by Dorothy Love
“Sure thing. Let me take these papers to Dad and I’ll be right back.” She disappeared through a swinging door leading to the back of the building.
Sophie sniffed. “What’s that smell?”
“That’s the hot lead they use to set the type and the ink that’s used to print up the newspaper.”
“Smells good,” Sophie said. “Smells like a adventure!”
Patsy returned and led them into her office. She whisked the dustcover off the typewriting machine and motioned Sophie into her chair. The child sat down and twirled around. “This chair is like a merry-go-round.”
Patsy laughed and rolled a sheet of paper into the machine. She showed Sophie how to strike the keys that imprinted the paper hidden behind the tall carriage.
The child was entranced. “Can I make my name?”
“Sure. You can make anything you want.”
Sophie studied the keyboard. “Q, w, e, r, t . . . these letters all messed up.” She looked up at Patsy and frowned. “How come it don’t go like regular ABCs?”
“I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. But once you get the hang of it, you can write really fast. Look, here’s the S.
“This machine magic! I see the O!” Sophie punched the key and grinned up at Ada.
Ada smiled, enjoying Sophie’s wonderment as the child completed typing her name. Patsy rolled the paper out and handed it to Sophie. “See? There’s your name, perfect as can be. No mistakes.”
“Can I type my other name?”
“Another time.” Ada gathered her cloak and bag. “We must go.”
Sophie nodded. “I guess it would take all day to spell Robillard.”
Ada drew on her gloves. “Thanks, Patsy. This means a lot to me.”
“I enjoyed it. Someday Hickory Ridge will need another newspaper woman. Maybe Sophie will take my place.”
They left the office, Sophie still clutching her sheet of paper. “Where we going now?”
“To my house. Or rather, to Mrs. Willis’s.”
Sophie trotted alongside Ada. “I never been to nobody’s house before. I been living at Mrs. Lowell’s since my baby time. Is it a long ways to Miz Willis’s?”
“Not too far.”
“And you’re sure enough going to show me how to make hats?”
Ada smiled down at her. “I sure enough am. And we’re going to work on your reading and writing too.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I made up a new story ’bout the princess from Africa. But I ain’t—I mean I haven’t written it down nowhere. It’s in my head, is all.”
When they reached the bakery, Ada said, “If you can wait one more minute, I’ll buy us a sticky bun.”
Sophie grinned. “I can wait.”
Ada went inside and quickly purchased three buns. Returning to the rig, she handed the bag to Sophie and climbed in.
“There’s Miss Goldston!” Sophie said. “From the school.”
At the sound of her name, Bea turned, her gray woolen cloak sweeping a wide arc on the sidewalk. “Why, Ada Wentworth—and dear little Sophie. What a surprise!”
“Hello, Bea.” Ada gathered the reins. “You must excuse us. I promised Lillian we’d be back by noon.”
“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.” Bea smiled at them, but Ada heard the barb beneath the sweetness.
Ada snapped the reins and Smoky started for home. Sophie kept up a steady stream of questions as they drove past the telegraph office and the Verandah Hotel.
“Where’s the trains going?” The girl craned her neck to watch a train that was just leaving.
“Oh, everywhere—Nashville, Chicago, Memphis, Saint Louis. These days one can go across the entire country by train.”
“Africa?”
Ada smiled. “I’m afraid not. You’d need to book passage on a ship to go that far.”
“There’s the church!” Sophie said when they passed. “Where we sang the Christmas carols.” She craned her neck as they passed the mill. “That’s where your sweetheart lives.”
“What do you know about sweethearts?” Ada smiled down at her.
“Mrs. Lowell told Mrs. Whiting that Mr. Caldwell is sweet on you. She said that’s why he gave her a big pile of money for the orphan house. Are you sweet on him too?”
“You know what, Sophie? I’m all out of answers just now. Why don’t we play a game? See how many kinds of birds you can spot before we get home.”
