by Ginny Aiken
“Of course, Mr. Whitman.”
Colby started and dropped his pen. “Oh, dear.” He dabbed the offending ink smear on his gray trousers leg with a white handkerchief.
Eli averted his gaze from the man’s latest mishap. “I’m on my way to see to a personal matter, but I will come in early tomorrow morning, as usual. Have a good evening.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Whitman,” Holtwood said.
“You have yourself a good evening,” Colby hurried to say. “You and Mrs. Whitman and the children.”
Outside, the sun was already setting, bringing the day to its premature end now that the calendar drew close to Christmas. The air wore the nip of approaching winter even if white flakes had yet to fall. A solitary wagon trundled down the street, and Eli shared the boardwalk with only a scrawny stray dog. Bountiful’s residents were busy elsewhere, most likely in the homes where golden light poured from the plate-glass windows.
Home. Where he would head once he spoke with Tom.
At the neat white clapboard house two blocks down Main Street from the bank, Eli struck the brass knocker on the black front door. Irma Bowen, Tom’s good-natured wife, opened up.
“Well, now, how do you do, Mr. Whitman?” She gestured him forward. “Come in, please. What brings you here tonight?”
“Is your husband home?”
Irma nodded and gestured for Eli to follow her down the hall. “He’s in his workshop outside, wouldn’t you know? Can’t get that fellow in unless it’s for a meal or sleep.” She shook her blond head, the curls that escaped the braided knot at the crown dancing at her temples. “Sure loves his woods and sawdust, my Tom does.”
Eli chuckled. “I’d say that’s good for a carpenter.”
Irma gave him a shrewd look. “I’m not so sure it’s as good for a husband. I’ve plenty of errands for him to run, but…” She shrugged. “Oh, well. He sure is happy working out there. Go ahead, then, Mr. Whitman. Tom’ll be glad to see you. Me? I have to be getting back to my stove.”
“Something smells mighty fine, there, Irma. But I do wish you’d quit calling me Mr. Whitman after all these years.”
“Oh, get on with you.” She flapped her floured apron at Eli. “I’m too set in my ways to call you anything else. Go along and tell Tom to come on in once you two are done with your business. I’ll have his supper on the table in a half-hour, no more.”
With a smile, Eli pushed open the door to Tom’s workshop.
The carpenter looked up. “Hello, there, Eli. What brings you by today?”
“I have a special favor to ask you. But I don’t want you to say yes if it’ll be a problem.”
Tom scratched his gingery beard. “I can’t tell you if it’ll be a problem unless you tell me what you want. Ask away. I’ll be honest.”
“You always are, and I appreciate it. What I’d like is a Christmas gift for Luke.”
“Good boy, that Luke of yours.”
Eli smiled. “Too spirited sometimes, but he means well.” Remembering the boy’s excitement when he’d learned the news about the spur line, he went on. “Luke’s railroad crazy, and I was wondering if you could whittle him a wooden train—a locomotive, some cars, a caboose.”
A smile lifted Tom’s whiskers. “Why, sure I can. I like that idea a whole lot.”
Glancing around the carpentry shop, Eli took note of all the work in progress. “What I need to know is if you have time to do this by Christmas.”
Again the wood smith scratched his beard. “It won’t be a big job, Eli. I’ve plenty of oddments left from other projects, so I don’t need to buy lumber. As far as the whittling, why, I can do that at night while Irma rattles off all the things she wants me to do for her.”
“I wouldn’t want to get on Irma’s wrong side.” Eli chuckled. “You sure it’s wise to work on this for me while she needs your help?”
“It’s not really my help she wants. When I try to do for her, she pushes me aside seeing as I don’t do things quite her way. I just figure she wants to talk matters through with me, see if I cotton to her notions before plowing ahead.”
“Interesting…” Eli remembered how different life had been during his first marriage. “Think all womenfolk are like that?”
Tom arched a brow a shade deeper than his beard. “You wanting pointers on handling your new missus?”
