by Dorothy Love
“Doggone it,” Wyatt said, above the clank of silver and the squeak of the door as patrons came and went, “I was hoping you’d sew that rabbit I shot last week to the brim of my new Stetson.”
She laughed. “I understand Stetson is a well-respected company where you come from. I doubt they’d appreciate such embellishment.”
He grinned. “Any more hat orders?”
“Only Bea’s. These days everyone seems to be thinking of nothing but the Christmas pageant.”
“It’s quite a production around here, all right.” He munched a bit of crust from the drumstick he was working on. “This year, with Mrs. Lowell’s children taking part, it’ll be bigger than ever. One of my customers from Knoxville is thinking about bringing his family out on the train just to see it.”
“Don’t tell Bea. She’ll want to charge admission.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I wouldn’t put it past her. Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea, though. Mrs. Lowell is always strapped for money.”
“Speaking of Mrs. Lowell, my talk with her this morning was most unsatisfactory.” Ada buttered her own biscuit and took a bite. “She refuses to allow me to visit Sophie. She thinks that an education will only make the girl more unhappy. But I simply cannot abide the thought of wasting that child’s life.” She stirred more cream into her coffee. “I realize that Sophie’s opportunities are limited here, but she won’t always be ten years old, and she won’t always live here—or at least she doesn’t have to. With a proper education, she can go somewhere else and make a life for herself. You’d think Mrs. Lowell would see my point, but she refuses to take the long view.”
“This is very important to you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, as important as anything I’ve ever done. Of course, Mrs. Lowell brought up Two Creeks as one reason for her refusal. But deep down, she doesn’t think Sophie, or any female for that matter, deserves an education.” She finished her coffee and set her cup down. “It makes me mad enough to spit nails!”
He nodded, his expression grave. “I can see that. But Mrs. Lowell has a point about Sophie, especially right now. I think it’s admirable, your wanting to help the girl out, but maybe you should wait until some of this talk about Two Creeks dies down.”
She frowned. Was Wyatt going to fight her on this too? “It isn’t as if I’ll be going down to the colored settlement. I just want to visit Sophie at the orphanage, maybe take her out to Lillian’s once in a while. I don’t see why anyone would care. Libby Dawson comes to the house every week and no one says a word against it.”
“That’s different. Her family works for me.” He wiped the chicken grease off his fingers and motioned to Hattie for the check. “I just don’t want you to put yourself into a dangerous situation.”
“But it’s the right thing to do. If Mrs. Spencer can be brave enough to go down to Two Creeks in the middle of the night by herself, surely I can muster the courage to visit Sophie in broad daylight.”
He reached into his pocket for his money clip. “Let’s not argue about it today. I need to get you home and then check on things at the mill. Charlie Blevins is back on the job, and I don’t want him to overdo it.”
Ada wasn’t ready to let the conversation go; she wanted it resolved right now. But one look at the firm set of Wyatt’s mouth told her this wasn’t the time to pursue it. They went outside into the brisk air, and she drew her shawl about her shoulders. “Charlie’s the one who cut his arm a few weeks back?”
Wyatt nodded. “I told him not to try to split that green hickory with an ax, but he didn’t listen.”
They went out to the rig. He helped Ada in and placed the empty hatbox at her feet. Then he climbed in on the other side and they turned for home.
“I almost forgot,” he said as the horse clopped along. “I brought you a surprise.”
“Another one?” She felt the same delight she’d known as a child when her mother brought her a doll or a new book. But even those gifts were not as special as these small unexpected tokens from Wyatt.
He reached inside his coat pocket and handed her a small paper bag.
Ada opened it. “Sarsaparilla candy! I love this!”
“I know.”
She grinned and held out the bag to him. “Want one?”
He popped a piece into his mouth. For a few minutes they rode along without speaking, enjoying the sugary treat. Ada watched him handling the rig, her heart overflowing with affection for him. Since the night of the harvest festival, he’d come often to Lillian’s for supper, bearing some small gift for her. Last week he’d shown up with three perfect red apples. The week before, he arrived with a handful of late-season flowers plucked from his garden. And now . . . she sighed. Sarsaparilla.