With Sophie busily counting blue jays and cardinals, Ada’s thoughts turned to Wyatt. Since his proposal on Christmas Eve, he’d continued coming to supper at Lillian’s each night, staying long into the evening to talk with her in the firelit parlor. To her immense relief, he hadn’t pressed her for an answer. Instead, he’d let her get to know him better, leading her through his life as if turning the pages of a book. He talked even more about Texas and his vision for his ranch, about his life growing up with a mother who was often too ill to care for him. About a lonely boyhood relieved by long summers with Lillian in Hickory Ridge. And about his father, Jake Caldwell, a larger-than-life rancher who couldn’t wait for his only son to come home.
Despite her uncertainties, Ada found herself counting the hours each day until he appeared, smelling wonderfully of new wood and soap, his hair still damp with comb tracks, his extraordinary blue eyes full of love and hope. She smiled to herself. Wyatt was all the more appealing because he was so self-deprecating and unaware of his good looks. His kindness knew no bounds. Despite his concern about the town’s reaction to her and Sophie, his gift to the orphanage was the reason behind the letter that arrived just after the New Year. Mrs. Lowell had given permission for Sophie to spend one day a week with Ada, learning millinery skills and studying her lessons.
A wave of love and gratitude washed over her. Maybe she should throw caution to the winds. Cast aside her fears and self-doubts. Say yes and trust Wyatt with her future, even if she couldn’t quite imagine herself on a vast ranch in the middle of Texas.
She guided Smoky around a rut in the road. What would she do all day while Wyatt was off doing . . . whatever it was that ranchers did? Branding, she supposed, and rounding up strays. Of course there would be a house to tend and someday, perhaps, children to look after. Would she find friends her own age there, friends as kind and true as Mariah and Carrie? Wyatt had told her their nearest neighbors might be miles and miles away.
Maybe she could fill her days making hats, but who would buy them? From what she’d gathered, everyone wore either Stetsons or sturdy bonnets to ward off the broiling Texas sun. Seed pearls and fancy ribbons surely would have little place among thorny brush and longhorn cattle. And hadn’t she heard there were still Indian wars going on in Texas?
She juggled the reins and drew her cloak more securely around her shoulders. Life in such a foreign place would be challenging, but no more so than living aboard ship with Edward would have been. She swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat. Clearly he’d forgotten his promise to her. But what good would it do to dwell on the past?
“Seven!” Sophie said. “That’s how many kinds of birds I counted. I’m tired. How much further are we gonna ride?”
“Just around the next bend. If you look through that stand of trees over there, you can see the house.”
Ada drove the rig into the yard. She left Smoky tethered for the moment while they took the bag of sticky buns inside. Libby Dawson was sitting in the kitchen watching Lillian take a pan of biscuits out of the oven. She looked up and grinned shyly at Sophie. Sophie wiggled her fingers in a little wave.
“There you are, Ada.” Lillian set the pan on the table. “And this must be Sophie.”
Ada made the introductions and was gratified when Sophie bobbed her head and said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise.” Lillian eyed the child and handed her a stack of plates. “As long as you’re here, Sophie, you might as well be useful. Set these on the table and then get the silverware out of that drawer.”
Sophie scurried about setting the table, seeming right at home. Lillian stirred a pot of stew bubbling on the stove. Ada paid Libby Dawson and thanked her for coming. “Can you stay again next week when you come to deliver the laundry?”
“I reckon, long as the mule don’t freeze to death. Daddy says he can’t remember the last time it was this cold.”
“It’s a bone chiller all right,” Lillian said. “Try to stay warm on the way home, Libby.”
“Yes’m.” Libby sniffed. “Them biscuits sure do smell good. That stew does too.”
“Then you can stay and have some!” Sophie said. “Can’t she, Miss Ada?”
“Libby has work to do.” Lillian flapped her hands at Libby. “Run on now, girl. Don’t forget that bundle of linens by the stairway.”
With one last look at the golden-brown biscuits, Libby turned to go.
“Wait!” Ada couldn’t bear to send the girl into the cold on an empty stomach. She ladled some stew into a jar and handed it to Libby along with a couple of warm biscuits wrapped in a napkin.