Eli turned away from his friend. “Although you’re too polite to mention it, I’m sure you remember what my life with Victoria was like. I don’t know Olivia very well yet, and I’d like to keep things… cordial between us. A fellow could always pick up pointers from a good friend who’s been married as long as you and Irma have. I’m hoping matters will go better this time.”
Tom looked puzzled. “Cordial? You might be making a mistake keeping Olivia Moore as a cordial… what? Employee? Women need more than that—at least Irma does. Scripture says we’re to love our wives like Jesus loved the church. Don’t sound to me as if you’re listening to that advice too well.”
“Don’t know that I can. That I can trust another woman again, I mean.”
“But can you trust the Lord?”
Eli felt the impact of the question right in his gut. “I… don’t know. I don’t even know if I want to know.”
Tom walked to Eli’s side, slung a heavy arm around his shoulders, and gave him a good-natured shake. “Not every woman’s like Victoria—praise the Lord for His mercy. So you can’t go along thinking of Olivia as another Victoria. That would be the biggest mistake you could ever make.”
“The biggest mistake I ever made was marrying Victoria Tyler.”
“Maybe. If you let your emotions guide you instead of waiting for the Lord on your choice back then, why, I suppose that hasty, passionate marriage might could be a mistake. But Miranda and Luke weren’t no mistakes, and don’t you be forgetting that.”
“You’re right.” Eli squared his shoulders. “It’s time for me to get back to them. I wonder what Olivia had Cooky make for supper. Our menus are already much improved since she began managing the house. She keeps them varied and interesting.”
“I think maybe the Lord had a hand in bringing Olivia Moore into your castle. Keep your eyes and heart open, Eli. God’s plans are always perfect, even when they don’t quite look to a man like they make much sense.”
This time, Eli clapped a hand on his friend’s back. “You might be right, brother. I’d best be going now, but I will see you at church Sunday morning.”
“Bright and early, and marching in my troops.”
“Give my regards to Irma again.”
“Give mine to your new missus.”
“Certainly will.”
Tom’s words lingered in Eli’s thoughts every step of the way home. Was he making a mistake with Olivia? Goodness knew he’d made plenty with Victoria, the first of which had been to trust her. Still, he’d learned not a few lessons from those mistakes, in particular, to keep a woman as far from his business and personal affairs as possible.
Then he thought of Irma Bowen. Nothing about the plump whirlwind even suggested the kind of trouble Eli had experienced with his first wife. What did Tom know, and Eli didn’t, that had prevented such problems?
Lord, am I making another mistake? I know what your Word says, but I also know what I know. What I learned from what I lived. Please show me what to do.
Chapter 13
Unsettled in spite of his prayer, Eli opened his front door a short while later. The scent of lemon oil greeted him. Against the right-hand wall, the small cherry table gleamed with elbow grease and polish, while the Persian rug Victoria had insisted on having shipped in from the East looked freshly beaten.
Eli hung his hat on the stand by the table, then stepped farther into his home. This time, Randy’s laughter rang out from upstairs, while the clack of china chimed in from the kitchen. Although homey sounds and fragrances had become his welcome home in the time since he’d married Olivia, he had yet to be able to take them for granted.
/> The savory scent of chicken caught his attention. His stomach growled. Eli hadn’t noticed his hunger before, and the enticing promise of the meal to come lured him further. He walked into the kitchen. “Hello.”
“Oh, Mr. Whitman, sir.” Cooky blushed, flustered as usual by his invasion of her territory. “What would you be needin’?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to tell you how good supper smells. I hope it won’t be long now before you’re ready to serve.”
The silver-haired woman’s round apple cheeks reddened. “Only a whiley more, sir. Your new missus likes meals prompt-like. For the children, she says.”
“So do I, I must admit.”
“A man’s got a hearty appetite after workin’ all day’s what I say.” Her topknot bobbled at her nod. “And you work mighty hard for Bountiful. That Luke of yours came a-tearin’ in here, more excited about that railroad’n a robin’s about its first spring worm.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased.” He turned back toward the doorway he’d just crossed. “Where’s Mrs. Whitman?”