“Mariah said you may be getting another timber contract soon.” She set the bag inside the empty hatbox at her feet.
“It’s a possibility. I’ve got some good Eastern red cedar I’m trying to sell to the pencil factory over in North Carolina. Red cedar is too soft for furniture and such, but it’s the best there is for making pencils.”
As he described the art and science of pencil making, Ada buried her hands in the folds of her cloak and breathed a contented sigh. She loved listening to Wyatt talk about his mill. It seemed there was nothing he didn’t know about timber, its characteristics and its uses. When he talked about the best way to strip bark from a tree, the hard work of getting logs down the mountain, or the satisfaction he got out of planing a rough log until it was a thing of beauty, she couldn’t help but draw parallels to her hatmaking and the pleasure it brought to her and to the ladies of Hickory Ridge. She smiled to herself. Maybe it was a strange kind of connection, but it was one that increased her feelings for him.
They rounded the last bend. Wyatt drove into the yard and helped Ada down. She retrieved her bag and her hatbox. “Thank you for the fried chicken. And the candy too.”
“You’re welcome.” He planted a quick kiss on her temple. “Always a pleasure spending time with you.”
Libby Dawson came out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. Wyatt paid her and she started home.
“I should get back to the mill,” Wyatt said.
“Will you be back for supper?”
“Afraid not. Too much paperwork.”
She tried to hide her disappointment. She wasn’t looking forward to a long evening without him.
He took both her hands. “I need to check on some timber up on the ridge. Want to ride up there with me?”
“When?”
“Saturday afternoon, if the weather holds.” He scanned the overcast sky. “We’ll see. Looks like we’re in for some rain.”
He climbed into the rig and drove away. Inside, Ada found Lillian still sleeping, her face slack, one hand lying palm up on her Bible. Ada added another small log to the fire and took Lillian’s Bible to the parlor. Lately she’d found herself turning to it for comfort. Though she still had many questions—why her mother had to die young, why her father interfered with her engagement, why Edward hadn’t defied him for her sake—the words of the psalmist and the prophets brought her the beginnings of peace. She changed her dress and headed down to the kitchen. There was time for tea before starting dinner. She set the kettle on to boil, curled into her chair, and opened the Bible.
A slight noise and a movement at the window startled her. She hurried to the back door and looked out. “Robbie? Is that you?”
Something rustled in the bushes beside the barn, and then she saw a flash of white moving toward the trees. She shoved down a rise of panic, hiked her skirt, and took off across the yard. “You! Stop!”
She reached the edge of the woods and cocked her ear, listening. But all was silent. She hurried back to the house, fear like a cold needle in her veins. There was no longer any doubt. Someone, most probably a Klansman, was keeping an eye on her and Lillian.
On the back step, right below the kitchen door, she spied a single sheet of paper folded in half and
weighted with a stone. Trembling and out of breath, she took the note inside and opened it. The words spilled across the page at an angle, as if the writer had been in a great hurry.
A Wentworth stop yure medling with the culerds or yul be sorry. You have been worned!
TWENTY-TWO
Leaving Cherokee tethered in his usual spot outside the bank, Wyatt jogged across the street and headed to the sheriff’s office. Located across from the Hickory Ridge Inn, the building had weathered to a dirty gray. It sported a single dusty window overlooking the street and, inexplicably, a bear-shaped weather vane that always pointed south.
Wyatt cast a wary eye at the leaden sky. Two days of cold, hard rain had precluded his trip up to the ridge with Ada. Now the rain had slackened to a gray mist and the weather had turned unusually cold for so early in December. Maybe it would snow.
The chill wind tore at his coat as he mounted the rickety steps, pushed open the door, and stuck his head in. “Sheriff?”
Eli McCracken set aside his newspaper and motioned him inside. “I was just about to send word to the mill. I need to talk to you.”
