by Janette Oke
“Didn’t see much stock about.”
“Stock’s all been sold right now. But it has good pastureland an’ plenty of barn room. Barns fer cows, with good milk stalls, lots of pigpens, a real fine horse barn thet holds eight head, big chicken coop, five granaries … or is it six? … no, five, I think. Even got a root cellar an’ a real good well.”
The man looked just a shade puzzled, but Ellie hurried on. “Lots of good crop land, too. Had a first-rate stand of barley last year, and the lower field had a hay crop like I’ve never seen afore … an’ thet field out back, the one ya can’t see too well from the road—” Ellie caught herself. “’Course ya can’t see any of the fields too well just by ridin’ on by ’cause of the snow, but it’ll soon be ready fer workin’. Folks hereabouts say they expect an early spring this year. Some of the farmers are already gittin’ their seed ready to plant.”
“Interesting,” the man said, but he really didn’t look much interested.
“There’s a good garden plot, too,” Ellie continued, since it was at least something to talk about. She reached for a cup to fill with coffee for the stranger. “Even got a few fruit trees. Pa says thet apples would do real good here, but no one’s gotten round to plantin’ ’em yet.”
“You just buy the farm recently?” asked the man as Ellie returned to the stove.
Ellie stopped in midstride. “Us?” she said. “Oh no, it’s still fer sale,” she hurried to explain. “We’re just livin’ here till it sells. The LaHayes already moved on out west an’ left us to care fer the place till someone buys it. We’re goin’ west, too, as soon—” Ellie stopped herself. Now, that didn’t sound good. The man might think something was wrong with the farm with everyone moving away.
“Not thet we wouldn’t like to buy the farm ourselves, but my husband really prefers ranchin’. An’ ’sides, we don’t have the money thet it takes to buy a farm. Takes a heap of money to git started farmin’ nowadays.” That didn’t sound good, either. Might scare a body off.
“One soon is able to make it back, though, on a good farm—an’ this is a good farm,” she hurried on, but then she decided she’d said enough. Whatever the man was here for, she didn’t want something she said to give the wrong impression.
The man said nothing, and Ellie placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.
She checked the biscuits in the oven and stirred the vegetables. They were ready. She hoped that Lane wouldn’t be too late.
The silence now hung heavy between them. The man didn’t seem too inclined toward conversation. In fact, he seemed rather impatient and kept drumming his fingers on the table, an irritating thing to Ellie. At last Ellie heard Rex bark again, and this time she could tell it was Lane who was approaching. She heaved a big sigh of relief and glanced across at the close-lipped stranger.
“Thet’s my husband now,” she said. “He’ll be in as soon as he cares fer the horse.”
The man grunted his approval. Ellie was about to start dishing up the supper but changed her mind. She’d better hold off for a few minutes while the man had his talk with Lane about the farm. Somehow, Ellie didn’t expect the stranger to accept an invitation to join them at the table.
Lane came in with a puzzled look on his face.
“Lane, this is … is … I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t even ask yer name.”
“Peters,” said the man, extending his hand to Lane and rising to his feet.
“My husband,” finished Ellie lamely.
“Mr. Peters,” said Lane, shaking the hand. “I believe I had the pleasure of rentin’ ya a horse a little earlier.”
Mr. Peters seemed taken aback. “To be sure,” he said, looking more closely at Lane. “If I’d known whom I was talking to, I could have saved myself this trip. I was told that you lived on the farm.”
“We do,” said Lane good-naturedly, “but there’s nothin’ to do hereabouts right now. All the stock’s been sold. We have one horse an’ one dog. Don’t keep a man very busy. We are just here till—”
Mr. Peters stopped him with an impatient gesture. “Your wife explained,” he said hurriedly.
“Please,” said Lane, “sit yerself back down an’ tell me how I can help ya.”
He’s here ’bout the farm, Ellie started to say, but she decided she wasn’t sure about that anymore.