“She’s likely upstairs with the children. She spends hours seein’ to their school assignments. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you, sir.”
Eli went up the stairs, headed to his bedroom, and hung his coat in the large armoire. He splashed clean water from the washstand pitcher into its matching bowl, then drenched his hands and face. After he combed his hair back off his forehead, he deemed himself presentable for supper. In the hallway, he called his children’s names.
“Papa! You’re home early.”
A whizzing cannonball hurtled into his frame. Thin, wiry arms manacled his legs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Goodness, Luke. For what?”
“For bringing the railroad to town.”
“Whoa, there, son. I only said the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company will be building a spur line somewhere in our area, and that they’re considering running it through Bountiful. I’m discussing the matter with the people involved in making the decisions, and it looks good for the town. But it’s not a finished deal yet.”
Olivia appeared in the doorway to Randy’s room. “It isn’t?”
“Not yet.” The odd expression on her lovely face caught Eli’s attention. “Why? Are you worried?”
She looked away. “No… not really.”
Her response didn’t quite satisfy. “I’d like to tell you more about the plans. Maybe over a cup of coffee after supper.”
“That would be nice.”
“Good evening, Papa.”
Eli looked past Olivia’s slender form, startled by his daughter’s formal greeting. To his further amazement, Randy had coiled her long braids into a neat knot at the back of her head. His little girl looked more mature by the minute.
“Good evening, Miranda. How are you?”
Her regal nod would have done a monarch proud. “Very well, thank you. I understand you had a most successful day.”
Choking back his laughter, Eli couldn’t stifle a smile. “Indeed, my dear. I would have to agree.”
To his increasing bemusement, the child-woman sauntered past him to the head of the stairs. “I’m certain Cook is about to ring us to supper. I shall head on down.”
Randy descended, taking stately steps, and Eli arched an eyebrow at his wife.
“Go along, Luke.” Olivia gave the boy a nudge in the right direction. “Follow your sister and please wait for your father and me to pray before you even think to attack the food.”
In a windmill flurry of arms and legs, Luke flew down. Olivia laughed. “Different, aren’t they?”
“And how. But Randy… Randy’s truly frightening. Are you certain that was my daughter?”
Cooky’s silver bell chimed out its invitation to supper. Olivia headed down the stairs. “Oh, she most certainly is. I’m afraid this phase will last longer than you’ll care for.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Watching my sisters grow has given me some insight—not to mention my own experiences. Randy is busy becoming the woman she will one day be. It’s a natural thing, even though not an easy one to go through.”
In the foyer, Eli scratched his head. “Hm… I continue to wonder if I’m up to the challenge.”
“With God’s grace, every parent is.”
“And with your help.” He offered his wife his arm to lead her into the dining room.
Olivia lowered her head. “I’m glad I can help.”
“So am I.” When they reached the walnut chair at her end of the table, he seated her, then rounded the corner to his place, noting Luke’s hungry expression.
“Slow down, son. First we give thanks”—he unfurled his napkin—“then we eat.”
At the boy’s nod, Eli went on. “Seeing how famished you are, Luke, please offer tonight’s blessing.”
This time, Luke’s nod lacked some of its earlier eagerness, but he did as asked. “Dear Lord, thank you for this feast you helped Cooky make for us. Bless it and us and the rest of our evening.” He reached for the biscuits. “Oh! And thank you for bringing the railroad to town. Amen.”
The meal was as tasty as its aroma had promised. Eli paid Olivia and Cooky generous compliments, earning pleased smiles and rosy cheeks in response.
Luke and Randy helped Cooky clear the table, a chore the new Mrs. Whitman had charged the children to carry out.
Randy carried a platter and serving utensils, a look of distaste on her face. Still, she did as Olivia had asked, especially since the job came with a small wage. Randy favored hair ribbons from the mercantile, and the coins allowed her to indulge her fancy.