“Much obliged, Miss.” Libby lifted the bundle of laundry with one hand and balanced her food in the other.
Ada opened the front door for her just as Charlie Blevins lifted his hand to knock. The burly sawyer watched Libby hoist the laundry onto her wagon before opening the container of warm stew and drinking it down. “It’s bad business to feed them Two Creeks folks,” he muttered. “They’ll start expecting it, and the first thing you know you’ll be feeding the whole lot of them.”
Ada folded her arms across her chest. “Why don’t you let me worry about that? What was it you wanted?”
“Mr. Caldwell sent me to tell you he can’t come for supper tonight. He’s got a meeting in town.”
“I see. Please thank him for letting us know.”
“It’s some high mucky-mucks from Chicago or somewheres. Leastways, that’s what he told Mr. Whiting.”
Just then Sophie appeared at the door. “Miss Ada? Your biscuits gettin’ cold.”
“I’ll be right there, Sophie.”
Charlie Blevins frowned. “How many Negroes you got in there?”
“None of your business.” Ada closed the door.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Well, Ada, that’s it for today.” Carrie swept the floor and cast a wary eye toward the potbellied stove in the corner. “I sure wish the reverend would get that thing to working properly so we could work here without freezing to death. With Henry at the mill all day, it gets lonely at the farm. I miss our circle when it’s too cold to meet.”
“You can always go into town and visit with Mr. Chastain,” Mariah teased. “His bookshop is quite cozy.”
Ada laughed and poked her friend’s arm. “Leave her alone. You were young and in love once.”
“Who says I’m in love?” Carrie blushed and picked up her sewing basket.
“You don’t have to say anything.” Mariah looked around for her sewing basket. “The look on your face gives you away. It’s the same look on Ada’s face anytime anyone mentions Wyatt Caldwell.”
The women stilled and gazed fondly at Ada. “We’ll be making another bridal quilt any day now,” Mariah predicted.
Lillian, who had been napping close to the stove with her cloak pulled over her, yawned and rose stiffly. “Ada, get my basket and let’s get on home. It’ll be dark soon.”
Ada glanced out the window. Long shadows dappled the church and spilled across the thawing ground. Though much of the divisive talk about Two Creeks had abated since Christmas, she’d noticed an undercurrent of caution among some of the shop owners in town. They were more guarded in their conversations now. A few had begun bolting their doors, even during business hours.
Ain’t you afraid? She hadn’t wanted to give Jasper Pruitt the satisfaction of a reply. But the truth was, she didn’t feel completely safe on the road after dark, even with Lillian beside her. She picked up her things and Lillian’s, and the women went outside. With quick good-byes all around, they climbed into their rigs and started home.
Lillian, who usually had plenty to say after an afternoon with their friends, seemed subdued. Ada tucked a blanket around the older woman. “Are you warm enough?” she asked, climbing in beside her. Lillian nodded and drew the blanket more tightly around her shoulders.
“Did you enjoy the circle today?” Ada flicked the reins and they pulled out of the churchyard. “It was good seeing everyone, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
They traveled in silence for some minutes. Ada glanced at her companion. The older woman had gone mute as stone. Ada reached across to tuck a corner of the blanket into place. After spending most of the afternoon in the underheated church, maybe Lillian was simply too cold and uncomfortable for conversation.
“We’ll be home soon,” Ada promised. “And I’ll make hot cocoa. Would you like that?”
Lillian nodded and Ada got the distinct impression that the older woman was displeased with her, though she couldn’t imagine why. At last, when the house came into view, Ada could stand it no longer. “Lillian, have I done something to offend you?”
“What?”
“Are you cross with me?”
After another long pause, Lillian said, “Only if you intend to disappoint Wyatt.”
“Disappoint him?”
“Don’t be coy, Ada. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, but I can see the way that boy looks at you. I can hear the two of you in my front parlor every night, cooing like a pair of doves.” Lillian shook her head. “Lawsa, he’s smitten. And as fond as I am of you, I’m not sure Wyatt knows his own mind, falling for a Yankee girl.”