“Same here.” Wyatt took off his hat, eased himself into the canebacked chair opposite Eli’s desk, and scanned the row of wanted posters lining the wall. Last year he’d been stunned to see the face of one of his sawyers from North Carolina staring back at him. The man was wanted in three states for bank robbery and attempted murder. Now Wyatt made a point of checking Eli’s rogue’s gallery from time to time.
“You first.” Eli rose stiffly and headed to the stove in the corner to refill his cup. “Want some coffee?”
“No thanks.”
“What’s on your mind?”
Wyatt withdrew a wrinkled sheet of paper from his pocket and slid it across the desk. “Somebody left this on Aunt Lillian’s back porch the night before last. She and Ada are terrified.”
Eli plopped down in his chair and scanned the note. “Did Miss Wentworth see who left it?”
“No. She gave chase, but whoever it was had too much of a head start.”
“Could be just a prank.”
“I don’t think so.” Wyatt described the earlier incident in which Lillian had seen a “ghost.” “I’ve begun to suspect the Klan may be involved.”
“I don’t blame you for being concerned,” Eli said, “but with nothing more to go on . . .”
“I realize there’s not much you can do. But I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your eyes and ears open. People who do things like this often brag about it.”
Eli nodded and sipped his coffee.
“Maybe you could ride out there and check around, help keep an eye on the place. I try to get out there every day or two, but I can’t be there all the time.”
“I’ll do what I can, but it’s a long way out there.”
Wyatt watched rain misting the window. “That’s what worries me.”
“You could move Ada and Lillian into town, let them stay at the inn for a few days.”
“I thought about it. I thought about moving them to my place too, but I don’t have room. Besides, I don’t want to alarm them. And I sure don’t want whoever is doing this to think they can intimidate us. It will only make them bolder.”
“Maybe.” Eli set his cup down. “This Two Creeks business is making the whole town jumpy. It’s too bad someone with good sense can’t buy up the whole kit and caboodle and put the issue to rest.”
“I tried to buy it five years ago, but I never could find out who the actual owner is. It’s tied up in some kind of trust with a fancy lawyer in Nashville. All I got from him was a string of excuses.”
“Maybe you could try again if you’re still interested. A lot can change in five years.” Eli cleared his throat, opened his desk drawer, and took out a set of keys. “I’ve got somebody locked up who’s been asking for you.”
Wyatt frowned. “Is one of my men in trouble?”
“Come on.”
Eli led the way through a door at the back of the office to a dank room containing a couple of chairs and two cells. One was empty. In the other sat Jasper Pruitt’s clerk. He was perched on the edge of the thin, bare mattress holding his head in his hands. He didn’t look up when Wyatt and Eli entered.
“Powell?” Eli said. “I’ve brought Mr. Caldwell, like you asked.”
The young man finally raised his tear-stained face and nodded.
“I’m going to let you out. You can sit right there”—Eli indicated a chair—“and say your piece to Mr. Caldwell.” His hand rested ever so briefly on the revolver strapped to his hip. “You aren’t going to try anything stupid, right?”
Powell shook his head.
“All right then.” Eli let him out and waited till he and Wyatt were seated. “You’ve got ten minutes. I’ll be in the office.”
He left them alone.
Wyatt stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “What’s this all about, boy? How come Eli McCracken’s got you locked up?”
“I got caught stealing.”
“From the mercantile?”
“Yeah.” The boy’s voice cracked. “I would have got away with it too, but Miss Greer was working late at the Gazette and saw me taking my wagon around back. She snuck over there to investigate and saw me puttin’ stuff in the wagon. She ran and told the sheriff, and here I am.”
“I see. But what’s that got to do with me?”
“Sheriff McCracken don’t care why a person does something. He only cares about the law.”
“That’s his job.”
“Yeah, but I thought you might listen to my reasons and help explain it to him.” Powell dropped his gaze. “I seen how you saved those two boys from drowning. And Jacob Hargrove said you gave him a job after his ma died. Seems like you got a good heart, and well . . . I thought maybe you’d understand why I did what I did.”