Olivia then sent them to their rooms to finish their schoolwork. Randy had reading to do, while Luke had subtraction problems to finish. On his way to the door, and with a pleading look, Luke turned to his new mother. “Could you please help me? You know how hard I’ve worked and worked on these ciphers and I still don’t understand how to do them right all the time.”
Randy sniffed. “I can do my work.”
“But you struggled with it last week, remember?” Olivia replied.
Before she could answer Luke, however, Eli jumped in. “How about if I give you a hand, son? I’d say a banker has some experience with pesky numbers.”
Luke’s eyes opened wide. “Really? You would do that?”
A twinge pierced Eli’s heart. Had he neglected his children so much?
Perhaps. What with the disasters he’d had to repair after Victoria’s death, followed by all the negotiating he’d done to win the railroad’s consideration for Bountiful, he had set his responsibilities—and joys—at home aside for a while. Time had come to fix that.
“I’d be happy to. I’m certain your new mama has plenty to keep her occupied.” He turned to Olivia. “Until she’s ready for that cup of coffee, that is.”
Olivia smiled, watching the children head upstairs. “I’ll see to Randy’s composition, no matter what she says. She still has a great deal to go before she’s finished, and it’s a fairly advanced theme, at that.” They parted ways, and soon all he could hear in the large home—aside from Cooky’s clanging of kettles and china—was the sound of lessons being learned.
When the children had said their prayers, been kissed and tucked in, the adults returned to the parlor, where Olivia took up the wool wrap she was knitting for her mama and Eli his pipe. Cooky brought in the coffee, and the crackling fire put the finishing touch on the perfect time for a chat.
But even after he’d described his hopes for the railroad in detail, Eli failed to dispel Olivia’s faintly troubled air. He tried to assure her he only had their hometown’s best interests at heart.
“I do know that,” she answered.
“But…?”
“But… I don’t know. Bountiful seems fine as it is. We can’t know what the railroad will bring with it. Questionable characters, dishonest folks, a complete change in the way we’ve always done things here.”
Eli bit down
against an easy reply. Olivia had conjured up the only reservation he’d had about the proposed venture. But he couldn’t let fear stand between Bountiful and progress.
“I’ll make certain nothing untoward happens in our town,” he said. “I’ll help everyone benefit from the blessings of increased business.”
She stood, clearly ready to retire, and said, “Is it really in your hands to determine that?”
As he listened to her footsteps on the stairs, Eli couldn’t stop a shiver. He knew too well how little he could control in life.
His first marriage had taught him that.
“I’m surprised you’re back in town so soon,” Eli told Nathan the next morning. “You don’t make the trip down from your mountain all that often and you were by a few weeks ago.”
Nathan shifted in his chair. “You’re right. I don’t come down any more than I need to, but after assessing our situation at the camp, I’ve come to the decision I need to expand the flume.”
Eli gave a wry smile. “You’re going to have to explain that to me. You know I’m no lumberman.”
“The flume is the channel I use to get the logs we cut down to where I can transport them to my markets. Some mills use rivers to let the water carry the logs down, others roll them over the terrain. I have to build a flume, a road for the logs, so to speak. And, if you do bring the spur line to Bountiful, I’m also going to have to expand in this direction.”
Eli fought the knot in his gut. “I see. How soon would you need to do that? And how much would it cost you? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Nathan shrugged. “I don’t mind. You’re my banker, after all. I’d have liked to have done it this summer, but I was shorthanded. I’ve hired a pair of men now, and they’re working well. Ideally, I should start right away so that I can finish the higher portion before snow or ice hits.”
“Are you telling me you need to withdraw funds for this project?”
“Precisely.”
Nathan’s need couldn’t have come at a worse time. “How much are you looking at?”
Eli grimaced at the sum his friend named. “I don’t have to tell you how tight we are right now. I—I don’t know if we can do that. It would practically dry our liquidity. Can’t do that to the bank.”