Ada smiled. “I’ve fallen for him too.”
“But?”
Ada watched Smoky’s head bobbing up and down as he clopped into the yard. “We haven’t really known each other that long. We need to be certain of our feelings.”
Lillian waved one gloved hand. “Oh, piffle! I knew I was going to marry Pete Caldwell the first day I laid eyes on him. He knew it too.”
Ada brought the rig to a halt beside the barn. She could feel Lillian’s intense gaze boring into her. Clearly, Lillian now had more to say.
“Forgive my mawkishness, Ada. I’m an old woman. But here’s what I know. When God opens a door, you have to take his hand and walk through it. Even when you have doubts.”
“Yes, but—”
“Life is so much shorter than we think. I don’t understand this dithering and excuse-making.” Lillian grasped Ada’s arm. “Either you love my nephew or you don’t. Which is it?”
“With all due respect, it isn’t that simple. I—”
Without waiting for Ada’s help, Lillian threw off the blanket and stepped from the rig. “Fine. Have it your . . . oh!” A startled look crossed her face. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then she bent double and toppled onto the muddy ground.
“Lillian!” Ada ran to kneel beside her. “Lillian, what happened? Did you lose your footing? Are you all right?”
Lillian’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t speak. Her skin had turned pale and clammy. Her eyes were open, but she seemed frozen, unable to see or hear.
“Oh! Oh, Lord! Please help her!”
Ada’s heart pounded as she considered her options. She could put Lillian in the rig and head for town, but the long trip over the rutted road might make her worse. She could leave Lillian home alone and try to find Wyatt, but it would take at least an hour to reach the mill and return. She didn’t dare leave Lillian that long. And what if Wyatt was off scouting timber, or in town making a delivery?
That left Two Creeks. She’d find Libby Dawson and send her to fetch Wyatt. Her decision made, Ada crouched behind Lillian and grasped the old woman’s arms. She half dragged, half carried Lillian across the yard and into the house, keeping up a constant stream of talk to calm her rattled nerves.
“Lillian, something terrible has happened to you, but don’t worry.” Ada settled Lillian on her bed and removed the
older woman’s cloak and shoes. “I’m going to send for Wyatt, and he’ll bring the doctor. You’ll be fine. But you mustn’t try to get out of bed while I’m gone. Do you understand?”
A trickle of spittle leaked from the corner of Lillian’s mouth. “Unnnh.”
Moving quickly, Ada covered Lillian with blankets from the cedar chest in the corner and rekindled the fire in the fireplace. “There. You’ll be warm, and Wyatt will come, and Dr. Spencer too, and they will know what to do.”
With one last look at Lillian, Ada ran for the rig and urged Smoky toward the Two Creeks turnoff. The rig rocked along the narrow path that snaked through the dense forest. She guided the horse around a bend, and the road opened up to reveal a row of tin-roofed shanties clustered beside a creek.
Few of the houses had actual windows; the openings were boarded up against the cold, covered with scraps of tin and ragged blankets nailed to the frames. Smoke twisted from chimneys, sending the smells of wood smoke and boiling cabbage into the air. Children ran barefoot along the hard-packed dirt yards, chasing a few scraggly chickens, seemingly oblivious to the cold and the coming darkness. Behind the houses lay the fields, fallow now in the dead of winter.
Despite her worry and panic, Ada felt her eyes welling with tears at the desolate sight. How could Mr. Pruitt, or anyone, justify taking away what little these people had?
A young boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen stepped into the road. Ada halted the rig. “You lost, Miss,” he said. “You done took a wrong turn offa the road back there.” He looked genuinely frightened. “You got to get outta here.”
“I need help! I’ve come for Libby Dawson. Could you tell me which house is hers?”
He jerked a thumb. “Las’ one on the lef’. But she ain’t here. Saw her leavin’ out with her daddy ’fore sunup this mornin’. They ain’t come back yet.”
Ada felt tears building in her throat. What if it was too late, and Lillian was already dead? “But I need her!”