“The matter is a private one,” said Mr. Peters, pulling forth a small case that Ellie had not noticed when he had arrived.
Lane looked surprised.
“Well, I guess we are ’bout as private as we can git,” he responded.
Mr. Peters cast a glance toward Ellie.
“Nothin’ is so private as to exclude my wife, sir,” Lane said firmly.
Mr. Peters said nothing but opened up his case and spread some papers out before him.
He pulled a small pair of spectacles from his pocket and balanced them on the end of his nose. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I understand that you are Lane Howard.”
“Thet’s correct.”
“Who is your father, Mr. Howard?”
“Well, I … I don’t have a father. Thet is, he died when I was five years old.”
“And his name?”
“His name? His name was … ah … Will. They called him Will. His real name was William. William Clayton Howard.”
“And your mother? Where is she?”
“She died only one week after. She’d been hurt in the same storm.”
“And her name?”
“Rebecca. Rebecca Marie.”
“Who raised you?” asked the man.
“An aunt. A maiden aunt. Her name was Aunt Maggie. Ah … Margery. Margery Thom.”
“Is she living?”
“No, sir. I heard ’bout four or five years ago thet she had passed on.”
“So you weren’t with her when she died?”
“No. I left when I was fourteen.”
“Why?”
“Why? ’Cause I wanted to. I didn’t feel thet I should stay.”
“Were you told to leave?”
Lane looked a bit annoyed. “’Course not.”
“What were the circumstances?”
“The what?”
“The circumstances. Why did you go if you weren’t told to leave?”
“My aunt married. She was older. Had never married before. People round town said it was gonna be hard fer her to adjust to bein’ married. They also said it would be even harder with me there to … to …”
“Folks said that?”
“Well, they didn’t say it right to me. They didn’t know when I overheard ’em. But I did.”
Ellie felt rather unsettled. Why in the world all the strange questions? Why should this man come in from nowhere and begin to ask her husband things concerning his past? Things he had shared only with her.
“What about the man? Your aunt’s new husband?” the questioner went on.
“What ’bout ’im? He was a businessman in the town. Well established. He was an undertaker.”
“Were you afraid of him?”
“Afraid? No. He had never been anythin’ but kind to me.”
“Did he have a family?”
“No. He had never married before, either.”
“But you didn’t think you wanted to live with him—or with your aunt—after she married him?”
“It wasn’t like thet. I hated to leave. I cried all the way to the train station, iffen ya must know. It was just thet I loved Aunt Maggie. She had been so kind to me, an’ I wanted her to be happy in her new marriage.”
Ellie thought she heard the stranger mutter something about busybody tongues, but she wasn’t sure.
“Did you keep in touch?” he went on.
“Till she died, I did. My last letter was returned to me marked ‘Deceased.’”
“I see,” said the man, adjusting his odd glasses.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I really don’t understand what this is all ’bout,” said Lane. “Now, I got nothin’ in m
y past I want to hide, but it does seem a bit unusual thet a total stranger would walk into my house and put so many private questions to me.”
“I understand how you must feel,” said the man, removing his glasses just a moment before they surely would have fallen. “But one cannot be too careful, and I do need to be entirely sure that you are the Lane Howard I am looking for.”
“Lookin’ fer?” puzzled Lane, and Ellie moved a step closer and put her hand on the back of his neck.
“You didn’t mention the name of the man your aunt married,” said the persistent man at the table, placing his glasses back on his nose once more.
“It was Myers. Conwyn Myers.”
“Did you keep in touch with Mr. Myers at all?”
“Not really. My aunt often wrote of him, and I sent my greetings through my letters to her.”
“I see,” said the man. Then, “One more thing, Mr. Howard. What is your full name?”
“It’s William. William Lane Howard. William from my pa. They called me by Lane so thet it wouldn’t be confusin’.”
“Well,” said the man, shuffling through his papers, “everything seems to match.”
