and checked his horse before pushing on the extra thirty minutes to his parents’ farm. He would have preferred to leave the wagon in the barn to lessen the horse’s burden. On the other hand, he had a few gifts for his family stowed in the wagon. The animal needed a good grooming and a comfortable stall to sleep in. Ida Mae McAuley’s barn had room for one horse. The loft would make a suitable place for him to live until his business was established enough to provide sufficient income to support himself. Mother would make sure he had enough to eat. He’d been sending money home for years, but he’d also had few expenses in Pennsylvania. The closer he came to the old farm, the more memories swarmed around like a stirred-up hornet’s nest. He supposed it only seemed fitting since the area had a reputation of being a hornet’s nest from the Revolutionary War.

  One of the things that seemed different was passing slaves working on a large plantation just outside the city. Years ago that property had belonged to three different yeoman farmers, like his parents. Each had lots of five hundred acres, enough to make a profit, but not so much that a man would need to hire slaves.

  “Olin!” His mother ran out the door with outstretched arms.

  Joy erupted through his body. Aye, it is good to be home. He jumped down from the wagon and wrapped his mother in a bear hug. He’d missed this woman and, until this moment, hadn’t realized just how much. It had been seven years. Why didn’t I come sooner? “Mother, it’s good to see ye.”

  She wiped her blue eyes with her apron. “Aye, it’s good to see ye, son. I thought I’d never see ye again.”

  “I’m home, Mother. I plan on staying and living here the rest of my days.”

  “Well, God be praised! Then it was a good thing ye left for seven years. Now I shall see ye marry and give me lots of grandbabies.”

  Olin chuckled. “I had better find a wife first, Mum.”

  “Aye, or I would do a whole lot more than just pull your ear.”

  He rubbed his right ear, remembering all the times he’d been hauled off to the woodshed to be paddled by his father for misbehaving.

  “Your father says you’ll be living at Mr. McAuley’s blacksmith shop. Ye need to stay here. I won’t be having ye living in no barn. No son of mine—”

  “Mother, please.” He cut her off. “There’s plenty of time to discuss this, but let me take care of my horse. He’s worked hard.”

  “Aye. I’ll be settin’ a place for ye at dinner.”

  “Thank ye. It’s good to be home.”

  Fresh tears spilled from his mother’s eyes. He turned as his mother left. His own eyes moistened as he unfastened the carriage from his horse. He patted the brown stallion. “I bet that feels good, boy.”

  Carson neighed his approval.

  Olin gave the familiar cluck, and the horse obeyed, following him to the barn. Fresh oats, water, and some overdue grooming set the beast up for the night. Finally, Olin pumped some water into the outdoor basin and cleaned off some of the caked-on road grime.

  “Well, well, it’s the devil himself!”

  Olin spun around.

  ❧

  “Ida Mae, Ida Mae!” Minnie came running into the shop, breathing hard. “You’ll never believe this, but Mr. Orr is not a stranger. He’s from around here.”

  Ida Mae glanced up from her spinning. I already suspected that. “Several Orr families live around here.”

  “Yes, but how many do you know are murderers?”

  Murderer. Ida Mae stopped the wheel. “What are you sayin’?”

  Minnie’s brown eyes darted back and forth. “Rumor has it that Bobby Orr killed another miner seven years back.”

  “I can’t be going on rumors. What are folks sayin’?”

  “Well, you remember seven years back when there was some fighting going on at the Reeds’ gold mine.”

  “There’s always fights going on at the gold mines.”

  “Well, this one ended in a fella getting killed. A Bobby Orr was the one responsible for the man’s death.”

  “Honestly, Minnie, I don’t see what this has to do with our Mr. Orr.”

  “That’s just it; he’s the same man.”

  “His name is Olin. Folks must be mistaken.”

  Minnie tossed her head back and forth. “Nope, he’s the one. I tell ya, he’s the same man.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Folks seen him, that’s how. Not to mention, his own kin been tellin’ folks he’s comin’ back, and they ain’t none too happy about it neither. They say he’s the devil himself. He has a temper that makes the devil run.”