“I’m listening.”
“It’s Mr. Pruitt and the way he treats the colored folks. When a black woman comes to the back door wanting to buy a slab of bacon, he sells her some that’s about to go bad. And if she asks for a pound, he shaves a quarter pound off and charges her full price. It’s the same whether they’re buying nails or cheese or kerosene. They always get shortchanged.”
Wyatt nodded. Outside, rain dripped off the eaves.
“Anyway, since the talk started up about moving the coloreds off that land, they’re afraid to come into town. Scared they might be rounded up and not allowed to go back to Two Creeks.”
“How do you know all this, son?”
Powell compressed his lips and shook his head. “Can’t tell you that, Mr. Caldwell. Don’t want to get anybody in trouble.” His eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t let ’em starve, could I? So I’ve been loadin’ up my wagon ever’ so often and leaving food down in Two Creeks.”
“How long has this been going on?”
The boy shrugged. “Couple of months, I reckon. Mr. Pruitt blames the coloreds for stealing from him. But it wasn’t them, it was me.” He jumped up and began to pace. “In the Bible, doesn’t it say to feed the hungry? I know it’s wrong to steal, but I couldn’t figure out any other way.”
He flopped into his chair. “I was trying to do something good, but I made a mess of it. The sheriff won’t listen. I was hopin’ you might see my side of it.”
“You’re right about feeding the hungry,” Wyatt said. “But the Bible also tells us that when we’ve wronged someone, we’re to make amends.”
“But Mr. Pruitt is wrong too! When he overcharges people, isn’t that stealing?”
“In my book, yes. But that doesn’t change the fact that you took his merchandise and—”
“I have to pay it back. I know that. But Mr. Pruitt says I can’t never come back into his store. Without a job I can’t pay anything back. I was hoping—”
“Wyatt?” Eli opened the door. “Is everything all right in here?”
“We’re just finishing up.” Wyatt rose and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “I’
ll see what I can do.”
“Come on, Powell.” Eli ushered the boy back into his cell, and he and Wyatt returned to the office.
“Well?” The sheriff poured himself a third cup of coffee. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know, Eli. I guess I’m thinking that the Lord moves in mysterious ways.”
“Huh?” Eli moved to the window and scanned the street.
“That boy back there just may have bought us more time. Now that Jasper can’t blame the coloreds for stealing, he doesn’t have as strong an argument for wanting to displace them.”
“Maybe. But he isn’t the only one who wants them gone. He’s just the most vocal.” Eli turned from the window and pinned Wyatt with a worried gaze. “We need a solution to this mess before it splits Hickory Ridge wide open.”
Wyatt nodded and picked up his hat.
“I’ll ride out to your aunt’s place this afternoon,” Eli said, “and take a look around.”
“I’d appreciate it. I’ll see you.”
Wyatt left the office and headed back to where Cherokee stood patiently in the cold rain. On the long ride back to the mill, he turned the problems over in his mind.
The situation with the Powell boy was easy. Wyatt would offer him a job at the mill and see to it that Jasper Pruitt was repaid for his losses. But thinking about Ada and Lillian and how to keep them safe, about how to resolve the problem of Two Creeks, about Ada’s desire to visit the mixed-blood girl at the orphanage left him with a chill that he couldn’t blame on the weather.
TWENTY-THREE
The afternoon of the Christmas pageant came down cloudy and cold, with a rare hint of snow in the air. Ada, Lillian, and Mariah gathered early at the church to prepare for the evening’s program. Carrie was at home making a huge vat of cranberry punch. Bea, who was still occupied at school, sent Jacob Hargrove over to help the women secure extra lanterns to the walls and attach swags of fresh greenery above the windows and doors. While the boy busied himself with hammer and nails, Mariah set baskets filled with holly along the edge of the temporary stage the pastor had erected. Lillian placed candles near the spot where Mary and Joseph, played by Jacob and Sabrina, would stand.