“Match to what?” asked Lane. “I do wish, sir, thet you’d be so kind as to explain yer presence an’ questions.”
“Yes,” said the man, “I do believe that I am free to do so.”
Ellie and Lane exchanged glances.
“I am Stavely Peters,” said the man, emphasizing each of his words carefully. “Stavely Peters, attorney-at-law. I am here representing the estate of the late Conwyn Myers. Mr. Myers was a well-respected and good businessman. He left everything in very good order … and … he left everything to you.”
Lane slowly rose to his feet, shaking his head in bewilderment.
“He left it all to you, Mr. Howard. You were the closest of kin that he had, and he also knew just how special you were to his wife, Margery.”
“But I … I …” Lane stood there with Ellie clinging to his arm. “I’m much obliged … to be sure,” Lane stumbled over the words, “but … but beggin’ yer pardon, what would I do with a funeral parlor?”
“He sold the funeral parlor. Sold the house, too. Said that by the sound of your letters, you loved the West and would never want to leave it.”
“Oh, he’s right. I don’t,” Lane assured the man.
“Everything that he leaves you is in cash. I have the note right here. All that needs to be done is for you to sign a few papers and then for us to visit your bank together.”
“My bank,” laughed Lane. “I’ve never had me the need fer a bank in all my life.”
“Well, I’d advise you to become established with one now,” said the lawyer. “It’s a bit too much money to tuck in the toe of your boot.” This was the closest to humor that the man had come.
“Yes, sir,” promised Lane. “I certainly will, sir. Right away in the mornin’.”
“I stopped by the bank on my way here and made arrangements to have it taken care of tonight. They are most anxious to have your account, I might add, Mr. Howard, and will be more than accommodating, I am sure. I am anxious to have the matter settled and to be on my way back to the city. I will confess that it has taken me much longer than I had hoped to locate you and get the estate finalized.”
“I’ll git my horse right away,” Lane said, looking like he didn’t know what had hit him.
He turned to Ellie. “Will ya be okay till I git back?” he asked her.
She clung to him for a moment. “I will iffen I don’t burst,” she whispered. “Oh, Lane, can ya believe it?”
Lane put her from him gently and gave her a big grin. He reached for his coat.
“I’ll hurry,” he promised. “I’ll hurry as fast as I can. Then we’ll talk all ’bout it when I git home.”
He kissed her and hurried after the city lawyer.
Ellie turned back to the stove to cover the pots. Who could tell when—or if—they ever would get around to eating their meal?
TWENTY - EIGHT
Plans
“What are we ever goin’ to do with it all?” Ellie asked when Lane returned and showed her the figure on the bank paper in his hand.
To Ellie it had seemed to take forever for Lane to return to the farm, but, in truth, the transaction had taken place very quickly. The lawyer had been right. The town banker was most anxious to be of every assistance in order to be assured of handling Lane’s account. Both banker and lawyer were in a hurry to get the matter finalized.
Lane could not believe his eyes when he was shown the amount of the bank note. There it was. The large sum of money was placed securely in the bank under his name.
“I been thinkin’ an’ thinkin’ all the way home,” Lane answered Ellie’s question. “There’s just no end to what we can do.”
“I’ll git my own sewin’ machine,” Ellie began enthusiastically.
“Ya can have two of ’em iffen ya want to,” promised Lane, and Ellie laughed.
“An’ I’m gonna git those new shoes I saw in Harder’s window.”
“New shoes? Thet’s nothin’. Won’t even make a dent in the money.”
“Oh, Lane. I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it!”
“Nor can I. It all seems like some strange dream.”
Lane pulled Ellie down on his lap and pressed his face against her fragrant hair. “The best part of the dream,” he said, “is thet now I can give ya the things I wanted to … the things ya deserve. I was so scared thet I’d never—”
“Did I ask fer things?” Ellie scolded gently, running her fingers through his hair. “All I really wanted was you, an’ ya know it.”