  Ida Mae took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She didn’t care for gossip and knew Minnie could keep a person’s ear full for years. But is it true, Lord? She had to admit, she was concerned.

  “Ain’t he planning on livin’ in the shop? I don’t mean to tell ya your business, Ida Mae, but I wouldn’t be sleepin’ on the same property with no killer. No sirree!”

  Fear spiraled down Ida Mae’s spine like a thick wool thread spun on the spooler. She’d been putting off moving back into the farmhouse. Maybe it was time. “There must be some mistake; Mr. Orr is a perfect gentleman.”

  “Don’t be fooled. Even the Good Book says the devil—he comes as an angel of light. I’m tellin’ ya, nothin’ good can come of this, Ida Mae. You best tell him to pack his bags and move on.”

  And wouldn’t her father roll in his grave if he knew she’d treated someone so poorly, not knowing for certain if he was guilty? “If he’s the one, why wasn’t he arrested and hanged?”

  Minnie marched back and forth with her hands on her hips. “That’s the odd thing. No one seems to know. All folks can say is that he got away with murder and left. Maybe his daddy paid off the sheriff. ’Course, they never found any gold at the Orrs’ farm. I don’t know, Ida Mae, but it don’t seem right.”

  “Minnie, thank you for telling me. I’ll speak with Mr. Orr when it is appropriate and ask.”

  “I’m tellin’ ya, mark my words, that man is trouble. Even his own kin ain’t none too happy. This just ain’t a good thing, Ida Mae.”

  You’ve already said that. “Thank you, again. Let me get back to work and finish up this order. I need to go out to the farmstead before dark.”

  A glint in Minnie’s eyes made Ida Mae aware she’d said or done something that met with her cousin’s approval. There seemed to be precious little that did since her folks died. Why Minnie had decided to become Ida Mae’s self-appointed guardian, she would never know.

  “I heard Cyrus was going out there this afternoon. He’s planting for you.”

  Yes, I know that. “I might just run into him out there. What are you folks planting this year?”

  “Cotton, beans, some corn. . . Same as usual. What are you an’ Cyrus planting?”

  Ida Mae didn’t like hearing her and Cyrus’s names wrapped together in the same sentence, knowing what Minnie and others thought. “Those, plus a few other vegetables.
I’m hoping to do some more canning.”

  “How’s your peach and pecan trees coming along?” Minnie asked, and the two of them talked for the next ten minutes about farming and marketing the farm’s surplus.

  If only the road to the north was in better shape, Ida Mae mused. Then she remembered Olin saying how he’d repaired quite a few places along the road. A killer wouldn’t do that, would he?

  After Minnie left, Ida Mae finished the flax order and rode her horse out to the family farmstead. The peach blossoms were in full bloom, lining the road to the house. The rebuilt two-story federalist-style house was freshly painted. Cyrus did fine work. How could she ever convince him she wasn’t interested in marrying him? Perhaps she should marry him just to ease her conscience.

  Ida Mae’s thoughts wandered to her childhood days as she rode up the drive. Her parents’ farm was smaller than most in the area, and her father had been content with small crops, especially when demand for his blacksmith talents became more lucrative than farming. When her older brothers were able to tend the land on their own, her father bought an old barn in Charlotte and transformed the north half into a smithy and the south end into a shop for his wife’s spinning wheels and loom. Her parents hadn’t anticipated that the boys would head west, leaving the farm available for Ida Mae’s inheritance, either to sell or to work the land with her future husband. How quickly things had changed.

  As she reached the end of the drive, Cyrus’s rugged, six-foot frame slipped out of the barn. He was a good enough looking man, and he was kind. He’d make a good father, she tried to convince herself. He smiled and waved.

  “How ya doin’, Ida Mae? I didn’t expect to see you out here tonight.”

  The barn door creaked open.

  Rosey Turner peeked around the door, her hair all mussed.

  “Cyrus?” Ida Mae pointed to Rosey.

  Crimson filled Cyrus’s cheeks. “Uh, Rosey came to lend me a hand tonight.”

  Two

  “Percy Mandrake, what brings ye here on this fine day?”

  Percy relaxed his accusatory stance and turned toward Olin’s father. “Uncle Thomas. Good to see you.”