Lane pulled her close and kissed her firmly. “I know it,” he whispered. “I know it, an’ thet’s what makes our love so special.”
“Oh, Lane, there’s so much we could plan, so much to talk about—but we’d better eat this food, don’t ya think?” Ellie reminded him, pulling herself free. “Even iffen we don’t feel like it, we’d better eat. Thet is, if it’s still fit to eat.”
They began to eat their overcooked meal, but neither of them really tasted it. There was too much to think about … to dream of. It seemed the possibilities were endless. They talked and laughed as they ate and as Ellie cleared the table. They talked as they washed and dried the dishes together and on into the evening until bedtime. There was just so much to discuss with this unexpected turn of events.
“Ya know one thing thet I’d like to do?” asked Ellie as they lay snuggled together under the warm quilts of their bed.
“What?”
“I’d like to git an organ fer the church. Just a little organ—but a nice organ. Do ya think we could?”
“Why not? I think it’s a great idea. I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout what we could do special like fer the church—both this church an’ our little church out west. Hadn’t thought me of an organ, but thet sounds like a first-rate idea.”
“Let’s, then!” exclaimed Ellie.
Lane kissed her on the ear.
“Ya know what I was thinkin’?” he asked her.
“What?”
“We have the money to buy the farm.”
“What farm?”
“This farm.”
“Us? Why?”
“Why? Then ya won’t need to leave. You’ll be here, near yer ma, just like ya wanted an’—”
“But, Lane,” Ellie protested, “ya don’t want to farm. Ya want to ranch.”
“I know, but I wouldn’t mind. I’ll—”
“No, ya won’t. I’d never let ya. Never, Lane.”
“But—”
“Listen! Mama is all prepared to let me go. It’ll be hard fer her, sure, but she’ll make it. She wouldn’t want us to change our plans just fer her. She would be unhappy iffen she thought I was unhappy, an’ I could never be happy iffen I wasn’t sure thet you were happy—don’t ya see?”
“But I could be happy, as long as I was makin’ you happy.”
“I wouldn’t let ya do it. You’ve always wanted to ranch. Now ya can have a ranch of yer own. Not just a little spread to git by on, but a real ranch—one ya can be proud of. An’ someday … someday maybe you’ll even be as blessed as Willie an’ have some sons to take it over after ya.”
Ellie felt Lane pull her closer and kiss her hair. Then she could feel the tears on his cheeks in the darkness.
Everyone rejoiced with Lane and Ellie over their good fortune. Ellie began in earnest to prepare for their move. She was more anxious than ever now. She couldn’t wait to see Lane’s West, to share in purchasing a ranch and establishing a home—their home. She couldn’t wait to see Missie and to once again be near to her older sister. Though they were born to different mothers, their Ma Marty had been truly a mother to them both, and they felt very close in heart, though the miles now separated them. Daily Ellie prayed that the farm might hurry and sell so they could be on their way. April passed and May came. With the warmer winds, the snow had disappeared, even in the shadowed places. Ellie fancied that soon she would be smelling spring flowers, and then the farm would sell, she was sure.
Lane continued to work in town. He still needed the activity, he said. And he and Ellie secretly slipped the extra money into the Sunday collection plate for the use of the young preacher. He needed it worse than they did, they were sure. The organ had been ordered, and there was great anticipation over its arrival. Lane and Ellie had also laid aside, in the preacher’s care and keeping, a sizable amount to be spent in the years ahead as the church saw the need.
Ellie was restless each day as she waited for Lane to come home. Signs had been posted in the town that if anyone was interested in the LaHaye farm, they were to go to the local livery and talk to Lane Howard. There had been a few inquiries but none of a serious nature.
Then one day Lane came home long before his usual time.
“Yer early,” said Ellie, a question in her statement as he poked his head in the door.
“Aren’t ya glad to see me?” he teased.
“’Course, but supper isn’t ready.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her. “Fergit supper,” he said. “I have some news.”